"There is not a town in Piedmont," said a Vaudois Barba, in his memoirs,[2] "in which some of our brethren have not been put to death."
Jordan Tertian was burned alive at Suza; Hyppolyte Roussier was burned at Turin; Villermin Ambroise was hanged on the Col de Méane; Ugon Chiamps, of Fenestrelle, was taken at Suza, and conducted to Turin, where his bowels were torn out and flung into a basin, without his sufferings being terminated even by this frightful torture. Peter Geymonat, of Bobi, died at Lucerna, with a living cat in the interior of his body. Mary Romaine was buried alive at Roche-Plate. Madeleine Fontane suffered the same fate at St. John; Michel Gonet, a man almost a hundred years of age, was burned alive at Sarcena. Susanna Michelin, at the same place, was left in a dying state upon the snow. Bartholomew Frache, having been hacked with sabres, had his wounds filled with quicklime, and expired in this manner at Fenil. Daniel Michelin had his tongue torn out at Bobi, for having praised God. James Baridon died, covered with brimstone matches, which they had fastened between his fingers, and about his lips, his nostrils, and all parts of his body. Daniel Rével had his mouth filled with gunpowder, which was set on fire, and the explosion of which tore his head in pieces. Mary Mounin was taken in the Combe of Liousa; the flesh of her cheeks and of her chin was removed, so that the jaws were exposed, and in this way she was left to die. Paul Garnier was slowly mangled at Rora, Thomas Marguet mutilated in an indescribable manner at the Fort of Mirabouc, and Susanna Jaquin cut in pieces at La Tour. A number of young women of Taillaret, in order to escape outrages still more dreadful to them than death, flung themselves from a precipice, and perished among the rocks. Sarah Rostagnol was cleft up through the middle of her body, and was left in a dying state on the road from Eyrals to Lucerna. Anne Charbonnier was impaled alive, and borne in this state like a banner, from St. Jean to La Tour. At Paësane, Daniel Rambaud had his nails torn out, then his fingers were cut off, then his feet and hands were severed by blows of hatchets, and then his arms and legs were separated from his body, upon each refusal that he made to abjure the gospel.
There is not a rock in the Vaudois valleys which may not be looked on as a monument of death, not a meadow but has been the scene of some execution, not a village but has had its martyrs. No history, however complete, can contain a record of them all. I shall relate a few of the most striking facts, in connection with the circumstances which led to them. In the present chapter I shall only seek to collect together those which occurred in an isolated manner, before the era of great persecutions. The first memorial in this martyrology belongs to the valleys of Dauphiny.
Two years after the martyrdom of Martin Gronin at Grenoble, a young man, named Stephen Brun, born at Reortier, in the valley of the Durance, was imprisoned at Embrun as a heretic. He was a simple farmer; but God is glorified in the humblest of his creatures, and often chooses the weakest to confound the strong.
Stephen had a wife and five children; they therefore attempted to persuade him to abjure for the sake of his family. "Those who do the will of God are my family!" said he. "Do you really wish to leave your wife a widow, and your children orphans?" "Christ says to them, 'I will not leave you orphans.' He is the heavenly husband of faithful souls. An immortal Redeemer is better than a husband who must die." "But can you not postpone your death by coming to mass." "Say, rather, that I would hasten it, for that would be the death of my soul." "Are you not afraid of the punishment which is in preparation for you?" "Christ says, 'Fear not those who can only kill the body, but rather fear him who is able to cast both soul and body into hell?'" "Prepare, then, for death." "I prepare for immortality." And when they came to announce to him his condemnation, he exclaimed that it was his liberation.
The day of his execution having arrived, the executioner came to tell him that his death was now to take place. "It is life," said he, "of which you assure me!"
It was on the 16th of September, 1538, a tempestuous day. Stephen was fastened in the centre of a pile, which had been raised on the esplanade of the episcopal palace of Embrun. Scarcely had the fire been set to it, when it blazed with prodigious violence beneath the feet of the martyr. But the flames, being carried away by the wind, scarcely ascended to his chest, and did not choke him, as happens when they rise over the head. The fire consumed in succession his limbs and the lower parts of his body, but Stephen continued to breathe, and was still alive after an hour of this cruel torment. An hour passed in the flames: what an age of distress! The first martyr mentioned in the Bible, that other Stephen who was stoned, did not confess his Saviour with more courageous resolution. When the wood of the pile had been renewed, the fire seemed as if it would go out without taking away the life of the sufferer. Stephen remained always standing, like Shadrach in the furnace. Hereupon the executioner, who held in his hand a long iron hook, used for stirring the fire, gave him a blow on the head with it, to kill him, and stabbed him in the bowels, which gushed out into the fire when he drew back the hook. At last the body of Stephen fell, and they covered it with burning brands, which very soon reduced it to ashes.
"They that will live godly," says St. Paul, "shall suffer persecution." Jeremiah and Daniel were cast into the pit and to the lions; Isaiah was sawn asunder with a wooden saw; Zechariah was slain between the temple and the altar; St John was beheaded. "Which of the prophets have not your fathers persecuted?" said the first Stephen to the Pharisees. That martyr, whilst they stoned him, saw the heavens opened, and the Son of man, who, seated at the right hand of the Father, called him to himself. The poor martyr of Reortier expired without any wonders appearing around him, but in him God did make wonders to appear.
"Wherein, then, consists the power of the martyr?" exclaims a Catholic orator. "It consists in his being right, and altogether right, and in being able to say. Kill me! but ye shall not make me speak anything but what I now speak. I know no power in the world more formidable than that of a man strong in his convictions, and allowing himself to be put to death for his doctrines. It was thus that the salvation of the world began." It was thus, we may add, that the Christian church kept its ground in the Vaudois valleys, and that it sprung to new life in the world at the voice of the Reformers.
