Chapter IX
Childhood’s loved group revisits every scene; The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green; Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, Some little friendship, formed and cherished here: And, not the lightest leaf, but, trembling, teems With golden visions and romantic dreams.
ROGERS.
As we must now draw our narrative to a close, it will be necessary to pass in silence, over the succession of dangers and perils, which the Waldenses underwent, subsequent to their retreat from the Balsille. This nocturnal decampment, so far from purchasing for them a respite from farther pursuit, only tended to fan the flame, which repeated defeats had kindled in the breasts of their persecutors. Day after day, they were hunted from hill to hill, and from mountain to mountain, and many were the unhappy victims, who, from fatigue or sickness, lingered behind and fell a prey to the merciless cruelties of the foe. They retreated among the fastnesses of Angrogna, sending out from time to time, small foraging detachments, while the main body remained intrenched, among its deep ravines, and impenetrable thickets. The very name of a Vaudois, now struck terror into the heart of the enemy, and a hundred disciplined men would retreat at the sight of a few peasants, who, although untutored in the tactics of the plain, were greatly their superiors in the arts of mountain warfare. The divine promise to the Israelites of old, seemed in their case literally fulfilled: “Five of you shall chase an hundred, and an hundred of you shall put ten thousand to flight, and your enemies shall fall before you by the sword.”
One evening near the end of May, while they lay encamped on the heights of Angrogna, the loveliest and most romantic of all the valleys, their eyes were attracted by a small cavalcade in the distance, moving up the glen, and bearing an ensign, different from any which they had for long been accustomed to behold: “A flag of truce! a flag of truce!1’ was shouted by the enthusiastic band. “Can it be that a propitious Heaven is about to terminate our sufferings, and make these valleys once more our ownf Two envoys of the king of Savoy advanced, bearing the emblem of peace. Arnaud and his troop laid aside their weapons, and with respectful deference rose to receive them.
“We come, brave men of the valleys,” said Bertin, who held the terms of conciliation in his hand, “we come on an errand of peace; — once, we were foes; now, we desire to become your friends!”
“Never,” replied Arnaud, “was it the desire of a Vaudois, that that friendship should have been turned into hostility. We are men, loving peace; our religion is a religion of peace; our God is a God of peace; and it is only when compelled to purchase peace, at the expense of conscience, liberty, truth, that we ever have had recourse to arms. Let the house of Savoy point to the page in our annals, when the Protestants of Clusone and Lucerna rose in rebellion, or were unmindful of the allegiance they owed to their lawful sovereign, and we are willing this moment to atone with our lives, for the crimes of our forefathers.”
“Had your religion, good friends,” replied the envoy, “been in keeping with your loyalty and heroism, a nobler heritage would now have been yours, than these savage fastnesses. But, enough of the past, — listen to what I have now to lay before you.”
Every ear was attention, as the ambassador proceeded to declare the royal message:
“The monarch of France,” said he, “the haughty and supercilious tyrant, who has been the author of all the evils that now afflict you, and who has deluged your valleys with blood, has declared war against your liege lord and sovereign of Savoy. The armies of Louis are even now preparing to desolate his dominions, and threaten the security of his throne. It is the pleasure of his Royal Highness, to grant pardon to every Protestant Vaudois, to reinstate them in their lawful possessions, to restore to them their churches, and the free use of their own religion, on condition that they rally around him in this hour of need, and assist in quelling the oppressor.”
“Give us our homes! give us our Bibles! give us our God!” cried the little band in this moment of their enthusiasm, “and we shall promise, not only to league ourselves with our sovereign against the common enemy, but to be the first to attack, and the last to retreat; the foremost in every battle, and the last on every field!”
“It is enough, it is enough,” said the envoy, “ye are brave men, and trusty subjects. I shall convey your answer to your royal master, and, in a few days, we shall wait on you, with a definite reply, and formal articles of convention.”
At the stipulated time the ambassadors returned, and Arnaud had a treaty of peace, signed by the sovereign himself, put into his hands.
The French were now the only foe they had to dread; but, with the aid of their new allies, they speedily compelled them to evacuate the mountains; and, once more, Lucerna and its surrounding valleys, were peopled with their expatriated inhabitants; their hamlets restored, their sanctuaries thrown open, “their swords changed into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks!“” The enraptured feelings of the exiles, when they found themselves once more in the land of their birth, is what the imagination may feebly picture, but cannot be described. Day after day, the prisons of Piedmont, in which hundreds of the sufferers had for years scarce seen the light of the sun, were emptied of their captives, to whom the air of heaven would, in any circumstances, have been a happy exchange for the pestilential vapours of a dungeon; but how sweet was that liberty, which permitted them to breathe the air of their own lovely mountains, and luxuriate amid haunts hallowed by the noblest and most endearing associations! — A detachment was deputed to proceed to the Swiss cantons, to bring back the female refugees, who had been left behind; and never can that night be forgotten in the annals of Lucerna, when, under a bright setting sun, the returning wanderers were seen wending their way up the lovely valley. Ties, which they imagined had been dissolved for ever, again cemented, — wives restored to the embrace of their husbands, — children to parents, — brothers to sisters, — friends to friends! Their joy, indeed, was in few instances unmingled with sorrow; few were without their bereavements, — but, gratitude for present mercies, softened and alleviated the bitter recollections of the past.
