Chapter X

THE TWO WORSHIPS IN GENEVA.
(MAY TO JULY 1534.)

[Sidenote: Morality In The Reformation.]

While they were prosecuting Maisonneuve on the banks of the Rhone and the Saône, the struggle between catholicism and reform became more active on the shores of Lake Leman: an evangelical was threatened with death at Lyons, but Roman-catholicism was on the point of expiring at Geneva. It was crumbling away beneath its own weight: the religious orders, and especially the Franciscans, which had been founded to support it, were now shaking its foundations. Notorious abuses and scandalous disorders were making the protest against monkery and popery more necessary every day. At the very moment when the trial was beginning at Lyons (3d of May), an honorable lady of Geneva, Madam Jaquemette Matonnier, passing near the Franciscan convent, observed a woman noted for her disorderly life stealthily entering the building. ‘It would be better for you,’ she said, ‘to stay with your husband.’ At these words, two monks who were standing at the door rushed violently upon Madame Matonnier and beat her until the blood came. This incident, which soon became known, aroused the whole city. The syndics went to the convent, shut up the two monks in the prison, and took away the key. ‘Men who live in convents,’ said the people, ‘ought not to be stained with such depravity; and yet it is hard to find one monastery out of ten that is not a den of wantonness rather than the home of chastity.’

Sin begat death. The Romish clergy destroyed themselves by the abominable manners of a great number of their members. But better times were beginning; morality was springing, in company with faith, from the tomb in which they had been buried so long, and were spreading through Christendom the potent germs of a new life. A sad spectacle was that presented by the Church at the beginning of the sixteenth century! There were magnificent cathedrals, wealthy pontiffs, sumptuous rites, admirable paintings, and harmonious chants; but in the midst of all these pomps yawned an immense void: faith and life were wanting. Religion was at that time like those winter trees whose frost-covered branches glitter with a certain brightness under the rays of the sun, but are all frozen. A new season was beginning, which, by bringing back the sap into their sterile branches, would cover them with rich foliage and make them produce savory fruit. We do not say, as an eminent Christian has said, that the reaction of morality against formalism is the great fact of the Reformation, its glory and its appropriate title. Such an assertion omits one essential element. The grand title of the Reformation is to have restored to Christendom religion in its entirety, the truth with the life, doctrine with morality. If one had been wanting, the other would not have sufficed, and the Reformation would hot have existed.

While Roman-catholicism was falling lower through the disorders of the monks, evangelical Christianity was rising through the zeal of the reformers. Farel, Viret, and Froment preached every day, either publicly or in private houses, ‘to the great advancement of the Word of God, which increased much.’ The Reformation was no longer a mere teaching; it entered into the manners and worship, and produced life. On the Sunday after Easter, Farel gave his blessing to the first evangelical marriage.

[Sidenote: A Savoyard Procession.]

When sincere catholics, and even those who were not so, saw these strange contrasts, they imagined that the last hour of the papacy in Geneva had arrived. A final effort must be made, but unfortunately the remedies employed were not much better than the disease. One day a report spread instantaneously through the whole city that the Blessed Virgin, arrayed in white robes, had appeared to the curate in the church of St. Leger, and ordered a grand procession of all the surrounding districts. She added that if this were done, ‘the Lutherans would all burst in the middle: but if the order was not obeyed, the city would be swallowed up.’[542] The huguenots smiled, inquired into the matter, and at the end of authentic investigations, discovered that the fine lady was the curate’s housemaid. But many catholics in Geneva, and almost all in Savoy, were convinced of the reality of the apparition. The clergy mustered their forces. ‘It depends upon you,’ they said in many places, ‘to put all the heretics in Geneva to death.’ The devotees of the neighboring parishes began to stir in this pious work, and on the 15th of May a long procession of men, women, and children arrived before the city. They were heard singing lustily in the Savoyard tongue—

_Mare de Dy, pryy pou nous!_
(Mother of God, pray for us!)

