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The duke was at the end of his resources, and the affair of the chapter had raised his indignation to its utmost. There had been comedy enough—it was time now to come to the tragedy. Everything must be prepared to crush Geneva and liberty.

The duke raised an army ‘this side the mountains (that is, in Savoy) as secretly as he could.’ Then fearing lest the Friburgers, if they were warned, should hasten to the support of the city, and wishing ‘to catch the fish without wetting his paws,’ he sent M. de Lambert into Switzerland to amuse the cantons with fine speeches. While the ambassador was thus occupying the attention of Messieurs de Friburg, the Savoyard nobles hastily summoned their vassals to arms. The duke placed his forces under the command of the Sieur de Montrotier, Bonivard’s cousin and an excellent captain. The latter marched off his troops during the night and assembled them in silence round Geneva; so that the duke reached St. Jullien, a league from the city, with seven thousand soldiers, before anything was known of his enterprise. The Savoyards had never done so well before. In a short time the people of the neighbourhood, hurrying in crowds to his standard, raised the ducal army to ten thousand men.212

Then the duke no longer concealed his intentions. He kept his court at St. Jullien, and there gathered round the prince an ever-increasing number of nobles in rich dresses and splendid armour; and especially of young gentlemen brimful of insolence, who longed to make a campaign against the noisy shopkeepers. Never before had this little town witnessed so much display, or heard so many boasts. ‘We must put them down with our riding-whips,’ said some. No sooner said than done. On the 15th of March, 1519, fifteen of these cavaliers started from St. Jullien to carry out their plan of campaign; they arrived in Geneva, proceeded straight to the hôtel-de-ville, leaving their horses with their servants in the street, and with a swaggering air entered the council-room, all booted and splashed with mud. Not waiting to be offered chairs, they rudely sat down, and without any preface said: ‘My lord, desiring to enter this city, orders you to lay down your arms and to open the gates.’ The Genevan senators, seated in their curule chairs, looked with astonishment at this singular embassy; they restrained themselves, however, and replied at once firmly and moderately that the duke would be welcome at Geneva provided he came with his ordinary retinue, and only to enjoy himself as he had often done before. ‘In that case,’ added the syndics, ‘the arms we carry will be used only to guard him.’ This seemed to imply that another use might be made of them; and accordingly the gentlemen answered haughtily: ‘My lord will enter your city with whom he pleases and do in it as he pleases.’—‘Then,’ answered the syndics bluntly, ‘we will not let him enter.’ At these words the fifteen cavaliers rose up like one man: ‘We will enter in spite of your teeth,’ they said, ‘and we will do in your city whatever we please.’ Then striding noisily across the flagstones with their spurred boots, they left the hall, remounted their horses, and galloped off along the St. Jullien road.213

As they were seen riding hastily along, fear came over the population. In truth the moment was critical. Geneva was from that time for more than a century under arms, and on repeated occasions, especially at the epoch of the famous escalade in 1602, repelled the attacks of Savoy. But the Reform gave it a strength afterwards which it did not now possess. The Swiss diet ordered them to receive the duke; there were only from ten to twelve thousand souls in the city, including women and children; and the prince of Piedmont, duke of Savoy, was at their gates with ten thousand soldiers. They fancied that Charles was going to enter, to burn and massacre everything: many families fled in alarm with the most valuable of their property. But their flight was useless, for the armed men of Savoy occupied the roads, so that the fugitives came upon them everywhere. Some returned to the city: ‘All the country of Savoy is in arms,’ said they; ‘and many of our people have been taken and put to the torture.’ It was then three o’clock in the afternoon.214 The patriots assembled: Berthelier, Hugues, Bonivard, and many others met in order to come to some understanding. They resolved that it was expedient to send an embassy to Friburg to inform their allies of this incident, and to ask for a garrison, as the duke would not dare to fire a gun at the walls guarded by the League. But whom should they send? Many reasons,—the question of expense being one,—restrained the citizens, for they were poor. Bonivard grew warm: ‘You have exasperated the wolf; he is at your gates ready to devour you,’ he said, ‘and you prefer to let him eat up your milk, your butter, and your cheese—what am I saying? you would sooner let him eat yourselves up than give a share of your pittance to the mastiff that would guard you.’ There was one man in the meeting who never calculated when the object was to save his country: this was Besançon Hugues. He was ill, he had already incurred debt in the cause of Geneva; but that mattered not! ‘I will go,’ said he, and he departed.215

