FINAL RE-ESTABLISHMENT IN THE VALLEYS.
Cross the Col Julien--Seize Bobbio--Oath of Sibaud--March to
Villaro--Guerilla War--Retreat to La Balsiglia--Its
Strength--Beauty and Grandeur of San Martino--Encampment on
the Balsiglia--Surrounded--Repulse of the Enemy--Depart for
the Winter--Return of French and Piedmontese Army in
Spring--The Balsiglia Stormed--Enemy Driven Back--Final
Assault with Cannon--Wonderful Deliverance of the
Vaudois--Overtures of Peace.
The Vaudois had entered the land, but they had not yet got possession
of it. They were a mere handful; they would have to face the large and
well-appointed army of Piedmont, aided by the French. But their great
leader to his courage added faith. The “cloud” which had guided them
over the great mountains, with their snows and abysses, would cover
their camp, and lead them forth to battle, and bring them in with
victory. It was not surely that they might die in the land, that they
had been able to make so marvellous a march back to it. Full of these
courageous hopes, the “seven hundred” now addressed themselves to their
great task.
They began to climb the Col Julien, which separates Prali from the
fertile and central valley of the Waldenses, that of Lucerna. As they
toiled up and were now near the summit of the pass, the Piedmontese
soldiers, who had been stationed there, shouted out, “Come on, ye
Barbets; we guard the pass, and there are 3,000 of us!” They did come
on. To force the entrenchments and put to flight the garrison was the
work of a moment. In the evacuated camp the Vaudois found a store of
ammunition and provisions, which to them was a most seasonable booty.
Descending rapidly the slopes and precipices of the great mountain,
they surprised and took the town of Bobbio, which nestles at its foot.
Driving out the Popish inhabitants to whom it had been made over,
they took possession of their ancient dwellings, and paused a little
while to rest after the march and conflict of the previous days. Here
their second Sunday was passed, and public worship again celebrated,
the congregation chanting their psalm to the clash of arms. On the
day following, repairing to the “Rock of Sibaud,” where their fathers
had pledged their faith to God and to one another, they renewed on
the same sacred spot their ancient oath, swearing with uplifted hands
to abide steadfastly in the profession of the Gospel, to stand by one
another, and never to lay down their arms till they had re-established
themselves and their brethren in those Valleys which they believed had
as really been given to them by the God of heaven as Palestine had been
to the Jews.
Their next march was to Villaro, which is situated half-way between
Bobbio at the head and La Torre at the entrance of the valley. This
town they stormed and took, driving away the new inhabitants. But here
their career of conquest was suddenly checked. The next day, a strong
reinforcement of regular troops coming up, the Vaudois were under the
necessity of abandoning Villaro, and falling back on Bobbio.[139] The
patriot army now became parted into two bands, and for many weeks had
to wage a sort of guerilla war on the mountains. France on the one
side, and Piedmont on the other, poured in soldiers, in the hope of
exterminating this handful of warriors. The privations and hardships
which they endured were as great as the victories which they won in
their daily skirmishes were marvellous. But though always conquering,
their ranks were rapidly thinning. What though a hundred of the
enemy were slain for one Waldensian who fell? The Piedmontese could
recruit their numbers, the Vaudois could not add to theirs. They had
now neither ammunition nor provisions, save what they took from their
enemies; and, to add to their perplexities, winter was near, which
would bury their mountains beneath its snows, and leave them without
food or shelter. A council of war was held, and it was ultimately
resolved to repair to the Valley of Martino, and entrench themselves on
La Balsiglia.
This brings us to the last heroic stand of the returned exiles. But
first let us sketch the natural strength and grandeur of the spot on
which that stand was made. The Balsiglia is situated at the western
extremity of San Martino, which in point of grandeur yields to few
things in the Waldensian Alps. It is some five miles long by about two
in width, having as its floor the richest meadow-land; and for walls,
mountains superbly hung with terraces, overflowing with flower and
fruitage, and protected above with splintered cliffs and dark peaks. It
is closed at the western extremity by the naked face of a perpendicular
mountain, down which the Germagnasca is seen to dash in a flood of
silver. The meadows and woods that clothe the bosom of the valley are
seamed by a broad line of white, formed by the torrent, the bed of
which is strewn with so many rocks that it resembles a continuous river
of foam.