But the antichristian power, which St. Paul calls the son of perdition, and which exalts itself above all that is called God, setting itself in opposition to God, makes it its great object to destroy the Bible in order to maintain its supremacy. A hawker of Bibles became at this time its victim, and although he was not a native of the Vaudois valleys, a memorial of him is entitled to a place in their history, because he was doing them a service, and his blood was mingled with that of their martyrs.
Bartholomew Hector was born at Poictiers. Having become acquainted with the gospel, he retired to Geneva with his wife and children. Being settled there, in order to earn a living for his family, he went from place to place, selling copies of the Holy Scriptures. He had come to Piedmont in the month of July, 1555, and had already disposed of a large number of Bibles in the hamlets of the Vaudois valleys. One day, having ascended to the very highest summer huts [chalets] upon the mountains of Angrogna, he stopped at the Alp of La Vachère (The name of Alp or Alpage is given to the places to which the Vaudois shepherds conduct their flocks in summer. During the brief period that they are free from snows, these lofty peaks seem as if they hastened to clothe themselves with flowers, and pour forth in a few days all the riches of their annual vegetation). Next day he proceeded to a place still higher up, the Alp of Infernet, whose rapid slopes look down upon the immense rocks of the Pra du Tour. The vender of Bibles was not to be arrested by the obstacles of the path, and the weight which he carried seemed light when he thought of the good which he was to do; for it must not be forgotten that at these great elevations, so remote from the ordinary abodes of the Vaudois people, the herdsmen and alpagers who attend their flocks, are necessarily in part deprived of that spiritual nourishment which would be presented to them in the centre of their parish.
Bartholemew Hector, satisfied, it would appear, with his excursion, resolved to proceed from the Alp of Infernet to that of Laouzoun, and thence to the valley of St. Martin. But on his way down he was arrested at Rioclaret, by the seigneurs of the place, named Truchet, who had him conveyed to Pignerol, from which a catalogue of his books was forwarded to the senate of Turin.
After having left him to suffer and to pray for seven months, forgotten in the prisons of Pignerol, they thought fit at last to take steps in his case. His first examination took place on the 8th of March, 1556.
"You have been caught selling heretical books," they said to him. "If the Bible contains heresies in your estimation, in mine it contains the truth." "But they make use of the Bible to keep people from going to mass." "If the Bible keeps them from it, it is because God does not approve of it; for the mass is a piece of idolatry." This last reply made his position a great deal worse in the eyes of the defenders of the state worship, which owned no salvation apart from itself. "Out of Christ," said the colporteur, "I grant that there is no salvation, and by His grace I will not forsake Him."
His examination was resumed next day. He endeavoured to set forth the doctrines of the gospel. "We will hold no discussions with error," said the court. "But judges are appointed to discern between error and truth; permit me then to prove that I am in the truth." If you are not in the Church, you are not in the truth." "I am in the Church of Christ, and I prove it by the gospel." "Return to the Church of Rome, if you would save your life." "Jesus says, 'He who would save his life shall lose it, and he who shall lose his life for my sake, shall live for ever.'" "Think of the abjuration which is required of you; it is the only means left you of saving yourself." "What about the saving of my body, if I lose my soul?" The urgency and threats employed to get him to abjure, thus remaining without effect, he was sent to Turin.
It was not the Duke of Savoy who was then sovereign of that country, but Francis I, the nephew of Charles III, whom he had driven from the throne.
Bartholomew Hector appeared before new judges, who were much inclined to lenity. But the strength of his convictions could bend to no compromise. "If you are resolved not to abjure your faith," they said to him, "at least you may retract your former declarations." "Prove to me," said he, "that they are erroneous." "It is not proving that is in question, but living," said they. My life is in my faith," he replied; "it is it which has made me speak." The judges, not venturing to take upon themselves the condemnation of a man so simple and so firm, and to whose charge no crime was laid, came to a decision, on the 28th of March, 1556, to remit the case to the inquisitors. It was just what Pilate did when he delivered Jesus into the hands of lawless men, and sent him away from the judgment hall.
On the 27th of April, the humble vender of Bibles appeared before the Holy Office. It would seem that his evangelical and penetrating discourse, the sincere faith of his soul, and his modest and resigned air, had troubled the conscience even of that tribunal; for the inquisitors adjourned the case, and adjoined with themselves for trial of it the Vicars-General of the archbishopric of Turin and of the abbey of Pignerol. In their presence Hector remained always the same; there was a change of his judges, but no change of his cause.
He was again assured that for a simple retractation his life would be spared. Greater men than he have not looked so narrowly into such a question. But those who are first upon the earth are often the last in heaven. He who was one of the last here below, manifested a celestial resolution and mildness in the midst of these temptations. "I have said the truth," he exclaimed; "how can I change my words and make a retractation? Can a man change the truth as he would change his garment?" Truly, the poor seller of Bibles was well worthy of his noble employment; his pious hands did not profane the book which he distributed to men; why should men have pronounced against him a sentence of death?
Further delay was, however, granted him to reflect and abjure; but the more he reflected, the more he was convinced. Eternity would have passed without his abjuring. The period allowed him expired on the 28th of May; but it was prolonged to the 5th, and then to the 10th of June, with fresh exhortations to him each time to recant. It is perhaps more difficult to resist the urgency which is accompanied with indulgence than violence and severity. But Hector, without abating his humility, swerved not a hair's-breadth, saying, that whoever should take away one tittle from the Holy Word, should lose his part in the kingdom of heaven. He preferred to lose his part, already so full of trouble, in terrestrial existence.
The ecclesiastical tribunal, faithful to the traditions of Rome, by which the commandments of God have been so often annulled, could only declare him guilty of heresy. But it did this as if with regret; for, in delivering him to the secular arm, it recommended him to the indulgence of the judges who were to pronounce the penalty incurred by this crime. The law was express; the penalty was death. The secular judges, therefore, sentenced the man to be burned alive, in the square of the castle at Turin, on a market day. This sentence was passed on the 19th of June, 1556; but from regard to the recommendation of the ecclesiastical judges, the court authorized the executioner to strangle the condemned man during the kindling of the pile. When the sentence was read to him in the prison, he exclaimed, "Glory be to God, for that he has thought me worthy to die for his name!"
