the bastard demanded that he should be put to the rack, but Lévrier, feeling convinced that Pécolat was the innocent victim of an illegal proceeding, opposed it. The bishop still persisted in the necessity of obtaining a confession from him: ‘Confession!’ replied the judge, ‘he cannot speak.’--‘Well then,’ answered, not the executioner but, the bishop, ‘let him _write_ his answer.’ Lévrier, as firm when it was necessary to maintain the respect due to humanity as the obedience due to the law, declared that such cruelty should not be practised before his tribunal. The bishop was forced to give way, but he kept account of this new offence on the part of the contumacious judge.[133] All Geneva pitied the unhappy man, and asked if there was no one to deliver him from this den of thieves? Bonivard, a man who afterwards knew in his own person the horrors of a prison, never ceased thinking of the means of saving him. He loved Pécolat; he had often admired that simple nature of his, so impulsive, so strong and yet so weak, and above all his devotion to the cause of the liberties of the city. He felt that human and divine rights, the compassion due to the unhappy, his duty towards Geneva, (‘although I am not a native,’ he said,)--all bound him to make an effort. He left his monastery, called upon Aimé Lévrier, and expressed his desire to save Pécolat. Lévrier explained to him that the bishop had forbidden any further steps, and that the judges could not act without his consent. ‘There is however one means,’ added he. ‘Let Pécolat’s relations demand justice of me; I shall refuse, alleging the prince’s good pleasure. Then let them appeal, on the ground of denial of justice,[134] to the metropolitan court of Vienne.’ Bonivard, full of imagination, of invention, of resources, heedless of precedents, and energetic, immediately resolved to try this course. The Archbishop of Vienne (he argued) being always jealous of the Bishop of Geneva, would be delighted to humble his powerful colleague. ‘I have friends, relations, and influence in Savoy,’ said he, ‘I will move heaven and earth, and we will teach the bastard a pretty lesson.’ He returned to his monastery and sent for Pécolat’s two brothers. One of them, Stephen, enjoyed the full confidence of his fellow-citizens, and was afterwards raised to the highest offices; but the tyranny of the princes alarmed everybody: ‘Demand that your brother be brought to trial,’ said Bonivard to the two brothers.--‘No,’ they answered, ‘the risk is too serious.’ ... Bonivard’s eloquence prevailed at last. Not wishing to leave them time for reflection, he took them forthwith to Lévrier; the petition, answer, and legal appeal were duly made; and Stephen Pécolat, who by contact with these two generous souls had become brave, departed for Vienne in Dauphiny with a warm recommendation from the prior. The Church of Vienne had enjoyed from ancient times the title of holy, of _maxima sedes Galliarum_,