all humility to the duke for leave to draw
his rents. " I should be glad to oblige
you," was the reply, " but your Italian is
alive, and would certainly have me
excommunicated if I put you in his place."

Hunger, however, makes men bold; and
Bonnivard, not a man of war himself,
leased the most accessible of the priory
lands to a Friburg captain, one William
Castes, and installed him in his castle of
Cartigny. But Castes seems to have been
bought over by the other side; for he rode
out one day, leaving no one at home but a
maid-servant, and the duke's people got
hold of Cartigny. Bonnivard then joined
with a butcher and ex-magistrate of Berne,
who had left that city when it embraced
the Reformation, and the two rode out one
Sunday morning, with a good following of
hacbut men, to try to get some rent out
of Cartigny. They had a good dinner
provided (Bonnivard never forgot his
dinner), and while they sat down, they
sent Diebolt, a Bernese, to parley with
the castle folks. As soon as the
unfortunate fellow got within range he was
shot; and no sooner did the butcher of
Berne hear the guns than he rode back as
hard as possible, leaving Bonnivard to
retreat as best he could. The prior
managed admirably. He captured a nobleman
who was coming out of a chapel in
the village, and carried him off; and he
sent up the country folks (on whom the
castle people would be sure not to fire) to
bring Diebolt out of range. On the march
the wounded man wanted to drink, so the
cavalcade halted; but, the alarm being
given that the enemy was upon them, they
ran away without Diebolt; making as they
ran the wise reflection, that " it was not
worth while to get into danger for a man
who was all but dead." As soon as they
got back to Geneva they began to finish
the dinner which had been so rudely
interrupted; but when the town council heard
the story, they insisted on Bonnivard and
his friend the butcher putting on their
armour and going out with a sufficient
force to recover their wounded comrade.
Probably they did not hurry themselves in
their preparation; for, before they had
started, news came that Diebolt had been
quite killed by a party of the Savoyards.
So Bonnivard sat down to dinner again.

These traits mark the man; a man not
exactly of the stuff of which martyrs are
made. He could act energetically,
however, when he was well supported; and the
occasion soon came for energy, for St.
Victor itself very nearly fell into the duke's
hands, owing to the treachery of one of the
monks. Among the boldest of the duke's
adherents were the " Knights of the
Spoon," who got their name as follows:
One day a ducal party were eating at the
table the mess of rice porridge called
papet, when one of them held up his
spoon, and said, " This is the style in
which we must eat up those Genevese."
This sentiment was quite to the taste of the
party; every noble guest wiped his spoon,
hung it round his neck, and swore to " eat
up " Geneva. They soon formed a troop,
and, seizing Gaillard, a village a league from
the city, began to cut off the provisions of
the Genevese. Now, one of Bonnivard's
monks was a Gaillard man, of good family,
but good in no other sense, and him the
Knights of the Spoon persuaded to help
them to seize St. Victor. Bonnivar,
however, was too quick for them: he got the
syndic and the other authorities to come
down in full force while the monks were
at supper, and to carry them all off,
garrisoning the priory with men from the city
guard. The brethren were not at all
dismayed at this sudden invasion: they were
playing cards, and begged to be allowed to
finish their game. " Remember, you owe
me seven deniers," said one to another as
they were marched off. Bonnivard's
private prison in the priory not being strong
enough, they were locked up in the
Hôtel-de-ville, " without prejudice, be it
understood," said this stickler for his rights,
"to my sole jurisdiction as prior over my
own monks." He stipulated, moreover,
that they should be well cared for; and they
were, in fact, so well cared for as to be very
unwilling to leave their new quarters. " I
lived in clover up there," said one of them,
"and now I'm set free I shall have to
starve, I suppose." Bonnivard, indeed,
was not in a condition to do much for his
brethren: he had hard work to get in any
of his own income. To St. Victor's priory
belonged certain meadows across the Arve
bridge; but, before the prior had carried
half his hay, the Knights of the Spoon
came and saved him the trouble of carrying
the rest. Bonnivard marched out to stop
them, and the hacbut men on both sides
fired many rounds without any damage but
the killing of somebody's horse. Then the
knights drew off, hoping to entice the prior
across the bridge; but he, cautious as usual,
declined to follow them, and after a few
more hacbut-shots went back into the city.
At length the duke and the Genevese