Other persons still came to persuade him to abjure, promising to obtain for him in that case the revocation of the sentence. Hector urged them to be converted, and to embrace the gospel. His discourses were so touching, and so full of unction, that he was threatened with having his tongue cut out, if he took upon him to speak to the people on his way to the place of execution. Perhaps a dread of the effect which he might produce, may serve to explain the long indulgence of his judges. Be this as it might. Hector paid no attention to the threat, and during his whole course from his prison to the pile, he ceased not to utter words of Christian truth.
Certainly there was in this man a power by which his affrighted judges were unconsciously overborne; for, at the moment of his ascending the pile, a new emissary arrived from the court to promise him life and liberty even then, if he would only retract his heretical opinions. He had only to say, I disavow all heresy; it would have pledged him to nothing; he might have retained his beliefs, he might have returned to his family; how many strong reasons might have been urged to excuse such reservations! But no such artifice of expression even occurred to the candid mind of the persecuted Christian; to him it would have appeared a disavowing of his faith--an absolute recantation. Accordingly, standing by the pile which was about to reduce him to ashes, and beside the executioner who was presently to strangle him, the humble colporteur of the Alps, upon this unexpected intelligence of a pardon which it would have been so easy for him to have secured, instead of replying to the messenger, fell on his knees, and said, "O Lord! give me grace to persevere unto the end; pardon those whose sentence is now to separate my soul from my body; they are not unjust but blind. O Lord! enlighten by thy Spirit this people who are around me, and bring them very soon to the knowledge of the truth." The people wept, astonished that such a man should be put to death, who spake only of God. But the executioners, having received orders to perform their work, caused Hector to ascend the pile; the wood was kindled, powder and sulphur were thrown upon the fire to conceal the last agony of the martyr, and at the same moment he fell down strangled; so that his death was very quick, and might even be called very pleasant, as he fell asleep with such security in the bosom of his God.
Somewhere about the same time, a pastor of Geneva, named John Vernoux, had been sent into the Vaudois valleys to exercise the ministry of the gospel. He was one of the first fellow-labourers of Calvin, along with whom he had taken part in the Synod of Poictiers, which accomplished the organization of the Reformed Church of France. When he came to the Valleys he was accompanied by Anthony Laborie Quercy, formerly a royal judge at Caiart, who had abandoned the magistracy to devote himself the more actively to the cause of the gospel. Having sojourned for some months in Piedmont, they returned together to Geneva, in order to make the arrangements necessary for their permanent settlement amongst the Vaudois.
These arrangements having been made, and their preparations terminated, they again left Geneva for the valleys, accompanied by two friends, named Batailles and Tauran, and by a third named Tringalet, who had no intention to follow them any further than the frontiers of the Genevese territory, but who, being a most intimate friend of Anthony Laborie, could not bring himself to leave him at the appointed time of separation. "I will not leave you," said he; "I will go with you to these Vaudois valleys, which have preceded our blessed Reformation in the way of salvation." "The Vaudois have never been reformed," said another, "they are still primitive Christians, witnesses of the Apostolic Church." "You increase my impatience to see them," said he; "it is of the Lord; I am resolved not to leave you." His mind was made up, and they did not part. The whole five proceeded together towards the valleys of Piedmont.
Having passed through a part of Savoy, they arrived at Faucigny, where they received a mysterious warning that they would need to be upon their guard. They turned aside from the great roads, and took the mountain paths. But it became evident that whoever gave them warning had been possessed of good information, for in the gorges of the Col Tamis they were descried by soldiers of the maréchaussée,[3] who laid hold of them. Being carried prisoners to Chambéry, they made no attempt to conceal their faith, and received many solicitations to renounce it. But Christian faith, when it has been felt in the heart, is not a consort that can be so readily parted with.
On the 10th of July, 1555, after a long conference, in which he vainly attempted to convince them of heresy, the judge who conducted the examination exclaimed, "Of what use is all this? do you not know that you will be put to death as heretics, if you do not relinquish your errors?" "Yes," replied the pastor Vernoux, "the first thing which we learned from our Master was, that whosoever will follow him must expect persecution." "But Jesus does not command you to die?" "He tells us that as many as will walk in his steps must take up his cross; and he bore his own cross to Calvary." "You are very young men: think upon the life that is before you." "The life which is before us is in the heavens, and, far from extinguishing our hope, you give us more impregnable assurance of it." "Is it possible that men can speak in this way of a condemnation to death?" "It is by death that our souls attain to the fullness of their life." And in spite of all which the judges could do to obtain some concession on their part, nothing could triumph over the heroic firmness of these courageous disciples of Christ. They were, indeed, worthy to preach his word who could thus die for him! Blessed are the pastors whose lives correspond to such deaths!
Being declared guilty of heresy, the two pastors, Vernoux and Laborie, who were already numbered amongst the clergy of the Vaudois churches, and their three travelling companions, were delivered over to the secular tribunals. By a first sentence, of date the 21st of August, 1555, they were only condemned to the galleys, but the king's procurator appealed from this judgment, and the case had to be tried anew. The respect felt for them appears to have increased as their case proceeded. So, when Laborie refused to take oath upon a crucifix, they brought him a Bible, which was contrary to all ordinary practice, for Popery had proscribed it everywhere. Again, after his examination, the president kindly laboured to show him that he might live in peace and serve God as freely in his own proper place of abode as at Geneva. Laborie, who preferred to live in exile along with fellow-believers, rather than in his native country, where the gospel did not yet prevail, mildly replied, "The primitive Christians called one another brethren, and awakened Christians must still have brethren." "But," said the president, "it is not serving God to withdraw in a scandalous manner from the Church." "The scandal is owing to those who have abandoned the purity of his worship, and not to those who return to it," said Laborie. Thereupon the president, assailing him on the subject of his doctrines, endeavoured to prove to him by the Holy Scriptures, that man was not predestinated from all eternity, either to evil or to good; that a great many of the Catholic ceremonies, although superfluous, were nevertheless tolerable, as the gospel did not condemn them, and as St. Paul himself had circumcised Timothy, although he made so great an opposition to circumcision.
