But the priests had learned, by sad experience, not to be too sure of victory when they had got rid of one of their enemies. Another might spring up at any moment, and they could only hope for a quiet life if they could kill or banish, not five or six, but the whole multitude of gospellers.
Some of the Huguenots suspected that mischief was brewing. Two of them, Baudichon and Claude Salomon, consulted together, and agreed that it would be best to ask for the protection of Berne. Claude wished to propose this to some of the councilors who were on the side of the gospel, but Baudichon said, “No, we had better do the business alone, without asking anybody’s advice. We will go ourselves to Berne and tell our own tale.” Two magistrates, however, found out this plan. They fully approved of it, for they were Huguenots—one of them was Claude Bernard. But they said that Baudichon and Salomon would be running a terrible risk, for they would bring down upon their heads the bitter anger of all the Catholics. “But if you will go,” they said, “do whatsoever God shall inspire you to do. We give you no directions.”
The two Huguenots set off at once, and soon a letter arrived from Berne to the council of Geneva, which startled the councilors greatly. Some were angry, some frightened, some rejoiced. The Bernese wrote, in fact, a tremendous letter. They reproached the council for the persecution of Farel, and of the other preachers, and said, “We are surprised that in your city the faith in Jesus Christ, and those who hold it, are so ill-treated.” The council was divided; they none of them knew what to do. “If we yield to Berne,” they said, “we shall have the priests raising a riot. If we please the priests we shall lose the protection of Berne and the Huguenots will rise in rebellion, having Berne at their back.”
Baudichon and Salomon were soon found out to have been the cause of this letter. Nearly all the councilors were enraged against them. The news spread through the town that Berne had interfered, and had required full liberty for the gospel.
I cannot, in this little history, tell you all that followed. You can imagine how the priests called for vengeance upon the two wicked Huguenots. They said to one another the time was come to take the matter into their own hands. On the Thursday night before “holy week,” they all collected in the same great hall where Farel had endured the spitting, and the blows of the canons. Most of the priests came to this meeting armed to the teeth, and “breathing threatening and slaughter.” The hall was lighted by torches, held by monks. The consultation began. What was to be done to stop the plague of heresy? “We will not lower ourselves to dispute with the heretics,” they said. “We will not ask help from the magistrates: they are only lukewarm. We must conquer the gospellers by ourselves. Then we will have the bishop back, and the good old times with him. We will ring the alarm bell forthwith, draw our swords, and call out the faithful to march against these dogs! Let us kill all the gospellers, without sparing one. We shall he doing God a good service.”
Thus was the matter settled. As for the crime of murder, what did it matter? The bishop had already sent pardons in blank, to be filled up for any whose consciences were tender—pardons for the murders they were going to commit by the hundred, if they needed pardons, and were not, as most of them were, proud of their zeal for God.
The next day the streets of Geneva were to run down with blood.
At the head of the priests was a gigantic canon, called Peter Wernli. He was armed from head to foot, and was prepared to hew down his enemies with the strength of a Samson. It was settled that all the Catholic army was to be gathered in and around the cathedral early next morning. From that point they were to start upon their awful errand. I have not space to tell you how all this is related to us in the old chronicles, and in the journal of Sister Jane. She looked upon the priests as heroes, going forth to fight with the enemies of God. David, with his sling and stone, was scarcely as great in her eyes as the canon, Peter Wernli.
Next morning, as they gathered in the cathedral, two Huguenots peeped in. The bishop’s secretary, wishing to be first in the fight, threw down one of them, and stabbed him in the back. A cry of horror rang through the cathedral—not because a harmless young man had been stabbed, but because the holy floor had been defiled by the blood of a heretic.
“Therefore,” writes Sister Jane, “there was no bell rung, and no service performed in the cathedral till it had been purified by my lord the vicar; nor was service performed in the other churches either, because the mother-church was closed. Nor did they ring the bells, even in the convents, for the same cause.”
Such is the sense of sin in the natural heart of man! These blind priests, who were setting out on the awful work of murdering all the people of God in their city, were filled with grief and horror at what they called the sin of sacrilege.
