Calvin died and was buried with his fathers—not before it was time, in the opinion of a good many of his critics—and was succeeded in the dictatorship by ThÉodore de BÈze, whose name is commonly latinized as Beza.

The two men had always worked well together; but they differed widely both in their antecedents and in their dispositions. Calvin, a theologian from his earliest years, had had no hot youth, no unregenerate days. Monsieur de BÈze, born of a good old Burgundian family, had been a man of the world before he became a man of God; before he versified the Psalms he had written verses which his enemies described as indecorous; when he enrolled himself among the Reformers, the first person whom he had to reform was himself; for, though there does not seem to be any truth in the statement of the Jesuit Maimbourg that he had a love-affair with the wife of a tailor, there is no denying that he had betrayed a young woman of humble birth under promise of marriage, and had allowed four years to elapse before fulfilling his promise. Moreover, he kept his high spirits when he settled down to virtuous courses; and his fellow-citizens were so delighted with his jollity that it became a saying in Geneva that it would be better to go to hell with Beza than to heaven with Calvin.

As a man of letters M. de BÈze was principally occupied with theological controversy, and, as has been said, with the production of his metrical version of the Psalms of David; but his contributions to religious disputation sometimes took the form of farce and burlesque. He was part author of a satire entitled Cuisine Papale, and devoted his great gifts to the composition of a rollicking drinking song, in which a certain burner of heretics thus bewails the loss of his nose:

Let that suffice. It is rather vulgar fooling; but to have omitted all mention of it would have been to give an imperfect impression of the Reformer. He owed some of his influence with the vulgar to the fact that he knew how to descend to their level; and he needed all his influence, for he had to guide Geneva through perilous times. There was a terrible epidemic of the plague; innumerable fugitives from the Massacre of St. Bartholomew took refuge in the town; there was a long war with Savoy.

In the case of the plague the difficulty was, as it always had been at Geneva, to compel the doctors and the clergy to do their duty to the sick. A note in the Register of the Council shows us how, in the days before the Reform, the monks had envisaged their obligations. The canons of the cathedral, it there appears, passed the following resolution:

‘In view of the fact that the plague is suspected to exist in the town, the reverend fathers vote themselves a month’s holiday from the duty of residing there and attending to the services; their stipends, in the meantime, to continue to be paid.’

The month’s holiday, we also gather, was subsequently extended to a year, with the same liberal stipulation as to emoluments; and after the Reformation we find the Protestant clergy displaying an equal timidity in the presence of the disease. The entry concerning them runs thus:

‘The ministers appeared before the Council confessing that it was their duty to go and offer consolation to the sufferers from the plague, but that not one of them had the courage to do so. They begged the Council to overlook their weakness, seeing that God had not given them the grace to brave and overcome the peril with the intrepidity required—always excepting Matthew Geneston, who is quite willing to go, if the lot should fall upon him.’

M. de BÈze, one is glad to know, was made of sterner stuff than these weak brethren. Not only were the sick properly visited during his term of office. Precautions—fatuous, but well meant—were taken against the propagation of the disorder. The Register of the Council is full of references to them. Sufferers were ordered not to open their windows; convalescents were enjoined to carry white sticks when they went abroad, in order that they might be recognized and avoided; it was forbidden to eat fruit or to take a bath, as this was believed to be a means of catching the infection. We have a note on hospital reform. It was ordered that male and female patients should be treated in separate wards, in order that certain scandals might be prevented. We find a doctor reprimanded for doing his duty negligently. ‘The Sieur Bauhin, plague-doctor, is ordered to see his patients in their houses instead of being satisfied with having them brought to the window for a consultation.’ Finally, we read that ‘the Council, at the request of the Ministers, orders all the citizens to frequent the sermons with assiduity, in order to turn away the wrath of God which would appear, from the continuance of the plague, to be violently aroused against the town.’

Then, while the plague was still lingering, came the news of the dreadful doings of St. Bartholomew’s Day. Merchants from Lyons brought the tidings, predicting the speedy arrival of the victims who had escaped the butchery; and preparations were made to entertain them hospitably. M. de BÈze dispatched pastors to greet them at the frontier, and preached a sermon on the situation, bidding the citizens decree a special day of prayer and fasting—the JeÛne Genevois, which is still observed, though as an occasion of junketing rather than of abstinence.

On that occasion, however, the Genevans were very far from junketing. They did indeed fast and pray; and on the first day of September the arrival of the long train of fugitives began. They were truly fugitives rather than immigrants; that is to say, they had fled empty-handed, travelled in hourly terror of their lives, and arrived in a state of utter destitution. Let it be added that there were 2,300 of them, and that contemporary statistics show that there were in Geneva, at that period, only 1,200 householders. Imagining the sudden influx of 2,300 paupers into a town of the size of Sandwich, one begins to realize the economic situation thus created. To realize it completely one must further remember that Geneva was already on the verge of bankruptcy; and that a collection, for the benefit of the fugitives, which realized 4,000 livres, so exhausted the resources of the town that the proposal to make a second collection had to be abandoned. Severe economy was naturally the order of the day. The only recorded example of public extravagance during this period is an order that, as the chairs in the Council Chamber were too hard for the comfort of the Councillors, they should be padded; and even this outlay may have been due to a desire to find work for those who needed it. On the other hand, the indications of distress are numerous and startling.

One such indication is furnished by the report of a debate of the Venerable Company of Pastors. It was proposed that a deputation should wait upon the magistrates ‘to inform them how scantily they provide for their clergy in times when everything is dear, the fact being that even ministers with no families but only wives to support are absolutely unable to live upon their salaries.’ But the proposal was rejected on the ground that the magistrates were already aware of the distress of the clergy, and could do little to help them, and that it would never do for it to be said that the clergy had applied for increased emoluments at a time of general impoverishment. ‘It is better,’ the resolution continued, ‘to endure our sufferings, leaving it to God to relieve them when it seems good to Him; but if any of our brethren are too hard pressed, they may declare their condition to the magistrates, and ask assistance from them privately.’

Still more sorrowful was the case of the immigrant pastors from France, who had no wages. The magistrates distributed a certain amount of money among them, and advised them that, as no more was likely to be forthcoming, they would be wise to lay out a part of it in learning a business or a trade. Their reply is worth preserving:

‘For several weeks,’ they said, ‘their position had been very painful; they felt their indebtedness to the Genevans the more acutely because no one reminded them of it; and they had decided to do with as little as possible to eat until the spring, when they hoped to have better news from their own country.’