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

‘My council,’ the bishop answered, ‘will examine whether this arrest is contrary to your liberties, in which case I will amend what is to be amended.’ Even the episcopal council decided for Vandel’s discharge; but the bastard obstinately refused.

The anger of the people now grew fiercer against the citizens who had accepted the bishop’s pensions.

‘The bishop knows very well,’ they said, ‘that some of them prefer his money to the liberties of the city. Why should he fear to infringe our rights, when traitors have sold them to him?’ Thomas Vandel, the priest, the most ardent of the family, hastened to Berthelier. ‘The irritation is general,’ he said, ‘and yet they hesitate. Nobody dares bell the cat.’ Berthelier joined Vandel’s sons, and their bold representations, as well as the murmurs of the people, aroused the syndics. The day (June 29) was already far advanced; but that mattered not, and at the unusual hour of eight in the evening the council met, and ‘all the most eminent in the city to the number of about three hundred,’ joined the assembly. The people gathered in crowds and filled the hall.

Berthelier was present. He was still governor of Peney, the bishop’s gift; and the latter made merry with his courtiers at having put ‘a bone in his mouth to prevent his barking.’ There were some Genevans who looked frowningly upon him, as if that great citizen had betrayed his country. But Berthelier was calm, his countenance determined: he was prepared to strike the first blow. The syndics described the illegal act of the bishop; the sons of the prisoner called upon them to avenge their father; and Berthelier exclaimed: ‘To maintain the liberties of the city, we must act without fear; let us rescue the citizen whom traitors have seized.’ John Taccon, captain-general, and at the same time a pensioner of the bishop’s, stopped him: ‘Gently,’ said he, ‘if we do as you advise, certain inconveniences may follow.’ Berthelier in great excitement exclaimed: ‘Now the pensioners are showing themselves!’ At these words Taccon could not contain himself: ‘It was you,’ he said, ‘yes, you, who showed me the way to take a pension.’ On hearing this reproach Berthelier pulled out the bishop’s letters appointing him governor of Peney, and which he had brought with him to the council, and tore them in pieces before the meeting, saying: ‘Since I showed you the way to take them, look, I now show you the way to resign them.’ These words acted like an electric shock. A cry of ‘No more pensions!’ was raised on all sides. All the pensioners declared themselves ready to tear up their letters-patent like Berthelier. The commotion was very great. ‘Toll the bell for the general council,’ cried some. ‘No, no,’ said the more prudent, ‘it would be the signal for a general outbreak, and the people would right themselves.’ 87

Something however must be done. A portion of the assembly went off to the bishop’s palace, and began to shout for the prelate: ‘Release the prisoner!’ But the bishop did not appear; the doors and windows of the palace remained closely barred. The irritation grew general. ‘As the bishop will not show himself,’ they said, ‘we must assemble the people.’ Upon this John Bernard, whose three sons played an important part in the Reformation, ran off to the tower of St. Pierre to ring the bell for the general council. But the priests, anticipating what would happen, had fastened the belfry door. Bernard did not renounce his purpose: he caught up a huge hammer and was beginning to batter the door, when some citizens came up and stopped him. They had just learned that the bastard did not appear because, dreading the fury of the people, he had left Geneva in great haste. One thought consoled the bishop in all his terror: ‘Surely here is an argument that will convince the sacred college: my people are in revolt!’ But the episcopal council thought differently: Vandel’s arrest was illegal, and they restored him to liberty. From that hour the bishop’s hatred grew more deadly against those who would not bend to his tyranny. 88

The energy displayed by the citizens showed the bastard what he would have to expect if he laid hands on their independence. His creatures resolved therefore to set to work in another way: to enervate this proud and resolute people, and with that view to encourage superstition and profligacy in Geneva. Superstition would prevent the citizens from thinking about truth and reform, while profligacy would make them forget their dignity, their rights, and their dearest liberties.

At the commencement of 1517—the year when the Reformation began in Germany—a bare-footed friar, named Thomas, came and preached at Geneva in Italian , and the people who did not understand a word listened to him with admiration. The Virgin Mary, the saints, and the departed were his ordinary theme. Bonivard shrugged his shoulders, saying: ‘He is a mere idiot with his cock-and-bull stories!’ The friar proceeded next to work miracles; sick persons were brought to him after service; he blessed them right and left, and many returned home cured. ‘What do you say to that?’ triumphantly asked some bigots of the sceptical prior. ‘Why, imaginatio facit casum , it is the effect of imagination,’ he replied. ‘The fools believe so firmly that he will heal them, that the cure follows; but it does not last long, and many return worse than they came.’ The honourable councillors, befooled like the rest, sent the friar ‘princely presents.’

As superstition did not suffice, entertainments and debauchery were added. Duke Philibert the Fair, who visited Geneva in 1498 with his bastard brother René, had already employed this means of subduing the Genevans. ‘Go,’ said he to his noblest lords, ‘and win over all these shopkeepers and mechanics by being on the most familiar footing with them.’ The Savoyard nobles, affably accosting the Genevans, used to sit down with them in the taverns, drink, laugh, and sing with them, bewildering the simple by their high-flown language and ‘grand airs.’ They concealed their subtle treachery under fine phrases; and throwing off all shame, they even permitted looks and gestures of abominable lewdness, infecting the hearts with impurity, and corrupting the young. The priests, far from opposing this depravity, were the first to give way to it. A shameful wantonness engendered criminal excesses which would have brought ruin on those who indulged in them and on the city itself. Effrontery stalked in the streets. The strangers who stopped in Geneva exclaimed:—‘It is indeed a city sunk to the eyes in pleasure. Church, nobles, and people are devoted to every kind of excess. You see nothing but sports, dances, masquerades, feasts, lewdness, and consequently, strife and contention. Abundance has generated insolence, and assuredly Geneva deserves to be visited with the scourge of God.’ 89

Philip Berthelier, a man of indomitable courage, untiring activity, enthusiastic for independence and the ancient rights of liberty, but infected with the general disease, now put the plan he had conceived into execution, and resolved to turn against Savoy the dissolute habits with which she had endowed his country. He took part in all their feasts, banquets, and debaucheries; drank, laughed, and sang with the youth of Geneva. There was not an entertainment at which he was not present: ‘ Bonus civis, malus homo , a good citizen, but a bad man,’ they said of him. ‘Yes, malus homo ,’ he replied; ‘but since good citizens will not risk their comforts in an enterprise of which they despair, I must save liberty by means of madmen.’ He employed his practical understanding and profound sagacity in winning men over, 90and he attained the end he had set before him. The assemblies of the Genevan youth immediately changed in character. Philibert the Fair had made them a school of slavery; Philibert Berthelier made them a school of liberty. Those who opposed the usurpations of the Savoyard princes, boldly held their meetings at these joyous and noisy feasts. The great citizen, as if he had been invested with some magic charm, had entirely changed the Genevan mind, and, holding it in his hand, made it do whatever he pleased. Sarcasms were heaped upon the bishop and the duke’s partisans, and every jest was greeted with loud bursts of laughter and applause. If any episcopal officer committed an illegality, information was given to these strange parliaments, and these redressors of wrong undertook to see the victim righted. When the Savoyard party put themselves without the law, the Genevan party did the same, and the war began.