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 LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 ROSARIO CURLETTI
 
 \UCSB LIBRARY y-^'/^'^^^ 
 
 PIERRE ' ^ 
 
 HIS FAMILY; 
 
 OH, 
 
 A STORY OF THE WALDENSES. 
 
 y 
 
 Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughler'd saint<), whose bones 
 Lie bcalter'd on the Alpine mountains cold.— jl/j/fon. 
 
 REVISED BV THE COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 no! 146 CHESNUT STREET. 
 
 —4
 
 ■'■ ^ 
 
 ROSARI. 
 
 # 
 
 7 
 
 #
 
 PRErACE 
 
 TO THE PRESENT EDITION. 
 
 By the Committee of Publication of the ATne- 
 Heart Sunday School Union, 
 
 The early American editions of this work 
 having been disposed of with very great ra- 
 pidity, the committee have taken this expres- 
 sion of public sentiment, as a guarantee for a 
 still greater demand ; and, anticipating the 
 sale of repeated editions, have had the work 
 stereotyped, and have added new engrav- 
 ings. 
 
 The committee present this little volume 
 with renewed interest to the Christian world, 
 as a work well fitted to illustrate and enforce 
 the loveliest traits of Christian character; and
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 all fears respecting its reception are removed, 
 for it has been extensively read and as gene- 
 rally approved. 
 
 The incidents of the narrative are so nearly 
 historical, that we may consider them as abso- 
 lutely so, a name being only given to one ot 
 the many families who have triumphantly 
 endured such trials; and in this light, no apo- 
 logy is necessary, even from a society dis- 
 avowing all sectarian distinctions. The state 
 of public feeling in Great Britain allowing 
 more license of expression on these subjects, 
 than would be proper in this country, the 
 language has, in some instances, been modi- 
 fied; but the general character of the work is 
 highly approved; and, regarded, not as a 
 horrid picture of the malignant spirit of per- 
 secution, but as a display of Christian virtues. 
 Contrast, there necessarily is, between the 
 children of the evil one and the people of God; 
 the mind, however, dwells not on the dark and 
 gloomy cloud, but on the bright light which 
 glows throughout it. No revengeful feeling 
 is kindled in the breast, while from the view
 
 PREFACE. T 
 
 of such graces shining through such trials, the 
 lustre of Christian virtue is made to appear 
 more conspicuous. 
 
 The history of man through everj age, has 
 shown liim to be the same selfish, despotic be- 
 ing; and where we see absolute power, espe- 
 cially in connexion with religious domina- 
 tion, there may we trace the grievous hand of 
 oppression. It is not the reproach of a sect, 
 but a stigma on the character of man, that 
 even the mild religion of the Lamb of God 
 has been made a cloak, under which to in- 
 dulge the most detestable and destructive 
 passions. Happily for our own country, re- 
 ligion here knows no political power; yet does 
 it still continue true, that " those who will 
 live godly in Christ Jesus, shall suffer perse- 
 cution ;*' and to such as are anxious to follow 
 the Lord of Life, and to partake with him the 
 glories of his kingdom, the interesting history 
 of Pierre and his Family is recommended. 
 Trials of various degrees of severity await 
 the Christian throughout his warfare, and it is 
 l)is high duty to meet them in the exercise of 
 A 2
 
 Tl PREFACE. 
 
 holy principles, stern and unyielding in truth, 
 meek and amiable in temper and in action. It 
 is the exhibition of this character in its faith- 
 fulness and its loveliness, that is considered 
 the principal object and chief merit of this 
 work, which is cordially recommended to the 
 reader. 
 
 Philadelphia, 1842.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "During the dark ages which succeeded the 
 invasion of Europe bj the barbarous nations, 
 when feudal anarchy distiacted the civil go- 
 vernments, and a ilood of superstition had 
 deluged the church, Christianity, banished 
 from the seats of empire, and loathing the 
 monkish abodes of indolence and vice, meekly 
 retired into the sequestered valleys of Pied- 
 mont. Finding there a race of men unarrayed 
 in hostile armour, uncontaminated by the 
 doctrines and commandments of an apostate 
 church, unambitious in their temper, and sim- 
 ple in their manners, she preferred their so- 
 ciety, and among them took up her abode.'** 
 
 This beautiful passage, from the elegant 
 and eloquent historian of the Churches of the 
 AValdenses, suggested the idea of the follow- 
 ing story; in which an attempt is made to 
 sketch the peace, industry, and homefelt hap- 
 
 * History of the Waldenses, connected with a Sketch 
 of the Christian Church : by TVilliam Jones, — from 
 ■which work the information contained in this chapter 
 is derived nearly verbatim.
 
 8 IKTRODUCTION. 
 
 plness of a family in one of the villages of 
 the valleys, and then very simply to exhibit 
 the nature of the persecution to which, from 
 generation to generation, the people of God 
 have been exposed in almost every Catholic 
 state of Europe. 
 
 It is, however, well known to every reader 
 of history, that many Catholics, in every age, 
 have exceedingly disapproved of the measures 
 followed by the priesthood, in regard to the 
 Waldenses, Albigenses, and other Protestant 
 Churches; and the singular note which is 
 quoted at the end of this volume shows how 
 strong and how generous was the sympathy 
 felt by many a noble, and by more than one 
 royal Catholic, for the wrongs and sufferings 
 of the early Christians of the valleys. 
 
 For the information of my readers, it may 
 be necessary to state, that Piedmont, the 
 place to which Christianity is said to have 
 withdrawn, is a tract of country situated at 
 the foot of the Alps, an immense range of 
 mountains which divides Italy from France, 
 Switzerland, and other countries: it consists 
 of a number of beautiful valleys, embosomed 
 in mountains, which are again encircled by
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 ot^er mountains, and displays in its varied 
 scenery, in most striking contrast, all the fer- 
 tility and beauty of Eden, with lakes of ice 
 and mountains covered with eternal snow. 
 Many of the passes leading into Piedmont 
 are strongly fortified, not by art, but by na- 
 ture, which Ihas so multiplied her bulwarks of 
 rocks and rivers, forests and precipices, that 
 "it appears," says Sir Thomas Moreland, 
 "as if the Ail-wise Creator had, from the 
 beginning, designed that place as a cabinet 
 wherein to put some inestimable jewel, — or in 
 which to reserve many thousand souls who 
 should not bow the knee to Baal." 
 
 But Christianity was not always secure 
 amid the valleys of the Alps: she had some- 
 times to escape for her life, — to leave the val- 
 leys behind her, — to cross the mountains in 
 ice and snow, — and to seek shelter in Dau 
 phiny, in Provence, and even in the recesses 
 of the Pyrenees. There, also, beautiful val- 
 leys are to be found, rich in every thing that 
 is sweet to the taste, or pleasant to tlie eye, 
 — adorned with the flowers and fruit of the 
 citron and the orange — the aloe and the
 
 10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 pomegranate — animated by herds of deer, and 
 cheered by the song of the vintage. 
 
 Behold, then, in these valleys, the retreats 
 of a most interesting people, who, in times of 
 misrule and oppression in the State, and of 
 bigotry and superstition in the Church, pre- 
 served, in simplicity and in purity, the "faith 
 once delivered to the saints." Men that con- 
 tinued, from race to race, a separate people, — 
 like the Hebrew fathers of old, who went from 
 one nation to another, and from one kingdom 
 to another people, — so the Christians of those 
 early ages, "hunted as partridges on the 
 mountains," and stigmatized as heretics by 
 their enemies, — when persecuted in '* one 
 city, fled unto another;" and, when dislodged 
 from the shelter of one lovely valley, retreated 
 to the sequestered bosom of some other. 
 
 These interesting and persecuted people 
 were called Waldenses. It is thought by 
 some that the reason why they were so called, 
 was from the Latin word vallis, from which 
 the English word valley^ and the ecclesiastical 
 word Valdenses, are both derived; the latter 
 simply signifies the inhabitants of valleys. 
 
 The AValdenses were exceedingly hated by
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 11 
 
 ^e monks and clergy of the church of Rome, 
 who called them heretics. Their heresy con- 
 sisted in the belief of the truth as set forth in 
 the Bible, and in their contempt of many cere- 
 monies and practices of the Roman Catholics, 
 Among other things, the Waldenses affirmed, 
 that the mass signified nothing; that the apos- 
 tles knew nothing about it ; that whatever was 
 preached without scripture proof was no bet- 
 ter than fables ; and they would neither kiss 
 the altar, the priest's hands, nor the pope's 
 feet. They placed no value in absolution, 
 saying, none could forgive sins but God only. 
 They gave no credit to the legends of the 
 Baints ; and despised alike their mock miracles 
 and their relics. They dreaded all dedica- 
 tions and benedictions of candles, ashes, oil, 
 fire, salt, water. They said that Christ never 
 gave to his disciples either rockets or mitres ; 
 they dissuaded people from going on pilgrim- 
 age, and they denied the existence of purga» 
 tory, saying, '* where the tree falls, there it 
 lies. " They considered once praying in the 
 words and spirit of the Lord's prayer better 
 than the ringing of ten bells or than the mass 
 itself. They declared they saw no efficacy in
 
 12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the priestly, vestments, altars, ornaments, 
 palls, corporals, chalices, and patins. The 
 worsliip of images, and their presence in the 
 churches, tliej affirmed to be idolatrous. But 
 the very head and front of their offending was 
 this — they could say great part of the bible 
 BY heart! 
 
 But, wliile such were the sentiments lield 
 and expressed by the people of the valleys, and 
 which must have been extremely offensive to 
 the Catholics, it is but justice to both parties 
 to state, that the Catholic historians of that 
 day bear ample testimony to tlie excellence of 
 the morality of tliese persecuted heretics, ex- 
 cept, in some instances, where their accusa- 
 tions are so absurd and so extravagant as to 
 carry with them their own contradiction. 
 
 •"^ These heretics," writes an inquisitor of 
 that age — " These heretics are known by their 
 manners and conversation, lor they are orderly 
 and modest in their behaviour and deport- 
 ment; tiiey avoid all appearance of pride in 
 their dress; they are chaste, temperate, and 
 sober; they seek not to amass riches; they 
 abstain from anger; and even, while at work, 
 are either learning or teaching." A Catholic
 
 INTRODUOTIO.V. 13 
 
 prelate says of tliem — ^' Their heresy except- 
 ed, they generally live a purer life than other 
 Christians. In their morals and lives they 
 are perfect, irreprehensible, without reproach 
 among men." — "They are true in words," 
 says anotlier inquisitor, " unanimous in bro- 
 therly love, but their faith is incorrigible and 
 vile, as I have shown in my treatise." 
 
 This faith, however, which the Dominican 
 anathematized as incorrigible and vile, was, 
 notwithstanding his assertion, both divine and 
 holy — the faitli that purifieth the heart, 
 worketh by love, and overcometh the world; 
 tlie faith of the martyrs and confessors of the 
 primitive church; the faith that supported the 
 first martyr, who, in the exquisite agonies of 
 an excruciating death, went, as it were, to 
 sleep in peace and stillness amid all the tu- 
 mult of his persecutors, saying — *' Lord Jesus 
 receive my spirit!" 
 
 One circumstance more might be added to 
 this sketch of the character of these deposi- 
 taries of truth, — these lights of the world in 
 the days of darkness; I mean the zeal with 
 which, as the missionaries of their age, they 
 B
 
 14 INTROnUCTION. 
 
 sought to instruct the uninformed, and the 
 simplicity with which they communicated to 
 others their knowledge of that Bible which 
 was withheld from the Roman Catholic laity, 
 and of which many of the clergy knew nothing. 
 But as the folUnving story is intended to 
 convey this information to the juvenile reader, 
 and to interest him in the truths of that Bible 
 which the Waldenses, in some measure, pre- 
 served, and, through God's blessing, have 
 handed down to us, — I shall not here antici- 
 pate what follows ; but cast myself upon the 
 generosity of my readers, praying that this 
 little book may not pass through their hands 
 without a blessing from Him who can alone 
 make any means of instruction profitable ; but 
 who is sometimes pleased to magnify his own 
 Omnipotence by the very weakness and feeble- 
 ness of the instrument which he employs.
 
 PIERRE 
 AND HIS FA»III.ir. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Hark I thp note, 
 " The natural music of the mountain reed — 
 " For here the patriarchal days are not 
 " A pastoral fable — pipes in the liberal air, 
 " Mix with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd." 
 
 In a secluded valley of the Alps, bordering 
 on the confines of Piedmont and Dauphiny, 
 on the marffin of a little lake, which renected 
 on its limpid bosom the mountains that sur- 
 rounded it, stood, some hundred years a^o, 
 the beautiful village of St. Madelaine-de- 
 Belleville. 
 
 The approach to the village, from the side 
 of France, was through a defile of the moun- 
 tains, narrow and wild, along the banks of a 
 river, so circumscribed in its course, that it 
 had worn itself a passage fearfully profound 
 in the rock that formed its bed. The foam it 
 threw around it, the rapidity of its current, 
 and the thundering noise with which it deaf- 
 ened the traveller, not unfrequently intimi- 
 dated him ; and he sought to escape from its
 
 16 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 tumultuous and raging presence, as from the 
 pursuit of some furious enemy. 
 
 As tlie road, on one side, wound along the 
 edge of precipices wliich overhung the river, 
 so on the other side it was bordered by masses 
 of rocks covered on the top with earth and 
 verdure, which, rising one above another, car- 
 ried, from lieight to height, as on so many 
 stages or platforms, the beautiful pines of 
 the Alps; whose dark green hues appeared 
 strongly contrasted with the silvery whiteness 
 of the bark, and graceful branches of the birch 
 trees, which hung their drooping foliage in a 
 thousand forms below. 
 
 Among the rocks, in the ^voods, and along 
 the sides of the road were seen, at every step, 
 the beautiful flowers of the gentianella, and 
 the blue bells of the campanella; sweet vio- 
 lets with yellow hearts, the wood -anemone 
 with its white flowers, and the dark auricula 
 of the Alps, which scattered, in rich profu- 
 sion, upon that mountain air, the fragrance it 
 refused to yield when transplanted to the 
 gardens of the plain. 
 
 In coming out of this pass or defile, the 
 valley and village of St. Madelaine gradually 
 opened to the view, and presented in sweet- 
 est contrast, an aspect infinitely lovely, — its 
 lake, its meadows, its vineyards, its groves 
 of mulberry trees, its antique cottages mostly 
 built of wood, witli high chimneys running
 
 PIERRE AXD H13 FAMILY. 17 
 
 up into the air like so many church steeples; 
 while the mountains beyond, piled one above 
 another, ^ — the glaciers sparkling with t)ie most 
 dazzling whiteness, — pyramids and obelisks 
 of granite, formed by nature, and covered 
 with perpetual snow; — altogether formed a 
 scene of greater contrast, beauty, splendour, 
 and softness, than imagination can conceive, 
 and which could not be beheld without in- 
 spiring emotions at once of terror and delight, 
 such as might be felt, but which language is 
 quite powerless to describe. 
 
 At a little distance from the village, beyond 
 the mulberry trees at the end ot the lake, 
 stood the cottage of Pierre de Beawoisin, 
 its round roof and high chimney peeping out 
 from amon^ the boughs of a beautiful cha- 
 taigner which shadefl it from the powerful 
 beams of the sun. Above the threshold of the 
 cottage were carved the names of two ances- 
 tors of Pierre, who, driven by persecution 
 from their native valley in the bosom of the 
 Pyrenees, had here taken shelter, and, re- 
 taining their own language and their own 
 customs, and bestowing them upon their de- 
 scendants, had been the first to establish this 
 little domicile: and, like the rest of the 
 houses in the village, each of which bore some 
 moral sentence or pious distich inscribed over 
 the door, there was sculptured (m the front of 
 Pierre's little cot, the salutation of the hospi- 
 Bi2 
 
 ^ 
 
 & 
 
 ^
 
 18 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 table Syrian of old, " Come in thou blessed of 
 the Lord, wherefore standest thou without." 
 
 Pierre, thougli the son of one of the pastors 
 of the valleys, was nevertheless a soldier, — 
 we should not saj by profession, but by com- 
 pulsion. He had been made so by one of 
 those many and cruel acts of oppression to 
 which the peaceful inhabitants of tliese .se- 
 cluded regions sometimes were exposed, and 
 from which they had neither escape nor re- 
 dress. Among the other reproaches and 
 calumnies with which the Waldenses were 
 loaded, disloyalty and disaffection to the 
 princes under whom they lived, had often 
 been attached to their character. One reason 
 for this calumny arose from their repugnance 
 to war, their distaste to the profession of arms, 
 and their consequent refusal, so far as possi- 
 ble, to serve in the armies of the state. It 
 was not always practicable, however, for their 
 young men to elude the levies ordered by the 
 government in the provinces ; and it was on an 
 occasion of emergency when it was necessary 
 for the village of St. Madelaine to furnish its 
 quota, that the lot had fallen upon Pierre, 
 who, witli an aching heart, saw himself en- 
 rolled in the army of the king; for at that 
 time the valleys belonged to France. 
 
 Old de Beauvoisin, his father, bore with 
 submission this sore stroke, which, at that 
 time, he considered a grievous evd: but 
 
 ^
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 19 
 
 Pierre, forgetting his own distress, comforted 
 Ais father, by reminding him, that he had 
 called his attention, when a boy, to the cha- 
 racter of Cornelius the devout centurion; — 
 that he had pointed to the Roman soldier, at 
 the cross of Christ, as bearing a testimony to 
 his divinity which priests and scribes refused 
 to give ; saying that religion belonged to no 
 peculiar profession exclusively, but that men 
 might glorify God in the camp and in the 
 guard-room, as well as in the closet; and, 
 though such a field of duty would never have 
 been chosen bv him for any of his family, yet., 
 while the world continued constituted as it 
 was, there were many things that ou<rht to be 
 silently submitted to from the powers that be; 
 because, by that very submission, the Great 
 Power above, that ordained them all, was 
 more glorified than by resistance. 
 
 Pierre had accordingly been a soldier from 
 the time of his first enrolment, which hap- 
 pened about two years after he was married. 
 He had served indifferent countries, — after 
 every campaign returning, for intervals of a 
 month or two, to his native valley. Blanche, 
 the beautiful wife of Pierre, never accompa- 
 nied him to the wars, but remained at home 
 to bring up her family, and to take care of the 
 aged pastor, her father-in-law. 
 
 Old Beauvoisin was the father of a numef' 
 ous family, on whom he had no inheritance to
 
 20 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 bestow, but that of an example of pre-eminent 
 piety, and an education such as few in those 
 days even amongst the highest ranks of life 
 could boast. By these advantages his chil- 
 dren had happily profited; but, as St. Made- 
 laine was too poor to support more than one 
 pastor, the sons of the old man liad wandered 
 from valley to valley, and had become teach- 
 ers, merchants, or artisans, in other places ; 
 one only having obtained the pastoral office, 
 who, on the death of old de Beauvoisin, suc- 
 ceeded him in the charge of his beloved flock, 
 being a man of the same mind and of the 
 same heart, and taught by the same Spirit, as 
 his father. From these circumstances Pierre 
 had, even when at home, rarely seen any of 
 his father's family, except tiie old pastor him- 
 self. He had now been dead some time, and 
 Pierre was to see another occupying his place. 
 For the war being finally ended, and a treaty 
 of peace concluded at Naples with the differ- 
 ent powers, they were about gradually to 
 withdraw their forces; but Pierre, who had 
 risen to a rank above that of a common sol- 
 dier, having been wounded in the last encoun- 
 ter with the enemy, was, with others of the 
 sick, returning, before the rest of the troops, 
 an invalid to his beloved valley. 
 
 It was on a beautiful evening, succeeding a 
 day of sultry heat, when, partially recovered 
 from his wounds, but still languicl and faint.
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 21 
 
 that Pierre de Beauvoisin, with others of his 
 comrades, was put on board a polacca in the 
 port of Naples, bound for Marseilles, for which 
 destination they sailed at sunset. The air 
 was calm and cool, and Pierre, coming from 
 the heated atmospliere of a crowded hospital, 
 felt revived and refreshed as he inhaled ihv 
 softness of the zephyr — for breeze it could 
 not be called — which came down loaded with 
 fragrance from the groves of Posilipo and the 
 gardens that bordered the lovely shore. He 
 sat till a late hour upon the deck, gazing at 
 the flaming mountain, which like a giant with 
 a giant's torch, lighted them out of the bay. 
 The fleecy clouds hovering in mid air, the sky, 
 and the liost of heaven, which appeared as if 
 illuminated by its fires, were reflected on the 
 bosom of the deep; and, as the waters be- 
 came uiidulatory round the prow of the po- 
 lacca, she seemed to be treading out a thou- 
 sand stars. 
 
 During the tedious voyage — for at that time 
 the Provencals were the worst sailors in the 
 ^vorld — Pierre beguiled, or rather improved 
 the time, by thinking of the many mercies of 
 God which he had received, but especially 
 praising him for tlie great blessing of peace 
 to the nations ; and that he should not again 
 be called upon to resume the avocations in 
 which he had now been so long engaged ; and 
 for the sweet hope which he enjoyed of soon
 
 22 PIERRE ASt) HIS FAMILY. 
 
 rejoining his beloved family, and of being 
 again employed in the pastoral occupations of 
 the valley. He also spent many an hour in 
 reading and meditating; on that precious book 
 Avhich nis dear and venerable father had be- 
 queathed to him as his ...dying legacy, and 
 which he valued above all things iji the world. 
 Pierre would try sometimes to prevail on the^ 
 soldiers to listen to him as he repeated'to them 
 portions of the Hoi); Bible j for he durst not 
 venture to confess, among^he Catholics, that 
 the book, in which he so often read, was the 
 Book of God, lest it should have been told 
 to the monks and friars who were accustomed 
 to frequent the camp to shrive* the dying 
 men, and thereby have been taken from him. 
 While the soldiers and the Proven 9als 
 would try to beguile the tedium of the voyage, 
 by reciting to each other stories of chivalry or 
 romance, or legends of their fabulous saints, 
 ivith tlieir trumpery miracles; Pierre would 
 sometimes say to the soldier next to him, or 
 to his comrades, as they loitered about th^ 
 ship, "Come now, my friend, come now, com- 
 rades, it is my turn to speak, listen to me ; I 
 will tell you of that which is better than the 
 legends of a thousand saints, and more pre- 
 cious than the spoil of a taken city. Listen, 
 and you shall judge. " He would then, offering 
 
 * To hear confessions.
 
