(A.D. 1686--May to September.)
Of the whole number of their courageous but too credulous defenders, there now remained in the Vaudois valleys only a little troop of combatants, who still continued the contest on the mountain of Vandalin. The last hope of their prostrated country, the last ray of expiring liberty depended on their noble efforts. But a spirit of destruction seemed to have breathed over all these countries. A fatal vertigo threw men of the most undaunted courage into the gross snare of those deceitful promises of which such base use had already been made.
The governor of the province, M. De La Roche, after having caused some unsuccessful attacks to be made upon this small but heroic band, had recourse to treachery, in order to take from their valiant hands that glorious banner of liberty which they still made to float over the valleys. He wrote to them to promise, as a magistrate, as a citizen, and as a man of honour, pardon for their families, and their own liberty, if, according to the terms of the edict of the 28th of May, they would consent to retire to their respective dwellings. The Vaudois had too much forgotten that to the simplicity of the clove they ought to have joined the prudence of the serpent. They believed these perfidious promises, and retired to their dwellings; whereupon the faithful governor immediately took possession of the intrenched post which they had just abandoned, tore from their hands the note which he had written to them, and flung them into the prisons already filled with their brethren.
"In the valley of St. Martin," says Brez,[2] "a few men, having still rallied, had resolved to defend their natal soil to the last extremity. The persecutors could not be indifferent to these feeble relics, whom it was less easy to subdue by force than by stratagem; and, as there were amongst the prisoners many Vaudois who enjoyed the confidence of their compatriots, the Marquis De Parelles caused them to march at the head of his army, that he might make some progress against their brethren, and then forced them, with a pistol at their breast, to write a number of notes, exhorting their compatriots to lay down their arms, and cast themselves upon the clemency of' the sovereign, who had offered pardon, they said, to all who chose to profit by it. On seeing these well-known persons, the Vaudois, wasted by fatigue, hunger, and hardships, almost all surrendered; and, instead of obtaining their pardon, were added to the number of the captives."
Thus, after more than 1000 persons had been massacred, more than 6000 prisoners taken by fraud, and 2000 Protestant children dispersed in all directions--after all the Vaudois who still remained in the valleys had been declared guilty of high treason, and an universal confiscation of their property had been pronounced--it seemed as if there was nothing more to be done with this unfortunate country but to abandon to its own silence the tomb of the Vaudois churches, and to leave solitude and desolation to spread over them for ever.
But, on the contrary--strange as it may seem--it was just then that the Vaudois took fresh courage, and found a new source of energy in the excess of their despair. The spirit of might blows where it will: they had neither places of worship, nor homes, nor country; no vision of clemency could deceive them again; they could have no hope of safety, but in themselves and in God; and now it was that they appeared again, animated with a confidence more invincible than before.
The French troops had retired. The militia of Mondovi had returned to their homes. Thus the principal adversaries of the Vaudois had disappeared--the former being so reckoned on account of their number, the latter on account of their ferocity; for, in 1681, the rebels of Mondovi had been vanquished by the Vaudois militia, and the spirit of revenge was combined in them with the excitements of fanaticism and of war, to augment, in 1686, the cruelty of the reprisals which they took upon us. The Piedmontese army began also to abandon this impoverished, blood-stained, and depopulated land. Wealthy Savoyards already came to examine the properties which they proposed to purchase in these devastated regions. The Duke of Savoy wished to re-people them, as if to prevent even a desert from preserving there the re-collection of a people who had disappeared.
Then, from the depths of the woods, from the recesses of the ravines, from the clefts of the rocks, from the summits of steep peaks, came forth emaciated men, half-naked patriots, outlaws battered by the storm, inured to danger, familiar with fatigue and hunger, who, to escape persecution, had maintained their lives for whole months on the herbs of the mountains and the flesh of the chamois, or even on the savage brood of wolves that wandered about to devour the corpses left unburied. By degrees these rude mountaineers drew together, united, organized themselves, and, having taken an account of their numbers in the valley of Lucerna, on the umbrageous heights of Le Becès, they found themselves in all forty-two men, with a few women and a few children. An almost equal number made their appearance from the valley of St. Martin.
