The Waldensian Church in the valleys of Piedmont/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
The Martyr Church
Notices of individual martyrs in the Vaudois Church.
THE communion of saints in the peaceful vale of Champforans, and its bright results, have furnished a delightful contrast to the history of cruelty and oppression which preceded, and to which we must too soon return. But, renovated by the Heaven-accorded nourishment, the men of the valleys, like the prophet of old, were called on to go forth to meet the enemies of their faith.
Like Elijah, too, they went forth alone, for the friends who had so generously hastened to their succour were called to another battle-field; and their own colonists left the Synod of Champforans to enter on those fiery trials with which, in our section on the Colonizing Church, our readers have already been made acquainted.
But whilst the almost expiring Church of the Valleys was experiencing the wonderful renovation of which we have attempted a sketch, the political world around underwent many changes. Charles III., Duke of Savoy, a mild but obstinate prince, and much under the rule of the clergy, had already consented to the archbishop’s proposition of “hunting down” the so-called heretics, and had named to the chief command a nobleman of the neighbourhood, whose fierce disposition fitted him for the odious office, when Charles himself became the object of unjust attack.
His two powerful relatives, Francis I. of France, and Charles V., Emperor of Germany, were each desirous of the possession of Piedmont as a thoroughfare to the contested duchy of Milan. The duke knew too well the value and fidelity of his Vaudois subjects in guarding the mountain passes to waste their strength in persecution; and when Francis subsequently became the master of his uncle’s dominions he was too much occupied in destroying his faithful Vaudois subjects in his own kingdom[1] to attempt a war of extermination in another quarter. The lull was favourable to the Vaudois of Piedmont, though the answer of Francis to their humble petition for liberty of conscience,“that he did not burn heretics in all parts of France to suffer a reserve of heretics in the Alps,” must have convinced them how little they had to hope for from his clemency, had not his usurped position prevented his venturing on open aggression. Still the same under current of persecution continued, and many were the hidden victims many, too, the open witnesses.
Amongst the vanguard of the martyr band at this period we must notice Catelan Girardet. On reaching the place of execution, and in view of the pile on which he was to suffer, he had the self-possession to dictate the following parabolic lesson. He desired that two stones might be brought to him, and rubbing them violently together, whilst the multitude watched his proceedings, he exclaimed aloud, “Ye think to abolish our Churches by your persecutions; but you can no more do it than my weak hands can crush these stones!”
A martyr of the following year, and one of the most distinguished pastors of the poor scattered flock, was Martin Gonin, of Angrogna, who, on his return from Geneva in 1536, whither he had gone on ecclesiastical affairs, was taken up as a spy; but the Parliament, on examination, found him innocent on this charge. Why he returned to his prison we are not told; but the jailer, who was an adept in his calling, on searching him anew ere he left it, found some papers involving him in a heavier charge than that on which he had been at first apprehended. A spy might hope for mercy, a heretic never. The Vaudois pastor was tried a second time, and condemned not to the stake; his accusers, it is said, feared the light of his funeral pile; not to the executioner, for the martyr’s dying accents might proclaim the cause for which he suffered. His sentence was drowning, and it was to be carried into effect in the silence and darkness of night. On the 25th of April, 1536, the missionary’ s burning light was quenched in the waves of the Isere. There were circumstances of painful interest connected with this midnight murder; but it matters little now those protracted agonies; the cold river of death has long been passed, and angels have welcomed the pilgrim on the other bank, and introduced him to the multitude of the redeemed.
But these were not the only witnesses who at this period of comparative reprieve were summoned to tell their tale of wrongs and sufferings at the bar of God. Amongst others, two pastors returning from Geneva to the valleys, together with three French Protestants, were arrested at Chambery, imprisoned and condemned, and died triumphantly. These few words comprise the history of thousands of the martyrs of this period.
We will select two or three from the Vaudois Church, which lies in our more immediate track, beginning with that of the youth Nicolas Sartoire, who, after following his studies at Berne for a year, was returning to the valleys in the bright month of May to hold holidays with his family. We can all imagine how his arrival was anticipated by that family, and how his former young companions shared in their joy. Sorrow and persecution would relax their grasp for a little in such a meeting, whilst each ready hand and heart were engaged in preparations of welcome, in spreading the board, and twining with bows of hawthorn and spring flowers the seat destined for the stranger. But he came not; the long absent, the best beloved, came not. The flowers withered, the festal treat was untouched; for he for whom it was prepared never returned. Cruel hands were laid on the youth as he crossed the frontier of his valley home, and he was thrown into a dungeon. Artful men tried all that bribery or menace could do to make him renounce the faith of his forefathers, but they tried in vain. He brought no shame on the pure blood of his race; and his parents had not to deplore his apostasy, though they were called to weep over his early loss. It was in vain they and their countrymen implored for mercy on the boy’s tender years and guiltless head; it was in vain that Berne indignantly remonstrated at the unjust detention of one of her students; the priests of Rome would not give up their prey. They burnt him, burnt the boy-martyr, at Aosta, on the 4th of May, 1557. But he ascended the burning pile rather than renounce his God, a free, a beautiful sacrifice.
“Early, bright, transient, pure as morning dew
He sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.”
One more martyr, not young and blooming, but firm
and joyous as the last. Geofroi Varaille had seen fifty
summers. His character, naturally reflective, had been
matured by the best ripeners of human judgment sorrow
and experience. He was born of Papist parents; nay, was
the only son of a distinguished commander in the invading
army of 1488. He had also become a monk, and was so
renowned for his abilities and zeal, that he was deputed to
preach throughout Italy, in companionship with another
celebrated cowled ecclesiastic, Ochino of Siena, the founder
of the order of the Capuchins. These circumstances do
not appear favourable to his conversion to Protestantism,
still less the many lucrative benefices bestowed on him,
and the honourable situations he was called to fill in the
hierarchy. After his return from his missionary tour he
was appointed to attend the Pope’s legate in France; and
we next find him domesticated in the royal palace. But
the “Spirit bloweth where it listeth;” and so powerful were
its breathings on the soul of Varaille that, unable any
longer to resist its influence, he left all and fled to Geneva.
In this city of the Reformers, after diligent study of the
Holy Scriptures and deep devotional preparation, he received ordination by the laying on of hands, and afterwards
became the pastor of San Giovanni in the valleys. What an extraordinary history! The son of a persecutor,
the favoured priest, the admired courtier, content to
become an humble pastor of the despised Waldensians!
But his career is not yet ended. On his return from a
short visit to his native town, Busca, in Piedmont, he
was arrested on the information of the monks,
San Giovanni Pellice who were lying in wait for him. It would seem that his cold prison had more attraction for Geofroi Varaille than a king’s palace; for he might have escaped from that at Barge whilst on his parole, and subsequently through the instrumentality of his attached parishioners, had he not restrained their ardour, and bade them “leave the matter to God.” It was natural that more of the pomp and circumstance
of authority should be called forth to burn an apostate priest
of Home than a commonplace heretic; and we will do the
hierarchy the justice to add that they did all they could to
win back this once highly esteemed member of it. Neither
bribes nor flattery were spared, when they saw how
powerless threats were to move the iron resolve of the
martyr.
The fine square of Turin was the theatre of his suffering, if that could be called suffering which he hailed as his privilege and release. Thousands are reported to have witnessed his execution, and to have borne their testimony to the joy, the deep mysterious joy, which irradiated his countenance as he delivered his parting address. There must have been a lingering of mercy on the part of his judges to have permitted this; or do we owe the apparent softening of his sentence by previous strangling to their desire to shorten the powerful appeal? There certainly was no compassion shown to the aged attendant of Geofroi Varaille, whose trembling hands were forced that day to perform strange offices, and who, after this compulsory service, was scourged and branded!
Two years before the martyrdom here related, the beautiful castle-yard at Turin, which we trust will never again witness such scenes, displayed the same eager multitude, the same apparatus of punishment, and heard the same noble confession, from Barthélemi Hector, a bookseller, or rather colporteur, of Poictiers. There is a beautiful Alp, called the Vacherie, which rises above Pra del Tor, on the summit of which numerous cows, as the name imports, graze during the summer months. Here the colporteur carried his books to sell to the labourers as they reposed at noon on the mountain side. Here, too, he read portions of the Scriptures to the old grandame, or the little maidens, as they watched their cows and goats, or plied the distaff or the needle. But the enemy found him out on his forbidden errand, even in the wild solitudes of nature. Barthélemi was arrested and called before the judges to answer for his crime. But happily the colporteur’s religion was no sudden impulse—was no ignorant or idle courting of danger. He had been inured to sights and scenes of woe, and had deliberately counted the earthly cost of confessing, and the everlasting risk of denying his faith. Nor did his constant mind waver when thus addressed in the hall—we will not call it of justice,
“You have been surprised in the act of selling heretical books.”
“If the Bible contains heresies for you, it is truth for me,” was his answer.
“But you use the Bible to deter men from going to mass.”
“If the Bible deters them, it is a proof that God does not approve of the mass, and that it is idolatry.”
“Retract!” exclaimed the judge.
“I have spoken truth,” replied Barthelemi, firmly; “can I change truth as a garment?”
There was an unusual indecision in the colporteur’s judges. They hoped, perhaps, by delay to persuade him to retract; but months of prison hardship only confirmed his resolution. Even when he was being led to execution the offer of conditional pardon was renewed; but the stake and all the dismal preparation for a violent death gave only a fresh impulse to his refusal. Exasperated by his obstinacy, they gave the fatal signal. “Glory to God,” exclaimed the intrepid martyr, “that He judges me worthy of death!” And thus he died, for obeying the last injunction of his Master.
It will be a relief to the feelings of grief and indignation, which the matter we have too long dwelt on has swelled to overflowing, to relate the escape of two poor mountain birds from the net of the fowler. The Pastor Gilles, returning from Calabria with a Frenchman named Etienne Noel, arrived one evening at an inn in Savoy, intending to make it their quarters for the night. Here they fell in with a party of public officials; and it will be supposed that neither choice nor prudence would have induced them to join such a company at supper, had not the head of the band, who had other reasons than a desire for their society, urged his invitations with so much pertinacity that they deemed it unsafe to refuse. During the meal he so plied the strangers with questions, that they had great difficulty in answering them without betraying themselves; and, indeed, so well was it to be seen that they had failed to lull the questioner’s suspicions to rest, that, complaining of fatigue, they retired to consult on the best means of immediate flight. How was this to be effected? There was but one way, and that was full of peril namely, to endeavour to bribe the landlord to connive at their escape. The good man compassionated their danger, unbarred his door, and the prisoners were soon as free as the birds of the air, and joining with them in a matin song of praise and thankfulness.
We must not omit, in the martyrology of this period, an interesting pair of the name of Mathurin. The option of apostasy or burning alive was given, with three short days for choice; and the husband was awaiting their expiration, when his wife applied for leave to visit him, saying “she had something to say to him for his good.” That this was to urge him to recant was not for a moment doubted by the commissioners, who conducted her to the prisoner. What, then, was their astonishment at hearing her exhort her husband “to persevere in the profession of faith to the end!” “Trouble not yourself,” said the heroic wife, “with anything relating to this world, not even the painful death which awaits you it will soon be past; and think not of leaving me desolate and a widow, for, by God s help, I will die with you!” And she did; one sole request she preferred, and that with so much earnestness that it was granted, to die on the same day and on the same pile as her husband.
“The time would fail” to tell of all the individual traits of heroism and instances of suffering which belong to the history of the Vaudois Church; we have selected those we thought most interesting, and endeavoured to show that there was no age, sex, or station, exempted from the ordeal, and that all bore it with the same unwavering heroism. We must now proceed to the vast “cloud of witnesses” which the approaching persecution drew forth to martyrdom in masses.