The Council, fearing a disturbance, would not let them enter, and they had to be content with going to Our Lady of Grace, near the Arve bridge. As the poor people had eaten nothing on the road, and were exhausted, the syndics sent them bread; and after taking some refreshments, the assemblage turned homewards. Many Genevese, anxious to see them close, went out of the city, and collected on their road, and as the Savoyards passed before them singing _Mare de Dy, pryy pou nous!_ the bantering huguenots answered to the same tune: _Frare Farel, pregy toujours!_ Brother Farel, preach forever![543]

All was not over: the story of the apparition of the Virgin and of her commandment having reached as far as the capital of the Chablais, the heights of Cologny were soon crowned by a numerous and compact procession, in appearance more formidable than the first: it was the men of Thonon and the adjoining places, who, carrying banners, crosses, and relics, were descending the hill with a firm step. The stalwart pilgrims boldly passed the gates of the city, the huguenots, who were listening to Farel, not being there to prevent them; and on reaching the Bourg de Four, halted before the church of St. Claire. The alarm spread immediately: some citizens entering the auditory where Farel was preaching, announced this Romish invasion. The reformer did not disturb himself; but some of his hearers, the fiery Perrin, the energetic Goulaz, and others, went out, and, charging the head of the procession, drove back at the point of the sword the Savoyards who had entered Geneva as if it were a village of the Chablais. The startled pilgrims threw away their banners with affright, and fled from the city. Froment supposes that as the enemy from within had not had time to join with those from without, the plot had failed; but we rather believe that these devout pilgrims calculated only on their litanies in their war against the Lutherans. Those processions, those banners of the Virgin, those paltry relics, inspired the reformed with a still deeper disgust for Roman-catholicism: even the pomps of St. Pierre’s touched them little more than the fetichism of the Savoyards. They were beginning to understand that public worship ought not to be a spectacle, and that to burden the Church with a multitude of rites is to rob her of the presence of Christ.

[Sidenote: The Images Destroyed.]

The audacity displayed by these catholic bands emboldened some of the huguenots. If Savoyards came to strengthen their faith in Geneva, ought they to hesitate to show theirs? Some hot-headed members of the Reform permitted themselves to be carried away to the committal of reprehensible acts. Whenever they went to the Franciscan cloister, the first object that struck their eyes was the image of St. Anthony of Padua, a miracle-monger of the thirteenth century, having eight other saints on each side of it. These pious figures, ranged over the convent gate, irritated the huguenots. It was vain to tell them that pictures are _the books of the ignorant_: the reformers answered that if the catholic prelates left the duty of teaching the people to _idols_, they would prefer remaining at home in their chairs. ‘If you had not taken the Bible from the Church,’ said the huguenots, ‘you would have had no necessity to hang up your paintings.’ Accordingly, between eleven and twelve o’clock one Saturday night, nine men carrying a ladder approached the convent, raised it silently against the porch, and then, with hammers and chisels, began to destroy the images. They cut off the head and limbs of the saint, leaving only his trunk; they did the same to the others, and threw the fragments into the well of St. Clair. The night passed without any disturbance, but in the morning there was a great uproar in the city. ‘What a piteous sight!’ said the devout assembled before the porch of St. Francis. The iconoclasts, who were discovered after a little time, were punished, but the images were not restored.

‘Alas!’ said the Friburgers, ‘Geneva is about to pull down the altars of the Romish faith!’—‘It is,’ answered the Bernese, ‘because upon these very altars the bishop desired to burn the venerable charters of her people, and has sprinkled them with the blood of her most illustrious citizens.’[544]... Sensuous worship no longer pleased the Genevans. Those labored pictures, those sculptured angels, those dazzling decorations, that charm of ceremonies and edifices, those shafts and pediments, those unintelligible chants, those intoxicating perfumes, those mechanical performances of the priests, with their gold and lace—all these things disgusted them exceedingly. Since God is a spirit, they said, those who worship him must worship him in spirit, by the inward faith of the heart, by purity of conscience, and by offering themselves to God to do his will.