It was a thing so rare at that time for a Catholic judge to condescend to enter the arena of discussion with the Bible in his hand, that I have thought it necessary to mention it. This dealing with Scripture, moreover, making him familiar with evangelical doctrine, could not fail also ere long to create in his own mind some misgivings on the subject of heresy.
The accused frankly declared their opinions. Circumcision, they said, was founded upon a commandment of God, whilst the popish superstitions had no other origin than the errors of man. Not being able to convince their prisoners, the judges entreated them, with almost paternal earnestness, to return of their own accord to the Church, and not to compel them unwillingly to pronounce an inevitable condemnation. They even added, that they themselves desired a true reform in the Church, but not out of the Church. "Would to God, gentlemen," said Laborie, upon hearing this, "that all the ecclesiastics of France thought as you do, for we would very soon be of one mind; and if I am a heretic, my lord president is not far from being like myself." The councillors smiled; and one of them replied, "Nay, you must become like him, and not he like you."
But this irresolute, undecided position, intermediate between truth and error, between the church and the world, between Christ and Belial, will not do for men of candid and devoted hearts. It is the broad way in which many walk; but the newly-appointed pastors of the valleys and their Christian friends walked in a more narrow and a less agreeable path; less agreeable, I mean, for the worldly, but more productive of happiness for the children of Christ.
After this sitting they separated Laborie from his companions, and finding himself alone, he prayed earnestly to God that he would not suffer him to fall. "Thus I continued," he says, in one of his letters, "praying and meditating till two o'clock in the morning."
Next day he adjured his judges, by the regard they had for their immortal souls, not to put away from them the knowledge of salvation which was offered them. He represented to them the duties of their office, and told them that being appointed defenders of the truth, they ought not to condemn the truth. "If we are not in the truth," said he, "prove it; if we are, acquit us; for you have to judge the cause of Jesus in our persons, and you cannot be amongst those who judge in ignorance, for God has given you much light." "They listened to me," he says, "for about an hour without interruption, and I saw that some of the younger ones wept." "Did not God enjoin Moses to punish heretics?" said one of the most skilful. "I granted him that," says Laborie, in his own account of the examination, "and even cited the case of Servetus, who had endured the penalty of his crime at Geneva; but only take heed, said I, that you do not treat the true children of God as heretics!" "Ah, well! my friend," said one of the judges, "give us a simple retractation of your heresies, without specifying any of them." "It would be as base in me to make a half-abjuration of the truth, as to recant it altogether." "This will commit you to nothing in respect of the future; and your life may still be useful, even to your own cause." "I should serve it ill, if I were to begin by betraying it." "You will do it still less service when you are dead." "The death of the faithful is a seed of life, which remains behind them longer than their works would have done." This was indeed to renounce life for the sake of immortality.
On the 28th of August, all the five were condemned to be burned alive. They were left at liberty to see one another, to write to their friends, their relatives, and their colleagues at Geneva. "We give thanks to God," say they, "and await the hour, commending ourselves to your prayers." The most admired stoicism of antiquity is not worthy to be compared with this serene and impressive resolution of the Christian's soul. Courage shines forth only upon occasions; but resignation is courage become habitual and abiding. It originates not with man, but with God.
Anthony Laborie was united in marriage to a young woman who had been born a Catholic, but converted to the gospel. The following are passages of the letters which he wrote to her in order to prepare her for her approaching widowhood:--
"Anne, my beloved sister and most faithful spouse, you know how well we have loved one another, so long as it has pleased the Lord to leave us together; his peace has continually remained with us, and you have completely obeyed me in everything. I pray you, therefore, that you be always found such as you have been, and better, if it be possible, when I am no more. If your youth is alarmed at the world and poverty, I advise you to marry again, with another brother who equally fears God; and thenceforth think no more of me as having been your husband, but as a handful of ashes; for from this moment we are no longer united, except by the bond of that fraternal charity, in which I hope for your prayers so long as I am alive. When your father shall be apprised of my death, I doubt not but he will seek after you to win you back to Popery; but I entreat you, in the name of the Lord, to remain firm in your adherence to the truth. Trust in God; pray to him, love him, and serve him, and he will not forsake you. Our little girl, as well as yourself, will be dear to him; for he is the protector of the widow and the father of orphans. The example of Moses should suffice to assure you of this.[4] What affecting thoughts are contained in these grave and calm sentences!
Calvin also addressed to the prisoners at Chambéry exhortations which may be reckoned austere. "Since it has pleased God to employ you in this service [martyrdom], continue to do as ye have begun. If the door is closed against you, that you may not edify by doctrine those to whom you had dedicated your labours [the Vaudois], the testimony which you bear will not fail to console them even from fear; for God will give it power to resound where human voices never could have reached."[5] What men and what times were these! And is this only the chief of a sect; is it not rather another Moses, the legislator of a people newly won to the Lord, who dares to speak of martyrdom as of an ordinary service! And what disciples are these men devoted to a cruel death, who bid farewell to their families as if only for a brief separation! O Lord! increase our faith; it seems as if faith itself had died upon the piles of the martyrs!