Than the clothing of the mountains that form the bounding walls of
this valley nothing could be finer. On the right, as one advances
upwards, rises a succession of terraced vineyards, finely diversified
with cornfields and knolls of rock, which are crowned with cottages or
hamlets, looking out from amid their rich embowerings of chestnut and
apple-tree. Above this fruit-bearing zone are the grassy uplands, the
resort of herdsmen, which in their turn give place to the rocky ridges
that, in wavy and serrated lines, run off to the higher summits, which
recede into the clouds.
On the left the mountain-wall is more steep, but equally rich in its
clothing. Swathing its foot is a carpeting of delicious sward. Trees,
vast of girth, part, with their over-arching branches, the bright
sunlight. Higher up are fields of maize and forests of chestnut; and
higher still is seen the rock-loving birch, with its silvery stem and
graceful tresses. Along the splintered rocks above runs a bristling
line of firs, forming mighty _chevaux-de-frise_.
Towards the head of the valley, near the vast perpendicular cliff
already mentioned, which shuts it in on the west, is seen a glorious
assemblage of mountains. One mighty cone uplifts itself above and
behind another, till the last and highest buries its top in the rolling
masses of cloud, which are seen usually hanging like a canopy above
this part of the valley. These noble _aiguilles_, four in number, rise
feathery with firs, and remind one of the fretted pinnacles of some
colossal cathedral. This is La Balsiglia. It was on the terraces of
this mountain that Henri Arnaud, with his patriot-warriors, pitched his
camp, amid the dark tempests of winter, and the yet darker tempests
of a furious and armed bigotry. The Balsiglia shoots its gigantic
pyramids heavenward, as if proudly conscious of having once been the
resting-place of the Vaudois ark. It is no castle of man’s erecting; it
had for its builder the Almighty Architect himself.
It only remains, in order to complete this picture of a spot so famous
in the wars of conscience and liberty, to say that behind the Balsiglia
on the west rises the lofty Col du Pis. It is rarely that this mountain
permits to the spectator a view of his full stature, for his dark sides
run up and bury themselves in the clouds. Face to face with the Col
du Pis, stands on the other side of the valley the yet loftier Mont
Guinevert, with, most commonly, a veil of cloud around him, as if he
too were unwilling to permit to the eye of visitor a sight of his
stately proportions. Thus do these two Alps, like twin giants, guard
this famous valley.
[Illustration: VIEW IN THE VILLAGE OF SAN LAURENZO, ANGROGNA.]
It was on the lower terrace of this pyramidal mountain, the Balsiglia,
that Henri Arnaud--his army now, alas! reduced to 400--sat down.
Viewed from the level of the valley, the peak seems to terminate in a
point, but on ascending, the top expands into a level grassy plateau.
Steep and smooth as escarped fortress, it is unscalable on every side
save that on which a stream rushes past from the mountains. The skill
of Arnaud enabled him to add to the natural strength of the Vaudois
position the defences of art. They enclosed themselves within earthen
walls and ditches; they erected covered ways; they dug out some
four-score cellars in the rock, to hold provisions, and they built
huts as temporary barracks. Three springs that gushed out of the rock
supplied them with water. They constructed similar entrenchments on
each of the three peaks that rose above them, so that if the first were
taken they could ascend to the second, and so on to the fourth. On the
loftiest summit of the Balsiglia, which commanded the entire valley,
they placed a sentinel, to watch the movements of the enemy.
Only three days elapsed till four battalions of the French army
arrived, and enclosed the Balsiglia on every side. On the 29th of
October, an assault was made on the Vaudois position, which was
repulsed with great slaughter of the enemy, and the loss of not one man
to the defenders. The snows of early winter had begun to fall, and the
French general thought it best to postpone the task of capturing the
Balsiglia till spring. Destroying all the corn which the Vaudois had
collected and stored in the villages, he began his retreat from San
Martino, and, taking laconic farewell of the Waldenses, he bade them
have patience till Easter, when he would again pay them a visit.[140]
All through the winter of 1689-90, the Vaudois remained in their
mountain fortress, resting after the marches, battles, and sieges of
the previous months, and preparing for the promised return of the
French. Where Henri Arnaud had pitched his camp, there had he also
raised his altar, and if from that mountain-top was pealed forth the
shout of battle, from it ascended also, morning and night, the prayer
and the psalm. Besides daily devotions, Henri Arnaud preached two
sermons weekly, one on Sunday and another on Thursday. At stated times
he administered the Lord’s Supper. Nor was the commissariat overlooked.