During this time the fifteen gentlemen had returned to St. Jullien and made a report of their visit to the council. Charles and his advisers did not consider their proceedings very diplomatic, and resolved to act more officially but more insolently. The next day, Friday, April 1, the king-at-arms, Provena de Chablais (he derived this name from the province where he was born) arrived in Geneva, and was introduced to the council with the usual ceremony. A cuirass covered him down to the waist; on his left arm he wore his casaque or coat of arms, and his right hand held a rod,—a gaule, says a manuscript. He entered with head erect, without uncovering or making any bow to the council. ‘Sit down by my side,’ politely said the premier syndic to him, ‘and unfold your message.’ Chablais remained standing, with sneering lip and silent, although the invitation was repeated thrice. This mute embassy considerably astonished the Genevan senate. At last, the king-at-arms quitted his fixed posture and took a seat of his own accord, not by the side of, but above the syndics who remained impassive. Then he said: ‘Worshipful syndics and councillors, do not marvel if I did not sit down when you desired me, and if I sit down now without being invited; I will tell you the reason. I am here in behalf of my most dread prince and lord, the Duke of Savoy, my master and yours. It does not become you to tell him to sit down—it is his privilege to do so when and where he pleases:—not beside you but above you, as your sovereign prince; and as representing his person, I have done so myself. Now from my seat I unfold my commission, and it is this. My lord and yours charges and commands you to prepare his lodging in your hôtel-de-ville with the sumptuousness and magnificence that belong to such a prince. Likewise he orders that you will get ready provisions for him and his company, which will be ten thousand infantry without including cavalry; for his intention is to lodge here with this retinue to administer justice in Geneva.’216

The king-at-arms was desired to retire, the council wishing to deliberate on the answer to be returned. The discussion was not a long one, all being unanimous to maintain firmly the liberties of Geneva. The herald was called in again, and the first syndic said to him: ‘Sir Chablais, we are equally surprised at what you do and at what you say. At what you do; for after we offered you a seat, you refused it; and when you had refused it, you took it.... At what you say; for you say that my lord of Savoy is your prince and ours ... a thing unheard of until this time. He may be your prince—that we believe; but ours ... no! We are his very humble servants, but we are neither his subjects nor his vassals.... It therefore does not belong either to you or to him to sit in the place where you are.... As for what you say respecting our hôtel-de-ville, we know not what you mean; the duke may choose any lodging he pleases except our hôtel-de-ville, which we cannot spare. He will be treated as in former times—better if possible. He desires to administer justice; it is the place of the bishop and council to do so, according to the franchises which he himself has sworn. If any one among us has offended him, let him inform us. Lastly, as to the large train with which he desires to be attended, it is a singular company for the administration of justice! Let him please to come with his usual retinue, nay, with five hundred men; but ten thousand men and cavalry besides.... We have not supplies for so many.’217

Chablais listened coldly and disdainfully. ‘Will you or will you not obey the orders of my lord?’ he said. The first syndic answered bluntly: ‘No.’ The herald then rose, put on his coat of arms, and with a loud voice said: ‘On his behalf then I pronounce you rebellious to your prince—and I declare war against you with fire and sword.’ Then flinging his rod into the middle of the hall, he continued: ‘I defy you on the part of my lord, in sign of which I throw down this rod (gaule); let him take it up who pleases.’ So saying, he left the hall.218

