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

Bonivard perceived that Lévrier’s life was in danger. At that time people supped early; the prior waited until nightfall, and then leaving his monastery in disguise, he passed stealthily through the streets, and entering the house of his friend the judge, told him everything. Lévrier in his turn ran to Berthelier. ‘Oh, oh!’ said the latter, who was captain of the city, ‘my lords of Savoy want to be masters here! we will teach them it is not so easy.’

At this moment news was brought the syndics that some lansquenets were at the Vengeron (half a league from the city on the right shore of the lake) and preparing to enter the faubourg of St. Gervais: it was clear that Savoy desired to carry off the judge. The syndics ordered Berthelier to keep watch all night under arms. He assembled the companies, and the men marched through the streets in close order with drums beating, passing and repassing the house of the vidame, Aymon Conseil, where the ambassadors were staying.

The seignior of La Val d’Isère, with his two colleagues the Sieur J. de Crans and Peter Lambert, expected every moment to be attacked by these armed men. They called to mind the mass for the dead of which Bonivard had spoken, and altogether passed a horrible night. Towards the morning the city grew calm, and it was scarcely light when the envoys of Savoy, ordering their horses to be saddled, rode out by a secret door of which the bishop had the key, and hastened to report to their master. 93

Notwithstanding their precipitate retreat one of the objects of their mission was attained. The deputies from Savoy did not quit Geneva alone; the bastard was still more frightened than they; fear drove away the gout, he left his bed, and taking with him the Count of Genevois, the duke’s brother, he hurried over the mountains to Turin, in order to pacify his terrible cousin. The latter was extremely irritated. It was not enough to encroach on his rights, they also forced his envoys to flee from Geneva. The bastard spared no means to justify himself; he crouched at Charles’s feet. He was the most to be pitied, he said; these Genevans frightened him day and night. ‘I will forget everything,’ said the prince to him at last, ‘provided you assist me in bringing these republicans to reason.’ It was what the prior of St. Victor had foreseen. ‘Just as Herod and Pilate agreed in their dark designs,’ he said, ‘so do the duke and the bishop agree for the ruin of Geneva.’—‘Cousin,’ continued the duke, ‘let us understand one another: in your fold there are certain dogs that bark very loudly and defend your sheep very stoutly; you must get rid of them.... I don’t mean only Lévrier the son—there is Lévrier the father and Berthelier also, against whom you must sharpen your teeth.’—‘The elder Lévrier,’ answered the bastard, ‘is a sly and cunning fox, who knows how to keep himself out of the trap; as for Berthelier, he is hot, choleric, and says outright what he thinks: we shall have a far better chance of catching him; and when he is done for, it will be an easy matter with the others.’ In this way the princes of Savoy, meeting in the duke’s cabinet in the palace of Turin, conspired the ruin of Geneva, and plotted the death of its best citizens. Charles the Good was the cruellest and most obstinate of the three. ‘Let us play the game seriously,’ he repeated; ‘we must have them dead or alive.’ The duke, the count, and the bishop arranged their parts, and then the wolves (it was the name Bonivard gave them) waited a good opportunity for falling on the dogs . 94

While they were making these preparations at Turin to crush liberty, others were preparing at Geneva to fight and to die for her. Both parties took up arms: the contest could not fail to be severe, and the issue important to Geneva and to society. Two friends especially did not lose sight of the approaching struggle. Berthelier inclined to the revival of Geneva from democratic motives; Bonivard, from a love of learning, philosophy, and light. Seated opposite each other in the priory of St. Victor, with the mild sparkling wine of the country on the table, they discoursed about the new times. Bonivard possessed an indescribable attraction for Berthelier. The young prior whose mind was full of grace, simplicity, poetry, imagination, and also of humour, was waking up with the sixteenth century, and casting an animated glance upon nature and the world. His style indicates his character: he always found the strongest, the most biting expressions, without either the shades of delicacy or the circuitousness of subtlety. There were however elevated parts in him: he could be enthusiastic for an idea. A thought passing through his mind would call up high aspirations in his soul and bring accents of eloquence to his lips. But, generally, men displeased him. A well-bred gentleman, a keen and graceful wit, a man of the world, he found the townspeople about him vulgar, and did not spare them the sting of his satire. When Berthelier, in the midst of the uproar of a tavern, shook the youths of Geneva warmly by the hand, and enlisted them for the great campaign of independence, Bonivard would draw back with embarrassment and put on his gloves. ‘These petty folks,’ he said with some contempt, ‘only like justice in others; and as for the rich tradesmen, they prefer the feasts and the money of the Savoyard nobles to the charms of independence.’ He was inclined to suspect evil: this was one of the disagreeable features in his character. Even Besançon Hugues was, in his eyes, nothing but pride, hidden under the mask of a citizen. Bonivard, like Erasmus, laughed at everybody and everything, except two: like him he was fond of letters, and still more fond of liberty. At Geneva he was the man of the Renaissance, as Calvin was the man of the Reformation. He overcame his antipathies, sat down at table with the young Genevans, scattered brilliant thoughts in their conversations, and kindled in their understanding a light that was never to be extinguished. Frivolous and grave, amiable and affectionate, studious and trifling, Bonivard attacked the old society, but he did not love the new. He scourged the enormities of the monks, but he was alarmed at the severe doctrines of the Reformation. He desired to bury the past joyously, but he did not know what future to set up in its place.

Berthelier, who fancied he knew, explained his plans to his friends in their familiar colloquies. The liberty of the Italian republics—a selfish liberty, full of discord and faction—had come to an end; a more noble, more vital, more durable liberty was destined to appear. But neither the politic Berthelier nor the æsthetic Bonivard thought of the new element which in new times was to give life to modern liberties: this element was a strong faith, it was the authority of God, held up on high, that was destined to consolidate society after the great earthquake it would have to go through. After Berthelier the republican, after Bonivard the classic, another man was to appear, tertium genus , a third kind, as they said at the time when paganism and Judaism disappeared before the Gospel. A Christian hero, boldly standing erect above the volcano of popular passions, was called in the midst of the convulsions of popery to lay in Geneva the foundations of enlightened society, inflexible morality, unyielding faith, and thus to save the cause of liberty. The work of Calvin, thus coming after that of Berthelier and Bonivard, no doubt presents a very strange juxtaposition; but three centuries have shown its necessity. The Reformation is indispensable to the emancipation of nations.

Berthelier, Bonivard, and their friends turned their eyes in another direction. ‘Have done with banquets and dances,’ said Berthelier to his friend; ‘we must organise young Geneva into a defensive league.’ ‘Yes, let us march onwards,’ replied Bonivard, ‘and God will give a good issue to our bold enterprise!’ ... Berthelier stretched out his hand. ‘Comrade,’ he said, ‘your hand.’ 95Then, as he held Bonivard’s hand in his, he was touched with deep emotion: a cloud passed over his face, and he added: ‘But know that for the liberty of Geneva, you will lose your benefice, and I ... I shall lose my head.’ ‘He told me that a hundred times,’ added the prior of St. Victor, who has handed down this conversation to us. The gloomy foreboding was but too amply fulfilled.