 PIERRE AVD HIS FAMILY. 23 
 
 up a silent prayer to God for his blessing on 
 his own word, begin to repeat IVoni menioiy, 
 connecting fact by fact, and minutely iletailing 
 every sacred incident, without interruption to 
 the regular narrative, tiie exquisitelv simple 
 relation of the nativity, life, sutferings, and 
 death of Him who, though the Ancient of 
 Days, humbled iiimself to become a little child, 
 and who, though the Lord of Life, became obe- 
 dient unto death, even the death of the cross. 
 And, whether.it were the beauty of iiolia4:;i>s, 
 or the divine tenderness, or the unpuied an- 
 guish of the Man of Sorrow% that affected 
 the hearts of these rude auditors, — or whether 
 it were the -power of the word of God that 
 touched their . softened souls, — Pierre could 
 not tell; but many a time he saw a tear stand 
 in the eye of the bandit by his side, who could 
 iiave trod through fields of blood, unmoved and 
 unrelenting: he also observed, with wonder 
 and with joy, that often the seaman at the 
 helm, as he raised his dark eye from the bin- 
 nacle, to the weather-vane upon his topmast, 
 would pass his hand across his iron face to 
 dash away the gathering tear-drop from his 
 cheek, and whistle a song the while to conceal 
 from others his emotion. 
 
 It was thus, in reciting, from time to time, 
 passages of Holy Writ to his untaught and 
 superstitious companions, as they lay upon 
 deck, either wrapt in their cloaks in the even-
 
 24 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 ing, or under the awnin» in the heat of the 
 day, that Pierre passed the period of his voy- 
 age. After the manner of his own people, 
 most of whom had the greatest part of the 
 Bible by heart, and who may be considered 
 as the Missionaries of those days, Pierre com- 
 menced, whenever an opportunity permitted 
 him, with some passage from the scripture, 
 and, without pretending either to explain or 
 to exhort, Would give it in all its own sacred 
 simplicity, saying, "And it came to pass in 
 those days," or, "In the days of Herod the 
 King," or, "In the sixth month, the angel 
 Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of 
 Galilee named Nazareth." While, with the 
 same singleness of heart, and artlessness of 
 mariner, he would introduce other parts of 
 scripture, beginning with a silent petition to 
 God for his blessing and grace, then adding, 
 " A certain man had two sons," — or, <^ Tliere 
 was a certain rich man who was clothed in 
 purple,"— or, " There was in a city a judge." 
 At other times he would relate to the soldiers 
 the battles of Joshua — of Gideon— of Jeph- 
 thah — the defeat of Sisera, and the stratagem 
 of Jael: and often, often was he called upon 
 to recount again the combat of David and the 
 giant, and to describe tlie armour of the cham- 
 pion of Gath. To the sailors Pierre would 
 detail the voyage of Paul ; his embarkation in 
 the ship of Adramyttium; his arrival at the
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 25 
 
 Fair Havens; his perilous voyage and ship- 
 wreck; how the angel of the Lord stood by 
 liim in the ni^-ht and enc()urao;ed him to pro- 
 ceed— or he wouhl enter into all the interesting 
 circumstances of the ship, and the terror of 
 the mariners with whom the disobedient 
 prophet sailed to Tarshish — describing the 
 tempest, the raging of the sea. and •'•how it 
 ceased from its raging." 
 
 It was in this manner that the pious soldiei", 
 obedient to the w^ord of God which he vene- 
 rated, and to the precepts of his father whose 
 memory was so dear to him. endeavoured 
 freely to impart that blessing to others which 
 he had freely received of God; displaying, in 
 all he did and said, the peculiai- traits of cha- 
 racter common to the interesting people to 
 whom he belonged, and verifying, in an eminent 
 degree, the charge of the enemies of the in- 
 habitants of the valleys, •• That tiiey repeated 
 great parts of the Bible by heart !--^ 
 
 In tiiose days navigation was not so well 
 understood as it is now; the sailors were ac- 
 customed, except in fine weather or in moon- 
 light, to make their vessel lay-to, or, where 
 they were able, they would cast anchor every 
 night: this made sailing very tedious. T)e 
 Beauvoisin still finding his wound painful, 
 and his health only partially restored, used 
 
 * See note at the end of the volume. 
 
 c 
 
 .•
 
 26 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 to long to be at liome again, where he was 
 sure Blanche would nurse him so well, and 
 with so much tenderness, that he would soon 
 recover. This made him look out anxiously, 
 day by day, for the first peep of his native 
 mountains; and you may judge of the delight 
 with which, towards the close of their voy- 
 age, he beheld the Alps, covered witli snow, 
 appear to his desiring eyes, rising to a won- 
 derful height out of the water, — for as yet 
 the plain and the land were invisible. The 
 sight revived his flagging spirits, and excited 
 his pious gratitude: while the Swiss soldiers 
 on board, — who had hitherto, during the voy- 
 age, kept singing those pensive songs of the 
 valleys, by which its natives express their 
 passionate love for their- country, and their 
 irrepressible desire to revisit it, — beheld these 
 snowy summits with emotions little short of 
 transport. 
 
 At lengtli the polacca m:ule her port, and 
 all on board beheld with delight the waters 
 of the Rhone, the galleys of France, the 
 towers of Notro-Danie, uikI, in short, all 
 those objects witli which, whethei- as citizens 
 or travellers, they were acquainted ; and, as 
 it was here that the soldiers on board had 
 twice embarked, and as often, after seasons 
 uf absence, arrived on their return, it was 
 just that spot witli whose "landmarks each of
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 27" 
 
 them would probably be most affectingly 
 familiar. 
 
 The soldiers, being obliged to proceed in- 
 land to the town, where they were to receive 
 their official discharge before proceeding to 
 iheir own homes, set out the next day at sun- 
 rise on their journey ; and when all was finally 
 settled at the depot, Pierre, accompanied by 
 some of his comrades, who were going part of 
 the same route with himself, commenced his 
 journey homeward across the Alps. I shall 
 not enter into any particular description of 
 the places throudi which he passed, nor pause 
 to expatiate on tTie mountains, the forests, the 
 rocks, the torrents which he saw on every 
 side as he slowly travelled along. Suffice it 
 to say, that the spot on which Pierre at last 
 parted with his companions, was just where 
 he first came in view of that particular outline 
 rf his own mountains that rose beyond his na- 
 tive village, with which he had been familiar 
 from childhood; whicli had often, on the mid- 
 night watch or in the silent camp, arisen to the 
 eye of his mind ; or in liis morning dream had 
 come before him with exquisite illusion. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the beauty of his 
 native valley, as it opened to his view from 
 the Pont-de-bois. Before him lay Sainte 
 Madelaine-de-Belleville like a sleeping in- 
 fant, surrounded by the everlasting moun- 
 tains that seemed placed there for its protec-
 
 28 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 tion, and which stood the immoveable guar- 
 dians of its quiet and repose, tlieir evening 
 summits touched 
 
 " With the rose-tints, which summer's twilight leaves 
 *' Upon the lofty glacier's virgin snow." 
 
 The air, fresh and pure, the beautilul cul- 
 ture of the valley, the cottages that appeared 
 at every step, a sky of sweetest light, — all 
 presented to the mind of Pierre whatever his 
 imagination could conceive of fiden, that 
 happy place; and he descended the steep 
 path before him amid a waste of fragrant 
 weeds and flowers, giving glory to Him who 
 had created all this loveliness, who humbleth 
 himself to behold the things that are upon the 
 eartli, and who, in the tenderness of his com- 
 passions, had preserved a poor soldier in his 
 going out, and had thus watched over him in 
 his coming in. 
 
 When Pierre at last saw his own cottage 
 under the leafy shade of the chataigner, his 
 heart began to beat. Ah ! what, thought he, 
 if any thing has happened to Blanche ! what 
 if Hubert be sick — or the baby whom I have 
 not yet seen, be never destined to receive its 
 fatlier's blessing ! But oh ! the joy to behold 
 them all again. — " Help me !" added Pierre 
 devoutly, " my God, to sustain alike this 
 dread of evil — and this strong expectation of 
 happiness !"
 
 PIERRE AND HIS F AMILY. 31 
 
 When he arrived at the said Pierre, "and 
 was more composed: he cis come upon ine. 
 its accustomed air of pecuicrcy to have had 
 noticed that the vine upon i-s continue to be 
 ed nearly over the roof, and themselves are 
 two bee-liives now, instead tuich more pre- 
 garden. who liveth for 
 
 As Pierre entered within ' make interces- 
 sure of palisadoes that ran » mav it be given 
 and passed the cottage windo> re, "* more and 
 wrapped in his military cloak lany mercies!" 
 light in the lattice, at which I: et blue eyes of 
 a boy about twelve years of a ,p in his arms 
 diligently reading liis grand vy thy blessing 
 which had been lent to him b} be faithful to 
 an hour; for, in those days, B to me. O! 
 precious that they were alwayse little ones 
 lock and key. Hubert did not glory !" 
 father was coming home; he ( y engaged in 
 that he had been wounded, or t out feelings, 
 been made by the king. He k i praise ; he 
 in short, of his father since he -ed Blanche 
 about a year and a half before, owards the 
 was in the ^\ars, and tliat his mo -e to open 
 cried M'hen she saw a soldier. delight of 
 
 Hubert caught but a glimpse o :er whom 
 figure that darkened, as he passed, > greater 
 in the window; but recognizing the lanche: 
 a cavalier, he ran out to see who it exces- 
 in a moment he was in his father's arii 'n had 
 Father! My Father!"' was uttered 
 C 2
 
 S2 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 done for grief in his absence, no meeting ever 
 was more happy on earth. 
 
 But happiness, my children, among all 
 conditions of men, and in every situation of 
 life, from the most splendid to the most hum- 
 ble, is never unmixed with some kind of alloy 
 in this world of imperfection. When v/e 
 shall be perfectly holy — then, and then only, 
 shall we be perfectly happy. Pierre was 
 happy in beholding his wife and infant, and 
 his dear Hubert, but he inquired somewhat 
 impatiently for the rest of his family. '• Where 
 was Antoine," he said, "and where was Ga- 
 brielle? Are they on the mountains with the 
 shepherds, or is Antoine at his lessons; why 
 do they not come to see their father .»"' 
 
 When Pierre began to inquire for Antoine 
 and Gabrielle, Hubert stole out of the room, 
 while Blanche rose and occupied herself as if 
 in search of something which she could not 
 find. 
 
 " My dear," said Pierre again, half smiling 
 at his own impatience, and half alarmed at 
 her silence, "Why do you not answer me, 
 where are the children .^" 
 
 " My love," replied Blanche, evading a 
 question which she trembled to answer, " it 
 is not yet sunset ; the goats and herds do not 
 come tlown so soon as this." 
 
 " They will be grown very much," said 
 Pierre, fondly musing on the remembered
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. OO 
 
 promise of beauty and strength which was 
 given bv his lovely daughter and playful boy. 
 *^They will be grown very tall; I sliall not 
 call her my petite Gabrielle now !'* 
 
 ^'No, indeed," replied his wife, suppress- 
 ing a sigh under a smiling countenance. — 
 Then, after a little, she added, '-Gabrielle, 
 dear child, reaches almost to my shoulder."' 
 
 Pierre then conversed about his brother, 
 whom he had not seen for a great many years ; 
 but who was now pastor of St. Madelaine, and 
 of the adjacent cottage and hamlets as far as 
 the valley extended. 
 
 " Our pastor," said Blanche, " left us a 
 week ago to visit the other cottages in the 
 valley, where there has been much sickness 
 of late ; but Louise expects he will return to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "It is a long time since I saw Pascal," 
 said Pierre ; '• does he resemble my father .^" 
 
 " Yes, he does resemble our beloved fa- 
 ther," replied Blanche; "^ but is what our fa- 
 ther would have been at forty years of age, 
 or younger. Pascal has his countenance, but 
 wants the bald though beautiful head, and the 
 sightless eyeballs. Yet surely he has his 
 spirit. O! what a heavenly spirit! — The vil- 
 lagers love him so much, he is almost an idol 
 among them. Some of the sounds of his 
 voice are so like our dear father's, that I some- 
 times think he speaks from the tomb. You
 
 34 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 will be astonished when you hear Pascal 
 speak to the people. He makes them trem- 
 ble, smile, weep, and rejoice by turns. His 
 voice, they say, comes into tfie heart, and 
 when he pauses or ceases to speak, his eye 
 continues the sermon. Yea, they say, liis 
 hand speaks. The little children love him as 
 much as the old people. When he goes out 
 to walk at home, or rides through the villages 
 of the valley, the children follow him, and re- 
 peat to him their hymns, or they crowd around 
 him to receive his blessing. Hubert says he 
 will be a pastor like his uncle and grandfa- 
 ther, because they are so much beloved, and 
 do so much good. Dear Hubert," continued 
 the fond mother, *'he is a sweet boy — he 
 comes to me sometimes when he has done all 
 the work I have for him to do in the garden 
 or the dairy, and with liis coaxing face, says, 
 *Now, my mother, you know what I should 
 like so mucli to have the loan of just for one 
 hour, or for half-an-houi', till Gabriellc comes 
 in, and then I will help her with tlie goats;' 
 ii\u\ so he goes on to entreat me to lend him 
 your father's precious Bible, my dear; which 
 1 do, as I know he will take good care of it. 
 AVhen he receives it, he is ready to embrace 
 it. ' What a ti-easure!' he says. ^ Oh mother, 
 if all the world had a Bible, there would be 
 no more cruel monks and priests.' — He then 
 sits down by the lattice, and gets by heart a
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 35 
 
 great many verses. He is far before his 
 cousin Albert, though lie is a year older than 
 Hubert. I dare say Hubert can now repeat 
 more than half of the New Testament by 
 heart, and a ereat many parts of the Old." 
 
 The pious father was not less thankful than 
 delighted to hear so pleasing an account of 
 his son, who was certamly an uncommon boy. 
 Hubert had indeed possessed uncommon ad- 
 vantages; he was his grandfather's boy, he 
 had been constantly with him; and, when he 
 became blind, which he did some time before 
 his death, Hubert used to read to him, to walk 
 with him, and converse with him constantly. 
 So that his knowledge was not only superior 
 to liis years, but far above that of his station in 
 life; for the old pastoi- liad been in a variety 
 of situations, in which he had studied botn 
 men and manners, in his youth; for he was 
 not then the serious man which he afterwards 
 became. 
 
 " Deirest Hifbert!" said Pierre, *'I trust 
 he shu one day be pastor of the valley, and 
 be beK. ,od like his uncle, and honoured to 
 serve God in his day and generation, as so 
 many of his fathers have done. " Then after 
 a while Pierre added, **Doe8 he like Latin 
 still, and can he write well?" 
 
 '^The pastor," said Blanche, ''continues 
 to teach hnn Latin, and he writes better than 
 the young Raymond, who often sends for him
 
 56 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 to tne castle, and is very kind to Hubert." 
 *' What !" said Pierre, " docs he write better 
 than Riiymond, who will one day be a pope or 
 cardinal, perhaps?'' 
 
 "The more the pity," said Blanche, "tliat 
 any of that noble house should be so : espe- 
 cially young Raymond, tor he is a sweet 
 youth; and, not with stand inj; Hubert writes 
 better than he, yet he loves his learning;, and 
 is, like them tliat are gone, kind to the pe(tj)h* 
 of the valleys; and many a prayer is sent uj> 
 to heaven for Godfrey de Raymond." 
 
 While Pierre and his wife were thus con- 
 versing together — he relating to her all that 
 had happened to him since he left her — and 
 she, as 1 have shown you, telling him about 
 liis children, and his relations, — they weie 
 interrupted by the sweet sound of a pastoial 
 pipe in the village, and the tinkling of bells, 
 which announced the return of the flocks from 
 the mountains. 
 
 Pierre, impatient to embrace his dear boy 
 and girl, whom he hatl not yet seen, ran out 
 to meet them ; but Blanciie, wringing her 
 hands and lifting up her meek eyes to the 
 heavens, followed hnn at a distance, trying 
 to attain courage to impart to her husband 
 news which she knew would overwhelm him. 
 
 At the little gate in front of tiie cottage, 
 Pierre saw old Benoit the mule, on which was 
 seated his lovely Gabrielle, with her laughing
 
 flERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 37 
 
 face, and sunny hair hanging out from under 
 her broad -brimmed hat. When she saw her 
 father, she clasped her hands with delight; 
 while he, running forward, lifted Uer oft' the 
 mule, and embracing her, said, "Where \^' 
 your brother?" — Then looking round among 
 the boys and girls, who, at that hour ol" the 
 evening, came down into the village, lie could 
 nowhere see Antoine. " Where is your bro- 
 ther?" he again demanded. Gabrielle reply- 
 ing, " Here he is," — pointed to Hubert, who 
 was seating little Blanche upon the back of an 
 aged goat, the 'patriarch of the flock,' whose 
 beautiful beard almost swept the ground, and 
 who was carefully steadying his splendid 
 horns lest they should hurt the 'baby while 
 playing. with the bell that tinkled fiom his 
 neck. — " Where is your brother?" " Here ho 
 is," said Gabrielle, ''he is giving baby 
 Blanche a ritle on old St. Gothard." 
 
 '• No, no ! That is Hubert," said the father, 
 now becoming suspicious of some evil; "tell 
 me at once where is my poor Antoine?" 
 
 BlancJje, no longer able to conceal the fate 
 of her liusband's favourite child, covered lier 
 eyes with her hands, and, leading Pierre back 
 into the cottage, told him, in short, that — 
 Antoine was in heaven ! 
 
 ''Antoine dead I" said Beauvoisin, with a 
 look of anguish that went to the heart of 
 Blanche;'* Antoine! Antoinel — OhI my child!" 
 D 
 
 #
 
 38 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Domestic bliss, that like a harmless dove 
 
 ♦' Can centre in a little quiet nest, 
 
 " All that desire would fly for thro' the world." 
 
 Notwithstanding this very sweet motto, 
 my children, which I have put at the top of 
 my chapter, I must repeat my assertion, that 
 perfect happiness is not to be found on earth; 
 or if ever one moment of un mingled enjoyment 
 be possessed, the next moment takes it away. 
 The reality, if it was real, is passed never to 
 return; and if it was only illusive, it is dis- 
 solved for ever. In the former case, indeed, 
 the memory of the past may be sweg,t, — but 
 in the latter, we have not even the faint moon- 
 light kind of pleasuie, which reflection some- 
 times brings along with it. 
 
 It might have been thought, that the return 
 of a wanderer to his home, in the circum- 
 stances I have related above, would have been 
 to all parties a source of as pure enjoyment 
 as most men are capable of tasting; and such 
 as few ever behold within their reach. Yet 
 the death of his favourite child was to Pierre 
 de Beauvoisin, with all his piety, a cause of 
 unspeakable grief; and he could by no effort, 
 for some time, regain his usual composure of 
 mind, and calm and thankful spirit. Antoine,
 
 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 89 
 
 hitherto his youngest child, had been his play- 
 thing, his pet, as he called him; Hubert was 
 his beloved son indeed — but Hubert was too 
 grave, too wise, and in sliort too much occu- 
 pied with all those studies wiiich his father so 
 much desired he should cultivate, and too old 
 to sport and romp with him like dear little 
 Antoine. But why should I repeat the doat- 
 ing excuses of a fond father for loving his boy 
 so well. Who ever lost a child so amiable, 
 that had not a thousand reasons to plead for 
 indulging his grief. 
 
 When Blanche saw the despondency of her 
 husband, she was grieved the pastor was not 
 at home to console him; she attempted to do 
 it herself, but she was a miserable comforter; 
 her own sorrow beino;. thoug;h not so fresh nor 
 so recent, yet quite as poignant and as deep 
 as that of Pierre. When Hubert saw his fa- 
 ther look so sad, and sit with his head leaning 
 on his hand and quite silent; and when he 
 saw his mother grieved because she could not 
 comfort him, he would go to the place where 
 his grandfather's Bible was locked up, and, 
 bringing it out, he would read to his father 
 those parts of the Holy Book which he had 
 often heard the old pastor repeat to the villa- 
 gers, when he used to accompany him in his 
 visits to the house of mourning. By these 
 kind and gentle means, the tender father felt 
 his mind become more submissive and re-
 
 40 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 signed. When Tilanche saw that tliis method 
 was blessed to her husband, and seemed to be 
 bringing about some measure of cheerfulness 
 into his words and countenance, she would 
 say to him: '^ My dear Pierre, if I had fainted 
 under the chastening of the Lord, with my 
 weak faith and womanish fears, 1 might al- 
 most have been pardoned — but for thee, a 
 Cliristian soldier, where is thy courage and 
 thy faith, my love?" Thus, half chiding, half 
 reasoning, Blanche would argue him out of 
 his despondent feelings; and would call upon 
 him rather to be grateful for the many pre 
 cious blessings which yet remained to them, 
 than to tempt the Lord to lessen them, by re- 
 pining. Pierre's delicate health, certainly, 
 was one cause of his apparent want of resigna- 
 tion under the loss of his boy; in addition to 
 which, the recital of all the child's passionate 
 expressions of affection for his absent father, 
 when he found himself dying, touched his 
 heart; and it was rather the tenderness of the 
 father, than the faith of the Christian that felt 
 so deeply under this bereavement. When 
 Pierre, however, recovered his usual sedate 
 and calm temper of mind, his language was 
 that of gratitude only — saying he was thank- 
 ful that, through the mercy of God, Gabrielle 
 and Hubert stdl remained to him ; ''and if," 
 said he, " the liord hath taken away my dear, 
 dear Antoine, he has spared me his be-
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 41 
 
 loved mother, and has given me two sweet 
 Blanches," continued he, caressing the infant 
 as she hung about his neck — " two, instead 
 of one." 
 
 Thus this pious man, though not insensible 
 to the heavy stroke of a chastening Father's 
 hand, felt the blow severe, and almost stag- 
 gered under it; yet, by a due consideration 
 of his own demerit, and God's abundant and 
 multiplied mercies; as well as the sinfulness 
 and danger of provoking his heavenly Father 
 to punish him, by taking away another of his 
 little ones, he humbled himself under the 
 mighty hand of God, and resigned himself to 
 the painful dispensation, believing it to be or- 
 dered by infinite wisdom, and therefore better 
 ordered than human tenderness possibly could 
 have done, either for the happiness of the pa- 
 rent or the child. Like David the king, on 
 the death of his dear baby, Pierre, when speak- 
 ing of Antoine, was at last enabled, with sweet 
 composure, to say, " I shall go to him, but he 
 shall not return to me !" 
 
