CHAPTER I. - INTRODUCTORY.

Dauphiny is one of the least visited of all the provinces of France.  It occupies a remote corner of the empire, lying completely out of the track of ordinary tourists.  No great road passes through it into Italy, the Piedmontese frontier of which it adjoins; and the annual streams of English and American travellers accordingly enter that kingdom by other routes.  Even to Frenchmen, who travel little in their own country and still less in others, Dauphiny is very little known; and M. Joanne, who has written an excellent Itinerary of the South of France, almost takes the credit of having discovered it.

Yet Dauphiny is a province full of interest.  Its scenery almost vies with that of Switzerland in grandeur, beauty, and wildness.  The great mountain masses of the Alps do not end in Savoy, but extend through the south-eastern parts of France, almost to the mouths of the Rhone.  Packed closer together than in most parts of Switzerland, the mountains of Dauphiny are furrowed by deep valleys, each with its rapid stream or torrent at bottom, in some places overhung by precipitous rocks, in others hemmed in by green hills, over which are seen the distant snowy peaks and glaciers of the loftier mountain ranges.  Of these, Mont Pelvoux ­whose double pyramid can be seen from Lyons on a clear day, a hundred miles off ­and the Aiguille du Midi, are among the larger masses, rising to a height little short of Mont Blanc itself.

From the ramparts of Grenoble the panoramic view is of wonderful beauty and grandeur, extending along the valleys of the Isère and the Drac, and across that of the Romanche.  The massive heads of the Grand Chartreuse mountains bound the prospect to the north; and the summits of the snow-clad Dauphiny Alps on the south and east present a combination of bold valley and mountain scenery, the like of which is not to be seen in France, if in Europe.

But it is not the scenery, or the geology, or the flora of the province, however marvellous these may be, that constitutes the chief interest for the traveller through these Dauphiny valleys, so much as the human endurance, suffering, and faithfulness of the people who have lived in them in past times, and of which so many interesting remnants still survive.  For Dauphiny forms a principal part of the country of the ancient Vaudois or Waldenses ­literally, the people inhabiting the Vaux, or valleys ­who for nearly seven hundred years bore the heavy brunt of Papal persecution, and are now, after all their sufferings, free to worship God according to the dictates of their conscience.

The country of the Vaudois is not confined, as is generally supposed, to the valleys of Piedmont, but extends over the greater part of Dauphiny and Provence.  From the main ridge of the Cottian Alps, which, divide France from Italy, great mountain spurs are thrown out, which run westward as well as eastward, and enclose narrow strips of pasturage, cultivable land, and green shelves on the mountain sides, where a poor, virtuous, and hard-working race have long contrived to earn a scanty subsistence, amidst trials and difficulties of no ordinary kind, ­the greatest of which, strange to say, have arisen from the pure and simple character of the religion they professed.

The tradition which exists among them is, that the early Christian missionaries, when travelling from Italy into Gaul by the Roman road passing over Mont Genevre, taught the Gospel in its primitive form to the people of the adjoining districts.  It is even surmised that St. Paul journeyed from Rome into Spain by that route, and may himself have imparted to the people of the valleys their first Christian instruction.  The Italian and Gallic provinces in that quarter were certainly Christianized in the second century at the latest, and it is known that the early missionaries were in the habit of making frequent journeys from the provinces to Rome.  Wherefore it is reasonable to suppose that the people of the valleys would receive occasional visits from the wayfaring teachers who travelled by the mountain passes in the immediate neighbourhood of their dwellings.

As years rolled on, and the Church at Rome became rich and allied itself with the secular power, it gradually departed more and more from its primitive condition, until at length it was scarcely to be recognised from the Paganism which it had superseded.  The heathen gods were replaced by canonised mortals; Venus and Cupid by the Virgin and Child; Lares and Penates by images and crucifixes; while incense, flowers, tapers, and showy dresses came to be regarded as essential parts of the ceremonial of the new religion as they had been of the old.  Madonnas winked and bled again, as the statues of Juno and Pompey had done before; and stones and relics worked miracles as in the time of the Augurs.

Attempts were made by some of the early bishops to stem this tide of innovation.  Thus, in the fourth, century, Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, and Philastrius, Bishop of Brescia, acknowledging no authority on earth as superior to that of the Bible, protested against the introduction of images in churches, which they held to be a return to Paganism.  Four centuries later, Claude, Bishop of Turin, advanced like views, and opposed with energy the worship of images, which he regarded as absolute idolatry.  In the meanwhile, the simple Vaudois, shut up in their almost inaccessible valleys, and knowing nothing of these innovations, continued to adhere to their original primitive form of worship; and it clearly appears, from a passage in the writings of St. Ambrose, that, in his time, the superstitions which prevailed elsewhere had not at all extended into the mountainous regions of his diocese.

The Vaudois Church was never, in the ordinary sense of the word, a “Reformed” Church, simply because it had not become corrupted, and did not stand in need of “reformation.”  It was not the Vaudois who left the Church, but the Roman Church that left them in search of idols.  Adhering to their primitive faith, they never recognised the paramount authority of the Pope; they never worshipped images, nor used incense, nor observed Mass; and when, in the course of time, these corruptions became known to them, and they found that the Western Church had ceased to be Catholic, and become merely Roman; they openly separated from it, as being no longer in conformity with the principles of the Gospel as inculcated in the Bible and delivered to them by their fathers.  Their ancient manuscripts, still extant, attest to the purity of their doctrines.  They are written, like the Nobla Leycon, in the Romance or Provencal ­the earliest of the modern classical languages, the language of the troubadours ­though now only spoken as a patois in Dauphiny, Piedmont, Sardinia, the north of Spain, and the Balearic Isles.

If the age counts for anything, the Vaudois are justified in their claim to be considered one of the oldest churches in Europe.  Long before the conquest of England by the Normans, before the time of Wallace and Bruce in Scotland, before England had planted its foot in Ireland, the Vaudois Church existed.  Their remoteness, their poverty, and their comparative unimportance as a people, for a long time protected them from interference; and for centuries they remained unnoticed by Rome.  But as the Western Church extended its power, it became insatiable for uniformity.  It would not tolerate the independence which characterized the early churches, but aimed at subjecting them to the exclusive authority of Rome.

The Vaudois, however, persisted in repudiating the doctrines and formularies of the Pope.  When argument failed, the Church called the secular arm to its aid, and then began a series of persécutions, extending over several centuries, which, for brutality and ferocity, are probably unexampled in history.  To crush this unoffending but faithful people, Rome employed her most irrefragable arguments ­the curses of Lucius and the horrible cruelties of Innocent ­and the “Vicar of Christ” bathed the banner of the Cross in a carnage from which the wolves of Romulus and the eagles of Cæsar would have turned with loathing.

Long before the period of the Reformation, the Vaudois valleys were ravaged by fire and sword because of the alleged heresy of the people.  Luther was not born until 1483; whereas nearly four centuries before, the Vaudois were stigmatized as heretics by Rome.  As early as 1096, we find Pope Urban II. describing Val Louise, one of the Dauphiny valleys ­then called Vallis Gyrontana, from the torrent of Gyr, which flows through it ­as “infested with heresy.”  In 1179, hot persecution raged all over Dauphiny, extending to the Albigeois of the South of France, as far as Lyons and Toulouse; one of the first martyrs being Pierre Waldo, or Waldensis, of Lyons, who was executed for heresy by the Archbishop of Lyons in 1180.

Of one of the early persécutions, an ancient writer says:  “In the year 1243, Pope Innocent II. ordered the Bishop of Metz rigorously to prosecute the Vaudois, especially because they read the sacred books in the vulgar tongue." From time to time, new persécutions were ordered, and conducted with ever-increasing ferocity ­the scourge, the brand, and the sword being employed by turns.  In 1486, while Luther was still in his cradle, Pope Innocent VIII. issued a bull of extermination against the Vaudois, summoning all true Catholics to the holy crusade, promising free pardon to all manner of criminals who should take part in it, and concluding with the promise of the remission of sins to every one who should slay a heretic. The consequence was, the assemblage of an immense horde of brigands, who were let loose on the valleys of Dauphiny and Piedmont, which they ravaged and pillaged, in company with eighteen thousand regular troops, jointly furnished by the French king and the Duke of Savoy.

Sometimes the valleys were under the authority of the kings of France, sometimes under that of the dukes of Savoy, whose armies alternately overran them; but change of masters and change of popes made little difference to the Vaudois.  It sometimes, however, happened, that the persecution waxed hotter on one side of the Cottian Alps, while it temporarily relaxed on the other; and on such occasions the French and Italian Vaudois were accustomed to cross the mountain passes, and take refuge in each others’ valleys.  But when, as in the above case, the kings, soldiers, and brigands, on both sides, simultaneously plied the brand and the sword, the times were very troublous indeed for these poor hunted people.  They had then no alternative but to climb up the mountains into the least accessible places, or hide themselves away in dens and caverns with their families, until their enemies had departed.  But they were often, tracked to their hiding-places by their persecutors, and suffocated, strangled, or shot ­men, women, and children.  Hence there is scarcely a hiding-place along the mountain-sides of Dauphiny but has some tradition connected with it relating to those dreadful times.  In one, so many women and children were suffocated; in another, so many perished of cold and hunger; in a third, so many were ruthlessly put to the sword.  If these caves of Dauphiny had voices, what deeds of horror they could tell!

What is known as the Easter massacre of 1655 made an unusual sensation in Europe, but especially in England, principally through the attitude which Oliver Cromwell assumed in the matter.  Persecution had followed persecution for nearly four hundred years, and still the Vaudois were neither converted nor extirpated.  The dukes of Savoy during all that time pursued a uniform course of treachery and cruelty towards this portion of their subjects.  Sometimes the Vaudois, pressed by their persecutors, turned upon them, and drove them ignominiously out of their valleys.  Then the reigning dukes would refrain for a time; and, probably needing their help in one or other of the wars in which they were constantly engaged, would promise them protection and privileges.  But such promises were invariably broken; and at some moment when the Vaudois were thrown off their guard by his pretended graciousness, the duke for the time being would suddenly pounce upon them and carry fire and sword through their valleys.

Indeed, the dukes of Savoy seem to have been about the most wrong-headed line of despots that ever cursed a people by their rule.  Their mania was soldiering, though they were oftener beaten than victorious.  They were thrashed out of Dauphiny by France, thrashed out of Geneva by the citizens, thrashed out of the valleys by their own peasantry; and still they went on raising armies, making war, and massacring their Vaudois subjects.  Being devoted servants of the Pope, in 1655 they concurred with him in the establishment of a branch of the society De Propaganda Fide at Turin, which extended over the whole of Piedmont, for the avowed purpose of extirpating the heretics.  On Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week, the society commenced active proceedings.  The army of Savoy advanced suddenly upon La Tour, and were let loose upon the people.  A general massacre began, accompanied with shocking brutalities, and continued for more than a week.  In many hamlets not a cottage was left standing, and such of the people as had not been able to fly into the upper valleys were indiscriminately put to the sword.  And thus was Easter celebrated.

The noise of this dreadful deed rang through Europe, and excited a general feeling of horror, especially in England.  Cromwell, then at the height of his power, offered the fugitive Vaudois an asylum in Ireland; but the distance which lay between was too great, and the Vaudois asked him to help them in some other way.  Forthwith, he addressed letters, written by his secretary, John Milton, to the principal European powers, calling upon them to join him in putting a stop to these horrid barbarities committed upon an unoffending people.  Cromwell did more.  He sent the exiles L2,000 out of his own purse; appointed a day of humiliation and a general collection all over England, by which some L38,000 were raised; and dispatched Sir Samuel Morland as his plenipotentiary to expostulate in person with the Duke of Savoy.  Moreover, a treaty was on the eve of being signed with France; and Cromwell refused to complete it until Cardinal Mazarin had undertaken to assist him in getting right done to the people of the valleys.

“Avenge, O Lord, Thy slaughter’d saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold,” &c.]

These energetic measures had their effect.  The Vaudois who survived the massacre were permitted to return to their devastated homes, under the terms of the treaty known as the “Patents of Grace,” which was only observed, however, so long as Cromwell lived.  At the Restoration, Charles II. seized the public fund collected for the relief of the Vaudois, and refused to remit the annuity arising from the interest thereon which Cromwell had assigned to them, declaring that he would not pay the debts of a usurper!

After that time, the interest felt in the Vaudois was very much of a traditional character.  Little was known as to their actual condition, or whether the descendants of the primitive Vaudois Church continued to exist or not.  Though English travellers ­amongst others, Addison, Smollett, and Sterne ­passed through the country in the course of last century, they took no note of the people of the valleys.  And this state of general ignorance as to the district continued down to within about the last fifty years, when quite a new interest was imparted to the subject through the labours and researches of the late Dr. Gilly, Prebendary of Durham.

It happened that that gentleman was present at a meeting of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, in the year 1820, when a very touching letter was read to the board, signed “Frederick Peyrani, minister of Pramol,” requesting the assistance of the society in supplying books to the Vaudois churches of Piedmont, who were described as maintaining a very hard struggle with poverty and oppression.  Dr. Gilly was greatly interested by the reading of this letter.  Indeed, the subject of it so strongly arrested his attention, that he says it “took complete possession of him.”  He proceeded to make search for information about the Vaudois, but could find very little that was definite or satisfactory respecting them.  Then it was that he formed the determination of visiting the valleys and ascertaining the actual condition of the people in person.

His visit was made in 1823, and in the course of the following year Dr. Gilly published the result in his “Narrative of an Excursion to the Mountains of Piedmont.”  The book excited much interest, not only in England, but in other countries; and a movement was shortly after set on foot for the relief and assistance of the Vaudois.  A committee was formed, and a fund was raised ­to which the Emperor of Russia and the Kings of Prussia and Holland contributed ­with the object, in the first place, of erecting a hospital for the sick and infirm Vaudois at La Tour, in the valley of Luzern.  It turned out that the money raised was not only sufficient for this purpose, but also to provide schools and a college for the education of pastors, which were shortly after erected at the same place.

In 1829, Dr. Gilly made a second visit to the Piedmontese valleys, partly in order to ascertain how far the aid thus rendered to the poor Vaudois had proved effectual, and also to judge in what way certain further sums placed at his disposal might best be employed for their benefit. It was in the course of his second visit that Dr. Gilly became aware of the fact that the Vaudois were not confined to the valleys of Piedmont, but that numerous traces of them were also to be found on the French side of the Alps, in Dauphiny and Provence.  He accordingly extended his journey across the Col de la Croix into France, and cursorily visited the old Vaudois district of Val Fressinieres and Val Queyras, of which an account will be given in the following chapters.  It was while on this journey that Dr. Gilly became acquainted with the self-denying labours of the good Felix Neff among those poor outlying Christians, with whose life and character he was so fascinated that he afterwards wrote and published the memoir of Neff, so well known to English readers.

Since that time occasional efforts have been made in aid of the French Vaudois, though those on the Italian side have heretofore commanded by far the larger share of interest.  There have been several reasons for this.  In the first place, the French valleys are much less accessible; the roads through some of the most interesting valleys are so bad that they can only be travelled on foot, being scarcely practicable even for mules.  There is no good hotel accommodation in the district, only auberges, and these of an indifferent character.  The people are also more scattered, and even poorer than they are on the Italian side of the Alps.  Then the climate is much more severe, from the greater elevation of the sites of most of the Vaudois villages; so that when pastors were induced to settle there, the cold, and sterility, and want of domestic accommodation, soon drove them away.  It was to the rigour of the climate that Felix Neff was eventually compelled to succumb.

Yet much has been done of late years for the amelioration of the French Vaudois; and among the most zealous workers in their behalf have been the Rev. Mr. Freemantle, rector of Claydon, Bucks, and Mr. Edward Milsom, the well-known merchant of Lyons.  It was in the year 1851 that the Rev. Mr. Freemantle first visited the Vaudois of Dauphiny.  His attention was drawn to the subject while editing the memoir of a young English clergyman, the Rev. Spencer Thornton, who had taken Felix Neff for his model; and he was thereby induced to visit the scene of Neff’s labours, and to institute a movement on behalf of the people of the French valleys, which has issued in the erection of schools, churches, and pastors’ dwellings in several of the most destitute places.

It is curious and interesting to trace the influence of personal example on human life and action.  As the example of Oberlin in the Ban de la Roche inspired Felix Neff to action, so the life of Felix Neff inspired that of Spencer Thornton, and eventually led Mr. Freemantle to enter upon the work of extending evangelization among the Vaudois.  In like manner, a young French pastor, M. Bost, also influenced by the life and labours of Neff, visited the valleys some years since, and wrote a book on the subject, the perusal of which induced Mr. Milsom to lend a hand to the work which the young Genevese missionary had begun.  And thus good example goes on ever propagating itself; and though the tombstone may record “Hic jacet” over the crumbling dust of the departed, his spirit still lives and works through other minds ­stimulates them to action, and inspires them with hope ­“allures to brighter worlds, and leads the way.”

A few words as to the origin of these fragmentary papers.  In chalking out a summer holiday trip, one likes to get quite away from the ordinary round of daily life and business.  Half the benefits of such a trip consists in getting out of the old ruts, and breathing fresh air amidst new surroundings.  But this is very difficult if you follow the ordinary tourist’s track.  London goes with you and elbows you on your way, accompanied by swarms of commissionaires, guides, and beggars.  You encounter London people on the Righi, on the Wengern Alp, and especially at Chamouni.  Think of being asked, as I once was on entering the Pavilion at Montanvert, after crossing the Mer de Glace from the Mauvais Pas, “Pray, can you tell me what was the price of Brighton stock when you left town?”

There is no risk of such rencontres in Dauphiny, whose valleys remain in almost as primitive a state as they were hundreds of years ago.  Accordingly, when my friend Mr. Milsom, above mentioned, invited me to accompany him in one of his periodical visits to the country of the Vaudois, I embraced the opportunity with pleasure.  I was cautioned beforehand as to the inferior accommodation provided for travellers through the district.  Tourists being unknown there, the route is not padded and cushioned as it is on all the beaten continental rounds.  English is not spoken; Bass’s pale ale has not yet penetrated into Dauphiny; nor do you encounter London tourists carrying their tin baths about with them as you do in Switzerland.  Only an occasional negotiant comes up from Gap or Grenoble, seeking orders in the villages, for whom the ordinary auberges suffice.

Where the roads are practicable, an old-fashioned diligence may occasionally be seen plodding along, freighted with villagers bound for some local market; but the roads are, for the most part, as silent as the desert.

Such being the case, the traveller in the valleys must be prepared to “rough it” a little.  I was directed to bring with me only a light knapsack, a pair of stout hob-nailed shoes, a large stock of patience, and a small parcel of insect powder.  The knapsack and the shoes I found exceedingly useful, indeed indispensable; but I had very little occasion to draw upon either my stock of patience or insect powder.  The French are a tidy people, and though their beds, stuffed with maize chaff, may be hard, they are tolerably clean.  The food provided in the auberges is doubtless very different from what one is accustomed to at home; but with the help of cheerfulness and a good digestion that difficulty too may be got over.

Indeed, among the things that most strikes a traveller through France, as characteristic of the people, is the skill with which persons of even the poorest classes prepare and serve up food.  The French women are careful economists and excellent cooks.  Nothing is wasted.  The pot au feu is always kept simmering on the hob, and, with the help of a hunch of bread, a good meal may at any time be made from it.  Even in the humblest auberge, in the least frequented district, the dinner served up is of a quality such as can very rarely be had in any English public-house, or even in most of our country inns.  Cooking seems to be one of the lost arts of England, if indeed it ever possessed it; and our people are in the habit, through want of knowledge, of probably wasting more food than would sustain many another nation.  But in the great system of National Education that is to be, no one dreams of including as a branch of it skill in the preparation and economy in the use of human food.

There is another thing that the traveller through France may always depend upon, and that is civility.  The politeness of even the French poor to each other is charming.  They respect themselves, and they respect each other.  I have seen in France what I have not yet seen in England ­young working men walking out their aged mothers arm in arm in the evening, to hear the band play in the “Place,” or to take a turn on the public promenade.  But the French are equally polite to strangers.  A stranger lady may travel all through the rural districts of France, and never encounter a rude look; a stranger gentleman, and never receive a rude word.  That the French are a self-respecting people is also evinced by the fact that they are a sober people.  Drunkenness is scarcely known in France; and one may travel all through it and never witness the degrading sight of a drunken man.

The French are also honest and thrifty, and exceedingly hard-working.  The industry of the people is unceasing.  Indeed it is excessive; for they work Sunday and Saturday.  Sunday has long ceased to be a Sabbath in France.  There is no day of rest there.  Before the Revolution, the saints’ days which the Church ordered to be observed so encroached upon the hours required for labour, that in course of time Sunday became an ordinary working day.  And when the Revolution abolished saints’ days and Sabbath days alike, Sunday work became an established practice.

What the so-called friends of the working classes are aiming at in England, has already been effected in France.  The public museums and picture-galleries are open on Sunday.  But you look for the working people there in vain.  They are at work in the factories, whose chimneys are smoking as usual; or building houses, or working in the fields, or they are engaged in the various departments of labour.  The government works all go on as usual on Sundays.  The railway trains run precisely as on week days.  In short, the Sunday is secularised, or regarded but as a partial holiday.

As you pass through the country on Sundays, as on week-days, you see the people toiling in the fields.  And as dusk draws on, the dark figures may be seen moving about so long as there is light to see by.  It is the peasants working the land, and it is their own.  Such is the “magical influence of property,” said Arthur Young, when he observed the same thing.

It is to be feared, however, that the French peasantry are afflicted with the disease which Sir Walter Scott called the “earth-hunger;” and there is danger of the gravel getting into their souls.  Anyhow, their continuous devotion to bodily labour, without a seventh day’s rest, cannot fail to exercise a deteriorating effect upon their physical as well as their moral condition; and this we believe it is which gives to the men, and especially to the women of the country, the look of a prematurely old and overworked race.

CHAPTER II - THE VALLEY OF THE ROMANCHE ­BRIANCON.

The route from Grenoble to the frontier fortress of Briancon lies for the most part up the valley of the Romanche, which presents a variety of wild and beautiful scenery.  In summer the river is confined within comparatively narrow limits; but in autumn and spring it is often a furious torrent, flooding the low-lying lands, and forcing for itself new channels.  The mountain heights which bound it, being composed for the most part of schist, mica slate, and talcose slate, large masses become detached in winter ­split off by the freezing of the water behind them ­when they descend, on the coming of thaw, in terrible avalanches of stone and mud.  Sometimes the masses are such as to dam up the river and form temporary lakes, until the accumulation of force behind bursts the barrier, and a furious flood rushes down the valley.  By one of such floods, which occurred a few centuries since, through the bursting of the hike of St. Laurent in the valley of the Romanche, a large part of Grenoble was swept away, and many of the inhabitants were drowned.

