On the 4th of May the priests determined to make a great display of their power. That day was the feast of the Holy Winding-sheet. If you had wished to know what was the holy winding-sheet, the priests would tell you as follows: When the Lord Jesus was buried, the print of His face remained upon the linen cloth in which He was wrapped, and now, fifteen hundred years later, was still there. Moreover, this winding-sheet had by some means found its way to Geneva, and was shown once a year with great pomp.
The stout canon, Peter Wernli, was to perform the service. He dressed himself in his finest robes, and sang loudly, to the great admiration of the Catholics. Meanwhile his thoughts were far away from the sepulcher in Judea, and from the Savior who was laid in it. He had scarcely finished the service, when he hurried off to the vicar’s house—that house, where twice before the priests had met in council. This time they were again met to form a fresh plan for murdering all the Huguenots. Meanwhile some of the Catholics had gone down to the Molard, and were stirring up any they could find to attack the Huguenots at once. Several times the Huguenots who were passing by were challenged to fight. But they desired peace, and refused to strike a blow.
At last, our hotheaded friend, Ami Perrin, being attacked by a Catholic, rushed upon him, and nearly killed him. Some Catholics ran straightway to the vicar’s house, shouting loudly, “Help! help! they are killing all good Christians!”
Peter Wernli sprang to his feet. He armed himself on the spot, seized his sword and halberd, which he had brought with him, and, “burning with the love of God,” as Sister Jane describes it, he called to the priests to follow him to the Molard. “And this good knight,” says Sister Jane, “being very expert, was armed at once, and, not having patience to wait for the other gentlemen of the church, he went out first in his ardent courage, and ran to the Molard, where he thought to find the Christians gathered. And he cried in his fervor, ‘Courage, good Christians, do not spare those rascals!’ But, alas! he found himself amongst his enemies.”
The truth was, that a riotous crowd was now gathered in the Molard. The night was dark. Shouts and threats were heard on every side, and Peter Wernli knew not whom to attack. He stood in the square, swearing coarse oaths in his stentorian voice, and at last succeeded in urging on some of the Catholics to fight.
Wernli could not see where his enemies were, and knew not in which direction to strike. He therefore dealt his blows to right and left, till a Huguenot snatched his halberd, and broke it in pieces. The canon then drew his two-handed sword, and flew upon the Huguenots around. He was so well defended by his heavy armor that no blow could touch him.
As he was thus hewing down his enemies, a poor carman came up, and determined to put an end to the fight. He looked for a weak point in the priest’s armor, thrust in his sword, and Peter Wernli, having staggered to the entrance of a house, fell dead upon the stairs. The house was that of Chautemps.
“He died,” says Sister Jane, “a blessed martyr!”
“All night long,” she adds, “the Christians were under arms, seeking those wicked dogs, but it was of no good—they were all hidden.”
When daylight came the priests went wearied to bed, and did not know till the morning was far advanced that Peter Wernli was killed.
I will not tell you all that Sister Jane relates of his pompous funeral, and of the miracle performed there—how the dead canon stood upright in his coffin, and was quite warm and fresh-looking, five days after his burial.
What was of more importance to the Huguenots was a really strange event which happened a few weeks later.
Peter Wernli had belonged to a family at Friburg. The city of Friburg had called upon the council of Geneva to avenge the death of their old townsman. As the council had not been able to convict anyone of the murder of Peter, nobody had been punished for it. And now the council of Friburg, backed by the priests of Geneva, turned to their runaway bishop, who was at this time at his castle in France, where he had been “enjoying himself,” he said, having his pinks and gillyflowers, and being “much better fed than at Geneva.” But the Friburgers and the priests insisted upon his return to his forsaken diocese. They looked to the bishop as the last hope of saving the cause of the tottering church.
And thus Peter de la Baume was dragged forth from his pleasant French home, and the priests of Geneva prepared to give him a warm welcome, making the murder of Peter Wernli the pretext for his return. The bishop, they said, should see that justice was done upon the murderers. But the bishop and the priests, and the Friburgers also, were but too glad of this pretext for quenching the gospel, and ridding Geneva of the gospellers as best they might.