 Pascal de Beauvoisin, the brother of Pierre, 
 had been called by the brethren and elders of 
 the congregation of the valley of St. Made- 
 laine, to succeed his father as pastor of the 
 same beloved flock. Tlie churches of the 
 valleys, with little interruption, had now had 
 rest tor many years from the cruelty and fury 
 D 2
 
 42 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 of persecution, and they were flourishing both 
 in number and in respectability, and, above 
 all, in spirituality and true religion. The old 
 pastor, had, so to speak, closed his eyes, many 
 years before his death, upon the outward 
 beauty both of his own congregation, and the 
 other congregations among his brethren — but 
 to his mind's eye tliey appeared beautiful as 
 the palm tree — as trees of righteousness, the 
 planting of the Lord. Many a root he had 
 planted in his own day, and many a sapling 
 he had trained. To many, the cause which 
 he espoused came recommended by the worth 
 alone of its advocate. His simple manners, 
 his ardent love for his Saviour, his fervid zeal 
 and active labours in his service, secured to 
 him the devoted regard of his people; while 
 his affection for them was evinced by his un- 
 wearied diligence in preaching among them 
 Christ Jesus the Lord, and salvation tnrough 
 him; in leading his humble followers to the 
 foot of the cross; in faithfully instructing the 
 young of his flock; in being the guardian of 
 their morals; their counsellor in time of need; 
 and their friend in adversity. And, in the 
 hour of sickness and of death, he was ever at 
 hand to impart to the afflicted or to the de- 
 jected spirit, the consolations of the Gospel, 
 of which he had himself so often felt the 
 power. On his own death-bed, he left his 
 people a testimony of the faithfulness of the
 
 WERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 43 
 
 Master whom he had served, saying, like 
 Moses, ''Not one thing hath failed of all the 
 good things whicli the Lord had promised; all 
 hath come to pass." Tims in a good old age, 
 having served his generation, he fell asleep, 
 and was gathered to his fathers. 
 
 Pascal, who had been the pastor of a dis- 
 tant church in Calabria, immediately obeyed 
 the summons of the flock, who called him 
 back to vSt. Madelaine, because he knew that 
 his place among the shepherds of the Appen- 
 nines would be supplied to their and to his 
 own satisfaction ; and because he had pro- 
 mised to his aged father, long before his death, 
 that his people should be dear to him; and 
 that he would watch for their souls when he 
 was gone to his reward. 
 
 Pierre, on account of his brother's distance 
 from his native place, and also on account of 
 the war, had not seen Pascal for many years. 
 Their meeting was tender and affectionate; 
 and many an early recollection, and many a 
 remembered enjoyment of youth and boyhood, 
 with the cares and sorrows of later years, 
 formed the subject of their interesting conver- 
 sations when they met. When Pierre first 
 saw his brother officiate in the church, he was 
 struck with his appearance. His figure was 
 tall and commandino;, and the simple costume 
 of a pastor of the valleys both gave to his per- 
 son and received from it, a peculiar dignity
 
 44 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 and sanctity. His head was fine, like the 
 head of his father; and his featurcs strikingly 
 beautiful. His hair, divided on each side, 
 with a line as it were, drawn through the 
 centre — his black crisped locks, with a few 
 gray hairs that had come before their time, 
 covering his ears, and reaching down below 
 the collar of his simple habit; gave to his phy- 
 siognomy, the form and appearance of some 
 of those interesting portraitures, which exhibit 
 the countenance of the Jew in all its beauty; 
 or that of the first Christians, the apostles, or 
 disciples of our Lord. Pascal's eye was'pier- 
 cing; and his voice — I shall not attempt to 
 <lescribe it, except by saying that the finest 
 harp touched by the most skilful hand, never 
 exceeded it in sweetness, in richness, or in 
 pathos; while his countenance, not less rich 
 in expression than the tones of his voice, re- 
 sembled the light and shadow on some moun- 
 tain's brow, as clouds or sunshine prevail; as 
 it varied from the smile, or beam of light that 
 spoke unutterable things, to the veneration 
 that laid its hand upon its mouth, and its 
 mouth in tlie dust, and that durst not open its 
 lips unto the Most High God. 
 
 Such was the striking appearance which 
 the pastor Pascal presented to the gratified 
 eyes of his affectionate brother. It is said, 
 that when he began to speak of the Saviour, 
 bis countenance sometimes became irradiated.
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 45 
 
 '^Jesus! Jesus!" he would saj; then, as if he 
 felt the present God too powerfully, the smile 
 of rapture passed away — the deepest sense 
 of awe covered his features: — he would utter 
 a few words in prayer, and then proceed. 
 
 But it was not only the deep seriousness — 
 for what is any minister of God who wants 
 seriousness of spirit — neither was it the in- 
 tense earnestness of his manner, nor the pro- 
 found feeling visible in all he said, tliat af- 
 fected the simple, and humble, and devout 
 auditors of the pastor. No. His doctrine was 
 sweeter than his voice, and more piercing than 
 his eye ; it dropped like the gentle rain from 
 heaven, and distilled as the dew ; but it also 
 pierced to the " dividing asunder" of the 
 motive and the action — the principle and the 
 practice — the spirit and the form of devotion 
 of the professors of the church of the valley. 
 It showed the desperate peril in whicli all men 
 are placed by nature and transgression ; and 
 the hopeless and cureless misery that await all 
 who utterly reject the oifer of salvation. The 
 
 f)astor also endeavoured to convince his be- 
 oved hearers of the worthlessness and use- 
 lessness, as well as of the presumption of as- 
 suming a form of godliness, while denying 
 the power thereof; and he would pray that 
 the Holy Spirit would, by the influence of his 
 grace, enable them all to evince the reality of 
 their faith by the purity of their life, and that
 
 46 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 they might be examples of believers in worJ, 
 in conversation, in cliaritj, in spirit, in faith, 
 in purity. 
 
 Even little children, — who must, I am sorry 
 to say, generally be classed among those 
 hearers o? the word, mentioned in the Bible 
 as receiving the good seed on the way side, 
 "where the Ijirds of the air no sooner perceive 
 it to be scattered than they descend and pick 
 it up; — even little children have listened to 
 their revered pastor as if rivetted by the sound 
 of his voice, and penetrated by his deep- 
 searching look, anxious to understand his les- 
 sons of truth, and to apply their young hearts 
 unto wisdom. When they heard their pastor 
 describe the heart as deceitful above all things 
 and desperately wicked, they felt that what he 
 said was true, and they confessed to God that 
 they had done many bad things. "Our 
 liearts," said they, " are wicked and deceit- 
 ful ; may the Lord give us new hearts." How 
 different is this language and this prayer, 
 from the conduct of those foolish children and 
 foolish nurses, who say that you have good 
 hearts; or, to use their own general expres- 
 sion, even when young people are very naugh- 
 ty — " ! it is wrong to be sure, to be so bad 
 or so ill-natured, or so disobedient, but she 
 lias a good heart for all that!" What pre- 
 sumption to say that is good which God hath 
 declared to be '* desperately wicked !" 
 
 %»
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 47 
 
 But to continue my history: The children 
 tit' the valley of St. Madelaine not only heard 
 the pastor Pascal declare, as witli the authority 
 of an angel from heaven, and with a hjok at 
 once of pity, of tenderness, and of firmness, 
 as if constrained by some necessity so to do, 
 tliat "The soul tliat sinnetli it shall die!'- — 
 but they felt that they had sinned, and they 
 believed that they must die, unless the Re- 
 deemer of men, who saveth his people from 
 their sins, should have compassion on them 
 and deliver tiiem. Therefore they prayed 
 sometimes in this manner: "Lord, we are 
 sinners, pardon us for the Saviour's sake; 
 teach us to believe and to worship ; teach us 
 to keep thy commandments." Again, these 
 young people not only heard tlieir minister 
 denounce the wrath of God as due to every 
 sin, but they felt — and trembled while they 
 felt it — that it was due to them. 
 
 But if this good pastor, faithful to declare 
 the w^hole counsel of God, uttered, with an 
 awful seriousness, and with the profoundest 
 sympathy for his dear fellow sinners, the great 
 and fearful <lenunciations of the law of God, 
 wai'ning even the youngest of his flock, that— 
 " Jehovah, out of Christ, was a consuming 
 fire ;" — I w^ith what tenderness, with what 
 sweetness, did he represent to them the love 
 of God in Christ — the love of the Saviour — 
 the divine Saviour! and of the ador:ible Spirit 
 
 ^.H
 
 48 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 — of him who, when on earth, held (mt his 
 arms to receive tlie little children, saying, 
 "Suffer the little cliildren to come unto me, 
 and forbid them not, for of such is the king- 
 dom of Heaven." Tiien these cliildren of 
 the valley, when tliey heard that, ])rayed — 
 take notice, my beloved young reader — they 
 played tliat tiiey might be taugiit by the di- 
 vine Spirit, and enabled to come, in the way 
 of faith and holy obedience, to this adorable 
 Saviour, wlio is the advocate with the Father, 
 and who alone can take us to Heaven. 
 
 But why sliould I repeat any more of this. 
 It was the same with them at all times: they 
 tried to fasten some part of his discourse upon 
 their heart, and to pray about it, both in the 
 church and when tliey went home. Once the 
 pastor spoke thus to them — "Say not, beloved 
 iambs ot my liock, that you are sorry for sin, 
 as long as you continue to practice it: let not 
 any of you, my children, who willingly diso- 
 bey an earthly parent, vainly imagine that you 
 are beheld with love by a Father in Heaven! 
 — Let not any one who disregards and trans- 
 gresses the commandments of God willingly, 
 or habitually, think that he has received re- 
 pentance unto life! Repentance, my dearly 
 beloved, is the gilt of God : pray for repent- 
 ance. P2xcept ye repent, ye shall all perish! 
 You think this a hard sentence — hard, per- 
 haps, if ye were not fore^\•arned — 1 repeat it,
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 49 
 
 except ye repent ye sliall perish ! — Ah ! to 
 perisn — to die — to be destroyed — to be lost 
 for ever — to die, not once, but eternally! to 
 be in a state of perpetual death, yet alive to all 
 its horror 1 Oh! perish not. God is not wil- 
 ling that any should perish, but that all should 
 come to repentance. O my beloved little 
 ones, over your repentance — even yours — let 
 there be joy in Heaven." 
 
 I need say no more, I hope, to convince you 
 that a pastor who thus taught, and children 
 who thus listened and prayed over what they 
 heard, as I have show^n you was the case at 
 St. Madelaine, both received a blessing from 
 above : and I trust what I have here related to 
 you shall not be in vain — and that when 1 am 
 gone to my account at the bar of my Judge, it 
 shall not be laid to my charge, that I willing- 
 ly set before you any example that would in- 
 jure you ; or that I ever exhibited to you any 
 doctrine or precept of the Bible, that was not 
 true and suited to make you better — or that I 
 ever began, ccmtinued, or ended any such la- 
 bour, humble and simple as it is, without pray- 
 ing to God that it might be blessed to you : 
 w Inch prayer may the Lord answer to many a 
 dear child, and lead them to imitate the pious 
 behaviour of the children of St. Madelaine, as 
 I have described them above. 
 
 Thus blessed and made a blessing, the pas- 
 tor Pascal de Beauvoisin resided amonii; the 
 E
 
 50 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 people of tlie valleys, devoting every talent 
 with which the Master had intrusted him, to 
 the glory of the Giver, occupying, and there- 
 by increasing them fivefold. 
 
 The return of his dear brother, and his re- 
 lease from a profession which, as a man of God 
 and a man of peace, the pastor could not love, 
 artbrded him the sincerest pleasure; while the 
 rapid recovery of Pierre from liis wound, and 
 from the depression of spirits occasioned by 
 the death of his darling boy, was a theme of 
 grateful praise to the gracious Source from 
 whence cometh down every temporal as well 
 as spiritual benefit. 
 
 The pastor delighted to train up Hubert and 
 Gabrielle along with his own family; and 
 Louise, his wife, loved the children of Pierre 
 and Blanche as if they were her own. The 
 pastor taught Hubert and his own boys to read 
 Latin and Greek, and to write as well as to 
 read in their own language. But Gabrielle 
 and the other girls were only taught to read 
 in their native tongue, and to learn great part 
 of the Bible by heart, because Bibles were so 
 scarce in those days that not many people 
 could procure them, 
 
 *But 1 must not deceive you with regard 
 to these children, or the other children of the 
 valleys. So far as they were under the in- 
 
 * See Note III.
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 51 
 
 fluence- of religion and the fear of God, they 
 were good; but whenever they gave way to 
 their natural tempers, they differed not from 
 others; but, like other young people, were 
 sometimes peevish, self-willed, covetous, jea- 
 lous — covetous of each other's little posses- 
 sions — or, accordino; to their age, of each 
 other's little playthings — and jealous or envi- 
 ous of the imagined partiality of their parents 
 and friends to one above another — if any ap- 
 peared to be more caressed or more indulged 
 than another. And these things were wrong; 
 for we ought to rejoice in the gifts, graces, 
 honours, and possessions of others ; and, if so, 
 how unbecoming to be covetous or envious of 
 so much meaner things r 
 
 While these faults attached to many of the 
 children of the village, it was not so with Hu- 
 bert de Beauvoisin : he seemed to be a gra- 
 cious boy from his earliest years; and when he 
 observed, as he sometimes did, little quarrels 
 eitlier among his cousins or the other children 
 of the village, he would pray to God to make 
 them better, to give them a gentler spirit, and 
 a kinder heart. "Wise Hubert, as they some- 
 times called him, made this remark, that in 
 his opinion, there ^\ ere just two kinds of peo- 
 ple: — One sort who loved one another, and 
 were kind to one another, and to every body; 
 and the other, who were hateful, and hating 
 one another. As he read in his Bible, that
 
 52 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 "God is love," he said, he was sure these 
 were God's people who thus tenderly cared for, 
 spoke of, and showed kindness to each other 
 — it was impossible not to love these people; 
 but the other class had all their pleasure in 
 finding fault, in speaking evil, in taking up an 
 ill report of a neighbour, or repeating a re- 
 proach against liim — tliey smiled and looked 
 pleased whenever they heard any thing to the 
 disadvantage of another — but if any thing 
 were said in praise of anotlier, or to their 
 honour, then they were dissatisfied, and they 
 looked hateful, because they hated others. 
 
 This dear boy also observed, that young 
 people seldom quarrelled when they were in 
 the presence of their parents and elders, but 
 only when at play among themselves. Hubert 
 thought this very deceitful, and used to say it 
 was neither honest nor sincere to beliave well 
 only before their superiors, or to have strifes 
 when out of sight. He used to tell tliem, that 
 though tlie eye of their father or mother was 
 not on them, the eye of God saw them, and 
 that God would never approve of the conduct 
 of the boy who, because he was a little stronger 
 than his fellow, would beat him or oppress 
 him. God is the friend of the oppressed — he 
 is the God of justice. In this way would 
 Wise Hubert talk to the boys, if he saw any 
 of them striving together, which was but a 
 rare thing at St. Madelaine : nevertheless, it 
 
 t
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 5$ 
 
 would sometimes happen, for where is the 
 place on earth where the children are all good? 
 Hence, while the good boys loved Hubert, 
 and used to call him the peace-maker, the bad 
 bojs, by waj of ridicule, called him either 
 Wise Hubert, or Hubert the Pastor. 
 
 I have thought it right to mention these 
 things for this reason, that vou may not ima- 
 gine, because the inhabitants of the valleys 
 were Waldenses, or protestants, that thev 
 Avere thereby necessarily, or naturally, all 
 good and pious. no : so far as the grace of 
 God, and the influence of the Holy Spirit, are 
 vouchsafed to any man or child, they are good 
 — and so far as the means of this grace are 
 enjoyed, either by old or young, the influences 
 of the Divine Spirit may be expected to be 
 communicated. It was thus in the village 
 of St. Madelaine-de-Belleville. — The people 
 possessed a pious, faithful, devoted pastor, 
 truly a man of God. In the doctrines of the 
 Bible they were instructed from their youth— 
 a holy example was set before the young, and 
 the prayers of their parents were offered up 
 for them continually; there were therefore 
 few, very few places in the world where the 
 children were so good upon the whole. But, 
 lest you should suppose an impossible thing, 
 or at least all but impossible, and think that 
 they were all good, or always good, I have 
 tuought it right to show you that this was not 
 E 2 
 
 «^
 
 54 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 the case; but that, in general, they were re- 
 markable for brotherly love and kindness to 
 an uncommon degree. 
 
 But you will, perhaps, like to know how 
 these young people employed themselves be- 
 sides learning to read, and write, and under- 
 stand Latin, and so on. I will tell you : be- 
 sides learning reading and writing, the girls 
 were taught to knit and to sew, to plait bon- 
 nets of straw, and the boys to make osier 
 baskets in the winter nights, or to help the 
 girls to wind the silks for the tisserands, who 
 wrought them into rich webs and tissues in 
 the loom. The inhabitants of the valleys 
 were not more remarkable for their piety, 
 brotherly love, and kindness, and charity, 
 than for their industry; and whether they 
 laboured in the fields or at the loom, or whe- 
 tlier they were mechanics or artisans, each 
 diligently attended to his own business. As 
 for the families of the pastor Pascal and ln» 
 brother, they were occupied with herds and 
 flocks. Gabrielle and Hubert used to go to 
 the sides of the mountains with the goats and 
 pretty kids, early in the morning, sometimes 
 accompanied by their father, sometimes with 
 their cousins, especially Albert and Margue- 
 rite. As they sat watching their flocks upon 
 the mountain side, undisturbed by any sound 
 except the gurgling torrent that wound its 
 way through the recesses of the deep ravin©
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 55 
 
 below, or overlooked only by the sununersky, 
 or the solitary iuinate ot" some cowherd's 
 cabin, perched like an eagle on% rock above ; 
 with the beautiful plains of Piedmont spread 
 out at their feet, watered by many a windin;^ 
 stream and river, — beyond them in the dis- 
 tance, the risin;^ Appennines. — behind them 
 the majestic Alps, whose giant heads, lost in 
 the clouds, seemed to connect the scene 
 with another world, even while they shut out 
 all the world beside; — while thus seated, 
 tending their flocks at feed, these dear chil- 
 dren would repeat to each other the portions 
 of scripture which they had learnt by heart; 
 or they would sing together the beautiful 
 hymns and psalms taught in tlie villages, 
 making melody in their young hearts unto 
 the Lord, while the echoes of the mountains 
 rang to the sweet sound of their enchanting 
 voices — 1 say enchanting; because thus to 
 hear children praise the Lord betimes, is 
 surely the sweetest of all earthly things, if it 
 be not a heavenly thing. 
 
 These young people, habituated to hear of 
 persecution among their own people, and 
 taught to expect it, perhaps, in their own per- 
 sons, were familiar with the tale of martyr- 
 dom, and their minds were early disciplined 
 to suffer or to die in the cause of Christ, if 
 he should account theii\/vorthy. They were, 
 tlierefore, well acquainted widi the hymns,
 
 56 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 or rather triumphant lyrics of the living for 
 the dead, who had died so gloriously. These 
 formed the subject of many of the songs of 
 the valleys; and many a time, when Hubert 
 and Gabrielle, and the Pastor's children, 
 used to be sitting as I have described, watch- 
 ing their goats, tliey would sing these wild 
 and beautiful pieces. — One would begin in a 
 sort of low recitative, saying, 
 
 " Sing to the Lord :" 
 
 Another would follow, raismg the voice a little 
 higher, and then all would join in together, 
 and, with the embryo spirits of martyrs, swell 
 the beautiful strain : — 
 
 " Sing to the Lord ! let harp, and lute, and voice 
 Up to the expanding gales of heaven rejoice. 
 
 While the bright martyrs to their rest are borne; 
 Sing to the Lord I their blood-stain'd course is run. 
 And every head its diadem lialh won, 
 Rich as the purple of the summer morn : 
 Sing the triumphant champions of their God, 
 While burn their mounting feet along their sky-ward road. 
 
 Sing to the Lord : it is not shed in vain. 
 
 The blood of martyrs ! from its freshening rain 
 
 High springs the church, like some fount-shadowing palm; 
 The nations crowd beneath its branching shade. 
 Of its green leaves are kingly diadems made, 
 And, wrapt within its deep-embosoming calm. 
 Earth sinks to slumber like the breezeless deep. 
 And war's tempestuous vultures fold their wings and eleep. 
 
 Sing to the Lord ! no more the dead are laid 
 In cold despair beneath the cypress shade. 
 
 To sleep the eternal sleep that knows no morn : 
 There, eager still to bursfi^S^tirs brazen bands. 
 The angel of the rcsunei tion stands : 
 
 While, on its own immortal pinions borne
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 57 
 
 Following the breaker of the imprisoning tomb, 
 
 Forth springs the exulting soul, and shakes away its gloom 
 
 Sing to the Lord ! the desert rocks break out. 
 And the ihrong'd cities in one gladdening shout ; 
 
 Tlie farthest'shores by pilgrim step explored ; 
 Spread all your wiii^s, ye winds, and waft around. 
 Even to the starry cope's pale waning hound. 
 
 Earth's universal homage to the Lord. 
 Sing to the Lord I when time itself shall cease. 
 And final ruins, <lesoIating peace. 
 
 Enwrap this wide and restless world of man ; 
 When the judge rides upon the enthroning wind. 
 And o'er all generations of mankind 
 
 Eternal vengeance waves its winnowing fan ; 
 To vast infinity's remotest space, 
 Wliile ages run their everlasting race, 
 Shall all the beatific hosts prolnng, 
 Wide as the glory of the Lamb— the Lamb's trmmphaut song." 
 
 1 wish you could have heard these children, 
 as their young voices swelled to the words 
 '' vSing to the Lord !" — Truly the desert rocks 
 broke out, and an angel might have paused 
 upon tlie wing to hear so sweet a song. 
 
 AVhile pastoral occupations, such as I have 
 described, engaged Pierre and his family in 
 the summer, and led tliem to be much upon 
 the mountains, Pierre, and Hubert, and Albert 
 sometimes going so far out of sight as to be 
 absent for many days at a time; tlie girls took 
 charge of the goats and cows nearer home ; 
 driving them out in the morning, and bringing 
 them back at mid -day and in the evening, to 
 be milked by Blanche and Louise, who made 
 their butter and cheese with their own hands, 
 and sent it to market on old Benoit the mule; 
 Gabrielle sometimes seated between the pan-
 
 SB PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 niers when the weather was so hot that she 
 could not walk ; Val, the old cowherd, trotting 
 by her side. In the winter time the flocks 
 were fed in the valley, and in the lower pas- 
 ture grounds, by which means Pierre and his 
 family were always at home at night. In the 
 autumn, Gabrielle and Hubert assisted at the 
 vintage, sometimes in gathering the grapes, 
 separating them from the leaves and stalks ; 
 putting them into baskets, or conveying them 
 
 to the press, where they were made into wine, 
 tlie rest of their people, the family of 
 Pierre, and their cousins, were early taught to 
 
 seta very hi^h value on habits of industry and 
 activity: indeed, the Pastor Pascal used to 
 speak of industry, as some people would speak 
 of genius; he called it a talent — the excellent 
 talent; and we do not speak of it too highly, 
 when we consider it, either in its application 
 to manual or to mental labour, as a talent of 
 most eminent excellence, inasmuch as nothing 
 excellent ever was attained without it. The 
 children of Pierre, therefore, were always 
 employed, busily occupied, never idle; tor 
 they knew in the valleys, as well as we do in 
 the city, — 
 
 " That Satan finds some mischief still, 
 " For idle hands to do." 
 
