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

His friends wished to save him at all hazards. Bonivard, who was less courageous than Lévrier, and under similar circumstances had taken to flight, continually reverted to the subject: ‘There is no escape,’ he said, ‘except you leave the country.’ But Lévrier was not to be moved. Faithful preserver of the ancient customs, he was determined to oppose the usurpations of Savoy to the very last. According to the Genevese, St. Peter—they did not mean the pope—was the prince of their city. Had they not the key of this apostle in their escutcheon? Lévrier replied to the entreaties of his friends, and especially of Bonivard: ‘I would rather die for the liberty of the city and for the authority of St. Peter, than confess myself guilty by deserting my post.’ The prior of St. Victor was greatly distressed at the answer. He insisted, he conjured his friend, but all to no purpose. ‘Is it imprudence on his part?’ said he then. ‘Is it envy that urges him to be the rival of Berthelier? Is it that he desires to be a champion of the commonwealth at the price of his blood? I know not what motive impels him; but be it what it may, he will no longer confide in our advice.’ Lévrier, indeed, went about just as before, even after the term (three days) prescribed by the duke; he waited tranquilly for the blow to fall upon him. 340

Charles the Good—such is the name he bears in the history of Savoy—was plotting the death of this just man. His steward and favourite, the Sieur de Bellegarde, was an enemy of Lévrier’s, and all the more violent because he had long been his friend. The prince and his steward deliberated over the means best calculated to make away with him. At Geneva it seemed impossible; and as a second edition of Berthelier’s death was out of the question, it became necessary to draw Lévrier into some lonely spot, where he might easily be put to death. Bellegarde undertook to carry him off, and the duke ordered him to be brought to the castle of Bonne, where Lévrier had dared to say him No! Bellegarde came to an understanding with some Savoyard gentlemen, and being informed that on Saturday, the 12th of March, the judge would attend mass as usual in the cathedral of St. Pierre, the steward arranged with these infamous courtiers that they should lie in ambush near the church, and seize him as he came out.

Everything was prepared for the ambuscade. The person who should have prevented it, and the person who commanded it, both left the city. The cowardly Marquis of St. Sorlin, who, as representative of the bishop, ought to have defended Lévrier, having ‘smelt the wind,’ went out to Rumilly, where he amused himself with some ladies while men were preparing to kill the defender of his brother’s rights. Charles did pretty nearly the same. The appointed day having arrived (it was the eve of the Sunday before Easter 1524), this prince, poor in courage, trembling at the idea of the daring deed about to be attempted, fearing lest the people should rise and come to his residence and demand the just man about to be torn from them, stealthily quitted his apartments in the lower part of the city near the Rhone, ‘went out by a back door,’ crossed the lonely meadows which the Arve bathes with its swift waters, and ‘retired with his family to Our Lady of Grace, pretending that he was going there to hear mass.’ This church being near the bridge of Arve, the duke, in case a riot should break out, would only have to cross the bridge to be in his own territory. Having thus provided for his own safety, he waited in great agitation for the news of his victim.

Mass was over in the cathedral, the priest had elevated the host, the chants had ceased, and Lévrier quitted the church. He wore a long camlet robe, probably his judicial gown, and a beautiful velvet cassock. He had hardly set foot outside the cemetery (the site is now occupied by the hall of the Consistory) when Bellegarde and his friends, surrounding him with drawn swords, ‘laid their hands roughly upon him; and Bressieu, the most violent of them, struck him so severely on the head with the pommel of his sword,’ that he was stunned. There was not a moment to lose, lest the people should rise. Some of the gentlemen armed cap-à-pie went in front, others came behind, and they dragged the prisoner rapidly to Plainpalais, where all had been got ready to complete the abduction. Lévrier was put upon a wretched horse, his hands were tied behind his back, his legs were fastened below the belly of his steed; and the escort set off full gallop for the castle of Bonne, where he had formerly dared to deny that the duke was sovereign of Geneva.

