Chapter V

THE PLOT.
(JANUARY AND FEBRUARY 1534.)

[Sidenote: Christendom In Sixteenth Century.]

In the sixteenth century a consciousness of justice, truth, and liberty was awakening throughout Christendom, and men were beginning to protest everywhere, particularly in Geneva, at the lamentable perversions of social and religious life imposed by popery in times gone by. But the expiring Middle Ages rose energetically against this awakening which was to condemn them to be reckoned among the dead. The object of the struggle going on was to secure the triumph of the Reformation—or, as others expressed it, the triumph of progress and civilization. This struggle is the supreme interest of history. The intrigues of courts, and even the battles of armies, which are more pleasing to certain minds, are trifles in comparison with these mighty movements of humanity. Nevertheless, if they had their grandeur and their necessity, they had their danger also. To preserve the ship, launched into the open sea, from striking upon the treacherous shoals of disorder and libertinage, it was necessary that the Lord should command it. At the time when mankind were breaking the secular chains of popery and the fantastic institutions of feudalism, it was necessary they should cleave to the sovereign Master, who alone gives the breath of life to individuals and to nations. If England has so long enjoyed the precious fruits of liberty, and if France has not yet been able to secure them, it is because the former welcomed the Reformation and the latter rejected it. One of the great evils springing out of popery was the blunting of the moral sense; and the revival of the sixteenth century was a moral revival. In catholicism there were sincere men; but everything was good in their eyes, provided they attained an end which they believed to be glorious. And hence, strange to say, pretended preservers of order easily became assassins.

[Sidenote: Meditated Coup-D’-État.]

The Bishop of Geneva watched attentively from his silent priory all that was passing in his diocese, at that time so strangely agitated. He desired to reascend his double throne, and still hoped to reëstablish the authority of the prince and the pope in the city. Many catholics, especially at the courts of the bishop and the duke, could really see nothing in this reformation of doctrine but ‘a popular tumult, which would be of short duration.’ ‘The aspect of affairs will soon change,’ they said.[464] Perhaps if Calvin had not come, this prophecy might have been fulfilled; but others saw things in darker colors. The _tempest of Luther_ would, in their opinion, upset everything; the same wave that now threatened the power of the pontiff would ere long sweep away the power of kings. Men did not know how to act that they might prevent such a misfortune; and the most decided said plainly, that the only means of saving Geneva was to set up one supreme magistrate. Did not the Romans create dictators in the hour of extreme peril? All these councils of Twenty-five, of Sixty, of Two Hundred, and, above all, the General Council of the people were (the Episcopals thought) both useless and pernicious. The administration ought to be placed in the hands of one man, and be given preferably to one of the lords of Friburg. The fervent catholicism of that canton and its resentment at Wernli’s death guaranteed the fidelity with which the mission would be fulfilled. It does not appear that anything was decided about the selection; but the bishop made up his mind to attempt a bold stroke of policy. Having come to an understanding with the Duke of Savoy,[465] he signed at Arbois the instruments which set up in Geneva a _Lieutenant of the prince_ in temporal matters _with full powers of punishing criminals_. The document was immediately forwarded to Portier, the episcopal secretary, the bishop’s confidential man, who was to determine, in accordance with the heads of the party, the favorable moment and the best means of carrying it into execution. On his side the duke did not keep them waiting for assistance. Portier received blank warrants, sealed with the ducal arms, with authority to use them as he pleased, so as to bring the matter to a happy issue. The plot was skilfully devised. The court of Turin, the lords of Friburg, and the mamelukes were all to assist the bishop; but, according to the received formula, ‘God was there and the republic of Berne.’[466]