What were their names? Who was their leaded? What acts of extraordinary heroism and valour did they thereafter perform to set free, unaided, their oppressed country, to release from prison their compatriots who had been betrayed, to regain all their confiscated properties, and to obtain, for themselves and their people, a glorious retreat with arms and baggage to a foreign country? All this is unknown. No one has written the annals of these, the forlorn hope, but victorious, of the Vaudois mountains. Their expeditions must be judged of by their results. Ah! what might these have been if all the force of such a people had been found, from the first, well united and well directed--if Javanel had been listened to,--if he had been there!
But his spirit, at least, appears to have animated these last defenders of the valleys. Urged on by the hand of God, they fell like a thunderbolt on the persecutors, who supposed them destroyed--defeated in succession the garrisons of Le Villar, La Tour, Lucerna, and St. Segont--intercepted convoys proceeding to revictual Pignerol, and thus refitted their own equipment, and provided themselves with ammunition and provisions. Then retiring again to those unconquered mountains, of which they alone knew the paths, they multiplied their number by their activity, their strength by their valour, their power by the fear which they inspired, and their chances of safety by the repeated losses which they made their enemies to experience. Unexpected in attack, and not to be overtaken in flight, they fell suddenly upon some neglected post, or on soldiers sleeping in their quarters, gave all to fire and sword, and retired as quickly as they came. At other times, in the middle of the night, they surprised some one of the villages of the plain, setting it on fire at both ends, and threatening to burn it entirely if it refused to pay a heavy contribution.
The Marquis De Parelles put himself in motion again on the side of Rocheplate and the Vachère; Gabriel of Savoy ascended again towards Lucerna and Rora; for it was never by the bottom of the valleys, but by the projecting lateral ridges of the interjacent mountains, that these bold freebooters made their incursions. Like pirates of the Alps, treated as enemies by all their neighbours, these desperate mountaineers caused a terror which increased with their victories. The troops which marched against them were twice repulsed. The Marquis De Parelles occupied the heights of St. Germain and Angrogna, which separate the valley of Lucerna from that of St. Martin, in order to prevent the junction of the two small bodies of flying troops which occupied these valleys.
Offers were made to both of safe-conducts, that they might be enabled to retire freely to a foreign country; but they insisted that the same liberty should be granted to all their compatriots who were in prison. There seemed to be a disposition to enter into negotiations with them upon this basis; but they would not capitulate unless hostages were given them. The negotiation went on favourably for themselves; but reservations were made regarding the prisoners. They broke it off sharply, saying that they would all die in the valleys, which they would not leave unless accompanied by their compatriots. At last the retreat of all the surviving Vaudois was granted. The mountaineers stipulated that an officer of the royal guard should accompany each division of the exiles in the capacity of an hostage. They demanded, moreover, and with success, that their journey to the frontiers of the dominions of Savoy should be made at the expense of Victor Amadeus.
They were to set out in two brigades, after which all the other prisoners were to depart in succession in the same manner. Each of them was free to dispose as he pleased of his property. But alas! All had been the prey of pillage or of fire; and from those frightful prisons into which their brethren had been crowded, how many of them never came out! A greater number died at that time within a few days, through the long sufferings of captivity, than had fallen in battle, during three centuries, in all the persecutions.[3] Courage is always attended with less danger than weakness.
A journal, written in Italian by one of these afflicted people, enables us to acquaint the reader with a part of their sufferings. "On the 23d of April," says he,[4] "commenced the desolation of our va11eys. On the 26th I retired to the mountains of Rora, for nowhere else could one sleep, and all appeared so ravaged that nothing could be found to eat. Ere long I knew not what way to turn; but I thought that God would not forsake me if I remained faithful to him;[5] and accordingly he sent a man to me on whom I could depend.[6] He resided at Lucernette, and said to me, that if I would go with him I should have nothing to fear. We descended the mountain, and as night approached, we having arrived at the hamlet of Les Bonnets, where my house was, he asked me if there was any wine in it, that we might refresh ourselves. I showed him some of an inferior quality, but told him that I had also some of another quality, which was the best which was produced in the Giovanèra of St. John."[7] On their arrival at Lucernette, Salvajot gave up his arms to his friend, who hid them, and who then made the fugitive lie down in a loft, that the neighbours might not remark his presence; for it was forbidden, under very severe penalties, to give asylum to any Vaudois. He remained in this garret three days and three nights, after which he asked Martina to go and seek the seigneur of Rora, whose vassal he was, and who dwelt at Campillon, to entreat him to give him some employment.
