Upon that same May morning the noble hall in Geneva where Calvin was wont to lecture to his crowd of eager students was the scene of a very different assembly. The Great or General Council of the citizens held its meeting there. The canopied chair of state at the end of the hall, where of old sat the Fanciscan prior, was occupied now, not by Master John Calvin, but by Syndic Amblarde Come, with his black baton of office on the table before him. His three colleagues with their batons sat beside, and the stalls near them that lined the wall accommodated the Council of Twenty-five. Facing them in close serried rows on the front benches, sat the legitimate members of the Great Council, all of them enrolled and registered citizens of Geneva. But behind and about them, in every corner of the hall, surged and crowded a tumultuous mass, growing more and more, till scarce standing room was left. Some clung to the pillars, some got up into the windows and stood in the embrasures, others were fain to content themselves about the doors, or thronged the corridors and staircases.
From the dense macs there arose a continuous hum and buzzing, like that of a swarm of bees, but varied with occasional shouts and outcries. “A plague upon your saints?! — Aha, the Libertine! Knock him down — turn him out! Down with the consistory! To the Rhone with the lot of you! Order! Order! Hush citizens! — the first syndic is speaking. Order, I say! Order!”
Order was at last established, and silence enough obtained to enable the greater part of the assembly to hear the voice of Amblarde Come. And as they heard, the silence deepened, for his words were of interest to them all. He spoke of the late tumults, stirred up by certain persons of evil intent, unruly citizens, and bad companions; of their intention, thinly veiled, to bring to naught the greatness and the polity of Geneva, and to make her a prey to discord and disorder. With God’s good blessing they would not succeed, but would rather leave themselves exposed to condign and well-merited punishment. They alleged as their pretext the dangers of foreign influence, and especially of that of the French exiles, now domiciled amongst them. But everyone knew that these worthy and honorable persons — ”
Here a disturbance at the bottom of the hall, which had been growing for some minutes, assumed proportions which could not be ignored. The speaker paused to administer a stern rebuke.
Then someone from a near bench pushed forward and said, “Please, your worthiness, it is a person with tidings which seem to be of importance. He demands speech with the honorable syndics; but he cannot get through the press.”
“Make way for him then — we will all hear him,” said Syndic Come; and the cry, “Make way — make way!” rang through the hall.
Not so easy to obey it, in that throng! However, with time and pains the thing was done. Two men of the city watch, with a slight figure in a lady’s robe, stood before the syndics.
“Holy saints! What have we here? A girl?” cried a member of the council, never identified, for no one would own to the un-Protestant exclamation. A start and movement of surprise ran through them all.
The first syndic, as was meet, found voice the first. “What is all this?” he asked. “What mean you, city watch, by bringing this maiden hither?”
“Please your honourablenesses, she is a boy,” began one.
“Most worthy syndics, he is Norbert de Caulaincourt, and he comes to us with tidings from Pregny,” the other explained, more lucidly.
“Speak then, maiden, or young man, whichever thou art,” said the first syndic. But as he spoke he recognized with a start the fur-trimmed robe whose wearer he had himself delivered up to the Savoyards at the Porte Neuve. By this time Norbert’s story was known in the city; though the surprise and excitement it would otherwise have created was swallowed up in the imminent and all-engrossing Libertine Terror.”
Meanwhile Norbert, overcome with shame and embarrassment, struggled to find his voice. “‘Tis the fault of the watch,” he said, “they would not let me go home and change.”
“Never mind thy garments, but answer plainly — Who art thou?”
“I am Norbert de Caulaincourt.”
A murmur ran round the hall. The hero of the desperate adventure had been given up by every one as lost. There was joy as well as wonder in the sound. Some began to cheer and acclaim aloud, though cries of another nature were not wanting. “He deceived us,” — ” Brought us into evil odor with the Savoyards. Transgressed the commands of Holy Scripture, as given unto — ”
“No! No! No! “He saved a maiden of Geneva” — ” He risked his life.” He is une brave jeune homme.” “He is a French exile and a traitor.”
With some difficulty the rising tumult was quelled sufficiently for the grave voice of Amblarde Come to make itself heard.
