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CHAPTER XII.
BLANCHET AND NAVIS EXECUTED. THEIR LIMBS SUSPENDED TO THE WALNUT-TREE NEAR THE BRIDGE OF ARVE.
(October 1518.)
ОглавлениеThe bastard was staggered when he was informed that Bonivard had escaped. He consoled himself, however, with the thought that he had at hand the means of gratifying his tastes and his revenge, and concentrated all his attention on Navis and Blanchet. What should he do with these two young men who had so thoughtlessly fallen into his net? How, in striking them, could he best strike the independent men of Geneva? For he was not thinking merely of getting rid of these two adventurers, but of filling all the city with terror by means of their death. To no purpose was he reminded that the father of one of the prisoners was the most zealous of his officers; the bastard cared little for a father’s grief, and thought that Peter Navis would serve him still better, when he had given him a striking example of the manner in which he desired to be served. He pressed the court to hasten on the trial. Ancina, judge in criminal matters; Caracci, seignior of Farges, and attorney-general of Savoy; and Licia, his deputy, constituted by ducal letters judges of Navis and Blanchet, declared them solemnly convicted, first, of having been present at the meeting at the Molard, and of having promised, they and their accomplices, to be ‘unanimous against the bishop’s officers, to rescue out of their hands any of their number whom these episcopal agents might take into custody; second, of having proposed, in case the duke should take part against them, to flee and place themselves under a foreign government (Switzerland), abandoning thus the sovereignty of Savoy and the splendour of the white cross.’ The two prisoners were condemned to be beheaded, and then quartered, according to the bishop’s desire. They prepared for execution immediately.166
Navis breathed not a murmur; the feeling of his disobedience to his father closed his lips; it appears also that Blanchet recovered from his terror, dried his tears, and acknowledged his folly. Nothing indicates that the repentance of these two Genevan youths was truly christian; but it would be unjust to overlook their noble confession at the hour of death. The provost and his men, having received them from the hands of the magistrates, led them to the place of execution. Their appearance was becoming, and their look serious; they walked between their guards, calm, but without weakness or alarm. When they had mounted the scaffold, Navis spoke: ‘Wishing before all things to make amends for the evil we have done, we retract all that we have said touching certain of our countrymen, and declare that such avowals were extorted from us by the fear of torture. After proclaiming the innocence of others, we acknowledge ourselves guilty. Yes, we have lived in such a way that we justly deserve death, and we pray God, in this our last hour, to pardon our sins. Yet understand, that these sins are not those of which we are accused; we have done nothing contrary to the franchises and laws of Geneva: of that we are clean.... The sins which condemn us are our debaucheries.’ Navis would have continued, but the provost, vexed at what he had said already, ordered the executioner to do his duty. The man set to work instantly: the two young men knelt down, he raised his sword, and ‘thus they were beheaded, and then quartered.’167
At last the bishop saw his desires satisfied; he had in his possession the heads and the quarters of two of the ‘children of Geneva.’ This little man, so frail, livid, hideous, reduced almost to a shadow, without genius and without will, had nevertheless the will and the genius of evil. Notwithstanding his protest against the mutilation of limbs, he decided that three of the quarters of the two bodies should be exposed over the gates of Turin, and reserved for his own share a quarter of Navis and of Blanchet, with the two heads. He had the flesh pickled, for he intended to keep them as long as possible; and when this savage operation, worthy of the Mohawks, was completed, he placed the heads and limbs in two barrels on which were marked the arms of the count, the duke’s brother. The bishop wished to show his flock a sample of his cleverness; and as the execution did not take place at Geneva, he intended at least to send the limbs of the victims ‘to stir up and terrify the scoundrels.’ The bearers of these two pickle-tubs started from Turin, crossed Mont Cenis, arrived in the basin of the Leman on Saturday, October 2, 1518, and lodged on ‘the other side of the Arve.’168
On the bank of this river, which then separated the ducal states from those of Geneva, at the foot of the bridge on the Savoy side, stood a fine walnut-tree, whose leafy branches spread opposite the church of Our Lady of Grace on the Genevan side. The bishop’s agents, who had received orders to make an exhibition of the mutilated limbs for the benefit of the Genevans, proceeded to the bridge on Saturday night in order to discharge their disgraceful commission under cover of the darkness. They carried with them, in addition to their casks filled with flesh, brine, and blood, a ladder, a hammer, some nails and cord. On reaching the tree, they opened the barrels and found the features well preserved and easily recognisable. The bastard’s agents climbed the tree, and nailed the heads and arms to the branches in such a manner as to be seen by all the passers-by. They fixed a placard underneath, bearing these words: ‘These are the traitors of Geneva;’ and the white cross of Savoy above. They then withdrew, leaving the empty casks at the foot of the tree. ‘It was done by order of your bishop,’ said the duke in a letter written three days later (October 5) to his very dear, beloved, and trusty citizens of Geneva, ‘your bishop, whom we have in this supported and favoured, which ought to be to your contentment.’169