You and I, unless God has opened our eyes, are just as fit to judge of sin against God, as these benighted priests of Geneva. It is only when we “have the mind of Christ” that we can even confess our sins aright: for, otherwise, we are utterly in the dark as to what they are. We see these men full of grief for the insult rendered to a stone building, whilst they were going forth to destroy the true and living temples in which the Holy Spirit dwelt. It is not that the natural man has no conscience or a conscience that does not act, but his conscience is no guide to him. It is like a clock that is wound up, but not set. Were he to compare it with the sundial—the Word of God—he would make some terrible discoveries! And the sooner they are made the better.
But notwithstanding the lamentations of the priests over the stained pavement, “the good Christians,” says Sister Jane —meaning the Catholics—“were more animated to the fight than before.” They would have started at once, but the magistrates, who had arrived, made a last effort to prevent the riot. Finding the priests utterly unmanageable, they thought of a plan for delaying the massacre. “You will kill the good Catholics, without knowing which are which,” they said; and, ordering the cathedral doors to be closed to prevent the march, they sent for a bundle of laurels, and proposed that every Catholic should stick a leaf in his cap before the fighting began.
“Then,” says Sister Jane, “my lords, the churchmen (that is, the priests), went to prostrate themselves before the high altar with much devotion, and all the company commended themselves to God, singing, with many tears, the hymn, ‘The banners of the King go forth.’ They then commended themselves to the glorious Virgin Mary, and sang to her the hymn, ‘Salve Regina’; and they then encouraged one another by saying, ‘Today’ (Friday) is the day our Savior shed His blood, and it is meet and right to shed ours in taking vengeance on His enemies, who crucify Him more cruelly than the Jews.'” Then the great alarm-bell was rung, and the army set forth with crosses and banners.
Three other bands were to join them in the Molard. The magistrates went with the army. They hoped to find some means of making a further delay. As the other bands had not arrived at the Molard, they insisted that no fighting should begin till all were assembled.
In the meanwhile, the Huguenots had gathered in and around Baudichon’s house. They foresaw that would be the first point of attack. The Huguenot women met to pray; and Sister Jane and her nuns, too, spent the day in prayer for “the good fathers” who were “gone to battle for the faith.” The abbess made a cross of ashes on the foreheads of the poor ladies; they then “made processions round the cloisters, saying holy litanies, and imploring the intercession of all the court of heaven, the glorious Virgin Mary, and all the glorious saints, and all with many tears and great devotion.”
The Catholic women, too, won high praise from Sister Jane. She tells us that, as their husbands were going to kill the heretic men, they said to one another, “Let us go, too, and make war against the heretic women, that we may get rid of the whole race.” And the children, too, “were well resolved to render good service with their mothers. There were at least seven hundred children, from twelve to fifteen years of age, who carried little swords and hatchets, and filled with stones their hats and caps and skirts, that they, too, might slaughter the heretic children. The women carried stones in their aprons.” One of them did not take up arms—her father was a gospeller, but her husband was what Sister Jane calls “a Christian.” The poor woman, seeing her husband start for the fight, began to cry; but her husband said to her, “Woman, cry as much as you please; if I meet your father he shall be the first person I shall try my strength upon. He shall kill me, or I shall kill him.”
Such were the heroes of Sister Jane. The poor young wife was Baudichon’s daughter.
The priests were as proud of the fighting women as Sister Jane was. They were burning with impatience to begin the attack. But still the other bands did not arrive. Bye-and-bye a report reached the Molard that one band, in crossing the Rhone Bridge, had been driven back by a magistrate with an armed force. This was true; it was a band headed by a furious butcher. The magistrate who defeated them had closed the gates of the bridge. This was the same bridge near which Aimé Levet had his shop of drugs. Our friend Claudine, hearing a strange noise, ran out of the house to find out what was going on. Some Catholic women rushed upon her, shrieking loudly,” Let us begin the war! We will throw this dog into the Rhone!” But Claudine being “tricky,” as Sister Jane describes it, ran back quickly into the house and shut the door. The women vainly endeavored to break the door to pieces. Finding this was beyond their strength, they vented their fury upon Aime Levet’s shop-window. A second time his bottles were shattered, his shop ransacked, and his drugs thrown into the street. But Claudine remained calm and bright in the raging storm. We are told, “she raised her thoughts to Heaven, where she found great matter of joy to blot out all her sorrows.”