The news of this singular challenge was immediately carried to the people, who were dismayed at it. The huguenots, seeing that they must die or be slaves (say the annals), chose the first alternative and prepared for death, resolving, however, to sell their lives and not to throw them away. Feeling themselves the strongest body in the city, they called the people together. ‘Let every one take up arms!’ they said. They even forced the mamelukes to do so. The gates were shut, the chains stretched across the streets, the artillery manned, the watch set: ‘they made all the preparations for war according to the skill and experience they had in that business.’219

The duke, knowing that right was not on his side, resolved to draw the sword. Advised by Montrotier, a daring officer, he had a fit of courage, and, closing all the roads, sent out his troops in every direction. It was Saturday, April 2, and market day at Geneva. The market was held ‘without a word said;’ they allowed everybody to go in and out who wished;220 but about noon a report of the duke’s manœuvre having reached the city, the inhabitants took up arms. The peasants, returning from market, described to the Savoyards, with some exaggeration perhaps, the war preparations made by the Genevans. Immediately the duke’s fit of courage was succeeded by one of fear. Bonivard had expected this, and on hearing that the prince was at the head of an army had shrugged his shoulders. ‘The duke knows as much of war,’ he said, ‘as a monk bred in a convent since he was seven years old.’ This display of ten thousand men, assembled a league from Geneva, these troops sent out in every direction—all ended in a pitiful retractation. M. de Lucinge, appearing before the council, said: ‘His Highness has ordered me to inform you, most honoured lords, that he desires to come and sup with you in a friendly way. If he cannot lodge in the hôtel-de-ville, be so good as to prepare a lodging elsewhere for him, his great suite,221 and two or three hundred infantry only.... He desires to do violence to nobody.’ The mamelukes proposed that the gates should be opened to the duke immediately, but the syndics replied that they would consult the general council on the morrow. The mameluke councillors, who thought that the duke did Geneva a great honour by coming to it, looked around with astonishment at the answer: their greatest happiness was to approach a prince and pay court to his Highness, and these inflexible huguenots turned their backs upon him. ‘Well,’ said they, ‘if they will not let the duke come to us, we will go to him.’ Accordingly Montyon and several others of his party left the council-room. The court-yard of the hôtel-de-ville was full of citizens waiting to learn the result of the meeting: they saw the mamelukes pass with astonishment. The spectators whispered in each other’s ears: ‘They are going to join the Savoyards.’ ... Presently a loud shout was raised, and several huguenots, catching up some spears that were resting against the wall, ran after the mamelukes to seize them; they were almost overtaken when the councillors, deputed by the syndics, entreated them, for the safety of the city, to avoid a strife between citizens. The angry patriots returned to the hôtel-de-ville. Every one was distressed at knowing that there were among them men capable of forsaking Geneva for the Duke of Savoy.222

The disloyalists (as they were called) hastened along the St. Jullien road. Besides Montyon, there were Cartelier, Déléamont, Nergaz, Ray, the two De Fernex, and others, making in all between thirty and forty. ‘Our interview with the duke must be private,’ said the cunning Cartelier, who felt how criminal was the step they were taking. The duke let them know that at a certain hour of the night he would be under a particular tree in the Falcon orchard. Thither they resorted one by one, and were all soon gathered round the tree without being able to recognise each other except by the voice. The intriguing Cartelier was spokesman. Political views influenced Montyon, De Versonex, and others; but in him, it was the hatred he bore against the huguenots and the desire to be revenged on them. He assured the duke that the majority of the people were ready to acknowledge him for their sovereign. ‘But,’ he added, ‘the bad ones have shut the gates, stretched the chains, placed guards.... Enter Geneva, my lord, sword in hand.’ They then discussed their guilty projects, and it was agreed in whispers what the mamelukes should do in order to facilitate the entrance of the Savoyards into the city. ‘The traitors,’ says Bonivard, ‘entered into a plot with the duke.’223