On they went, the horsemen loading Lévrier with abuse: ‘Huguenot, rebel, traitor!’ But in the midst of these insults the judge, pinioned like a murderer, remained calm and firm, and endured their indignities without uttering a word. He was grieved at the injustice of his enemies, but as he thought of the cause for which he suffered, joy prevailed over sorrow. He had been accustomed all his life to struggle with affliction, and now that ‘the cross was laid on his shoulders,’ it was easier for him to bear it. ‘To give his life for right and liberty,’ said a contemporary, ‘afforded him such great matter for joy as to counterbalance all sadness.’ The ferocious, cruel, and passionate Bellegarde, who hated this just man more than he had loved him when both were young, kept his eyes fixed on him: an obstacle appeared, his horse reared, and Bellegarde fell; it was thought that he had broken his leg. There was great confusion; they all stopped. Some men-at-arms alighted, picked up the steward, and placing him on his horse, the escort continued their way, but at a foot-pace. They still went on, and as they advanced, the magnificent amphitheatre formed to the south by the Alps spread out more grandly before them. To the left eastward the graceful slopes of the Voirons extended as far as Bonne; a little further on was seen the opening of the valley of Boëge, and further still the Aiguille Verte and other glaciers, and then much nearer the Mole proudly raised its pyramidal form; immediately after, but in the distance, Mont Blanc rose majestically above the clouds, and the mountains of the Bornes, running towards the west, completed the picture. Lévrier’s escort, after descending into a valley, came in sight of the castle of Bonne, seated on a lofty crest and commanding the landscape; they climbed the steep road leading to it, and drew near the castle, leaving below them a narrow ravine, at the bottom of which rolls the torrent of Menoge. At last the old gates were thrown back, they entered the court, and Lévrier was handed over to the governor, who shut him up in a dark cell. As soon as Charles learnt that all had passed off well, he quitted his retreat and returned joyful to his lodging. He was confident that no human power could now deprive him of his victim. 341

During this time the city was in great agitation. Men described with consternation the kidnapping of the heroic defender of Genevese independence, and all good citizens gave vent to their indignation. The deed was an insult to the laws of the state—it was an act of brigandage; and hence two sentiments equally strong—love for Lévrier and respect for right—moved them to their inmost souls. The council assembled immediately. ‘About an hour ago,’ said Syndic La Fontaine, a zealous mameluke, ‘Aimé Lévrier was seized by the duke’s orders, and carried to Plainpalais.’ ‘Yes,’ exclaimed several patriots, ‘the duke is keeping him in the Dominican convent; but we know how to get him out of that den.’ ‘Resolved,’ say the Minutes, ‘to consider what steps are best to be taken under the circumstances.’ When they heard that Lévrier had been carried from Plainpalais to Savoy, the syndics went in a body to the bishop’s vicar, and required him to convene the episcopal council, and to lay before it this unprecedented act of violence. Nobody doubted that the duke would yield to the remonstrances made to him. Gruet promptly summoned the members of the bishop’s council; but these venal men, devoted to the duke, refused to appear. The next day, the syndics made another attempt. ‘Since your colleagues forsake you,’ said they to the vicar-episcopal, ‘go to his Highness yourself, and make him understand that he is trampling under foot both the sovereignty of the bishop and the liberties of the citizens.’ Gruet was timid, and to appear alone before this powerful noble terrified him; he applied to two of his colleagues, De Veigy and Grossi, begging them to accompany him; but they refused. ‘I will not go alone,’ exclaimed the frightened man, ‘no ... not at any price! The duke would kidnap me like Lévrier.’ Charles’s violent proceeding struck terror into all those who enjoyed the privilege of free access to him. Nevertheless Geneva was in danger. If the most respected of its citizens were put to death and no one took up their defence, there would be nothing sacred from the Savoyard tyrant. Lévrier’s death might be the death of the republic. What was to be done? They remembered one person, the bishop of Maurienne, who was both a friend of the city and a friend of the duke. The cold La Fontaine and the impetuous Richardet hastened to him: ‘Save Lévrier, or we are all lost!’ they said. The prelate, who was fond of mediating, and knew very well that he had nothing to fear, immediately waited upon his Highness. 342