Читать книгу History of the Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin (Vol. 1-8) - J. H. Merle D'Aubigné - Страница 33

Et qu’un sang précieux, par martyre espandu,

A la cause de Dieu servira de semence.

Shortly after Bellegarde’s departure the confessor entered, discharged his duty mechanically, uttered the sentence: Ego te absolvo—and withdrew, showing no more sympathy for his victim than the provost had done. Then appeared a man with a cord: it was the executioner. It was then ten o’clock at night. The inhabitants of the little town and of the adjacent country were sleeping soundly, and no one dreamt of the cruel deed that was about to cut short the life of a man who might have shone in the first rank in a great monarchy. Bellegarde had no cause to fear that he would be disturbed in the accomplishment of his crime; still he dreaded the light; there was in his hardened conscience a certain uneasiness which alarmed him. The headsman bound the noble Lévrier, armed men surrounded him, and the martyr of law was conducted slowly to the castle yard. All nature was dumb, nothing broke the silence of that funereal procession; Charles’s agents moved like shadows beneath the ancient walls of the castle. The moon, which had not reached its first quarter, was near setting, and shed only a feeble gleam. It was too dark to distinguish the beautiful mountains in the midst of which stood the towers whence they had dragged their victim; the trees and houses of Bonne were scarcely visible; one or two torches, carried by the provost’s men, alone threw light upon this cruel scene. On reaching the middle of the castle yard, the headsman stopped and the victim also. The ducal satellites silently formed a circle round them, and the executioner prepared to discharge his office. Lévrier was calm: the peace of a good conscience supported him in this dread hour. He thought of God, of law, of duty, of Geneva, of liberty, and of the legitimate authority of St. Peter, whom, in the simplicity of his heart, he regarded as the sovereign of the city. It was really the prince-bishop whom he thus designated, but not wishing to utter the name of a prelate whom he despised, he substituted that of the apostle. Alone in the night, in those sublime regions of the Alps, surrounded by the barbarous figures of the Savoyard mercenaries, standing in that feudal court-yard, which the torches illumined with a sinister glare, the heroic champion of the law raised his eyes to heaven and said: ‘By God’s grace I die without anxiety, for the liberty of my country and the authority of St. Peter.’ The grace of God, liberty, authority—these main principles of the greatness of nations were his last confession. The words had hardly been uttered when the executioner swung round his sword, and the head of the citizen rolled in the castle yard. Immediately, as if struck with fear, the murderers respectfully gathered up his remains, and placed them in a coffin. ‘And his body was laid in earth in the parish church of Bonne, with the head separate.’ At that moment the moon set, and black darkness hid the stains of blood which Lévrier had left on the pavement of the court-yard.348 ‘Calamitous death,’ exclaims the old Citadin de Genève, ‘which cost upwards of a million of Savoyard lives in the cruel wars that followed, in which no one received quarter, because the unjust death of Lévrier was always brought forward.’349 There is considerable exaggeration in the number of Savoyards who, according to this writer, expiated Lévrier’s murder by their death. The crime had other consequences—and nobler ones.

Moral victories secure success more than material victories. Over the corpses of Berthelier and Lévrier we might give a christian turn to the celebrated saying: ‘It is the defeated cause that is pleasing to God.’ The triumph of brute force in the castle of Bonne and in front of Cæsar’s tower agitated, scandalised, and terrified men’s minds. Tears were everywhere shed over these two murders.... But patience! These bloody ‘stations’ will be found glorious ‘stations’ leading to the summit of right and liberty. A book has been written telling the history of the founders of religious liberty. I may be deceived, but it appears to me that the narrative of the struggles of the first huguenots might be entitled: History of the founders of modern liberty. My consolation when I find myself called upon to describe events hitherto unknown, relating to persons unnoticed until this hour, and taking place in a little city or obscure castle, is, that these facts have, in my opinion, a European, a universal interest, and belong to the fundamental principles of existing civilisation. Berthelier, Lévrier, and others have hitherto been only Genevese heroes; they are worthy of being placed on a loftier pedestal, and of being hailed by society as heroes of the human race.

The haste with which the victim had been sacrificed, the remote theatre of the crime, the hour of night that had been chosen, all show that Charles had an uneasy conscience. He soon discovered that he had not been mistaken in his fears. The indignation was general. The men of independence took advantage of the crime that had been committed to magnify the price of liberty. ‘A fine return,’ they said, ‘for the honours we have paid Monsieur of Savoy and his wife!’ Though their anger broke out against the duke, the bishop had his share of their contempt. The reflection that he had permitted his friends to be sacrificed on one side of the Alps while he was amusing himself on the other, shocked these upright souls. ‘A pretty shepherd,’ they said, ‘who not only abandons his flock to the wolves, but the faithful dogs also that watch over it!’ They were disgusted with priestly government: some citizens even went so far as to say: ‘We had better grant Monsieur of Savoy his request, than let ourselves be murdered for a prelate who gives us no credit for it. If the duke takes away certain things, he will at least guarantee the rest; while the bishop devours us on one side and lets us be devoured on the other.’350 They concluded that ecclesiastical principalities only served to ruin their subjects—at Geneva as well as at Rome. Liberals and ducals held almost the same language. The temporal power of the bishop was a worm-eaten building that would tumble down at the first shock.

When the news of the murder at Bonne was heard among the young worldlings who frequented the court, they were aghast, and a change came over them. All that the duke had done to win them, the splendid entertainments, the graces of the duchess, the charms of her ladies, were forgotten. In the ball-room they could see nothing but Death leaning on his scythe and with hollow eyes looking round for some new victim. Their past pleasures seemed a mockery to them. A brilliant representation had taken place: on a sudden the curtain fell, the lights were extinguished, and the most enthusiastic spectators, seized with terror, hastened to escape far from a place which appeared to run with blood. That murder, ‘in the night by torchlight, put all the city in great alarm,’ says a chronicler.

Amid all these cries of indignation, of contempt, of terror, there was a small group of firm men who saw the dawn of liberty piercing through the darkness of crime. The generous spirits who had received the Divine Word from France—Porral, Maison-Neuve, Vandel, Bernard, even Bonivard—took courage in their tears. ‘One single obstacle will check the duke,’ they said, ‘and that obstacle is God! God desires by means of the duke to chastise Geneva, not destroy it. The stripes that he inflicts are not for its death, but for its improvement. Yes! God, after punishing us with the rod of a father, will rise with the sword in his hand against those whose crimes he appears to permit.’351

Charles, perceiving the effect produced by the outrage he had committed, felt ill at ease at Geneva. Nor was that all; for, learning that a numerous French army was entering his states on one side, while the imperial army was advancing on the other, and that a terrible meeting might ensue, he alleged this motive for returning to Turin. Wishing, however, to secure his authority in Geneva, he sent for Hugues, whose patriotism he feared, reminded him of the scene just enacted at Bonne, and required him to promise, upon oath, that he would not take part in the affairs of the city. Hugues entered into the required engagement.352 Then Charles hastened to depart, and Bonivard said, with a meaning smile: ‘The duchess having crossed the Alps, the duke hastens after her—like a good little canary.’353

The Genevans breathed at last: the city was without either duke or bishop. Lévrier’s martyrdom, which had at first crushed them, now inflamed their courage. As a steel blade long bent returns back with a spring, so Geneva, suffering under a blow that seemed as if it would destroy her, rose up with energy. More than this; the empty place was soon filled. Help would come from heaven. The ancient imperial and episcopal city, not content with having set aside bishops and dukes, would within a few years place on the throne Him who exalteth nations. Then, ‘dwelling in the shadow of the Almighty,’ and sitting tranquilly at the foot of her beautiful mountains, Geneva will raise her head, crowned with a twofold liberty.354