The valley of the Romanche is no sooner entered, a few miles above Grenoble, than the mountains begin to close, the scenery becomes wilder, and the fury of the torrent is evinced by the masses of debris strewed along its bed.  Shortly after passing the picturesque defile called L’Etroit, where the river rushes through a deep cleft in the rocks, the valley opens out again, and we shortly come in sight of the ancient town of Vizille ­the most prominent building in which is the chateau of the famous Duc de Lesdiguieres, governor of the province in the reign of Henry IV., and Constable of France in that of Louis XIII.

Wherever you go in Dauphiny, you come upon the footmarks of this great soldier.  At Grenoble there is the Constable’s palace, now the Prefecture; and the beautiful grounds adjoining it, laid out by himself, are now the public gardens of the town.  Between Grenoble and Vizille there is the old road constructed by him, still known as “Le chemin du Connétable.”  At St. Bonnet, in the valley of the Drac, formerly an almost exclusively Protestant town, known as “the Geneva of the High Alps,” you are shown the house in which the Constable was born; and a little lower down the same valley, in the commune of Glaizil, on a hill overlooking the Drac, stand the ruins of the family castle; where the Constable was buried.  The people of the commune were in the practice of carrying away the bones from the family vault, believing them to possess some virtue as relics, until the prefect of the High Alps ordered it to be walled up to prevent the entire removal of the skeletons.

In the early part of his career, Lesdiguieres was one of the most trusted chiefs of Henry of Navarre, often leading his Huguenot soldiers to victory; capturing town after town, and eventually securing possession of the entire province of Dauphiny, of which Henry appointed him governor.  In that capacity he carried out many important public works ­made roads, built bridges, erected fourteen fortresses, and enlarged and beautified his palace at Grenoble and his chateau at Vizille.  He enjoyed great popularity during his life, and was known throughout his province as “King of the Mountains.”  But he did not continue staunch either to his party or his faith.  As in the case of many of the aristocratic leaders of those times, Lesdiguieres’ religion was only skin deep.  It was but a party emblem ­a flag to fight under, not a faith to live by.  So, when ambition tempted him, and the Constable’s baton dangled before his eyes, it cost the old soldier but little compunction to abandon the cause which he had so brilliantly served in his youth.  To secure the prize which he so coveted, he made public abjuration of his faith in the church, of St. Andrew’s at Grenoble in 1622, in the presence of the Marquis de Crequi, the minister of Louis XIII., who, immediately after Lesdiguieres’ first mass, presented him with the Constable’s baton.

But the Lesdiguieres family has long since passed away, and left no traces.  At the Revolution, the Constable’s tomb was burst open, and his coffin torn up.  His monument was afterwards removed to Gap, which, when a Huguenot, he had stormed and ravaged.  His chateau at Vizille passed through different hands, until in 1775 it came into the possession of the Perier family, to which the celebrated Casimir Perier belonged.  The great Gothic hall of the chateau has witnessed many strange scenes.  In 1623, shortly after his investment as Constable, Lesdiguieres entertained Louis XIII. and his court there, while on his journey into Italy, in the course of which he so grievously ravaged the Vaudois villages.  In 1788, the Estates of Dauphiny met there, and prepared the first bold remonstrance against aristocratic privileges, and in favour of popular representation, which, in a measure, proved the commencement of the great Revolution.  And there too, in 1822, Felix Neff preached to large congregations, who were so anxious and attentive that he always after spoke of the place as his “dear Vizille;” and now, to wind up the vicissitudes of the great hall, it is used as a place for the printing of Bandana handkerchiefs!

When Neff made his flying visits to Vizille, he was temporarily stationed at Mens, which was the scene of his first labours in Dauphiny.  The place lies not far from Vizille, away among the mountains towards the south.  During the wars of religion, and more especially after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, Mens became a place of refuge for the Protestants, who still form about one-half of its population.  Although, during the long dark period of religious persecution which followed the Revocation, the Protestants of Mens and the neighbouring villages did not dare to show themselves, and worshipped, if at all, only in their dwellings, in secret, or in “the Desert,” no sooner did the Revolution set them at liberty than they formed themselves again into churches, and appointed pastors; and it was to serve them temporarily in that capacity that Felix Neff first went amongst them, and laboured there and at Vizille with such good effect.

Not far from Mens is a place which has made much more noise in the world ­no other than La Salette, the scene of the latest Roman “miracle.”  La Salette is one of the side-valleys of the large valley of the Drac, which joins the Romanche a few miles above Grenoble.  There is no village of La Salette, but a commune, which is somewhat appropriately called La Salette-Fallavaux, the latter word being from fallax vallis, or “the lying valley.”

About twenty-seven years ago, on the 19th of September, 1846, two children belonging to the hamlet of Abladens ­the one a girl of fourteen, the other a boy of twelve years old ­came down from the lofty pasturage of Mont Gargas, where they had been herding cattle, and told the following strange story.  They had seen the Virgin Mary descend from heaven with a crucifix suspended from her neck by a gold chain, and a hammer and pincers suspended from the chain, but without any visible support.  The figure sat down upon a large stone, and wept so piteously as shortly to fill a large pool with her tears.

When the story was noised abroad, people came from all quarters, and went up the mountain to see where the Virgin had sat.  The stone was soon broken off in chips and carried away as relics, but the fountain filled with the tears is still there, tasting very much, like ordinary spring water.

Two priests of Grenoble, disgusted at what they believed to be an imposition, accused a young person of the neighbourhood, one Mdlle. de Lamerliere, as being the real author of the pretended miracle, on which she commenced an action against them for defamation of character.  She brought the celebrated advocate Jules Favre from Paris to plead her cause, but the verdict was given in favour of the two priests.  The “miracle” was an imposture!

Notwithstanding this circumstance, the miracle came to be generally believed in the neighbourhood.  The number of persons who resorted to the place with money in their pockets steadily increased.  The question was then taken up by the local priests, who vouched for the authenticity of the miracle seen by the two children.  The miracle was next accepted by Rome. A church was built on the spot by means of the contributions of the visitors ­L’Église de la Salette ­and thither pilgrims annually resort in great numbers, the more devout climbing the hill, from station to station, on their knees.  As many as four thousand persons of both sexes, and of various ages, have been known to climb the hill in one day ­on the anniversary of the appearance of the apparition ­notwithstanding the extreme steepness and difficulties of the ascent.

As a pendant to this story, another may be given of an entirely different character, relating to the inhabitants of another commune in the same valley, about midway between La Salette and Grenoble.  In 1860, while the discussion about the miracle at La Salette was still in progress, the inhabitants of Notre-Dame-de-Comiers, dissatisfied with the conduct of their cure, invited M. Fermaud, pastor of the Protestant church at Grenoble, to come over and preach to them, as they were desirous of embracing Protestantism.  The pastor, supposing that they were influenced by merely temporary irritation against their cure, cautioned the deputation that waited upon him as to the gravity of their decision in such a matter, and asked them to reflect further upon it.

For several years M. Fermaud continued to maintain the same attitude, until, in 1865, a formal petition was delivered to him by the mayor of the place, signed by forty-three heads of families, and by nine out of the ten members of the council of the commune, urging him to send them over a minister of the evangelical religion.  Even then he hesitated, and recommended the memorialists to appeal to the bishop of the diocese for redress of the wrongs of which he knew they complained, but in vain, until at length, in the beginning of 1868, with the sanction of the consistory of Grenoble a minister was sent over to Comiers to perform the first acts of Protestant worship, including baptism and marriage; and it was not until October in the same year that Pastor Fermaud himself went thither to administer the sacrament to the new church.

The service was conducted in the public hall of the commune, and was attended by a large number of persons belonging to the town and neighbourhood.  The local clergy tried in vain to check the movement.  Quite recently, when the cure entered one of the schools to inscribe the names of the children who were to attend their first mass, out of fifteen of the proper age eleven answered to the interrogatory of the priest, “Monsieur, nous sommes Protestantes.”  The movement has also extended into the neighbouring communes, helped by the zeal of the new converts, one of whom is known in the neighbourhood as “Pere la Bible,” and it is possible that before long it may even extend to La Salette itself.

The route from Vizille up the valley of the Romanche continues hemmed in by rugged mountains, in some places almost overhanging the river.  At Sechilienne it opens out sufficiently to afford space for a terraced garden, amidst which stands a handsome chateau, flanked by two massive towers, commanding a beautiful prospect down the valley.  The abundant water which rushes down from the mountain behind is partly collected in a reservoir, and employed to feed a jet d’eau which rises in a lofty column under the castle windows.  Further up, the valley again contracts, until the Gorge de Loiret is passed.  The road then crosses to the left bank, and used to be continued along it, but the terrible torrent of 1868 washed it away for miles, and it has not yet been reconstructed.  Temporary bridges enable the route to be pursued by the old road on the right bank, and after passing through several hamlets of little interest, we arrive at length at the cultivated plain hemmed in by lofty mountains, in the midst of which Bourg d’Oisans lies seated.

This little plain was formerly occupied by the lake of St. Laurent, formed by the barrier of rocks and debris which had tumbled down from the flank of the Petite Voudene, a precipitous mountain escarpment overhanging the river.  At this place, the strata are laid completely bare, and may be read like a book.  For some distance along the valley they exhibit the most extraordinary contortions and dislocations, impressing the mind with the enormous natural forces that must have been at work to occasion such tremendous upheavings and disruptions.  Elie de Beaumont, the French geologist, who has carefully examined the district, says that at the Montagne d’Oisans he found the granite in some places resting upon the limestone, cutting through the Calcareous beds, rising like a wall and lapping over them.

On arriving at Bourg d’Oisans, we put up at the Hotel de Milan close by the bridge; but though dignified with the name of hotel, it is only a common roadside inn.  Still, it is tolerably clean, and in summer the want of carpets is not missed.  The people were civil and attentive, their bread wholesome, their pottage and bouilli good ­being such fare as the people of the locality contrive to live and thrive upon.  The accommodation of the place is, indeed, quite equal to the demand; for very few travellers accustomed to a better style of living pass that way.  When the landlady was asked if many tourists had passed this year, she replied, “Tourists!  We rarely see such travellers here.  You are the first this season, and perhaps you may be the last.”

Yet these valleys are well worthy of a visit, and an influx of tourists would doubtless have the same effect that it has already had in Switzerland and elsewhere, of greatly improving the hotel accommodation throughout the district.  There are many domestic arrangements, costing very little money, but greatly ministering to cleanliness and comfort, which might very readily be provided.  But the people themselves are indifferent to them, and they need the requisite stimulus of “pressure from without.”  One of the most prominent defects ­common to all the inns of Dauphiny ­having been brought under the notice of the landlady, she replied, “C’est vrai, monsieur; maïs ­il laisse quelque chose a desirer!” How neatly evaded!  The very defect was itself an advantage!  What would life be ­what would hotels be ­if there were not “something left to be desired!”

The view from the inn at the bridge is really charming.  The little river which runs down the valley, and becomes lost in the distance, is finally fringed with trees ­alder, birch, and chestnut.  Ridge upon ridge of mountain rises up behind on the right hand and the left, the lower clothed with patches of green larch, and the upper with dark pine.  Above all are ranges of jagged and grey rocks, shooting up in many places into lofty peaks.  The setting sun, shining across the face of the mountain opposite, brings out the prominent masses in bold relief, while the valley beneath hovers between light and shadow, changing almost from one second to another as the sun goes down.  In the cool of the evening, we walked through the fields across the plain, to see the torrent, visible from the village, which rushes from the rocky gorge on the mountain-side to join its waters to the Romanche.  All along the valleys, water abounds ­sometimes bounding from the heights, in jets, in rivulets, in masses, leaping from rock to rock, and reaching the ground only in white clouds of spray, or, as in the case of the little river which flows alongside the inn at the bridge, bursting directly from the ground in a continuous spring; these waterfalls, and streams, and springs being fed all the year through by the immense glaciers that fill the hollows of the mountains on either side the valley.

Though the scenery of Bourg d’Oisans is not, as its eulogists allege, equal to that of Switzerland, it will at least stand a comparison with that of Savoy.  Its mountains are more precipitous and abrupt, its peaks more jagged, and its aspect more savage and wild.  The scenery of Mont Pelvoux, which is best approached from Bourg d’Oisans, is especially grand and sublime, though of a wild and desolate character.  The road from Bourg d’Oisans to Briancon also presents some magnificent scenery; and there is one part of it that is not perhaps surpassed even by the famous Via Mala leading up to the Spluegen.  It is about three miles above Bourg d’Oisans, from which we started early next morning.  There the road leaves the plain and enters the wild gorge of Freney, climbing by a steep road up the Rampe des Commieres.  The view from the height when gained is really superb, commanding an extremely bold and picturesque valley, hemmed in by mountains.  The ledges on the hillsides spread out in some places so as to afford sufficient breadths for cultivation; occasional hamlets appear amidst the fields and pine-woods; and far up, between you and the sky, an occasional church spire peeps up, indicating still loftier settlements, though how the people contrive to climb up to those heights is a wonder to the spectator who views them from below.

The route follows the profile of the mountain, winding in and out along its rugged face, scarped and blasted so as to form the road.  At one place it passes along a gallery about six hundred feet in length, cut through a precipitous rock overhanging the river, which dashes, roaring and foaming, more than a thousand feet below, through the rocky abyss of the Gorge de l’Infernet.  Perhaps there is nothing to be seen in Switzerland finer of its kind than the succession of charming landscapes which meet the eye in descending this pass.

Beyond the village of Freney we enter another defile, so narrow that in places there is room only for the river and the road; and in winter the river sometimes plays sad havoc with the engineer’s constructions.  Above this gorge, the Romanche is joined by the Ferrand, an impetuous torrent which comes down from the glaciers of the Grand Rousses.  Immediately over their point of confluence, seated on a lofty promontory, is the village of Mizoen ­a place which, because of the outlook it commands, as well as because of its natural strength, was one of the places in which the Vaudois were accustomed to take refuge in the times of the persécutions.  Further on, we pass through another gallery in the rock, then across the little green valley of Chambón to Le Dauphin, after which the scenery becomes wilder, the valley ­here called the Combe de Malaval (the “Cursed Valley") ­rocky and sterile, the only feature to enliven it being the Cascade de la Pisse, which falls from a height of over six hundred feet, first in one jet, then becomes split by a projecting rock into two, and finally reaches the ground in a shower of spray.  Shortly after we pass another cascade, that of the Riftort, which also joins the Romanche, and marks the boundary between the department of the Isère and that of the Hautes Alpes, which we now enter.

More waterfalls ­the Sau de la Pucelle, which falls from a height of some two hundred and fifty feet, resembling the Staubbach ­besides rivulets without number, running down the mountain-sides like silver threads; until we arrive at La Grave, a village about five thousand feet above the sea-level, directly opposite the grand glaciers of Tabuchet, Pacave, and Vallon, which almost overhang the Romanche, descending from the steep slopes of the gigantic Aiguille du Midi, the highest mountain in the French Alps, ­being over 13,200 feet above the level of the sea.

After resting some two hours at La Grave, we proceeded by the two tunnels under the hamlet of Ventelong ­one of which is 650 and the other 1,800 feet long ­to the village of Villard d’Arene, which, though some five thousand feet above the level of the sea, is so surrounded by lofty mountains that for months together the sun never shines on it.  From thence a gradual ascent leads up to the summit of the Col de Lauteret, which divides the valley of the Romanche from that of the Guisanne.  The pastures along the mountain-side are of the richest verdure; and so many rare and beautiful plants are found growing there that M. Rousillon has described it as a “very botanical Eden.”  Here Jean Jacques Rousseau delighted to herborize, and here the celebrated botanist Mathonnet, originally a customs officer, born at the haggard village of Villard d’Arene, which we have just passed, cultivated his taste for natural history, and laid the foundations of his European reputation.  The variety of temperature which exists along the mountain-side, from the bottom to the summit, its exposure to the full rays of the sun in some places, and its sheltered aspect in others, facilitate the growth of an extraordinary variety of beautiful plants and wild flowers.  In the low grounds meridional plants flourish; on the middle slopes those of genial climates; while on the summit are found specimens of the flora of Lapland and Greenland.  Thus almost every variety of flowers is represented in this brilliant natural garden ­orchids, cruciferae, leguminae, rosaceae, caryophyllae, lilies of various kinds, saxifrages, anémones, ranunculuses, swertia, primula, varieties of the sedum, some of which are peculiar to this mountain, and are elsewhere unknown.

After passing the Hospice near the summit of the Col, the valley of the Guisanne comes in sight, showing a line of bare and rugged mountains on the right hand and on the left, with a narrow strip of land in the bottom, in many parts strewn with stones carried down by the avalanches from the cliffs above.  Shortly we come in sight of the distant ramparts of Briancon, apparently closing in the valley, the snow-clad peak of Monte Viso rising in the distance.  Halfway between the Col and Briancon we pass through the village of Monestier, where, being a saint’s day, the bulk of the population are in the street, holding festival.  The place was originally a Roman station, and the people still give indications of their origin, being extremely swarthy, black-haired, and large-eyed, evidently much more Italian than French.

But though the villagers of Monestier were taking holiday, no one can reproach them with idleness.  Never was there a more hard-working people than the peasantry of these valleys.  Every little patch of ground that the plough or spade can be got into is turned to account.  The piles of stone and rock collected by the sides of the fields testify to the industry of the people in clearing the soil for culture.  And their farming is carried on in the face of difficulties and discouragements of no ordinary character, for sometimes the soil of many of the little farms will be swept away in a night by an avalanche of snow in winter or of stones in spring.  The wrecks of fields are visible all along the valley, especially at its upper part.  Lower down it widens, and affords greater room for culture; the sides of the mountains become better wooded; and, as we approach the fortress of Briancon, with its battlements seemingly piled one over the other up the mountain-sides, the landscape becomes exceedingly bold and picturesque.

When passing the village of Villeneuve la Salle, a few miles from Briancon, we were pointed to a spot on the opposite mountain-side, over the pathway leading to the Col de l’Echuada, where a cavern was discovered a few years since, which, upon examination, was found to contain a considerable quantity of human bones.  It was one of the caves in which the hunted Vaudois were accustomed to take refuge during the persécutions; and it continued to be called by the peasantry “La Roche armée” ­the name being thus perpetuated, though the circumstances in which it originated had been forgotten.

The fortress of Briancon, which we entered by a narrow winding roadway round the western rampart, is the frontier fortress which guards the pass from Italy into France by the road over Mont Genevre.  It must always have been a strong place by nature, overlooking as it does the valley of the Durance on the one hand, and the mountain road from Italy on the other, while the river Clairee, running in a deep defile, cuts it off from the high ground to the south and east.  The highest part of the town is the citadel, or Fort du Chateau, built upon a peak of rock on the site of the ancient castle.  It was doubtless the nucleus round which the early town became clustered, until it filled the lower plateau to the verge of the walls and battlements.  There being no room for the town to expand, the houses are closely packed together and squeezed up, as it were, so as to occupy the smallest possible space.  The streets are narrow, dark, gloomy, and steep, being altogether impassable for carriages.  The liveliest sight in the place is a stream of pure water, that rushes down an open conduit in the middle of the principal street, which is exceedingly steep and narrow.  The town is sacrificed to the fortifications, which dominate everywhere.  With the increasing range and power of cannon, they have been extended in all directions, until they occupy the flanks of the adjoining mountains and many of their summits, so that the original castle now forms but a comparatively insignificant part of the fortress.  The most important part of the population is the soldiery ­the red-trousered missionaries of “civilisation,” according to the gospel of Louis Napoleon, published a short time before our visit.

Other missionaries, are, however, at work in the town and neighbourhood; and both at Briancon and Villeneuve Protestant stations have been recently established, under the auspices of the Protestant Society of Lyons.  In former times, the population of Briancon included a large number of Protestants.  In the year 1575, three years after the massacre of St. Bartholomew, they were so numerous and wealthy as to be able to build a handsome temple, almost alongside the cathedral, and it still stands there in the street called Rue du Temple, with the motto over the entrance, in old French, “Cerches et vos troveres.”  But at the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, the temple was seized by the King and converted into a granary, and the Protestants of the place were either executed, banished, or forced to conform to the Papal religion.  Since then the voice of Protestantism has been mute in Briancon until within the last few years, during which a mission has been in operation.  Some of the leading persons in the town have embraced the Reform faith, amongst others the professor of literature in the public college; but he had no sooner acknowledged to the authorities the fact of his conversion, than he was dismissed from his office, though he has since been appointed to a more important profession at Nice.  The number of members is, however, as yet very small, and the mission has to contend with limited means, and to carry on its operations in the face of many obstructions and difficulties.

What are the prospects of the extension of Protestantism in France?  Various answers have been given to the question.  Some think that the prevailing dissensions among French Protestants interpose a serious barrier in the way of progress.  Others, more hopeful, think, that these divisions are only the indications of renewed life and vigour, of the friction of mind with mind, which evinces earnestness, and cannot fail to lead to increased activity and effort.  The observations of a young Protestant pastor on this point are worth repeating.  “Protestantism,” said he, “is based on individualism:  it recognises the free action of the human mind; and so long as the mind acts freely there will be controversy.  The end of controversy is death.  True, there is much incredulity abroad; but the incredulity is occasioned by the incredibilities of Popery.  Let the ground once be cleared by free inquiry, and our Church will rise up amidst the ruins of superstition and unbelief, for man must have religion; only it must be consistent with reason on the one hand, and with Divine revelation on the other.  I for one do not fear the fullest and freest inquiry, having the most perfect confidence in the triumph of the truth.”

It is alleged by others that the bald form in which Protestantism is for the most part presented abroad, is not conformable with the “genius” of the men of Celtic and Latin race.  However this may be, it is too generally the case that where Frenchmen, like Italians and Spaniards, throw off Roman Catholicism, they do not stop at rejecting its superstitions, but reject religion itself.  They find no intermediate standpoint in Protestantism, but fly off into the void of utter unbelief.  The same tendency characterizes them in politics.  They seem to oscillate between Caesarism and Red Republicanism; aiming not at reform so much as revolution.  They are averse to any via media.  When they have tried constitutionalism, they have broken down.  So it has been with Protestantism, the constitutionalism of Christianity.  The Huguenots at one time constituted a great power in France; but despotism in politics and religion proved too strong for them, and they were persecuted, banished, and stamped for a time out of existence, or at least out of sight.

Protestantism was more successful in Germany.  Was it because it was more conformable to the “genius” of its people?  When the Germans “protested” against the prevailing corruptions in the Church, they did not seek to destroy it, but to reform it.  They “stood upon the old ways,” and sought to make them broader, straighter, and purer.  They have pursued the same course in politics.  Cooler and less impulsive than their Gallican neighbours, they have avoided revolutions, but are constantly seeking reforms.  Of this course England itself furnishes a notable example.

It is certainly a remarkable fact, that the stronghold of Protestantism in France was recently to be found among the population of Germanic origin seated along the valley of the Rhine; whereas in the western districts Protestantism is split up by the two irreconcilable parties of Evangelicals and Rationalists.  At the same time it should be borne in mind that Alsace did not become part of France until the year 1715, and that the Lutherans of that province were never exposed to the ferocious persécutions to which the Evangelical Protestants of Old France were subjected, before as well as after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes.