 You would have admired Gabrielle, had you 
 seen her sometimes, while intrusted with the
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 59 
 
 care of the little Blanche, carrying a basket- 
 load of grapes upon her beautiful head, the 
 tendrils twining themselves by "heedless 
 hap" among the lovely ringlets of her hair — 
 while, holding Blanche in one hand, she, with 
 the other, supported her delicious burden, the 
 little child calling out for a cluster to eat, or 
 else looking up in her sister's face and say- 
 ing, as well as she could, "Bon-bon! Ga- 
 brielle !" 
 
 In the proper season, also, Gabrielle would 
 be as busy among the mulberry trees, as she 
 was at other times among the vine-branches, 
 or the grapes. She would watch to see when 
 the mulberry trees at the end of the lake be- 
 i^an to put forth their tender buds, when the 
 little silk-worms burst from their shells; and, 
 after a few months, she would go again to look 
 for the small cones, or bundles of silk, which 
 appear like spots of gold on every leaf. Ga- 
 brielle used often to say, it was cruel to de- 
 stroy the poor aurelia for the sake of its little 
 ball of silk ; and when she and Marguerite 
 were busy dipping the cones into water, for 
 the purpose of disengaging the end of the 
 tiii-eads that the tiny spinners had made with 
 so much neatness, they would say to each 
 other : — It is a poor thing foi- man to rob a 
 worm — to rob our sister and mother — Job 
 calls the worm his '' sister and mother;" and 
 IS It not strange, Gabrielle would add, that,
 
 60 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 without his little spoil, princes and kings 
 would want those grand robes of which we 
 have heard, and ladies their silken dresses. 
 Thus would these girls talk to each other, 
 while winding otf eight or ten of those deli- 
 cately-fme cobweb threads of gold, from the 
 balls of the silk-worm; whicii, when twined 
 into one tiiread, after all, looked no larger 
 than a line of light, on which a gossamer 
 might hardly balance itself. 
 
 It was in the routine of a lite of virtuous 
 industry and pious contemplation, as the 
 several duties and ages of Pierre and Blanche, 
 and their amiable family, called them to 
 scenes of business in the village or the cottage; 
 or to hours of uninterrupted solitude in the 
 mountains, amid the bleating of the flock and 
 lowing of the kine, that one season after ano- 
 ther stole away, almost unperceived, in the 
 village of St. Madelaine ; so fraught was each 
 with that portion of domestic happiness, which 
 health, and industry, and piety, generally, by 
 God-s blessing, bring along with them. No 
 incident, either particularly pleasing or dis- 
 tressing, had occurred to vary tiie cjuiet train 
 of circumstances which I have described, till 
 about the end of this year, when it pleased its 
 Heavenly Father to take home the beloved 
 little Blanche, who died of a iever then pre- 
 valent anumg the children of the valley; and 
 shortly after her death, there happened the
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 61 
 
 welcome birth of another little baby in her 
 stead, who comforted the afflicted parents 
 under the loss of their departed darling. Tlieir 
 distress on her account was indeed great; jet, 
 according to the views of Waldenses, their 
 child had died so young as to be incapable of 
 actual sin, and had not transgressed after the 
 similitude of Adam's transgression. Their 
 grief for her was, therefore, softened into a 
 pensive regret on their own account; but, in 
 respect of Blanche, they were able to think 
 of her, with a sweet joy, as now in Heaven, 
 mingling with thousands of little children, — 
 perhaps with some of the infant martyrs of 
 past ages from the valleys, 
 
 "• Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that roirJ 
 •' Mother with intkiit down the rocks — their moans 
 " The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
 •' To heaven !" 
 
 or with those young children that were slain 
 in Bethlehem and in the coasts thereof, at that 
 nuie when their Lord himself was, for their 
 :ike, a little infant like them. 
 
 With reflections such as these, Pieire and 
 his family tried to conifort themselves; and 
 :i«, in the valleys, times of persecution often 
 S'ucceeded each other,— Blanche said to Pierre, 
 •' Who knows, my dear, but our sweet baby 
 is taken away from the evil to come."" And, 
 in this respect, the words of Blanche were 
 F
 
 6^ PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 truly ominous of evil. But T shall reserve 
 what I have to say on this affecting subject, 
 till I begin another chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Children, intelligent, 
 *' Above their years, mark all their father says, 
 ** Look in his face, and cry ' Shan't we die too ?' — 
 ** The father, in the slumbers of the night, 
 " Sees a bright angel wave him to the death, 
 *' And cries, ' 1 come.'" 
 
 In the chapter introductory to this history, 
 I told you, as you may recollect, that the 
 peaceable and pious inhabitants of the valleys 
 were sometimes under the hard necessity of 
 changing their retreat, and that, when driven 
 from the shelter of one lovely valley, they fled 
 to the sequestered bosom of another. 
 
 I am now about to inform you, on what 
 account these amiable and inoffensive people 
 were thus cruelly expelled from their quiet 
 homes, bereaved of all their comforts, and 
 exposed alike to the pitiless storms of perse- 
 cution and to the inclemency of ihe elements. 
 The reason was their religion. The inhabi- 
 tants of the valleys professed the religion of 
 the Bible, in opposition to the superstition of 
 
 I
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 63 
 
 the pope and monks; or, as it is called, the 
 Roman Catholic relidon. 
 
 I shall not go back to trace the history of 
 the first rise of the faith and profession of the 
 churches of the valleys, — suffice it to say, that 
 their religion was as old as the world. They 
 believed in the same Saviour who was pro- 
 mised to our apostate father in the garden of 
 P^den, and the same Gospel which was preach- 
 ed to Abraham in 'Haran and on Mount Mo- 
 riah, was the object of their faith, and of their 
 hope; while the '*love of the truth, and of 
 each other, for the truth's sake," was the 
 sweet and sacred bond of their union. 
 
 The object of the catholic in persecuting 
 his believing, — or as he accounted him — his 
 unbelieving, and heretical brother, was pro- 
 bably twofold — To make him a proselyte to 
 his own opinions, and to quench the light of 
 truth. The Bible tells us why men like dark- 
 ness: it also tells us why they hate the light. 
 "But God forbid that I should judge my bro- 
 ther. — I do not relate this history to condemn 
 the catholic, but to exhibit the 2;entle virtues 
 of the Waldenses; and thouo;h 1 mio;ht have 
 recounted actions more atrocious, and de- 
 scribed scenes more cruel than I am about to 
 set before you — and though I mi<^ht have re- 
 verted to the day, when children, in the words 
 of our motto, taught to suffer and strong to 
 endure, early anticipated the glory of the
 
 64' riERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 martyr, saying, "Shan't we die too?'- — or to 
 the tinve when parents saw, in reality by day, 
 and in vision by night, tlie instruments of 
 cruelty, and the power to use them, in the 
 hands of an infuriated enemy, who, ingenious 
 in ferociousness, and meditative of vengeance, 
 slept not till he had imagined some new form 
 of torture, varying his engines of anguish from 
 the gibbet to the rack, and from the bleeding 
 rack to the consuming faggot; — All this I 
 might have described, but, waving such a 
 power, and foregoing the opportunity of ex- 
 citing, in favour of my story, an interest the 
 most intense, I prefer simply stating to you, 
 first the most unexceptionable and dignified 
 reasons, on the part of the churches of the 
 valleys, for dissenting from that of Rome; 
 and, having done so, will show you how, in 
 the case of their refusal to renounce princi- 
 ples so high and holy, Pierre and his family 
 suffered from their wrath — I say Pierre and 
 his family; for, out of the multitude who were 
 exposed to exile and deatli on this occasion, 
 I take but a ' single captive.' 
 
 The reasons, then, which the inhabitants of 
 the valleys assigned for their dissent from the 
 church of Rome, or rather for their refusal to 
 become members of its communion, were the 
 following, among many others. 
 
 The Waldenses said, that the religion of 
 the pope and the monks was not the religion 
 
 I
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 65 
 
 of the Bible. Thej affirmed that the catholic 
 robbed the Saviour of his merits, ascribing 
 salvation to the intercession of saints, the fire 
 of purgatory, their own works, or a form of 
 words ; that they held baptism to be the same 
 as regeneration — thus ascribing^ to a rite or 
 symbol, the virtue of the thing signified, de- 
 nying the work of the Holy Spirit, by wiiom 
 alone we are born again — that they placed the 
 whole of religion and of holiness, in going to 
 mass, or in certain multiplied and unmeaning 
 ceremonies— that they permitted open sins, 
 every sin being to be bought off, and pardon- 
 ed ; the pope's penitentiary having published 
 the price of every crime, as it was rated in the 
 tax-book of the Roman chancery;* — that they 
 boasted of working miracles, even as the Bi- 
 ble prophesied they should, sa^nng, of the man 
 of sin, " Whose coming is after the working 
 of Satan, with all miracles, and signs, and ly- 
 ing wonders, and with all deceivableness of 
 unrighteousness;" — by their prayers, fasting, 
 almscleeds and watchings, they assumed that 
 form of godliness, or outward show of holi- 
 ness, of which the apostle testified lon^ be- 
 fore, saying of these, •* Having a form of god- 
 liness, but denying the power thereof: iiom 
 such turn away." 
 
 The Christians of the valleys abhorred 
 
 * Jones, p. 461.
 
 66 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 alike the doctrines and the practice of such a 
 church, though, for the souls of those who were 
 joined to it, they felt deep compassion and the 
 sincerest pity. The Waldenses had come 
 out from among them centuries before, and 
 still held themselves a separate people ; many 
 of their fathers had sealed their testimony to 
 the truth of the doctrines of their own com- 
 munity witli their blood; and their descend- 
 ants were ready to do the same again, rathei 
 than connect themselves with those who held 
 principles so false, and were in conduct so 
 foul ; offering divine worship not to the Crea- 
 tor, but to the creature; for unto the crea- 
 tures, that is, the saints, they present " the 
 worship of faith, hope, works, prayers, pil- 
 grimages and alms; oblations and sacrifices 
 of great price; honouring and adorning them 
 in various ways, by hymns and songs, speeches 
 and solemnities — celebration of masses, ves- 
 pers, vigils, and feast-days, hoping thereby to 
 obtain that grace which is in God alone, and 
 which is obtained by faith in Christ through 
 the Holy Ghost." 
 
 While the Christians of the valleys thus 
 announced the obnoxious principles and doc- 
 trines of the papacy, to be things that they 
 abhorred, and from communion with which, 
 either in thought or profession, they shrunk as 
 from a pestilence; they also openly, and most 
 unreluctantly, avowed their own sentiments,
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 67 
 
 and pointed to the records of God for the 
 proof of every doctrine they advanced. It is 
 not in such a little book as this that I can say 
 much upon subjects so solemn. It behoves 
 every one. however, who knows the value of 
 the true religion, to maintain, in all their pu- 
 rity, those articles of faitli, to honour which, 
 the martyrs and confessors of those early days 
 counted not their own lives dear unto them. 
 And who among us would not wish to have 
 with them *' one Lord, one faith, one baptism, 
 one God and Father of all .^" 
 
 In reference to the idolatry of the pope and 
 the monks who prayed to the saints and be- 
 sought them to intercede for their salvation, 
 the Christians of the valleys declared, that in 
 Jesus alone they had hope. "Christ alone," 
 said they, " has the prerogative of interceding 
 for his guilty people. He is the only and sole 
 Mediator between God and man, — the Advo- 
 cate and Intercessoi' with the Father for sin- 
 ners. No man cometh to the Father but by 
 him." 
 
 They believed also in three adorable Per- 
 sons in the Godhead, as ** the Creator of all 
 and Father of all,'" who is to be worshipped 
 in spirit and in truth, *• on whom," said they, 
 ''we depend, to whom we ascribe praise for 
 our life, health, sickness, prosperity, and ad- 
 versity ;" — praising him, you see, not less for 
 sickness and adversity, than for health and
 
 68 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY^ 
 
 prosperity. <' We also love him," they added, 
 " as the source of all goodness; and reverence 
 him as that sublime Being who searcheth the 
 reins and trieth the hearts of the children of 
 men." The Christians of the valleys taught 
 their children that docttine which we also 
 learn from our Bible and catechism, that Jesus 
 Christ is the son of the Father; that in him 
 dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead; and 
 that by him alone we know the Father— there 
 being no other name given under Heaven 
 whereby we can be saved. In like manner, 
 these happy people avowed to the catholic, 
 just what they taught to their children, that 
 they believed in the Holy Spirit, as the Com- 
 forter, by "whose inspiration," they said, 
 " they were taught to pray, being by him re- 
 newed in the spirit of tfieir minds, created 
 anew to good works, from whence they re- 
 ceived the knowledge of the truth." 
 
 Now it was for such a faith as this, and for 
 a practice of corresponding purity, humility, 
 and holiness, that the inhabitants of the val- 
 leys of Piedmont and Dauphiny had been, 
 from age to age, and generation after genera- 
 tion, at greater or shorter intervals, persecuted 
 by the pope and his priests, subjected to every 
 calumny that hatred, and malice, and false- 
 hood could invent, and made odious in the 
 sight of a too credulous world. 
 
 Unhappily for the inhabitants of the valleys,
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 69 
 
 their local situation had also subjected them, 
 in the succession of wars and treaties, to a 
 very frequent change of masters; for some- 
 times they were the subjects of France, some- 
 times of Sardinia; at other times they be- 
 longed to the Dukes of Savoy; and many of 
 their brethren inhabited the marquisate of Sa- 
 luces. They experienced much rigour at dif- 
 ferent times from the parliaments of Dau- 
 phiny and Aix; and, except Francis the First, 
 who,^ with the caprice common to cruelty, at 
 one time rebuked his parliaments for the se- 
 verity of their measures against them, and at 
 another time commanded them to be destroyed 
 — except, in this instance, few of the kings of 
 France showed them any favour. The Dukes 
 of Savoy, however, seem generally to have 
 treated them with a considerable degree ot 
 kindness. Hearing of the simplicity of their 
 manners, their integrity, and tlieir cheerful 
 obedience to their governors in all matters but 
 those whicli concerned their religion, the 
 house of Savoy, for tlie long period of three 
 hundred years, seemed, by the kind provi- 
 dence of God, to have loved and protected 
 the Waldenses. 
 
 This, however, was not the case latterly; 
 and, at the time of which 1 speak, the Wal- 
 denses were indebted solely to the influence 
 of the good duchess of Savoy for that protec- 
 tion which her husband often aftorded them.
 
 70 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 This pious and virtuous princess was the sanc- 
 tuary and place of refuge to the inliabitants of 
 the valleys, whenever they were tlireatened 
 with a storm of wrath from the duke or his 
 counsellors; and, so long as she lived, her 
 benevolent intercession was never wanting 
 for the good of her husband's protestant sub- 
 jects, who, by her influence, had preserved to 
 them the continuance of their privileges ; and 
 she often had averted from them not only the 
 indignation of his Highness, but the wrath of 
 the whole Catholic party. Surely we ought 
 to give thanks to God on account of this 
 pious princess, who, in the language of the 
 Holy Book, was thus a nursing mother to the 
 church; for it is written, " Kings shall be thy 
 nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing 
 mothers." And oh ! may those who possess 
 similar, or even very inferior influence in the 
 world, remember what a precious talent and 
 gift of God it is, and seriously consider its 
 immense worth, that they may use it in such 
 a way as shall redound to the glory of the 
 Giver, and to the benefit of the church of 
 God. 
 
 But the good duchess, who had interfered 
 so often and so successfully for the benefit of 
 the amiable and pious Waldenses, both when 
 her husband, instigated by the priests, at one 
 time designed not only to persecute, but to 
 exterminate his peaceful subjects; and, at
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 71 
 
 another time, when he harassed them by in- 
 riirsions from his troops, and when drawn 
 into a league against his people, he gave indi- 
 ratioii by innumerable petty vexaticms, of the 
 [gathering of another storm: — this good lady, 
 1 say, who had interfeivd. at each repeated 
 attempt, to ward off the blow from the inhabi- 
 tants of the valleys, at last died, and hei- re- 
 mains were no sooner consigned to the se- 
 pulchre of her fathers, than the popish party 
 '•came forth, like licms out of their dens," 
 ravening for tl)eir prey, and desiring, by ail 
 means the destruction and extermination of 
 the peaceable Christians of the valleys. 
 
 But the Lord's hand is not shortened by 
 the death or absence of any creature-instru- 
 ment whom he may hitherto have honoured to 
 act as a peace-maker. No: the Lord raised 
 up otiier friends to protect his beloved people. 
 — Like Israel of old. he preserved them day 
 and night, reproved kings foi- their sakes, and 
 suffered no one to do them iiarm : and,solon^ 
 as the husband of the good duchess continued 
 on the throne, he treated his pious subjects 
 with much gentleness and kindness; while 
 they, on their part, religiously obeyed all the 
 commands of his Highness, as far as con- 
 science would permit. And it appears that 
 their sovereign, though a Catholic prince, at 
 last respected these humble and virtuous 
 people, both on account of tlieir fidelity to
 
 72 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 himself and their faithfulness and piety to 
 God. 
 
 But not to detain your attention too long on 
 this part of my subject, I shall hasten to in- 
 form you, that this generous prince died also, 
 and was succeeded by a person of a very dif- 
 ferent character, whose accession to tlie tfirone 
 was marked by a line of policy totally dis- 
 similar to tliat of the late sovereign. It was 
 on this occasion, also, that the valley of St. 
 Madelaine-de-Belleville, on account of some 
 trifling territorial arrangement, passed into the 
 immediate jurisdiction of Savoy. 
 
 The old pastor, Beauvoisin, had seen hi3 
 sun go down amid the peace and calm of the 
 churches of the valleys, as they walked with 
 each other in the comfoi-t of the Spirit and the 
 fellowship of love. But it is with churches as 
 with families and individuals : whom the Lord 
 loveth he chasteneth; and they have their 
 days of darkness and persecution — days in 
 which they are thrown like gold into the fur- 
 nace, the Lord sitting by as a refiner, not 
 suftering one grain of pure ore to be lost, but 
 only ''purging away the dross, and taking 
 away the tin." 
 
 The family of Pierre was just in the cir- 
 cumstances in which I have described them 
 to you in our preceding chapter; experiencing 
 all the comfort and sweetness o\ a happy 
 home^ which the poet compares to the ring-
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 73 
 
 clove's nest, as containing all the bliss that 
 unsatisfied and idle wishes would flj for 
 through the world in vain. They were just 
 in this happy state, when late in the evening 
 (*f a quiet Sabbath day, a certain order came 
 down from the governor of his Highness the 
 .luke, commanding all the inhabitants of the 
 alleys, who professed the faith of the Wal- 
 denses, to withdraw and depart out of all the 
 towns antl villages of the valleys, in three 
 days, '• under pain of death and confiscation 
 of houses and goods ; provided, always, they 
 did not make it appear to the governor, with- 
 in twenty days following, that they were be- 
 come Catholics." And the order further 
 stated, that, even in the places to which they 
 were to proceed, the mass was to be cele- 
 brated ; and that whoever prevented or dis- 
 suaded any of their relations from becoming 
 Catholics, should suffer the penalty of death. 
 This order came into the valleys in the 
 month of February, a season of the year when 
 it is quite impossible to travel in the moun- 
 tains of that country. It came on the even- 
 ing of a day which Pierre and Blanche with 
 their little fiimily had observed as a day of 
 special thanksgiving to God for his recent 
 nuMcies to them. The occasion had formed 
 a soit of religious festival in the cottage of 
 thi^-se humble peasants, and they were about 
 to retire for the night, under a o-rateful 
 G
 
 74 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 sense of the mercies of the day, when the fami- 
 ly were disturbed and alarmed, by a sudden 
 call for Pierre to attend a private consultation 
 of the utmost importance, convoked by the 
 authorities of the villages in the valley, who 
 had arrived in haste at St. Madelaine, as the 
 melancholy news of the edict had passed from 
 hamlet to hamlet, bringing terror and despair 
 along with it. 
 
 In this council, which lasted till midnight, 
 it was resolved that the inhabitants of the val- 
 leys should endeavour, first, by means of a 
 petition, and failing of success, then next by 
 remonstrance, to avert or mitigate the cruel 
 order of the governor. For this purpose an 
 immediate appeal was made to his excellency, 
 to wave the hard conditions of his edict — to 
 consider the peaceableness of the Christians 
 of the valleys — their obedience to his excel- 
 lency — their quietness under his sway — and 
 the kindness by which they had hitherto been 
 treated by the house of the prince. But the 
 inhuman governor, deaf alike to petition or to 
 remonstrance, rejected all their supplications 
 — refused to convey them to the ear of the duke 
 — and, in short, he presented to the afflicted 
 and agitated husbands and fathers of the poor 
 Waldenses, no alternative but the mass! 
 
 The inhabitants of the valleys could con- 
 sent to perish amid ice and snow, or to be in 
 hunger, and nakedness, and peril in the moun 
 
 i
 
 PIERRE AND HI3 FAMILY. 75 
 
 tains; but to forsake the gospel of their Re- 
 deemer — the faith of their fathers — the holj 
 religion of their predecessors up to the re- 
 motest time — the religion of martyrs and con- 
 fessors, apostles and prophets — 0! that were 
 to abjure their God himself! 
 
 Unhesitatingly, tlierefore, they went forth 
 f?om their cottages and homes, their fields and 
 vineyards, not knowing whither they went. 
 Wives and children, helpless infants and aged 
 parents — the halt, the lame, and the blind — 
 the delicate female, and the new-born babe — 
 all abandoned their houses in the depth of 
 winter, to traverse mountains almost impass- 
 able, amid rain, and ice, and snow. 
 
 These were but the beginning of sorrows — 
 for hardly had the women and children quitted 
 their peaceful and cherished homes, when a 
 licensed banditti broke into the villages; and, 
 — after a day or two of pretended zeal to con- 
 vert the Waldenses to the faith of the pontiff, 
 on the part of the monks; and stubborn re- 
 sistance to all papistical persuasion, on the 
 part of the Waldenses, — the soldiers, together 
 with the catholic population of the valleys, 
 robbed, burned, and razed to the foundation 
 the beautiful cottages of the persecuted — 
 slew, with ferocious cruelty, the fathers and 
 young men, who, remaining behind, endea- 
 voured, for the sake of their families, to pro- 
 tect tiieir property; and, wlien the torture
 
 T6 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 and the stake were not tlie weapons of their 
 warfare, they, in (»ne undistinguished mas- 
 sacre, poured <ieatii on every side, turnin2; the 
 fruitful field into a desert; and (lie vilhi«!;es 
 of the valleys, whicli, before, had been sprea<l 
 out like the •"tents and tabernacles of Israel, 
 and which were beautiful as gardens by the 
 river side," soon became one shapeless and 
 monotonous scene of melancholy ruin. 
 