Indeed, it seemed at first that the instrument was destined to remain mere waste paper. The episcopal plot existed; the deed had been signed by the prince-bishop on the 12th of January, but on the first of February it was still a dead letter. Portier, aware of the spirit with which the citizens were animated, feared to make the episcopal ordinance known, either to magistrates or people. Privately, however, he discussed with some of his confidants the means of putting it into execution; among them were two brothers named Pennet, one of whom was the episcopal jailer. The bishop’s partisans at Geneva, as well as at Arbois and Turin, thought that logical discussions only did harm: that they should have recourse to more vigorous measures; that force only would constrain the Genevese to bend their necks to the yoke; and, finally, that a riot which disturbed the public peace would be, even if it failed, the best means of justifying the nomination of a lieutenant invested with absolute power. Some hot-headed episcopals, and particularly the two Pennets, the _séides_ of the party, resolved to act immediately: ‘They undertook, with several others, to spill much blood,’ says a document written a few days after the affair.[467]

[Sidenote: Two Huguenots Assassinated.]

On Tuesday, 3d February, the most excitable of the episcopal party met at the palace: Pennet, the jailer, his brother Claude, Jacques Desel, and several others. It was after dinner. Inflamed by the desire of saving the authority of the prince and the pope, excited by the ordinance which they had hitherto kept by them, and irritated at seeing Furbity, the Dominican, contradicted by Farel and prosecuted by the Bernese, perhaps also (as some have believed) acting under positive orders emanating from the bishop, these men armed themselves and issued from the palace, ‘proposing to strike and kill the others,’ says the document which we have just quoted. These fanatics—we believe them to have been sincere, but unhappily of opinion that to stab a heretic was one of the most meritorious works to win heaven—these fanatics entered the court of St. Pierre’s. Just as they came in front of the steps, and the large platform on which the white marble portal of the cathedral opens, they met two huguenots, Nicholas Porral, the notary, and Stephen d’Adda.[468] Their blood boiled at the sight of the two heretics: Pennet the jailer drew his sword, sprung at Porral, struck him; and, seeing him fall, impudently continued his way, with his band, by the Rue du Perron to the Molard, the rallying ground of all rioters. D’Adda, and some other huguenots who had come up, surrounded the wounded Porral, lifted him up, and, wishing to stop the commencing riot as soon as possible, carried him to the hotel-de-ville, and laid him, all pale and bleeding, before the syndics and the council.

The magistrates were moved at the sight as of old—if we may compare the great things of antiquity with the little things that inaugurated modern times—as of old the corpse of Cæsar, gashed with wounds and carried through the Forum, excited the indignation and cries of the startled people. D’Adda informed the syndics of Pennet’s violent attack, and called for the punishment of the assassin. But he had scarcely ceased speaking when a great noise was heard from without: the court-yard of the hotel-de-ville was filled with agitated citizens; tumultuous shouts were raised, the gates of the hall were dashed open and ‘incontinent (says the Register) many people rushed in furiously crying out: Justice! justice!’ An estimable man, a worthy tradesman and zealous huguenot, Nicholas Berger by name, who lived in the Rue du Perron, happened to be in his shop just as the band, which had wounded Porral, was passing by. Attracted by the noise, he had probably moved towards the door: Claude Pennet observing him, stopped, and, as if jealous of his brother’s exploit, sprung at the unarmed citizen, and with one blow of his dagger, laid him dead at his feet. ‘All good men,’ added the citizens, ‘are filled with horror, and demand that the criminal be punished according to law.’

This event was not without importance. It was a new act in that obstinate struggle which, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, took place in a permanent manner in a little city on the shore of the Leman lake, and was repeated in other shapes in other countries. Combatants do not cross a frontier without marking their path by their blood. Those who were then fighting the last battles of what may be called the iron age, believed they were serving the cause of justice. Impartial history shrinks from tracing too hideous a picture of these insolent champions of Rome and feudalism. Even at Geneva, where they were perhaps more violent than elsewhere, they were not all devoid of generous sentiments. Undoubtedly many were animated by party-spirit; but there were some also who desired the good of their country. In their eyes, both religion and order were compromised by the alliance between Switzerland and the Reformation, and that sacred cause could only be upheld, they thought, by the energetic intervention of the episcopal party. They were mistaken; but their error did not lie essentially in that. The great evil consisted in the corruption of their moral sense by the principles of a fanatical bigotry, so that all means appeared good to attain their end; all—even the dagger.

