While the Gospel was entering Geneva, desolation was entering Rome. It is a singular circumstance, the meeting of these two cities in history: one so powerful and glorious, the other so small and obscure. That, however, is capable of explanation: the great things of the world have always come from great cities and great nations; but the great things of God have usually small beginnings. Conquerors must have treasures and armies; but evangelical christianity, which undertakes to change man, nations, and the whole human race, has need of the strength of God, and God affects little things. In the first century, he chose Jerusalem; in the middle ages, the Waldensian valleys; in the sixteenth century, Wittemberg and Geneva. 'God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty.'[727] In the month of May (1527) a rumour of startling importance suddenly spread through the world: 'Rome has just been destroyed,' said the people, 'and there is no more pope.' The troops of Charles V. had taken and sacked the pontifical city, and if the pope was still alive, he was in concealment and almost in prison. The servants of the Church, who were terrified at first, soon recovered their breath, and directly their alarm was dissipated, avarice and covetousness took its place. In the presence of the ruins of that ancient city, its friends thought only of dividing its spoils. The Bishop of Geneva, in particular, found himself surrounded by petitioners, who sought to be collated to the benefices hitherto held by clergymen resident in Rome. 'They have all perished,' he was told; 'their benefices are vacant: give them to us.' The bishop granted everything; and he even conferred on himself (Bonivard tells us) the priory of St. Jean-lez-Genève, which belonged to a cardinal. Seldom had so many deaths made so many people happy.[728]