The prisoners at Chambéry still remained ignorant of the day when their execution was to take place. One morning they were brought forth from the prison; they supposed that they were to be led to some new examination; but a friend found means to acquaint them on the way of the fate which awaited them. "Let us give thanks to God," said Laborie, "that he has thought us worthy to be martyrs for himself!" But the pastor Vernoux, more sensitive, and liable to be moved by unexpected impressions, could not help being seized with an involuntary agitation. A cold sweat covered his temples; he fell into a nervous trembling; his resolution seemed about to fail. But all at once he found himself inwardly strengthened, the soul reinvigorated the body, the hand of God sustained him. "My brethren," said he, with humble firmness, "I pray you be not scandalized at my weakness, for I have experienced within myself the most terrible conflict which could possibly be endured. But glory be to God, who by his spirit has overcome the flesh! Let us go forward! I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."
And his Saviour did not abandon him. For the executioner having laid hold of him to fasten him first to the pile, he demanded a moment for prayer, and it being granted him, these words proceeded from his dying lips, breathing the assurance of his heart: "O Lord God, Eternal and Almighty Father, I confess before thy Holy Majesty that I am nothing but a poor sinner, incapable of myself of doing any good. Be pleased, then, to have compassion upon me, O God of all goodness, the Father of mercy, and to pardon my sins for the love of Jesus Christ thy Son, my only Redeemer!" He knelt upon the pile, and pronounced that admirable confession of sins, which proceeded for the first time from the lips of Theodore Beza, in midst of the great Synod of La Rochelle. This affecting and powerful prayer is well known, as still in use in the reformed churches. But how much more impressive must it have been when uttered by that pastor, on the top of the pile on which he was to die, than as pronounced from pulpits, by so many careless voices, without danger and too frequently without life!
Laborie stepped upon the pile with firmness of manner and a joyful countenance, as if he had been going to a festival. And that triumph of these regenerate souls was indeed a festival. Isaac may have groaned upon Mount Moriah; but behold! the Christian pastor offers himself for a holocaust with joy in his heart and a smile upon his lips. How mighty the power of that faith which works such wonders!
Tringalet prayed for his enemies. The two other martyrs also spoke some pious sentences, and all five having been strangled, were left to the flames, which only devoured their corpses.
A short time after, the Barba Gilles, already mentioned in the history of the churches of Calabria, returning from these countries by Venice and the Tyrol, passed into Germany, and making his way back through Switzerland, stopped at Lausanne. There he made the acquaintance of a young pastor of great talent, but of a very delicate constitution, named Stephen Noel. Having obtained his consent to devote his services to the Vaudois churches, they set out for together for Piedmont; but in passing through Savoy, they were accosted one evening in an hostelry near Chambéry, by an officer of justice, who began to address them "with a profusion of compliments," says Gilles, "which were by no means desired." They passed themselves off as relatives of some soldiers whom they were going to see in the camp. (It was during the time of the wars of Francis I in Italy). But the officer of justice, not seeming more than half satisfied, expressed his desire of having further conversation with them in the morning. They had no wish to wait for him; and through the protection of their host, who favoured them (but above all through that of God, who kept them in safety), they were enabled to make their escape during the night, turned aside into by-paths, and arrived safe and well in Piedmont.
But there, also, other martyrs were to shed their blood. The reader will recollect the crusade commenced by Innocent VIII against the Vaudois. Amongst the chiefs who signalized themselves at the head of these sanguinary troops, was a Captain Varagle (pronounced Varaille), whose son, a youth of remarkable intelligence, entered into orders in 1522. He resided at a short distance from the Vaudois valleys, in Busque, a little town more isolated from the rest of the world than almost any other in Piedmont. His rapid progress in learning, his knowledge of theology, and his eloquence in the pulpit, attracted the attention of his superiors.
It was at this period that the influence of the Reformation was everywhere felt. The Church of Rome perceived the necessity of strengthening its tottering power. The Synod of Angrogna, at which Farel and Saulnier had been present, had just given a more lively impulse to that movement of disquietude, of inquiry, and of awakening, which then agitated all the better class of minds. Young Varagle was chosen for the work of repressing it. (His name was Geoffrey, and I shall write his surname Varaille, in order to conform the orthography to the pronunciation.)
To him was intrusted the difficult task of visiting the principal cities of Italy, in order to restore the credit of the Romish Church by his eloquent discourses. An Observantine monk of the convent of Monte Fiascone, in the county of Urbino, was commissioned to accompany him. His name was Matteo Baschi, and it was he who, reforming the order of the Cordeliers in 1525, originated that of the Capuchins, which very soon reckoned nearly 500 convents in Europe, and more than 25,000 monks. With these two missionaries ten other members of the secular clergy were joined for this important enterprise.
Being compelled, in order to accomplish it, to examine for themselves the arguments employed by the reformed against Catholicism, they soon perceived their force, and presently became themselves suspected of an inclination in favour of the doctrines which they were appointed to combat. These suspicions grew into certainty, and they were all imprisoned at Rome upon this serious charge. Their captivity lasted for five years.[6] It may be supposed that this long detention was not long enough to efface from their minds the impressions which were regarded with so much alarm; if their minds were upright and sincere, this seclusion, as it kept them from attending to anything else, was only calculated to confirm them the more. Such was its effect on Varaille.
Renouncing from the first all active opposition to the Reformation, he attached himself to the Legate of the Holy See at the court of France, and accompanied him to Paris, where he abode for some time. But the distant rays of the Reformation, that dayspring from on high, which opened up the era of modem liberty by the outbreaking light of the gospel, reached him with still greater power in the French capital. The massacre of the Vaudois of Mérindol and of Cabrières, the case relative to which was about this time pleaded before the Court of Peers, excited his indignation and disgust against a church drenched with the blood of the righteous. Compelled unquestionably by his conscience, he spontaneously quitted the high position which he occupied at Paris, and proceeded to Geneva, in order to study the new doctrines at their fountain.
What an epoch was that in which the great interests of religion had so powerful a reality, that a regard to them alone was sufficient to change, in this way, the whole course of a life!