While the people were demanding justice for a double murder, there was a great uproar in the city: the drums beat, and everybody ran to arms. The citizens, who wanted independence and reform, exclaimed that the bishop’s followers, unable to vanquish them by words, desired to triumph over them by the _mandosse_ (a sort of Spanish sword). ‘It is the fifth riot the priests have got up to save the mass,’ they said, as they took up their arms, not to attack but to support the established authorities.

The council was astounded at the news of Berger’s death. All its members were opposed to such crimes; but three of the four syndics were catholics: Du Crest, Claude Baud, and Malbuisson, and the councillors were usually divided in the same proportion as the syndics. Besides which, Portier, who headed the band, was the accredited agent of the prince-bishop, whose authority the council desired to maintain. The syndics were discussing what was to be done, when the ambassadors of Berne demanded to speak with the council. The noble lords, who usually maintained such a cold attitude, were much excited: ‘As we were coming up to the hotel-de-ville,’ they said, ‘all the persons we met were running to arms. It is to be feared that there will be a great butchery (_tuerie_); we conjure you to look to it, and offer our services to appease the disturbance.’ The premier syndic prayed them to do so; and, when the Bernese had left, the council continued its deliberations.

Meanwhile, the principle huguenots had met in consultation. Two of their friends had just fallen beneath the blows of their adversaries: one of them was dead; their party had taken up arms; Portier and the Pennets had fled in alarm; the catholic faction was discouraged. In this state of things it would have been easy for them to fall upon their adversaries and gain a decisive victory; but sentiments of order and legality prevailed among them. They had no desire to infringe the law but to appeal to it; there were judges in Geneva. Blood must be avenged, not by violence but by justice. ‘No disorder,’ said the huguenot chiefs, ‘no revenge, no attack, no fighting! ... but let us help the magistrates that they may be able to do their duty.’ Five hundred armed citizens, the most valiant men in Geneva, arrived in good order and drew up in front of the hotel-de-ville, while their chiefs—Maisonneuve, Salomon, Perrin, and Aimé Levet—went into the council-room. ‘Honored lords,’ they said, ‘we have assembled for no other reason than to preserve order. We fear lest the priests have prepared a fourth or fifth _émeute_; and hence we are here in a body to avoid their fury and lend assistance to the syndics. We pray that the murderers and those who counselled the riot may be punished.’[469] There was not a moment’s hesitation: all, catholics and protestants alike, desired the guilty to be punished, and search was made for them.

[Sidenote: The Bishop’s Palace Searched.]

It was thought that they were hiding in the bishop’s palace: it was probable, indeed, that secretary Portier, who lived there, had gone thither and given a refuge to his accomplices, as being the safest place in all Geneva. ‘We will go and take them there,’ said Syndic Du Crest, a catholic but loyal man. The other syndics rose, and all quitted the hotel-de-ville followed by their officers. At the imposing sight of the chief magistrates of the city, demanding an entrance into the palace, the bishop’s servants opened the doors, and a strict search began immediately. Not a chamber or a cellar or a garret escaped the inquisitive eyes of the magistrates and their sergeants; ‘but for all the pains they took,’ says the ‘Council Register,’ ‘none of the culprits were found.’ Many believed they had escaped; Perronnette alone, the episcopal secretary’s wife, seeing the vigor with which the assassins were hunted after, felt her anguish doubled as to the fate of her husband. The syndics, wishing to prevent new intrigues, resolved to leave a few of their officers in the episcopal mansion, with orders to keep guard during the night. The men stationed themselves in the vestibule to wait for the morning; but no one in the city knew they were there.

