J. H. Merle D'Aubigné - History of the Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin (Vol. 1-8)

A close sympathy soon united Berthelier and Bonivard. The former had more energy, the latter more grace; but they both belonged to the new generation; they became brothers in arms, and promised to wage a merciless war against superstition and arbitrary power. They gave each other mutual marks of their affection, Bonivard standing godfather for one of Berthelier’s sons. Berthelier, having paid his friend a visit of condolence on the very day of his uncle’s death, heard from his lips the story of the culverins. ‘What!’ said he, ‘cast cannons to make into bells! We will give you as much metal as you require to make a peal that shall ring loud enough to stun you; but the culverins ought to remain culverins.’ Bonivard represented that, according to his uncle’s orders, the cannon were to be employed in the service of the Church. ‘The Church will be doubly served,’ retorted Berthelier; ‘there will be bells at St. Victor, which is the church, and artillery in the city, which is the church land.’ He laid the matter before the council, who voted all that Berthelier required. 75

But the Duke of Savoy had no sooner heard of this than he claimed the guns from the monastery. The Council of Fifty was convened to discuss the affair, and Berthelier did not stand alone in supporting the rights of the city. A young citizen of twenty-five, of mild yet intrepid temper, calm and yet active, a friend to law and liberty, without meanness and without arrogance, and who had within him deep-seated and vigorous powers,—this man feared not to provoke a contest between Geneva and the most formidable of his neighbours. He was Besançon Hugues, who had just lost his father and was beginning to enter into public life. One idea governed him: to maintain the independence of his country and resist the usurpations of Savoy, even should it draw upon him the duke’s hatred. ‘In the name of the people,’ he said, ‘I oppose the surrender of this artillery to his Highness, the city cannot spare them.’ The four guns remained at Geneva, but from that hour Charles III. looked with an angry eye upon Berthelier, Hugues, and Bonivard. ‘I will be even with them,’ said he.—‘When I paid him my respects after the death of my uncle,’ said Bonivard, ‘his Highness turned up his nose at me.’ 76

Charles III., son of Philip Lackland, was not much like that adventurous prince. When Philip reached a certain age, he became reformed; and after having several natural children, he married Margaret of Bourbon, and on her death Claudine of Penthievre or Brittany, and in 1496 ascended the throne of Piedmont and Savoy. Charles III., his son by the second wife, rather took after his grandfather Duke Louis; like him he was steady but weak, submissive to his wife, and inherited from Monsieur only his bursts of passion. His understanding was not large; but his councillors who were very able made up for this. One single thought seemed to possess him: to annex Geneva to Savoy. It was almost his whole policy. By grasping after Geneva he lost his principalities. Æsop’s fable of the dog and the shadow has never been better illustrated.

In 1515 everything seemed favourable to the plans of this prince. The marriage of the Princess Philiberta, which had not been solemnised in 1513 in consequence of her youth, was about to take place. The Bishop of Geneva, then at Rome for the Lateran Council, backed his cousin’s demand touching the temporal sovereignty. The ministers of Charles, the court, nobility, and priests, all of them pressed the annexation of Geneva. Was not that city the market for the provinces neighbouring on Savoy? Was it not necessary for the strategic defence of the duchy? Claude de Seyssel, a skilful diplomatist, author of the Monarchie de France , ‘a bitter despiser of every republic, and soon after made archbishop of Turin, was continually repeating to the duke that if Geneva remained in his territory without being of it, Savoy would incur great danger.’ ‘Truly,’ said Bonivard, when he heard of Seyssel’s arguments, ‘there is no need to push his Highness to make him run. He has begun to beat the tabor, and is now going to open the dance.’ 77

But would the pope take part in the dance? Would he surrender up Geneva to Savoy? That was the question. Leo X. loved wealth, the arts, pleasure, and all the enjoyments of life; he was generous, liberal, prodigal even, and did not care much for business. He had prepared a magnificent palace in the city of the popes and of the Cæsars, for Julian and his young wife. Entertainments of unusual splendour celebrated the union of the Medici with the old family of Humbert of the white hand. ‘I will spare no expense,’ Leo said, and in fact these rejoicings cost him the enormous sum of 15,000 ducats.

How could a pontiff always occupied in plundering others to enrich and exalt his own kindred, compromise so glorious an alliance in order to maintain the independence of an unknown city in the wild country of the Alps? Besides, the situation at Geneva was disquieting; the free institutions of the city threatened the temporal power of the bishop, and if that were destroyed, what would become of his spiritual power? But if the Duke of Savoy should become sovereign prince there, he would revoke the insolent liberties of the citizens, and thus save the episcopal prerogative. Such had been the history of most cities in the middle ages: was it also to be that of Geneva? 78Lorenzo de’ Medici had been accustomed to say: ‘My son Julian is good; my son John (Leo X.) is crafty; my son Peter is mad.’ Leo thought he was displaying considerable tact by sacrificing Geneva to the glory of the Medici and the ambition of Savoy. ‘The Duke of Savoy,’ says a catholic historian, ‘took advantage of this circumstance (the marriage) to procure a bull confirming the transfer of the temporal authority.’ 79Charles III. triumphed. He had reached the end which his predecessors had been aiming at for centuries: he had done more than Peter, surnamed Charlemagne; more than Amadeus the Great; he fancied himself the hero of his race. ‘I am sovereign lord of Geneva in temporal matters,’ he told everybody. ‘I obtained it from our holy father the reigning pope.’ But what would they say at Geneva? Would the ancient republic meekly bow its head beneath the Savoyard yoke? 80

The whole city was in commotion when this important news arrived. Berthelier, Bonivard, Hugues, Vandel, Bernard, even the most catholic of the citizens, exasperated at such a usurpation, hurried to and fro, conversing eagerly and especially blaming the pontiff. ‘The power of the popes,’ they said, ‘is not over principalities but over sins—it is for the purpose of correcting vices, and not to be masters of sovereigns and peoples, that they have received the keys of the kingdom of heaven.’ There was at Geneva a small number of scholars (Bonivard was one) who opened the dusty tomes of their libraries in search of arguments against the papal resolution. Did not St. Bernard say to Pope Eugene: ‘To till the vineyard of the Lord, to root out the noxious plants, is your task.... You need not a sceptre but a hoe.’ 81

On the 25th of May a deputation from the council waited on the bishop. ‘My lord,’ said the first syndic, ‘we conjure you to leave the community in the same state as your predecessors transmitted it to you, enjoying its rightful customs and ancient franchises.’ The bishop was embarrassed: on the one hand he feared to irritate men whose energy was not unknown to him, and on the other to displease his cousin whose slave he was; he contented himself with muttering a few words. The syndics waited upon the chapter next: ‘Prevent this iniquity,’ they said to the canons, ‘seeing that it touches you as much as the city.’ But the reverend fathers, who possessed fat benefices in the duke’s territory, and feared to have them confiscated, replied in such complicated phrases that nobody could understand them. Both bishop and canons surrendered Geneva to the man who claimed to be its master.