ention of four
crowns and a half monthly to enable him to keep up a state worthy of the
dignity of a sovereign. He grumbled at the amount, but took it; and
thereafter the peace of Europe was less disturbed on his part.

But bad news came to the gay prior in his impoverished monastery. His
mother was ill at his old home at Seyssel in Savoy, and he must see her
before she died. It was venturing into the tiger's den, as all his
friends told him, and as he did not need to be told. But he thought he
would adventure it if he could get a safe-conduct from the tiger. The
matter was arranged: the duke sent Bonivard his passport, limited to a
single month; and the prior arrived at Seyssel, and nearly frightened
the poor old lady out of her last breath with her sense of the peril to
which he had exposed himself.

Our hero's incomparable genius for getting himself into difficulties
never shone more brightly than at this hour. While here in the country
of his mortal enemy, on the last days of his expiring safe-conduct, he
got news of accusations gravely sustained at Geneva that he had gone
over into Savoy to treat with the enemy. He did not dare to stay: he did
not dare to go back. If he could get his safe-conduct extended for one
month, to the end of May, he would try to make his way through the Pays
de Vaud (then belonging to Savoy) to Fribourg in the Swiss
Confederation. The extension was granted, and with many assurances of
good-will from friends of the duke he pushed on. It was a fine May
morning, the 26th, that he was on his last day's journey to Lausanne,
and passing through a pine wood. Suddenly men sprang from ambush upon
Bonivard, who grasped his sword and spurred, calling to his guide, "Put
spurs!" But instead of so doing the guide turned and whipped out his
knife and cut Bonivard's sword-belt; "Whereupon these worthy gentlemen,"
says Bonivard's _Chronicle_, "jumped on me and took me prisoner in the
name of my lord duke." Safe-conducts were in vain. A bagful of ropes was
produced, and he was carried on a mule, bound hand and foot, in secrecy,
to the duke's castle of Chillon, the captain of which was one of the
ambuscading party. For six years he was hidden from the world, and at
first men knew not whether he was alive or dead. But his sufferings at
the hand of the common foe put to shame the suspicions that had been
engendered at Geneva, and it is recorded, to the honor of the Genevese,
that during all that period, whene