 To all this accumulated njisery the pious 
 inhabitants submitted, rather than deny the 
 truth of the Bible, or renounce the faith of 
 their fathers. The governor had commanded 
 them to send away their pastors on pain of 
 death, and to receive, in their stead, priests 
 belonging to the catliolic communion, to con- 
 duct their worship, and to sing masses in their 
 churches. But the pastors chose to perish 
 with their flocks ; and, as to commanding the 
 people to believe in the sacrifice of the altar, 
 they plainly told the priests that the body of 
 Christ was in Heaven, and that the mass was 
 equally idolatrous and absurd. They had not 
 so been taught, neither had they so learned 
 Christ, as to shrink from suft'ering for his sake. 
 He who loved them to the death — who, for 
 their sake, gave his back to the smiters, and 
 his sacred cheek to them that plucked oft* the 
 hair, — was by them worshipped and adored 
 with a love and truth that smiled at martyr- 
 dom, and with a devotion that sought to seal
 
 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 77 
 
 its testimony in fire. But vrhile, as Chris- 
 ^ans, these interesting people chose death ra- 
 ther than life, if to be purchased at the price 
 of acknowledging doctrines which they ab- 
 horred, or professing belief in tenets which 
 robbed their Master of his glory — yet, as men, 
 they were susceptible of the tenderest sympa- 
 thies of humanity; and, glowing with kmd 
 affections, they defended their homes and 
 their hearths, with the boldness of fathers act- 
 ing for their beloved and persecuted children; 
 and withstood the ravenings of the wolf, even 
 as the parent ewe protects her bleating lamb. 
 While suffering and death, even to extermi- 
 nation, became the final lot of those who re- 
 mained in the villages, a show of justice, in 
 some instances, accompanied, and thereby 
 aggravated, the outrages which they endured 
 at once from the armies of their own prince 
 and from the priests of that apostate church, 
 which had armed itself with a power no church 
 on earth was ever authorised to wield. But, 
 while havock and slaughter reigned in the 
 valleys, and biffotry and superstition glutted 
 themselves witli blood — the sufferings sus- 
 tained in the mountains, amid the snows and 
 winds of the Alps, were hardly less deep and 
 hardly less sacred; for the same spirit that 
 gloried in the cross, and faced persecution in 
 the valley, glowed in the bosom of those who 
 met it in the natural storm and tempest. — 
 
 >>?
 
 78 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 Yes; every way it was death — if not to all — . 
 to many. With the exiles, the first few days 
 were nearly spent in prayer: they lingered 
 on the heights, from whence they still beheld 
 their villages ; and loud was the cry that went 
 up from the mountain's side, as the banished 
 inhabitants, the mothers and their children, 
 the aged and the sick, saw the smoke of their 
 beloved homes rising in fearful columns into 
 the air by day, or lighting all the sky with 
 their blazing fires by night: loud was the cry 
 that went up to heaven from the mountain's 
 side, not for vengeance, indeed, but for mercy; 
 for it was no part of the creed, or of the spirit 
 of the gentle Waldense, to seek the destruc- 
 tion of his enemy. '* How long, O Lord! 
 holy and true, dost thou not pity and spare 
 thy afiiicted people — and bring to repentance 
 the enemies of thy Christ?" Again their 
 prayer rose for the husband, and for the fa- 
 ther, and for the brave youths, who, standing 
 by their sires, emulated the deeds, and pur- 
 chased the honours of their ancestors, not only 
 saying, "Shan't we die too?" — but remaining 
 unshaken under the torture, and triumphant 
 at the stake! For these, and such as these, 
 went up the prayer of their afflicted relations, 
 as from the towering distance, they looked 
 down on the smoking vales beneath them — 
 while even little children, unconscious that 
 they did so, or ignorant of its meaning —
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 79 
 
 clasped their dimpled hands, and, with a holy 
 look, pleaded for their fathers. 
 
 At other times the unhappy fudtives en- 
 deavoured to cheer each other with the hope 
 of future glory, and of those blessings of the 
 Gospel for which they suffered. Looking be- 
 \otid the veil of life and time, the soul went 
 forward to eternity; and, in moments such as 
 these, the scattered bands would, with one 
 simultaneous burst of hallowed son^, break 
 on the silence of the night or dawmng day, 
 till all the echoes of the mountains rang. 
 
 '^ What means yon blaze on high r" was a 
 question which the dreadful scene frequently 
 led them to utter — and, being associated in 
 their memory with words dear and familiar 
 to the pious exiles, it led them to sin^ that 
 strain of rapt and fervid poetry which, in the 
 language of the valleys, was called the Mar- 
 tyr's Song. 
 
 But, to narrate, a little more particularly, 
 the distressing details of this day of trouble, 
 I shall return to the history of Pierre and his 
 family. 
 
 When the day arrived on which it had been 
 fixed, by the simple authorities of these hum- 
 ble people, that their wives and children, aged 
 and sick, should depart, and attempt by cross- 
 ing the mountains, to avail themselves of that 
 asylum which the hospitality of the wSwiss and 
 of the Waldenses on the other side of the
 
 k 
 
 80 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 Alps, had offered them ; Blanche, with Hubert 
 and Gabrielle, and her infant, accompanied bj 
 the family of the Pastor Pascal, and others of 
 the village of St. Madelaine, set out on their 
 melancholy journey. 
 
 The old mule was loaded with as many 
 necessaries as it was possible could be carriea 
 from the cottage; not for the purpose of pre- 
 serving from destruction even what they might 
 account valuable, — for that was not to be 
 thought of in circumstances so afflicting, — 
 but entirely with the view of supporting the 
 dear children and their mother, in the fearful 
 passage of the mountains. A sumpter mule 
 was loaded with cloaks and blankets, and 
 many other articles needful for such a journey, 
 lest the women and children exposed to the 
 night air, should have to encamp in the snow, 
 or come to situations in which no shelter could 
 be found. Every thing that a careful and 
 tender husband and father could think of to 
 alleviate the distress or mitigate the dreaded 
 evils of such a heart-rending emigration, 
 Pierre failed not to collect together. His 
 family were among the last that left the vil- 
 lage: he accompanied them about a league 
 from the end of the valley, endeavouring to 
 strengthen their minds and encourage their 
 hearts; — to set before them tiie promises of 
 the Gospel ; to bid them be strong in the faith, 
 and trust firmly in the Lord, saying, "No 
 
 .■ii^KMf] 
 
 t
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 81 
 
 one ever trusted in him and was forsaken." 
 When about to part, he renewed all his direc- 
 tions with regard to the journey — repeated 
 his injunctions that they should take care of" 
 each other by the way. Once and again he 
 left them before he could remember all that 
 }ie should enjoin them — repeating, a hundred 
 limes, that he hoped to meet them at La 
 Flechere; and returning once more, and for 
 the last time, while Blanche nobly strove, 
 with heroic firmness, to maintain the calm- 
 ness necessary to conceal alike her fears and 
 her tears, Pierre took the infant in his arms — 
 looked on it with expressions of exquisite and 
 agonizing tenderness : The rest of his family, 
 he thought, might survive to meet his sight 
 again — but the baby never ! He restored the 
 child to the arms of its mother — reminded 
 her, with almost cruel anxiety, of the necessity 
 of keeping up a proper degree of warmth 
 about him; and then, afraid that Blanche 
 would care so much for Henri as to leave 
 caring for herself, he charged Hubert with the 
 burden of the child, and not to let his mother 
 walk too long at a time, but to seat heron the 
 mule. "At every prospect of danger, Hubert, 
 and in every step of difficulty, O! do not for- 
 get," said he, " that there is One nearer than 
 thy father to give help to thee; and let th^ 
 cry be unto him. And now," added Pierre, 
 "now, my beloved Blanche^ farewell! We
 
 82 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 shall meet again ; and the churches of the val- 
 leys shall yet flourish. The Lord will not 
 cast off for ever ; though he cause grief, jet 
 will he have compassion according to the mul- 
 titude of his mercies, and according to the 
 tenderness of his loving-kindnesses, wliich are 
 for ever of old. — Farewell !" 
 
 "• Farewell !'- said Blanche, raisino; her eyes 
 to heaven, and taking thence, as it were, a 
 blessing by violence — *' Farewell, Pierre I If 
 thou shouldst win the martyr's crown, we 
 meet not here, but yonder," said the pious 
 Waldense, with hand upraised to heaven— 
 "We shall meet again in heaven or earth- 
 farewell till then." Then, after a moment's 
 weeping on the part of the children and their 
 father, though not a visible tear was shed by 
 this heroic wife and mother, she added: 
 "Pierre, I have asked but one thing for thee 
 — the Lord be with thee, and thou for him — 
 Farewell! — thou must be gone — farewell! — 
 O be steadfast !" — "As the mountain rock;" 
 said Pierre — "Farewell! — Hubert, care for 
 thy mother, boy — The Blessed blegs you!" 
 
 As Pierre uttered these words, he disen- 
 gaged himself from Gabrielle, who had twined 
 her arms round her father's neck and would 
 not let him go. And herein, it may be said, 
 consisted the true martyrdom of these affec- 
 tionate people. The wheel and the stake 
 were gentle in their torture in comparison of
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 83 
 
 the passionate endearments of beloved chil- 
 dren, and the snapping asunder of those 
 tender chords on which hang all the harmo- 
 nies of life. 
 
 Pierre ventured not to look behind him, 
 b'.t, descending the mountain side, returned 
 to St. Madelaine. As he drew near the vil- 
 lage, he was struck with the mournful silence 
 that reigned throughout its once cheerful pre- 
 cincts. The noise of the shuttle had ceased; 
 and the noise of the hammer on the anvil, 
 though still heard at the forge across the lake, 
 i^ave onlv a sort of presao;ino- note of fear, as 
 those, wno determined to resist tiie oppressor, 
 whetted their rusty weapons by the light of 
 the flaring furnace, or others shod their horses, 
 unpatient to depart. There alone the village 
 1 appeared to be mhabited ; and Pierre passed 
 round to his own cottage, without meeting any 
 uiie to speak to, from whom he could leani 
 j the state of the valley. There was something 
 ! ill this loneliness and desolation that exceed- 
 ingly attected him; and in coming into his 
 I u ti deserted paradise, from whence those that 
 • ade it so were fled, he felt his heart flutter 
 iid liis lip quiver; and when, on going fur- 
 ther into the room, he perceived the litter of 
 t raw and osiers with which the children had 
 been busy making bonnets and baskets a short 
 time before, a tear sprung; to his eye, and his 
 tuititude almost forsook him.
 
 84 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 While Pierre, with many a sad tliought, wad 
 arranging his little affairs, and securing the 
 few valuables wliich he possessed, the solitude 
 that, a short time before, had reigned in the 
 village, even to paiufulness, was interrupted 
 by the most discordant sounds; and laughter, 
 and execrations, and the trampling of horses, 
 too plainly announced the entrance of the 
 troops, wlio were commissioned, together with 
 the fathers of the Holy Office, and the monks, 
 to enforce the edict of the governor, and con- 
 vert men to the catholic faith by dint of the 
 sabre. 
 
 The peaceful and pious Waldenses, who 
 remained in the valleys to protect their pro- 
 perty from pillage, and to bear their testimony 
 to the truth, received the troops with a temper 
 that might have won their esteem, and pacified 
 their anger. They provided quarters for the 
 squadron of Savoy; — they were the subjects 
 of their own prince, and they met them in 
 peace. They hoped by such means, to subdue 
 irritation — to avert oppression — and they ex- 
 pected that the soldiers, when they found 
 themselves not only unprovoked but treated 
 with kindness, would forbear their outrages; 
 and that, having gained the military, the pas- 
 tors would, by argument and Scripture, en- 
 deavour to convince the priests. Their for- 
 bearance, however, was in the one case in vain; 
 and, in the other, argument and Scripture,
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. ^^ 
 
 instead of subduing the sanguinary purposes 
 ot" the priests, only increased their thirst for 
 the blood of the heretics, as they denominated 
 the Lord's dear people ; and the wisdom, 
 grace, power, and eloquence with which, not 
 only tlie pastors, but many of the simplest of 
 their ilock, overturned the wretciied sophis- 
 tries of the monks, chafed them more and 
 more, and infuriated them beyond endurance. 
 The undaunted courage, the inflexible inte- 
 grity with which even the poorest of the people 
 withstood every attempt to seduce them from 
 the faith, exasperated their enemies, incapable 
 of estimating such superior excellence; and 
 wlien they found it equally impossible to cor- 
 rupt or intimidate these pious people, the 
 monks and friars adjourned the conference 
 with the pastors and elders till another day. 
 
 Such was the resistance which the pious in- 
 habitants hitherto had made to their enemies — 
 a simple adherence to the truth of the Bible. 
 This two-edged sword was tlie only weapon 
 of their warfare. It was, however, a weapon 
 with whicii their enemies could not cope. So 
 tliey liad recourse to another, or rather to many 
 otiiers; and every species of cruelty was em- 
 ployed to destroy the bodies of these men, 
 whose spirits were found to be unconquerable. 
 
 It was finally resolved, in the mock consis- 
 tory of tiie priests, to endeavour, once more, 
 to bring over the heretics by argument: and 
 
 m
 
 86 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 to all those who should, next dav, assist at the 
 celebration of the mass, pardon would be 
 granted for the rebellion of which they had 
 been guilty; and that they sliouUl not be de- 
 nounced to the governor, nor have their pro- 
 perty confiscated, but would be received into 
 her bosom of holy mother church. 
 
 I need not say that few were found to ac- 
 cept the compromise. One or two apostates, 
 alas! there were, who shrunk through terror, 
 but who, some years afterwards, made their 
 most humiliating recantation to the churches 
 of the valleys, and were again received into 
 their communion. Among those who this day 
 witnessed a good confession was Pierre de 
 Beauvoisin. Amid cruel mockings and re- 
 vilings he stood unmoved. '' Steadfast" was 
 the purpose of his soul, and steadfast was llie 
 current of his thoughts, and steadfast was the 
 tenor of his conduct. He came ott* exone- 
 rated from the charge of rebellion; and of 
 heresy it was impossible to convict him, with- 
 out convicting the prophets and apostles of 
 the Bible of the same. All this, however, 
 would have availed him nothing, had he not 
 been protected by the noble house of Ray- 
 mond, who, though catholics tliemselves, saw, 
 and knew, and loved the worth and truth, and 
 integrity of their humble peasantry in the val- 
 leys, and therefore withstood the arrogant and 
 ferocious spirit which disgraced their own
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 87 
 
 priesthood and dishonoured their own reli- 
 gion, and, with a hi^h hanrl and a loud voice, 
 thev had signified their determination to pro- 
 tect the person of Beauvoisin. 
 
 From the fiery trial, therefi»re, Pierre was 
 happily exempted ; and, as a spirit of concilia- 
 tion seemed — but, better to secure the execu- 
 tion of their purposes, only seemed — to have 
 succeeded to the anger and cruelty hitherto 
 manifested by the monks, the little synod of 
 fathers, who yet remained in the valley, di- 
 rected Pierre to profit by this pause from per- 
 secution, and endeavour to proceed forthwith 
 to the mountains, to succour the women and 
 little ones, who, by the most distressing ac- 
 counts that day received, appeared to be dy- 
 ing in hundreds by reason of the cold. 
 
 Pierre, after this day of rebuke and blas- 
 phemy, retired late at night, grateful to his 
 God for granting to him the honour to be 
 counted worthy to suffer shame for his sake, 
 and to challenge the wheel or tlie stake rather 
 that deny one sacred truth of all his Holy 
 Word. Cheered with thoughts so sw eet, and 
 animated with the hope of rejoining his be- 
 loved family, — though long past the hoped-for 
 time of meeting, — Pierre retired to his cot- 
 tage, packed up a few articles in his knapsack 
 i'lr his children and suffering compatriots in 
 le mountains, and having got all ready 
 gainst the dawn, he took from its chamois
 
 88 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 cover the piecious Bible of his revered father, 
 now in glor^, and, trimming liis little lamp, 
 which contained but a scanty supply of oil, 
 he prepared to engage in reading the Scrip- 
 tures and prayer, till the return of the morn- 
 ing light should enable him to commence his 
 journey. 
 
 As Pierre, seated on a chair by the dying 
 embers of the cottage fire, his knapsack lying 
 beside liim all ready for his march, drew out 
 his hoarded treasure, the pastor's Bible, from 
 its cover, — remembering well the day, and 
 the chase which the poor chamois from whom 
 it had been taken, had led him in his youth — 
 he thought with much tenderness of his aged 
 father, whose last best legacy that book had 
 been. As he sat with it in his hand, he re- 
 membered also how often he had opened its 
 sacred pages in the bosom of his family, and 
 he looked around his deserted cottage, in 
 which nothing that had life or movement was 
 to be seen, except his flickering shadow on the 
 roof, thrown there by the low quivering light 
 of his little lamp. All was silent, motionless, 
 and solitary : his heart was touched with grief 
 — the tears rushed to his eyes — and the 
 thought of Blanche and her babe — of Hubert 
 and Gabrielle, perishing perhaps in the snow 
 — wrung his soul with an anguish which no 
 human fortitude could sustain. He threw 
 himself upon the floor in an agony of tears — ■
 
 PIEIUIE AND HIS FAMILY. 89 
 
 he cried unto the Lord for mercy — he made 
 confession before him — he besought strength 
 to suffer — strength to endure to the end — and 
 while, with his own heart-piercing sorrows, 
 he remembered the afflictions of his people, 
 and all they might jet have to sustain, he 
 pleaded for a martyr-spirit, that he might die 
 a martyr's death — or bear, at least, with cou- 
 rage, a martyr's pangs. He had thought oa 
 retiring to his own cottage, — so long preserved 
 to him amid the conflagrations which devoured 
 the other villages of the valleys, — that he had 
 cause only for joy. And true, he had much 
 cause for gratitude, both on that account as 
 well as for the honours he had gained in 
 being buffeted and despised for his adorable 
 Master's sake. These thoughts, together 
 with the recollected words of Blanche, " Be 
 steadfast," seemed to flow into his soul as he 
 continued on his face in prayer; and, as he 
 remembered lier one petition, he said, -Surely 
 The Lord is with me.'" He looked agair> 
 round his solitary room, as he raised himself 
 from his attitude of prostration — the sense of 
 anguish, which had tlirown him on the floor, 
 Mas gone from his heart — he felt a strotig re- 
 turning confidence springing up from the act 
 of renewed faith. His fears regarding his 
 family were past; or if they still, in any mea- 
 ?'ire pressed upon huii, yet, even here, he was 
 )iut without comfort; and one promise, which 
 H 2
 
 90 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 had often been his solace in other afflictions, 
 now came into his bosom with a message of 
 peace — "All things shall work together for 
 good to them that love God."— '^O Lord!" 
 said he, ''surely I love thee! — Whom have 
 I in heaven but thee? Is there any in all the 
 earth whom I should value for one moment 
 without thee?" The spirit of Pierre, as he 
 thus rose from before the mercj-seat, came off 
 like a trembling bird from the snare, delighted 
 to spread abroad again its unfettered wings 
 under the sweet heavens. Freed from all the 
 anxieties which, a moment before, had ago- 
 nized his heart as with the bitterness of death, 
 he became calm and serene; and, lifting up 
 his soul quite off the earth, he prepared to re- 
 new his communion with God, by reading & 
 portion of his Holy Word. 
 
 He opened the blessed book at the seventh 
 chapter of the Acts; and proceeded to peruse 
 it. It was a passage which the pious Wal- 
 dense had known by heart from his boyhood — 
 it was a passage wliich had often been read in 
 his hearing — it was one over whicli the fathers 
 of the valley, and its martyi-s, had often prayed 
 and often pondered; and it met him now like 
 the voice of one beloved, as, from verse to 
 verse, he followed the so often told history of 
 Abraham, the friend of God — and it com- 
 forted him, at every step of tlie patriarch's
 
 YIEllRE AND HIS FAMILY. 91 
 
 progress, as he thouglit of God, the friend of 
 man. 
 
 In the men by whom Pierre liad now so 
 long been surrounded, it was easy to trace a 
 resemblance to the infuriated priesthood of 
 Jerusalem. How dreadful the dominion of 
 passion! thought Pierre: how fearful to be 
 given up, an unresisting victim, to the rage 
 of tempers so hideous as those wliicli agitated 
 the minds of the persecutors of Stephen! Such 
 passions make men more terrible than lions, 
 savage and fierce as beasts of prey ! From 
 viewing those " persecutors of the prophets" 
 — those "betrayers and murderers of the 
 Just One," Pierre turned to contemplate the 
 character of vStephen ; and, as he sat meditat- 
 ing over the open volume, the view of this 
 scene came fully before his mind, the coun- 
 tenance of tlie martyr became attractive, not 
 only from the exquisite hcavenliness of the 
 glory that beamed around it, and which, to 
 the mind of Pierre, seemed as if he looked on 
 the face of an angel, but still more attractive 
 when viewed as opposed to the *• stift-necked 
 and uncircumcised in heart"~the Jews — who 
 stood " gnashing on him witli their teeth." It 
 possessed all the beauty of contrast; and the 
 contrast was soft and sweet beyond expression 
 The features of the man, full of faith and of 
 the Holy Ghost, presented a calmness — a re- 
 pLrie — a total absence of all that could irritate.
 
 93 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 m the least degree, the fury of the maniac 
 mob; it was like the rainbow in the cloud — 
 like the still, small voice after the tempest — 
 sweet as an " atmosphere distilled from flow- 
 ers." The pious Waldense did not indeed 
 thus express himself — ^but he felt all this; 
 and he gazed on the holy portraiture till 
 he almost envied the blessedness of the mar- 
 tyred man, saying: "O Lord, give me of the 
 same spirit — give of the same faith; — then 
 shall I count all things but loss for the joy of 
 fulfilling all thy will concerning me — then 
 shall I be more affected with the wretchedness 
 of my poor persecuting brother than with my 
 own danger — then shall I have courage to fol- 
 low my Master to prison and to death — to the 
 torture and to the stake. And oh I If thus it 
 shall be mine to glorify thee, give me the spirit 
 of this man, that I may say with him, of the 
 murderers of my people, ' Lord, lay not this 
 sin to their charge!'" 
 