The day broke, the people arose, opened their windows, and went out of their houses; some were going to the city. One man was about to cross the bridge, when, fancying he saw something strange, he drew near, and discovered with astonishment human limbs hanging from the tree. He shuddered, supposing that this had been done by some murderers in mere bravado; and, wishing to make the extraordinary occurrence known, he quickened his steps. ‘The first who saw this mystery did not keep it secret, but ran and told the news all through the city. “What’s the matter?” people asked ... and then everybody hurried thither,’ adds the chronicler. In truth, an immense crowd of citizens—men, women, and children—soon gathered round the tree. It was Sunday, a day which the bastard had probably selected for this edifying sight; every one was free from his ordinary occupations, and during all that holy day an agitated multitude pressed continually around the tree where the blood-stained remains of the two victims were hanging. They looked closely at them and examined the features: ‘It is Navis,’ they said; ‘it is Blanchet.’ ... ‘Ah!’ exclaimed a huguenot, ‘it is not difficult to penetrate the mystery. It is one of my lord bishop’s messages come to us by the Turin post!’ Bonivard, who had returned to Geneva, thought himself fortunate that the swiftness of his horse had carried him beyond the prelate’s reach, and rejoiced that his head was not between those of Blanchet and Navis; but he was at the same time filled with indignation and anger against the monster who had so treated his two young friends. The Genevan youth indulged in bitter irony. ‘A fine maypole they have raised us this morning on the city boundary!’ they said; ‘they have put up a flag already; it only wants a few ribands and flowers to make the show complete!’ But the sight of these bloody fragments, swinging in the air, was no fit subject for jesting; there was great mourning in the city; groans and weeping were heard in the crowd; women gave vent to their horror, and men to their indignation.
Navis’s father, a man detested by the Genevans, was not the last to be informed; some people ran to tell him of the tragic event that was stirring up the whole city. ‘Come,’ said they, ‘come and see the reward the bishop sends you for your faithful services. You are well paid; the tyrants recompense you right royally for the disfavour you have won from all of us; they have sent from Turin, as your pay, the head of your son.’ ... Peter Navis might be an unjust judge, but he was a father: at first he was overwhelmed. Andrew had been disobedient, but the ingratitude of the child had not been able to extinguish the love of the parent. The unhappy man, divided between affection for his son and respect for his prince, shed tears and endeavoured to hide them. Prostrated by grief and shame, pale and trembling, he bent his head in sullen silence. It was not the same with the mother, who gave way to the most violent affection and most extravagant despair. The grief of Navis’s parents, which was expressed in such different ways, struck all the spectators. Bonivard, who at this tragic moment mingled in the agitated groups of the citizens, was heart-stricken by all he saw and heard, and on returning to his priory exclaimed: ‘What horror and indignation such a spectacle excites! even strangers, whom it does not affect, are disgusted at it.... What will the poor citizens do now? the poor relations and friends? their father and mother?’ ...
The Genevans did not confine themselves to useless lamentations; they did not turn their eyes to the blow they had just received, they looked to the hand that struck it; it was the hand of their bishop. Everybody knew the failings of Navis and Blanchet, but at this moment no one spoke of them; they could only see two young and unhappy martyrs of liberty. The anger of the people rose impetuously, and poured itself out on the prelate more than on the duke. ‘The bishop,’ they said, ‘is a wolf under a shepherd’s cloak. Would you know how he feeds his lambs, go to the bridge of Arve!’ Their leaders thought the same: they said, it was not enough for the prince-bishop to plunge families and a whole city into mourning, but his imagination coldly calculated the means of increasing their sorrow. These suspended heads and arms were a notable instance of that cruel faculty of invention which has always distinguished tyrants. To torture in Piedmont the bodies of their young friends did not satisfy the prelate, but he must torture all hearts in Geneva. What is the spirit that animates him? What are the secret motives of these horrible executions?... Despotism, self-interest, fanaticism, hatred, revenge, cruelty, ambition, folly, madness.... It was indeed all these together. Think not that he will stop in the midst of his success: these are only the first-fruits of his tenderness. To draw up proscription lists, to butcher the friends of liberty, to expose their dead bodies, to kill Geneva,—in one word, to take pattern by Sylla in everything,170—such will henceforward be the cure of souls of this son of the pope.
The resistance of the citizens to the encroachments of the prelate assumed from that hour a character that must necessarily lead to the abolition of the Roman episcopacy in Geneva. There is a retributive justice from which princes cannot escape, and it is often the innocent successors who are hurled from their thrones by the crimes of their guilty predecessors; of this we have seen numerous examples during the past half-century. The penalty which has not fallen on the individual falls on the family or the institution; but the penalty which strikes the institution is the more terrible and instructive. The mangled limbs hanging on the banks of the Arve left an indelible impression on the minds of the Genevan people. If a mameluke and a huguenot happened to pass the bridge together, the first, pointing to the walnut-tree, would say to the second with a smile: ‘Do you recognise Navis and Blanchet?’—the huguenot would coldly reply: ‘I recognise my bishop.’171 The institution of a bishop-prince, an imitation of that of a bishop-king, became every day more hateful to the Genevans. Its end was inevitable—its end at Geneva: hereafter the judgments of God will overtake it in other places also.