"I wrote a note to him with my own hand," says he; "but when he saw it he commenced swearing, and tore it, saying that he could do nothing for me. I knew not what to do, and hesitated about returning to the mountains, when Martina went, without saying anything to me, to Lucerna, to speak to the prefect of La Tour, who immediately went to his royal highness, to obtain my pardon. I spent all that day in great uneasiness. My friend did not arrive till 10 o'clock in the evening, and greatly rejoiced my heart, by telling me that I might return home without danger of my life. I gave thanks to God, and next day, the 4th of May, I went to Lucerna in company with the priest of Lucernette and with Martina. They escorted me as far as the convent of Le Pin, where they bade me farewell with much affection (grande carezze), thinking that I would change my religion. But I told the monks that, for the present, my mind was occupied with very different matters--that my wife and my little daughter were still in the mountains, and that I entreated them to aid me in getting them out, lest the soldiers should kill them. They immediately went to speak to the President Palavicino, who kindly (della sua grazzia) went to his royal highness, and caused me to be informed that as many of our people as chose to surrender themselves to the prince, might have opportunity of doing so."
Salvajot was still ignorant of the fate of those who had already surrendered themselves; for the defenders of Poemian, betrayed by Catinat, were already in prison. He himself was ere long imprisoned also, in the cellars of that very convent, as soon as the impossibility had been discovered of getting him to apostatize. He thus continues his narrative:--
"I therefore sent two children to bring my wife; for I did not choose to write a note, which might make our people think that I had forsaken them. These children were accompanied as far as Le Villar by their own fathers, who carried to the Count De Massel the note of Palavicino, requiring that they should be allowed to pass and to return with my family. Thereafter, these children went on alone to seek my wife, as far as La Baudeina, where they found her making bread. Before descending, she wished to go to seek her daughter, who was in the forest; but the enemy came up, and they were all obliged to conceal themselves for ten days.[8]… At last my wife arrived at Lucerna with our child; they urged her to become a Catholic, but she said that she could do nothing without speaking with her husband. The father president[9] conducted her to my prison, and told me to make her believe that I had already become a Catholic;[10] but that was what I could not. She was going to enter the prison with my daughter, whom she held by the hand, but the father said to them, 'Take care, poor women, for if you go in there you will never come out.' But I was so glad to see them again, and they were so happy to be near me, that we could not make up our minds to part. They came in, and passed that night by my side amongst the other prisoners. They slept upon the ground, without straw, or covering, or supper; for happy was he who could get a stone to lay his head upon--the ministers as well as the rest.[11] Every one snatched for himself as much food as he was able, and some who had been friends became enemies." Such a cruel demon is hunger! "Next day my wife wished to go out, to go to seek something at Lucerna, at the house of our friend Martina; but it was necessary to apply to the major, and to pay two crosasi to the captain of the guards, in order to get out. I then directed my wife to a place where I had dropped a large copper vessel into the torrent of Laigha, and told her to carry it to Martina's house; for it had cost me an Italian doppia,[12] and it was almost new. She was also to put into his hands a sum of 100 francs, which I had in crowns and small money; as well as twenty pounds of salt and eighteen pounds of bacon, which still remained to us. Martina promised to her that he would take good care of all these things, and restore them to me when I came to reclaim them."
These details may seem too minute; but the ordinary cares of life can never cease to force themselves upon attention, even amidst the gravest events. They are not without their value, moreover, as making known the spirit of order, economy, and equity which animated our poor mountaineers. Many other details of the same kind are to be found in the memoir from which these are copied.
"During the first days of my captivity I saw 400 persons arrive from Pral--women, children, and aged men--and all in a state so deplorable and wretched, that the prisoners themselves were afflicted to behold it. These poor people had brought with them a few asses and mules; but the soldiers caught hold of the beasts, and flung down the poor women and children with such violence, that it was really pitiful to see it. Two of them, being pregnant, gave birth to children on the spot, and they took them to another dungeon.
"One day the President Palavicino called me into the garden of the convent, and asked me if I knew the road by the Col Julian and Barma d'Hant; but I told him that I had never been in these quarters. Then the Signor Glaudi Brianza, taking me apart, said to me, 'Now, Salvajot, you must manage so that the rest of the people of the valleys surrender themselves, and thereupon you shall be set at liberty.' 'Ah, Sir !' said I, 'I positively can do nothing of the kind.' 'Take heed,' said he; 'if you are obstinate, you will find cause to repent of it.'