Foraging parties brought in wine, chestnuts, apples, and other fruits,
which the autumn, now far advanced, had fully ripened. A strong
detachment made an incursion into the French valleys of Pragelas and
Queyras, and returned with salt, butter, some hundred head of sheep,
and a few oxen. The enemy, before departing, had destroyed their stock
of grain, and as the fields were long since reaped, they despaired of
being able to repair their loss. And yet bread to last them all the
winter through had been provided, in a way so marvellous as to convince
them that He who feeds the fowls of the air was caring for them. Ample
magazines of grain lay all around their encampment, although unknown as
yet to them. The snow that year began to fall earlier than usual, and
it covered up the ripened corn, which the Popish inhabitants had not
time to cut when the approach of the Vaudois compelled them to flee.
From this unexpected store-house the garrison drew as they had need.
Little did the Popish peasantry, when they sowed the seed in spring,
dream that Vaudois hands would reap the harvest.
Corn had been provided for them, and, to Vaudois eyes, provided almost
as miraculously as was the manna for the Israelites, but where were
they to find the means of grinding it into meal? At almost the foot of
the Balsiglia, on the stream of the Germagnasca, is a little mill.
The owner, M. Tron-Poulat, three years before, when going forth into
exile with his brethren, threw the mill-stone into the river; “for,”
said he, “it may yet be needed.” It was needed now, and search being
made for it, it was discovered, drawn out of the stream, and the mill
set a-working. There was another and more distant mill at the entrance
of the valley, to which the garrison had recourse when the immediate
precincts of the Balsiglia were occupied by the enemy and the nearer
mill was not available. Both mills exist to this day; their roofs
of brown slate may be seen by the visitor, peering up through the
luxuriant foliage of the valley, the wheel motionless, it may be, and
the torrent which turned it shooting idly past in a volley of spray.
With the return of spring, the army of France and Piedmont reappeared.
The Balsiglia was now completely invested, the combined force amounting
to 22,000 in all--10,000 French and 12,000 Piedmontese. The troops
were commanded by the celebrated De Catinat, lieutenant-general of
the armies of France. The “four hundred” Waldenses looked down from
their “camp of rock” on the valley beneath them, and saw it glittering
with steel by day and shining with camp-fires by night. Catinat never
doubted that a single day’s fighting would enable him to capture the
place; and that the victory, which he looked upon as already won, might
be duly celebrated, he ordered four hundred ropes to be sent along with
the army, in order to hang at once the four hundred Waldenses; and he
had commanded the inhabitants of Pinerolo to prepare _feux-de-joie_ to
grace his return from the campaign. The head-quarters of the French
were at Great Passet--so called in contradistinction to Little Passet,
situated a mile lower in the valley. Great Passet counts some thirty
roofs, and is placed on an immense ledge of rock that juts out from
the foot of Mont Guinevert, some 800 feet above the stream, and right
opposite the Balsiglia. On the flanks of this rocky ledge are still
to be seen the ruts worn by the cannon and baggage-waggons of the
French army. There can be no doubt that these marks are the memorials
of the siege, for no other wheeled vehicles ever were seen in these
mountains.[141]
Having reconnoitred, Catinat ordered the assault (1st May, 1690).
Only on that side of Balsiglia where a stream trickles down from the
mountains, and which offers a gradual slope, instead of a wall of
rock as everywhere else, could the attack be made with any chance of
success. But this point Henri Arnaud had taken care to fortify with
strong palisades. Five hundred picked men, supported by seven thousand
musketeers, advanced to storm the fortress.[142] They rushed forward
with ardour; they threw themselves upon the palisades; but they found
it impossible to tear them down, formed as they were of great trunks,
fastened by mighty boulders. Massed behind the defence were the
Vaudois, the younger men loading the muskets, and the veterans taking
steady aim, while the besiegers were falling in dozens at every volley.
The assailants beginning to waver, the Waldensians made a fierce sally,
sword in hand, and cut in pieces those whom the musket had spared. Of
the five hundred picked soldiers only some score lived to rejoin the
main body, which had been spectators from the valley of their total
rout. Incredible as it may appear, we are nevertheless assured of it
as a fact, that not a Vaudois was killed or wounded: not a bullet had
touched one of them. The fireworks which Catinat had been so provident
as to bid the men of Pinerolo get ready to celebrate his victory were
not needed that night.
