FAREL, Viret, and Anthony Froment were all in their midst. Alexander had left. We shall hear news of him later. The bishop had forbidden preaching, and now the three great gospel preachers were all there together, all preaching, and none dared to hinder.
The Huguenots cared but little for the threats of the priests. But just as a discussion was going on in the Town Hall, they were startled by the news that some Catholics had stabbed in the street two Huguenot citizens. One was dangerously wounded, the other, a worthy respectable tradesman, was dead. Neither of them had given any cause for the attack made upon them. A large body of Huguenots drew up before the Town Hall. Four of them went into the council room, where they found the Bernese ambassador. He had just arrived to warn the council that a massacre was about to begin. The four Huguenots brought the same tidings. They said the priests had resolved upon another riot.
The council sent out officers immediately to arrest the murderers. But where were they?
“No doubt they are hidden in the bishop’s palace,” said the Huguenots. “He is most likely at the bottom of the plot.”
The magistrates commanded the palace doors to be opened, and they searched the house from the garrets to the cellars, but not a trace could they find of the murderers. They left a guard of Huguenot soldiers in the house, and went to search elsewhere. An hour or two later, when it was quite dark, as the Huguenot soldiers sat keeping watch in the hall of the palace, a low voice was heard through the keyhole. It was some one speaking from the street outside. A soldier put his ear to the keyhole. A voice repeated the name of one of the maids. One of the Huguenots, imitating a woman’s voice, said “What do you want?” “I want some keys,” replied the speaker outside, “I want them for Portier, and Claude Pennet.”
Portier was the bishop’s secretary, the same who had stabbed the young Huguenot a year before in the cathedral. Pennet was one of the murderers on the present occasion.
“What will you do with them?” asked the Huguenot.
“I shall take them to S. Peter’s church, where they are hidden,” replied the voice through the keyhole.
That was just what the Huguenots wanted to know. They threw open the door, and the speaker, who was a priest, seeing an armed man, instead of the maid, fled in terror. The magistrates, hearing the tidings, went themselves to the church, or rather the cathedral. They took a number of officers with them, carrying torches. They wandered over the great cathedral—through the side chapels, the galleries, the vestries—all in vain. At last, after three long hours, they determined to go up the winding stairs into the tower. The officer who first reached the top of the tower caught sight, in a dark corner, of some sparkling eyes, which shone in the light of his torch. Pennet and his accomplice Portier were crouching in the corner, shaking and trembling from head to foot.
Very speedily they were locked up in the prison of the Town Hall.
Meanwhile the Huguenot soldiers who had remained in the palace, were chatting and joking with the bishop’s servants. They talked about Portier, and made various disrespectful remarks concerning him. “Indeed,” said the servants, “Portier is not such a nobody as you suppose. He has confidential letters from my lord the bishop, yes, and from his highness the Duke of Savoy himself.”
“Indeed!” said the Huguenots, who saw they were on the eve of making a great discovery; “you don’t mean us to believe that such grand people trouble themselves to write to Portier. You must have dreamed it.”
“There are the letters in his cupboard,” answered the servants. “If you don’t believe it, we should only have to get the cupboard open, and you would see them, with the duke’s great seal, too.”
Up sprang the Huguenots, and in another moment the cupboard was broken open, and the letters all cleared out and carried off to the council. Great was the horror and consternation of the citizens of Geneva, when these startling letters were read before them. They now saw the fearful pit upon the brink of which they had been standing.
Their bishop himself, had written to Portier appointing a governor, who was to have absolute power in Geneva, with no law but that of his own will. He was to put to death whom he would, being answerable to no one but the bishop. To carry out this plot, the bishop had entered into a compact with his old enemy, the Duke of Savoy. The duke had sent blank warrants, with his seal attached to them. Any citizen might thus be seized in the name of the duke, and according to the pleasure of the bishop. Just as Herod and Pilate had forgotten their enmity, in order to join in the murder of the Son of God, so had the duke, and his rival, the bishop, now joined hands, to put down the blessed gospel, which was hateful alike to both. The bishop, whom the council had trusted, had betrayed them to their bitterest enemy.
Portier had now enough to answer for. He was kept in prison awaiting his trial. Pennet, who had murdered the good tradesman, was tried at once.
His brother, who had stabbed the other man, could not be found. He was hidden in the house of a beggar-woman, where Sister Jane and her nuns supplied him with food.
Claude Pennet, the murderer, was condemned to death by a Catholic magistrate. There were some amongst the Catholics who cared more for the laws and liberties of their city, than for the praise and goodwill of the priests.
One Sunday in March, when the people were leaving the church, our friend Baudichon stood up in the midst, and announced that William Farel would preach there that same day, and that the bells would be rung to give notice to the city. The monks stood aghast; but Baudichon and his friends proceeded to the belfry, and rang loud peals during one hour. In the meanwhile the Huguenots took possession of the convent cloisters, which would hold more people than the church—perhaps as many as four or five thousand. By the end of the hour the cloisters were crowded with Huguenots and Catholics alike. The Catholics waited anxiously to see the wonderful preacher, of whom they had heard such tales.