Still the priests and their army waited impatiently in the Molard. One of the three bands had arrived, bringing the city banner, which was planted, by order of the chief magistrate, in the midst of the armed priests. The magistrate, like Pilate, not being able to control the priests, thought it best to let it seem they were acting by his consent. One band had, as you know, been defeated on the bridge; but the third, which consisted chiefly of priests, was still expected. The news came at last that this third band was marching round by way of Baudichon’s house. The Canon Veigy, who was at the head of it, had heard that all the Huguenots were gathered in the house of their leader, and a fine plan occurred to him. Could he but set fire to the house, and surround it with his troops to prevent any from escaping, all the Huguenots might be burnt at once! That would be a bonfire worth seeing! But Canon Veigy had scarcely started when he met some terrified Catholics, who came running to tell him of the disaster on the bridge.
The canon did not wish to share the fate of the butcher, by having to pass near the spot where the Huguenot magistrate was still holding his ground. He, therefore, went straight to the Molard.
When his friends in the Molard found he had not burnt the house, they were “greatly astonished and vexed.” They called him a coward and a traitor. The tidings spread to the Huguenot party that the priests were clamoring to have the fire lighted at once. Baudichon and his friends had desired as much as possible to avoid bloodshed. They now determined to march forth in dependence upon God. They resolved not to strike a blow unless they were attacked, but to show themselves face to face with their enemies.
They went in silence to the Molard, and there drew up in line of battle on two sides of the square. They were but few, but they knew God was on their side. They said to one another, “There is not a spark of help for us but in God alone.”
The cannon were loaded; the Catholics seized their weapons; the women and children came forward with their stones, and there was a general shout of threats and insults, which rose from all parts of the Catholic army. The Huguenot women remained in the house, and prayed. All was now ready for the onset.
But God had determined that the blood of His saints should not be shed that day. At that last moment some merchants from Friburg, who had come to the fair, arrived in the Molard. They were astonished and grieved at the sight of the citizens thus armed against one another. They spoke to the Huguenots, and warned them that, if the fight began, they would have no chance against such numbers. The Huguenots replied they had no wish to fight; they wished only to be left in peace.
The merchants then turned to the priests. They told them it was disgraceful that they should thus be stirring up the people to murder one another. But the priests were the more furious at this interference. The merchants found it was useless to try to bring them to reason. They, therefore, turned lastly to the magistrates, and reminded them it was their duty to stop the riot and prevent bloodshed. The magistrates were glad of any pretext for doing so. But how could they hinder the priests, who were too strong for them?
The worthy merchants then called to the people on the Catholic side. They asked them if they really wished to murder their friends and relations with their own hands. “Why don’t you let the priests fight it out by themselves?” they said. The people thought the merchants were right. “After all, why should we get killed for the priests?” they said one to another. “We have been fools to let them lead is to fight in their quarrel against our neighbors.” And thus from all quarters a cry arose, “Let us make peace!”
The magistrates seized the opportunity. Everyone was commanded to go quietly home, under pain of being hanged. And thus the crowd dispersed. All went home with joy and thankfulness, except the priests only, and the few who were like them. Amongst that few was one who had not appeared on the Molard, namely, Sister Jane. She wrote in her journal that “that was a bad day for the Christians, and it much grieved them that all men were sent home without fighting. They said one to another, ‘We ought at this time to finish the work, and then we should have no more fear of the Lutherans, nor any trouble more.’ And, in truth, it would have been better so than to let them live.”
Thus did this poor woman thirst for the blood of the saints, imagining herself to be one set apart for God, holier in His sight than almost any other. If you never before realized that your natural heart is stone-blind as to the things of God, you see in one of the same race, one of your own flesh and blood, what that blindness is, and what, alas! is that hatred to all that God loves, which fills the heart of every unsaved sinner. You would get no credit in this country and in these days by expressing that hatred in the same way, and perhaps you are, therefore, little aware that it exists in your heart at all. But Sister Jane was but a branch of the same stock from which we all came—you and I, and the priests of Geneva also.