The agitation was not confined to the people: the syndics had summoned the council. ‘This morning,’ they said, ‘before daybreak, two heads and two arms were fastened to a tree opposite the church of Our Lady of Grace. We know not by whose order.’172 Everybody guessed whose heads they were and by whose order they had been exposed; but the explosion was not so great in the council as in the crowd. They must have understood that this cruel act betokened sinister designs; they heard the thunder-clap that precedes the storm: yet each man drew a different conclusion. Certain canons, monks, and other agents of the Roman Church, accomplices of the tyrant, called for absolute submission. Certain nobles thought that if they were freed from the civic councils, they could display their aristocratic pretensions more at their ease. Certain traders, Savoyards by birth, who loved better ‘large gains in slavery than small gains in liberty,’ amused themselves by thinking that if the duke became master of the city, he would reside there with his court, and they would get a higher price for their goods. But the true Genevans joyfully consented that their country should be small and poor, provided it were the focus of light and liberty. As for the huguenots, the two heads were the signal of resistance. ‘With an adversary that keeps any measure,’ they said, ‘we may relax a little of our rights; but there are no considerations to be observed with an enemy who proceeds by murder.... Let us throw ourselves into the arms of the Swiss.’
The bishop’s crime thus became one of the stages on the road to liberty. No doubt the victims were culpable, but the murderers were still more so. All that was noble in Geneva sighed for independence. The mameluke magistrates strove in vain to excuse an act which injured their cause; they were answered rudely; contrary opinions were bandied to and fro in the council, and ‘there was a great disturbance.’ At last they resolved to send an ambassador to the princes to inquire whether this barbarous act had been perpetrated by their orders, and in that case to make remonstrances. This resolution was very displeasing to the mamelukes, who endeavoured to soften the harsh message by intrusting it to pleasing messengers. ‘To obtain what you desire from princes, you must send them people who are agreeable to them,’ said the first syndic. The assembly accordingly named the vidame Aymon Conseil, an unblushing agent of Savoy; the ex-syndic Nergaz, a bad man and personal enemy of Berthelier; and Déléamont, governor of Peney, against whom the huguenots had more than once drawn the sword. The duke, being at that time in his Savoy provinces, received the deputation coldly at a public audience, but made much of them in private. The ambassadors returned in three days with an unmeaning answer.173
The bishop was at Pignerol, where he had presided over the terrible butchery. The council were content to write to him, considering the distance; and as he was still proud of his exploit, he replied by extolling the mildness of his government: ‘You have never had prince or prelate with such good intentions as myself,’ he wrote from Turin on the 15th of October; ‘the execution done the other side the bridge of Arve is to give those a lesson who desire to lead evil lives.’ Accordingly the bastard exhorted the Genevans to show themselves sensible of his kindness by returning him a double share of love. These executions, far from causing him any remorse, gave him a longing for more; he invited the Genevans to acknowledge his tender favours by granting him the head of Berthelier and a few others besides. Making confession to the council of his most secret anguish, he expressed a fear that if these heads did not fall before his return, it would prevent his enjoying the pleasures of the table. ‘Discharge your duty,’ said he, ‘so that when I am with you, there may be nothing to do but to make good cheer.’ To live merrily and to put his most illustrious subjects to death were the two chief points of his episcopal cure of souls. To be more sure of obtaining these heads, he threatened Geneva with his vengeance: ‘If you should refuse,’ said he in conclusion, ‘understand clearly that I shall pray my lord (the duke) and his brother (the count) to preserve my good rights; and I have confidence in them, that they will not let me be trampled upon; besides this, I will risk my life and my goods.’ This mild pastoral was signed: The Bishop of Geneva.174
Thus everybody was leaguing against Geneva. Would it be crushed? Was there in this small republic strength enough to resist the twofold lay and clerical opposition, which had crushed so many free cities in the dark ages? There were influences at work, as we have seen, in the formation of modern liberties, and we find in Geneva the representatives of the three great schools in which Europe has learnt the principles of government. The characteristic of the German liberties was an energetic love of independence; now Berthelier and many of his friends were true Germans in this respect. The characteristic of the Roman liberties was legality; we find this strongly marked in Lévrier and other eminent men. The third element of the independence of this people was to be that christian principle which, subjecting the conscience to God, and thus giving man a firmness more than human, makes him tread in the path of liberty and walk along precipices without his head turning or his feet stumbling. Yet a few years more, and a great number of Genevans will find this latter element in the Gospel. To this Geneva owes principally the maintenance of her existence.
After the murder of Blanchet and Navis, the passion of independence became dominant. ‘From that time,’ said a magistrate of the seventeenth century, ‘the duke and bishop were looked upon in Geneva as two tyrants who sought only the desolation of the city.’175