 As the solitary man went over this portion 
 of sacred writ, which detailed many circum- 
 stances regarding the favourite people of God, 
 for a long period of years — he, taught by the 
 same Spirit which dictated the blessed record, 
 pondered with delight on the views which his 
 mind, simple in other matters, was happily 
 enabled, at this moment, to take of the faith- 
 fuiiiecS and mercy e*^" Jehovah. The tender- 
 ness, and manifold wisdom of God in provi-
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 9o 
 
 dence particularly affected him; and, in the 
 little history of Abraham and his children and 
 grandchildren, as here related by the martyr, 
 Pierre thought he could discern the counter- 
 
 f)art of the experience of almost every true be- 
 iever in the world. Like the patriarch, he 
 himself and his little ones were now called to 
 get tiiem out of their country and from their 
 kindred, and from tiieir fathei'S, to go they knew 
 not whither: — The thouglit of exile penetrated 
 the heart of Pierre; for his delight was to say, 
 after all his wanderings, " I dwell among 
 mine own people." But touched, as his natu- 
 ral feelings were, with the thought of leaving 
 his native valley, and seeing the flock of his 
 father scattered as sheep without a shepherd, 
 or led as the ox to the slaughter, yet remem- 
 bering the prayer of Blanche, ^'The Lord be 
 with thee," — >'If the Lord be with me, and 
 mine," said Pierre, '-that is all I want." — So 
 far as faith was strong in the mind of Pierre, 
 so far he had strong consolation. But no man 
 is all grace: therefore, as the thoughts within 
 him rested upon the afflictions of his people — 
 the spoliation of their little property, the deatii 
 of their fathers and brothers — the destitution 
 of the women and children who had fled, and 
 many of whom were dead, — then his spirit 
 became sad, and his soul sank within him. 
 
 From the dejection of these feelings one 
 part of this portion of the blessed Book re-
 
 94 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 lieved him, and he paused and prayed over it 
 repeatedly. It was that wherein the angel 
 of the covenant is represented as speaking to 
 Moses in the desert, at the foot of Horeb, al- 
 luding to the oppressions of Pharaoh and the 
 reproach of his people — ^'I have seen, I have 
 seen, the affliction of my people, and am come 
 down to deliver them." The toucliing sym- 
 pathy of the Friend of vSinners, as expressed 
 by these words, deeply affected this pious 
 man. — He repeated them again ; " I have 
 seen, I have seen, the affliction of my people, 
 I have heard their groaning, and am come 
 down to deliver them." O ! how sweet were 
 these words of pity and protection to the heart 
 of poor Beauvoisin, even while he wept over 
 
 them ! " my Lord, and my God, we are 
 
 thy people — behold our affliction, hear our 
 groanings, come down and deliver us: save 
 us from the hand of the cruel ; yet neverthe- 
 less if thy glory is to be accomplished by our 
 sufferings, Lord, let thy glory be dearer to us 
 than all the earth beside ! — give the spirit to 
 endure !" 
 
 But that which chiefly consoled this de- 
 voted Christian, in the prospect which he by 
 no means thought remote, either of his own 
 death, or the utter destruction of his people, 
 was the simple description here given of the 
 death of Stephen. — " And when he had said 
 
 thi?, he FELL ASLEEP."
 
 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 95 
 
 It seemed as if one liad said, of the placid 
 slumbers of some darling infont, '' When I 
 had sung her a hushaby, she fell asleep r'' — 
 "There is, then." said Pierre, "no death to 
 the believer; it is only falling asleep. ' He 
 that bclieveth in me shall never die.' Tem- 
 poral death is a separation of the soul from 
 the body; but, to the believer, it is only a 
 nearer and closer union of the soul to Christ. 
 * Nothing shall separate me from the love of 
 God, which is in Christ Jesus my Lord.'" 
 
 In thoughts such as these, an<l in pouring 
 out his soul in prayer, this pious man spent 
 the silent watches of the night. His mind, 
 )efreshed, invigorated, and composed by tlie 
 a>e of those means of grace which our hea- 
 venly Father has appointed for our comfort, 
 as we go up through the wilderness, he was 
 enabled calmly to rest upon his Maker, to 
 confide in his promises, and to assure himself 
 of his protection, should those men couardly 
 attempt to do that, by stealth, which the 
 power of the house of Raymond had hitherto 
 prevented them doing openly. Pierre knew 
 well that the promises on which he most im- 
 plicitly reposed, extended neither to the pre- 
 servation of his life, nor to his continuance on 
 earth, any farther than as these blessings 
 -liould be for his own good and for his Ma- 
 ^ ei's glory: — He had no promise of immu- 
 
 fv from death, and he sought imne. With
 
 96 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 his mind thus stayed, and kept in perfect 
 peace, he went to sleep on the seat on which 
 he had been reading, his lamp, some time be- 
 fore, having gone out. In this state of dark- 
 ness and repose the solitary Pierre had con- 
 tinued not much above an hour, when the 
 partially-covered gleam of a lamp, which 
 tliose who carried seemed anxious to conceal, 
 streamed upon the wliite roof of the room 
 where he lay, and awoke him. But how shall 
 I relate, or describe the scene that followed ! 
 or indeed, what can I say at all upon a sub- 
 ject so dark and so mysterious. Alas ! they 
 who then entered that hitherto peaceful and 
 blessed cottage, alone could tell their dread- 
 ful errand. Suffice it to say, they came with 
 minds made up to accomplish that errand, and 
 to achieve the purpose which brought them 
 thither — To compel Beauvoisin to apostatize 
 from the faith, to forsake his people and his 
 God, or to take his life. The mass, or the 
 dungeons of the Holy Office, or the poniard, 
 were the weapons by which he was to be sub- 
 dued. Alas! that Satan should prompt to 
 deeds so foul, and that a man should not 
 slmdder to perform them! It is said that a 
 peasant, passing near the cottage, as he es- 
 caped out of the village at niidnight, heard 
 the noise as of persons struggling together for 
 the mastery; — and again the voice of one who 
 seemed prajdng for the pardon of his mui 

 
 PIERRE A\D HIS FAMILY. 97 
 
 <]erers; — and again a piercing cry, accom- 
 panied with the words, '*My chihJren ! O 
 Hiy chiklreni'* — But whether Pierre, wlien he 
 had uttered that cry, "fell asleep," or whe- 
 ther, as some believe, he was hurried away by 
 the familiars of tlie Holy Office, and after- 
 wards perished in its prisons,* is not known; 
 that he was a martyr to the faith is w^ell 
 known, but by what unheard of cruelty he 
 bartered, remains a secret I am unable to un- 
 ravel. Whether this pious and holy man 
 pined for months and years in the dungeons 
 of the Inquisition, or was speedily delivered 
 trom the misery of such a situation, by means 
 of torture, or of fire; or whether he met his 
 death that same niglit, under the covert of his 
 own roof, is still a mystery. All that was 
 ever heard from the enemy regarding him, was 
 their impudent as false assertion that Pierre 
 de Beauvoisin, ashamed and afflicted by the 
 dishonour he had on the preceding day thrown 
 upon his holiness the pope antl the reverend 
 fathers of the Catholic church, hatl set fire to 
 his own house, and perished amid its ruin. 
 But while this report received the credit due 
 to the consummate effrontery that framed it, 
 no traces of Pierre could be found. True in- 
 deed it was, that, on that very night, or be- 
 fore the dawn of day, the cottage at the end 
 
 |- * See Note IV
 
 98 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 of the lake, hitherto preserved among the 
 wreck of others, was observed to be on fire, 
 and, from the combustible materials of which 
 it was constructed, was soon reduced to ashes; 
 but by whom the conflagration was kindled 
 was never a matter of doubt. And while the 
 crime perpetrated there, was inscribed in 
 characters of blood, in the book of the record 
 of men's deeds, let us hope that the unimpri- 
 soned spirit of the gentle and humble Wal- 
 dense, was drinking in ineftable blessedness 
 
 ( 
 
 from the presence ot his Lord in heaven ! 
 
 Or, if we must reverse the picture, and paint 
 him alive — in fetters — in solitude — in silence 
 — denied the sweet light of heaven — uncheer- 
 ed by the sound of a human voice — languish- 
 ing out days, and months, and years — unvisit- 
 ed, unpitied, unheard of, undefended — the 
 thoughts of his heart going towards his chil- 
 dren so often that thought itself sickens at the 
 task; — remembering her, who was dear to him 
 as his own soul, as long as he could remember 
 her, — as his plajTnate in boyhood— his first 
 and only love — the wife of his youth— the mo- 
 ther of his children— then viewing her as a 
 
 widow — her children orphans But let us 
 
 not pause over thoughts so excruciating.— Of 
 this we may be assured, that no refinement in 
 cruelty, no protraction of misery, no bribe, 
 not even that of beholding again his beloved 
 family — not the tremendous horrors of the
 
 PIERRE AND Hlb FAMILY. 99 
 
 Question, though repeated to the laceration 
 of every joint and muscle of his emaciated 
 frame, would induce Pierre to deny one iota 
 of the truth for which he suffered, or to ac- 
 knowledge one dogma of the superstition he 
 abhorred; but that he would, with holy bold- 
 ness, maintain, to the last, the faith of the 
 churches of the valleys, the faith once deli- 
 vered to the saints, and, by the saints, now 
 delivered unto us. And if this humble but 
 heroic Christian, honoured to avouch the 
 truth, were also called upon to bear testi- 
 mony against error, we may conceive of him 
 with the same unshrinking courage, in the 
 face of those who could kill the body, but 
 are not able to kill the soul — declarinc^, what 
 lie had learned from his youth to believe, that 
 the mass was an abomination, the host an idol, 
 and purgatory the cruellest fable that ever de- 
 ceived the wretched children of men! 
 
 Thus, while the fate of Pierre is wrapt in 
 deep obscurity, the principles by vvhicli he 
 was guided, are well known ; their truth and 
 power are immutable: and we can remain in 
 no doubt about them, neither can we doubt of 
 the strong consolation they would impart to 
 the man under his afflictions, nor of his final 
 happy issue out of all his sorrows. 
 
 But if what we have imagined in regard to 
 this part of the history of Pierre de Beauvoi- 
 hin, in the prison house, be as 1 have already
 
 100 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 said, only conjectural, ah! of how many in 
 those days was it true? Have there not been 
 many, in every age of antichrist, who, could 
 they speak from the dust into which their 
 mortal forms have crumbled, might tell of 
 deeper woes and sadder things than these? 
 Who can tell the history of those whom the 
 beloved disciple, in vision, beheld under the 
 altar, slain for the word of God, and for the 
 testimony wliicli they held ? — who cried, 
 '* How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou 
 not judge, and avenge our blood on them that 
 dwell on the earth?" And, though silence 
 seems to pervade the courts of heaven, as 
 many of the judgments prefigured in that 
 mystic book are related by the man who was 
 himself an exile for the truth, and a companion 
 in the tribulation of the saints, — yet, at the 
 judgment denounced on those by whom such 
 men as the Christians of the valleys had been 
 persecuted in all a^es, a voice is heard ap- 
 plauding the fiat of the Almighty; saying, 
 " Thou art righteous, Lord, which art, and 
 wast, and shalt be, because thou hast judged 
 thus: for they have shed the blood of saints 
 and prophets, and thou hast given them blood 
 to drink ; for they are worthy :" and no sooner 
 ceases, from the lips of one angel, the ascrip- 
 tion of righteousness to the Everlasting, — than 
 another angel out of the altar rejoins, in deep
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 101 
 
 response, Amen — '^Even so, Lord God Al- 
 mighty" 
 
 Nothing now remains to mark the spot 
 where the prettiest cottage of all St. Madelame 
 once stood, except the scorched and blighted 
 boughs of the beautiful chestnut-tree, that 
 used to spread its superb foliage, in delicious 
 shade, over the happy group that often assem- 
 bled there in the clays that are gone for ever. 
 The whole village is desolate. The cottages 
 and hamlets which the traveller formerly met 
 at every step, as he journeyed through the val- 
 ley, are now nowhere to be seen. The bit- 
 tern, that solitary and timid bird, has made 
 her nest of reeds on the edge of the lake, 
 ■vhere the dear boy Antoine used to sail his 
 jniper galley with its well-manned oars: you 
 I nay hear her boom across the water, in the 
 -tillness of the noontide air; or you mav see 
 iier, of an evening, rising up in her spiral as- 
 cent against the sky, till V\e eye aches with 
 following her; — for St. Madelaine has become 
 a '• possession for the bittern, and for pools 
 of water, and has been swept with the besom 
 of destruction" 
 
 Such is the ruin wrought by persecution. 
 
 Yet God is love, and his law is love. Could, 
 
 then, men using the name of religion, yet 
 
 indulging the spirit of hatred armed with 
 
 I 2
 
 102 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 weapons of cruelty — could they have pos- 
 sessed the religion either of the Law or of the 
 Gospel ? 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Pray ye that your flight be not in the winter." 
 
 Matt. xxiv. 20. 
 
 "O! the joy 
 
 To gaze upon thy face, and see thine eye 
 Beam once again with life ! Yet this is death ! 
 Beautiful death 1" 
 
 But it is now time, my beloved children, 
 that 1 should relate to you the fate of Blanche, 
 the wife of Pierre, and of her dear family, 
 whom we left in company with others of the 
 valley of St. Madelaine, beginning the slippery 
 ascent of Mount- Sapin. 
 
 In those days the roads across the moun- 
 tains were not what they now are. Except 
 the track of a mule, or the patfiway made by 
 the goatherd; the St. Gothard, the Brenner, 
 — the Simplon — and the St. Bernard — stood 
 in all their unapproachable majesty, circling 
 the horizon with a chain which, though forged 
 of icicles and snow, no iron or steel, however
 
 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 103 
 
 tempered, or however ponderous, could un- 
 lock. This immense barrier seemed as if it 
 couh] be surmounted onlj by the eagle, when, 
 according to the fables of antiquity, taking 
 his tenth year's flight against the sun, he goes 
 up to shake off' the weaknesses of age, and to 
 renew the vigour of delightful youth. Tiie 
 pathway along which the unhappy exiles of the 
 valleys were now seen ascending in scattered 
 groups, attempting to scale the mountains, 
 was no wider, — and that only for a short way, 
 — than what would admit of a little car drawn 
 by a couple of mules, placed one before the 
 other; and even this accommodation could 
 only be enjoyed for a few days' journey, short 
 as a day's journey was at that season of the 
 year. Surely, then, we may hereby see how 
 these holy people loved the faith which they 
 professed — and that, between their love to 
 God, and their terror of the ferocious and 
 brutal soldiery w^hom the catholic was about 
 to let loose upon them, they were constrained 
 to attempt what otherwise might have been 
 considered utterly impracticable. Nor could 
 husbands, and fathers, for any thing short of 
 the honour of their God, and tlieir inviolable 
 devotion to his cause, have suffered their fami- 
 lies to perish, in unpitied and unassisted mise- 
 ry, amid the horrors of an Alpine winter. So 
 that, whether they died at tlie stake, or in the 
 mountains, they died for their religion, and
 
 104 WtRRE A.XD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 thej must ever be considered as the faithful 
 martyrs of Jesus Christ. 
 
 The first day's journey of the exiles was 
 not so uncomfortable as they had anticipated. 
 The forests on every side, on the skirts of 
 the mountains, sheltered them from the nip- 
 ping air; and the brightness of the snow un- 
 der the rays of the clearest sunshine, together 
 with the purest possible atmosphere, cheered 
 their spirits, and inspired them with hope. As 
 the evening drew on, and the sun began to set, 
 the coldness of the temperature became ex- 
 treme, and each group of sufferers began to 
 look out for shelter in the little scattered 
 cabins which were still found upon the sides 
 of Mount-Sapin. In the hospitable cottages 
 of some simple goatherds, the Pastor and his 
 family, with that of his brother Pierre, and 
 some others of his flock, were accommodated. 
 The Pastor had accompanied his family and 
 gome of his people thus far; but he was to re- 
 turn by the light of the moon, to St. Made- 
 laine, where he was expected to treat, in the 
 Council of the Province, with the priests and 
 monks whom the wicked governor had signi- 
 fied his intention of sending to convert the 
 Waldenses — to confute their pastors, and to 
 enforce, in short, his own cruel law. 
 
 Before parting from his beloved family and 
 people, and consigning them to the care of 
 those appointed by the little synod of brethren
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 105 
 
 t(i protect them, the Pastor calle<l all of them 
 i(»i;ether into the largest apartment of their 
 kind host; and, in the haste which the cir- 
 cumstances demanded, and with much of the 
 I agitation and tenderness which such circum- 
 I stances were fitted to excite, — he prepared, 
 : with his people, to address the mercy-seat, 
 and to commit the scattered sheep to the care 
 ot the Chief Shepherd — the Good Shepherd — 
 A\ ho loved them to the death ; and who, even 
 iliLMi, had his eye of pity tenderly bent upon 
 them. 
 
 To encourage ourselves in situations very 
 painful or miserable, by reflecting how many 
 others there are, or have been in the world, 
 ^\ho do sufter, or have suftered more bitterly 
 tlian we, is one of the means of attaining to 
 comparative contentment with our own lot. 
 Jjut especially in the case of the people of 
 God, suffering under the rod, whether it be 
 that of chastisement, or discipline, or of cor- 
 rection, strong consolation may be drawn 
 from the experience of others, whom the 
 Lord, while he thus similarly chastened, yet 
 declared, at the same time, that he loved 
 them. 
 
 To topics of a nature such as I have hinted 
 at. the Pastor Pascal, this sad night, directed 
 the attention of his dejected auditors; — and 
 reminding them of a subject familiar to them 
 from infancy — of the sufterings of the church
 
 106 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 in all ages — of the purpose of God in permit- 
 ting his people to be tried with cruel mock- 
 ings and scourgings — with bonds and impri- 
 sonment — to be stoned — sawn asunder — 
 tempted — slain with the sword — to wander 
 about in sheep-skins and goat-skins, being 
 destitute, afflicted, tormented; or, as we are 
 this night, mj beloved people, wandering in 
 the mountains; or, as you may yet, alas! de- 
 sire to be — sheltering yourselves in dens and 
 caves of the earth : — O ! remember that, in all 
 this, the will of your God-'concerning you is 
 your sanctification. The voice of the Pastor 
 sunk as he took this prospective view of the 
 misery that awaited his children, — for all his 
 people were dear to him as his children, — and 
 when he paused to overcome the suftbcating 
 sensation which oppressed him, the whole of 
 the little assembly indulged in tears. Ga- 
 brielle threw her arms around her mother's 
 neck, and sobbed upon her bosom; but Hu- 
 bert, remembering the words of his father, 
 cried secretly unto the Lord, and, with a no- 
 ble courage, resisted the despair that was 
 ready to seize him. 
 
 Alter a pause of a few moments, in which 
 nothing was to be heard but weeping — that 
 sound which is the most painful to the ear, 
 that is the channel to a human heart, — the 
 Pastor, regaining strength, hastened to pro- 
 ceed, that he might crowd, into the few mo-
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. lOr 
 
 ments he liad to spare, as much instruction 
 and consolation as the time would admit of. 
 While, therefore, he reminded his people of 
 the permission which even the Holy Book of 
 God, gave them to bewail their calamities, 
 he would, nevertheless, he said, counsel them 
 rather to call to remembrance the past mer- 
 cies of the Lord — to think upon the multi- 
 tude of his mercies — and their tenderness — 
 and to cherish, in their bosom, that sweetest 
 and loveliest of all the graces — the grace of 
 hope. *' Above all," he added, •' let us deep- 
 ly acknowledge the righteous and unimpeach- 
 able justice of God in all we suffer — that it is 
 of his mercy alone we are not utterly con- 
 sumed; and, because his compassions are as 
 eternal as his love, let us also, while we are 
 perfectly submissive to the rod, nevertheless 
 cry for deliverance. A greatei- sufterer than 
 we, said, 'If it be possible, let this cup pass 
 from me.' Let us, therefore, not fear to cry 
 for deliverance. His arm is not shortened 
 that it cannot save, neither his ear heavy that 
 it cannot hear. It is, alas I my people — it is 
 our iniquities that have separated between us 
 and our God — it is our sins that have caused 
 him to hide his face from us. O I Holy Fa- 
 ther!" continued Pascal, raising his humid 
 eyes and clasped hands to hea\en, "O! Holy 
 Father! whom the world knoweth not, but 
 who hast revealed thvself unto babes and
 
 108 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 sucklings, such as we, turn thee again unto us, 
 and have mer-c}' upon us ! hide not thy face 
 from us ! We have transgressed and rebelled 
 — thou hast not pardoned — thou hast covered 
 with anger and persecuted us — thou hast slain 
 — ^thou hast not pitied — thou hast covered thy- 
 self with a cloud that our prayers should not 
 pass through — thou hast made us as the ofF- 
 scouring and refuse in the midst of the peo- 
 ple. Our enemies have opened their mouths 
 against us — fear and a snare is come upon us 
 — desolation and destruction: turn us unto 
 thee, Lord! Renew our days as of old. O 
 reject us not utterly ! — appear ! arise ! O thou 
 that dwellest between the cherubim, deliver 
 thy people as of old ! How long, O Lord ! for 
 ever, shall thy wrath burn like fire?" 
 
 In words of passionate, and importunate, 
 and vehement supplication, as well as in the 
 deepest prostration of soul and spirit, the 
 Pastor prayed with and for his people; and, 
 after commending all, and many of them even 
 by name, to the Father of Spirits, he embraced 
 his beloved family, and accompanied by some 
 of the elders of the people, they retraced, by 
 the light of the moon, their steps through the 
 snow towards the now desolated village of 
 St. Madelaine-de-Belleville. 
 
 At the departure of the Pastor, his flock 
 seemed to become alive, as it were for the 
 first time, to a sense of all their misery; and
 
 PIERRR AXD HIS FAMILY. 109 
 
 lothing but their total ignorance of the dread- 
 j lul future before them, and their stronger ter- 
 ! ror of the banditti in the valleys, would liave 
 prevented them returning to the protection of 
 rheir husbands, where, alas! had they gone, 
 they would only have perished on the sword 
 (/f the ferocious Piedmontese. 
 
 But tlie Lord hath a balm for every wo, if 
 he see meet to bestow it To many, in mercy, 
 he this night sent that sweet '• sleep that knits 
 up the ravelled sleeve of care;" and which 
 Irings with it, if not an oblivion, at least a 
 • -sation of pain, and of tlie anguish of 
 ought, alike as it regards the memory of the 
 f ,i>t, or fears respecting the future. 
 