In Languedoc, in Dauphiny, and in the southern provinces generally, men and women who professed Protestantism were liable to be hanged or sent to the galleys, down to nearly the end of the last century.  A Protestant pastor who exercised his vocation did so at the daily peril of his life.  Nothing in the shape of a Protestant congregation was permitted to exist, and if Protestants worshipped together, it was in secret, in caves, in woods, among the hills, or in the “Desert.”  Yet Protestantism nevertheless contrived to exist through this long dark period of persecution, and even to increase.  And when at length it became tolerated, towards the close of the last century, the numbers of its adherents appeared surprising to those who had imagined it to be altogether extinct.

Indeed, looking at the persistent efforts made by Louis XIV. to exterminate the Huguenots, and to the fact that many hundred thousand of the best of them emigrated into foreign countries, while an equal number are supposed to have perished in prison, on the scaffold, at the galleys, and in their attempts to escape, it may almost be regarded as matter of wonder that the Église Reformee ­the Church of the old Huguenots ­should at the present day number about a thousand congregations, besides the five hundred Lutheran congregations of Alsatia, and that the Protestants of France should amount, in the whole, to about two millions of souls.

CHAPTER III. - VAL LOUISE ­HISTORY OF FELIX NEFF.

Some eight miles south of Briancon, on the road to Fort Dauphin, a little river called the Gyronde comes down from the glaciers of Mont Pelvoux, and falls into the Durance nearly opposite the village of La Bessie.  This river flows through Val Louise, the entrance into which can be discerned towards the northwest.  Near the junction of the rivers, the ruins of an embattled wall, with entrenchments, are observed extending across the valley of the Durance, a little below the narrow pass called the “Pertuis-Rostan,” evidently designed to close it against an army advancing from the south.  The country people still call those ruins the “Walls of the Vaudois;" and according to tradition a great Vaudois battle was fought there; but of any such battle history makes no mention.

Indeed, so far as can be ascertained, the Vaudois of Dauphiny rarely if ever fought battles.  They were too few in number, too much scattered among the mountains, and too poor and ill-armed, to be able to contend against the masses of disciplined soldiery that were occasionally sent into the valleys.  All that they did was to watch, from their mountain look-outs, their enemies’ approach, and hide themselves in caves; or flee up to the foot of the glaciers till they had passed by.  The attitude of the French Vaudois was thus for the most part passive; and they very rarely, like the Italian Vaudois, offered any determined or organized resistance to persecution.  Hence they have no such heroic story to tell of battles and sieges and victories.  Their heroism was displayed in patience, steadfastness, and long-suffering, rather than in resisting force by force; and they were usually ready to endure death in its most frightful forms rather than prove false to their faith.

The ancient people of these valleys formed part of the flock of the Archbishop of Embrun.  But history exhibits him as a very cruel shepherd.  Thus, in 1335, there appears this remarkable entry in the accounts current of the bailli of Embrun:  “Item, for persecuting the Vaudois, eight sols and thirty deniers of gold,” as if the persecution of the Vaudois had become a regular department of the public service.  What was done with the Vaudois when they were seized and tried at Embrun further appears from the records of the diocese.  In 1348, twelve of the inhabitants of Val Louise were strangled at Embrun by the public executioner; and in 1393, a hundred and fifty inhabitants of the same valley were burned alive at the same place by order of the Inquisitor Borelli.  But the most fatal of all the events that befell the inhabitants of Val Louise was that which occurred about a century later, in 1488, when nearly the whole of the remaining population of the valley were destroyed in a cavern near the foot of Mont Pelvoux.

This dreadful massacre was perpetrated by a French army, under the direction of Albert Catanee, the papal legate.  The army had been sent into Piedmont with the object of subjugating or destroying the Vaudois on the Italian side of the Alps, but had returned discomfited to Briancon, unable to effect their object.  The legate then determined to take his revenge by an assault upon the helpless and unarmed French Vaudois, and suddenly directed his soldiers upon the valleys of Fressinieres and Louise.  The inhabitants of the latter valley, surprised, and unable to resist an army of some twenty thousand men, abandoned their dwellings, and made for the mountains with all haste, accompanied by their families, and driving their flocks before them.  On the slope of Mont Pelvoux, about a third of the way up, there was formerly a great cavern, on the combe of Capescure, called La Balme-Chapelle ­though now nearly worn away by the disintegration of the mountain-side ­in which the poor hunted people contrived to find shelter.  They built up the approaches to the cavern, filled the entrance with rocks, and considered themselves to be safe.  But their confidence proved fatal to them.  The Count La Palud, who was in command of the troops, seeing that it was impossible to force the entrance, sent his men up the mountain provided with ropes; and fixing them so that they should hang over the mouth of the cavern, a number of the soldiers slid down in full equipment, landing on the ledge right in front of the concealed Vaudois.  Seized with a sudden panic, and being unarmed, many of them precipitated themselves over the rocks and were killed.  The soldiers slaughtered all whom they could reach, after which they proceeded to heap up wood at the cavern mouth which they set on fire, and thus suffocated the remainder.  Perrin says four hundred children were afterwards found in the cavern, stifled, in the arms of their dead mothers, and that not fewer than three thousand persons were thus ruthlessly destroyed.  The little property of the slaughtered peasants was ordered by the Pope’s legate to be divided amongst the vagabonds who had carried out his savage orders.  The population having been thus exterminated, the district was settled anew some years later, in the reign of Louis XII., who gave his name to the valley; and a number of “good and true Catholics,” including many goitres and idiots, occupied the dwellings and possessed the lands of the slaughtered Vaudois.  There is an old saying that “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church,” but assuredly it does not apply to Val Louise, where the primitive Christian Church has been completely extinguished.

There were other valleys in the same neighbourhood, whither we are now wending, where the persecution, though equally ferocious, proved less destructive; the inhabitants succeeding in making their escape into comparatively inaccessible places in the mountains before they could be put to the sword.  For instance, in Val Fressinieres ­also opening into the valley of the Durance a little lower down than Val Louise ­the Vaudois Church has never ceased to exist, and to this day the majority of the inhabitants belong to it.  From the earliest times the people of the valley were distinguished for their “heresy;” and as early as the fourteenth century eighty persons of Fressinieres and the neighbouring valley of Argentieres, ­willing to be martyrs rather than apostates, ­were burnt at Embrun because of their religion.  In the following century (1483) we find ninety-nine informations laid before John Lord Archbishop of Embrun against supposed heretics of Val Fressinieres.  The suspected were ordered to wear a cross upon their dress, before and behind, and not to appear at church without displaying such crosses.  But it further appears from the records, that, instead of wearing the crosses, most of the persons so informed against fled into the mountains and hid themselves away in caves for the space of five years.

The nest steps taken by the Archbishop are described in a Latin manuscript, of which the following is a translation: ­

“Also, that in consequence of the above, the monk Francis Splireti, of the order of Mendicants, Professor in Theology, was deputed in the quality of Inquisitor of the said valleys; and that in the year 1489, on the 1st of January, knowing that those of Freyssinier had relapsed into infamous heresy, and had not obeyed their orders, nor carried the cross on their dress, but on the contrary had received their excommunicated and banished brethren without delivering them over to the Church, sent to them new citation, to which not having appeared, an adjournment of their condemnation as hardened heretics, when their goods would be confiscated, and themselves handed over the secular power, was made to the 28th of June; but they remaining more obstinate than ever, so much so that no hope remains of bringing them back, all persons were forbidden to hold any communication whatsoever with them without permission of the Church, and it was ordered by the Procureur Fiscal that the aforesaid Inquisitor do proceed, without further notice, to the execution of his office.”

What the execution of the Inquisitor’s office meant, is, alas! but too well known.  Bonds and imprisonment, scourgings and burnings at Embrun.  The poor people appealed to the King of France for help against their persecutors, but in vain.  In 1498 the inhabitants of Fressinieres appeared by a procurator at Paris, on the occasion of the new sovereign, Louis XII., ascending the throne.  But as the King was then seeking the favour of a divorce from his wife, Anne of Brittany, from Pope Alexander VI., he turned a deaf ear to their petition for mercy.  On the contrary, Louis confirmed all the decisions of the clergy, and in return for the divorce which he obtained, he granted to the Pope’s son, the infamous Cæsar Borgia, that very part of Dauphiny inhabited by the Vaudois, together with the title of Duke of Valentinois.  They had appealed, as it were, to the tiger for mercy, and they were referred to the vulture.

The persecution of the people of the valleys thus suffered no relaxation, and all that remained for them was flight into the mountains, to places where they were most likely to remain unmolested.  Hence they fled up to the very edge of the glaciers, and formed their settlements at almost the farthest limits of vegetation.  There the barrenness of the soil, the inhospitality of the climate, and the comparative inaccessibility of their villages, proved their security.  Of them it might be truly said, that they “wandered about in sheepskins and goat-skins; being destitute, afflicted, tormented (of whom the world was not worthy); they wandered in deserts and in mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.”  Yet the character of these poor peasants was altogether irreproachable.  Even Louis XII. said of them, “Would to God that I were as good a Christian as the worst of these people!” The wonder is that, in the face of their long-continued persécutions, extending over so many centuries, any remnant of the original population of the valleys should have been preserved.  Long after the time of Louis XII. and Cæsar Borgia, the French historian, De Thou (writing in 1556), thus describes the people of Val Fressinieres:  “Notwithstanding their squalidness, it is surprising that they are very far from being uncultivated in their morals.  They almost all understand Latin; and are able to write fairly enough.  They understand also as much of French as will enable them to read the Bible and to sing psalms; nor would you easily find a boy among them who, if he were questioned as to the religious opinions which they hold in common with the Waldenses, would not be able to give from memory a reasonable account of them."

After the promulgation of the Edict of Nantes, the Vaudois enjoyed a brief respite from their sufferings.  They then erected temples, appointed ministers, and worshipped openly.  This, however, only lasted for a short time, and when the Edict was revoked, and persecution began again, in the reign of Louis XIV., their worship was suppressed wherever practicable.  But though the Vaudois temples were pulled down and their ministers banished, the Roman Catholics failed to obtain a footing in the valley.  Some of the pastors continued to brave the fury of the persecutors, and wandered about from place to place among the scattered flocks, ministering to them at the peril of their lives.  Rewards were offered for their apprehension, and a sort of “Hue and Cry” was issued by the police, describing their age, and height, and features, as if they had been veritable criminals.  And when they were apprehended they were invariably hanged.  As late as 1767 the parliament of Grenoble condemned their pastor Berenger to death for continuing to preach to congregations in the “Desert.”

This religious destitution of the Vaudois continued to exist until a comparatively recent period.  The people were without either pastors or teachers, and religion had become a tradition with them rather than an active living faith.  Still, though poor and destitute, they held to their traditional belief, and refused to conform to the dominant religion.  And so they continued until within the last forty years, when the fact of the existence of these remnants of the ancient Vaudois in the valleys of the High Alps came to the knowledge of Felix Neff, and he determined to go to their help and devote himself to their service.

One would scarcely expect to find the apostle of the High Alps in the person of a young Swiss soldier of artillery.  Yet so it was.  In his boyhood, Neff read Plutarch, which filled his mind with admiration of the deeds of the great men of old.  While passing through the soldier phase of his career the “Memoirs of Oberlin” accidentally came under his notice, the perusal of which gave quite a new direction to his life.  Becoming impressed by religion, his ambition now was to be a missionary.  Leaving the army, in which he had reached the rank of sergeant at nineteen, he proceeded to prepare himself for the ministry, and after studying for a time, and passing his preliminary examinations, he was, in conformity with the custom of the Geneva Church, employed on probation as a lay helper in parochial work.  In this capacity Neff first went to Mens, in the department of Isère, where he officiated in the absence of the regular pastor, as well as occasionally at Vizille, for a period of about two years.

It was while residing at Mens that the young missionary first heard of the existence of the scattered communities of primitive Christians on the High Alps, descendants of the ancient Vaudois; and his mind became inflamed with the desire of doing for them what Oberlin had done for the poor Protestants of the Ban de la Roche.  “I am always dreaming of the High Alps,” he wrote to a friend, “and I would rather be stationed there than under the beautiful sky of Languedoc.”

But it was first necessary that he should receive ordination for the ministry; and accordingly in 1823, when in his twenty-fifth year, he left Mens with that object.  He did not, however, seek ordination by the National Church of Geneva, which, in his opinion, had in a great measure ceased to hold Evangelical truth; but he came over to London, at the invitation of Mr. Cook and Mr. Wilks, two Congregational ministers, by whom he was duly ordained a minister in the Independent Chapel, Poultry.

Shortly after his return to France, Neff, much to his own satisfaction, was invited as pastor to the very district in which he so much desired to minister ­the most destitute in the High Alps.  Before setting out he wrote in his journal, “To-morrow, with the blessing of God, I mean to push for the Alps by the sombre and picturesque valley of L’Oisan.”  After a few days, the young pastor was in the scene of his future labours; and he proceeded to explore hamlet after hamlet in search of the widely-scattered flock committed to his charge, and to arrange his plans for the working of his extensive parish.

But it was more than a parish, for it embraced several of the most extensive, rugged, and mountainous arrondissements of the High Alps.  Though the whole number of people in his charge did not amount to more than six or seven hundred, they lived at great distances from each other, the churches to which he ministered being in some cases as much as eighty miles apart, separated by gorges and mountain-passes, for the most part impassable in winter.  Neff’s district extended in one direction from Vars to Briancon, and in another from Champsaur in the valley of the Drac to San Verán on the slope of Monte Viso, close to the Italian frontier.  His residence was fixed at La Chalp, above Queyras, but as he rarely slept more than three nights in one place, he very seldom enjoyed its seclusion.

The labour which Neff imposed upon himself was immense; and it was especially in the poorest and most destitute districts that he worked the hardest.  He disregarded alike the summer’s heat and the winter’s cold.  His first visit to Dormilhouse, in Val Fressinieres, was made in January, when the mountain-paths were blocked with ice and snow; but, assembling the young men of the village, he went out with them armed with hatchets, and cut steps in the ice to enable the worshippers from the lower hamlets to climb up to service in the village church.  The people who first came to hear him preach at Violens brought wisps of straw with them, which they lighted to guide them through the snow, while others, who had a greater distance to walk, brought pine torches.

Nothing daunted, the valiant soldier, furnished with a stout staff and shod with heavy-nailed shoes, covered with linen socks to prevent slipping on the snow, would set out with his wallet on his back across the Col d’Orcieres in winter, in the track of the lynx and the chamois, with the snow and sleet beating against his face, to visit his people on the other side of the mountain.  His patience, his perseverance, his sweetness of temper, were unfailing.  “Ah!” said one unbelieving Thomas of Val Fressinieres in his mountain patois, “you have come among us like a woman who attempts to kindle a fire with green wood; she exhausts her breath in blowing it to keep the little flame alive, but the moment she quits it, it is instantly extinguished.”

Neff nevertheless laboured on with hope, and neither discouragement nor obstruction slackened his efforts.  And such labours could not fail of their effect.  He succeeded in inspiring the simple mountaineers with his own zeal, he evoked their love, and excited their enthusiastic admiration.  When he returned to Dormilhouse after a brief absence, the whole village would turn out and come down the mountain to meet and embrace him.  “The rocks, the cascades, nay, the very glaciers,” he wrote to a friend, “all seemed animated, and presented a smiling aspect; the savage country became agreeable and dear to me from the moment its inhabitants were my brethren.”

Unresting and indefatigable, Neff was always at work.  He exhorted the people in hovels, held schools in barns in which he taught the children, and catechised them in stables.  His hand was in every good work.  He taught the people to sing, he taught them to read, he taught them to pray.  To be able to speak to them familiarly, he learnt their native patois, and laboured at it like a schoolboy.  He worked as a missionary among savages.  The poor mountaineers had been so long destitute of instruction, that everything had as it were to be begun with them from the beginning.  Sharing in their hovels and stables, with their squalor and smoke, he taught them how to improve them by adding chimneys and windows, and showed how warmth might be obtained more healthfully than by huddling together in winter-time with the cattle.  He taught them manners, and especially greater respect for women, inculcating the lesson by his own gentleness and tender deference.  Out of doors, he showed how they might till the ground to greater advantage, and introduced an improved culture of the potato, which more than doubled the production.  Observing how the pastures of Dormilhouse were scorched by the summer sun, he urged the adoption of a system of irrigation.  The villagers were at first most obstinate in their opposition to his plans; but he persevered, laid out a canal, and succeeded at last in enlisting a body of workmen, whom he led out, pickaxe in hand, himself taking a foremost part in the work; and at last the waters were let into the canal amidst joy and triumph.  At Violens he helped to build and finish the chapel, himself doing mason-work, smith-work, and carpenter-work by turns.  At Dormilhouse a school was needed, and he showed the villagers how to build one; preparing the design, and taking part in the erection, until it was finished and ready for use.  In short, he turned his hand to everything ­nothing was too high or too low for this noble citizen of two worlds.  At length, a serious accident almost entirely disabled him.  While on one of his mountain journeys, he was making a detour amongst a mass of rocky debris, to avoid the dangers of an avalanche, when he had the misfortune to fall and severely sprain his knee.  He became laid up for a time, and when able to move, he set out for his mother’s home at Geneva, in the hope of recovering health and strength; for his digestive powers were also by this time seriously injured.  When he went away, the people of the valleys felt as if they should never see him more; and their sorrow at his departure was heart-rending.  After trying the baths of Plombières without effect, he proceeded onwards to Geneva, which he reached only to die; and thus this good and noble soldier ­one of the bravest of earth’s heroes ­passed away to his eternal reward at the early age of thirty-one.

The valley of Fressinieres ­the principle scene of Neff’s labours ­joins the valley of the Durance nearly opposite the little hamlet of La Roche.  There we leave the high road from Briancon to Fort Dauphin, and crossing the river by a timber bridge, ascend the steep mountain-side by a mule path, in order to reach the entrance to the valley of Fressinieres, the level of which is high above that of the Durance.  Not many years since, the higher valley could only be approached from this point by a very difficult mountain-path amidst rocks and stones, called the Ladder, or Pas de l’Echelle.  It was dangerous at all times, and quite impassable in winter.  The mule-path which has lately been made, though steep, is comparatively easy.

What the old path was, and what were the discomforts of travelling through this district in Neff’s time, may be appreciated on a perusal of the narrative of the young pastor Bost, who in 1840 determined to make a sort of pilgrimage to the scenes of his friend’s labours some seventeen years before.  M. Bost, however, rather exaggerates the difficulties and discomforts of the valleys than otherwise.  He saw no beauty nor grandeur in the scenery, only “horrible mountains in a state of dissolution” and constantly ready to fall upon the heads of massing travellers.  He had no eyes for the picturesque though gloomy lake of La Roche, but saw only the miserable hamlet itself.  He slept in the dismal little inn, as doubtless Neff had often done before, and was horrified by the multitudinous companions that shared his bed; and, tumbling out, he spent the rest of the night on the floor.  The food was still worse ­cold cafe noir, and bread eighteen months old, soaked in water before it could be eaten.  His breakfast that morning made him ill for a week.  Then his mounting up the Pas de l’Echelle, which he did not climb “without profound emotion,” was a great trouble to him.  Of all this we find not a word in the journals or letters of Neff, whose early life as a soldier had perhaps better inured him to “roughing it” than the more tender bringing-up of Pastor Bost.

As we rounded the shoulder of the hill, almost directly overlooking the ancient Roman town of Rama in the valley of the Durance underneath, we shortly came in sight of the little hamlet of Palons, a group of “peasants’ nests,” overhung by rocks, with the one good house in it, the comfortable parsonage of the Protestant pastor, situated at the very entrance to the valley.  Although the peasants’ houses which constitute the hamlet of Palons are still very poor and miserable, the place has been greatly improved since Neff’s time, by the erection of the parsonage.  It was found that the pastors who were successively appointed to minister to the poor congregations in the valley very soon became unfitted for their work by the hardships to which they were exposed; and being without any suitable domestic accommodation, one after another of them resigned their charge.

To remedy this defect, a movement was begun in 1852 by the Rev. Mr. Freemantle, rector of Claydon, Bucks, assisted by the Foreign Aid Society and a few private friends, with the object of providing pastors’ dwellings, as well as chapels when required, in the more destitute places.  The movement has already been attended with considerable success; and among its first results was the erection in 1857 of the comfortable parsonage of Palons, the large lower room of which also serves the purpose of a chapel.  The present incumbent is M. Charpiot, of venerable and patriarchal aspect, whose white hairs are a crown of glory ­a man beloved by his extensive flock, for his parish embraces the whole valley, about twelve miles in extent, including the four villages of Ribes, Violens, Minsals, and Dormilhouse; other pastors having been appointed of late years to the more distant stations included in the original widely-scattered charge of Felix Neff.

The situation of the parsonage and adjoining grounds at Palons is charmingly picturesque.  It stands at the entrance to the defile which leads into Val Fressinieres, having a background of bold rocks enclosing a mountain plateau known as the “Camp of Catinat,” a notorious persecutor of the Vaudois.  In front of the parsonage extends a green field planted with walnut and other trees, part of which is walled off as the burying-ground of the hamlet.  Alongside, in a deep rocky gully, runs the torrent of the Biasse, leaping from rock to rock on its way to the valley of the Durance, far below.  This fall, or cataract, is not inappropriately named the “Gouffouran,” or roaring gulf; and its sullen roar is heard all through the night in the adjoining parsonage.  The whole height of the fall, as it tumbles from rock to rock, is about four hundred and fifty feet; and about halfway down, the water shoots into a deep, dark cavern, where it becomes completely lost to sight.

The inhabitants of the hamlet are a poor hard-working people, pursuing their industry after very primitive methods.  Part of the Biasse, as it issues from the defile, is turned aside here and there to drive little fulling-mills of the rudest construction, where the people “waulk” the cloth of their own making.  In the adjoining narrow fields overhanging the Gouffouran, where the ploughs are at work, the oxen are yoked to them in the old Roman fashion, the pull being by a bar fixed across the animals’ foreheads.

In the neighbourhood of Palons, as at various other places in the valley, there are numerous caverns which served by turns in early times as hiding-places and as churches, and which were not unfrequently consecrated by the Vaudois with their blood.  One of these is still known as the “Glesia,” or “Église.”  Its opening is on the crest of a frightful precipice, but its diameter has of late years been considerably reduced by the disintegration of the adjoining rock.  Neff once took Captain Cotton up to see it, and chanted the Te Deum in the rude temple with great emotion.