Varaille was at this time nearly fifty years of age; but his faith made him young again, and, filled with an ardour which his youth had not known, he cast off without hesitation all his previous connections, ready to begin life anew with a moral strength which he had never possessed before. This man, laden with half a century of Popery, had felt the truth of the words spoken by our Lord to Nicodemus, and humbly received the imposition of hands, that he might be numbered amongst the evangelical pastors destined to defend that cause with which all that he had previously had to do bad been in the character of an adversary. The Vaudois churches now applied for a pastor who could preach in Italian. Geoffrey Varaille was sent to them, and was settled in the parish of St. John. Here, then, was he in these same valleys in which his father had conducted a persecuting crusade. O, how unlike are God's ways to our ways! The son was called to take charge, as a pastor, of that same flock which his father had sought to exterminate.
After having spent some months in the valleys, he desired to see the little town of Busque, where he was born; his family was not yet quite extinct there, and a few evangelical Christians who began to appear in that place, were to him a family whom his heart did not less dearly love. This journey, however, was not without perils; he received notice that spies were employed by his enemies to watch his movements. But his courage seemed to have increased with his years, as if under his white hairs the ardour of youth had returned along with evangelical fervour. In truth, the life of the soul is in old men a youth without decay, the dawn of immortality.
Nevertheless, he enjoyed the satisfaction of visiting his family, and edifying the brethren at Busque, without anything happening to him. But on his return, passing by Barges, at the base of the Mount Viso, he was denounced by the Prior of the abbey of Staffarde (to which a part of the Vaudois valleys had been granted in the 9th century),[7] and arrested by a criminal officer, a nephew of the Archdeacon of Saluces.
He was treated with respect; a richly furnished house was assigned him for his prison, and he was even allowed to be at large upon parole. How many ordinary prisoners would have taken advantage of it to have fled! But the true Christian is not like one of those Papists who declared in their council[8] that a man may break his word without breaking the law of God. Having even learned that some of the reformed of Bubiano, who formed part of his parish, had an intention of coming to deliver him by force, he sent them word to refrain, and to leave the matter in the hands of God. And yet the edicts of Francis I, who had conquered Piedmont, and of Henry II, who then reigned there, authorized the greatest severities against him.
After several examinations he was conducted to Turin, firmly bound. The responses which he made to his judges, and the written arguments which he presented to them in support of his religion, are a monument of his talents, his knowledge, and his piety.
During his imprisonment, Calvin wrote to him from Geneva a letter in Latin, of which the following is a translation:--
"Most dear and beloved brother!--Whilst the news of your imprisonment has extremely grieved us, the Lord, who can bring light out of darkness, has united therewith a cause of joy and consolation, in the spectacle of the fruits which your affliction has already produced, and the glory which sustained St. Paul ought also to impart courage to you; for if you are bound, the Word of God is not bound, and you have it in your power to testify regarding it to many, who will spread farther abroad the seed of life which they have received from your mouth. Jesus Christ requires this testimony from every one; but he has laid the obligation in a more especial manner upon you, by the seal of the ministry which you have received, to preach the doctrine of salvation which is now assailed in your person. Remember, then, to seal, if need be, with your blood, that doctrine which you have taught with your mouth. He has promised that the death of his own shall be precious to him; let this recompense suffice you. I shall dwell no longer on this point, persuaded that you repose confidently on him, in whom, whether we live or die, our eternal happiness is to be found. My companions and brethren salute you.--Geneva, 17th of September, 1557."
It would have been pleasant to have met with more tender outpourings of the heart, in the great man whose name a portion of the Christian church still bears. But perhaps this inflexibility was necessary to that commanding influence over the minds of others by which he consolidated the Reformation.
The humble Vaudois pastor encouraged no one to face death, but he went forward to it himself with a heroic firmness. When the sentence of death was announced to him, he said with a solemn voice, "Be assured, gentlemen, that you will sooner want wood for piles, than ministers of the gospel to seal their faith upon them; for they multiply daily, and the word of God endures for ever." The court, Crespin says, pronounced sentence of death against him, rather for fear of reproach, than from conviction that he deserved it. O Pilate, Pilate! how numerous are thy race in the world!
Geoffrey Varaille was burned alive in the square of the castle at Turin, on the 29th of March, 1558. When he had ascended the pile the executioner approached; it was thought that he meant to apply the fire. Not at all; he knelt at the feet of the martyr, entreating him to pardon him the death which he was about to inflict upon him. "Not only thee," replied Varaille, "but all those who have caused it." Then, whilst the assistant executioners applied the fire in front, the principal executioner strangled him from behind; "and many people," says Crespin, "relate as a notable fact, that a dove flew around the fire and rose into the air, which was esteemed a sign of the innocence of the martyr. But for the circumstances of this death, we have confined ourselves to the principal matter, without curiously staying upon mere externals." The true miracles of the gospel are the miracles of faith, for the gospel of Christ is the power of God unto salvation, unto all those that believe.
Along with Varaille, says Gilles, there was conducted to the place of execution, a good old man, who had already suffered much for the cause of truth, and after he had been compelled to witness the death of that worthy martyr of the Lord, and had been whipped, red hot irons were taken from that same pile, and he was marked with them, with the king's mark.
In the same year, a young man, who was born at Quiers, a short distance from the Vaudois valleys, happening to be at Aosta, on Good Friday, heard a preacher who said that the sacrifice of Jesus Christ was renewed daily in the sacrifice of the mass. "Christ has only died once," murmured the young man, "and he is now in heaven, from which he will not come again until the last day." "You do not, then, believe in his corporal presence in the host?" demanded a clerk, named Ripet. "Truly, God forbid! Do you know the creed?" "Yes; but what of that?" "Is it not there said that Jesus is now seated at the right hand of the Father?" "Yes." "Well, then, he is not in the host." Not being able to reply to this argument, they imprisoned him who used it.
