RETURN TO THE VALLEYS.
Longings after their Valleys--Thoughts of Returning--Their
Reassembling--Cross Lake Leman--Begin their March--The
“Eight Hundred”--Cross Mont Cénis--Great Victory in the
Valley of the Dora--First View of their Mountains--Worship
on the Mountain-top--Enter their Valleys--Pass their First
Sunday at Prali--Worship.
Now we open the bright page of the Vaudois history. We have seen nearly
3,000 Waldensian exiles enter the gates of Geneva, the feeble remnant
of a population of from 14,000 to 16,000. One city could not contain
them all, and arrangements were made for distributing the expatriated
Vaudois among the Reformed cantons. The revocation of the Edict of
Nantes had a little before thrown thousands of French Protestants upon
the hospitality of the Swiss; and now the arrival of the Waldensian
refugees brought with it yet heavier demands on the public and private
charity of the cantons; but the response of Protestant Helvetia was
equally cordial in the case of the last comers as in that of the first,
and perhaps even more so, seeing their destitution was greater. Nor
were the Vaudois ungrateful. “Next to God, whose tender mercies have
preserved us from being entirely consumed,” said they to their kind
benefactors, “we are indebted to you alone for life and liberty.”
Several of the German princes opened their States to these exiles;
but the influence of their great enemy, Louis XIV., was then too
powerful in these parts to permit of their residence being altogether
an agreeable one. Constantly watched by his emissaries, and their
patrons tampered with, they were moved about from place to place. The
question of their permanent settlement in the future was beginning to
be anxiously discussed. The project of carrying them across the sea in
the ships of Holland, and planting them at the Cape, was even talked
of. The idea of being separated for ever from their native land, dearer
in exile than when they dwelt in it, gave them intolerable anguish. Was
it not possible to reassemble their scattered colonies, and marching
back to their Valleys, rekindle their ancient lamp in them? This was
the question which, after three years of exile, the Vaudois began to
put to themselves. As they wandered by the banks of the Rhine, or
traversed the German plains, they feasted their imaginations on their
far-off homes. The chestnuts shading their former abodes, the vine
bending gracefully over their portal, and the meadow in front, which
the crystal torrent kept perpetually bright, and whose murmur sweetly
blended with the evening psalm, all rose before their eyes. They never
knelt to pray but it was with their faces turned toward their grand
mountains, where slept their martyred fathers. Attempts had been made
by the Duke of Savoy to people their territory by settling in it a
mongrel race, partly Irish and partly Piedmontese; but the land knew
not the strangers, and refused to yield its strength to them. The
Vaudois had sent spies to examine its condition;[136] its fields lay
untilled, its vines unpruned, nor had its ruins been raised up; it was
almost as desolate as on the day when its sons had been driven out of
it. It seemed to them that the land was waiting their return.
At length the yearning of their heart could no longer be repressed. The
march back to their Valleys is one of the most wonderful exploits ever
performed by any people. It is famous in history by the name of “La
Rentrée Glorieuse.” The parallel event which will recur to the mind of
the scholar is, of course, the retreat of “the ten thousand Greeks.”
The patriotism and bravery of both will be admitted, but a candid
comparison will, we think, incline one to assign the palm of heroism to
the return of “the eight hundred.”
The day fixed on for beginning their expedition was the 10th of June,
1688. Quitting their various cantonments in Switzerland, and travelling
by by-roads, they traversed the country by night, and assembled at Bex,
a small town in the southern extremity of the territory of Bern. Their
secret march was soon known to the senates of Zurich, Bern, and Geneva;
and, foreseeing that the departure of the exiles would compromise them
with the Popish powers, their Excellencies took measures to prevent
it. A bark laden with arms for their use was seized on the Lake of
Geneva. The inhabitants of the Valais, in concert with the Savoyards,
at the first alarm seized the Bridge of St. Maurice, the key of the
Rhône Valley, and stopped the expedition. Thus were they, for the time,
compelled to abandon their project.
To extinguish all hopes of their return to the Valleys, they were anew
distributed over Germany. But scarcely had this second dispersion been
effected, when war broke out; the French troops overran the Palatinate,
and the Vaudois settled there, dreading, not without reason, the
soldiers of Louis XIV., retired before them, and retook the road to
Switzerland. The Protestant cantons, pitying these poor exiles, tossed
from country to country by political storms, settled them once more in
their former allotments. Meanwhile, the scenes were shifting rapidly
around the expatriated Vaudois, and with eyes uplifted they awaited the
issue. They saw their protector, William of Orange, mount the throne
of England. They saw their powerful enemy Louis XIV. attacked at once
by the emperor, and humiliated by the Dutch. They saw their own Prince
Victor Amadeus withdraw his soldiers from Savoy, seeing that he needed
them to defend Piedmont. It seemed to them that an invisible Hand was
opening their path back to their own land. Encouraged by these tokens,
they began to arrange a second time for their departure.