Palons is, perhaps, the most genial and fertile spot in the valley; it looks like a little oasis in the desert.  Indeed, Neff thought the soil of the place too rich for the growth of piety.  “Palons,” said he in his journal, “is more fertile than the rest of the valley, and even produces wine:  the consequence is, that there is less piety here.”  Neff even entertained the theory that the poorer the people the greater was their humility and fervour, and the less their selfishness and spiritual pride.  Thus, he considered “the fertility of the commune of Champsaur, and its proximity to the high road and to Gap, great stumbling-blocks.”  The loftiest, coldest, and most barren spots ­such as San Verán and Dormilhouse ­were, in his opinion, by far the most promising.  Of the former he said, “It is the highest, and consequently the most pious, village in the valley of Queyras;” and of the inhabitants of the latter he said, “From the first moment of my arrival I took them to my heart, and I ardently desired to be unto them even as another Oberlin.”

CHAPTER IV. - THE VAUDOIS MOUNTAIN-REFUGE OF DORMILHOUSE.

The valley of Fressinieres could never have maintained a large population.  Though about twelve miles in extent, it contains a very small proportion of arable land ­only a narrow strip, of varying width, lying in the bottom, with occasional little patches of cultivated ground along the mountain-sides, where the soil has settled on the ledges, the fields seeming in many cases to hang over precipices.  At the upper end of the valley, the mountains come down so close to the river Biasse that no space is left for cultivation, and the slopes are so rocky and abrupt as to be unavailable even for pasturage, excepting of goats.

Yet the valley seems never to have been without a population, more or less numerous according to the rigour of the religious persécutions which prevailed in the neighbourhood.  Its comparative inaccessibility, its inhospitable climate, and its sterility, combined to render it one of the most secure refuges of the Vaudois in the Middle Ages.  It could neither be easily entered by an armed force, nor permanently occupied by them.  The scouts on the hills overlooking the Durance could always see their enemies approach, and the inhabitants were enabled to take refuge in caves in the mountain-sides, or flee to the upper parts of the valley, before the soldiers could clamber up the steep Pas de l’Echelle, and reach the barricaded defile through which the Biasse rushes down the rocky gorge of the Gouffouran.  When the invaders succeeded in penetrating this barrier, they usually found the hamlets deserted and the people fled.  They could then only wreak their vengeance on the fields, which they laid waste, and on the dwellings, which they burned; and when the “brigands” had at length done their worst and departed, the poor people crept back to their ruined homes to pray, amidst their ashes, for strength to enable them to bear the heavy afflictions which they were thus called upon to suffer for conscience’ sake.

The villages in the lower part of the valley were thus repeatedly ravaged and destroyed.  But far up, at its extremest point, a difficult footpath led, across the face almost of a precipice, which the persecutors never ventured to scale, to the hamlet of Dormilhouse, seated on a few ledges of rock on a lofty mountain-side, five thousand feet above the level of the sea; and this place, which was for centuries a mountain fastness of the persecuted, remains a Vaudois settlement to this day.

An excursion to this interesting mountain hamlet having been arranged, our little party of five persons set out for the place on the morning of the 1st of July, under the guidance of Pastor Charpiot.  Though the morning was fine and warm, yet, as the place of our destination was situated well up amongst the clouds, we were warned to provide ourselves with umbrellas and waterproofs, nor did the provision prove in vain.  We were also warned that there was an utter want of accommodation for visitors at Dormilhouse, for which we must be prepared.  The words scratched on the window of the Norwegian inn might indeed apply to it:  “Here the stranger may find very good entertainment ­provided he bring it with him!” We accordingly carried our entertainment with us, in the form of a store of blankets, bread, chocolate, and other articles, which, with the traveller’s knapsacks, were slung across the back of a donkey.

After entering the defile, an open part of the valley was passed, amidst which the little river, at present occupying very narrow limits, meandered; but it was obvious from the width of the channel and the debris widely strewn about, that in winter it is a roaring torrent.  A little way up we met an old man coming down driving a loaded donkey, with whom one of our party, recognising him as an old acquaintance, entered into conversation.  In answer to an inquiry made as to the progress of the good cause in the valley, the old man replied very despondingly.  “There was,” he said, “a great lack of faith, of zeal, of earnestness, amongst the rising generation.  They were too fond of pleasures, too apt to be led away by the fleeting vanities of this world.”  It was only the old story ­the complaint of the aged against the young.  When this old peasant was a boy, his elders doubtless thought and said the same of him.  The generation growing old always think the generation still young in a state of degeneracy.  So it was forty years since, when Felix Neff was amongst them, and so it will be forty years hence.  One day Neff met an old man near Mens, who recounted to him the story of the persécutions which his parents and himself had endured, and he added:  “In those times there was more zeal than there is now; my father and mother used to cross mountains and forests by night, in the worst weather, at the risk of their lives, to be present at divine service performed in secret; but now we are grown lazy:  religious freedom is the deathblow to piety.”

An hour’s walking brought us to the principal hamlet of the commune, formerly called Fressinieres, but now known as Les Ribes, occupying a wooded height on the left bank of the river.  The population is partly Roman Catholic and partly Protestant.  The Roman Catholics have a church here, the last in the valley, the two other places of worship higher up being Protestant.  The principal person of Les Ribes is M. Baridon, son of the Joseph Baridon, receiver of the commune, so often mentioned with such affection in the journal of Neff.  He is the only person in the valley whose position and education give him a claim to the title of “Monsieur;” and his house contains the only decent apartment in the Val Fressinieres where pastors and visitors could be lodged previous to the erection, by Mr. Freemantle, of the pleasant little parsonage at Palons.  This apartment in the Baridons’ house Neff used to call the “Prophet’s Chamber.”

Half an hour higher up the valley we reached the hamlet of Violens, where all the inhabitants are Protestants.  It was at this place that Neff helped to build and finish the church, for which he designed the seats and pulpit, and which he opened and dedicated on the 29th of August, 1824, the year before he finally left the neighbourhood.  Violens is a poor hamlet situated at the bottom of a deep glen, or rocky abyss, called La Combe; the narrow valleys of Dauphiny, like those of Devon, being usually called combes, doubtless from the same original Celtic word cwm, signifying a hollow or dingle.

A little above Violens the valley contracts almost to a ravine, until we reach the miserable hamlet of Minsals, so shut in by steep crags that for nine months of the year it never sees the sun, and during several months in winter it lies buried in snow.  The hamlet consists for the most part of hovels of mud and stone, without windows or chimneys, being little better than stables; indeed, in winter time, for the sake of warmth, the poor people share them with their cattle.  How they contrive to scrape a living out of the patches of soil rescued from the rocks, or hung upon the precipices on the mountain-side, is a wonder.

One of the horrors of this valley consists in the constant state of disintegration of the adjoining rocks, which, being of a slaty formation, frequently break away in large masses, and are hurled into the lower grounds.  This, together with the fall of avalanches in winter, makes the valley a most perilous place to live in.  A little above Minsals, only a few years since, a tremendous fall of rock and mud swept over nearly the whole of the cultivated ground, since which many of the peasantry have had to remove elsewhere.  What before was a well-tilled meadow, is now only a desolate waste, covered with rocks and debris.

Another of the horrors of the place is its liability to floods, which come rushing down, from the mountains, and often work sad havoc.  Sometimes a fall of rocks from the cliffs above dams up the bed of the river, when a lake accumulates behind the barrier until it bursts, and the torrent swoops down the valley, washing away fields, and bridges, and mills, and hovels.

Even the stouter-built dwelling of M. Baridon at Les Ribes was nearly carried away by one of such inundations twelve years ago.  It stands about a hundred yards from the mountain-stream which comes down from the Pic de la Sea.  One day in summer a storm burst over the mountain, and the stream at once became swollen to a torrent.  The inmates of the dwelling thought the house must eventually be washed away, and gave themselves up to prayer.  The flood, bearing with it rolling rocks, came nearer and nearer, until it reached a few old walnut trees on a line with the torrent.  A rock of some thirty feet square tumbled against one of the trees, which staggered and bent, but held fast and stopped the rock.  The debris at once rolled upon it into a bank, the course of the torrent was turned, and the dwelling and its inmates were saved.

Another incident, illustrative of the perils of daily life in Val Fressinieres, was related to me by Mr. Milsom while passing the scene of one of the mud and rock avalanches so common in the valley.  Etienne Baridon, a member of the same Les Ribes family, an intelligent young man, disabled for ordinary work by lameness and deformity, occupied himself in teaching the children in the Protestant school at Violens, whither he walked daily, accompanied by the pupils from Les Ribes.  One day, a heavy thunderstorm burst over the valley, and sent down an avalanche of mud, debris, and boulders, which rolled quite across the valley and extended to the river.  The news of the circumstance reached Etienne when in school at Violens; the road to Les Ribes was closed; and he was accordingly urged to stay over the night with the children.  But thinking of the anxiety of their parents, he determined to guide them back over the fall of rocks if possible.  Arrived at the place, he found the mass still on the move, rolling slowly down in a ridge of from ten to twenty feet high, towards the river.  Supported by a stout staff; the lame Baridon took first one child and then another upon his hump-back; and contrived to carry them across in safety; but while making his last journey with the last child, his foot slipped and his leg got badly crushed among the still-rolling stones.  He was, however, able to extricate himself, and reached Les Ribes in safety with all the children.  “This Etienne,” concluded Mr. Milsom, “was really a noble fellow, and his poor deformed body covered the soul of a hero.”

At length, after a journey of about ten miles up this valley of the shadow of death, along which the poor persecuted Vaudois were so often hunted, we reached an apparent cul-de-sac amongst the mountains, beyond which further progress seemed impracticable.  Precipitous rocks, with their slopes of debris at foot, closed in the valley all round, excepting only the narrow gullet by which we had come; but, following the footpath, a way up the mountain-side gradually disclosed itself ­a zigzag up the face of what seemed to be a sheer precipice ­and this we were told was the road to Dormilhouse.  The zigzag path is known as the Tourniquet.  The ascent is long, steep, and fatiguing.  As we passed up, we observed that the precipice contained many narrow ledges upon which soil has settled, or to which it has been carried.  Some of these are very narrow, only a few yards in extent, but wherever there is room for a spade to turn, the little patches bear marks of cultivation; and these are the fields of the people of Dormilhouse!

Far up the mountain, the footpath crosses in front of a lofty cascade ­La Pisse du Dormilhouse ­which leaps from the summit of the precipice, and sometimes dashes over the roadway itself.  Looking down into the valley from this point, we see the Biasse meandering like a thread in the hollow of the mountains, becoming lost to sight in the ravine near Minsals.  We have now ascended to a great height, and the air feels cold and raw.  When we left Palons, the sun was shining brightly, and its heat was almost oppressive, but now the temperature feels wintry.  On our way up, rain began to fall; as we ascended the Tourniquet the rain became changed to sleet; and at length, on reaching the summit of the rising ground from which we first discerned the hamlet of Dormilhouse, on the first day of July, the snow was falling heavily, and all the neighbouring mountains were clothed in the garb of winter.

This, then, is the famous mountain fastness of the Vaudois ­their last and loftiest and least accessible retreat when hunted from their settlements in the lower valleys hundreds of years ago.  Driven from rock to rock, from Alp to Alp, they clambered up on to this lofty mountain-ledge, five thousand feet high, and made good their settlement, though at the daily peril of their lives.  It was a place of refuge, a fortress and citadel of the faithful, where they continued to worship God according to conscience during the long dark ages of persecution and tyranny.  The dangers and terrors of the situation are indeed so great, that it never could have been chosen even for a hiding-place, much less for a permanent abode, but from the direst necessity.  What the poor people suffered while establishing themselves on these barren mountain heights no one can tell, but they contrived at length to make the place their home, and to become inured to their hard life, until it became almost a second nature to them.

The hamlet of Dormilhouse is said to have existed for nearly six hundred years, during which the religion of its inhabitants has remained the same.  It has been alleged that the people are the descendants of a colony of refugee Lombards; but M. Muston, and others well able to judge, after careful inquiry on the spot, have come to the conclusion that they bear all the marks of being genuine descendants of the ancient Vaudois.  In features, dress, habits, names, language, and religious doctrine, they have an almost perfect identity with the Vaudois of Piedmont at the present day.

Dormilhouse consists of about forty cottages, inhabited by some two hundred persons.  The cottages are perched “like eagles’ nests,” one tier ranging over another on the rocky ledges of a steep mountain-side.  There is very little soil capable of cultivation in the neighbourhood, but the villagers seek out little patches in the valley below and on the mountain shelves, from which they contrive to grow a little grain for home use.  The place is so elevated and so exposed, that in some seasons even rye will not ripen at Dormilhouse, while the pasturages are in many places inaccessible to cattle, and scarcely safe for sheep.

The principal food of the people is goats’ milk and unsifted rye, which they bake into cakes in the autumn, and these cakes last them the whole year ­the grain, if left unbaked, being apt to grow mouldy and spoil in so damp an atmosphere.  Besides, fuel is so scarce that it is necessary to exercise the greatest economy in its use, every stick burnt in the village having to be brought from a distance of some twelve miles, on the backs of donkeys, by the steep mountain-path leading up to the hamlet.  Hence, also, the unsavoury means which they are under the necessity of adopting to economize warmth in the winter, by stabling the cattle with themselves in the cottages.  The huts are for the most part wretched constructions of stone and mud, from which fresh air, comfort, and cleanliness seem to be entirely excluded.  Excepting that the people are for the most part comfortably dressed, in clothing of coarse wool, which they dress and weave themselves, their domestic accommodation and manner of living are centuries behind the age; and were a stranger suddenly to be set down in the village, he could with difficulty be made to believe that he was in the land of civilised Frenchmen.

The place is dreary, stern, and desolate-looking even in summer.  Thus, we entered it with the snow falling on the 1st of July!  Few of the balmy airs of the sweet South of France breathe here.  In the hollow of the mountains the heat may be like that of an oven; but here, far up on the heights, though the air may be fresh and invigorating at times, when the wind blows it often rises to a hurricane.  Here the summer comes late and departs early.  While flowers are blooming in the valleys, not a bud or blade of corn is to be seen at Dormilhouse.  At the season when vegetation is elsewhere at its richest, the dominant features of the landscape are barrenness and desolation.  The very shapes of the mountains are rugged, harsh, and repulsive.  Right over against the hamlet, separated from it by a deep gully, rises up the grim, bare Gramusac, as black as a wall, but along the ledges of which, the hunters of Dormilhouse, who are very daring and skilful, do not fear to stalk the chamois.

But if the place is thus stern and even appalling in summer, what must it be in winter?  There is scarcely a habitation in the village that is not exposed to the danger of being carried away by avalanches or falling rocks.  The approach to the mountain is closed by ice and snow, while the rocks are all tapestried with icicles.  The tourmente, or snow whirlwind, occasionally swoops up the valley, tears the roofs from the huts, and scatters them in destruction.

Here is a passage from Neff’s journal, vividly descriptive of winter life at Dormilhouse: ­

“The weather has been rigorous in the extreme; the falls of snow are very frequent, and when it becomes a little milder, a general thaw takes place, and our hymns are often sung amid the roar of the avalanches, which, gliding along the smooth face of the glacier, hurl themselves from precipice to precipice, like vast cataracts of silver.”

Writing in January, he says: ­

“We have been buried in four feet of snow since of 1st of November.  At this very moment a terrible blast is whirling the snow in thick blinding clouds.  Travelling is exceedingly difficult and even dangerous among these valleys, particularly in the neighbourhood of Dormilhouse, by reason of the numerous avalanches falling everywhere....  One Sunday evening our scholars and many of the Dormilhouse people, when returning home after the sermon at Violens, narrowly escaped an avalanche.  It rolled through a narrow defile between two groups of persons:  a few seconds sooner or later, and it would have plunged the flower of our youth into the depths of an unfathomable gorge....  In fact, there are very few habitations in these parts which are not liable to be swept away, for there is not a spot in the narrow corner of the valley which can be considered absolutely safe.  But terrible as their situation is, they owe to it their religion, and perhaps their physical existence.  If their country had been more secure and more accessible, they would have been exterminated like the inhabitants of Val Louise.”

Such is the interesting though desolate mountain hamlet to the service of whose hardy inhabitants the brave Felix Neff devoted himself during the greater part of his brief missionary career.  It was characteristic of him to prefer to serve them because their destitution was greater than that which existed in any other quarter of his extensive parish; and he turned from the grand mountain scenery of Arvieux and his comfortable cottage at La Chalp, to spend his winters in the dismal hovels and amidst the barren wastes of Dormilhouse.

When Neff first went amongst them, the people were in a state of almost total spiritual destitution.  They had not had any pastor stationed amongst them for nearly a hundred and fifty years.  During all that time they had been without schools of any kind, and generation after generation had grown up and passed away in ignorance.  Yet with all the inborn tenacity of their race, they had throughout refused to conform to the dominant religion.  They belonged to the Vaudois Church, and repudiated Romanism.

There was probably a Protestant church existing at Dormilhouse previous to the Revocation, as is shown by the existence of an ancient Vaudois church-bell, which was hid away until of late years, when it was dug up and hung in the belfry of the present church.  In 1745, the Roman Catholics endeavoured to effect a settlement in the place, and then erected the existing church, with a residence for the cure.  But the people, though they were on the best of terms with the cure, refused to enter his church.  During the twenty years that he ministered there, it is said the sole congregation consisted of his domestic servant, who assisted him at mass.

The story is still told of the cure bringing up from Les Ribes a large bag of apples ­an impossible crop at Dormilhouse ­by way of tempting the children to come to him and receive instruction.  But they went only so long as the apples lasted, and when they were gone the children disappeared.  The cure complained that during the whole time he had been in the place he had not been able to get a single person to cross himself.  So, finding he was not likely to be of any use there, he petitioned his bishop to be allowed to leave; on which, his request being complied with, the church was closed.

This continued until the period of the French Revolution, when religious toleration became recognised.  The Dormilhouse people then took possession of the church.  They found in it several dusty images, the basin for the holy water, the altar candlesticks, and other furniture, just as the cure had left them many years before; and they are still preserved as curiosities.  The new occupants of the church whitewashed the pictures, took down the crosses, dug up the old Vaudois bell and hung it up in the belfry, and rang the villagers together to celebrate the old worship again.  But they were still in want of a regular minister until the period when Felix Neff settled amongst them.  A zealous young preacher, Henry Laget, had before then paid them a few visits, and been warmly welcomed; and when, in his last address, he told them they would see his face no more, “it seemed,” said a peasant who related the incident to Neff, “as if a gust of wind had extinguished the torch which was to light us in our passage by night across the precipice.”  And even Neff’s ministry, as we have above seen, only lasted for the short space of about three years.

Some years after the death of Neff, another attempt was made by the Roman Catholics to establish a mission at Dormilhouse.  A priest went up from Les Ribes accompanied by a sister of mercy from Gap ­“the pearl of the diocese,” she was called ­who hired a room for the purpose of commencing a school.  To give eclat to their enterprise, the Archbishop of Embrun himself went up, clothed in a purple dress, riding a white horse, and accompanied by a party of men bearing a great red cross, which he caused to be set up at the entrance to the village.  But when the archbishop appeared, not a single inhabitant went out to meet him; they had all assembled in the church to hold a prayer-meeting, and it lasted during the whole period of his visit.  All that he accomplished was to set up the great red cross, after which he went down the Tourniquet again; and shortly after, the priest and the sister of mercy, finding they could not obtain a footing, also left the village.  Somehow or other, the red cross which had been set up mysteriously disappeared, but how it had been disposed of no one would ever reveal.  It was lately proposed to commemorate the event of the archbishop’s visit by the erection of an obelisk on the spot where he had set up the red cross; and a tablet, with a suitable inscription, was provided for it by the Rev. Mr. Freemantle, of Claydon.  But when he was told that the site was exposed to the full force of the avalanches descending from the upper part of the mountain in winter, and would speedily be swept away, the project of the memorial pillar was abandoned, and the tablet was inserted, instead, in the front wall of the village church, where it reads as follows: ­

A LA GLOIRE DE DIEU DONT DE LES TEMPS ANCIENS ET A TRAVERS LE MARTYR DE LEURS PERES A MAINTENU A DORMILHOUSE LA FOI DONNE AUX SAINTS ET LA CONNAISSANCE DE LA PAROLE LES HABITANTS ONT Élève CETTE PIERRE MDCCCLXIV.

Having thus described the village and its history, a few words remain to be added as to the visit of our little party of travellers from Palons.  On reaching the elevated point at which the archbishop had set up the red cross, the whole of the huts lay before us, and a little way down the mountain-side we discerned the village church, distinguished by its little belfry.  Leaving on our right the Swiss-looking chalet with overhanging roof, in which Neff used to lodge with the Baridon-Verdure family while at Dormilhouse, and now known as “Felix Neff’s house,” we made our way down a steep and stony footpath towards the school-house adjoining the church, in front of which we found the large ash trees, shading both church and school, which Neff himself had planted.  Arrived at the school-house, we there found shelter and accommodation for the night.  The schoolroom, fitted with its forms and desks, was our parlour, and our bedrooms, furnished with the blankets we had brought with us, were in the little chambers adjoining.

At eight in the evening the church bell rang for service ­the summoning bell.  The people had been expecting the visit, and turned out in full force, so that at nine o’clock, when the last bell rang, the church was found filled to the door.  Every seat was occupied ­by men on one side, and by women on the other.  The service was conducted by Mr. Milsom, the missionary visitor from Lyons, who opened with prayer, then gave out the twenty-third Psalm, which was sung to an accompaniment on the harmonium; then another prayer, followed by the reading of a chapter in the New Testament, was wound up by an address, in which the speaker urged the people to their continuance in well-doing.  In the course of his remarks he said:  “Be not discouraged because the results of your Labours may appear but small.  Work on and faint not, and God will give the spiritual increase.  Pastors, teachers, and colporteurs are too often ready to despond, because the fruit does not seem to ripen while they are watching it.  But the best fruit grows slowly.  Think how the Apostles laboured.  They were all poor men, but men of brave hearts; and they passed away to their rest long before the seed which they planted grew up and ripened to perfection.  Work on then in patience and hope, and be assured that God will at length help you.”

Mr. Milsom’s address was followed by another from the pastor, and then by a final prayer and hymn, after which the service was concluded, and the villagers dispersed to their respective homes a little after ten o’clock.  The snow had ceased falling, but the sky was still overcast, and the night felt cold and raw, like February rather than July.

The wonder is, that this community of Dormilhouse should cling to their mountain eyrie so long after the necessity for their living above the clouds has ceased; but it is their home, and they have come to love it, and are satisfied to live and die there.  Rather than live elsewhere, they will walk, as some of them do, twelve miles in the early morning, to their work down in the valley of the Durance, and twelve miles home again, in the evenings, to their perch on the rocks at Dormilhouse.

They are even proud of their mountain home, and would not change it for the most smiling vineyard of the plains.  They are like a little mountain clan ­all Baridons, or Michels, or Orcieres, or Bertholons, or Arnouds ­proud of their descent from the ancient Vaudois.  It is their boast that a Roman Catholic does not live among them.  Once, when a young shepherd came up from the valley to pasture his flock in the mountains, he fell in love with a maiden of the village, and proposed to marry her.  “Yes,” was the answer, with this condition, that he joined the Vaudois Church.  And he assented, married the girl, and settled for life at Dormilhouse.