These brave men were talking of what was going on in Geneva, when a little before eight o’clock at night (it had been dark for some time, as it was the beginning of February), a low, smothered voice was heard in the street, as if some one was speaking through the key-hole. The guards listened. The voice was heard again and pronounced several times in a distinct manner the name of the portress. ‘It was a priest softly calling to the servant,’ says the ‘Council Register.’ The huguenots, understanding instantly the advantage they could derive from this unexpected circumstance, desired a young man who was with them to imitate a woman’s voice and answer. Disguising his tones, he said: ‘What do you want?’ The priest having no doubts about the sex and functions of the speaker, said (still in a low voice) that he wanted certain keys for Mr. Secretary Portier and Claude Pennet. It is probable they wished to use them to hide in some safer place, and perhaps leave the city by a secret gate. The young man, again assuming a female voice, said: ‘What will you do with them?’ ‘I shall take them to St. Pierre’s church, where they are hidden,’ answered the priest. It was just what the guard wanted to know. One of them got up, opened the gate, and the priest, seeing an armed man instead of a woman, fled in affright. The guard, without stopping to pursue him, ran to the hotel-de-ville, where the council was sitting _en permanence_, and told the whole story to the syndics. The murderers whom they were looking for were hidden in the cathedral. The magistrates determined to go there immediately.

[Sidenote: The Search.]

It was no slight task to seek the assassins in the vast cathedral, all filled with chapels, altars, and other places where men could hide. The syndics entered between eight and nine o’clock at night with a certain number of officers carrying flambeaux. The doors were shut immediately, so that no one could get out, and a dead silence prevailed in the nave. Under the flickering light of the torches, this pile, one of the finest monuments of the twelfth century, displayed all its august majesty. But that splendor of byzantine and gothic architecture, those graceful proportions, that admirable unity so well calculated to produce a deep impression of grandeur and harmony, did not strike My Lords of Geneva, who were thinking of other matters. Du Crest and his colleagues were not occupied with architectural decorations and holy images.... They were hunting for murderers.

The search began: the magistrates and their officers went over the chapels of the Holy Cross, the Virgin, St. Martin, St. Maurice, St. Anthony, and nine others in the interior; they examined carefully the eighteen altars, so richly adorned with all that the catholic worship requires. The sergeants took their flambeaux into every corner, they lifted up the carpets, they stooped to search for the culprits. The apse, the transept, the sanctuary, they searched them all; they examined the vestry, the stalls, the aisles, the galleries, the stairs—they found nothing. They next went into the chapel of the Maccabees, adjoining the cathedral, and which the cardinal-bishop, Jean de Brogny, had built a century before, adorning it with magnificent carvings, gorgeous paintings, and mouldings enriched with beads of gold. They passed by those tables where might still be seen a young man keeping swine under an oak, the cardinal desiring in this manner to recall the humble recollections of his early life; but neither Portier, nor Pennet, nor any of their accomplices could be found. The search had lasted nearly three hours, and the magistrates and their officers were beginning to lose all hope, when the idea occurred to one of them that possibly the murderers they were looking after might be hidden in one of the three towers. The syndics and their suite resolved to examine them, beginning with the south tower, one hundred and fifty feet high. As they climbed the numerous steps, they thought that, if the evidence of the priest was true, the criminals must be there, and they might perhaps find not only Portier and the Pennets, but a band of their friends well armed. The stairs being very narrow, it would have been easy for the episcopals to close the passage and even to kill some of those who were looking after them. The men who executed the syndic’s orders ascended slowly and steadily, and approached the great steeple with its four gothic windows surmounted by semi-circular arches. The steps of this numerous party re-echoed through the winding staircase. The officer of the Council, who marched at the head of the band, having reached the top of the tower, carefully put forward his torch and saw arms glittering and eyes sparkling in one corner. He drew near, followed by his friends, and discovered the crafty Portier and the violent Pennet, crouching down, ‘armed,’ says the Register, ‘with swords, iron pikes, axes, and daggers, and covered with coats of mail.’ The two malefactors, although armed to the teeth, did not think of defending themselves: they were more dead than alive. The officers of the State seized them and shut them up in the prison of the hotel-de-ville.[470]

[Sidenote: The Plot Discovered.]

