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Berthelier’s flight was more than a flight. He went to Switzerland; and from that day Switzerland turned towards Geneva, and held out the hand to her.

Disguised in the livery of an usher of the city of Friburg, the faithful citizen arrived there without hindrance. No one there felt more affection for Geneva than Councillor Marty, governor of the hospital, who by his energy, rank, and intelligence, possessed great influence in the city. Berthelier went to his house, sat down at his hearth, and remained for some time sorrowful, silent, and motionless. It was thus that an illustrious Roman had formerly sat with veiled head at the hearth of a stranger; but Coriolanus sought among the Volsci the means of destroying his country, Berthelier sought at Friburg the means of saving his. A great idea, which had long since quickened in the hearts of himself and some other patriots, had occupied his mind while he was riding through the Vaudois territory. Times had changed. The long conspiracy of Savoy against Geneva was on the point of succeeding. The obstinate duke, the dishonoured bishop, the crafty count—all united their forces to destroy the independence of the city. Switzerland alone, after God, could save it from the hands of the Savoyards. Geneva must become a canton, or at least an ally of Switzerland. ‘For that,’ said Berthelier, ‘I would give my head.’ He began to discourse familiarly with his host. He told him that he had arrived in Friburg, poor, exiled, persecuted, and a suppliant; not to save his life, but to save Geneva; that he had come to pray Friburg to receive the Genevans into citizenship. At the same time he described with eloquence the calamities of his country. Marty greatly moved held out his hand, told him to take courage and to follow him into the ‘abbeys’ where the guilds assembled. ‘If you gain them,’ he said, ‘your cause is won.’

The Genevan and the Friburger immediately set off together to the chief of these ‘abbeys’ or clubs. They had scarcely entered the hall, when Marty in some confusion whispered into his companion’s ear: ‘Some of the duke’s pensioners are here; veil your meaning, for fear they should stop our work.’ Berthelier took the hint, and, rendered cautious by the presence of his enemies, spoke in ambiguous language, concealing his thoughts, but in such a manner that they might be guessed. He spoke of the wars that Burgundy had waged against Switzerland and of Charles the Bold; he intended thus to remind them of the war Savoy was now making upon Geneva and of Charles the Good. He hinted that the Swiss ought to distrust the Duke of Savoy, however smiling the face he showed them. Had they not spoiled his country during the Burgundian wars, and did they not still occupy a part of it? ‘Your ancestors,’ said Berthelier, ‘have plundered and ravaged certain provinces—you know which—and in any case others do not forget it.... If somebody should become master of Geneva, he would fortify it against you ... but if Geneva became your ally, you could make it your rampart against all princes and potentates.’ Every one knew of whom Berthelier was speaking. But if he saw the angry eye of some pensioner of Savoy fixed upon him, he became more guarded, his language more figurative and interrupted; he spoke lower, and ‘as if at random,’ said Bonivard. Then remembering Geneva, his courage revived, and his energetic accents burst forth again in the council of Friburg. He then forgot all prudence, and made, says the chronicler, a great lament of the oppression under which the city groaned. This speech, which aroused violent storms, was not to remain useless: Berthelier’s eloquent words were fruitful thoughts, cast into the hearts of the people of Friburg. Like those seeds which, borne by the tempest, fall here and there among the Alps, they were destined one day to revive in Geneva the ancient tree of her liberties.118

The exile desired that the Friburgers should see the misfortunes of Geneva with their own eyes, and connect themselves with the principal men there. If Geneva and Friburg come together, he thought, the flame will break out and the union will be cemented. He attained his end. Some citizens of Friburg set off, arrived at Geneva, and were welcomed by Besançon Hugues, Vandel, and all the patriots. They dined sometimes with one, sometimes with the other. They spoke of the liberties of the Swiss; they described their heroic struggles, and in these animated conversations, hearts were melted and united in such a way as to form but one. The deputies, having been received by the council, complained of the violation of the franchises of the city, and demanded a safe-conduct for Berthelier. Three councillors immediately set off for St. Joire, a village in the mountains, a few leagues from Geneva, where the bastard happened to be staying at a castle he possessed there. John did not like to be disturbed in his country retreats; he gave orders, however, that the magistrates should be admitted, when they set before him pretty plainly the complaints of the Friburgers. ‘What! I violate the franchises!’ he exclaimed, with a look of astonishment, ‘I had never even thought of it. A safe-conduct for Berthelier ... why, he does not require one. If he believes himself innocent, let him come; I am a good prince.... No, no, no! No safe-conduct!’ On the 12th of August the syndics communicated this answer to the Friburgers. The Swiss were indignant, and as if the syndics had some share in the matter, they upbraided them: ‘Why even the Turks would not refuse a safe-conduct, and yet a bishop dares do it! A safe-conduct useless?... Was not Pécolat seized a few days ago beyond the bounds of the city? Did they not expose him to such torture that pain extorted from him all they wanted? Citizens have left the town in alarm; others are shut up in their houses. Are they not always bringing one or another into trouble? And yet the bishop refuses Berthelier a safe-conduct?... Very well! we will get together all these grievances and see them remedied. Rest assured of this ... we will risk our persons and our goods. We will come in such force that we will take his Highness’s governor in the Pays de Vaud, the friends of Savoy in your city, and then—we will treat them as you have treated our friends.’—Upon this they departed in great anger, say contemporary manuscripts.119

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.120 From 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;121 Michel 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.’122 At 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

Berthelier’s firmness paralysed all the diplomatist’s efforts; and it was decided that the duke himself should visit Switzerland. Making a pretence of business at Geneva and Lausanne, Charles III. arrived at Friburg and Berne. He endeavoured to win over the cantons, induced them to dissuade the king of France from making war upon him, renewed his alliance with the League, and as they complained of the tyranny of his cousin the bishop, of the illegal arrest of Pécolat, and of Berthelier’s exile, he made them all the fairest promises.126

But he reckoned without his host: the bishop who had a meaner character than the duke, had also a more obstinate temper. As his illustrious cousin had visited Switzerland, it was his duty to be there to receive him; he had accordingly returned to Geneva, and as some sensible men had made him understand how deeply he was compromised in D’Orsières’ arrest, he set the good old man at liberty. If he consented to yield on this point, he was determined not to give way on others. When the syndics complained to him of the irregularities committed within the city and without, representing to him that citizens were arrested without cause, and that too, not by the officers of justice, but—a thing unprecedented—by his own archers, the prelate was deaf; he turned away his head, looked at what was going on around him, and dismissed the magistrates as politely as he could. Accordingly when the duke returned from Friburg, the syndics laid all their grievances before him: ‘Our franchises are infringed by the bishop. A citizen cannot be arrested beyond our boundaries, yet Pécolat was seized at Pressinge. All criminal cases fall within the syndics’ jurisdiction, yet Pécolat has been tried by the episcopal officers.’ Whereupon the bishop and the duke, wishing to have the appearance of giving some little satisfaction to the Swiss and the Genevans, transferred Pécolat from his prison at Thiez to Geneva, and shut him up in the Château de l’Ile. But neither the duke nor the bishop dreamt of letting him go; would they ever have a better opportunity of showing the cardinals that the bishop’s life was in danger? But if Pécolat should appear before the syndics, his judges, would he be condemned? The duke’s friends shook their heads. ‘One of them, the elder Lévrier, an incorrigible dotard,’ they said, ‘would sooner be put in prison, as in 1506, than give way; another, Richardet, a hot-headed fellow, would wax wroth, and perhaps draw his sword; and Porral, a wag like his elder brother, would turn his back and laugh at the Mamelukes!’