The language of the Friburgers, repeated from house to house, inflamed all hearts. The union between Geneva and Switzerland was, so to speak, accomplished before any public act had rendered it official and authentic. Berthelier had foreseen that Geneva would find in the Helvetic league a mightier protection than in that of the young men enrolled beneath the flag of dissipation. 120From that moment a political party was slowly formed, a party calm but firm, which put itself at the head of the movement and replaced the licentious band of the ‘children of Geneva.’
The Friburg deputies had hardly left the city, when the duke’s party accosting the independent Genevans, and gallicising each in his own way the German word Eidesgenossen (confederates) which they could not pronounce, called after them Eidguenots , Eignots , Eyguenots , Huguenots ! This word is met with in the chronicles of the time written in different ways; 121Michel Roset, the most respectable of these authorities of the sixteenth century, writes Huguenots ; we adopt that form, because it is the only one that has passed into our language. It is possible that the name of the citizen, Besançon Hugues, who became the principal leader of this party, may have contributed to the preference of this form over all the others. In any case it must be remembered that until after the Reformation this sobriquet had a purely political meaning, in no respect religious, and designated simply the friends of independence. Many years after, the enemies of the protestants of France called them by this name, wishing to stigmatise them, and impute to them a foreign, republican, and heretical origin. Such is the true etymology of the word; it would be very strange if these two denominations, which are really but one, had played so great a part in the sixteenth century, at Geneva and in French protestantism, without having had any connection with one another. A little later, about Christmas, 1518, when the cause of the alliance was more advanced, its use became more general. The adherents of the duke had no sooner started the nickname than their opponents, repaying them in their own coin, called out: ‘Hold your tongues, you Mamelukes!... As the Mamelukes have denied Christ to follow Mahomet, so you deny liberty and the public cause to put yourselves under a tyranny.’ 122At the head of these Mamelukes were some forty rich tradesmen, men good enough at heart despite their nickname, but they were men of business who feared that disturbances would diminish their gains. The term Mamelukes put them into a great passion: ‘Yes,’ continued the Huguenots, ‘Sultan Selim conquered the Mamelukes last year in Egypt; but it seems that these slaves, when expelled from Cairo, took refuge at Geneva. However, if you do not like the name ... stay, since you deliver up Geneva through avarice, we will call you Judases!’ 123
While the city was thus disturbed, the bishop, proud of having tortured the wretched Pécolat, removed from St. Joire to Thonon. He had never experienced to a like degree the pleasure of making his power felt, and was delighted at it; for though servile before the duke, he had in him some of the characteristics of the tyrant. He had made somebody tremble! ... and he therefore regarded the trap laid for Pécolat as a glorious deed, and desired to enjoy his triumph in the capital of Chablais. At the same time he repeated to every one who would listen to him that he would not return to Geneva: ‘They would murder me,’ he said. The Genevans, conscientiously submissive to the established order, resolved to display their loyalty in a marked manner. There lived at that time in Geneva an old man, Pierre d’Orsières, respected by all parties, whose family possessed the lordship of that name in Valais, on the way to the St. Bernard pass. Forty years before (in 1477) he had been one of the hostages given to the Swiss; since then he had been six times elected chief magistrate of the State. His son Hugonin had been made a canon out of respect to his father; but he was a fanatical priest and in after days the most hostile of all the clergy to the Reformation. The council resolved to send a solemn deputation to the bishop, and placed the syndic D’Orsières at its head.
It was perhaps carrying rather far their desire to appear loyal subjects, and these good people of Geneva were to learn what it costs to flatter a tyrant. The bastard determined to gain fresh triumphs. Tormented by disease he needed diversion; the sufferings of his enemies made him feel a certain pleasure—it was sympathy after his fashion. He bore a mortal hatred against all the Genevans, even against the most catholic: an opportunity of gratifying it offered itself. The deputation having appeared before him and made every demonstration of respect, he fixed his bloodshot eyes upon the noble old man, whose hoary head bent humbly before him, and ordered him to be seized, to be taken out of his sight and thrown into a dungeon. If he had been proud of his exploits against Pécolat the hosier, he was more so now at having by one bold stroke put out of the way a man whose family shone in the first rank, and whom his fellow-citizens had invested with the sacred character of ambassador. When the news of this outrage reached Geneva, all the city (Huguenot and Mameluke) cried out. The man most respected in the whole State had been seized as a criminal at the very moment when he was giving the bishop proofs of the most loyal fidelity. They doubted not that this crime would be the signal of an attack upon the city; the citizens immediately ran to arms, stretched the chains across the streets, and shut the gates. 124
The duke was displeased at these mistakes of the bishop, and they came upon him at a difficult moment. Charles III., a weak and fickle prince, inclined at that time to the emperor’s side, and displeased his nephew Francis I., who seemed disposed to give him a roughish lesson. Moreover, the proceedings of the Friburgers disquieted him, for Geneva was lost to Savoy if the Swiss took up its cause. Liberty, hitherto driven back to the German Alps, would plant her standard in that city of the Leman, and raise a platform whence she would act upon all the populations speaking the French tongue. The most skilful politicians of Savoy—Seyssel who had just been appointed archbishop of Turin, and Eustace Chappuis who understood thoroughly the mutual relations of states, and whom Charles V. employed afterwards in his negotiations with Henry VIII.—represented to the duke that he must take care at any cost not to alienate the Swiss. The terrified Charles III. assented to everything, and Chappuis was authorised to patch up the blunders committed by the bishop.
This learned diplomatist saw clearly that the great business was, if possible, to raise an insurmountable barrier between the Swiss and the Genevans. He reflected on the means of effecting it: and resolving to show himself kind and good-natured, he set out for Geneva. By the duke’s intervention he had been made official of the episcopal court; as such he was sworn in before the syndics; he then exerted all his skill to alienate the Genevans from the Swiss and attach them to the house of Savoy; but his fine words did not convert many. ‘The duke,’ said the prior of St. Victor, ‘seeing that his cats have caught no rats, sends us the sleekest of mousers.’ Chappuis immediately set off for Friburg, where he began to practise on the pensioners. ‘Ha!’ said they, ‘Berthelier is an instance of what the princes of Savoy can do.’ The diplomatist stuck at nothing: he called upon the fugitive and entreated him to return to Geneva, promising him a pardon.—‘A pardon!’ exclaimed the haughty citizen, ‘pardon does not concern good men but criminals. I demand absolution if I am innocent, and punishment if I am guilty.’ 125
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