Despairing of reducing the fortress by other means, the French now
brought up cannon, and it was not till the 14th of May that all was
ready, and that the last and grand assault was made. Across the ravine
in which the conflict we have just described took place, an immense
knoll juts out, at an equal level with the lower entrenchments of the
Waldenses. To this rock the cannons were hoisted up to play upon the
fortress.[143] Never before had the sound of artillery shaken the rocks
of San Martino. It was the morning of Whit-Sunday, and the Waldenses
were preparing to celebrate the Lord’s Supper, when the first boom from
the enemy’s battery broke upon their ear.[144] All day the cannonading
continued, and its dreadful noises, re-echoed from rock to rock, and
rolled upwards to the summits of the Col du Pis and the Mont Guinevert,
were still further heightened by the thousands of musketeers who were
stationed all round the Balsiglia. When night closed in the ramparts
of the Waldenses were in ruins, and it was seen that it would not be
possible longer to maintain the defence. What was to be done? The
cannonading had ceased for the moment, but assuredly the dawn would see
the attack renewed.
Never before had destruction appeared to impend so inevitably over the
Vaudois. To remain where they were was certain death, yet whither could
they flee? Behind them rose the unscalable precipices of the Col du
Pis, and beneath them lay the valley swarming with foes. If they should
wait till the morning broke it would be impossible to pass the enemy
without being seen; and even now, although it was night, the numerous
camp-fires that blazed beneath them made it almost as bright as day.
But the hour of their extremity was the time of God’s opportunity.
Often before it had been seen to be so, but perhaps never so strikingly
as now. While they looked this way and that way, but could discover no
escape from the net that enclosed them, the mist began to gather on the
summits of the mountains around them. They knew the old mantle that was
wont to be cast around their fathers in the hour of peril. It crept
lower and yet lower on the great mountains. Now it touched the supreme
peak of the Balsiglia.
Will it mock their hopes? Will it only touch, but not cover, their
mountain camp? Again it is in motion; downward roll its white fleecy
billows, and now it hangs in sheltering folds around the war-battered
fortress and its handful of heroic defenders. They dared not as yet
attempt escape, for still the watch-fires burned brightly in the
valley. But it was only for a few minutes longer. The mist kept its
downward course, and now all was dark. A Tartarean gloom filled the
gorge of San Martino.
At this moment, as the garrison stood mute, pondering whereunto these
things would grow, Captain Poulat, a native of these parts, broke
silence. He bade them be of good courage, for he knew the paths, and
would conduct them past the French and Piedmontese lines, by a track
known only to himself. Crawling on their hands and knees, and passing
close to the French sentinels, yet hidden from them by the mist, they
descended frightful precipices, and made their escape. “He who has
not seen such paths,” says Arnaud in his _Rentrée Glorieuse_, “cannot
conceive the danger of them, and will be inclined to consider my
account of the march a mere fiction. But it is strictly true; and I
must add, the place is so frightful that even some of the Vaudois
themselves were terror-struck when they saw by daylight the nature of
the spot they had passed in the dark.” When the day broke, every eye in
the plain below was turned to the Balsiglia. That day the four hundred
ropes which Catinat had brought with him were to be put in requisition,
and the _feux-de-joie_ so long prepared were to be lighted at Pinerolo.
What was their amazement to find the Balsiglia abandoned! The Vaudois
had escaped and were gone, and might be seen upon the distant
mountains, climbing the snows, far out of the reach of their would-be
captors. Well might they sing--
“Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers.
The snare is broken, and we are escaped.”
There followed several days, during which they wandered from hill to
hill, or lay hid in woods, suffering great privations, and encountering
numerous perils. At last they succeeded in reaching the Pra del Tor. To
their amazement and joy, on arriving at this celebrated and hallowed
spot, they found deputies from their prince, the Duke of Savoy, waiting
them with an overture of peace. The Vaudois were as men that dreamed.
An overture of peace! How was this? A coalition, including Germany,
Great Britain, Holland, and Spain, had been formed to check the
ambition of France, and three days had been given to Victor Amadeus to
say to which side he would join himself--the Leaguers or Louis XIV. He
resolved to break with Louis and take part with the coalition. In this
case, to whom could he so well commit the keys of the Alps as to his
trusty Vaudois? Hence the overture that met them in the Pra del Tor.
Ever ready to rally round the throne of their prince the moment the
hand of persecution was withdrawn, the Vaudois closed with the peace
offered them. Their towns and lands were restored; their churches
were reopened for Protestant worship; their brethren still in prison at
Turin were liberated, and the colonists of their countrymen in Germany
had passports to return to their homes; and thus, after a dreary
interval of three and a half years, the Valleys were again peopled with
their ancient race, and resounded with their ancient songs. So closed
that famous period of their history, which, in respect of the wonders,
we might say the miracles, that attended it, we can compare only to
the march of the chosen people through the wilderness to the Land of
Promise.
[Illustration: CHURCH OF CHABAS, THE OLDEST IN THE VALLEYS.]