His exhortations were not unavailing: a strong fermentation began to stir men’s minds. They called to remembrance how these Swiss, from whom they expected deliverance, had conquered their liberty. A hat set up in Altorf on the top of a pole; an apple placed by a cruel order on the head of a child: were, according to the old traditions of that people, the signal of their independence. Was the bastard less tyrannous than Gessler? Those two heads, those two arms,--were they not a still more frightful signal? The remains of Navis and of Blanchet were long left exposed: in vain did the unhappy father, judge Navis, address frequent and earnest appeals to the bishop to have them removed; the prelate took delight in this demonstration of his power.[177] It was a strange blindness on his part. Those dead limbs, those closed eyes, those blood-stained lips preached to the citizens that it was time to defend their ancient liberties.... The great agitator took advantage of the bastard’s cruelty, and employing the energetic language of the times, he said: ‘The same pin hangs on the cloak of every one of us. We must resist. Let us unite, let us give our hand to the League, and fear nothing, for nobody dares touch their allies ... any more than St. Anthony’s fire.[178] ... Let us help ourselves, and God will help us.’ The young, the poor, all generous hearts listened to Berthelier’s words; ‘but the great and the rich,’ says Bonivard, ‘were afraid on account of their riches which they preferred to their life.’[179] These great and rich folk, Montyon and the ducal faction, seeing the dangers that threatened the princes of Savoy in Geneva, resolved to send a second embassy with orders to go this time even to Turin and Pignerol. The same three mamelukes were intrusted with the mission. The patriots were indignant: ‘What!’ they said, ‘you want to save the sheep, and yet select wolves to do it?’--‘Do you not understand,’ replied Montyon, ‘that if you wish to _tame_ princes, you must take care not to send men who are disagreeable to them?’ The deputation arrived at Turin, where the duke then was. They demanded an audience to present their homage to his Highness, and as their sentiments were known, their prayer was easily granted. They timidly stated their grievances. ‘It was not I who did it,’ said Charles; ‘it was my lord of Geneva; go to the bishop at Pignerol.’ The deputation proceeded to this town, situated in the neighbourhood of the schismatic Waldenses, whom the prelate hated as much at least as he did the Genevans. Having obtained an audience, they repeated the lesson they had been taught: ‘The city is much astonished that you have put two of our citizens to death and sent their quarters to the frontiers of Geneva. If any private individuals had offended against you, say our citizens, you had only to accuse them, they would have been punished at Geneva.’[180]--‘It was not I who did that,’ said the bishop, ‘it was my lord the duke.’ The mameluke