The next morning broke clear and bright overhead.  The sun shone along the rugged face of the Gramusac right over against the hamlet, bringing out its bolder prominences.  Far below, the fleecy clouds were still rolling themselves up the mountain-sides, or gradually dispersing as the sun caught them on their emerging from the valley below.  The view was bold and striking, displaying the grandeur of the scenery of Dormilhouse in one of its best aspects.

Setting out on the return journey to Palons, we descended the face of the mountain on which Dormilhouse stands, by a steep footpath right in front of it, down towards the falls of the Biasse.  Looking back, the whole village appeared above us, cottage over cottage, and ledge over ledge, with its stern background of rocky mountain.

Immediately under the village, in a hollow between two shoulders of rock, the cascade of the Biasse leaps down into the valley.  The highest leap falls in a jet of about a hundred feet, and the lower, divided into two by a projecting ledge, breaks into a shower of spray which falls about a hundred and fifty feet more into the abyss below.  Even in Switzerland this fall would be considered a fine object; but in this out-of-the-way place, it is rarely seen except by the villagers, who have water and cascades more than enough.

We were told on the spot, that some eighty years since an avalanche shot down the mountain immediately on to the plateau on which we stood, carrying with it nearly half the village of Dormilhouse; and every year the avalanches shoot down at the same place, which is strewn with the boulders and debris that extend far down into the valley.

At the bottom of the Tourniquet we joined M. Charpiot, accompanying the donkey laden with the blankets and knapsacks, and proceeded with him on our way down the valley towards his hospitable parsonage at Palons.

CHAPTER V. - GUILLESTRE AND THE VALLEY OF QUEYRAS.

We left Palons on a sharp, bright morning in July, with the prospect of a fine day before us, though there had been a fall of snow in the night, which whitened the tops of the neighbouring hills.  Following the road along the heights on the right bank of the Biasse, and passing the hamlet of Chancellas, another favourite station of Neff’s, a rapid descent led us down into the valley of the Durance, which we crossed a little above the village of St. Crepin, with the strong fortress of Mont Dauphin before us a few miles lower down the valley.

This remote corner in the mountains was the scene of much fighting in early times between the Roman Catholics and the Huguenots, and afterwards between the French and the Piedmontese.  It was in this neighbourhood that Lesdiguieres first gave evidence of his skill and valour as a soldier.  The massacre of St. Bartholomew at Paris in 1572 had been followed by like massacres in various parts of France, especially in the south.  The Roman Catholics of Dauphiny, deeming the opportunity favourable for the extirpation of the heretical Vaudois, dispatched the military commandant of Embrun against the inhabitants of Val Fressinieres at the head of an army of twelve hundred men.  Lesdiguieres, then scarce twenty-four years old, being informed of their march, hastily assembled a Huguenot force in the valley of the Drac, and, crossing the Col d’Orcieres from Champsaur into the valley of the Durance, he suddenly fell upon the enemy at St. Crepin, routed them, and drove them down the valley to Embrun.  Twelve years later, during the wars of the League, Lesdiguieres distinguished himself in the same neighbourhood, capturing Embrun, Guillestre, and Chateau Queyras, in the valley of the Guil, thereby securing the entire province for his royal master, Henry of Navarre.

The strong fortress of Mont Dauphin, at the junction of the Guil with the Durance, was not constructed until a century later.  Victor-Amadeus II., when invading the province with a Piedmontese army, at sight of the plateau commanding the entrance of both valleys, exclaimed, “There is a pass to fortify.”  The hint was not neglected by the French general, Catinat, under whose directions the great engineer, Vauban, traced the plan of the present fortifications.  It is a very strong place, completely commanding the valley of the Durance, while it is regarded as the key of the passage into Italy by the Guil and the Col de la Croix.

Guillestre is a small old-fashioned town, situated on the lowest slope of the pine-clad mountain, the Tete de Quigoulet, at the junction of the Rioubel and the Chagne, rivulets in summer but torrents in winter, which join the Guil a little below the town.  Guillestre was in ancient times a strong place, and had for its lords the Archbishops of Embrun, the ancient persecutors of the Vaudois.  The castle of the archbishop, flanked by six towers, occupied a commanding site immediately overlooking the town; but at the French Revolution of 1789, the first thing which the archbishop’s flock did was to pull his castle in pieces, leaving not one stone upon another; and, strange to say, the only walled enclosure now within its precincts is the little burying-ground of the Guillestre Protestants.  One memorable stone has, however, been preserved, the stone trough in which the peasants were required to measure the tribute of grain payable by them to their reverend seigneurs.  It is still to be seen laid against a wall in an open space in front of the church.

It happened that the fair of Guillestre, which is held every two months, was afoot at the time of our visit.  It is frequented by the people of the adjoining valleys, of which Guillestre is the centre, as well as by Piedmontese from beyond the Italian frontier.  On the principal day of the fair we found the streets filled with peasants buying and selling beasts.  They were apparently of many races.  Amongst them were many well-grown men, some with rings in their ears ­horse-dealers from Piedmont, we were told; but the greater number were little, dark, thin, and poorly-fed peasants.  Some of them, dark-eyed and tawny-skinned, looked like Arabs, possibly descendants of the Saracens who once occupied the province.  There were one or two groups of gipsies, differing from all else; but the district is too poor to be much frequented by people of that race.

The animals brought for sale showed the limited resources of the neighbourhood.  One hill-woman came along dragging two goats in milk; another led a sheep and a goat; a third a donkey in foal; a fourth a cow in milk; and so on.  The largest lot consisted of about forty lambs, of various sizes and breeds, which had been driven down from the cool air of the mountains, and, gasping with heat, were cooling their heads against the shady side of a stone wall.  There were several lots of pigs, of a bad but probably hardy sort ­mostly black, round-backed, long-legged, and long-eared.  In selling the animals, there was the usual chaffering, in shrill patois, at the top of the voice ­the seller of some poor scraggy beast extolling its merits, the intending buyer running it down as a “miserable bossu,” &c., and disputing every point raised in its behalf, until the contest of words rose to such a height ­men, women, and even children, on both sides, taking part in it ­that the bystander would have thought it impossible they could separate without a fight.  But matters always came to a peaceable conclusion, for the French are by no means a quarrelsome people.

There were also various other sorts of produce offered for sale ­wool, undressed sheepskins, sticks for firewood, onions and vegetable produce, and considerable quantities of honeycomb; while the sellers of scythes, whetstones, caps, and articles of dress, seemed to meet with a ready sale for their wares, arranged on stalls in the open space in front of the church.  Altogether, the queer collection of beasts and their drivers, who were to be seen drinking together greedily and promiscuously from the fountains in the market-place; the steep streets, crowded with lean goats and cows and pigs, and their buyers and sellers; the braying of donkeys and the shrieking of chafferers, with here and there a goitred dwarf of hideous aspect, presented a picture of an Alpine mountain fair, which, once seen, is not readily forgotten.

There is a similar fair held at the village of La Bessie, before mentioned, a little higher up the Durance, on the road to Briancon; but it is held only once a year, at the end of October, when the inhabitants of Dormilhouse come down in a body to lay in their stock of necessaries for the winter.  “There then arrives,” says M. Albert, “a caravan of about the most singular character that can be imagined.  It consists of nearly the whole population of the mountain hamlet, who resort thither to supply themselves with the articles required for family use during the winter, such as leather, lint, salt, and oil.  These poor mountaineers are provided with very little money, and, to procure the necessary commodities, they have recourse to barter, the most ancient and primitive method of conducting trade.  Hence they bring with them rye, barley, pigs, lambs, chamois skins and horns, and the produce of their knitting during the past year, to exchange for the required articles, with which they set out homeward, laden as they had come.”

The same circumstances which have concurred in making Guillestre the seat of the principal fair of the valleys, led Felix Neff to regard it as an important centre of missionary operations amongst the Vaudois.  In nearly all the mountain villages in its neighbourhood descendants of the ancient Vaudois are to be found, sometimes in the most remote and inaccessible places, whither they had fled in the times of the persécutions.  Thus at Vars, a mountain hamlet up the torrent Rioubel, about nine miles from Guillestre, there is a little Christian community, which, though under the necessity of long concealing their faith, never ceased to be Vaudois in spirit. Then, up the valley of the Guil, and in the lateral valleys which join it, there are, in some places close to the mountain barrier which divides France from Italy, other villages and hamlets, such as Arvieux, San Verán, Fongilarde, &c., the inhabitants of which, though they concealed their faith subsequent to the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, never conformed to Roman Catholicism, but took the earliest opportunity of declaring themselves openly so soon as the dark period of persecution had passed by.

The people of these scattered and distant hamlets were, however, too poor to supply themselves with religious instructors, and they long remained in a state of spiritual destitution.  Felix Neff’s labours were too short, and scattered over too extensive a field, to produce much permanent effect.  Besides, they were principally confined to the village of Dormilhouse, which, as being the most destitute, had, he thought, the greatest claim upon his help; and at his death comparatively little had been done or attempted in the Guillestre district.  But he left behind him what was worth more than any endowment of money, a noble example, which still lives, and inspires the labourers who have come after him.

It was not until within the last twenty years that a few Vaudois families of Guillestre began to meet together for religious purposes, which they did at first in the upper chamber of an inn.  There the Rev. Mr. Freemantle found them when paying his first visit to the valleys in 1851.  He was rejoiced to see the zeal of the people, holding to their faith in the face of considerable opposition and opprobrium; and he exerted himself to raise the requisite funds amongst his friends in England to provide the Guillestre Vaudois with a place of worship of their own.  His efforts were attended with success; and in 1854 a comfortable parsonage, with a commodious room for public worship, was purchased for their use.  A fund was also provided for the maintenance of a settled ministry; a pastor was appointed; and in 1857 a congregation of from forty to seventy persons attended worship every Sunday.  Mr. Freemantle, in a communication with which he has favoured us, says:  “Our object has not been to make an aggression upon the Roman Catholics, but to strengthen the hands and establish the faith of the Vaudois.  And in so doing we have found, not unfrequently, that when an interest has been excited among the Roman Catholic population of the district, there has been some family or hereditary connection with ancestors who were independent of the see of Rome, and such have again joined themselves to the faith of their fathers.”

The new movement was not, however, allowed to proceed without great opposition.  The “Momiers,” or mummers ­the modern nickname of the Vaudois ­were denounced by the cure of the place, and the people were cautioned, as they valued their souls’ safety, against giving any countenance to their proceedings.  The cure was doubtless seriously impressed by the gravity of the situation; and to protect the parish against the assaults of the evil one, he had a large number of crosses erected upon the heights overlooking the town.  On one occasion he had a bad dream, in which he beheld the valley filled with a vast assembly come to be judged; and on the site of the judgment-seat which he saw in his dream, he set up, on the summit of the Come Chauve, a large tin cross hearted with wood.  We were standing in the garden in front of the parsonage at Guillestre late in the evening, when M. Schell, the pastor, pointing up to the height, said, “There you see it now; that is the cure’s erection.”  The valley below lay in deep shadow, while the cross upon the summit brightly reflected the last rays of the setting sun.

The cure, finding that the “Momiers” did not cease to exist, next adopted the expedient of preaching them down.  On the occasion of the Fête Napoleon, 1862, when the Rev. Mr. Freemantle visited Guillestre for the purpose of being present at the Vaudois services on Sunday, the 10th of August, the cure preached a special sermon to his congregation at early morning mass, telling them that an Englishman had come into the town with millions of francs to buy up the souls of Guillestre, and warning them to abstain from such men.

The people were immediately filled with curiosity to know what it was that this stranger had come all the way from England to do, backed by “millions of francs.”  Many of them did not as yet know that there was such a thing as a Vaudois church in Guillestre; but now that they did know, they were desirous of ascertaining something about the doctrines taught there.  The consequence was, that a crowd of people ­amongst whom were some of the highest authorities in the town, the registrar, the douaniers, the chief of a neighbouring commune, and persons of all classes ­assembled at noon to hear M. de Faye, the Protestant pastor, who preached to them an excellent sermon under the trees of the parsonage orchard, while a still larger number attended in the afternoon.

When the cure heard of the conduct of his flock he was greatly annoyed.  “What did you hear from the heretics?” he asked of one of the delinquents.  “I heard your sermon in the morning, and a sermon upon charity in the afternoon,” was the reply.

Great were the surprise and excitement in Guillestre when it became known that the principal sergeant of gendarmerie ­the very embodiment of law and order in the place ­had gone over and joined the “Momiers” with his wife and family.  M. Laugier was quite a model gendarme.  He was a man of excellent character, steady, sensible, and patient, a diligent self-improver, a reader of books, a botanist, and a bit of a geologist.  He knew all the rare mountain plants, and had a collection of those that would bear transplantation, in his garden at the back of the town.  No man was more respected in Guillestre than the sergeant.  His long and faithful service entitled him to the médaille militaire, and it would have been awarded to him, but for the circumstance which came to light, and which he did not seek to conceal, that he had joined the Protestant connexion.  Not only was the medal withheld, but influence was used to get him sent away from the place; and he was packed off to a station in the mountains at Chateau Queyras.

Though this banishment from Guillestre was intended as a punishment, it only served to bring out the sterling qualities of the sergeant, and to ensure his eventual reward.  It so happened that the station at Chateau Queyras commanded the approaches into an extensive range of mountain pasturage.  Although not required specially to attend to their safety, our sergeant had nevertheless carefully noted the flocks and herds as they went up the valleys in the spring.  When winter approached, they were all brought down again from the mountains for safety.

The winter of that year set in early and severely.  The sergeant, making his observations on the flocks as they passed down the valley, noted that one large flock of about three thousand sheep had not yet made its appearance.  The mountains were now covered with snow, and he apprehended that the sheep and their shepherds had been storm-stayed.  Summoning to his assistance a body of men, he set out at their head in search of the lost flock.  After a long, laborious, and dangerous journey ­for the snow by this time lay deep in the hollows of the hills ­he succeeded in discovering the shepherds and the sheep, almost reduced to their last gasp ­the sheep, for want of food, actually gnawing each other’s tails.  With great difficulty the whole were extricated from their perilous position, and brought down the mountains in safety.

No representation was made to head-quarters by the authorities of Guillestre of the conduct of the Protestant sergeant in the matter; but when the shepherds got down to Gap, they were so full of the sergeant’s praises, and of his bravery in rescuing them and their flock from certain death, that a paragraph descriptive of the affair was inserted in the local papers, and was eventually copied into the Parisian journals.  Then it was that an inquiry was made into his conduct, and the result was so satisfactory that the sergeant was at once decorated not only with the médaille militaire, but with the médaille de sauvetage ­a still higher honour; and, shortly after, he was allowed to retire from the service on full pay.  He then returned to his home and family at Guillestre, where he now officiates as Regent of the Vaudois church, reading the prayers and conducting the service in the absence of the stated minister.

We spent a Sunday in the comfortable parsonage at Guillestre.  There was divine service in the temple at half-past ten A.M., conducted by the regular pastor, M. Schell, and instruction and catechizing of the children in the afternoon.  The pastor’s regular work consists of two services at Guillestre and Vars on alternate Sundays, with Sunday-school and singing lesson; and on week days he gives religious instruction in the Guillestre school.  The missionary’s wife is a true “helpmeet,” and having been trained as a deaconess at Strasbourg, she regularly visits the poor, occasionally assisting them with medical advice.

Another important part of the work at Guillestre is the girls’ school, for which suitable premises have been taken; and it is conducted by an excellent female teacher.  Here not only the usual branches of education are taught, but domestic industry of different kinds.  Through the instrumentality of Mr. Milsom, glove-sewing has been taught to the girls, and it is hoped that by this and similar efforts this branch of home manufacture may become introduced in the High Alps, and furnish profitable employment to many poor persons during their long and dreary winter.

By the aid of a special fund, a few girl boarders, belonging to scattered Protestant families who have no other means for the education of their children, are also received at the school.  The girls seem to be extremely well taken care of, and the house, which we went over, is a very pattern of cleanliness and comfort.

The route from Guillestre into Italy lies up the valley of the Guil, through one of the wildest and deepest gorges, or rather chasms, to be found in Europe.  Brockedon says it is “one of the finest in the Alps.”  M. Bost compares it to the Moutier-Grand-Val, in the canton of Berne, but says it is much wilder.  He even calls it frightful, which it is not, except in rainy weather, when the rocks occasionally fall from overhead.  At such times people avoid travelling through the gorge.  M. Bost also likens it to the Via Mala, though here the road, at the narrowest and most precipitous parts, runs in the bottom of the gorge, in a ledge cut in the rock, there being room only for the river and the road.  It is only of late years that the road has been completed, and it is often partly washed away in winter, or covered with rock and stones brought down by the torrent.  When Neff travelled the gorge, it was passable only on foot, or on mule-back.  Yet light-footed armies have passed into Italy by this route.  Lesdiguieres clambered over the mountains and along the Guil to reach Chateau Queyras, which he assaulted and took.  Louis XIII. once accompanied a French army about a league up the gorge, but he turned back, afraid to go farther; and the hamlet at which his progress was arrested is still called Maison du Roi.  About three leagues higher up, after crossing the Guil from bank to bank several times, in order to make use of such ledges of the rock as are suitable for the road, the gorge opens into the Combe du Queyras, and very shortly the picturesque-looking Castle of Queyras comes in sight, occupying the summit of a lofty conical rock in the middle of the valley.

As we approached Chateau Queyras the ruins of a building were pointed out by Mr. Milsom in the bottom of the valley, close by the river-side.  “That,” said he, “was once the Protestant temple of the place.  It was burnt to the ground at the Revocation.  You see that old elm-tree growing near it.  That tree was at the same time burnt to a black stump.  It became a saying in the valley that Protestantism was as dead as that stump, and that it would only reappear when that dead stump came to life!  And, strange to say, since Felix Neff has been here, the stump has come to life ­you see how green it is ­and again Protestantism is like the elm-tree, sending out its vigorous offshoots, in the valley.”

Chateau Queyras stands in the centre of the valley of the Guil, which is joined near this point by two other valleys, the Combe of Arvieux joining it on the right bank, and that of San Verán on the left.  The heads of the streams which traverse these valleys have their origin in the snowy range of the Cottian Alps, which form the boundary between France and Italy.  As in the case of the descendants of the ancient Vaudois at Dormilhouse, they are here also found at the farthest limit of vegetation, penetrating almost to the edge of the glacier, where they were least likely to be molested.  The inhabitants of Arvieux were formerly almost entirely Protestant, and had a temple there, which was pulled down at the Revocation.  From that time down to the Revolution they worshipped only in secret, occasionally ministered to by Vaudois pastors, who made precarious visits to them from the Italian valleys at the risk of their lives.

Above Arvieux is the hamlet of La Chalp, containing a considerable number of Protestants, and where Neff had his home ­a small, low cottage undistinguishable from the others save by its whitewashed front.  Its situation is cheerful, facing the south, and commanding a pleasant mountain prospect, contrasting strongly with the barren outlook and dismal hovels of Dormilhouse.  But Neff never could regard the place as his home.  “The inhabitants,” he observed in his journal, “have more traffic, and the mildness of the climate appears somehow or other not favourable to the growth of piety.  They are zealous Protestants, and show me a thousand attentions, but they are at present absolutely impenetrable.”  The members of the congregation at Arvieux, indeed, complained of his spending so little of his time among them; but the comfort of his cottage at La Chalp, and the comparative mildness of the climate of Arvieux, were insufficient to attract him from the barren crags but warm hearts of Dormilhouse.

The village of San Verán, which lies up among the mountains some twelve miles to the east of Arvieux, on the opposite side of the Val Queyras, was another of the refuges of the ancient Vaudois.  It is at the foot of the snowy ridge which divides France from Italy.  Dr. Gilly says, “There is nothing fit for mortal to take refuge in between San Verán and the eternal snows which mantle the pinnacles of Monte Viso.”  The village is 6,692 feet above the level of the sea, and there is a provincial saying that San Verán is the highest spot in Europe where bread is eaten.  Felix Neff said, “It is the highest, and consequently the most pious, in the valley of Queyras.”  Dr. Gilly was the second Englishman who had ever found his way to the place, and he was accompanied on the occasion by Mrs. Gilly.  “The sight of a female,” he says, “dressed entirely in linen, was a phenomenon so new to those simple peasants, whose garments are never anything but woollen, that Pizarro and his mail-clad companions were not greater objects of curiosity to the Peruvians than we were to these mountaineers.”

Not far distant from San Verán are the mountain hamlets of Pierre Grosse and Fongillarde, also ancient retreats of the persecuted Vaudois, and now for the most part inhabited by Protestants.  The remoteness and comparative inaccessibility of these mountain hamlets may be inferred from the fact that in 1786, when the Protestants of France were for the first time since the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes permitted to worship in public without molestation, four years elapsed before the intelligence reached San Verán.

We have now reached almost the extreme limits of France; Italy lying on the other side of the snowy peaks which shut in the upper valleys of the Alps.  In Neff’s time the parish of which he had charge extended from San Verán, on the frontier, to Champsaur, in the valley of the Drac, a distance of nearly eighty miles.  His charge consisted of the scattered population of many mountain hamlets, to visit which in succession involved his travelling a total distance of not less than one hundred and eighty miles.  It was, of course, impossible that any single man, no matter how inspired by zeal and devotion, could do justice to a charge so extensive.  The difficulties of passing through a country so wild and rugged were also very great, especially in winter.  Neff records that on one occasion he took six hours to make the journey, in the midst of a snow-storm which completely hid the footpath, from his cottage at La Chalp to San Verán, a distance of only twelve miles.

The pastors who succeeded Neff had the same difficulties to encounter, and there were few to be found who could brave them.  The want of proper domestic accommodation for the pastors was also felt to be a great hindrance.  Accordingly, one of the first things to which the Rev. Mr. Freemantle directed his attention, when he entered upon his noble work of supplying the spiritual destitution of the French Vaudois, was to take steps not only to supply the poor people with more commodious temples, but also to provide dwelling-houses for the pastors.  And in the course of a few years, helped by friends in England, he has been enabled really to accomplish a very great deal.  The extensive parish of Neff is now divided into five sub-parishes ­that of Fressinieres, which includes Palons, Violins, and Dormilhouse, provided with three temples, a parsonage, and schools; Arvieux, with the hamlets of Brunissard (where worship was formerly conducted in a stable) and La Chalp, provided with two temples, a parsonage, and schools; San Verán, with Fongillarde and Pierre Grosse, provided with three temples, a parsonage, and a school; St. Laurent du Cros and Champsaur, in the valley of the Drac, provided with a temple, school, &c., principally through the liberality of Lord Monson; and Guillestre and Vars, provided with two temples, a parsonage, and a girls’ school.  A temple, with a residence for a pastor, has also of late years been provided at Briancon, with a meeting-place also at the village of Villeneuve.