He was twenty-six years of age; his name was Nicolas Sartoire. His friends contrived to secure his escape by night; he then left the town of Aosta, the ancient Augusta Praetoria, a place full of ruins and superstitions, and as he had already dwelt at Lausanne, he took the way by the St. Bernard, to take refuge in Switzerland. But at the village of St. Remy, the last which he would have had to pass through before crossing the frontier, he was arrested anew, and brought back to prison. His friends of Aosta then wrote to those whom he had at Lausanne, that they should apply to the authorities of Berne, who might demand him, as an inhabitant of that country. These attempts were made, but without effect. Nicolas Sartoire was tortured. "Retract your errors!" said the ecclesiastical judge. "Prove to me that I have errors." "The Church condemns you." "But the Bible acquits me." "You incur the punishment of death by your obstinacy." "He who shall persevere unto the end shall be saved." "You wish, then, to die?" "I wish to have eternal life." And tormented, as well as solicitations, were without effect.
After the rack, he was made to endure the strapado, but his courage did not forsake him. "And for his obstinacy," says the sentence, "he was condemned to be burned alive." His friends implored him to retract; assured, they said, of being able still to obtain his pardon. "The pardon which I desire," he replied, "I have already obtained from my God." This courageous child of the Lord died on the pile, at Aosta, on the 4th of May, 1557, refusing to the last to purchase life by abjuring his religion.
About the same time, says Gilles, one of the ministers of the valley of Lucerna, returning from Geneva, was taken prisoner at Suza, and conducted thence to Turin. He displayed the same steadfastness, and his judges displayed the same barbarity. He was condemned to be burned alive. But it appears that his dignity, his gentleness, and the imposing and modest seriousness of his speech, had produced a profound impression upon those around him, for the day of the execution being come, one of the executioners feigned himself ill, and concealed himself; the other, after having put to death some malefactors, afraid of being compelled to execute the minister, fled; so that the execution being prevented from taking place, the minister found means to make his escape, and returned to his church.[9] Gilles has not preserved the name of this pastor; he relates in the briefest way this extraordinary history, in which we see the executioners fleeing before the victim--the executioners more conscientious than the judges, and refusing to have anything to do with the execution--the executioners giving the Church of Rome a lesson of humanity! Many others Christians of the Vaudois valleys, or of the places adjacent, were also condemned to death in the 16th century; but very rare were the instances in which they succeeded in escaping the execution of the sentence, and the example is perhaps unparalleled of a pastor returning to his church after having been spared by four or five executioners.
In 1560, many of the reformed or Vaudois of Piedmont were made prisoners, having been surprised in the very fact of social prayer and religious assemblies beyond the limits of the actual territory of the Vaudois valleys; and by a procedure more worthy of Mahometans than of Christians, they were condemned to be burned three days after their incarceration, without pleadings, without examination, without the formalities of trial, and simply on the strength of the accusation alone.
However, if they made profession of Popery, they were set at liberty; but if they refused to go to mass their heresy was demonstrated; in that case they had these three days allowed them to abjure, and if they did not yield, an end was put to their life. Abjuration or death: such was the language of the jurisprudence matured beneath the shade of Catholicism.
It was in the town of Carignan that the executions commenced. A French fugitive, named Mathurin, was the first seized. The commissioners enjoined him to abjure his religion if he would escape death. He preferred to die. "We give you three days to reflect," said they, "but after that time you will be burned alive if you refuse to come to mass." The family of Mathurin were more distressed than himself. He had married a Vaudois woman. His wife applied to the commissioners for leave to see him. "Provided that you do not harden him in his errors," said they. "I promise you," she replied, "that I will not speak to him except for his good." The commissioners never thought of any greater good than life, and conducted the young woman to the prisoner, in the hope that she would persuade him to prolong his days by a recantation.
But the courageous daughter of the martyrs dreaded, on the contrary, that her husband might be induced to follow that course out of affection for her, or through human weakness, and the good which she wished to do him was to confirm him in his resolution. "Accordingly," says our old chronicler, "she exhorted him, in presence of the commissioners, as earnestly as possible, steadfastly to persevere in his religion, without putting the death of the body, which is of brief duration, in the balance against the eternal salvation of his soul." The commissioners, transported with rage, on hearing language so different from what they expected upon her part, loaded her with reproaches; but she, unmoved and earnest, continued to address her husband, saying to him, with a firm and gentle voice, "Let not the assaults of the wicked one make you abandon the profession of your hope in Jesus Christ." "Exhort him to obey us, or you shall both be hanged," cried the magistrates. "And let not the love of this world's possessions make you lose the inheritance of heaven!" said the Christian woman, without pausing in her calm exhortations. "Heretical she-devil!" they exclaimed, "if you do not change your tone, you shall be burned to-morrow." "Would I have come to persuade him to die rather than to abjure," she replied, "if I could myself seek to escape death by apostasy?" "You should fear, at any rate, the torments of the pile." "I fear him who is able to cast both body and soul into a more terrible fire than that of your billets." "Hell is for heretics; save yourselves by renouncing your errors." "Where can the truth be if not in the words of God?" "This will be the destruction of you both," said the magistrates, if that name can be given to such cruel fanatics. "Blessed be God!" said the woman to her husband, "because having united us in life, he will not separate us in death!" "Instead of one, we shall have two of them to burn," sneeringly muttered the executioner's satellites." "I will be thy companion to the end," the heretic woman simply added. "Will you come to mass and have your pardon?" said the magistrates again. "I would much rather go to the pile and have eternal life." "If you do not abjure, Mathurin shall be burned to-morrow, and you three days after." "We shall meet again in heaven," replied she, mildly. "Think of the delay that is still granted you." "The length of it is of no consequence, for my resolution is for life." "Say, rather, it is for death." "The death of the body, but the life of the soul." "Have you nothing else to say to us, you damned obstinate wretch?" "Nothing; except that I beseech you not to put off my execution for three days, but to let me die with my husband." Her request was granted. She had entered the prison a free woman, but she remained a captive, and only came out again to mount the pile.
