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

The men of the old times were not discouraged: if they had been beaten at Geneva, might they not conquer at Friburg and Berne? Indefatigable in their exertions, they resolved to set every engine to work in order to succeed. Stephen de la Mare, three other deputies of the duke, Michael Nergaz, and forty-two mamelukes went into Switzerland to break off the alliance. But Friburg and Berne replied: ‘For nothing in the world will we depart from what we have sworn.’ The hand of God was manifest, and accordingly when Hugues heard of this answer, he exclaimed: ‘God himself is conducting our affairs.’

Then was Geneva intoxicated with joy. On the morrow after the taking of the oath in the general council, the delight of the people broke out all over the city. Bonfires were lighted in the public places; there was much dancing, masquerading, and shouting; patriotic and satirical songs reechoed through the streets; there was an outburst of happiness and liberty. ‘When a people have been kept so long in the leash,’ said Bonivard, ‘as soon as they are let loose, they are apt to indulge in dangerous gambols.’ 412

While the people were rejoicing after their fashion, the wise men of the council resolved to show their gratitude to God in another manner. The councils issued a general pardon. Then an indulgence and concord were proclaimed, and all bound themselves to live in harmony. They went further: they desired to repair the injustice of the old régime. ‘Bonivard,’ said some, ‘has been unjustly deprived of his priory of St. Victor because of his patriotism.’—‘What would you have us do?’ they answered; ‘the pope has given the benefice to another.’—‘I should not make it a serious matter of conscience to disobey the pope,’ said Bonivard slily.—‘And as for us,’ said the syndics, ‘we do not care much about him.’ In later years the magistrates of Geneva gave the most palpable proofs of this declaration; for the moment, they confined themselves to resettling the ex-prior in the house of which the pope had robbed him. Another more important reparation had still to be effected.

In this solemn hour, when the cause of liberty was triumphing, amid the joyful shouts of a whole people, two names were pronounced with sighs and even with tears: ‘Berthelier! Lévrier!’ said the noblest of the citizens. ‘We have reached the goal, but it was they who traced out the road with their blood.’ An enfranchised people ought not to be ungrateful to their liberators. By a singular coincidence the anniversary of Berthelier’s death revived more keenly the memory of that disastrous event. On the 23rd of August a hundred citizens appeared before the council: ‘Seven years ago this very day,’ they said, ‘Philibert Berthelier was beheaded in the cause of the republic; we pray that his memory be honoured, and that, for such end, a solemn procession shall march to the ringing of bells from the church of St. Pierre to that of Our Lady of Grace, where the hero’s head was buried.’ That was not without danger: Our Lady’s was on the Savoy frontier, and his Highness’s soldiers might easily have disturbed the ceremony. The council preferred ordering a solemn service in memory of Berthelier, Lévrier, and others who died for the republic. The Genevans, acknowledging the great blessings with which the hand of God had enriched them, wished to repair all wrongs, honour all self-sacrifice, and walk with a firm step in the paths of justice and of liberty. It was by such sacrifices that they meant to celebrate their deliverance. 413

Geneva did not stand alone in feeling these aspirations towards modern times. It was doubtless in the sixteenth century a great example of liberty; but the movement tending towards new things was felt among all those nations whom the Bible compares to a troubled sea: the tide was rising over the whole surface. During the first half of the sixteenth century Europe was awaking; the love of ancient learning enlightened the mind, and the brilliant rays of christian truth, so long intercepted, were beginning to pierce the clouds. A world till then unknown was opening before man’s astonished eyes, and everything seemed to announce a civilisation, independence, and life as yet unknown to the human race. The mind of Europe awoke, and moving forward took its station in the light, insatiable of life, of knowledge, and of liberty.

The great question was to know whether the new world, which seemed to be issuing from the abyss, would repose on a solid foundation. More than once already awakened society had appeared to break its bonds, to throw off its shroud, and uplift the stone from the sepulchre. It had happened thus in the ninth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries, when the most eminent minds began to ask the reason of things; 414but each time humanity had wanted the necessary strength, the new birth was not completed, the tomb closed over it again, and it fell once more into a heavy slumber.

Would it be the same now? Would this awakening of the sixteenth century be also like a watch in the night?

Certain men, elect of God, were to give this new movement the strength it needed. Let us turn towards that country whence Geneva would receive those heroes baptised with the Holy Spirit and with fire.

The scene of our history is about to change. ‘A man of mark’ whom we have already quoted, said, when speaking of Geneva: ‘On this platform appear actors who do not speak so loud as great kings and emperors on the spacious theatre of their states; but what matters how the speaker is dressed, if he says what he ought?’ 415We are leaving for a time this modest platform. We shall no longer have to speak of a little nation whose greatest heroes are obscure citizens. We are entering a mighty empire where we shall be in the company of kings and queens, of great personages and famous courtiers. Yet the dissimilarity between the two theatres is not so wide as one might expect. In that vast country of France, where historians usually describe nothing but the great stream formed by the numerous combinations of policy, a few springs are seen welling forth, at first unnoticed, but they swell by degrees, and their waters will one day have more influence on the destiny of the world than the floods of that mighty river. One of these springs appeared at Etaples, close upon the shores of the Channel; another at Gap in Dauphiny; and others in other places. But the most important, that which was to unite them all and spread a new life even to the most distant countries, welled up at Noyon, an ancient and once illustrious town of Picardy. It was France who gave Lefèvre and Farel—France, too, gave Calvin. That French people, who (as some say) cared for nothing but war and diplomacy; that home of a philosophy often sceptical and sometimes incredulous and mocking; that nation which proclaimed and still proclaims itself the eldest daughter of Rome, gave to the world the Reformation of Calvin and of Geneva—the great Reformation, that which is the strength of the most influential nations, and which reaches even to the ends of the world. France has no nobler title of renown: we do not forget it. Perhaps she will not always disdain it, and after having enriched others she will enrich herself. It will be a great epoch for her future development, when her dearest children drink at those living fountains that burst from her bosom in the sixteenth century, or rather at that eternal fountain of the Word of God, whose waters are for the healing of nations.

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The Reformation was concerned both with God and man: its aim was to restore the paths by which God and man unite, by which the Creator enters again into the creature. This path, opened by Jesus Christ with power, had been blocked up in ages of superstition. The Reformation cleared the road, and reopened the door.