“It will be time enough to inquire into the case of this young man when we have heard the tidings which, the watch says, he brings to us from Pregny. Norbert de Caulaincourt, how camest thou to Pregny?”
“I was not in Pregny, which is Bernese territory, but — on my way home hither, I met Master Ami Berthelier, who was. The message is from him.”
“Now tell the honorable council whatsoever Master Ami Berthelier has bidden thee to say.”
Norbert happily had one of those minds which a great peril or a great occasion clears and steadies, in place of distracting. He spoke out bravely, and told his story so that all could understand. From his young lips, without pause or hesitancy, came the fateful words that took from Daniel Berthelier and his accomplices their last chance of life. After this, every man present there knew that the doom of the traitors was sealed. Even that tumultuous assembly was awed into a solemn silence, far more impressive than any amount of noise and outcry.
“We will debate presently upon this matter,” the first syndic said quietly. “As for thee, Norbert de Caulaincourt, thou wilt have to answer before another Tribunal than this for contempt of the Honorable Council of Twenty-five, for fraudulent, insolent and immodest behavior, and transgression of the commandments of Almighty God, as given us in Holy Scripture. Wherefore, and until there is leisure and opportunity for the due investigation of thy case, I propose, with the leave of the council of citizens here present, to commit thee to the prison of the Eveche.”
This stem address did not take Norbert altogether by surprise. He knew that the city authorities, and especially the first syndic himself, whom he had deceived and befooled, must feel indignant at his audacious trick. Even any of them who did not feel it would be bound to feign it. What, indeed, could he expect, after putting their high mightinesses in a position so ridiculous, if not so odious, in the eyes of their enemies the Savoyards?
He bowed his head, as one who acquiesces in a just sentence; yet the next moment he raised it again, and looked the first syndic boldly in the face. “But you will send for Master Berthelier? He is sorely wounded,” he said.
The austere face of Amblarde Come relaxed, almost R. into a smile, either at the boy’s audacity, or at his simplicity in thinking the syndics needed to be reminded by him of a duty so obvious. “Enough said,” he answered, though not very sternly, “Dizenier, remove the prisoner.”
Meanwhile, there was a stirring on one of the back benches, and several voices cried, “Make way — make way!” as a tall figure pushed through the close-packed seats, came forward, and passed up the hall to the place of the syndics and the Council of Twenty-five.
With a start and thrill Norbert saw his father. Germain de Caulaincourt, citizen of Geneva, and duly elected member of the Great Council, had hitherto listened to the proceedings in silence, sitting modestly in the background, behind a pillar. Now he took his stand beside his son, laying one hand upon his shoulder. One quick look passed between them; the he bowed to the syndics, and spoke “May it please your worthinesses, and the honorable citizens here present, I Germain de Caulaincourt, accuse this my son, Norbert de Caulaincourt, of contempt for the Council of Twenty-five, and of setting at naught its decrees.”
A murmur and a movement of astonishment ran round the hall. The syndics looked at each other in perplexity. Only the two Caulaincourts stood perfectly still, the elder awaiting the decision of the council, the younger stilled by the kindly pressure of his father’s hand.
At last the silence was broken by the first syndic.
“M. de Caulaincourt, we know you for a true man and a good citizen. Assuredly it need not this to prove it. Whilst we honor your devotion to the city of your adoption, we would not have you strain it to such extremity.”
“I do not strain it, sir. I act of my free will. I know it to be your law that the accuser must go to prison along with the accused.”
Norbert started, turned half round, looked full in his father’s face. It was a look that spoke volumes. De Caulaincourt went on, his grave, quiet voice penetrating the assembly, which stilled itself to listen. “Moreover, I hold that the responsibility in this matter rests partly upon me. That which my son has done — and I own the act was unlawful — he did for the love of me.” The hand on Norbert’s shoulder trembled a little. “Therefore, if to prison he must go, to prison I go with him, either as accuser or accused, whichsoever your worships may appoint.”
There was a short silence, then Syndic Aubert said, addressing his three colleagues: “This matter, as it seems to me, appertains rather to the consistory than to the council.”