Such are the agencies now at work in the district of the High Alps, helped on by a few zealous workers in England and abroad.  While the object of the pastors, in the words of Mr. Freemantle, is “not to regard themselves as missionaries to proselytize Roman Catholics, but as ministers residing among their own people, whose faith, and love, and holiness they have to promote,” they also endeavour to institute measures with the object of improving the social and domestic condition of the Vaudois.  Thus, in one district ­that of St. Laurent du Cros ­a banque de prévoyance, or savings-bank, has been established; and though it was at first regarded with suspicion, it has gradually made its way and proved of great value, being made use of by the indigent Roman Catholics as well as Protestant families of the district.  Such efforts and such agencies as these cannot fail to be followed by blessings, and to be greatly instrumental for good.

Our last night in France was spent in the miserable little town of Abries, situated immediately at the foot of the Alpine ridge which separates France from Italy.  On reaching the principal hotel, or rather auberge, we found every bed taken; but a peep into the dark and dirty kitchen, which forms the entrance-hall of the place, made us almost glad that there was no room for us in that inn.  We turned out into the wet streets to find a better; but though we succeeded in finding beds in a poor house in a back lane, little can be said in their praise.  We were, however, supplied with a tolerable dinner, and contrived to pass the night in rest, and to start refreshed early on the following morning on our way to the Vaudois valleys of Piedmont.

CHAPTER VI. - THE VALLEY OF THE PELICE ­LA TOUR ­ANGROGNA ­THE PRA DU TOUR.

The village of Abries is situated close to the Alpine ridge, the summit of which marks the boundary between France and Italy.  On the other side lie the valleys of Piedmont, in which the French Vaudois were accustomed to take refuge when persecution ravaged their own valleys, passing by the mountain-road we were now about to travel, as far as La Tour, in the valley of the Pelice.

Although there are occasional villages along the route, there is no good resting-place for travellers short of La Tour, some twenty-six miles distant from Abries; and as it was necessary that we should walk the distance, the greater part of the road being merely a track, scarcely practicable for mules, we were up betimes in the morning, and on our way.  The sun had scarcely risen above the horizon.  The mist was still hanging along the mountain-sides, and the stillness of the scene was only broken by the murmur of the Guil running in its rocky bed below.  Passing through the hamlet of Monta, where the French douane has its last frontier station, we began the ascent; and soon, as the sun rose and the mists cleared away, we saw the profile of the mountain up which we were climbing cast boldly upon the range behind us on the further side of the valley.  A little beyond the ravine of the Combe de la Croix, along the summit of which the road winds, we reached the last house within the French frontier ­a hospice, not very inviting in appearance, for the accommodation of travellers.  A little further is the Col, and passing a stone block carved with the fleur-de-lis and cross of Savoy, we crossed the frontier of France and entered Italy.

On turning a shoulder of the mountain, we looked down upon the head of the valley of the Pelice, a grand and savage scene.  The majestic, snow-capped Monte Viso towers up on the right, at the head of the valley, amidst an assemblage of other great mountain masses.  From its foot seems to steal the river Pelice, now a quiet rivulet, though in winter a raging torrent.  Right in front, lower down the valley, is the rocky defile of Mirabouc, a singularly savage gorge, seemingly rent asunder by some tremendous convulsion of nature; beyond and over which extends the valley of the Pelice, expanding into that of the Po, and in the remote distance the plains of Piedmont; while immediately beneath our feet, as it were, but far below, lies a considerable breadth of green pasture, the Bergerie of Pra, enclosed on all sides by the mountains over which we look.

The descent from the Col down into the Pra is very difficult, in some places almost precipitous ­far more abrupt than on the French side, where the incline up to the summit is comparatively easy.

The zigzag descends from one rock to another, along the face of a shelving slope, by a succession of notches (from which the footpath is not inappropriately termed La Coche) affording a very insecure footing for the few mules which occasionally cross the pass.  Dr. Gilly crossed here from La Tour with Mrs. Gilly in 1829, when about to visit the French valleys; but he found the path so difficult and dangerous, that the lady had to walk nearly the whole way.

As we descended the mountain almost by a succession of leaps, we overtook M. Gariod, deputy judge of Gap, engaged in botanizing among the rocks; and he informed us that among the rarer specimens he had collected in the course of his journey on the summit were the Polygonum alpinum and Silène vallesia, above Monta; the Leucanthemum alpinum, near the Hospice; the Linaria alpina and Cirsium spinosissimus on the Col; while the Lloydia serotina, Arabis alpina, Phyteuma hemisphericum, and Rhododendrum ferrugineum, were found all over the face of the rocky descent to the Pra.

At the foot of the Coche we arrived at the first house in Italy, the little auberge of the Pra, a great resort of sportsmen, who come to hunt the chamois in the adjoining mountains during the season.  Here is also the usual customs station, with a few officers of the Italian douane, to watch the passage of merchandise across the frontier.

The road from hence to la Tour is along the river Pelice, which is kept in sight nearly the whole way.  A little below the Pra, where it enters the defile of Mirabouc, the path merely follows what is the bed of the torrent in winter.  The descent is down ledges and notches, from rock to rock, with rugged precipices overhanging the ravine for nearly a mile.  At its narrowest part stand the ruins of the ancient fort of Mirabouc, built against the steep escarpments of the mountain, which, in ancient times, completely commanded and closed the defile against the passage of an enemy from that quarter.  And difficult though the Col de la Croix is for the passage of an army, it has on more than one occasion been passed by French detachments in their invasion of Italy.

It is not until we reach Bobi, or Bobbio, several miles lower down the Pelice, that we at last feel we are in Italy.  Here the valley opens out, the scenery is soft and inviting, the fields are well tilled, the vegetation is rich, and the clusters of chestnut-trees in magnificent foliage.  We now begin to see the striking difference between the French and the Italian valleys.  The former are precipitous and sterile, constant falls of slaty rock blocking up the defiles; while here the mountains lay aside their savage aspects, and are softened down into picturesquely wooded hills, green pastures, and fertile fields stretching along the river-sides, yielding a rich territory for the plough.

Yet, beautiful and peaceful though this valley of the Pelice now appears, there is scarcely a spot in it but has been consecrated by the blood of martyrs to the cause of liberty and religion.  In the rugged defile of the Mirabouc, which we have just passed, is the site of a battle fought between the Piedmontese troops and the Vaudois peasants, at a place called the Pian-del-Mort, where the persecuted, turning upon the persecutors, drove them back, and made good their retreat to their mountain fastnesses.  Bobi itself was the scene of many deadly struggles.  A little above the village, on a rocky plateau, are the remains of an ancient fort, near the hamlet of Sibaud, where the Vaudois performed one of their bravest exploits under Henri Arnaud, after their “Glorious Return” from exile, ­near which, on a stone still pointed out, they swore fidelity to each other, and that they would die to the last man rather than abandon their country and their religion.

Near Bobi is still to be seen a remarkable illustration of English interest long ago felt in the people of these valleys.  This is the long embankment or breakwater, built by a grant from Oliver Cromwell, for the purpose of protecting the village against the inundations of the Pelice, by one of which it was nearly destroyed in the time of the Protectorate.  It seems strange indeed that England should then have stretched out its hand so far, to help a people so poor and uninfluential as the Vaudois; but their sufferings had excited the sympathies of all Europe, and of Protestant England in particular, which not only sent them sympathy, but substantial succour.  Cromwell also, through the influence of Cardinal Mazarin, compelled the Duke of Savoy to suspend for a time the persecution of his subjects, ­though shortly after the Protector’s death it waxed hotter than ever.

All down the valley of the Pelice, we come upon village after village ­La Piante, Villar, and Cabriol ­which have been the scenes sometimes of heroic combats, and sometimes of treacherous massacres.  Yet all the cruelty of Grand Dukes and Popes during centuries did not avail in turning the people of the valley from their faith.  For they continue to worship after the same primitive forms as they did a thousand years ago; and in the principal villages and hamlets, though Romanism has long been supported by the power of the State and the patronage of the Church, the Protestant Vaudois continue to constitute the majority of the population.

Rising up on the left of the road, between Villar and La Tour, are seen the bold and almost perpendicular rocks of Castelluzzo, terminating in the tower-like summit which has given to them their name.  On the face of these rocks is one of the caverns in which the Vaudois were accustomed to hide their women and children when they themselves were forced to take the field.  When Dr. Gilly first endeavoured to discover this famous cavern in 1829, he could not find any one who could guide him to it.  Tradition said it was half way down the perpendicular face of the rock, and it was known to be very difficult to reach; but the doctor could not find any traces of it.  Determined, however, not to be baffled, he made a second attempt a month later, and succeeded.  He had to descend some fifty feet from the top of the cliff by a rope ladder, until a platform of rock was reached, from which the cavern was entered.  It was found to consist of an irregular, rugged, sloping gallery in the face of the rock, of considerable extent, roofed in by a projecting crag.  It is quite open to the south, but on all other sides it is secure; and it can only be entered from above.  Such were the places to which the people of the valleys were driven for shelter in the dark days so happily passed away.

One of the best indications of the improved regime that now prevails, shortly presented itself in the handsome Vaudois church, situated at the western entrance of the town of La Tour, near to which is the college for the education of Vaudois pastors, together with residences for the clergy and professors.  The founding of this establishment, as well as of the hospital for the poor and infirm Vaudois, is in a great measure due to the energetic zeal of the Dr. Gilly so often quoted above, whose writings on behalf of the faithful but destitute Protestants of the Piedmontese valleys, about forty years since, awakened an interest in their behalf in England, as well as in foreign countries, which has not yet subsided.

More enthusiastic, if possible, even than Dr. Gilly, was the late General Beckwith, who followed up, with extraordinary energy, the work which the other had so well begun.  The general was an old Peninsular veteran, who had followed the late Duke of Wellington through most of his campaigns, and lost a leg while serving under him at the battle of Waterloo.  Hence the designation of him by a Roman Catholic bishop in an article published by him in one of the Italian journals, as “the adventurer with the wooden leg.”

The general’s attention was first attracted to the subject of the Vaudois in the following curiously accidental way.  Being a regular visitor at Apsley House, he called on the Duke one morning, and, finding him engaged, he strolled into the library to spend an idle half-hour among the books.  The first he took up was Dr. Gilly’s “Narrative,” and what he read excited so lively an interest in his mind that he went direct to his bookseller and ordered all the publications relative to the Vaudois Church that could be procured.

The general’s zeal being thus fired, he set out shortly after on a visit to the Piedmontese valleys.  He returned to them again and again, and at length settled at La Tour, where he devoted the remainder of his life and a large portion of his fortune to the service of the Vaudois Church and people.  He organized a movement for the erection of schools, of which not fewer than one hundred and twenty were provided mainly through his instrumentality in different parts of the valleys, besides restoring and enlarging the college at La Tour, erecting the present commodious dwellings for the professors, providing a superior school for the education of pastors’ daughters, and contributing towards the erection of churches wherever churches were needed.

The general was so zealous a missionary, so eager for the propagation of the Gospel, that some of his friends asked him why he did not preach to the people.  “No,” said he; “men have their special gifts, and mine is a brick-and-mortar gift.”  The general was satisfied to go on as he had begun, helping to build schools, colleges, and churches for the Vaudois, wherever most needed.  His crowning work was the erection of the grand block of buildings on the Viale del Re at Turin, which not only includes a handsome and commodious Vaudois church, but an English church, and a Vaudois hospital and schools, erected at a cost of about fourteen thousand pounds, principally at the cost of the general himself, generously aided by Mr. Brewin and other English contributors.

Nor were the people ungrateful to their benefactor.  “Let the name of General Beckwith be blessed by all who pass this way,” says an inscription placed upon one of the many schools opened through his efforts and generosity; and the whole country responds to the sentiment.

To return to La Tour.  The style of the buildings at its western end ­the church, college, residences, and adjoining cottages, with their pretty gardens in front, designed, as they have been, by English architects ­give one the idea of the best part of an English town.  But this disappears as you enter the town itself, and proceed through the principal street, which is long, narrow, and thoroughly Italian.  The situation of the town is exceedingly fine, at the foot of the Vandalin Mountain, near the confluence of the river Angrogna with the Pelice.  The surrounding scenery is charming; and from the high grounds, north and south of the town, extensive views may be had in all directions ­especially up the valley of the Pelice, and eastward over the plains of Piedmont ­the whole country being, as it were, embroidered with vineyards, corn-fields, and meadows, here and there shaded with groves and thickets, spread over a surface varied by hills, and knolls, and undulating slopes.

The size, importance, industry, and central situation of La Tour have always caused it to be regarded as the capital of the valleys.  One-half of the Vaudois population occupies the valley of the Pelice and the lateral valley of Angrogna; the remainder, more widely scattered, occupying the valleys of Perouse and Pragela, and the lateral valley of St. Martin ­the entire number of the Protestant population in the several valleys amounting to about twenty thousand.

Although, as we have already said, there is scarcely a hamlet in the valleys but has been made famous by the resistance of its inhabitants in past times to the combined tyranny of the Popes of Rome and the Dukes of Savoy, perhaps the most interesting events of all have occurred in the neighbourhood of La Tour, but more especially in the valley of Angrogna, at whose entrance it stands.

The wonder is, that a scattered community of half-armed peasantry, without resources, without magazines, without fortresses, should have been able for any length of time to resist large bodies of regular troops ­Italian, French, Spanish, and even Irish! ­led by the most experienced commanders of the day, and abundantly supplied with arms, cannon, ammunition, and stores of all kinds.  All that the people had on their side ­and it compensated for much ­was a good cause, great bravery, and a perfect knowledge of the country in which, and for which, they fought.

Though the Vaudois had no walled towns, their district was a natural fortress, every foot of which was known to them ­every pass, every defile, every barricade, and every defensible position.  Resistance in the open country, they knew, would be fatal to them.  Accordingly, whenever assailed by their persecutors, they fled to their mountain strongholds, and there waited the attack of the enemy.

One of the strongest of such places ­the Thermopylae of the Vaudois ­was the valley of Angrogna, up which the inhabitants of La Tour were accustomed to retreat on any sudden invasion by the army of Savoy.  The valley is one of exquisite beauty, presenting a combination of mingled picturesqueness and sublimity, the like of which is rarely to be seen.  It is hemmed in by mountains, in some places rounded and majestic, in others jagged and abrupt.  The sides of the valley are in many places finely wooded, while in others well-tilled fields, pastures, and vineyards slope down to the river-side.  Orchards are succeeded by pine-woods, and these again by farms and gardens.  Sometimes a little cascade leaps from a rock on its way to the valley below; and little is heard around, save the rippling of water, and the occasional lowing of cattle in the pastures, mingled with the music of their bells.

Shortly after entering the valley, we passed the scene of several terrible struggles between the Vaudois and their persecutors.  One of the most famous spots is the plateau of Rochemalan, where the heights of St. John abut upon the mountains of Angrogna.  It was shortly after the fulmination of a bull of extermination against the Vaudois by Pope Innocent VIII., in 1486, that an army of eighteen thousand regular French and Piedmontese troops, accompanied by a horde of brigands to whom the remission of sins was promised on condition of their helping to slay the heretics, encircled the valleys and proceeded to assail the Vaudois in their fastnesses.  The Papal legate, Albert Catanee, Archdeacon of Cremona, had his head-quarters at Pignerol, from whence he superintended the execution of the Pope’s orders.  First, he sent preaching monks up the valleys to attempt the conversion of the Vaudois before attacking them with arms.  But the peasantry refused to be converted, and fled to their strongholds in the mountains.

Then Catanee took the field at the head of his army, advancing upon Angrogna.  He extended his lines so as to enclose the entire body of heretics, with the object of cutting them off to a man.  The Vaudois, however, defended themselves resolutely, though armed only with pikes, swords, and bows and arrows, and everywhere beat back the assailants.  The severest struggle occurred at Rochemalan, which the crusaders attacked with great courage.  But the Vaudois had the advantage of the higher ground, and, encouraged by the cries and prayers of the women, children, and old men whom they were defending, they impetuously rushed forward and drove the Papal troops downhill in disorder, pursuing them into the very plain.

The next day the Papalini renewed the attack, ascending by the bottom of the valley, instead of by the plateau on which they had been defeated.  But one of those dense mists, so common in the Alps, having settled down upon the valley, the troops became confused, broken up, and entangled in difficult paths; and in this state, marching apprehensively, they were fallen upon by the Vaudois and again completely defeated.  Many of the soldiers slid over the rocks and were drowned in the torrent, ­the chasm into which the captain of the detachment (Saquet de Planghere) fell, being still known as Toumpi de Saquet, or Saquet’s Hole.

The resistance of the mountaineers at other points, in the valleys of Pragela and St. Martin, having been almost equally successful, Catanee withdrew the Papal army in disgust, and marched it back into France, to wreak his vengeance on the defenceless Vaudois of the Val Louise, in the manner described in a preceding chapter.

Less than a century later, a like attempt was made to force the entrance to the valley of Angrogna, by an army of Italians and Spaniards, under the command of the Count de la Trinité.  A proclamation had been published, and put up in the villages of Angrogna, to the effect that all would be destroyed by fire and sword who did not forthwith return to the Church of Rome.  And as the peasantry did not return, on the 2nd November, 1560, the Count advanced at the head of his army to extirpate the heretics.  The Vaudois were provided with the rudest sort of weapons; many of them had only slings and cross-bows.  But they felt strong in the goodness of their cause, and prepared to defend themselves to the death.

As the Count’s army advanced, the Vaudois retired until they reached the high ground near Rochemalan, where they took their stand.  The enemy followed, and halted in the valley beneath, lighting their bivouac fires, and intending to pass the night there.  Before darkness fell, however, an accidental circumstance led to an engagement.  A Vaudois boy, who had got hold of a drum, began beating it in a ravine close by.  The soldiers, thinking a hostile troop had arrived, sprang up in disorder and seized their arms.  The Vaudois, on their part, seeing the movement, and imagining that an attack was about to be made on them, rushed forward to repel it.  The soldiers, surprised and confused, for the most part threw away their arms, and fled down the valley.  Irritated by this disgraceful retreat of some twelve hundred soldiers before two hundred peasants, the Count advanced a second time, and was again, repulsed by the little band of heroes, who charged his troops with loud shouts of “Viva Jesu Christo!” driving the invaders in confusion down the valley.

It may be mentioned that the object of the Savoy general, in making this attack, was to force the valley, and capture the strong position of the Pra du Tour, the celebrated stronghold of the Vaudois, from whence we shall afterwards find them, again driven back, baffled and defeated.

A hundred years passed, and still the Vaudois remained unconverted and unexterminated.  The Marquis of Pianesse now advanced upon Angrogna ­always with the same object, “ad extirpandos hereticos,” in obedience to the order of the Propaganda.  On this occasion not only Italian and Spanish but Irish troops were engaged in a combined effort to exterminate the Vaudois.  The Irish were known as “the assassins” by the people of the valleys, because of their almost exceptional ferocity; and the hatred they excited by their outrages on women and children was so great, that on the assault and capture of St. Legont by the Vaudois peasantry, an Irish regiment surprised in barracks was completely destroyed.

A combined attack was made on Angrogna on the 15th of June, 1655.  On that day four separate bodies of troops advanced up the heights from different directions, thereby enclosing the little Vaudois army of three hundred men assembled there, and led by the heroic Javanel.  This leader first threw himself upon the head of the column which advanced from Rocheplate, and drove it downhill.  Then he drew off his little body towards Rochemalan, when he suddenly found himself opposed by the two bodies which had come up from St. John and La Tour.  Retiring before them, he next found himself face to face with the fourth detachment, which had come up from Pramol.  With the quick instinct of military genius, Javanel threw himself upon it before the beaten Rocheplate detachment were able to rally and assail him in flank; and he succeeded in cutting the Pramol force in two and passing through it, rushing up to the summit of the hill, on which he posted himself.  And there he stood at bay.

This hill is precipitous on one side, but of comparatively easy ascent on the side up which the little band of heroes had ascended.  At the foot of the slope the four detachments, three thousand against three hundred, drew up and attacked him; but firing from a distance, their aim was not very deadly.  For five hours Javanel resisted them as he best could, and then, seeing signs of impatience and hesitation in the enemy’s ranks, he called out to his men, “Forward, my friends!” and they rushed downhill like an avalanche.  The three thousand men recoiled, broke, and fled before the three hundred; and Javanel returned victorious to his entrenchments before Angrogna.

Yet, again, some eight years later, in 1663, was this neighbourhood the scene of another contest, and again was Javanel the hero.  On this occasion, the Marquis de Fleury led the troops of the Duke of Savoy, whose object, as before, was to advance up the valley, and assail the Vaudois stronghold of Pra du Tour; and again the peasantry resisted them successfully, and drove them back into the plains.  Javanel then went to rejoin a party of the men whom he had posted at the “Gates of Angrogna” to defend the pass up the valley; and again he fell upon the enemy engaged in attempting to force a passage there, and defeated them with heavy loss.

Such are among the exciting events which have occurred in this one locality in connection with the Vaudois struggle for country and liberty.

Let us now proceed up the valley of Angrogna, towards the famous stronghold of the Pra du Tour, the object of those repeated attacks of the enemy in the neighbourhood of Rochemalan.  As we advance, the mountains gradually close in upon the valley, leaving a comparatively small width of pasture land by the river-side.  At the hamlet of Serre the carriage road ends; and from thence the valley grows narrower, the mountains which enclose it become more rugged and abrupt, until there is room enough only for a footpath along a rocky ledge, and the torrent running in its deep bed alongside.  This continues for a considerable distance, the path in some places being overhung by precipices, or encroached upon by rocks and boulders fallen from the heights, until at length we emerge from the defile, and find ourselves in a comparatively open space, the famous Pra du Tour; the defile we have passed, alongside the torrent and overhung by the rocks, being known as the Barricade.

The Pra du Tour, or Meadow of the Tower, is a little amphitheatre surrounded by rugged and almost inaccessible mountains, situated at the head of the valley of Angrogna.  The steep slopes bring down into this deep dell the headwaters of the torrent, which escape among the rocks down the defile we have just ascended.  The path up the defile forms the only approach to the Pra from the valley, but it is so narrow, tortuous, and difficult, that the labours of only a few men in blocking up the pathway with rocks and stones that lie ready at hand, might at any time so barricade the approach as to render it impracticable.  The extremely secluded position of the place, its natural strength and inaccessibility, and its proximity to the principal Vaudois towns and villages, caused it to be regarded from the earliest times as their principal refuge.  It was their fastness, their fortress, and often their home.  It was more ­it was their school and college; for in the depths of the Pra du Tour the pastors, or barbas, educated young men for the ministry, and provided for the religious instruction of the Vaudois population.

