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

This manœuvre having succeeded, and the party of the independents being thus weakened, the bishop, the duke, and their friends thought that its head should be removed: that head was Berthelier. It was not easy, however, to get rid of him: he was a member of council, much looked up to in Geneva, and possessed a skill and energy that baffled all their attempts. ‘To catch this big partridge,’ said the bishop, ‘we must first trap a little decoy-bird.’ The advice appeared excellent. The prince determined accordingly to catch some friend of Berthelier’s, less formidable than himself, who by his depositions (for the question would not be spared) would compromise the best citizens in Geneva. The decoy would by his song draw the large birds into the nets spread to catch them. 105

Table of Contents

Among the best patriots of Geneva was John Pécolat, whom we have already met at the mule supper. He had not Berthelier’s strength of character, but he had spirit. A prey by turns to enthusiasm and fear, at times indulging in the most courageous acts or the most culpable weakness, subject to the blackest melancholy or to fits of the maddest humour, Pécolat was at once a hero and a jester. His social position offered the same contrasts. One of his ancestors had been syndic in 1409, another councillor in 1474; in 1508 his father had exercised the highest functions in the State, and he was himself one of the Council of Fifty; he was well instructed, understood Latin, and yet was a hosier by trade. It is true that at this time we often find traders invested with the highest offices; it is one of the peculiarities of democratic manners; and we meet with examples of it in modern society. An accident which deprived him of the use of his right arm, compelled him to give up his business, reduced him to poverty, and plunged him at first into great dejection. However, that did not last long, and there was no man in Geneva that had such fits of gaiety. At a banquet, nobody was louder than Pécolat; he laughed and joked; pun followed pun, in rapid succession. ‘What happy things come into his head!’ said everybody, and ‘it was these happy things,’ adds the chronicler, ‘that gave him access to good tables.’ 106When he entered the room a frank and hearty greeting, an enthusiasm mingled with laughter welcomed his arrival. But Pécolat had hardly left his friends when dark thoughts mounted to his brain. Sitting in his narrow chamber, he thought of his maimed arm, his indigence, his dependent life; he thought frequently too of the liberties of Geneva, which he saw sacrificed; and this strange man who made all the city laugh, would burst into tears. It was not long before Pécolat compromised himself in such a manner as to furnish arms against the patriots of Geneva.

The Bishop of Maurienne, precentor of the cathedral and canon of Geneva, who had a suit against the bishop, was then staying in the city and ‘feasting’ the citizens. Having one day invited several of his friends, and among others his colleague the Abbot of Bonmont, who always had a grudge against the bishop for depriving him of the diocese, he invited Pécolat also. During the dinner the two prelates worked themselves into a passion against the bastard of Savoy: each tried who could attack him the most bitterly, and indeed he gave them a fair handle. Pécolat began to do as the others, and to let fly his usual epigrams against the bastard. Maurienne had no end of complaints. ‘Pray, my lord,’ said Pécolat, ‘do not vex yourself about the bishop’s injustice: non videbit dies Petri : he will not live as long as St. Peter!’ This was a saying they were in the habit of applying to the popes at the time of their coronation; and Pécolat meant to say that the bishop, who, as everybody knew, was suffering under an incurable disease, could not live long. Two Savoyards, creatures of the duke and the bishop, who were of the party, went immediately and repeated these words to the bastard. ‘At sumptuous tables,’ said the prior of St. Victor, who was probably one of the guests, ‘there are always gluttons picking up words that will get them another dinner.’ The episcopal court concluded from the Latin proverb that the independents were conspiring against the bishop, and that Pécolat announced the prelate’s death as near at hand. This speech was not sufficient, however, to send him to trial: they waited for some act that would serve as a pretence for the charge of assassination. 107

The opportunity soon occurred. Not long after, the duke having crossed the mountains to present his homage to Queen Claude of Brittany, whom Francis I. had just married, and who was then at Lyons, invited the bishop to come and see him in this city. The bastard set off immediately: his steward ordered some fish pasties as provision for the journey, and the purveyor, whether from hurry or from desire to make a large profit, used fish that had been kept too long. The bishop did not touch them, but some of his people having eaten of them, fell sick; it was asserted that one of them died. The bastard, whose conscience was none of the easiest, saw an assassin everywhere; and though in this matter of the pasties there was nothing but what was very natural, he thought or seemed to think that it was an attempt at poisoning. The idea occurred to certain Savoyards that they might make use of this story to accuse Pécolat, and show the cardinals that the prince-bishop’s subjects were conspiring against him.

Pécolat had so little to do with my lord’s kitchen that at first the vidame refused to prosecute; but the affair of Messire Gros’ mule having occurred, and greatly annoyed the judges, they hesitated no longer. Pécolat was one of the band who had cried ‘The skin of the gross beast!’ On the 27th of July, 1517, a warrant was issued against him.

It was necessary to arrest Pécolat; but that was no easy thing, for the members of the society Who touches one touches all , would no doubt rise and defend him. It was resolved to arrange the matter carefully. First they would get the most determined of the young men out of Geneva; then they would entice Pécolat into some lonely place; and finally, as they knew not what might happen, the bishop should go and stay in some castle beyond the reach of the Genevese. This triple stratagem was immediately put into execution. The Count of Genevois, who played the part of a jovial host, organised a grand hunt of wild animals, the rendezvous being at Vouache, two leagues to the west of Geneva; he invited the Abbot of Bonmont, Bonivard, and many young men of the city, whose names were in the black book , that is, whom they wished to get rid of. While this joyous company was hunting with hound and horn at the foot of Mont Saleve, the bishop wishing to enjoy a fresher air (it was said) had repaired, escorted by a few gentlemen, to his castle of Thiez between the mountains of Mole, Voirons, and Reposoir, on the road to Mont Blanc, a little above the point where the Giffre torrent joins the Arve. At the same time one Maule, a secret agent of the vidame, invited Pécolat to take a walk with him to Pressinge, a village situated between the lake and the Voirons, where one of them possessed some property. Ten horsemen setting out from the castle of Thiez lay in ambush. They surrounded the two pedestrians, bound and carried them to the castle, where the bishop having released the tempter, threw Pécolat into prison. When the news of this treachery reached Geneva, the irritation was directed against Maule still more than against the bishop. The traitor, who seems to have been a man of debauched life, was loaded with the people’s maledictions. ‘May the cancer eat Maule up!’ they cried; and this saying became a proverb applicable to traitors ever afterwards. 108