To their utter astonishment he appeared in his usual dress—no robes, no gown but the Spanish cloak he always wore, and the brimmed cap which was only worn by laymen.
The sermon began—such words of life and power as had never before been heard in the old cloisters. None listened more attentively than one of the monks, who was a bitter enemy to the gospel. The words came to him from heaven, and that day, for the first time, Christ shone down in His love and grace into the heart of the poor Franciscan. This monk was James Bernard, brother to Claude Bernard, the Huguenot of whom you have heard before.
The next day the priests and their friends appeared before the council, to complain of the strange doings at the convent. At the same moment the Bernese came into the council-room. “We have long asked you for a church,” they said, “and now a place has been provided by the inspiration of God, without our help That cloister has been given to Farel by the Lord Himself; beware lest you hinder him.” The council thought it best to leave the matter alone. The ambassadors now left Geneva. “We commend our preachers to you,” they said to the Huguenots. Claude Bernard took the three preachers thenceforth to live in his house, where they were in better quarters than at the “Black Head.”
The council of Friborg now sent messenger to Geneva. They were bitterly displeased al the welcome given to William Farel; but finding that the council of Geneva was unable of unwilling to stop the gospel preaching, they declared the alliance between Friborg and Geneve at an end, and returned home. The priests thus lost their best friends.
Every day the gospel meetings were more crowded—every day the believers were multiplied. On a Sunday in May, after the sermon, the believers met in the Franciscan Cloister to break bread. To their surprise, a priest, in his splendid robes, came up to the table. One by one did he take off his gorgeous trappings—his stole, his cope, his alb—he flung them on the ground, and stood there in a plain citizen’s dress. “I throw off,” he said, “the old man, and stand here a prisoner to the gospel of the Lord. Brethren! I will live and die with you, for Jesus Christ’s sake.” The gospelers looked at the priest with tears of joy, and the layman Farel held forth to him the bread and wine, and all together thanked the Lord for His grace and goodness. This priest was Louis Bernard, the brother of James and Claude.
God had greatly blessed this family. Claude’s little daughter, only seven or eight years’ old, was a bright witness for Christ. The priests, who could not answer the texts she repeated to them, said she was possessed. It must have been a happy party who met in Claude Bernard’s house—the three brothers, the three preachers, and the wife and little daughter. James Bernard, who saw the truth but dimly at first, grew daily in grace and in the knowledge of God.
The bishop of Geneva had not ceased to think of his deserted flock. But he thought of it as the wolf thinks, not as the shepherd. One night, in July, the chief magistrate, who was just gone to bed, was roused up by his servants. A stranger wished to speak to him on business that would admit of no delay. The stranger was a gospeler from Dauphine. “I should grieve,” he said, “to see Geneva and the gospel brought to destruction. The army of the duke of Savoy is already before your city, and very early this morning the bishop left Chambery in order to force an entrance by means of the Savoyards.”
The news was too true. The enemy was already at the gates. The bishop, with his followers, had halted at a village about two miles off. The Catholics in the town, who had long been in the plot, had made all ready for the entrance of the enemy. They had lodged 300 Savoyards in various Catholic houses. They had spiked some of the cannon—had stuffed some with hay. They had a locksmith in readiness to open the city gates. In the middle of the night the Catholics were to make the signal to those outside by waving lighted torches from the roofs of their houses. A great gun was to be fired in the Molard as a signal for the armed priests inside the town to assemble, and before morning Geneva was to be given over to her two deadly enemies: The duke had asked the help, of France, and he had agreed with the bishop that, as soon as he was restored to his see, he should give it up to a young son of the duke’s, receiving in return a large sum of money.
These strange tidings fell as a thunderbolt upon the ears of the magistrate. The whole city was speedily in arms. The priests, who were about to unfurl the red flag—the signal for the murder of the Huguenots—fled to hide themselves in their houses. The troops outside waited impatiently for the beacon lights, and they wondered that no torches had as yet appeared upon the housetops.
Suddenly a bright light shone forth, but it rose higher and higher—far higher than the roof of the tallest house in Geneva. It stood still at last upon the spire of the great cathedral. “It is the light of the city watch!” said the Sanvoyards, who knew Geneva. “We are discovered!” And suddenly a panic seized the army. The two generals gave the signal for retreat.
The bishop, who had observed the strange light, knew not what to make of it. Some soldiers hurried to give him the alarm, and terrified, as on the night when Baudichon, with his torches, had suddenly appeared, he sprang on his horse, and galloped away at full speed. When the sun arose not an enemy remained in sight. God had saved Geneva! F.B.