An early day was, by general consent, appointed for public thanksgiving to the Grod of their fathers, for the signal deliverance he had vouchsafed them. Villar, from its central situation, was selected as the place of rendezvous, and, at an early hour, on the appointed morning, groups from the surrounding communes, poured into the little hamlet. The place of meeting was on the slope of one of those lovely grassy banks, which skirt the margin of the Felice, with sylvan glories on every side. It was a point, which commanded the whole extent of the valley of Lucerna, from the savage grandeur of the Col de la Croix, down to the verdant plains and vineyards of St Giovanni and Piedmont. A rude platform was erected on a natural elevation, from which Arnaud conducted the services. The scene was one of patriarchal simplicity. It would be vain to attempt depicting the thousand interesting countenances that surrounded their peasant hero; tears of grief and joy mingled profusely on the grassy turf, as they recounted to each other the tale of their personal sufferings, or poured out their tribute of thanksgiving for their wonderful deliverances.
There was one little group, stationed immediately under the speaker, which we cannot pass over in silence. It was Herbert Viion and Ferdinand Arnaud, seated once more by the side of those, whose visions had haunted many a dream, on the cold sod, in the lonely cell, and in the hour of battle. Alice and Julia still retained in their countenances, traces of deep sorrow, and protracted seasons of anxiety and fear; but the lustre which lighted up their dark eyes, indicated, that for a while at least, the painful scenes of the past were forgotten, in the ecstacy of the present hour.
Two other individuals, who seemed not to be the least delighted participants in the day of jubilee, completed the interesting group. These were, an aged man, arrayed in a shepherd’s garb, whose silvery locks hung with patriarchal grace over his shoulders, — and an elderly female, seated at his side, who was listening with astonished interest to the anecdotes of danger, peril, and suffering rehearsed by the two youthful champions. A sagacious mastiff lay stretched at their feet, whose grey hairs that were beginning to mingle with the jet of his glossy hide, intimated that he too, like his master, was fast sinking in years. Albert and Mariette Peyrani preferred parting with their chalet and their folds, to bidding farewell to those, who, during a residence of nearly three winters in their mountain home, had entwined themselves with filial affection around their hearts. When the messengers arrived to conduct their adopted charge to their native valleys, the shepherd of Lauterbrunnen, in the spirit of the affectionate Moabitess, exclaimed, as by turns he clasped them in his arms, “whither thou goest, I will go, — and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.” As we have already said, he had often longed for an opportunity, of visiting the homes of his ancestry, the sweet abodes of piety and truth; besides, he was beginning, from his advanced age, to be incapacitated for the arduous toils of a mountain life; and he rejoiced that Providence had now put it in his power to spend his declining years among the fertile vineyards and olive groves of Lucerna, under the genial sunshine of an Italian sky, and gladdened by the Christian converse of those, whom he loved as his own soul.
The services of the day were conducted with devout simplicity. The address of Arnaud, teemed with his wonted enthusiasm and ardent piety. He seemed to catch new inspiration in the spot where he stood, from the varied landscape around him, and the still more cheering sympathies of a thousand Christian hearts, beating responsive to his own.
It had been the great aim of this noble patriot, since the first hour when they set out on their enterprise, to lead their thoughts to a higher than human strength, and to look for success, to a stronger than human arm. And now, when their triumphant standards were planted on their native soil, and when, in the flush of victory, the pride of the human spirit would have been most apt to exult over the feats of its own prowess, he made it still his anxious endeavour to impress on their minds, that “not unto them, — not unto him, but unto God alone, belonged all the glory.”
He, accordingly, selected as the subject of his address, the song of deliverance of the Church of old:
“If it had not been the Lord who was on our side, now may Israel say;
If it had not been the Lord who was on our side, when men rose up against us;
Then they had swallowed us up quick, when their wrath was kindled against us;
Then the waters had overwhelmed us, the stream had gone over our soul:
Then the proud waters had gone over our soul.
Blessed be the Lord, who hath not given us as a prey to their teeth.
Our soul is escaped as a bird, out of the snare of the fowlers:
The snare is broken, and we are escaped.
Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”
“Dear friends,” continued he, as he concluded his animated discourse, “God has restored the scattered sheep to the fold of their fathers, — but where are the shepherds? A cloud of sorrow darkens this hour of joy, when I look, in vain, among the faces around me, for the aged patriarchs who were wont to dispense to us the bread of life, to comfort us in the hour of sorrow, to cheer us in the hour of death, — Alas, when I look to that humble spire,” said he, pointing to the little sanctuary at Villar, “it reminds me of one, whose memory is too deep for tears. Yes,” said the peasant warrior, his eye filling as he spoke, — “Rodolph Vin9on — the patriarch of the valleys, the kind parent, the faithful pastor, the affectionate friend, is now no more! Yonder cold mountain is the home of his body! To him who was worthy of the best grave in Lucerna, has been assigned the turf of an Alpine solitude! But he has gone to” the rest which remaineth for the people of God” — and never shall we again see him, till that day when the martyred dead shall appear with their risen Lord! Oh! that the thought of his being added to the cloud of witnesses, may animate us in our Christian conflict, to follow his steps and participate in his crown! There is one here, upon whom the mantle of the patriarch’s virtues, as well as his name, has fallen. One, whose pious spirit has borne up under many a dark hour, — and whose daring heroism has contributed in turning the tide of many a doubtful conflict; — and, methinks no voice will sound sweeter in the sanctuary which was wont to be hallowed by the piety of him who is now departed, — than that of — Herbert Vin9on!” A murmur of applause, from the attentive audience, expressed their joyful acquiescence in the proposal. After Arnaud had submitted to them some other measures, relative to their settlement in their ancient possessions, and exhorted them not to allow the wrongs and sufferings of the past to shake their loyalty and allegiance to their rightful sovereign, — they united together, before separating, in singing the beautiful hymn of the returning captives from Babylon, whose exile was in many respects so similar to their own.
When Zion’s bondage God turned back,
Like men that dreamed were we!
Then, filled with laughter was our mouth,
Our tongue with melody.
They ‘mong the heathen said, the Lord
Great things for them hath wrought:
The Lord hath done great things for us,
Whence joy to us is brought!
As streams of water in the south,
Our bondage, Lord, recall,
Who sow in tears, a reaping time
Of joy, enjoy they shall!
That man, who, bearing precious seed,
In going forth doth mourn,
He, doubtless, bringing back his sheaves,
Rejoicing shall return.*
We have followed the Waldensian exiles in their adversity, — we must leave it to imagination to follow them in their prosperity. Arnaud felt himself bound to fulfil his promise of once more abandoning, for a short time, the quiet of domestic life, for the din of camps and the heat of battles, to assist his sovereign in humbling the haughty spirit of their common enemy. He marched at the head of a thousand men, to ravage the French frontier; opened the passes of Piedmont to the armies of Eugene, — and, by his skilful manoeuvring, in detaining the French troops in the south, while the allied armies were collecting their strength in the Low Countries, he materially contributed to the laurels of Hochstett and Blenheim.
Only a few weeks elapsed, before the pastors who had survived the persecution, assembled together to appoint overseers for the bereaved flocks. Herbert Vin9on was solemnly set apart, by the laying
* See Appendix, note H.
on of the hands of the Presbytery, for the charge of his deceased parent; and Ferdinand Arnaud had allotted to him, the romantic commune of Rora.* The destinies of the two families had now been for long united, and their mutual friendships deepened into more tender attachments. Herbert received the hand of the companion of Alice in her exile, — while young Arnaud was united to the orphan sister of one, who, from his earliest years, in prosperity, as well as in adversity, had proved his unfailing friend.
In a humble cot, in the commune of Villar, surrounded with a little garden, and over-arched by a luxuriant vine, trellissed on poles, which supported the projecting roof, Albert and Mariette Peyrani spent their declining days. The evening of this aged Christian’s life was without a cloud; he fell asleep, amid the tears of affectionate friends, exulting in the same hope which had gladdened him in his journey through this vale of sorrow, and of which, death ushered him into the full fruition. His longing wish was fulfilled: — His head was laid in the tomb by a beloved pastor, and his ashes were mingled with the honoured dust of his martyred forefathers, in the church-yard of Villar.
Thus did the light of truth again burn in the
* See Appendix, note G. valleys of Piedmont, when it was on the point of being extinguished for ever; — the scattered flock once more were permitted to worship within the enclosures of their own fold, “without any to make them afraid;” and while many desponding hearts had been sending up their complaint to Heaven, “Lord, they have killed thy prophets, and digged down thine altars! — What said the answer of God unto them? — I have reserved to myself seven thousand men, who have not bowed the knee unto Baal!”