The place of appointed rendezvous was a wood on the northern shore of
Lake Leman, near the town of Noyon. For days before they continued to
converge, in scattered bands, and by stealthy marches, on the selected
point. On the decisive evening, the 16th of August, 1689, a general
muster took place under cover of the friendly wood of Prangins. Having
by solemn prayer commended their enterprise to God, they embarked on
the lake, and crossed by star-light. Their means of transport would
have been deficient but for a circumstance which threatened at first to
obstruct their expedition, but which, in the issue, greatly facilitated
it. Curiosity had drawn numbers to this part of the lake, and the boats
that brought hither the sight-seers furnished more amply the means of
escape to the Vaudois.
At this crisis, as on so many previous ones, a distinguished man arose
to lead them. Henri Arnaud, who was at the head of the 800 fighting men
who now set out for their native possessions, had at first discharged
the office of pastor, but the troubles of his nation compelling him to
leave the Valleys, he had served in the armies of the Prince of Orange.
Of decided piety, ardent patriotism, and of great decision and courage,
he presented a beautiful instance of the union of the pastoral and the
military character. It is hard to say whether his soldiers listened
more reverentially to the exhortations he at times delivered to them
from the pulpit, or to the orders he gave them on the field of battle.
Arriving on the southern shore of the lake, these 800 Vaudois bent
their knees in prayer, and then began their march through a country
covered with foes. Before them rose the great snow-clad mountains over
which they were to fight their way. Arnaud arranged his little host
into three companies--an advanced-guard, a centre, and a rear-guard.
Seizing some of the chief men as hostages, they traversed the Valley
of the Arve to Sallenches, and emerged from its dangerous passes
just as the men of the latter place had completed their preparations
for resisting them. Occasional skirmishes awaited them, but mostly
their march was unopposed, for the terror of God had fallen upon the
inhabitants of Savoy. Holding on their way they climbed the Haut Luce
Alp,[137] and next that of Bon Homme, the neighbouring Alp to Mont
Blanc, sinking sometimes to their middle in snow. Steep precipices
and treacherous glaciers subjected them to both toil and danger. They
were wet through with the rain, which at times fell in torrents. Their
provisions were growing scanty, but their supply was recruited by the
shepherds of the mountains, who brought them bread and cheese, while
their huts served them at night. They renewed their hostages at every
stage; sometimes they “caged”--to use their own phrase--a Capuchin
monk, and at other times an influential landlord, but all were treated
with uniform kindness.
Having crossed the Bon Homme, which divides the basin of the Arve from
that of the Isère, they descended, on Wednesday, the fifth day of their
march, into the valley of the latter stream. They had looked forward
to this stage of their journey with great misgivings, for the numerous
population of the Val Isère was known to be well armed, and decidedly
hostile, and might be expected to oppose their march, but the enemy was
“still as a stone” till the people had passed over. They next traversed
Mont Iseran, and the yet more formidable Mont Cénis, and finally
descended into the Valley of the Dora. It was here, on Saturday, the
24th of August, that they encountered for the first time a considerable
body of regular troops.
[Illustration: THE VAUDOIS CROSSING LAKE LEMAN BY NIGHT.]
As they traversed the valley they were met by a peasant, of whom they
inquired whether they could have provisions by paying for them. “Come
on this way,” said the man, in a tone that had a slight touch of
triumph in it, “you will find all that you want; they are preparing
an excellent supper for you.”[138] They were led into the defile of
Salabertrand, where the Col d’Albin closes in upon the stream of the
Dora, and before they were aware they found themselves in presence of
the French army, whose camp-fires--for night had fallen--illumined far
and wide the opposite slope. Retreat was impossible. The French were
2,500 strong, flanked by the garrison of Exiles, and supported by a
miscellaneous crowd of armed followers.
Under favour of the darkness, they advanced to the bridge which crossed
the Dora, on the opposite bank of which the French were encamped. To
the challenge, “Who goes there?” the Vaudois answered “Friends.” The
instant reply shouted out was “Kill, kill!” followed by a tremendous
fire, which was kept up for a quarter of an hour. It did no harm,
however, for Arnaud had bidden his soldiers lie flat on their faces,
and permit the deadly shower to pass over them. But now a division of
the French appeared in their rear, thus placing them between two fires.
Some one in the Vaudois army, seeing that all must be risked, shouted
out, “Courage! the bridge is won!” At these words the Vaudois started
to their feet, rushed across the bridge sword in hand, and clearing
it, they threw themselves with the impetuosity of a whirlwind upon the
enemy’s entrenchments. Confounded by the suddenness of the attack, the
French could only use the butt-ends of their muskets to parry the
blows. The fighting lasted two hours, and ended in the total rout of
the French. Their leader, the Marquis de Larrey, after a fruitless
attempt to rally his soldiers, fled wounded to Briançon exclaiming, “Is
it possible that I have lost the battle and my honour?”