It was the importance of the Pra du Tour as a stronghold that rendered it so often the object of attack through the valley of Angrogna.  When the hostile troops of Savoy advanced upon La Tour, the inhabitants of the neighbouring valleys at once fled to the Pra, into which they drove their cattle, and carried what provisions they could; there constructing mills, ovens, houses, and all that was requisite for subsistence, as in a fort.  The men capable of bearing arms stood on their guard to defend the passes of the Vachère and Roussine, at the extreme heads of the valley, as well as the defile of the Barricade, while other bodies, stationed lower down, below the Barricade, prepared to resist the troops seeking to force an entrance up the valley; and hence the repeated battles in the neighbourhood of Rochemalan above described.

On the occasion of the defeat of the Count de la Trinité by the little Vaudois band near the village of Angrogna, in November, 1560, the general drew off, and waited the arrival of reinforcements.  A large body of Spanish veterans having joined him, in the course of the following spring he again proceeded up the valley, determined, if possible, to force the Barricade ­the royal forces now numbering some seven thousand men, all disciplined troops.  The peasants, finding their first position no longer tenable in the face of such numbers, abandoned Angrogna and the lower villages, and retired, with the whole population, to the Pra du Tour.  The Count followed them with his main army, at the same time directing two other bodies of troops to advance upon the place round by the mountains, one by the heights of the Vachère, and another by Les Fourests.  The defenders of the Pra would thus be assailed from three sides at once, their forces divided, and victory rendered certain.

But the Count did not calculate upon the desperate bravery of the defenders.  All three bodies were beaten back in succession.  For four days the Count made every effort to force the defile, and failed.  Two colonels, eight captains, and four hundred men fell in these desperate assaults, without gaining an inch of ground.  On the fifth day a combined attack was made with the reserve, composed of Spanish companies, but this, too, failed; and the troops, when ordered to return to the charge, refused to obey.  The Count, who commanded, is said to have wept as he sat on a rock and looked upon so many of his dead ­the soldiers themselves exclaiming, “God fights for these people, and we do them wrong!”

About a hundred years later, the Marquis de Pianesse, who, like the Count de la Trinité, had been defeated at Rochemalan, made a similar attempt to surprise the Vaudois stronghold, with a like result.  The peasants were commanded on this occasion by John Leger, the pastor and historian.  Those who were unarmed hurled rocks and stones on the assailants from the heights; and the troops being thus thrown into confusion, the Vaudois rushed from behind their ramparts, and drove them in a state of total rout down the valley.

On entering the Pra du Tour, one of the most prominent objects that meets the eye is the Roman Catholic chapel recently erected there, though the few inhabitants of the district are still almost entirely Protestant.  The Roman Catholic Church has, however, now done what the Roman Catholic armies failed to do ­established itself in the midst of the Vaudois stronghold, though by no means in the hearts of the people.

Desirous of ascertaining, if possible, the site of the ancient college, we proceeded up the Pra, and hailed a young woman whom we observed crossing the rustic bridge over the Pele, one of the mountain rivulets running into the torrent of Angrogna.  Inquiring of her as to the site of the college, she told us we had already passed it, and led us back to the place ­up the rocky side of the hill leading to the Vachère ­past the cottage where she herself lived, and pointed to the site:  “There,” she said, “is where the ancient college of the Vaudois stood.”  The old building has, however, long since been removed, the present structure being merely part of a small farmsteading.  Higher up the steep hill-side, on successive ledges of rock, are the ruins of various buildings, some of which may have been dwellings, and one, larger than the rest, on a broader plateau, with an elder-tree growing in the centre, may possibly have been the temple.

From the higher shelves on this mountain-side the view is extremely wild and grand.  The acclivities which surround the head of the Pra seem as if battlemented walls; the mountain opposite throws its sombre shadow over the ravine in which the torrent runs; whilst, down the valley, rock seems piled on rock, and mountain on mountain.  All is perfectly still, and the silence is only audible by the occasional tinkling of a sheep-bell, or the humming of a bee in search of flowers on the mountain-side.  So peaceful and quiet is the place, that it is difficult to believe it could ever have been the scene of such deadly strife, and rung with the shouts of men thirsting for each other’s blood.

After lingering about the place until the sun was far on his way towards the horizon, we returned, by the road we had come, the valley seeming more beautiful than ever under the glow of evening, and arrived at our destination about dusk, to find the fireflies darting about the streets of La Tour.

The next day saw us at Turin, and our summer excursion at an end.  Mr. Milsom, who had so pleasantly accompanied me through the valleys, had been summoned to attend the death-bed of a friend at Antibes, and he set out on the journey forthwith.  While still there, he received a telegram intimating the death of his daughter at Allevard, near Grenoble, and he arrived only in time to attend her funeral.  Two months later, he lost another dear daughter; shortly after, his mother-in-law died; and in the following December he himself died suddenly of heart disease, and followed them to the grave.

One could not but conceive a hearty liking for Edward Milsom ­he was such a thoroughly good man.  He was a native of London, but spent the greater part of his life at Lyons, in France, where he long since settled and married.  He there carried on a large business as a silk merchant, but was always ready to give a portion of his time and money to help forward any good work.  He was an “ancien,” or elder, of the Evangelical church at Lyons, originally founded by Adolphe Monod, to whom he was also related by marriage.

Some years since he was very much interested by the perusal of Pastor Bost’s account of his visit to the scene of Felix Neff’s labours in the High Alps.  He felt touched by the simple, faithful character of the people, and keenly sympathised with their destitute condition.  “Here,” said he, “is a field in which I may possibly be of some use.”  And he at once went to their help.  He visited the district of Fressinieres, including the hamlet of Dormilhouse, as well as the more distant villages of Arvieux and Sans Verán, up the vale of Queyras; and nearly every year thereafter he devoted a certain portion of his time in visiting the poorer congregations of the district, giving them such help and succour as lay in his power.

His repeated visits made him well known to the people of the valleys, who valued him as a friend, if they did not even love him as a brother.  His visits were also greatly esteemed by the pastors, who stood much in need of encouragement and help.  He cheered the wavering, strengthened the feeble-hearted, and stimulated all to renewed life and action.  Wherever he went, a light seemed to shine in his path; and when he departed, he was followed by many blessings.

In one place he would arrange for the opening of a new place of worship; in another, for the opening of a boys’ school; in a third, for the industrial employment of girls; and wherever there was any little heartburning or jealousy to be allayed, he would set himself to remove it.  His admirable tact, his unfailing temper, and excellent good sense, rendered him a wise counsellor and a most successful conciliator.

The last time Mr. Milsom visited England, towards the end of 1869, he was occupied, as usual, in collecting subscriptions for the poor Vaudois of the High Alps.  Now that the good “merchant missionary” has rested from his labours, they will indeed feel the loss of their friend.  Who is to assume his mantle?

CHAPTER VII - THE GLORIOUS RETURN: 

AN EPISODE IN THE HISTORY OF THE ITALIAN VAUDOIS.

What is known as The Glorious Return, or re-entry of the exiled Vaudois in 1689 to resume possession of the valleys from which they had been banished, will always stand out as one of the most remarkable events in history.

If ever a people fairly established their right to live in their own country, and to worship God after their own methods, the Vaudois had surely done so.  They had held conscientiously and consistently to their religion for nearly five hundred years, during which they laboured under many disabilities and suffered much persecution.  But the successive Dukes of Savoy were no better satisfied with them as subjects than before.  They could not brook that any part of their people should be of a different form of religion from that professed by themselves; and they continued, at the instance of successive popes, to let slip the dogs of war upon the valleys, in the hopes of eventually compelling the Vaudois to “come in” and make their peace with the Church.

The result of these invasions was almost uniform.  At the first sudden inroad of the troops, the people, taken by surprise, usually took to flight; on which their dwellings were burnt and their fields laid waste.  But when they had time to rally and collect their forces, the almost invariable result was that the Piedmontese were driven out of the valleys again with ignominy and loss.  The Duke’s invasion of 1655 was, however, attended with greater success than usual.  His armies occupied the greater part of the valleys, though the Vaudois still held out, and made occasional successful sallies from their mountain fastnesses.  At length, the Protestants of the Swiss Confederation, taking compassion on their co-religionists in Piedmont, sent ambassadors to the Duke of Savoy at Turin to intercede for their relief; and the result was the amnesty granted to them in that year under the title of the “Patents of Grace.”  The terms were very hard, but they were agreed to.  The Vaudois were to be permitted to re-occupy their valleys, conditional on their rebuilding all the Catholic churches which had been destroyed, paying to the Duke an indemnity of fifty thousand francs, and ceding to him the richest lands in the valley of Luzerna ­the last relics of their fortunes being thus taken from them to remunerate the barbarity of their persecutors.

It was also stipulated by this treaty, that the pastors of the Vaudois churches were to be natives of the district only, and that they were to be at liberty to administer religious instruction in their own manner in all the Vaudois parishes, excepting that of St. John, near La Tour, where their worship was interdicted.  The only persons excepted from the terms of the amnesty were Javanel, the heroic old captain, and Jean Leger, the pastor-historian, the most prominent leaders of the Vaudois in the recent war, both of whom were declared to be banished the ducal dominions.

Under this treaty the Vaudois enjoyed peace for about thirty years, during which they restored the cultivation of the valleys, rebuilt the villages, and were acknowledged to be among the most loyal, peaceable, and industrious of the subjects of Savoy.

There were, however, certain parts of the valleys to which the amnesty granted by the Duke did not apply.  Thus, it did not apply to the valleys of Perouse and Pragela, which did not then form part of the dominions of Savoy, but were included within the French frontier.  It was out of this circumstance that a difficulty arose with the French monarch, which issued in the revival of the persecution in the valleys, the banishment of the Vaudois into Switzerland, and their eventual “Glorious Return” in the manner we are about briefly to narrate.

When Louis XIV. of France revoked the Edict of Nantes in 1685, and interdicted all Protestant worship throughout his dominions, the law of course applied to the valleys of Perouse and Pragela as to the other parts of France.  The Vaudois pastors were banished, and the people were forbidden to profess any other religion than that prescribed by the King, under penalty of confiscation of their goods, imprisonment, or banishment.  The Vaudois who desired to avoid these penalties while they still remained staunch to their faith, did what so many Frenchmen then did ­they fled across the frontier and took refuge in foreign lands.  Some of the inhabitants of the French valleys went northward into Switzerland, while others passed across the mountains towards the south, and took refuge in the valley of the Pelice, where the Vaudois religion continued to be tolerated under the terms of the amnesty above referred to, which had been granted by the Duke of Savoy.

The French king, when he found his Huguenot subjects flying in all directions rather than remain in France and be “converted” to Roman Catholicism, next tried to block up the various avenues of escape, and to prevent the rulers of the adjoining countries from giving the fugitives asylum.  Great was his displeasure when he heard of the flight of the Vaudois of Perouse and Pragela into the adjoining valleys.  He directed the French ambassador at Turin to call upon the Duke of Savoy, and require him to prevent their settlement within his dominions.  At the same time, he called upon the Duke to take steps to compel the conversion of his people from the pretended reformed faith, and offered the aid of his troops to enforce their submission, “at whatever cost.”

The Duke was irritated at the manner in which he was approached.  Louis XIV. was treating him as a vassal of France rather than as an independent sovereign.  But he felt himself to be weak, and comparatively powerless to resent the insult.  So he first temporised, then vacillated, and being again pressed by the French king, he eventually yielded.  The amnesty was declared to be at an end, and the Vaudois were ordered forthwith to become members of the Church of Rome.  An edict was issued on the 31st of January, 1686, forbidding the exercise by the Vaudois of their religion, abolishing their ancient privileges, and ordering the demolition of all their places of worship.  Pastors and schoolmasters who refused to be converted were ordered to quit the country within fifteen days, on pain of death and confiscation of their goods.  All refugee Protestants from France were ordered to leave under the same penalty.  All children born of Protestant parents were to be compulsorily educated as Roman Catholics.  This barbarous measure was merely a repetition by the Duke of Savoy in Piedmont of what his master Louis XIV. had already done in France.

The Vaudois expostulated with their sovereign, but in vain.  They petitioned, but there was no reply.  They requested the interposition of the Swiss Government as before, but the Duke took no notice of their memorial.  The question of resistance was then discussed; but the people were without leaders.  Javanel was living in banishment at Geneva ­old and worn out, and unable to lead them.  Besides, the Vaudois, before taking up arms, wished to exhaust every means of conciliation.  Ambassadors next came from Switzerland, who urged them to submit to the clemency of the Duke, and suggested that they should petition him for permission to leave the country!  The Vaudois were stupefied by the proposal.  They were thus asked, without a contest, to submit to all the ignominy and punishment of defeat, and to terminate their very existence as a people!  The ambassadors represented that resistance to the combined armies of Savoy, France, and Spain, without leaders, and with less than three thousand combatants, was little short of madness.

Nevertheless, a number of the Vaudois determined not to leave their valleys without an attempt to hold them, as they had so often successfully done before.  The united armies of France and Savoy then advanced upon the valleys, and arrangements were made for a general attack upon the Vaudois position on Easter Monday, 1686, at break of day, ­the Duke of Savoy assailing the valley of Luzerna, while Catinat, commander of the French troops, advanced on St. Martin.  Catinat made the first attack on the village of St. Germain, and was beaten back with heavy loss after six hours’ fighting.  Henry Arnaud, the Huguenot pastor from Die in Dauphiny, of which he was a native, particularly distinguished himself by his bravery in this affair, and from that time began to be regarded as one of the most promising of the Vaudois leaders.

Catinat renewed the attack on the following day with the assistance of fresh troops; and he eventually succeeded in overcoming the resistance of the handful of men who opposed him, and sweeping the valley of St. Martin.  Men, women, and children were indiscriminately put to the sword.  In some of the parishes no resistance was offered, the inhabitants submitting to the Duke’s proclamation; but whether they submitted or not, made no difference in their treatment, which was barbarous in all cases.

Meanwhile, the Duke of Savoy’s army advanced from the vale of Luzerna upon the celebrated heights of Angrogna, and assailed the Vaudois assembled there at all points.  The resistance lasted for an entire day, and when night fell, both forces slept on the ground upon which they had fought, kindling their bivouac fires on both sides.  On the following day the attack was renewed, and again the battle raged until night.  Then Don Gabriel of Savoy, who was in command, resolved to employ the means which Catinat had found so successful:  he sent forward messengers to inform the Vaudois that their brethren of the Val St. Martin had laid down their arms and been pardoned, inviting them to follow their example.  The result of further parley was, that on the express promise of his Royal Highness that they should receive pardon, and that neither their persons nor those of their wives or children should be touched, the credulous Vaudois, still hoping for fair treatment, laid down their arms, and permitted the ducal troops to take possession of their entrenchments!

The same treacherous strategy proved equally successful against the defenders of the Pra du Tour.  After beating back their assailants and firmly holding their ground for an entire day, they were told of the surrender of their compatriots, promised a full pardon, and assured of life and liberty, on condition of immediately ceasing further hostilities.  They accordingly consented to lay down their arms, and the impregnable fastness of the Pra du Tour, which had never been taken by force, thus fell before falsehood and perfidy.  “The defenders of this ancient sanctuary of the Church,” says Dr. Huston, “were loaded with irons; their children were carried off and scattered through the Roman Catholic districts; their wives and daughters were violated, massacred, or made captives.  As for those that still remained, all whom the enemy could seize became a prey devoted to carnage, spoliation, fire, excesses which cannot be told, and outrages which it would be impossible to describe."

“All the valleys are now exterminated,” wrote a French officer to his friends; “the people are all killed, hanged, or massacred.”  The Duke, Victor Amadeus, issued a decree, declaring the Vaudois to be guilty of high treason, and confiscating all their property.  Arnaud says as many as eleven thousand persons were killed, or perished in prison, or died of want, in consequence of this horrible Easter festival of blood.  Six thousand were taken prisoners, and the greater number of these died in gaol of hunger and disease.  When the prisons were opened, and the wretched survivors were ordered to quit the country, forbidden to return to it on pain of death, only about two thousand six hundred contrived to struggle across the frontier into Switzerland.

And thus at last the Vaudois Church seemed utterly uprooted and destroyed.  What the Dukes of Savoy had so often attempted in vain was now accomplished.  A second St. Bartholomew had been achieved, and Rome rang with Te Deums in praise of the final dispersion of the Vaudois.  The Pope sent to Victor Amadeus II. a special brief, congratulating him on the extirpation of heresy in his dominions; and Piedmontese and Savoyards, good Catholics, were presented with the lands from which the Vaudois had been driven.  Those of them who remained in the country “unconverted” were as so many scattered fugitives in the mountains ­sheep wandering about without a shepherd.  Some of the Vaudois, for the sake of their families and homes, pretended conversion; but these are admitted to have been comparatively few in number.  In short, the “Israel of the Alps” seemed to be no more, and its people utterly and for ever dispersed.  Pierre Allix, the Huguenot refugee pastor in England, in his “History of the Ancient Churches of Piedmont,” dedicated to William III., regarded the Vaudois Church as obliterated ­“their present desolation seeming so universal, that the world looks upon them no otherwise than as irrecoverably lost, and finally destroyed.”

Three years passed.  The expelled Vaudois reached Switzerland in greatly reduced numbers, many women and children having perished on their mountain journey.  The inhabitants of Geneva received them with great hospitality, clothing and feeding them until they were able to proceed on their way northward.  Some went into Brandenburg, some into Holland, while others settled to various branches of industry in different parts of Switzerland.  Many of them, however, experienced great difficulty in obtaining a settlement.  Those who had entered the Palatinate were driven thence by war, and those who had entered Wurtemburg were expelled by the Grand Duke, who feared incurring the ire of Louis XIV. by giving them shelter and protection.  Hence many little bands of the Vaudois refugees long continued to wander along the valley of the Rhine, unable to find rest for their weary feet.  There were others trying to earn, a precarious living in Geneva and Lausanne, and along the shores of Lake Leman.  Some of these were men who had fought under Javanel in his heroic combats with the Piedmontese; and they thought with bitter grief of the manner in which they had fallen into the trap of Catinat and the Duke of Savoy, and abandoned their country almost without a struggle.

Then it was that the thought occurred to them whether they might not yet strike a blow for the recovery of their valleys!  The idea seemed chimerical in the extreme.  A few hundred destitute men, however valiant, to think of recovering a country defended by the combined armies of France and Savoy!  Javanel, the old Vaudois hero, disabled by age and wounds, was still alive ­an exile at Geneva ­and he was consulted on the subject.  Javanel embraced the project with, enthusiasm; and the invasion of the valleys was resolved upon!  A more daring, and apparently more desperate enterprise, was never planned.

Who was to be their leader?  Javanel himself was disabled.  Though his mind was clear, and his patriotic ardour unquenched, his body was weak; and all that he could do was to encourage and advise.  But he found a noble substitute in Henry Arnaud, the Huguenot refugee, who had already distinguished himself in his resistance to the troops of Savoy.  And Arnaud was now ready to offer up his life for the recovery of the valleys.

The enterprise was kept as secret as possible, yet not so close as to prevent the authorities of Berne obtaining some inkling of their intentions.  Three confidential messengers were first dispatched to the valleys to ascertain the disposition of the population, and more particularly to examine the best route by which an invasion might be made.  On their return with the necessary information, the plan was settled by Javanel, as it was to be carried out by Arnaud.  In the meantime, the magistrates of Geneva, having obtained information as to the intended movement, desirous of averting the hostility of France and Savoy, required Javanel to leave their city, and he at once retired to Ouchy, a little farther up the lake.

The greatest difficulty experienced by the Vaudois in carrying out their enterprise was the want of means.  They were poor, destitute refugees, without arms, ammunition, or money to buy them.  To obtain the requisite means, Arnaud made a journey into Holland, for the purpose of communicating the intended project to William of Orange.  William entered cordially into the proposed plan, recommended Arnaud to several Huguenot officers, who afterwards took part in the expedition, supplied him with assistance in money, and encouraged him to carry out the design.  Several private persons in Holland ­amongst others the post-master-general at Leyden ­also largely contributed to the enterprise.

At length all was ready.  The men who intended to take part in the expedition came together from various quarters.  Some came from Brandenburg, others from Bavaria and distant parts of Switzerland; and among those who joined them was a body of French Huguenots, willing to share in their dangers and their glory.  One of their number, Captain Turrel, like Arnaud, a native of Die in Dauphiny, was even elected as the general of the expedition.  Their rendez-vous was in the forest of Prangins, near Nyon, on the north bank of the Lake of Geneva; and there, on the night of the 16th of August, 1689, they met in the hollow recesses of the wood.  Fifteen boats had been got together, and lay off the shore.  After a fervent prayer by the pastor-general Arnaud, imploring a blessing upon the enterprise, as many of the men as could embark got into the boats.  As the lake is there at its narrowest, they soon rowed across to the other side, near the town of Yvoire, and disembarked on the shore of Savoy.  Arnaud had posted sentinels in all directions, and the little body waited the arrival of the remainder of their comrades from the opposite shore.  They had all crossed the lake by two o’clock in the morning; and about eight hundred men, divided into nineteen companies, each provided with its captain, were now ready to march.

At the very commencement, however, they met with a misfortune.  One of the pastors, having gone to seek a guide in the village near at hand, was seized as a prisoner by the local authorities, and carried off.  On this, the Vaudois, seeing that they were treated as enemies, sent a party to summon Yvoire to open its gates, and it obeyed.  The lord of the manor and the receiver of taxes were taken as hostages, and made to accompany the troop until they reached the next commune, when they were set at liberty, and replaced by other hostages.

When it became known that the little army of Vaudois had set out on their march, troops were dispatched from all quarters to intercept them and cut them off; and it was believed that their destruction was inevitable.  “What possible chance is there,” asked the Historic Mercury of the day, “of this small body of men penetrating to their native country through the masses of French and Piedmontese troops accumulating from all sides, without being crushed and exterminated?” “It is impossible,” wrote the Leyden Gazette, “notwithstanding whatever precautions they may take, that the Vaudois can extricate themselves without certain death, and the Court of Savoy may therefore regard itself safe so far as they are concerned.”

No sooner had the boats left the shore at Nyon for the further side of the lake than the young seigneur of Prangins, who had been watching their movements, rode off at full speed to inform the French resident at Geneva of the departure of the Vaudois; and orders were at once dispatched to Lyons for a strong body of cavalry to march immediately towards Savoy to cut them off.  But the Vaudois had well matured their plans, and took care to keep out of reach of the advancing enemy.  Their route at first lay up the valleys towards the mountains, whose crests they followed, from glacier to glacier, in places almost inaccessible to regular troops, and thus they eluded the combined forces of France and Savoy, which, vainly endeavoured to bar their passage.