On the 1st of July, with great pomp and splendor, the bishop rode into the city. On the 3rd of July the work began. This work of murder, of tyranny, of cruelty, and of enmity to God, was to be done in His holy name. And, therefore, on Thursday, July 3rd, a grand procession took place through the devoted city. The priests and monks walked in order, chanting litanies and prayers. The prayers were offered up to God, and to the Virgin, beseeching them to preserve the Holy Roman Catholic church.
The town council was then called together. The bishop rose up, and asked the assembled magistrates and people whether they owned him for their prince and lord. If they said no, they would declare themselves as rebels. But they well knew if they said yes, it was all up with their liberty—more than that, there would be an end to the gospel in Geneva.
They replied that they owned the bishop as their prince, due regard being given to their ancient laws and liberties.
“Then,” says Sister Jane, “the prelate, for the good of their souls, gave them a devout exhortation, firstly, that they should have the fear of God—secondly, that they should obey the holy church, the spouse of Jesus Christ.”
Meanwhile the magistrates bethought themselves how their freedom was to be preserved to them. They were aware that the bishop meant to take into his own hands the affair of Peter Wernli’s murder. And the ancient laws of Geneva had given to the magistrates alone the power to judge criminal cases.
Scarcely had the bishop’s oration ended than they sent some of their number to a vaulted chamber, where the old parchments and charters of their liberty had been preserved. They looked out the most important of these ancient rolls, and carried them forthwith to the bishop’s palace, whither he had returned. There they spread them before him, and pointed out to him their rights and privileges, which they said were theirs still, and should always be theirs.
The bishop looked with scorn and disgust at these unwelcome parchments. He gave no answer to their remarks; but he was now determined to make no further attempt to put on an appearance of gentleness and kindness. He saw that what was to be done must be done by main force, without any show of carrying out the laws of Geneva. Calling together the priests, and the chief of the Catholics, he desired them at once to make a list of all the heretics and Huguenots who were to be seized as accomplices in the murder. The list was speedily made. The chief Huguenot, Baudichon, was away; he had started for Berne. But there was Chautemps, there was Aimé Levet, Claudine’s husband, there was Ami Perrin, and there were seven or eight more, who might serve for the first list. Many more might follow, when these were safely lodged in the bishop’s dungeons.
“How were they to be caught?” was the next question. The bishop resolved to send them a friendly invitation to his house. The next day this invitation was sent out. Some of them had suspicions, some were surprised at the bishop’s amiable conduct—all were perplexed as to what it might mean. Claudine Levet and Jacquéma Chautemps entreated their husbands not to trust themselves within the bishop’s door; and, taking the advice of their wives, these two faithful men escaped from the city; the rest of the doomed party went to the palace.
Scarcely had they reached the bishop’s ante-chamber, when they were loaded with heavy chains, and carried down to the dark dungeons below. There they were left, their feet fast in the stocks, their hands manacled. Jacquéma Chautemps was also seized. The reason given for her arrest was that she had been present at the death of Peter Wernli.You remember that he had fallen dead upon the stairs of Chautemp’s house. Jacquéma was carried down to the damp dungeons of the bishop’s palace, and shut up alone in a cell.
The next question now to decide was what was to be done with the prisoners. It was settled that they should be carried away by night in a boat to the strong castle of Gaillard, at the foot of the mountains, and there “it was to be done to them as the bishop pleased.”
The bishop now found out for the first time where Baudichon was gone. He was enraged beyond measure. He ordered his officers to go in pursuit, not only of Baudichon, but of Chautemps and Levet. Meanwhile the magistrates had heard of the arrest of their fellow-citizens. They called the council together. What was to be done? Should they submit to the awful tyranny of the bishop, or should they rise at once in rebellion? Everyone seemed too much thunderstruck to decide upon anything. In the midst of their bewilderment there came a messenger from the bishop to ask them to furnish him with troops to pursue “the criminals,” who had fled. This was too much. They at once refused to do anything of the sort. The bishop’s officers, therefore, headed by a priest, set forth to the mountains.
