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.