Early on Sunday Charles took up a better position and went to his strong castle of Gaillard on the Arve, three-quarters of a league from Geneva. The report of his intentions having spread through all the valley of the Leman, the gentlemen and the companies of the Pays de Vaud, Chablais, and Faucigny came thronging in. Nay, more: the canons and priests of the city, quickly forgetting the lesson they had received, hurried off to Gaillard. Bonivard, who was almost the only cleric remaining in Geneva, saw all his theories confirmed. It was his maxim that ‘people bred up in the courts of princes always remember their first food.’—‘And now,’ said he, ‘of all the canons and folks of the long robe, there are left in Geneva only De la Biolée, Navis, and myself. All are gone to visit the duke at Gaillard, even M. de Bonmont who was considered the principal friend of the public weal.’224 Erelong the castle was filled with an imposing crowd, more numerous than at St. Jullien.

The storm was approaching, the danger increasing from hour to hour: the little band of patriots was still full of courage; but alas! it was an ant-hill on which a rock from the Alps was about to fall. They had watched the priests with anxious eye, but without desiring to stop them. ‘These birds have so keen a scent,’ it was said, ‘that they hasten wherever there is any flesh.’ If Friburg would only send a few valiant warriors to assist those of Geneva, that Savoyard army would soon be dispersed; but Friburg remained dumb. The uneasiness spread from one to another; desponding faces were met in the streets.... On a sudden two horsemen are seen on the Swiss road.... O joy! they wear the Friburg colours!... At eleven o’clock in the forenoon of Sunday, April 3, 1519, Berthelier’s friend, Councillor Marti, accompanied by a herald, entered Geneva. ‘And your armed men?’ they said to him, and were informed in answer that, for the present at least, there were none. The general council happening to be assembled in order to reply to M. de Lucinge, Marti instantly proceeded thither, but was not received so well as he had expected. ‘We want ambassadors in doublets and not in long robes,’ said the huguenots to him; ‘not diplomatists, but soldiers.’ Marti started for Gaillard, but the Genevans saw him depart without hope; in their opinion, arquebuses should be the only answer for the Savoyards.225

The Friburger, as he drew near Gaillard, was struck with the large number of troops around the castle. At this moment the duke was giving audience to the canons, who were making all the bows and compliments learnt in former days at court; he hoped to be able to draw them into the plot, and was therefore much annoyed at seeing this mediator arrive. Turning impatiently towards his officers, he vented in an under tone some contemptuous words against him. Nevertheless, a few minutes later, when he had examined him more closely, Charles took courage, doubting not that his political skill would easily manage this shepherd of the Alps. ‘He seems a good plain man, easy to be deceived,’ said the duke, who, commencing his manœuvres, added: ‘Sit down, Mr. Ambassador,’ and thereupon feasted him liberally, and gave him all kinds of good words. But the plain man, who was in reality a bold and crafty Friburger, replied in his Romane tongue: ‘My lord, you have already told my friends so many lies, that I do not know if they will believe you any more.’226 The duke, offended at this rude language, spoke more sharply: ‘I shall enter Geneva as a friend,’ he said; ‘or, if they do not like it, as an enemy. My artillery is all ready to lather (savonner) the city in case of refusal.’ Marti in alarm demanded a truce, at least for the night, so that he might speak to the people of Geneva and settle the matter, which the duke granted.227

All the citizens were afoot: the guards at the gates, the cannon on the walls, the watch day and night in the streets. At ten o’clock Marti arrived, and went straight to the council, whose sittings were declared permanent. ‘Gentlemen,’ said he to the syndics, ‘I think you must trust the duke and let him enter the city.’—‘And the assistance of Friburg?’ asked some; to which Marti replied: ‘My lords are far away!’228 He seemed to have lost all hope. He added, however: ‘There is a truce until to-morrow morning.’ It was agreed to convene the Great Council the next morning before daybreak in order to deliberate on the course to be taken in this terrible crisis; and as the citizens had been on foot for three nights, they were permitted in consideration of the truce to go and take some repose. It was then eleven o’clock.

It struck twelve. No sound was heard but the measured steps of the sentinels; a dark night covered the city with its curtain, and all were asleep. Suddenly the flash of a torch gleamed from the top of one of the three towers of St. Pierre; it was the signal agreed upon between Cartelier and the duke at the nocturnal conference held under the tree in the Falcon orchard: that flash announced that the Swiss could enter without resistance. The noise of horses was heard almost immediately without the city, in the direction of St. Antoine, and a loud blow was struck on the gate. It was Philip, count of Genevois, the duke’s brother, at the head of his cavalry: having knocked, he waited for the mamelukes to open according to their promise. But the sentry at the St. Antoine gate, who had seen the torch and heard the knock, suspecting treachery, fired his arquebus and gave the alarm. Immediately the tocsin sounded; the citizens awoke, grasped their arms, and hurried in the direction of the attack. ‘All were much frightened and vexed, and great uproar was made in the city.’ Everybody was running about shouting and ordering. The count, who was listening, began to fear that the plot had failed. In the midst of the confusion, a clap of thunder was heard, which terrified both sides. The count and his followers hesitated no longer, but retired; the Genevans did the same, and a few angry patriots, as they passed Marti’s house on their way home, went in and asked him angrily: ‘Is this the fine truce you brought us?’229

The Grand Council met before daybreak on Monday, April 4. The mamelukes made an excuse for the night affair: it was no doubt a patrol of cavalry which had advanced too far. But Marti did not conceal the danger: ‘The duke is at your gates with his whole army,’ he said: ‘if you comply with his demands, he told me you would be satisfied with him; if not, he will enter by force this very afternoon. Make a virtue of necessity; or, at the least, send him a deputation.’ The syndics started for Gaillard immediately. The duke received them most graciously and affectionately. ‘I will enter Geneva with none but my ordinary retinue,’ he told them; ‘I will take only five hundred footmen for my guard and dismiss all the rest of my army. I will do no injury either to the community or to individuals, and my stay shall not be long.’ His Highness made so many promises and oaths that entrance was at last yielded to him.

When this resolution of the council was known, the indignant patriots threw away their arquebuses; all laid down their arms, and a profound dejection came over men’s minds. Cries of vexation and of sorrow were heard, but there still lingered here and there a hope that God would finally deliver the city.230

On the morning of Tuesday, April 5, the duke set all his army in motion. All!... When they heard of this, the Genevans hastened to remonstrate with him. ‘My people will only pass through Geneva,’ he answered; ‘fear nothing, but open your gates.’—‘Certainly,’ added some mamelukes; ‘be easy; they will come in at one gate and go out at another.’ The triumph of violence and craft was about to be achieved. A people, too simple and confiding, were now to be crushed under the feet of a powerful prince and of his numerous satellites. All the gates were opened, and those which had been walled up were broken down. The huguenots, who had voted unhesitatingly against the admission of Charles into the city, looked on with indignation at this sad sight; but they were determined to be present to the end at the humiliation of Geneva. Bonivard was the most provident; he took the alarm: he had no culverins now in his priory, and he could not have resisted the Savoy army with his ten monks. ‘Consent to the duke’s entrance ... what madness!’ he exclaimed. ‘Certainly those who know his honesty, of whom I am one, are aware of what will happen.’ And this, in Bonivard’s opinion, was, that he would be the first victim sacrificed by the duke, and that there would be many others. ‘Wishing,’ he tells us, ‘to be wiser and cleverer than the rest,’ he hastily escaped into the Pays de Vaud. Berthelier, who was more exposed than his friend, and who saw clearly his end approaching, was not frightened. He knew that the defenders of law and liberty serve their cause by their deaths as well as by their lives, and determined to await the attacks of Charles and the bastard.231