"Two days after, the president came to ask me if I would like to see our ministers. 'Very much,' said I. 'Well!' said he, 'come with me.'--He took me from the convent of the missionaries; we passed before the marquis's palace, where I saw the Duke of Savoy at a window, and presently we arrived at the prison of the ministers. On entering, I saluted them; and seeing their miserable condition, I asked if they had nothing to sleep on, for there was nothing but the paved floor. They replied that they had not. Then the major of Lucerna, who had come in, said to me jeeringly, 'Well, Mr. Captain Salvajot, what think you of this? But we are not at the end, and you shall see, you shall see how we shall do with all these!' He even spoke of hanging me if I would not abjure, and vomited out[13] this sort of stuff for a good while. I wished to return with him, but he told me to remain there till evening, and I was left there for two weeks. Every day new bands of prisoners were brought in. Sometimes entire families were brought; but the soldiers tore the little children with such violence from the arms of their mothers, that numbers of these feeble creatures were strangled in the act, and remained dead in their hands. There is no humanity in these folks!" observes Salvajot, with laconic simplicity. "We remained so long without straw," he adds, "that the vermin covered the walls; and no one could go out of the apartment, because a watch was at the door. Nor could we get water to wash with, or even to drink; and we had likewise very little to eat. At last we were conveyed to a new dungeon, under the vaults of a house which anciently belonged to Signor Bastero. But there we were still worse! Fortunately we were not allowed to remain there for more than two or three days.
"One evening the Chevalier Morosa came to see us, and said to the ministers, 'It is you that have caused this rebellion! You would have done better to have obeyed.' 'You know,' they replied, 'that we have done all in our power to prevent it; for it was our desire that our people should take advantage of the orders of his highness, and leave the country; but we could never make them listen to reason.' 'You say that to excuse yourselves,' rejoined he; 'but I know well what took place in your meetings.' However, he did not insist upon this, and as he went away, he said to them, 'Good evening, gentlemen;' and the ministers replied, 'Good evening to your lordship.'
"It was on the 16th of May that the order arrived for our removal. I took my daughter by the hand; my wife went to deposit with various persons the things which we could not carry with us.[14] We were about 160 persons. The men were bound together two and two; there were twenty-seven couples, bound also to one another by a long cord. As we went out of Lucerna, there were a great number of people assembled, and they addressed to us many bad words--'Satanical heretics, your end will soon be seen,' &c. And when we took the road to Turin, they cried, 'Take another look of your mountains, for you will never see them more!' There were some amongst us who wept. Our chained line was flanked by soldiers on the right and left, and in this way we went as far as Biriquéras. There we paused for a little under the roof of the market-place, and those who had money purchased some bread. Then we resumed our journey, and that night we slept at Osasco. Those who had their hands tied, and who were besides fastened to one another, were much incommoded, for when it was necessary to cross streams on narrow planks, if one of them made a false step, they were all in danger of falling; and when they were thirsty, they could not drink unless someone gave them water.
"At an early hour next day we arrived in Turin. At the entry of the town we halted, to wait for the carts, which were still behind, laden with the sick, and with women and children. Scarcely had we entered Turin when we found it necessary to keep a sharp watch, lest our children should be taken from us. They had already seized my little daughter, and were bearing her off in haste, when the wife of Bartholomew Ruetto, perceiving it, ran after the ravisher, and brought her back to me. But the crowd was so dense, and the dust so thick, that it was scarcely possible to see. We reached the citadel about ten o'clock in the evening. The prisoners were called over, and the ministers sent into a place by themselves; then those who were bound together were thrust into a chamber so narrow that they could not move about in it, and were choked with the heat. I remained with those of Rora.[15] They put us in a tower where there were mattresses, and we were much better treated than at Lucerna. From time to time we received some alms; soup and linen were given us, and a little wine, which did much good to all, but especially to the sick and those who had no money. There were also persons belonging to the city who showed us great kindness.[16] At intervals we were allowed to go out and walk on the bastions. But this did not take place till after the return of the Royal Guards;[17] for, until then, the citadel was intrusted to the keeping of the citizens of Turin, and we were not so well treated by them as by the soldiers. With the latter we could at least go to seek water to wash our linen, and enjoy some degree of liberty. This state of things continued to the 26th of July, when there arrived an order from his royal highness for our removal to Verceil, for it was necessary that we should make room for others.