They had been told Levet had gone in that direction. They had not gone far before they found him. The priest ordered him to be scourged on the spot, and then locked up in the castle of Gaillard.
The other prisoners were not yet there.
The bishop was waiting his opportunity to remove them from his dungeons at Geneva. The council again demanded that they should be brought to trial before the judge, according to the laws of Geneva; but the bishop replied, “No, I shall judge them myself.” In vain was one message after another sent to the bishop, to warn him that he was setting at defiance all the laws and customs of the city. He still only replied, “I shall judge them myself.”
Greater and greater became the wrath of the magistrates. The Great Council of Sixty was called. Fresh messages were sent. The oldest magistrates and citizens went in procession to the palace, and told the bishop he was trampling upon their ancient liberties. He gave the same answer as before. And even the ambassadors, who had just arrived from Berne, advised the citizens to give in. They might for once, they said, let the bishop have his way. But the magistrates stood firm; and the Bernese said, “Such men deserve to be free.”
Then the Great Council of Two Hundred was called. They decided, as before, not to yield to the bishop; and the bishop decided, as before, not to yield to them.
Meanwhile the prisoners remained in their dungeons, and strange rumors filled the town as to what the bishop meant to do with them. It was not difficult to imagine. And other dark rumors began to spread, that all round the city the soldiers of Savoy and of Friburg were gathering, ready to enter at any moment, and avenge the death of Peter Wernli.
All was dark within and without. And the prayer of Gideon went up from many a heart amongst the gospellers of Geneva: “Oh, my Lord, if the Lord be with us, why then is all this befallen us?” And perhaps there were some amongst them who felt as though God had forsaken them in those terrible days of suspense and dread: they were a little flock, helpless and defenseless, and, unless the Lord Himself delivered them, there was no hope.
Then came the news that a gospeller had been murdered by the bishop’s officers, in his harvest-field near the town. “He sees no harm in destroying men,” said some of the Huguenots: “may not we destroy the images of wood and stone?” And that same day (July 12th) they carried off the image of the Virgin from the castle gate, and burnt it.
The bishop was alarmed. What might he not expect from men who would dare to lay hands on the Virgin herself? He determined to make away with his prisoners that very night. Boats were prepared and moored by the side of the lake; but a Huguenot had suspected the plot. He went to the lake-side as soon as it was dark, cut the mooring ropes, and took away the oars. Other Huguenots walked round the town carrying torches, which were simply long poles tipped with iron, and a bundle of lighted matches tied to the end. They were determined to be on the watch.
A few days before Baudichon had returned home. That day, July 12th, he had been out in the harvest-fields from the early morning. As he came home after dark, he met a party of armed men at the city gate. He asked them what was the matter. They replied the bishop was going to carry off the prisoners. A sudden thought came into Baudichon’s mind. If there were some who had prayed the prayer of Gideon, they were now to see that the God of Gideon is still the God of His people. He called together fifty of his most trusty friends. He told them to take each an iron-tipped staff, with five unlighted matches at the end. He then went with them to a house near the palace, where they remained hidden till the hour of midnight. Then Baudichon ordered his men to light their matches, to hold their staves in their left hands, their swords in their right hands, and to follow him: and thus suddenly, none daring to resist them, did they walk straight into the bishop’s palace, and up to his chamber.
The bishop “stared with amazement,” and trembled with fear. Baudichon spoke for the rest. “We demand the prisoners,” he said. “Surrender them at once to their lawful judges.”
The bishop was now completely terrified. He had already been alarmed by the sight of a comet, and this sudden apparition of armed men, with drawn swords, and with 250 lights, so bewildered and scared him that he made no resistance. He delivered up the prisoners, one and all; and without striking a blow did Baudichon carry them off in triumph, and deliver them up to the magistrates.
It was a night for which Jacquéma Chautemps would often praise the Lord—that sudden deliverance not only from a dungeon, but from the cruel death which was at hand.
And not only were the prisoners delivered from death, but, strange to say, that daring act of Baudichon had delivered Geneva forever from Peter de la Baume, and from Catholic prince-bishops from that day to this.
The poor bishop could not recover from his fright. He could not sleep; he thought his life was hanging but by a thread in the wicked Huguenot city. He told his servants he would fly at once for safety. Some Catholic magistrates, hearing the rumor, came next day, which was Sunday, to entreat him to remain. But the more the bishop thought of it, the more terrified did he feel. He gave secret orders to his servants to pack up a few needful articles. He sat up on Sunday night, and wrote a letter to the council, commanding them to put down the gospel meetings, and to defend the holy church “tooth and nail.” Early on the morning of Monday, July 14, the news spread through the town that the bishop had fled. He had escaped in the darkness of the early morning, by a little postern door, had hurried through the silent streets, had sprung into a boat, which his servants had prepared, and having rowed to a safe distance, had mounted the horse that was waiting for him, and had galloped away, never to return.
He retired to his tower of May, and rejoiced to think he should see Geneva no more. “The Catholics,” says Sister Jane, “were sorely grieved”; and the pope blamed him for deserting his flock.
And the free citizens of Geneva say to this day, when they want to express their utter contempt, “I don’t care a Baume for you!”
The Huguenots breathed freely now that the bishop was gone. The rescued prisoners were brought to trial before the lawful judges. They were all acquitted, for there was no charge to bring against them.
The carman who had killed Peter Wernli was beheaded. The Huguenots did not consider that he had deserved to die. They said he was but acting in defense of the lives of others. It was Peter Wernli who had begun the fight, and that without any just cause; and had the carman not come to the rescue, many harmless people would probably have fallen beneath the sword of the stout priest. And the Huguenots could not but remember that it was Peter Wernli who had rushed forward to run his sword through William Farel, when he left the vicar’s house. And they believed that God also had remembered this attempted murder of His faithful servant. “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay, said the Lord.”
One victim of the bishop’s wrath was still in peril of his life. This was Aimé Levet. He was kept securely in the dungeons of the Castle Gaillard, and the governor refused to release him. Tidings came of the insults and the cruelties heaped upon him. But it was not without a purpose that God thus left His servant in the hands of the enemy. Aimé Levet was being tried as gold in the furnace, and he was to come forth brighter than before.
As he lay in his dark dungeon, fresh beams from the glory lighted up his soul, and he resolved that, if ever the Lord led him forth again, he would make Christ known far and wide. Claudine was praying for him, and she was to have a better answer than merely his life and liberty.
Two months passed by, and then some Bernese ambassadors appeared at the Castle Gaillard, and demanded the prisoner. It would be a bold man who would dare to refuse Berne—and Aimé Levet was delivered up.
His first act was to write to Anthony Froment and entreat him to return to Geneva. Anxiously did Aimé and Claudine wait for the answer. Though the bishop was gone, they knew that it would be at the risk of his life, if Anthony again appeared at Geneva.
A few days passed, and then the most welcome answer arrived, being none other than Anthony himself!
He brought a friend with him, a preacher from Paris, whose name was Alexander. At once the preaching began:
The priests wrote off to the bishop, who wrote in return forbidding the “new-fangled preaching.” But the magistrates turned a deaf ear, and commanded in their turn that the gospel should be preached. From that moment the meetings became lawful—none could hinder them.
They were held in private houses. The largest room was made ready—the preacher would stand under the high overhanging chimney-piece, and when the room became too full, they would go out into the streets and markets, and crossways. In vain the priests did their best to insult and ill-treat the preachers. The Huguenots only felt the more convinced that the men who bore these insults were the true servants of Christ.