The hour had come when this spiritual worship was to be really celebrated in Geneva: the Feast of Pentecost had arrived. On that day a large crowd had assembled in the Great Auditory. It was not only such as Vandel, Chautemps, Roset, Levet, with their wives and friends, who resorted thither, but new hearers were added to the old ones. Farel preached with fervor. He was accustomed to say that ‘God sends rain upon one city when he pleases, while another city has not a single drop;’ and therefore he conjured ‘all hearts thirsting with desire for the preaching of the Gospel’[545] to pray that the Spirit might be given them. We have not his Whitsunday sermon, he preached extempore; but we know that he ended it by giving glory _to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the only true God_, and that his discourse bore good fruit. Several circumstances had prepared his audience. The plot of the bishop and the duke which God had frustrated, the nomination of the huguenot syndics, the rupture with Friburg, Maisonneuve’s imprisonment—all these events had stirred their hearts, had cleft them as the ploughshare cleaves the earth, and opened them to the seed from heaven. What now shone before the eyes of those who filled the Grand Auditory ‘were not the petty flames of human candles, but Christ, the great sun of righteousness, as if at noonday.’[546] While the priests were chanting words that sounded only in the air, the voice of the reformer had penetrated to the very bottom of men’s hearts. The proof was soon visible.

[Sidenote: Bernard’s CONVERSION.]

When the sermon was over, Farel prepared to celebrate the Lord’s Supper publicly, according to the Gospel form, and, standing with his brethren Viret and Froment before a table, he gave thanks, took the bread, broke it, and said: ‘_Take, eat_;’ and then, lifting up the cup, he added: ‘_This is the blood of the New Testament, which is shed for the remission of sins_.’ The believers were beginning to draw near to receive the communion of the Lord,[547] when an unexpected circumstance fixed their attention. A priest of noble stature, wearing his sacerdotal robes, left the place where he had been sitting among the congregation, and approached the table. It was Louis Bernard, one of the twelve _habilités_ of the cathedral, possessor of a wealthy benefice, and brother of him who had been touched at the time of Farel’s first preaching. Was he going to say mass? did he want to dispute with Farel? or had he been converted? All were anxious to see what would happen. The priest went up to the table, and then, to the general surprise, he took off his sacerdotal vestments, flung away cope, alb, and stole, and said aloud: ‘I throw off the old man, and declare myself a prisoner to the Gospel of the Lord.’[548] Then, turning to the reformers and their friends, he said: ‘Brethren, I will live and die with you for Jesus Christ’s sake.’ All imagined they saw a miracle;[549] their hearts were touched. Farel received Bernard like a brother; he broke bread with him, gave him the cup, and, eating of the same morsel, the two adversaries thus signified that they would in future love one another ‘with a sincere and pure affection.’ The priest was not the only person who threw off the foul robes of his ancient life, and put on the white robe of the Lord. Many Genevans from that day began to think and live differently from their fathers; but Louis Bernard was a striking type of that transformation, and the crowd, as they quitted the church, could not keep their eyes off him. They saw him returning full of peace and joy to his father’s house, wearing a Spanish cape instead of the usual priest’s hood. All the evangelicals,—‘men, women, and children,—went with great joy to greet him and make their reverence.’[550]

Another circumstance, quite as extraordinary, still further increased the beauty of this festival. During the rejoicings of that first evangelical Pentecost, a knight of Rhodes came to Geneva in search of liberty of faith. A knight of Rhodes was a strange visitor in that city. It was known confusedly that those warlike monks, instituted to defend the pilgrims in the Holy Land, had been expelled from Jerusalem by Soliman, and had finally settled in Malta. But why should this one come to Geneva? The ex-knight, whose name was Pierre Gaudet, related how, being born at St. Cloud, near Paris, he had heard the Gospel, and that, having chosen for his glory the cross of the Son of God, he held the world in contempt. The scandal he had thus occasioned had forced him to flee. Having an uncle living about a league from Geneva—the commander of Compesières—he had taken refuge with him; but feeling the need of Christian communion, he had come to his brethren that he might enjoy it. The huguenots received him like a friend. That city which had seen in Berthelier and Lévrier the martyrs of liberty, was to have in Gaudet the first martyr of the Gospel.[551]

[Sidenote: Old And New Manners.]