 Blanche also comforted herself with the 
 
 liope that, ere long, she would be rejoined by 
 
 lier dear husband, and that, whatever might 
 
 belall iierself, the father of her children would 
 
 br^ near to protect them. And \A'hen the bright 
 
 rays of the sun illumined the dwelling they 
 
 ^v('re next morning about to quit, she looked 
 
 with cheerful spirits, and a gladdened heart, 
 
 i upon the scene; and though the village of St. 
 
 j ^Iadelaine, seen from the heights, had dimi- 
 
 I nished in appearance to a very minute object, 
 
 arul its pretty lake, in breadth and length, 
 
 iMoked not much larger than the hand; yet 
 
 '■ river that wound its way through the val- 
 
 . and which, in comparison of the snows by 
 
 \ iich she was surrounded, resembled the 
 
 K 
 
 m
 
 110 riERTlF. AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 twisted ringlets of a riband of ashy blueness, 
 pleased her eye, and she paused on its zigzag 
 evolutions with delight. Then marking, as far 
 as she could, in imagination, the route by 
 which Beauvoisin would follow her, she traced 
 his steps from the cottage to the Goat's Bridge 
 — from the bridge to the ascent of Mount Sa- 
 pin — then to the forest, "where,'' said she 
 to herself, " he will pause for refreshments at 
 the cottage of St. Marie; then he will cross 
 the ravine — then, in a few days more, he shall 
 take thee, my darling baby," continued 
 Blanche, as slie gazed on the sleeping clierub 
 on her lap; "and covering thee from the 
 piercing cold, he will carry thee in his arms; 
 place Gabriel le and Hubert on faithful old 
 Benoit, and make me walk with courage by 
 his side." 
 
 This was the picture which, from time to 
 time, hope painted in the morning to the mind 
 of Blanche — which fancy fed on through the 
 weary day; and over which disappointed feel- 
 ing wept at night, and wept more bitterly, 
 when, as sometimes happened, the exiles dis- 
 covered that, after a day of cold, hunger, and 
 toil, through wind and snow, they found them- 
 selves, at sunset, near to the spot from which 
 they had departed in the morning. No Pierre 
 arrived — no courier in view from the village. 
 The first intelligence, obtained by the exiles, 
 ot those whom they had left behind, was that
 
 PIERRE AND Hlfi FAMILY. Ill 
 
 \\hi<:li thvy received as tliey lingered on the 
 last points of the mountains from whence they 
 could perceive tlie valleys, — in the sij^ns of 
 conflagration which, risinf; against the deadly 
 darkness of a clouded and nioonless sky, told 
 them that the distant villages towards the 
 south were in flames; but St. Madelaine, ly- 
 ing more immediately under tlieir feet, could 
 not have been observed by them, even if it 
 lad, by that time, suftered the same fate, 
 rhis was a night, indeed, of anguish to the 
 exiles, who, notwithstanding their own misery, 
 — some of them having already lost their aged 
 parents and infant children, from cold, and 
 fatigue, and privations of every kind, as well 
 as unnumbered hardships, — yet spent the 
 night in prayers to God, and in tears for their 
 brethren. The cry that broke from their over- 
 charged hearts, as, at different intervals, they 
 saw the flames burst with sublime and fearful 
 splendour against the sky, was a cry of excru- 
 ciating and agonizing sympathy with the sor- 
 rows of those who were perishing in the ruin 
 of their homes, with their dying thoughts, per- 
 haps, fixed upon the exiles. But the Lord 
 heard that cry; and, blessed be they who ut- 
 tered it, the holy army of martvrs did not die 
 in vain. Even then the Lord, in his inscruta- 
 ble wisdom, was answering their own often 
 repeated supplications, that his *'way might 
 be known ui)on earth;'' and in their blood he
 
 112 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 was sowing the seeds of a glorious church unto 
 himself. 
 
 But why should I attempt to describe the 
 anguish of those unhappy exiles who, this 
 night, from the frozen regions of the unshel- 
 tered Alps, witnessed the awful and heart- 
 rending view of their cottages and villages in 
 flames, joined with the fearful thought that 
 many, who were precious to them as their 
 own souls, were perishing amid that destruc- 
 tion — or, to escape temporal death, were per- 
 haps apostates from the faith ? 
 
 To the anguish of this night's scene suc- 
 ceeded the misery of the next day's march 
 The exiles had now lost sight of the whole of 
 the valleys, and had plunged into a labyrinth 
 among the mountains, from which every thing 
 was excluded but the view of the sky above, 
 and the snow beneath their feet. The last 
 sign of human habitation had also disappeared, 
 and death seemed to be the only object that 
 presented itself whether they should attempt 
 to proceed, or whether they should return. — 
 Return indeed was impossible ; for the provi- 
 sions of those, who, as they came onward, had 
 been liberally shared with them, were now 
 exhausted; and at La Flechere alone, could 
 they arrive at it, they had hope of meeting 
 with supplies. 
 
 The miseries of this afflicted people became 
 not only every day, — for many of them saw
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 113 
 
 iii more days, — hui cvoi y houf. more deplora- 
 l)ie. The snow, \vhicli liitlieito had been hard, 
 .uid partly beaten by the parties wlio first set 
 Milt from the valleys — now presented only 
 mountains of drift — or, falling in showers from 
 heaven, or rising in whirlwinds from the scat- 
 tered wreaths, not only overwhelmed the 
 \\ retched travellers with terror, but, blocking 
 lip every trace of route or road, ]}recipitated 
 many into fathomless abysses, to arise no more 
 — strewed the paths with the dying and the 
 dead — and laid the young conductor or the 
 helper of the aged, if he chanced to fall in at- 
 tempting to assist his frozen grandsire, — laid 
 him also, incapable of exertion, in a few hours 
 dead at his feet.* 
 
 To such extreme distress were the fugitives 
 tiom St. Madelaine reduced, that it is sup- 
 posed none of them could have survived much 
 longer, when a courier from the valleys, ac- 
 < ompanied with persons carrying supplies of 
 (ood and covering, overtook them. The intel- 
 ligence of whicii he was possessed, so far as it 
 regarded the destruction of his people, he 
 endeavoured to mitigate or to conceal; and 
 cheering the poor exiles, encouraged them to 
 proceed to La Flechere, where the inhabitants 
 of De Belleville were directed to rendezvous; 
 and where many of them m ould meet their re- 
 
 * See Note V. 
 K 2
 
 114 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 lations and friends, these having crossed the 
 mountains by another route. 
 
 This news served to give those who re- 
 mained alive some hope; and, when they were 
 informed that they might reach La Flechere 
 next day, their drooping spirits revived, and 
 they made every effort to proceed; and those 
 who were ready to perish, and who desired 
 death rather than life, consented to support 
 its burden a few hours longer. But no sooner 
 had the courier proceeded onward to the suc- 
 cour of those who were before, than many, 
 whom his presence had in a manner revived, 
 again relapsed into languor, and, unable or too 
 dejected to make any further endeavour to 
 continue their journey, lay down and perished 
 m the snow. 
 
 But my object in this little history was, to 
 confine myself to what concerned Pierre and 
 his family. The death of the pious father 
 was carefully concealed from his wife and 
 children, by the courier, and those who ac- 
 companied him; who, to all the anxious in- 
 quiries made by all, had directions to answer 
 vaguely, and to say nothing to depress or af- 
 flict, but every thing to inspirit and comfort 
 the exiles. Among the wretched, therefore, 
 who were cheered by the hope of reaching La 
 Flechere on the morrow, and of their being 
 rejoined by her husband, was Blanche, the 
 wife of the martyred Pierre de Beauvoisin.
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 115 
 
 Her trials had been great, as well as thos«; of 
 the other exiles; but, till this day, all her chil- 
 dren had been preserved to her alive; and 
 therefore she had, as siie said, something to 
 suffer, but nothing to mourn for. The little 
 babe, however, her darling Henri, no longer 
 supplied with the nourishment which hitherto 
 he had drawn from the " fountain of his mo- 
 ther's bosom," had for some days languished 
 in her arms, and, becoming weaker and 
 weaker, between excess of want and excess 
 of cold, had that morning closed his stiffened 
 eyelids to open them no morel When his 
 wretched mother became conscious of this 
 loss, her first impulse was to cry upon her 
 companions to see and behold if their grief or 
 any of their sorrows were half so bitter as her 
 own. But, knowing that the moment she 
 should discover to those around her the death 
 of her child, they would, that moment per- 
 haps, take him from her wearied bosom, and 
 bury him in some fearful wreath of snow, — 
 she concealed the maternal aiiguish which op- 
 pressed her; and, determined that, if Pierre 
 could not see his family again alive, he should 
 see them dead, she formed the resolution of 
 carrying the lifeless infant in her arms, and 
 attempted, by a false and fearful levity of 
 spirit, to elude the discovery of the loss she 
 had sustained. 
 
 Poor Blanche, by this means, succeeded,
 
 116 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 # 
 
 in some- measure, in imposing upon her com- 
 panions in suffering. But Hubert and Ga- 
 brielle viewed, with alaim, the strangeness of 
 manner and the extravagant cheerfulness of 
 their mother. They had often wished, as 
 usual, to relieve her of her burden, and to 
 carry dear Henri by turns; but, at every at- 
 tempt to raise the cloak that covered him, she 
 placed her finger on her mouth, and, with a 
 fearfully beautiful smile of intense entreaty 
 that they would not awake him, whispered, 
 " Hush ! hush ! he is asleep." 
 
 But the weight with which the dead child 
 bore upon the already exhausted frame of his 
 wretched mother, occasioned her, in despite 
 of her utmost exertions and efforts to proceed, 
 to fall behind the other sufferers in the path. 
 Occupied with one desire of concealing his 
 death, and of not relinquishing him to the peo- 
 ple who had the charge of the exiles, and who 
 would think it their duty immediately to con- 
 sign the little corpse to its last abode, she be- 
 came forgetful alike of what was due to the 
 preservation of her other children and to her 
 own protection and security. In this way she 
 and they fell quite behind the rest of the 
 party. The day indeed had been fine in com- 
 parison of the preceding; for it had been, 
 though one of intense frost, yet bright and 
 clear, and the sunbeams darting down upon 
 them, and concentrated in the bottom of the
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 117 
 
 deep valley into which they had descended 
 the day before, there were times when tlie air 
 Icit even warm. It was not, therefore, till the 
 sun, which had shone brightly on their path, 
 had gone down, and the moon began to rise 
 with a red and ruddy li^ht, that Blanche, 
 feeling again the effects of cold, discovered, 
 with alarm, that she and her children were 
 It^ft behind, and that they had utterly lost 
 sight of their wretched companions — and that, 
 unless strength were given her to quicken her 
 ])ace, they would probably all perish before 
 the dawn of another day. She therefore 
 strained every nerve to pursue the path which 
 she imagined the rest had followed ; but, after 
 continuing their weary and silent way some 
 time, they discovered that they had lost their 
 road, and that here all traces of footsteps end- 
 ed, and that the covert of a forest \vas all the 
 shelter they could hope for that night. — The 
 agony which this separation from tlie rest of 
 her people occasioned to the distracted mother 
 cannot be conceived. — "The Lord hath for- 
 saken me," she exclaimed in the bitterness of 
 her heart, "and my God hath forgotten me;" 
 and she was about to sit down in dumb de- 
 spair; '* But let us cry to him in time of trou- 
 ble, mother;" said Hubert, " tliis is what the 
 Lord bids us do." The mother raised her 
 streaming eyes to heaven, and implored pro- 
 tection for herself and her children — entreated
 
 118 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 the fori:;ivGness oi" all her sins, atid supplicated 
 mercy tor her afflicted people. Having paused, 
 during these moments ot* prayer, on the edge 
 of the forest, whose thickly matted boughs of 
 birch and pine excluded at once the light and 
 air above their heads, while the naked stems 
 admitted and protected the wanderers below, 
 — Blanche, when she had finished the strong 
 cries of supplication with which she had im- 
 portuned the throne of grace, rose from her 
 Knees, and began to attempt to find shelter 
 for the night; but, stiff' with cold, and ex- 
 hausted with fatigue, she fell powerless to the 
 earth. 
 
 Now was the time for Hubert, that dear 
 boy, to remember the last words of his father, 
 and to cry unto the I^ord to preserve them, 
 and to help him to take care of his mother. 
 This he did, pious child, almost with a scream 
 of agony. The cry aroused his mother from 
 her lethargy, and Gabrielle, taking, by force, 
 the poor baby from her mother's lap, discover- 
 ed, to her exquisite grief, that Henri was 
 dead ! 
 
 Hubert learnt, with ovfipowering sorrow, 
 the discovery of a secret which, poor anxious 
 boy, he had suspected more than once during 
 the day. He had observed the strangely al- 
 tered looks and unaccountable demeanour of 
 his distracted mother, and he imagined that 
 her grief and sorrow had made her mad. The
 
 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 119 
 
 Ijov turned aside to weep, — for he would not 
 lave his mother see his tears, — and truly his 
 I, cart felt as if it would break, when he raised 
 the darling baby in his arms, stiff with tiie 
 (hill of death : his pretty lips were still red — 
 ;i[id tlie budding tooth, which had been shown 
 u, all a few days before, and whicii Gabrielle 
 had called his first pearl, was seen in his love- 
 ly open mouth; for death had found him with 
 a smile on his cherub face, and had left it 
 there. ^^ Sweet baby!" said Hubert, "no 
 wonder that it almost broke mother's heart to 
 see thee — dead!" 
 
 This kind boy would have taken the child 
 from his mother, and made a little grave for 
 it among the trees cf the forest; but, at every 
 attempt to rob lier of her infant, a new energy 
 of grief, and a new capacity of wretchedness 
 returned to poor Blanche, and, with tears of 
 anguish, she supplicated Hubert to forbear. 
 And as the children saw it was to no purpose 
 to ask their mother to part with Henri, but 
 only made her fold the icy corpse closer to 
 her breast, they were obliged to permit her 
 to do in this matter rather wliat she wished 
 than what was good for her; though, alas! 
 by that means, she took death itself to her 
 bosom. 
 
 Hubert, remembering his father'^s injunc- 
 tion — ''Care for thy mother, boy," — did not 
 long indulge in grief. "• We have lost our
 
 120 PIERRF. AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 little brother, darling Henri," said he to him- 
 self; "our f'atlier is far from us — lie may al- 
 ready have won a martyr's crown — I know 
 not — mother will not live lonff here in the 
 open air, in the darkness of night — her grief 
 and misery will make her die too, unless I 
 can do something for her." Then, after a 
 pause, he said, "But even this is better than 
 the mass: our divine Saviour is near to us, 
 though we do not see him — and, as the dear 
 old Pastor, my grandfather, always said — 
 'all things are for good.' " 
 
 While these thoughts were passing in the 
 mind of Hubert, his hands were not idle: he 
 desired Gabrielle to go and attend to his mo- 
 ther, and he himself went and uidoaded Be- 
 noit the old mule, who was divinj^ his nose 
 into the snow to see if he could find a mouth- 
 ful of grass, or a bit of furze, with which to 
 appease his hunger; but, though the moon 
 rase red and bright, and the smallest objects 
 had each their separate shadow on the snow, 
 yet nothing to the taste of Benoit was disco- 
 verable, except a few long spikes of reeds, 
 which rose higher than the surface of the 
 drifted wreaths around him. Hubert lifted 
 from the mule all the cloaks and clothes with 
 which he was laden, and which the party, 
 while walkinr, having found too heavy to 
 carry, had thrown across the panniers, — and 
 going to work under the covert of the forest.
 
 PIERUK AXD HIS FAMILY. 121 
 
 n8 he had seen the men do amon^ the snow, 
 ho succeeded in rearing a little tent for his 
 mother to protect her from the cold: he hung 
 it all round with cloaks and blankets, and the 
 .iiound he covered with as many clothes as 
 tie could collect from Benoit's back and his 
 own; and of these he made a bed for her to 
 lie down on. Then tiiis active boy went a 
 little farther into the dark forest, and brought 
 plenty of wood, which, happily, lay scattered 
 about in profusion upon the ground, and which, 
 though very large, he lifted with all his 
 strength, — and he made, in front of his tent, 
 a place for a great fire to keep the air warm 
 around his mother, and to keep away the wild 
 beasts of the forest, which at night creep 
 abroad to seek their food. When Hubert 
 had got all his wood ready, he struck the flint 
 of his tinder-box over a few dried leaves, 
 lichens, and pieces of withered sedge which 
 he found blowing about, and thereby kindled 
 such a great blazing fire that in a short time 
 they felt all more comfortable. The courier 
 had supplied them with a little food and wine, 
 and he gave some to his mother and to Ga- 
 brielle; but, as their ration was but scanty, 
 and he was afraid it might not suffice to keep 
 them alive, if they were to be long in rejoining 
 the rest of the people, — he looked twice at 
 the bread that remained for his own portion ; 
 and, though he was very hungry, yet he loved
 
 122 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 his mother and Gabrielle so dearly, that he 
 put all back into the wallet without tasting it, 
 and, picking up some of the beech-mast, and 
 acorns, which he found lying under the trees, 
 he ate them secretly to satisfy his hunger, 
 saying, ^' God who feedeth the young ravens 
 when they cry unto him, will give us all food 
 to eat." Blessed be liis holy name, there is 
 no lack to them that trust in him, as the dear 
 old Pastor used to say : 
 
 " The lions young may hungry be, 
 
 And they may lack their food ; 
 But they that truly seek the Lord 
 
 Shall surely want no good." 
 
 It was now late in the night; the moon, 
 high as the summer sun, was standing across 
 the heavens, sometimes obscured by a career- 
 ing cloud, and sometimes seen in all her glo- 
 rious light of beauty, smiling, like the counte- 
 nance of a beloved friend, upon the uplifted 
 face that gazed on her, and passing along the 
 sky in undisputed and unrivalled pre-emi- 
 nence amid all the host of heaven. The little 
 tent, which Hubert had constructed for his 
 motlier, stood on the edge of the ibrest, and 
 was only partially seen under the light of the 
 moon : the rest was in deep shadow under the 
 naked arms of an aged beecii, whose bianches 
 reached almost to the ground. In the tent lay 
 Gabrielle and her mother, in whose arn>5 was
 
 PIERRE AXD HI5i FAMILY. 123 
 
 the lifeless babj' ; but tIi(Me was no room for 
 Hubert, who sat without, by the lire, wrapt in 
 one of his father's watch -coats. Old Benoit, 
 who seemed to perceive, either by instinct or 
 observation, that things were not as they 
 ought to be, or else liked the heat of the fire, 
 laid himself down as near his youn^ master as 
 lie could. He had been previously foraging 
 Iftr himself, and seemed to have got a pretty 
 M)od supper, but wiiere, Hubert cared not to 
 inquire; though, if Hubert had known that a 
 human habitation was so near him, it would 
 have cheered hi§ heart — for Benoit had dis- 
 covered the back of a cottage, or goatherd's 
 cabin, half hid in the snow, and, climbing up 
 its lofty roof, had made his supper on the 
 "short and musty straw" of its mouldering 
 thatch. 
 
 As Hubert sat without, on the trunk of an 
 aged pine, his mother called to him, and 
 bade him come in within the shelter of their 
 tent. She said that she could not sleep — she 
 could not pray — she had a pain in lier head, 
 and in her heart — she feared she was not long 
 for this world; and then, turning to the child, 
 she addressed it with a half wild, half tender 
 expression, something between tiie wander- 
 ings of delirium and tlie solemnity of devotion, 
 saying —
 
 124 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 " Sleep, little baby, sleep ! 
 
 Not in thy cradle bed, 
 Not on thy mother "'s breast , 
 Henceforth shall be thy rest, 
 
 But with the quiet dead. 
 
 " Yes, with the quiet dead, 
 
 Baby, thy rest shall be : 
 Oh ! many a weary wight, 
 Weary of life and light. 
 
 Would fain lie down with thee. 
 
 " Flee, little tender nursling. 
 
 Flee to thy grassy nest : 
 There the first flowers shall blow, 
 The first pure flake of snow 
 
 Shall fall upon thy breast." 
 
 *' Hubert," she added, "do not let them 
 bury us among the snow — No, no, boj; not 
 among the snow — unless Rizpah the daughter 
 of Aiah, the mother of Armoni and Mephi- 
 bosheth, were here to watcli us — for you 
 know, Hubert — you know, slie suffered nei- 
 ther the birds of the air to rest on them by 
 day, nor the beasts of the field by night." 
 
 The cliildren wept, as well they might, 
 while their poor mother talked in this man- 
 ner: but happy would it have been for them 
 if she had continued to do so all night rather 
 than have gone to sleep. For, to sleep in such 
 a temperature, under the thin shelter of their
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 125 
 
 tent, was, tliou^i;)! y(»ul!i might sustain it, with 
 its natural lieat and animal spirits to support 
 its warmth, — yet to the disconsolate and 
 over-wearied mother, exhausted alike in mind 
 and body, — to sleep, in such circumstances, 
 how full of danj^cr! but Hubert, out of kind- 
 ness to his motlier, besought her to compose 
 her spirits; to think no more of Henri but as 
 he w as in heaven ; and to bless God that he 
 was gone to such a happy place — where he 
 would see his divine Saviour, and know him 
 better than even we, mother, w ho are so much 
 older. This talk of pious Hubert's seemed to 
 calm his beloved parent a little, and she began 
 to speak with more composure. 
 
 "Mother,-' continued Hubert, 'Mie down 
 again on your nice little couch that I have 
 made for you, and I will pray to God to make 
 you well, and to comfort you — for he is the 
 God of comfort — and to bless you and pre- 
 serve you long, long to us. You must not 
 talk of dying, — and I will beseech him to 
 bring us all to meet father to-morrow." An 
 incredulous but affectionate smile passed 
 across his mother's face, while the kind boy 
 thus sought to cheer her: and lie went on to 
 say, " You and Gabrielle shall ride on Benoit, 
 and I will walk by your side; it cannot be 
 many leagues from La Flechtre now, — and 
 V e shall all be happv again." 
 
 •'Do not speak of being happy, my dear, 
 L 2
 
 126 
 
 riEllllE AND HIS FAMILY, 
 
 on earth," said his mother; — ''in heaven we 
 shall be happ}', — that is our home jou know, 
 Hubert, — ^jour father will see both his boys 
 there, you know." 
 
 "We shall have no sorrows there, mother," 
 said Hubert, — "that is our real true home — 
 St. Madelaine-de-Belleville will never be our 
 home any more." 
 
 " Hubert," said Gabrielle, "I do not like 
 to hear you talk so about heaven j we shall be 
 happy yet on earth when we meet father again, 
 and Albert, and Louise, and our dear Pastor 
 •who blesses us." 
 