At last, in November, came a great letter from the bishop to the Council of Two Hundred. “We command,” he said, “that no one in our city of Geneva preach, expound, or cause to be preached or expounded, the holy page, the holy gospel, without our express permission, under pain of perpetual excommunication, and a fine of one hundred pounds.” The letter was read to the assembled council. One and all, the Two Hundred rose up, and without saying a word, left the council-room. Their indignation was too great to allow them to answer. And the preachings were held far oftener than before. Testaments and tracts were given away in numbers by Anthony and Alexander; crowds came to the preaching, and the most careless began to read the books.
The priests were in despair. At that moment they heard of a learned doctor from Paris, who was just then preaching in Savoy. They entreated him to come.
The doctor, whose name was Furbity, lost no time, and one Sunday in November, a troop of armed priests and their friends forced their way into the cathedral, where it was not usual to have preaching, and took possession of the pulpit for Furbity. To give you a small portion of one of his sermons will be better than a description of it.
“All,” said Furbity, in a thundering voice, “all who read the Bible in the vulgar tongue are gluttons, drunkards, lewd persons, blasphemers, thieves, and murderers! Those who encourage them are as wicked as they, and God will punish them. All who will not obey the pope, or the cardinals, or the bishops, or the curates, or the priests, are the devil’s flock. They are marked by him. They are worse than Jews, traitors, murderers, and robbers, and ought to be hanged on the gallows. All who eat meat on Friday are worse than Turks and mad dogs. Beware of them, as you would of lepers. Have no dealings with them. Do not let them marry your daughters. You had better give them to the dogs.”
Such were the arguments of Furbity.
The Huguenots could scarcely keep their seats. But the “holy father” continued.
“A priest,” he said, “is above the Holy Virgin, for she only gave life to Jesus Christ once, whereas the priest creates Him every day, as often as he likes. If he says the words of consecration over a sack full of bread, or in a cellar full of wine, all the bread by that act is transformed, and becomes the precious body of Christ, and all the wine is changed into His blood. The Virgin never did that! Ah, the priest! You should not merely bow to him, you should kneel and fall down before him. Where,” he continued, “are the wretched Lutherans who preach the contrary? Where are those heretics, those rascals, those wretches worse than Jews, Turks, and heathens? Where are those fine chimney-preachers? Let them come forward, and they shall be answered. Ha, ha! they will take good care not to show themselves, except at the chimney corner, for they are only brave enough to deceive poor women and fools.”
Here Furbity stopped and looked around him. And suddenly, like David before Goliath, rose up our little Anthony in the middle of the cathedral. “A wicked young boy,” says Sister Jane, “all at once stood up and said these words: ‘For the love of God, good people, listen to what I have to say: I offer my life; I am ready to go to the stake, if I do not prove to you that the words of Doctor Furbity are false.’”
And Anthony, opening his Testament, read passage after passage, and the Huguenots called out, “That is the truth; let him answer that.” But Doctor Furbity sat dumb, and hid his face. The priests waited in vain for his answer. Anthony continued to read. Then the priests, drawing their swords, rushed upon him. It was the only answer they could make. “Burn him!” shouted some. “Drown him!” shouted others. But Baudichon stepped forward, his sword drawn in his hand. “I will kill the first man who touches him,” he said. “If he has done wrong, the law may punish him.”
The priests drew back, and some Huguenots, seizing upon Anthony, dragged him away. “You have spoiled it all,” said Ami Perrin, in his ear; “now all is lost!” “All is won!” replied Anthony.
The Huguenots carried him off to Baudichon’s house, and hid him in the hayloft. A Catholic magistrate speedily followed with officers and halberds. They searched the house, stuck their spears into the hay, but the hand of God was over His servant, and they went away without finding him.
“After dinner,” says Sister Jane, “my lords the magistrates consulted together, and ordered that these two Mahometans (Anthony and Alexander) should be banished from the city within twenty-four hours, never to return.” The officers of the city led Alexander out of the gates, followed by a large crowd. Alexander turned to them, and preached for two hours. Many, we are told, believed the gospel. As soon as it was dark that evening, Baudichon called Anthony out of the hay loft, went with him secretly out of the city to join Alexander, and then the three friends set off along the road so often trodden by Baudichon—the road to Berne.