The suggestion was welcomed as a happy way out of a serious difficulty. No one wanted to send the elder Caulaincourt to the Eveche, yet it was evident that if Norbert went he would go too. With Norbert himself no one knew very well what to do; and in the minds of these subjects of a theocracy, the pastors and elders of the Church seemed the proper persons to decide. Moreover, as Norbert had broken a command of Scripture, his case fell certainly under their jurisdiction.
Meanwhile, the majority had reached its conclusions by a shorter road. The sight of the son and father together, both escaped out of the jaws of death, which the father had braved for his faith, the son for his father’s sake, stirred their hearts as the wind sways the forest trees. From the Little Council and the Great, from the benches, back, front and sides, from the mass that thronged the windows, the passages, the doors, the corridors, there arose a perfect clamor of voices: “Let them go! Let them go! Long live Master Caulaincourt for a good man and an honest citizen!” It was not forgotten either that he was a prominent French exile, and that the majority were fighting the battles of the French exiles in Geneva.
Master Amblarde Corne, first syndic, did not wait to hear more. “M. de Caulaincourt,” he said, “you will hold yourself bound to produce your son, Norbert de Caulaincourt, whenever you shall be called upon to do so by the honorable consistory. We consign him in the meantime, and upon this understanding, into your own keeping.”
De Caulaincourt bowed his thanks, and taking his son’s hand in his, they withdrew together, making their way through the crowd in a midst of a storm of cheers and congratulations, varied by a few cries of a contrary character, accompanied with groans and hisses. These came chiefly from the minority who still favored the Libertines, and were thus the enemies of the French exiles, “They have angered the Savoyards past bearing; “They have disgraced our city!” cried the malcontents. “Treat them as they deserve.” And one daring fellow was bold enough to add, “What of Master Calvin’s own brother, who was deep in the plot? These ‘Regenerate’ set us a fine example!” This was too much, more than nine-tenths of the assembly being strong Calvinists. “Down with the traitor! Down with the Libertine!” was heard on all hands. “To the Rhine with him!” shouted more voices than one, and already rough hands were laid on the luckless speaker, who had dared to associate the great name of Calvin with a vulgar fraud.
“Order! Order! Order!” The cry rang through the hall, heard clearly through all the noise and uproar. Then up rose the first syndic in his place, holding in his hand the black baton of office.
“Citizens of Geneva,” said he, “respect the laws and the dignity of your Great Council. Let every man remain in his seat, silent and motionless.”
So much had the new regime already done for Geneva that the command was obeyed. After a few sullen murmurs, the assembly settled down into something resembling a state of order, and thus made it possible for business to proceed. Not all at once do communities learn the self-repression, the self-control, the temperate will “which only makes freedom worth having, a blessing, not a curse. The difficulty lies in this, that only freedom itself can rightly teach the use of it. Happy are they who, like the Genevans, have amongst them one, or more than one, who can guide, control, and weld together the heterogeneous elements called collectively The People “into a strong firm mass, changing the miry clay” into iron.
While the Great Council, with indignation stirred to the utmost by the tidings of Norbert, virtually sealed the fate of Daniel Berthelier and his chief accomplices, the two de Caulaincourts essayed to walk quietly home to the Rue Cornavin. Father and son had found each other again, and were well content. Norbert, much ashamed of his dress, would fain have escaped observation; but this was impossible. The palfrey left at the gate of the Franciscan monastery where the council was held, had been easily recognized, for it had belonged to Baudichon of Maisonneuve, who had given it to Gabrielle for her journey. Whilst Norbert was within, someone brought it back to its former owner, at the same time spreading the news that young De Caulaincourt had returned from Lormayeur safe and sound. So the father and son were beset with greetings, congratulations, and inquiries, mingled with a few, a very few, demonstrations of disapproval. They were glad to reach at last the door of Master Antoine Calvin, whence Norbert rushed at once to their own room, and happily succeeded in donning his proper garments before being seen by his host, or by any of the family. Then his father said, I will go with you to our friends next door, for the first thing to be done is to give the damoiselles your tiding of Master Berthelier.”