The first day’s march led them into the valley of the Arve, by the Col de Voirons, from which they took their last view of the peaceful Lake of Geneva; thence they proceeded by the pyramidal mountain called the Mole to the little town of Viu, where they rested for two hours, starting again by moonlight, and passing through St. Joire, where the magistrates brought out a great cask of wine, and placed it in the middle of the street for their refreshment.  The little army, however, did not halt there, but marched on to the bare hill of Carman, where, after solemn prayer, they encamped about midnight, sleeping on the bare ground.  Next day found them in front of the small walled town of Cluse, in the rocky gorge of the Arve.  The authorities shut the gates, on which the Vaudois threatened to storm the place, when the gates were opened, and they marched through the town, the inhabitants standing under arms along both sides of the street.  Here the Vaudois purchased a store of food and wine, which they duly paid for.

They then proceeded on to Sallanches, where resistance was threatened.  They found a body of men posted on the wooden bridge which there separated the village of St. Martin from Sallanches; but rushing forward, the defenders of the bridge fled, and the little army passed over and proceeded to range themselves in order of battle over against the town, which was defended by six hundred troops.  The Vaudois having threatened to burn the town, and kill the hostages whom they had taken on the slightest show of resistance, the threat had its effect, and they were permitted to pass without further opposition, encamping for the night at a little village about a league further on.  And thus closed the second day’s march.

The third day they passed over the mountains of Lez Pras and Haute Luce, seven thousand feet above the sea-level, a long and fatiguing march.  At one place the guide lost his way, and rain fell heavily, soaking the men to the skin.  They spent a wretched night in some empty stables at the hamlet of St. Nicholas de Verose; and started earlier than usual on the following morning, addressing themselves to the formidable work of climbing the Col Bonhomme, which they passed with the snow up to their knees.  They were now upon the crest of the Alps, looking down upon the valley of the Isère, into which they next descended.  They traversed the valley without resistance, passing through St. Germain and Scez, turning aside at the last-mentioned place up the valley of Tignes, thereby avoiding the French troops lying in wait for them in the neighbourhood of Moutiers, lower down the valley of the Isère.  Later in the evening they reached Laval, at the foot of Mont Iseran; and here Arnaud, for the first time during eight days, snatched a few hours’ sleep on a bed in the village.

The sixth day saw the little army climbing the steep slopes of Mont Iseran, where the shepherds gave them milk and wished them God-speed; but they warned them that a body of troops lay in their way at Mont Cenis.  On they went ­over the mountain, and along the crest of the chain, until they saw Bonneval in the valley beneath them, and there they descended, passing on to Bessant in the valley of the Arc, where they encamped for the night.

Next day they marched on Mont Cenis, which they ascended.  As they were crossing the mountain a strange incident occurred.  The Vaudois saw before them a large convoy of mules loaded with baggage.  And shortly after there came up the carriage and equipage of some grand personage.  It proved to be Cardinal Ranuzzi, on his way to Rome to take part in the election of Pope Alexander VIII.  The Vaudois seized the mules carrying the baggage, which contained important documents compromising Louis XIV. with Victor Amadeus; and it is said that in consequence of their loss, the Cardinal, who himself aspired to the tiara, afterwards died of chagrin, crying in his last moments, “My papers! oh, my papers!”

The passage of the Great and Little Cenis was effected with great difficulty.  The snow lay thick on the ground, though it was the month of August, and the travellers descended the mountain of Tourliers by a precipice rather than a road.  When night fell, they were still scattered on the mountain, and lay down to snatch a brief sleep, overcome with hunger and fatigue.  Next morning they gathered together again, and descended into the sterile valley of the Gaillon, and shortly after proceeded to ascend the mountain opposite.

They were now close upon the large towns.  Susa lay a little to the east, and Exilles was directly in their way.  The garrison of the latter place came out to meet them, and from the crest of the mountain rolled large stones and flung grenades down upon the invaders.  Here the Vaudois lost some men and prisoners, and finding the further ascent impracticable, they retreated into the valley from which they had come, and again ascended the steep slope of Tourliers in order to turn the heights on which the French troops were posted.  At last, after great fatigue and peril, unable to proceed further, they gained the crest of the mountain, and sounded their clarions to summon the scattered body.

After a halt of two hours they proceeded along the ridge, and perceived through the mist a body of soldiers marching along with drums beating; it was the garrison of Exilles.  The Vaudois were recognised and followed by the soldiers at a distance.  Proceeding a little further, they came in sight of the long valley of the Doire, and looking down into it, not far from the bridge of Salabertrans, they discerned some thirty-six bivouac fires burning on the plain, indicating the presence of a large force.  These were their enemies ­a well-appointed army of some two thousand five hundred men ­whom they were at last to meet in battle.  Nothing discouraged, they descended into the valley, and the advanced guard shortly came in contact with the enemy’s outposts.  Firing between them went on for an hour and a half, and then night fell.

The Vaudois leaders held a council to determine what they should do; and the result was, that an immediate attack was resolved upon, in three bodies.  The principal attack was made on the bridge, the passage of which was defended by a strong body of French soldiers, under the command of Colonel de Larrey.  On the advance of the Vaudois in the darkness, they were summoned to stand, but continued to advance, when the enemy fired a volley on them, killing three men.  Then the Vaudois brigade rushed to the bridge, but seeing a strong body on the other side preparing to fire again, Arnaud called upon his men to lie down, and the volley went over their heads.  Then Turrel, the Vaudois captain, calling out “Forward! the bridge is won!” the Vaudois jumped to their feet and rushed on.  The two wings at the same time concentrated their fire on the defenders, who broke and retired, and the bridge was won.  But at the further side, where the French were in overpowering numbers, they refused to give way, and poured down their fire on their assailants.  The Vaudois boldly pressed on.  They burst through the French, force, cutting it in two; and fresh men pouring over, the battle was soon won.  The French, commander was especially chagrined at having been beaten by a parcel of cowherds.  “Is it possible,” he exclaimed, “that I have lost both the battle and my honour?”

The rising moon showed the ground strewed with about seven hundred dead; the Vaudois having lost only twenty-two killed and eight wounded.  The victors filled their pouches with ammunition picked up on the field, took possession of as many arms and as much provisions as they could carry, and placing the remainder in a heap over some barrels of powder, they affixed a lighted match and withdrew.  A tremendous explosion shook the mountains, and echoed along the valley, and the remains of the French camp were blown to atoms.  The Vaudois then proceeded at once to climb the mountain of Sci, which had to be crossed in order to enter the valley of Pragelas.

It was early on a Sabbath morning, the ninth day of their march, that the Vaudois reached the crest of the mountain overlooking Fenestrelles, and saw spread out before them the beloved country which they had come to win.  They halted for the stragglers, and when these had come up, Arnaud made them kneel down and thank God for permitting them again to see their native land; himself offering up an eloquent prayer, which cheered and strengthened them for further effort.  And then they descended into the valley of Pragelas, passing the river Clusone, and halting to rest at the little village of La Traverse.  They were now close to the Vaudois strongholds, and in a country every foot of which was familiar to most of them.  But their danger was by no means over; for the valleys were swarming with dragoons and foot-soldiers; and when they had shaken off those of France, they had still to encounter the troops of Savoy.

Late in the afternoon the little army again set out for the valley of St. Martin, passing the night in the mountain hamlet of Jussand, the highest on the Col du Pis.  Next day they descended the Col near Serás, and first came in contact with the troops of Savoy; but these having taken to flight, no collision occurred; and on the following day the Vaudois arrived, without further molestation, at the famous Balsille.

This celebrated stronghold is situated in front of the narrow defile of Macel, which leads into the valley of St. Martin.  It is a rampart of rock, standing at the entrance to the pass, and is of such natural strength, that but little art was needed to make it secure against any force that could be brought against it.  There is only one approach to it from the valley of St. Martin, which is very difficult; a portion of the way being in a deep wooded gorge, where a few men could easily arrest the progress of an army.  The rock itself consists of three natural stages or terraces, the highest part rising steep as a wall, being surmounted by a natural platform.  The mountain was well supplied with water, which gushed forth in several places.  Caverns had been hollowed out in the sides of the rocks, which served as hiding-places during the persécutions which so often ravaged the valleys; and these were now available for storehouses and barracks.

The place was, indeed, so intimately identified with the past sufferings and triumphs of the Vaudois, and it was, besides, so centrally situated, and so secure, that they came to regard its possession as essential to the success of their enterprise.  The aged Javanel, who drew up the plan of the invasion before the eight hundred set out on their march, attached the greatest importance to its early occupation.  “Spare no labour nor pains,” he said, in the memorandum of directions which he drew up, “in fortifying this post, which will be your most secure fortress.  Do not quit it unless in the utmost extremity....  You will, of course, be told that you cannot hold it always, and that rather than not succeed in their object, all France and Italy will gather together against you....  But were it the whole world, and only yourselves against all, fear ye the Almighty alone, who is your protection.”

On the arrival of the Vaudois at the Balsille, they discerned a small body of troops advancing towards them by the Col du Pis, higher up the valley.  They proved to be Piedmontese, forty-six in number, sent to occupy the pass.  They were surrounded, disarmed, and put to death, and their arms were hid away amongst the rocks.  No quarter was given on either side during this war; the Vaudois had no prisons in which to place their captives; and they themselves, when taken, were treated not as soldiers, but as bandits, being instantly hung on the nearest trees.  The Vaudois did not, however, yet take up their permanent position at the Balsille, being desirous of rousing the valleys towards the south.  The day following, accordingly, they marched to Pralis, in the valley of the Germanasca, when, for the first time since their exile, they celebrated Divine worship in one of the temples of their ancestors.

They were now on their way towards the valley of the Pelice, to reach which it was necessary that they should pass over the Col Julian.  An army of three thousand Piedmontese barred their way, but nothing daunted by the great disparity of force, the Vaudois, divided into three bodies, as at Salabertrans, mounted to the assault.  As they advanced, the Piedmontese cried, “Come on, ye devil’s Barbets, there are more than three thousand of us, and we occupy all the posts!” In less than half an hour the whole of the posts were carried, the pass was cleared, and the Piedmontese fled down the further side of the mountain, leaving all their stores behind them.  On the following day the Vaudois reached Bobi, drove out the new settlers, and resumed possession of the lands of the commune.  Thus, after the lapse of only fourteen days, this little band of heroes had marched from the shores of the Lake of Geneva, by difficult mountain-passes, through bands of hostile troops, which they had defeated in two severe fights, and at length reached the very centre of the Vaudois valleys, and entered into possession of the “Promised Land.”

They resolved to celebrate their return to the country of their fathers by an act of solemn worship on the Sabbath following.  The whole body assembled on the hill of Silaoud, commanding an extensive prospect of the valley, and with their arms piled, and resting under the shade of the chestnut-trees which crown the hill, they listened to an eloquent sermon from the pastor Montoux, who preached to them standing on a platform, consisting of a door resting upon two rocks, after which they chanted the 74th Psalm, to the clash of arms.  They then proceeded to enter into a solemn covenant with each other, renewing the ancient oath of union of the valleys, and swearing never to rest from their enterprise, even if they should be reduced to only three or four in number, until they had “re-established in the valleys the kingdom of the Gospel.”  Shortly after, they proceeded to divide themselves into two bodies, for the purpose of occupying simultaneously, as recommended by Javanel, the two valleys of the Pelice and St. Martin.

But the trials and sufferings they had already endured were as nothing compared with those they were now about to experience.  Armies concentrated on them from all points.  They were pressed by the French on the north and west, and by the Piedmontese on the south and east.  Encouraged by their success at Bobi, the Vaudois rashly attacked Villar, lower down the valley, and were repulsed with loss.  From thence they retired up the valley of Rora, and laid it waste; the enemy, in like manner, destroying the town of Bobi and laying waste the neighbourhood.

The war now became one of reprisals and mutual devastation, the two parties seeking to deprive each other of shelter and the means of subsistence.  The Vaudois could only obtain food by capturing the enemy’s convoys, levying contributions from the plains, and making incursions into Dauphiny.  The enterprise on which they had entered seemed to become more hopeless from day to day.  This handful of men, half famished and clothed in rags, had now arrayed against them twenty-two thousand French and Sardinians, provided with all the munitions of war.  That they should have been able to stand against them for two whole months, now fighting in one place, and perhaps the next day some twenty miles across the mountains in another, with almost invariable success, seems little short of a miracle.  But flesh and blood could not endure such toil and privations much longer.  No wonder that the faint-hearted began to despair.  Turrel, the military commander, seeing no chance of a prosperous issue, withdrew across the French frontier, followed by the greater number of the Vaudois from Dauphiny; and there remained only the Italian Vaudois, still unconquered in spirit, under the leadership of their pastor-general Arnaud, who never appeared greater than in times of difficulty and danger.

With his diminished forces, and the increasing numbers of the enemy, Arnaud found it impossible to hold both the valleys, as intended; besides, winter was approaching, and the men must think of shelter and provisions during that season, if resistance was to be prolonged.  It was accordingly determined to concentrate their little force upon the Balsille, and all haste was made to reach that stronghold without further delay.  Their knowledge of the mountain heights and passes enabled them to evade their enemies, who were watching for them along the valleys, and they passed from the heights of Rodoret to the summit of the Balsille by night, before it was known that they were in the neighbourhood.  They immediately set to work to throw up entrenchments and erect barricades, so as to render the place as secure as possible.  Foraging parties were sent out for provisions, to lay in for the winter, and they returned laden with corn from the valley of Pragelas.  At the little hamlet of Balsille they repaired the mill, and set it a-going, the rivulet which flowed down from the mountain supplying abundance of water-power.

It was at the end of October that the little band of heroes took possession of the Balsille, and they held it firmly all through the winter.  For more than six months they beat back every force that was sent against them.  The first attack was made by the Marquis d’Ombrailles at the head of a French detachment; but though the enemy reached the village of Balsille, they were compelled to retire, partly by the bullets of the defenders, and partly by the snow, which was falling heavily.  The Marquis de Parelles next advanced, and summoned the Vaudois to surrender; but in vain.  “Our storms are still louder than your cannon,” replied Arnaud, “and yet our rocks are not shaken.”  Winter having set in, the besiegers refrained for a time from further attacks, but strictly guarded all the passes leading to the fortress; while the garrison, availing themselves of their knowledge of the locality, made frequent sorties into the adjoining valleys, as well as into those of Dauphiny, for the purpose of collecting provisions, in which they were usually successful.

When the fine weather arrived, suitable for a mountain campaign, the French general, Catinat, assembled a strong force, and marched into the valley, determined to make short work of this little nest of bandits on the Balsille.  On Sunday morning, the 30th of April, 1690, while Arnaud was preaching to his flock, the sentinels on the look-out discovered the enemy’s forces swarming up the valley.  Soon other bodies were seen approaching by the Col du Pis and the Col du Clapier, while a French regiment, supported by the Savoyard militia, climbed Mont Guinevert, and cut off all retreat in that quarter.  In short, the Balsille was completely invested.

A general assault was made on the position on the 2nd of May, under the direction of General Catinat in person.  Three French regiments, supported by a regiment of dragoons, opened the attack in front; Colonel de Parat, who commanded the leading regiment, saying to his soldiers as they advanced, “My friends, we must sleep to-night in that barrack,” pointing to the rude Vaudois fort on the summit of the Balsille.  They advanced with great bravery; but the barricade could not be surmounted, while they were assailed by a perfect storm of bullets from the defenders, securely posted above.

Catinat next ordered the troops stationed on the Guinevert to advance from that direction, so as to carry the position from behind.  But the assailants found unexpected intrenchments in their way, from behind which the Vaudois maintained a heavy fire, that eventually drove them back, their retreat being accelerated by a shower of stones and a blinding fall of snow and hail.  In the meantime, the attack on the bastion in front continued, and the Vaudois, seeing the French troops falling back in disorder, made a vigorous sortie, and destroyed the whole remaining force, excepting fifteen men, who fled, bare-headed and without arms, and carried to the camp the news of their total defeat.

A Savoyard officer thus briefly described the issue of the disastrous affair in a letter to a friend:  “I have only time to tell you that the French have failed in their attack on the Balsille, and they have been obliged to retire after having lost one hundred and fifty soldiers, three captains, besides subalterns and wounded, including a colonel and a lieutenant-colonel who have been made prisoners, with the two sergeants who remained behind to help them.  The lieutenant-colonel was surprised at finding in the fort some nineteen or twenty officers in gold and silver lace, who treated him as a prisoner of war and very humanely, even allowing him to go in search of the surgeon-major of his regiment for the purpose of bringing him into the place, and doing all that was necessary.”

Catinat did not choose again to renew the attack in person, or to endanger his reputation by a further defeat at the hands of men whom he had described as a nest of paltry bandits, but entrusted the direction of further operations to the Marquis de Feuquieres, who had his laurels still to win, while Catinat had his to lose.  The Balsille was again completely invested by the 12th of May, according to the scheme of operations prepared by Catinat, and the Marquis received by anticipation the title of “Conqueror of the Barbets.”  The entire mountain was surrounded, all the passes were strongly guarded, guns were planted in positions which commanded the Vaudois fort, more particularly on the Guinevert; and the capture or extermination of the Vaudois was now regarded as a matter of certainty.  The attacking army was divided into five corps.  Each soldier was accompanied by a pioneer carrying a fascine, in order to form a cover against the Vaudois bullets as they advanced.

Several days elapsed before all the preliminaries for the grand attack were completed, and then the Marquis ordered a white flag to be hoisted, and a messenger was sent forward, inviting a parley with the defenders of the Balsille.  The envoy was asked what he wanted.  “Your immediate surrender!” was the reply.  “You shall each of you receive five hundred louis d’or, and good passports for your retirement to a foreign country; but if you resist, you will be infallibly destroyed.”  “That is as the Lord shall will,” replied the Vaudois messenger.

The defenders refused to capitulate on any terms.  The Marquis himself then wrote to the Vaudois, offering them terms on the above basis, but threatening, in case of refusal, that every man of them would be hung.  Arnaud’s reply was heroic.  “We are not subjects,” he said, “of the King of France; and that monarch not being master of this country, we can enter into no treaty with his servants.  We are in the heritage which our fathers have left to us, and we hope, with the help of the God of armies, to live and die in it, even though there may remain only ten of us to defend it.”  That same night the Vaudois made a vigorous sortie, and killed a number of the besiegers:  this was their final answer to the summons to surrender.

On the 14th of May the battery on Mont Guinevert was opened, and the enemy’s cannon began to play upon the little fort and bastions, which, being only of dry stones, were soon dismantled.  The assault was then made simultaneously on three sides; and after a stout resistance, the Vaudois retired from their lower intrenchments, and retreated to those on the higher ledges of the mountain.  They continued their resistance until night, and then, taking counsel together, and feeling that the place was no longer defensible in the face of so overpowering a force, commanded, as it was, at the same time by the cannon on the adjoining heights, they determined to evacuate the Balsille, after holding it for a period of nearly seven months.

A thick mist having risen up from the valley, the Vaudois set out, late at night, under the guidance of Captain Poulat, a native of the district, who well knew the paths in the mountains.  They climbed up on to the heights above, over icy slopes, passing across gaping crevices and along almost perpendicular rocks, admitting of their passage only in single file, sometimes dragging themselves along on their bellies, clinging to the rocks or to the tufts of grass, occasionally resting and praying, but never despairing.  At length they succeeded, after a long detour of the mountain crests, in gaining the northern slope of Guinevert.  Here they came upon and surprised the enemy’s outpost, which fled towards the main body; and the Vaudois passed on, panting and half dead with fatigue.  When the morning broke, and the French proceeded to penetrate the last redoubt on the Balsille, lo, it was empty!  The defenders had abandoned it, and they could scarcely believe their eyes when they saw the dangerous mountain escarpment by which they had escaped in the night.  Looking across the valley, far off, they saw the fugitives, thrown into relief by the snow amidst which they marched, like a line of ants, apparently making for the mass of the central Alps.

For three days they wandered from place to place, gradually moving southwards, their object now being to take up their position at the Pra du Tour, the ancient fortress of the Barbas in the valley of Angrogna.  Before, however, they could reach this stronghold, and while they were still at Pramol in the valley of Perosa, news of the most unexpected kind reached them, which opened up the prospect of their deliverance.  The news was no other than this ­Savoy had declared war against France!

A rupture between the two powers had for some time been imminent.  Louis XIV. had become more and more exacting in his demands on the Duke of Savoy, until the latter felt himself in a position of oppressive vassalage.  Louis had even intimated his intention of occupying Verrua and the citadel of Turin; and the Duke, having previously ascertained through his cousin, Prince Eugene, the willingness of the Emperor of Austria, pressed by William of Orange, to assist him in opposing the pretensions of France, he at length took up his stand and declared war against Louis.

The Vaudois were now a power in the state, and both parties alike appealed to them for help, promising them great favours.  But the Vaudois, notwithstanding the treachery and cruelty of successive Dukes of Savoy, were true to their native prince.  They pledged themselves to hold the valleys and defend the mountain passes against France.

In the first engagements which took place between the French and the Piedmontese, the latter were overpowered, and the Duke became a fugitive.  Where did he find refuge?  In the valleys of the Vaudois, in a secluded spot in the village of Rora, behind the Pelice, he found a safe asylum amidst the people whose fathers he had hunted, proscribed, and condemned to death.

But the tide of war turned, and the French were eventually driven out of Piedmont.  Many of the Vaudois, who had settled in Brandenburg, Holland, and Switzerland, returned and settled in the valleys; and though the Dukes of Savoy, with their accustomed treachery, more than once allowed persecution to recommence, their descendants continue to enjoy the land, and to worship after the manner of their fathers down to the present day.

The Vaudois long laboured under disabilities, and continued to be deprived of many social and civil rights.  But they patiently bided their time; and the time at length arrived.  In 1848 their emancipation was one of the great questions of North Italy.  It was taken up and advocated by the most advanced minds of Piedmont.  The petition to Charles Albert in their favour was in a few days covered with the names of its greatest patriots, including those of Balbo, Cavour, and D’Azeglio.  Their emancipation was at length granted, and the Vaudois now enjoy the same rights and liberties as the other subjects of Victor Emanuel.

Nor is the Vaudois Church any longer confined to the valleys, but it has become extended of late years all over Italy ­to Milan, Florence, Brescia, Verona, Genoa, Leghorn, Naples, Palermo, Cataneo, Venice, and even to Rome itself.  In most of these places there are day-schools and Sunday-schools, besides churches.  The new church at Venice, held in the Cavagnis palace, seems to have proved especially successful, the Sunday services being regularly attended by from three to four hundred persons; while the day-schools in connection with the churches at Turin, Leghorn, Naples, and Cataneo have proved very successful.

Thus, in the course of a few years, thirty-three Vaudois churches and stations, with about an equal number of schools, have been established in various parts of Italy.  The missionaries report that the greatest difficulties they have to encounter arise from the incredulity and indifference which are the natural heritage of the Romish Church; but that, nevertheless, the work makes satisfactory progress ­the good seed is being planted, and will yet bring forth its increase in God’s due time.

Finally, it cannot but be acknowledged that the people of the valleys, in so tenaciously and conscientiously adhering to their faith, through good and through evil, during so many hundred years, have set a glorious example to Piedmont, and have possibly been in no small degree instrumental in establishing the reign of right and of liberty in Italy.