"Signor Blaygna, who kept watch over us when the Count Santus was compelled to be absent, appointed Bastie and me to watch over the rest.[18]
"I entreated him to allow me a little private apartment for my wife, who was on the point of her confinement. 'Do you not know,' said he, 'that you are to leave this place to-morrow?' And accordingly, next morning, all who were in the tower were brought out of it, except the ministers.[19] Many were sick, and groaned with pain, but it was necessary to have patience, since such was the command of his highness.[20] Scarcely were we out of doors, when M. Blaygna said to me, 'Salvajot, come hither.' And taking me aside, he added, 'Take your wife and your little girl, and go back.' We did so, and he sent hack also M. Paul Gonin and his son.[21]
" Then those were placed together who would not change their religion, and those who had abjured. The latter were treated a little better; they were conducted to mass, and the priests came every day to instruct them in their new doctrines. At first they received much more alms than we; but afterwards, whatever was given us was equally divided amongst all. Those who had abjured were offended at this, and alleged that we were the cause of their being still detained in prison, because we would not abjure.
" Eight days after my wife gave birth to a daughter, and the Count Santus came and said to me, 'She must be baptized.' I was very much astonished at this, because I supposed that he had not yet known of her birth. 'The child is healthy,' said I, 'and can be baptized after a while.' 'Any way,' replied he, 'this must be done without loss of time. Here are M. De Rocheneuve and the Baroness of Palavicino, who will act as her godfather and godmother, and who will make your fortune.' Then I durst not say anything more, and they carried the newly-born child into the chapel of the fort, whither I followed in the train with Mademoiselle Jahier of Rocheplate, who had almost fallen down in a swoon when she saw fill the ceremonies which they performed.[22] They gave my child the names of Louisa Caroline, which were those of the godfather and godmother. Next day there were brought to the mother a shift and two white woollen sheets, which Father Valfrédo, the confessor of his royal highness, had sent, and an offer was made us that we should go to dwell in a separate room; but my wife refused, fearing lest it might be for the purpose of drawing us into apostasy.
"The governor of the fort said to me an hour after, 'Why would you not leave this tower?' I replied that my wife was still too feeble for that. 'You are a genuine rascal!' he exclaimed; 'but you shall pay for it.' And addressing himself to the ministers, he said, 'It is you who are the cause of their not becoming Catholics, but take care of yourselves!'"
The author of the unpublished memoirs which we have quoted, relates further that his wife died after a few days, and that he made use of one of those sheets which had been given them to bury her in. A month after, the infant which she had brought forth in the prison expired likewise. Salvajot was left alone with his little Mary, then aged five years and a half.
Many other pregnant women, who were delivered in the prisons, lost their children, and almost all of them died themselves. "At last," adds the captive, "there was perhaps not one of us who did not suffer from some malady. By the grace of God I was spared amidst these trials; but we were also better treated than the other prisoners. The sick being attended by physicians, the necessary medicines were furnished them, and Father Valfrédo, and also Father Morand, visited them diligently. If there was any of them who had no money, they gave him a little, distributed soups amongst the weakest, and generally furnished us with everything that we required."
It is with satisfaction that I copy these details. In proportion to the indignation caused by bad faith and inhumanity, is the Christian approbation merited by these considerate attentions.
"And what is rather remarkable," adds Salvajot, in speaking of his benefactors, "is that they made no difference between those who had become Catholics and those who remained faithful to their religion. They even seemed to have more regard and respect for the latter."
I would willingly have concluded this chapter with the circumstance just mentioned, in which we see homage paid to the dignity of conviction. But a few words are still necessary to remind the reader that the Vaudois prisoners had not all been transported to Turin, and that they perished in great numbers by the famine, diseases, and distress which they endured in the ditches, prisons, citadels, and dungeons of Queyrasque, Mondovi, Rével, Asti, Carmagnole, Fossan, Villefranche, and Saluces.[23]
"At last," says our narrator, "they began to speak of our speedy departure from the country. Already some of our wives had been allowed to pass through the gates of the citadel, and to go into the town to market; then some of the men were also permitted to go out, provided that they were accompanied by two sergeants; afterwards they were allowed to go alone; and thus," he observes, "things made progress towards our liberty;'' that is to say, towards their exile!
Notes: