The Sisters had long been exposed to annoyance by Reformers of the baser sort. One such Reformer, having occasion to call at the convent on some municipal business, had insisted on washing his hands in the holy water, and had boasted, when he got outside, that he had been privileged to kiss the nuns all round—‘a foul lie,’ says Sister Jeanne, ‘for he did not even attempt to kiss any one of us.’ Another Reformer had preached against them, declaring that they ought to be ‘turned out and compelled to marry in accordance with the commandment of God’; and the congregation had been so impressed by the discourse that the younger men among the worshippers had climbed up on to the convent wall, and sat there singing amorous songs for the edification of the inmates.

No official action was taken, however, until after the conclusion of the disputation above referred to, though then it followed quickly. Fifteen Reformers, including Farel and Viret, called at the convent, declined the invitation to say what they had to say through the grating, but threatened to force the door if they were not admitted. The door was opened to them, therefore, and all the Sisters being summoned before them in the chapter-house, Farel ‘spoke in terms of vituperation of the holy cloister, of religion, of chastity, and of virginity, in a way that went to the hearts of the poor Sisters.’ The others kept silence, but MÈre Vicaire protested, interrupted, and screamed. Our narrative proceeds:

‘She stationed herself between the Sisters and the young men, saying:

‘“Since your preacher is such a holy man, why don’t you treat him with respect and obedience? You’re a pack of young rascals, but you won’t make any progress here.”

‘Whereat they were all indignant, and exclaimed:

‘“What the devil is the matter with the woman? Are you mad? Go back to your place.”

‘“I won’t,” she said, “until these young men leave the Sisters alone!”’

So MÈre Vicaire was put out of the room; and the preacher resumed his discourse on the institution of matrimony. We read that ‘when he referred to the corruption of the flesh, the Sisters began to scream’; and that when he spoke of the advantages of married life, the MÈre Vicaire, who was listening at the key-hole, began to batter at the panels, exclaiming: ‘Don’t you listen to him, my sisters; don’t you listen to him.’ So, after labouring at the conversion of the Sisters from ten o’clock in the morning until five o’clock in the afternoon, the Reformers retired discomfited. A crowd of three hundred persons was waiting for them outside the gate, prepared to offer marriage to any nun whom they might have persuaded to accompany them; but they came forth alone, the last to leave being thumped on the back by a nun who desired to hurry his departure.

It transpired, however, that one of the Sisters—‘the ill-advised Sister Blasine’—had been converted by the Reformers’ arguments. The other nuns tried to detain her, but the citizens broke into the convent and fetched her out in triumph, and also insisted that the convent should provide her with a dowry and pay her damages for the disciplinary whippings inflicted upon her during her membership of the Order. It was the culminating outrage. The nuns decided to leave Geneva, and the Lady Superior applied to the Syndic for an armed escort. The request was granted, and the ‘dolorous departure’ began. Three hundred soldiers were turned out to see the Sisters safely across the bridge over the Arve, where the territory of Geneva ended. It was the first time since their taking of the veil that they had been outside the convent walls, and some of them had spent all their lives in the cloister and grown old there, so that they were in no fit state to travel thus on foot. Let Sister Jeanne tell us what befell them:

‘Truly it was a pitiful thing to see this holy company in such condition, so overcome by pain and toil that several of them broke down and fainted by the way—and that on a rainy day and in a muddy road, and with no means of getting out of their trouble, for they were all on foot, except four invalids who were in a cart. There were six poor aged Sisters, who had been for sixteen years members of the Order, and two who for sixty-six years had never been outside the convent gate. The fresh air was too much for them. They fainted away; and when they saw the beasts of the fields, they were terrified, thinking that the cows were bears, and that the sheep were ravening wolves. Those who met them could not find words to express their compassion for them; and, though the MÈre Vicaire had given each Sister a stout pair of boots to keep her feet dry, the greater number of them would not walk in boots, but carried them tied to their girdles, and in this way it took them from five o’clock in the morning until nearly nightfall to reach Saint Julien, though the distance is less than a league.’