While these things were going on at St. Pierre’s, the guard which the syndics had left at the palace, encouraged by the success of their stratagem, had resolved to take advantage of the opportunity to get at the secrets of the house; and, assuming a simple, good-natured air, they entered into conversation with the servants, questioning them so skilfully that they soon knew all they wanted. ‘The bishop’s secretary, alone and without support, is too weak,’ they said, ‘to withstand the will of the council and people.’ ‘But he is not so _alone_ as you think,’ answered one; ‘he has with him my lord the bishop, his highness the Duke of Savoy;’ and then he continued proudly, ‘he has even received letters from them!’ The independent citizens, affecting incredulity, exclaimed! ‘What! Portier receive secret messages from such great personages!’ ... One of the episcopals, piqued by the disdainful sneer, declared aloud, ‘that the letters were in existence, _in buffeto_ (says the Council Register, in its classic Latin), in the secretary’s buffet.’ At these words the sly huguenots started up suddenly, and, hurrying in great glee to Portier’s room, broke open the cupboard, took out the papers lying there, and carried them to the syndics. This discovery was still more important than the other.

The magistrates hastened to open the packet, and found a bundle of papers, all having reference to the plot which the bishop had contrived for the subjugation of Geneva. They examined the contents and were alarmed. ‘Here is an act signed by the bishop on the 12th of January last,—only twenty days ago,—appointing a governor for the temporalities, with power to punish rebels. The prince, of his mere caprice, establishes an unconstitutional agent, who is to have no other law than his own will. Here are blank warrants sealed with the arms of the Dukes of Savoy. It is a downright conspiracy, a crime of high-treason.’ The date of the act made it sufficiently clear that Pierre de la Baume was the instigator of the troubles which had been on the point of throwing the city into confusion. It was determined that Portier, the recognized agent of this revolutionary intrigue, should be tried before the syndics; and a public prosecutor, Jean Lambert, a sound huguenot, was elected to conduct the proceedings.[471]

However, before commencing this trial, that of Pennet, less complicated than the other, was to be concluded. The case was clear, provided for by the law, and not pardonable. Claude Pennet stood forward boldly, like a man enduring persecution for the Christian religion. He was convicted of having murdered Nicholas Berger in his shop at the Perron, and Syndic du Crest, a catholic but a wise man, pronounced the sentence of death. This made no change in Pennet’s manner. He did not repent the deed he had done: fanaticism stifled the voice of conscience in him. It was the same with all his friends, zealots of the Roman party. In them passion took the place of reason, and they boasted of the murder as an honorable, holy, and heroic act. Pennet asked to see Furbity, the Dominican, who was detained in prison for having insulted the adversaries of Rome. The monk of the order of the Inquisition was conducted to the murderer’s cell, ‘and when they saw each other they could not forbear from weeping,’ says the nun of St. Claire.[472] Pennet wished to die piously: ‘therefore this good catholic made his confession.’ ... ‘I am condemned to the scaffold for the love of Jesus Christ,’ he said to the Dominican, ‘and I entreat your holy prayers.’ The reverend father, moved to tears by the piety and wretched fate of this precious son of the Church, kissed him, and said: ‘Sire Claude, go cheerfully and rejoice in your martyrdom, nothing doubting; for the kingdom of heaven is open and the angels are waiting for you.’[473]

[Sidenote: Pennet’s Execution And Miracles.]

The murder of which Pennet was guilty was, in the Dominican’s eyes, the work of a saint. Most of the episcopals thought the same; and it was feared that their party, which had the populace with them, would oppose the execution of the sentence. De la Maisonneuve, determining to support the law by force, collected a certain number of armed men in his house.[474] But their intervention was not necessary. Nothing disturbed the course of justice, and the executioner cut off the murderer’s head, and hung his body on a gibbet. Before long, the populace was in commotion. ‘Have you heard the news?’ people said. ‘Miracles are worked at the place where Pennet’s body hangs. His face is as ruddy and his lips as fresh as if he was alive, and a white dove is continually hovering over his head.’ The devout made pilgrimages to the place of execution.