While the Word of God was forming new manners, the contrast of the old manners asserted itself more boldly. The people of the lower classes—men and women, youths and maidens—danced, according to custom, in the public square on the evening of Whitsunday. The _tabarins_ played their music in the streets, and merry-andrews made the people laugh. The women of St. Gervais, disguised and carrying bunches of box, set the example to those of the other quarters. The young men united with them, and the joyous troops paraded the streets in long files, singing, capering, and sometimes attacking the passers-by. George Marchand, a huguenot no doubt, who was very ready with his hands, being caught hold of by a woman who wanted to make him dance with her, gave her a slap on the face. There was a fierce disturbance; and the Council consequently forbade these dancing promenades, and ordered that every one should be content ‘to dance before his own house:’ and this was surely enough. From that time such idle processions were not repeated. While the catholic common people were indulging in wanton sports, not perceiving that they were dancing round the open grave of Roman-catholicism, the evangelicals increased in zeal and faith to extend the teaching of the Word of God; and a gentler and more Christian life was about to be naturalized in that small but important city. The Whitsuntide procession of 1534, with its coarse jests, was, in Geneva, the funeral procession of popery.[552]

Indeed, the laity were then learning better things than those which the monks had taught them. It was not the ministers alone who labored; simple believers practiced the ministry of charity. If there chanced to be in any house a man ‘very rebellious,’ opposing the doctrine of Scripture, his friends, neighbors, and relations, who had tasted of its excellence, would go to him, and without offending him, without returning him evil for evil, ‘admonish him with great mildness.’ The evangelicals invited certain of their friends, even strangers and enemies, to their houses to eat and drink, in order that they might speak more familiarly with them. All their study was ‘to gain some one to the Word.’[553]

In the neighboring countries, in Savoy, Gex, Vaud, and the Chablais, not only did the enemies of Geneva use threats, but made preparations to attack it. There was much talk in the city of the assaults that were to be made by the _forains_, the aliens; and accordingly there was always a number of citizens kept under arms. Farel, Viret, and Froment often joined these soldiers of the republic during their night-watches, and, sitting near the gates of the city or on the ramparts, by the glare of the bivouac fires or the torches, they would converse together about the truth, questioning and answering one another. ‘Each man familiarly and freely objected and replied to what the preacher said;’ and sometimes before they left their posts, the citizens were resolved in heart upon religious points about which they had hitherto been in doubt. Not without reason are these ‘conversations of the bivouac’ recorded here. In later times, one of the evangelists of Geneva, calling to mind the nocturnal meetings he had held at the military posts, exclaimed: ‘At these assemblies and watches more people have been won to the Gospel than by public preaching.’[554]

Footnote 542:

‘Les luthériens crêveraient par le milieu ... la ville
s’abymerait.’—Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, pp. 92, 93.

Footnote 543:

Registre du Conseil du 15 Mai, 1534. Froment, _Gestes de Genève_.

Footnote 544:

Registre du Conseil des 4, 11, 13, 30 Avril; 5, 14, 15, 17, 24, 26
Mai, and 12 Juin. Sœur Jeanne, _Levain du Calvinisme_, p. 89. MS. de
Berne, _Hist. Helv._, v. 12. Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, pp. 119,
120.

Footnote 545:

Farel’s words. See p. 242 of the volume recently published in
commemoration of the tercentenary of his death (_Du vrai usage de la
croix de Jesus-Christ_, Neuchatel, 1865).

Footnote 546:

_Du vrai usage_, &c.

Footnote 547:

‘Gebennis hac Pentacoste cum innumeri cœnam peragerent
dominicam.’—Haller to Bullinger, 4th June, 1534. MS. Arch. Eccl.
Tigur.

Footnote 548:

‘Veterem hominem exuens et se Evangelii captivum exhibens.’—Haller,
ibid.

Footnote 549:

‘Est in miraculum.’—Haller to Bullinger, 4th June, 1534. MS. Eccl.
Tigur.

Footnote 550:

The Spanish cape was a cloak with a hood, in common use at that
time.—La Sœur Jeanne, _Levain du Calvinisme_, p. 89.

Footnote 551:

Registre du Conseil du 29 Juin, 1535. Crespin, _Martyrologue_, p. 114.

Footnote 552:

Registre du Conseil des 31 Mai et 2 Juin, 1534.

Footnote 553:

‘Gaigner quelqu’un à la Parolle.’—Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 127.

Footnote 554:

Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, pp. 126, 127.