Soon thereafter the moon rose and showed the field of battle to the
victors. On it, stretched out in death, lay 600 French soldiers,
besides officers; and strewn promiscuously with the fallen, all over
the field, were arms, military stores, and provisions. Thus had been
suddenly opened an armoury and magazines to men who stood much in need
both of weapons and of food. Having amply replenished themselves, they
collected what they could not carry away into a heap, and set fire
to it. The loud and multifarious noises formed by the explosions of
the gunpowder, the sounding of the trumpets, and the shouting of the
captains, who, throwing their caps in the air, exclaimed, “Thanks be
to the Lord of hosts, who hath given us the victory,” echoed like the
thunder of heaven, and reverberating from hill to hill, formed a most
extraordinary and exciting scene, such as was seldom witnessed amid
these usually quiet mountains. This great victory cost the Waldenses
only fifteen killed and twelve wounded.
Their fatigue was great, but they feared to halt on the battle-field,
and so, rousing those who had already sunk into sleep, they commenced
climbing the lofty Mont Sci. The day was breaking as they gained the
summit. It was Sunday, and Henri Arnaud, halting till all should
assemble, pointed out to them, just as they were becoming visible in
the morning light, the mountain-tops of their own land. Welcome sight
to their longing eyes! Bathed in the radiance of the rising sun, it
seemed to them, as one snowy peak began to burn after another, that the
mountains were kindling into joy at the return of their long-absent
sons. This army of soldiers resolved itself into a congregation of
worshippers, and the summit of Mont Sci became their church. Kneeling
on the mountain-top, the battle-field below them, and the solemn and
sacred peaks of the Col du Pis, the Col la Vêchera, and the glorious
pyramid of Monte Viso looking down upon them in reverent silence, they
humbled themselves before the Eternal, confessing their sins, and
giving thanks for their many deliverances. Seldom has worship more
sincere or more rapt been offered than that which this day ascended
from this congregation of warrior-worshippers gathered under the
dome-like vault that rose over them.
Refreshed by the devotions of the Sunday, and exhilarated by the
victory of the day before, the heroic band now rushed down to take
possession of their inheritance, from which the single Valley of
Clusone only parted them. It was three years and a half since they had
crossed the Alps, a crowd of exiles, worn to skeletons by sickness and
confinement, and now they were returning, a marshalled host, victorious
over the army of France, and ready to encounter that of Piedmont. They
traversed the Clusone, a plain of about two miles in width, watered by
the broad, clear, blue-tinted Germagnasca, and bounded by hills, which
offer to the eye a succession of terraces, clothed with the richest
vines, mingled with the chestnut and the apple-tree. They entered the
narrow defile of Pis, where a detachment of Piedmontese soldiers had
been posted to guard the pass, but who took flight at the approach of
the Vaudois, thus opening to them the gate of one of the grandest of
their Valleys, San Martino. On the twelfth day after setting out from
the shores of Lake Leman they crossed the frontier, and stood once
more within the limits of their inheritance. When they mustered at
Balsiglia, the first Vaudois village which they entered, in the western
extremity of San Martino, they found that fatigue, desertion, and
battle had reduced their numbers from 800 to 700.
The first Sunday after their return was passed at the village of
Prali. Of all their sanctuaries, the church of Prali alone remained
standing; of the others only the ruins were to be seen. They resolved
to commence this day their ancient and scriptural worship. Purging the
church of its Popish ornaments, one half of the little army, laying
down their arms at the door, entered the edifice, while the other half
stood without, the church being too small to contain them all. Henri
Arnaud, the soldier-pastor, mounting a table which was placed in the
porch, preached to them. They began their worship by chanting the 74th
Psalm--“O God, why hast thou cast us off for ever? Why doth thine anger
smoke against the sheep of thy pasture?” &c. The preacher then took as
his text the 129th Psalm--“Many a time have they afflicted me from my
youth, may Israel now say.” The wonderful history of his people behind
him, so to speak, and the reconquest of their land before him, must
have called up the glorious achievements of their fathers, provoking
the generous emulation of their sons. The worship was closed by these
700 warriors chanting in magnificent chorus the psalm from which their
leader had preached.
To many it seemed significant that here the returned exiles should
spend their first Sunday, and resume their sanctuary services. They
remembered how this same village of Prali had been the scene of a
horrible outrage at the time of their exodus. The Pastor of Prali, M.
Leidet, a singularly pious man, had been discovered by the soldiers
as he was praying under a rock, and being dragged forth, he was first
tortured and mutilated, and then hanged; his last words being, “Lord
Jesus, receive my spirit.” It was surely appropriate, after the silence
of three years and a half, during which the rage of the persecutor had
forbidden the preaching of the glorious Gospel, that its re-opening
should take place in the pulpit of the martyr Leidet.