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The army of Savoy approached the St. Antoine gate: it was like a triumphal progress. Monarchy, according to politicians, was about to gain the victory over republicanism. ‘In front marched the Count of Genevois, in complete steel armour,’ say the chronicles, ‘wearing a long plume, and riding on a stout stallion, who curvetted about so that it was pleasant to see.’ He was followed by the cavalry in breast-plates. Then came the main body, to the number of about eight thousand infantry, headed by six Genevan mamelukes. Last appeared the duke, followed by all his guard; he had laid aside his gracious humour, and desired that his entrance should have something warlike and alarming. ‘Montrotier,’ he said to his principal captain, ‘I have sworn that I will only enter Geneva over the gates.’ Montrotier understood him, and, going forward with a body of men, knocked down the St. Antoine gate and the adjoining wall. The satisfied duke now resumed his triumphal march. He was armed from head to foot and rode a handsome hackney: two pages carried before him his lance and his helmet. One of these was J. J. de Watteville, afterwards avoyer of Berne. The weak-minded Charles, inflated with his success, pulled up his courser, and made him paw the rebellious stones. ‘A true Don Quixote,’ says a catholic historian, ‘he showed the same pride as a conqueror loaded with glory who at the cost of much blood and fatigue had reduced a fortress after a long and dangerous siege.’ And if we may believe contemporary documents, ‘Charles advanced more like a Jupiter surrounded with his thunders than a conqueror; his head was bare in order, said his courtiers, that his eyes, flashing with wrath, should blast the audacity of the Genevans who should be rash enough to look in his face.’ All the army having passed the gate after him marched through the city in order to parade its triumph in the streets and defy the citizens.232

In conformity with the engagements made by the duke, his soldiers entering by one gate ought, after crossing the city, to have gone out by the other. Bonivard on hearing of this had shaken his head. ‘It will be with Geneva as with Troy,’ said the classical prior; ‘the Savoyards, entering by stratagem like the Greeks of Sinon, will afterwards remain by force.’ And so it happened, for the whole army took up its quarters immediately in the city. The bands of Faucigny, which were the most terrible, established themselves at St. Gervais by order of the duke; those of the Pays de Vaud at St. Leger, up to the Arve; those of Chablais at the Molard and along the Rhone; those of Savoy and Genevois in the Bourg de Four and the upper part of the city. The nobles were lodged in the best houses situated principally between Rive and the Molard. The duke took up his quarters also on the left bank, near the lake, in the Maison de Nice which belonged to Bonivard. The count, appointed by his brother governor of the city, fixed his head-quarters at the hôtel-de-ville. Geneva was taken; the Duke of Savoy had made himself master of it by perjury, and there he intended to remain. Many citizens thought their country for ever lost. The plans formed during so many years and even centuries, were realised at last; despotism, triumphant in Geneva, was about to trample under foot law, constitution, and liberty. The Savoyards had seen from their mountain-tops a fire in this city which disquieted them—a fire whose flames might extend and consume the time-worn edifices their fathers had raised. They were now going to stifle these flames, to extinguish the embers, and scatter the ashes; the duke, the emperor his brother-in-law, and his nephew Francis I. might henceforth at their pleasure oppress their subjects, put martyrs to death, wink at the disorders of nobles and monks, and sleep quietly on their pillows.

The Savoyard princes behaved as in a city taken by assault. The very evening of the 5th of April, the Count of Genevois removed the cannon from the ramparts, placed them round his quarters, and had them loaded that they might be ready to fire upon the people, the hôtel-de-ville thus becoming a citadel to keep Geneva in obedience. Notwithstanding these precautions the count was uneasy; he had violated his oaths, and knew that he had to deal with men of energy. He did not lie down, and at two in the morning his officers went by his orders and knocked at the doors of the four syndics, commanding them to proceed immediately to the hôtel-de-ville. ‘Hand me the keys of the gates,’ said the count, ‘the ramparts, the arsenal, and the provision magazines.’ If the magistrates had really fancied that the Savoyards would come as friends, their foolish delusion must now have ceased and the bandage have fallen from their eyes. But how could they resist? The army filled all the city, and the citizens were divided: the syndics did what was required of them. The fanaticism of the disloyal mamelukes was not yet satisfied. Cartelier, Pierre Joly, Thomas Moyne, and others, taking a lesson from the terrible Montrotier, who desired to muzzle the Genevans completely, visited all the streets, squares, and churches, and began to wrench off the staples and locks from the city chains and gates, and even the clappers from the bells. The syndics strove in vain to stop this violence. The wretches did not forget a street, and having thus disarmed Geneva, they carried all these trophies to the duke. ‘It is a sign,’ said they, laying them before him, ‘of the real transfer of the jurisdiction of the city, to intimidate the rebels and deprive them of all hope of succour. Geneva lies at the feet of your Highness.’ This occurred before daybreak.233

At length Wednesday, 6th April, dawned, and that day was not less mournful than its predecessor. The Savoyard soldiers, forgetting that they owed their success to the scandalous violation of the most sacred promises, intoxicated alike with hatred and pride, began to show the insolence of conquerors. We know the disorders in which the undisciplined armies of that period were accustomed to indulge in cities taken by storm. The ducal soldiers, not less cruel but more fantastical, exhibited in the sack of Geneva some of those farces which the imperialists played eight years later at the sack of Rome. The citizens, taking refuge in the garrets, had given up their feather beds to the soldiers. The latter slept soundly, and next morning, to make up for the battle which had not been fought, indulged in one of a different kind. Instead of balls they flung the bolsters at each other’s heads; taking the beds for enemies, they thrust their swords up to the hilt in the feathers:—these were the hardest blows struck in this war by the soldiers of Charles III.—Then, eager to prolong their coarse jests, they shook the beds out of the windows, watching, with roars of laughter, the evolutions made by the feathers in the air. They next called for the keys of the cellars, and forming a circle round the casks, tapped them in various places, singing their loudest as they drank their fill. ‘Lastly,’ says a chronicle, ‘they pulled out the spigots, so that the cellar was filled with wine; and stumbling upstairs again into the house, they insulted everybody they met, ran shouting through the streets, made boasting speeches, and committed a thousand acts of violence.’ At Rome, the imperialists made a jest of the papacy; at Geneva, the ducal soldiers, drunk with wine and joy, trampled independence under foot and exulted over liberty. But on a sudden, an alarm was sounded: the braggarts imagined that the Genevans were going to defend themselves, and, the noisiest talkers being generally the greatest cowards, they all scampered away—some ran to the right, others to the left; many fled towards the river and hid themselves under the mills; the more cunning sought other retreats.234 It was only a false alarm; the Count of Genevois, being displeased at their behaviour, had given it that it might serve as a lesson to the marauders.

During this time the mamelukes were sitting night and day in ‘the little stove,’ consulting on the best means of repressing for ever the spirit of national independence in Geneva. They believed the city could never belong to Savoy whilst those who had voted for the alliance with Friburg were alive. A king of Rome, while walking in his garden, struck off with his stick the heads of the tallest poppies. The conspirators, resolving to profit by the lessons of history, began to draw up a proscription list, and placed on it the four syndics, the twenty-one councillors, and other notable citizens so as to make up forty. Wishing to end the affair promptly, certain mamelukes went to the executioner and asked him ‘how much he would take for forty heads?’ It seems that he required more than the heads were worth, according to the value which had been set upon them, for contemporary documents tell us that they ‘haggled’ about it. Three chronicles of the time, all worthy of trust, describe this disgusting visit to the headsman.235 The rumour got abroad, and all Geneva trembled. Some who knew they were on the list, hid themselves. ‘A very foolish thing,’ said others. ‘Without God, the most secret hiding-places are but as the fancies of children, who put their hands before their eyes and think nobody can see them.’ The boldest huguenots were filled with indignation: instead of concealing themselves, they girded on their swords, raised their heads, and walked proudly in the streets. ‘But they were made to feel the cord (sentir la corde).’ We do not know whether this means that they were beaten or only threatened. ‘After this,’ continues Savyon, ‘there was no other resource but to commend ourselves to God.’236

Berthelier and his friends hurried to Marti. They represented to him that at the moment when the duke had made such fine promises, he was thinking only of breaking them; they added that assuredly this perjured prince would have to answer for his crime. The Friburger, at once ashamed and indignant, went to the duke and said: ‘What do you mean, my lord? Do you wish me to be accounted a traitor? I have your word. You bade me give the people of Geneva assurance of your good will; they consequently opened their gates in good faith; otherwise you would not have entered without hard knocks. But now you break your promise.... My lord, you will certainly suffer by it.’ The duke, embarrassed and annoyed and unable to justify himself, got into a passion, and offered the Friburg ambassador the grossest insult: ‘Go,’ said he, addressing Marti with an epithet so filthy that history cannot transcribe his words, ‘get out of my presence.’237

This incident, however, made Charles reflect, and resolve to give a colour to his violence. Having drawn out all his men-at-arms, he summoned a general council. Only the mamelukes attended, and not all of them; but notwithstanding their small number, these ducal partisans, surrounded by an armed force, did not scruple to renounce, in the name of Geneva, the alliance with Friburg.

The duke immediately followed up his victory; and, wishing to make the hand of the master felt, ordered, in the morning of Thursday, April 7, that the ushers and men-at-arms should attend the city herald and make proclamation with an increased display of force. ‘O yes! O yes! O yes!’ said the herald, ‘in the name of our most dread prince and lord, Monseigneur the Duke of Savoy. No one, under pain of three blows of the strappado, shall carry any offensive or defensive weapon. No one shall leave his house, whatever noise there may be, or even put his head out of the window, under pain of his life. Whoever resists the order of Monseigneur shall be hanged at the windows of his own house.’ Such were the order and justice established by Duke Charles.238 It might be said that, with a view to frighten the Genevans, he wished that they might not be able to leave their houses without walking in the midst of his victims. The proclamation was repeated from place to place, and the crowd gradually increased. On a sudden, a certain movement was observed among the people. A few men appeared here and there, whose look had something mysterious; they spoke to their friends, but it was in whispers. The agitation soon increased; it spread from one to another: here a man made signs of joy, there of terror. At last the mystery was explained. ‘Friburg!’ exclaimed several voices; ‘the Friburg army is coming!’ At these words the city herald, the men-at-arms, the mamelukes, and the Savoyards who accompanied him, stopped, and, on learning that a courier had just arrived from the Pays de Vaud, they dispersed.... Huguenots and mamelukes spread through the city and circulated the good news: ‘The Swiss! the Swiss!’ and the cry was answered from all quarters with ‘Long live the huguenots!’ ‘Thus the said proclamation could not be finished throughout the city,’ says a contemporary manuscript.239

Besançon Hugues, having escaped all the perils of the road, had arrived at Friburg, and, without giving himself time to take breath, appeared immediately before the council. He described the perfidy and violence of Charles, the dangers and desolation of Geneva; he showed that the city was on the point of being annexed to Savoy, and the chiefs of the republic about to be put to death. If Friburg did not make haste, it would find nothing but their heads hanging at the gates, like those of Navis and Blanchet.

The look of the generous citizen, the animation of his whole person, the eloquence of his appeal, inflamed every heart. Their eyes were filled with tears, and the men of Friburg laid their hands upon their swords.240 A regiment, fully armed, marched out immediately for Geneva: and that was not all; the flower of the young men flocked in from every quarter, and the army soon amounted to 5,000 or 6,000 men. Having entered the Pays de Vaud, they seized his Highness’s governor, the Sire de Lullins. ‘Write to your master,’ said the chiefs of Friburg, ‘that he do no harm to our fellow-citizens; your head shall answer for theirs: besides, we are going to give him a treat at Geneva.’ Their liberating flags soon floated on the hills above the lake. A great number of the young men of the Pays de Vaud joined them, and the army mustered before Morges 13,000 to 14,000 strong. At their approach, the terrified inhabitants of that town, who were devoted to the duke, threw themselves into their boats, and fled to Savoy. The Friburgers entered their deserted houses, and waited for his Highness’s answer.241

Governor de Lullins failed not to warn his master, and it was this message that had interrupted the proclamation. The duke, at once violent and pusillanimous, was frightened, and suddenly became as humble as he had been insolent before. Sending for the ambassador of Friburg, he spoke to him as to a dear friend: ‘Haste to the camp at Morges,’ he said, ‘and stop this: prevail upon your lords to return.’ Marti, who had not forgotten Charles’s gross insult, answered him bitterly: ‘Do you think that a —— like me can make an army retreat? Commission your own people to carry your lies.’242 Then the duke, still more terrified, sent M. de Maglian, a captain of cavalry, to guard the pass at Nyon, and, ‘changing his song,’ he had it cried through all the city ‘that no one should dare do harm or displeasure to any person of Geneva, under pain of the gallows.’ At the same time, the Sieur de Saleneuve and another of his Highness’s councillors went to the general council, but this time without riding-whips or wands, and with a benevolent smile upon their faces. There, after assuring the people of the love the duke bore them, they were asked to send two citizens to Morges to declare to the Friburgers that the duke would do no injury to Geneva. Two mamelukes, Taccon and De Lestilley, departed.243

Everything was changed in Geneva. The proposal to cut off forty heads was abandoned, to the great regret of Cartelier, who afterwards said: ‘What a pity! but for these —— Friburgers it would have been done.’244 The huguenots, regaining their courage, ‘mocked at the Faucignerans and the other men-at-arms.’245 The inhabitants of the Faubourg St. Gervais, strongly inclined to raillery, attacked their guests with songs, epigrams, and sarcasms. The huguenots imposed on their visitors a strict fast (it was the season of Lent), and gave them for rations only some small fish called bésolles (now féras). ‘You are too good christians,’ they said ironically to the Savoyards, ‘to eat meat now.’ And hence they derisively called the expedition ‘the Bésolles war,’ a name recorded in contemporaneous chronicles.

They could not come to an understanding at Morges. Besançon Hugues and Malbuisson were urging the Friburg troops to advance; Taccon and De Lestilley were urging them to retire. And while the leaders hesitated, the deputies of the cantons arrived and proposed a middle course: that Savoy should withdraw her troops, and Friburg her alliance. It was Zurich, Berne, and Soleure that sought thus to take advantage of the opportunity to withdraw from Geneva the only help which, after God, could save her. The huguenots, abandoned by the cantons, stood stupefied. ‘Renounce your alliance with Friburg,’ repeated the League, ‘without prejudice to your liberties.’ ‘But they would not,’ said Bonivard, ‘for they had the majority of votes.’ The real majority did not therefore consent to this fatal proposition; but it seems that it was again carried by the phantom of a general council, at which none but mamelukes were present. When that was done, the duke hastened to leave Geneva, but with less pomp than when he entered; and the plague took his place.246

When Charles quitted the city, he left behind him sad forebodings. The Swiss accused the Genevans of violence and insults, declaring them guilty of disgraceful conduct to the duke, their most illustrious ally.247 The bishop, who was at Pignerol, wrote to the citizens: ‘Having recovered from my serious illness, I am thinking of passing the mountains, for the benefit and good of my city.’248 Now every one remembered that he had made use of the same words when he had put Navis and Blanchet to death. The signs were threatening: the sky was thick with storm. The citizens trembled for those who were most precious to them, and frightful deeds were about to increase and prolong their terror. ‘From the war of 1519 until 1525,’ says the learned Secretary of State Chouet, ‘the people of Geneva was in great consternation.’249