The other Pennet, the jailer who had wounded Porral, and who, says Sister Jeanne, ‘was not less ardent than his brother in upholding the holy catholic religion,’ was all this time lying hid in the house of a poor beggar-woman, where the nuns of St. Claire, who alone were in the secret, stealthily carried him food. The execution of his brother alarmed him; so one night, when it froze hard, he left his hiding-place barefoot, and arrived stealthily at the convent of St. Claire, where the nuns provided him with a disguise, in which he escaped to Savoy.

The third delinquent,—the State criminal, Portier,—remained. The matter appeared so serious to the procurator-general that he desired it should be communicated to the people. The Council General having met on the 8th February, Lambert ordered the letters found at the palace, as well as the duke’s blank warrants, to be read to the assembly. ‘What! a governor of Geneva invested with the temporalities of the sovereign power, with authority to punish citizens who maintain their political and religious rights; the constitution of the State trampled under foot by the prince-bishop; and the Duke of Savoy, that eternal enemy of Genevan independence, forcibly aiding this usurpation and violence!’ All this constituted a guilty plot, even in the eyes of right-minded catholics. The voice of the people and the voice of justice were in harmony. The procurator-general demanded that Portier should be brought before his judges. The trial was much slower than that of the two Pennets had been, for the Roman-catholics made every effort to save him, and even offered large sums of money. But the procurator-general and the huguenots represented continually that ‘there was a conspiracy against the liberties of the city;’ it was not possible to save the episcopal secretary.

Yet Portier and his agents had merely begun to carry out the orders they had received; the bishop was the real criminal. His quality of prince covered his person, so that, even had he been in Geneva, not a hair of his head would have fallen. But Pierre de la Baume was to receive the punishment, which, by the will of God, falls upon unjust princes. He had desired to employ his power for the purpose of oppression, and God shattered that power. When the sealed letters of the bishop which gave Geneva a dictator were read in the assembly of the people, the citizens were shocked; a sullen silence betrayed their indignation; they seemed to hear the funeral knell of an ancient dynasty that had departed. The Genevese determined to break with the episcopal traditions, and to raise to the government none but men known by their attachment to the union of Geneva with Switzerland and to the cause of the Reformation. While, among the syndics retiring from office, there was only one who belonged to this category, four friends of independence were called by the people to the first position in the State. They were Michael Sept, one of the huguenots who, in 1526, had fled to Berne, and had brought back the Swiss alliance; Ami de Chapeaurouge, Aimé Curtet, and J. Duvillard. The executive council thus became a huguenot majority. It was the episcopal conspiracy that struck the decisive blow, that threw wide open the hitherto half-open door, and permitted the victorious Reformation to enter the city.[475]

Footnote 464:

Crespin, _Actes des Martyrs_, p. 114.

Footnote 465:

MSC. de Roset, liv. iii. ch. xxi.—MSC. de Gautier.

Footnote 466:

Registre du Conseil des 8 et 10 Février, 1534.

Footnote 467:

_Lettres certaines_, 1534.

Footnote 468:

Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 245.—_Chron. msc._ de Roset.—_Hist.
msc._ de Gauthier.—Registre du Conseil.

Footnote 469:

Registre du Conseil du 3 Février, 1534.—MSC. de Roset, _Chron._ liv.
iii., ch. xix.—MSC. de Gautier.

Footnote 470:

Registre du Conseil du 3 Février, 1534. Spon. i. p. 516. Ruchat, iii.
p. 276. Balvignac, _Mèm. d’Archeologie_, iv. pp. 101-102.

Footnote 471:

Registre du Conseil des 3 et 8 Février, 1534. Ruchat, iii. p. 277.
Mém. de Gautier.

Footnote 472:

‘Quand se virent l’un l’autre, ne se purent tenir de pleurer.’—La Sœur
Jeanne, _Levain du Calvinisme_.

Footnote 473:

Ibid. pp. 82-83.

Footnote 474:

MS. du Procès inquisitionnel de Lyon, p. 32.

Footnote 475:

Registre du Conseil des 8 et 10 Février, 1534.