The name of this woman was Joan, and this name, pronounced in such circumstances, involontarily recalls that of Joan of Arc. Why should not the heroism of the Christian woman be admired as much as that of the young female warrior of Orleans? Ought the victims of faith to be less thought of than those of battle? Alas! one may more readily become illustrious in this world by taking the lives of his enemies, than by giving his own for the love of the brethren. But those who do so give their lives, do it not with an eye to worldly glory.
The two martyr spouses had a last evening of prayer and meditation to spend together on this earth. It is pleasing to think that it cannot have been the least sweet of their evenings, for Jesus says, "Wherever even two shall be met in my name, I will be with them, in the midst of them." And when were the conditions of that promise ever more completely realized than at that hour?
Next day, being the 2d of March, 1560, a pile was formed in the public square of Carignan, and there these worthy confessors of the gospel died, holding one another by the hand, and with souls united in the love of the Saviour.
A new pile was formed twelve days after, in the same place, for the execution of a young man who had been arrested three days before, on the way from Lucerna to Pignerol. His name was John De Cartignon, and as he was a jeweller, he was called Johanni delle Spinelle. He had already been a prisoner upon account of religion; it was upon this account that he had retired to the valley of Lucerna, for he was not a native of it. Finding himself once more a captive, he concluded that this would be the last time. "My deliverance," he said, "will not come from men, but from God." And, indeed, God sustained him, for he endured the torment of his execution with rare courage.
The inquisition called these atrocious barbarities acts of faith-- autos da fe. Such were, therefore, the acts of the Catholic faith; those of the Protestant faith were glorious martyrdoms. Which are most worthy of the name?
"In 1535," says Gilles, "Bersour having been commissioned to proceed against the Vaudois, laid hold of so great a number of them that he filled with them his castle of Miradol, and the prisons and convent of Pignerol, as well as the dungeons of the inquisition at Turin." Many of the prisoners were condemned to be burned alive. One of them, Catalan Girardet, of St. John, on his way to the place of execution, lifted two stones, and rubbing them one against another in his hands, said to the inquisitors, "See these impenetrable pebbles; all that you can do to annihilate our churches, will no more destroy them than I can wear away and destroy these stones." He endured his death with admirable firmness. These words of his have caused his name to be preserved; but how many others died like him, and with the same courage?
Many prisoners also perished without its being ever known what became of them! Such was the case at this period with Mark Chanavas of Pinache, Julian Colombat of Villar Pérouse, and George Stalè of Fenil.
Let us bestow a thought upon these unknown victims, whose sufferings and courage perhaps increased together during whole years of unmeasured distress, occasioned at once by their being forgotten, and by disease and hunger. Someone striking circumstance is enough to give distinction to a name, but this perseverance throughout ages (for in dungeons a year is an age), this termless resignation, does it not require even more strength of soul, and ought it not to excite in us even more profound sympathies than the enthusiasm of a moment?
A few years later, the pastor of St. Germain was brought by a traitor within the grasp of a troop of malefactors in the pay of the abbey of Pignerol. Some of his parishioners, who attempted to defend him, were arrested along with him. But the torments and death of the victims of Rome, and the victories of their faith, were things then so common, that Gilles, without even mentioning the name of this pastor, merely tells us that, after having overcome all the temptations which were employed in order to make him abjure, he was condemned to be burned alive by a slow fire; and adds that some women of St. Germain, who were prisoners along with him, were constrained to carry faggots to the pile where their pastor was patiently enduring martyrdom. What a picture, however, is here presented to us of holy resolution maintained in the midst of horrors!
Still later, in 1560, the hamlet of Les Bonnets, situated between La Tour and Le Villar, was assailed by soldiers, who came at once from both of these last-named places, where at that time were fortifications, which are now demolished. After having destroyed and pillaged everything, they bore off fourteen prisoners. Two men alone had escaped them. These men hastened to post themselves above a steep slope by which the aggressors must pass. No sooner had the troop of spoliators got upon this declivity with their prisoners, than the two Vaudois, who lay concealed, set in motion a great number of stones, which rolled down upon them, and threw them into confusion, so that twelve of the prisoners found opportunity of taking to flight. The two captives who remained in the hands of the assailants both belonged to a family named Geymet; the name of the one was John, that of the other Udolph. They were conveyed to the castle of La Tour. There, after both cruelties and promises had been employed in order to make them abjure, the captain of the garrison; named Joseph Banster, strangled John Geymet with his own hands. Udolph was fastened to a table, stripped of his garments, and put to death by an unparalleled torture. The following is the simple and laconic account which Gilles gives of it:--"The soldiers having collected a great number of those creatures which live in the dung and carrion of animals, filled there with a bowl, which they placed upon his belly, and fastened it to his body, so that these vermin went into his entrails and devoured him, he being yet alive. These cruelties have been related by the very soldiers of the garrison. Thus died this poor martyr, in the sixtieth year of his age."
Here let us pause. The mind recoils, horror-stricken, from the thought of so many victims, and of such atrocious refinements of cruelty. Was this a race of savages, who could ruthlessly shed so much blood? And if they did it in name of their religion, ought not that religion to be execrated of mankind? Can altars which have been served by the inquisition, by Jesuitism, and by simony, pretend a right to the servile homage of civilized men! Cain killed his brother through envy, in a moment of passion, without having known the light of the gospel; he killed him alone; but Rome, which assumes the name of Christian, beneath whose very tiara the tradition of assassination has been transmitted--Rome has destroyed thousands of victims, has murdered them in cold blood, has premeditated their death, has prolonged their agonies, has invented refinements of torture, and whensoever the interests of her own empire were concerned, her work has been to betray, to corrupt, and to kill.
But these poor oppressed ones, the victims of her tyranny--these Christians who enjoyed no rest, and martyrs who exhibited no weakness--knew also well that it is said in the gospel, "Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." But it is not necessary to suffer martyrdom in order to die unto the Lord; and every Christian, however mean his condition, says, in the words recorded in ancient Bible history, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his."
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