 "My dear children," said Blanche, "I 
 hope you will soon meet them all, — but I shall 
 never, never see them any more." — As she 
 said this, she threw her arms round both the 
 children, and embracing them, shed a torrent 
 of tears. Hubert, afraid that his mother 
 would again cry as long as she had done be- 
 fore, and sob, and laugh so fearfully amid her 
 tears, besought her, with the most insinuating 
 tenderness, to try to obtain a little rest; say- 
 ing, that if she and Gabrielle woukl lie down, 
 he would watch without, and sing them a 
 hushaby, — '' Some of your own favourite 
 hymns, dear mother." His mother at last 
 consented, and, again embracing the children, 
 she blessed them both. In her own simple 
 way, commending them both to tlie Christ, as 
 to their Saviour, God, Father, elder Brother,
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 127 
 
 slie laid herself down t(» bleep, and Hubert, 
 { overinj; her and Gabriclle with all the cloaks 
 he coulu collect, and drawing the curtain of 
 the little tent closer around tliem, sat alone 
 on the outside by the fire, or walked about to 
 prevent himself from sleeping, — singing, from 
 time to time, upon his midnight watch of love, 
 the pious iiymns of the valleys. 
 
 The following verses, as expressive of the 
 feelings of his dear mother, were the first he 
 sang to her — and O ! it was sweet to hear this 
 little fearless boy, keeping watch upon the 
 mighty brow of an Alpine mountain, in the 
 dead of night, and chaunting his sacred song, 
 lor such a sacred purpose: — 
 
 " O Zion, when I think of thee, 
 I wish for pinions like n dove, 
 And mourn to think that I should be 
 So distant from the place I love. 
 
 '• An exile here, and far from home, 
 For Zion's sacred ■walls I sigh, 
 Thither the ransom'd nations come, 
 And see the Saviour eye to eye. 
 
 " While here I walk on hostile ground, 
 The few that I can call my friends, 
 Are like myself, with fetters bound. 
 And weariness our steps attends. 
 
 " But yet we shall behold the day 
 When Zion's children shall return ; 
 Our sorrows then shall flee away, 
 And we shall never, never mourn.
 
 128 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 '• The ho}te that such a day will come, 
 Makes even the exile's portion sweet ; 
 Though now we wander far from home, 
 In Zion soon we all shall meet." 
 
 As Hubert sang over these verses, his voice 
 was sometimes almost choked vi^ith tears; 
 but as he was afraid, lest, if his mother should 
 discover that he was crying, it would distress 
 her, he just raised his heart in secret, silent 
 prayer to God, to give him courage and 
 strength to support all his afflictions, and 
 then he went on chaunting his hymns again. 
 The following he had learned from a book of 
 Martyrology ; and he felt, while singing it, all 
 that sweet forgiving love and pity, which its 
 concluding words express, for those who, in 
 other times, had perhaps driven the Wal- 
 denses, like Hubert and his family, from their 
 happy homes: — 
 
 " Hallelujah, Lord our God, 
 Now our earthly path is trod ; 
 Pass'd are now our cares and fears, 
 And we quit this vale of tears. 
 
 " Hallelujah ! King of Kings ! 
 Now our spirits spread their wings, 
 To the mansions of the blest, 
 To thy everlasting rest. 
 
 " Hallelujah ! Lord of Lords ! 
 Be our last and dying words, 
 Glory to our God above, 
 To our murderers peace and love."
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 129 
 
 The cold was now intense; but Hubert 
 kept up an immense fire witli great branches 
 of pine which sparklet! and crackled in the 
 air, and roused the sleeping echoes from their 
 f Vo/xMi caverns to crackle, in their turn, with 
 the noise of an hundred fires. The effect of 
 I lie blaze of fire-liji^ht in such a spot as that 
 now occupied by Hubert, was not less sin- 
 L^ular and striking, than the startling sounds 
 which were heard on every side, coming down 
 from the heights above, or rising from the 
 tieep ravines and glens below. The gigantic 
 forms of the trees in the forest, the darkness 
 of those in shadow, contrasted witli the flar- 
 ing; red of those nearer the tire, were strange- 
 ly and wildly beautiful; the drooping and 
 •jjiingy boughs of the birch-trees, and the 
 long needle-like spines of the fir-trees, cover- 
 ed as they were with snow and icicles, re- 
 flected the light as from a thousand prisms, 
 and reminded Hubert of some story he had 
 heard about an enchanted forest, whose trees 
 were lunig with lamps of diamonds. 
 
 While Hubert sat before the lire, some- 
 times musing on the objects around him, and 
 sometimes lifting up his pious soul to tiie God 
 of the spirits of all flesh, he felt comforted 
 and peaceful, except when the thought of the 
 dear baby crossed his mind, and then he was 
 sad, and then he felt what a stroke his death 
 would be to his dear father. Hubert, thus
 
 130 PIEKKE AXD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 keeping watcli for his dear mother, gazed on 
 the moon as she passed from one part of the 
 heavens to the other; and he would sit and 
 look on her lovely placid face, as he noted the 
 time she took to cross from one star to ano- 
 ther; or as he followed, with his eye, the flick- 
 ering cloud that for a moment left him in 
 darkness as it came between him and her sil- 
 ver beams. By and by the stars became 
 brighter; and one of peculiar beauty and 
 brilliancy rose far away on the eastern hori- 
 zon, as if it had been some knot of icicles just 
 lighted with a sunbeam on the mountain's top. 
 As Hubert viewed it rise gradually above the 
 horizon, and bend its course towards the 
 south, he thought of that " star in the east" 
 which guided the wise men to the cradle -bed 
 of the infant Redeemer, and he sung to him- 
 self, dear boy. the morning hymn of the val- 
 leys:— 
 
 MORNING HYMN. 
 
 " Brightest and best of the sons of the morning. 
 Dawn on our darltness, and lend us thine aid .' 
 Star of the east, the horizon adorning. 
 Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid I 
 
 "Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining. 
 Low lies his bed with Uie beasts of the si all. 
 Angels adore him in slumber reclining, 
 Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all. 
 
 " Say shall we yield him, in costly devotion, 
 Odours of Edom, and offerings divine ; 
 Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean. 
 Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine ?
 
 PIERRK AND HIS FAMILY. ISl 
 
 " Vainly we ofTer each ample oblation ; 
 Vainly with gold would his tavour secure: 
 Richer by far is ttie heart's adoration. 
 Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor ! 
 
 " Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, 
 Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid ! 
 Htar of the east, the horizon adoniinfr. 
 Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid :" 
 
 Thus the hours passed on ; and, with no 
 itlier company than Benoit, wlio nevertheless, 
 II such a spot, and at such a time, was no 
 oiitemptible companion, Hubert spent the 
 
 iii^lit without sleeping-, or, if inclined to sleep, 
 le rose and walked about. The old mule 
 
 .U'pt soundly by the side of the blazin*^ pines, 
 xcept now and then when a spark of tire fell 
 ij)on his shaggy coat, or crackled about his 
 ars, and then he started to siiake himself, but j| 
 
 -oon lay down again. W 
 
 While Hubert sat thus, — sometimes patting 
 
 :he face of old Benoit, who looked wistfully 
 11 his eyes as if he thought things were not 
 ight, or else his dear little master would not be 
 here sitting alone all night, — while Hubert sat 
 lius, he thought he heard some one stir in the 
 cut, and, drawing aside the watch-coat which 
 le had made to answer the purpose of a door, 
 K' saw his mother, wlio had not yet been to 
 leep, on her knees with her hands raised to 
 leaven, and heard her praying l(tr himself and 
 labrielle. Hubert did not think it proper to 
 i>ten to what his mother said, so he walked
 
 132 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY- 
 
 round to the other side of the fire ; but when 
 she lay down again, he went forward to the 
 tent door to draw the coat closer, and looking 
 in, he perceived that she had composed her- 
 self to sleep, and had drawn to its accustomed 
 place on her bosom, her lifeless infant. — Hu- 
 bert wept to see how doatinglj his mother still 
 embraced the frozen corpse; but remembering 
 his father's grief, at the death of poor Antoine, 
 he well knew his mother felt double sorrow 
 for darling baby, because his father would so 
 grieve about him. Alas! poor Hubert, thou 
 little knewest, dear boy, that thy blessed Ei- 
 ther and the happy babe, were perhaps at that 
 moment where even thy mother's sorrows 
 could not pain them. 
 
 Hubert was thinking such thoughts as these, 
 when, overpowered witli fatigue, sorrow, and 
 watching, he fell asleep under the shelter of 
 old Benoit's back, and did not awake till long 
 after sunrise, when Gabrielle heaping fresh 
 logs upon the fire, their crackling noise re- 
 nn'nded him where he was ; and, with a sigh, 
 this noble son of many a martyred ancestor 
 arose to the consciousness of lite and misery. 
 
 The beautiful serenity of the sky, and the 
 bright and cheering sunshine which shed a 
 dazzling brilliancy on the scene around them, 
 revived the spirits of Hubert and Gabrielle, 
 worn out as they were with witnessing the 
 anguish of their dear mother ; with the death 
 
 I
 
 PIERRK AND HIS FAMILY. 133 
 
 of tlieir little brotlier, and the now long con- 
 tinued absence of tlieir father. Hubert asked 
 Gabrielle how long she had been awake, and 
 if her mother was still asleep: and hearing 
 that she was, he was glad, he said, for sleep 
 would make her better.' Then, when he be- 
 pan to think that Gabriel^le had been up and 
 . I wake so many hours, and had no food to eat 
 Ijiit a small piece of bread, his heart was sad 
 wirliin him. But he took out the Bible which 
 iiis father had given him to carry carefully 
 a\vav from the wreck of every thing else that 
 would be lost at St. Madelaine, and he read a 
 chapter, and then prayed to Ciod. This chap- 
 ter gave him comfort, and he called Gabrielle 
 near to him, and read her a few verses from it, 
 such as the following: — "And ye shall be 
 hated of all men for my name's sake; but he 
 thatendureth to the end shall be saved. But 
 when they persecute you in this city, flee ye 
 into another. — Are not two sparrows sold for 
 a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on 
 the ground without your Father. Fear ye not, 
 therefore, ye are of more value than many 
 sparrows. Whosoever thei*efore shall confess 
 me before men, him will 1 confess also before 
 my Father which is in heaven. But whosoever 
 shall deny me before men, him will I also 
 deny before my Father which is in heaven." 
 *' We are of more value than many spar- 
 rows," said Hubert, " and I am sure many a 
 M 
 
 I
 
 134 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 time in winter I have fed the sparrows with 
 crumbs at De Belleville; because 1 thought 
 that, in serving them, when they came hop- 
 ping to the lattice, I was just fulfilling the 
 word and will of God, who brought them to 
 me to be fed, to show me he would not have 
 even his little birds forgotten. O surely, 
 surely Gabrielle, the Lord will, by some way 
 or other, though we do not know how — surely 
 he will appear for our deliverance this day." 
 
 Gabrielle began to cry, poor girl; her heart 
 was sad, and she was faint for hunger, for 
 she would not even eat her allowance, and she 
 could not bear to think that her mother's sleep 
 should last so long — and she trembled to tell 
 Hubert all the fears with which she was op- 
 pressed. At last, " Hubert," said she, "what 
 may be the hour of the day? I cannot tell this 
 mountain's shadow, it is not like our own 
 mountain." 
 
 Hubert looked at the shadow, but neither 
 could he tell the hour, because he did not 
 know the place where they were ; but he ob- 
 served that the sun was far away to the south 
 side of the range they occupietl, and that it 
 must be later in the day than he tliought. " It 
 is time we had begun our march," said he; 
 ** if we stay here much longer, we shall not 
 be able to go two leagues before night. Call 
 mother, dear Gabrielle." ** Call her, dear 
 Hubert, yourself," replied his sister hesitat-
 
 i'lERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 135 
 
 ni^\y<, ''and I will go ami put some more 
 wood on the fire." 
 
 Hubert drew aside the cloak which formed 
 the entry to the little booth or tent, and when 
 he saw his mother lying sleeping, though very 
 pale, yet with a most beautiful expression on 
 iier face, such as he never remembered to have 
 >een on it before, he did not awake her, but 
 looking round to Gabrielle, who stood trem- 
 bling to know the result of the undrawing of 
 the curtain, he said, — with a smile of joy and 
 delight, and in a whispered voice, — "O Ga- 
 brielle! mother's happy now I Only come, and 
 look how lovely she lies; and dear Henri has 
 fallen from her arms — we might lift him away 
 now perhaps, but that would make her angry 
 — it might at least displease her." 
 
 Gabrielle did not know what to say. It was 
 that very beauty, stillness, and calm loveli- 
 ness of her mother's face, at which she had 
 looked so often while Hubert was asleep, that 
 had distressed her; and always seeing lier in 
 the same posture, with the same inexpressible 
 sweetness of features, she did not know what 
 to think. She well knew the cftect which 
 sleeping in the night air had produced on 
 many of the unhappy exiles — she therefore 
 trembled at she knew not what. To escape 
 from her secret fears, she, therefore, said to 
 h«T brother, 
 
 •' Call her, dear Hubert — the sun gets fast
 
 136 PIERRE AXD HI3 FAMILY. 
 
 away — the shadows are all lengthening — we 
 shall not have gone a quarter of a league be- 
 fore the moon be up." 
 
 Hubert accordingly called — "Mother! mo- 
 ther! you have had a nice long sleep; I would 
 not willingly wake you — but 1 must, dear 
 mother!" 
 
 His mother did not answer. The dear boy- 
 went nearer, and stooping down, he took her 
 hand in his, and, feeling that it was very cold, 
 he rubbed it with his own, and chafed it, say- 
 ing again, "Mother! dear mother! we must 
 go!" 
 
 Hubert had scarcely uttered these few 
 words when a strange sensation ran through 
 his frame, communicated, as in one instant, by 
 the feeling of the hand he held in his. He 
 dropped it hastily, as if he had touched some- 
 thing he ought not to have touched. As it 
 fell from his grasp, so it lay — the fingers still 
 compressed, just as they were when he 
 breathed on them to warm them ; — moreover 
 his mother continued still asleep. He went 
 nearer her face — he raised her head, half on 
 his arm and half on his knees — he kissed her 
 eyes and cheek, saying, ''Mother! my be- 
 loved mother! O! answer me! — Will you not 
 speak to your dear Hubert, my own blessed 
 mother!" The countenance of Blanche re- 
 tained the same fixedness of sweet and calm 
 expression — unutterably sweet! Hubert re-
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 137 
 
 placed her haiul on tiic lowly couch — looked 
 at her once more — once more reiterated "Mo- 
 ther! mother!" — then uttered sucli a scream 
 of terror and an^^uish as brought Gabriel le 
 within tlie tent, and started the mountain 
 echoes; but which, — tliough the voice ot her 
 beloved boy, — awoke no more, to conscious- 
 ness, poor Blanche de Beauvoisin ' 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " What is't that thou dost see ?" 
 
 " A peasant of the Alps — 
 
 Thy humble virtues, hospitable home, 
 
 And spirit patient, pious, kind, and free : 
 
 Thy days of health, and nights of sleep — thy hopes 
 
 Of cheerful old age, and a quiet grave, 
 
 Mayhap \vith garland over its green turf, 
 
 And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph : 
 
 This do I see," 
 
 "" How dreadful !*' you no doubt exclaim, on 
 reading the affecting circumstances detailed 
 at the conclusion of the last chapter. How 
 dreadful indeed! Poor Blanche, — wearied, 
 exhausted, alarmed for her children's safety, 
 and her own — grieved bevond consolation for 
 the loss of her dear babv. and quite over- 
 M 2
 
 138 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 whelmed with the horrors of her situation, — 
 sunk to sleep towards the dawn of that fatal 
 morning which arose upon the unsheltered 
 head of her boj-sentrj, who had guarded her 
 little tent all the night — This sleep proved to 
 her the sleep of death. The intense cold of 
 the atmosphere from which she was so par- 
 tially protected, acting upon a frame that had 
 previously suffered under so much fatigue and 
 excitement, made her an easy prey to the 
 King of Terrors. But the Lord giveth none 
 account of any of his matters — his way is in 
 the sea, and his path in the deep waters — and 
 his footsteps are not known ; and if any of us 
 are disposed to say, "Can such things be, 
 without exciting feelings of terror and won- 
 der.^" 0! let us remember, while we won- 
 der, also — to adore ! 
 
 "How dreadful," my dear children, you 
 exclaim, " the fate of poor Hubert and Ga- 
 brielle ! — How desolate ! how destitute !" Ah ! 
 you would perhaps think it sad to be left at 
 home alone only tor one day ! But what would 
 you think of being left alone in the wide 
 world, my children, without any home, or any 
 father or mother to take care of you ? Alas ! I 
 cannot tell you all the sorrow and anguish that 
 wrung the hearts of these two orphans, when 
 they discovered to their utter despair, that 
 the sleep of their beloved mother was the sleep
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 139 
 
 of death — and a sleep from which she would 
 never again awake in this world ! 
 
 These children made no eftbrt. for a time, 
 to comfort one another. They made no effort 
 to sooth or to diminish the transports of grief 
 hv which thej were both alike overwhelmed. 
 Gabrielle wept, till her laughing eyes, — as her 
 father used to call them, — were almost lost 
 under their blistered eyelids; and when her 
 tears ceased to flow, dear child ! the sobbing 
 at her heart continued in such painful and 
 convulsive throbs as shook her shivering frame 
 to pieces. Poor Hubert, whose filial love and 
 devoted tenderness for his mother exceeded 
 every other feeling of his kind and gracious 
 heart, betrayed, in his manner, less of that 
 outward despair and desolation of the whole 
 soul by which his aftectionate sister was op- 
 pressed. When capable of thinking, for a 
 moment, of any thing but the loss of his dear, 
 dear mother, and the grief it would occasion 
 to his father, he began to pray to God. He 
 knew that ** trouble did not spring out of the 
 dust, nor sorrow from the ground." In all 
 their afflictions this youthful Christian traced 
 the hand of God ; and knowing that he doth 
 according to his will in the armies of heaven 
 and among the inhabitants of the earth — that 
 his sovereignty is as much a part of his deity 
 as his omnipotence or his truth — Hubert "laid 
 liis hand upon his mouth, and his mouth in the
 
 140 PIERRE AND His FAMILY. 
 
 dust," sajang, "It is tlie Lord, let him do 
 what seemeth him gocid. Shall not the Judge 
 of all the earth do right?" 
 
 In all this, Hubert never once, even in 
 thought, accused the persecutor. No, 
 
 " To our murderers peace and love," 
 
 was the sentiment he had been taught to che- 
 rish, and which he strove to maintain. For 
 the Catholic he felt a sentiment of pity far too 
 deep to admit of wrath ; and tliough, in the 
 language of a martyr of old, he might have 
 said — 
 
 " I am too wretched to teel wrath ; 
 There is no violence in a broken spirit." 
 
 Yet peace toward this enemy was the habitual 
 feeling of his mind: and though there were 
 few people on earth, — nay, none, — to whom, 
 had it been in his power, Hubert would not 
 have done a kind service ; yet, to a Catholic, 
 he would have esteemed it a peculiar privi- 
 lege to do good, because from infancy, it had 
 been pressed upon his heart that they were 
 the people for whom he was always to pray, 
 and whom he was always to bless; and he 
 seldom ever thought of them without remem- 
 bering, that, among the very first Scriptures 
 his grandfather had taught him, were the fol- 
 lowmg; ''I say unto you, love your enemies;
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 141 
 
 ble>s them that curse you. and pray for them 
 that despiteful ly hate you, and persecute you, 
 that ye may be the children of your Father, 
 which is in heaven: for he niaketh his sun to 
 ) ise on tlie evil and on the good, and sendeth 
 rain on the just and on the unjust." '• Bless 
 tlicm which persecute you; bless and curse 
 not." "If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if 
 he thirst, give him drink." O! let us, my 
 (liildren, cherish the same kind and heavenly 
 sentiments towards our dear Catholic brethren 
 and fellow citizens of our ou n day, as Hubert 
 did in his. Let us bear them on our hearts in 
 prayer; and, where we cannot prevail on them 
 to hear, or to accept the Bible, let them see in 
 each of us, a living epistle of that blessed 
 book, written not with ink, but with the Spirit 
 ot the living God; not in tables of stone, but 
 in fleshly tables of the heart! 
 
 The affliction which seemed now to deepen 
 all the anguish already sustained by Hubert 
 and his sister, was the sight of the unburied 
 corpses of their beloved mother and her most 
 beloved baby; and the thought which each 
 felt, but neither dared express, of the impos- 
 sibility of their being able, either to consign 
 them to the earth, and not to the snow% as 
 their mother had implored, or to carry them 
 away, — wrung their soul w ith anguish. 
 
 Hubert, afraid that Gabrielle would per- 
 i live the pain that thi» thought occasioned
 
 4 
 
 142 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 him, changed tlie subject as it were, and hast- 
 ily said, " Perhaps it was not so much the 
 cold, and the snow, and the weariness, that 
 killed our dear mother, as the baby's death 
 that broke her heart!" 
 
 "No, no!" said Gabrielle, who was not of 
 so gentle or holy a spirit as Hubert; "it was 
 the Catholic that chased us from our cottage 
 — made us lose our way in the mountains, 
 and"— «^ Hush!" said Hubert; "thy blessed 
 mother would not have said so." "But," 
 said Gabrielle, recovering from her resent- 
 ment, for she also was a pious child, though 
 of strong feelings and ardent attachment to 
 her parents, especially to her father, on whom 
 she doated; " But," said she,. '' it is better to 
 be here, Hubert — even here," and she looked 
 at Blanche and the infant, and her eyes ran 
 down with tears, as she spoke — '' Better to 
 be here, than to deny the Lord that bought us 
 with his own precious blood ! Pastor, father, 
 and all, would rather see us here, destitute 
 and forsaken, tjian that we should forget or 
 deny our divine Saviour." This she said 
 with a peculiar sweetness of fervour and love, 
 repeating the words — "Our divine Saviour!" 
 
 Hubert raised liis eyes to heaven, and, 
 wringing his hands, seemed engaged in silent 
 prayer. At last he ejaculated, **0 thou, in 
 whom the fatherless and the helpless find 
 •Tiercy, in thee will we trust ! Only show us
 
 PIERRE A\n HIS FAMILY. 143 
 
 vliere we may bury our dead. and. by thy 
 ji ace, we will never deny tliee, nor 'forget 
 (iit'e. Ibrsake us not !'* 
 
 VVhile they were thus engaged in weeping, 
 .11 praying to God. or in speaking to eadi 
 I) her, Gabrielle, every now and then bursting 
 Mto a fresh flood of sorrow, as her eye occa- 
 lofially fell on the beautiful countenance of 
 It I beloved mother, — old Benoit, the mule, 
 V as lieard neighing and snorting, and making 
 I strange noise with his feet, at a little dis- 
 aiue from the tent. Hubert, hearing the 
 iiiis«? repeated, accompanied with the sound 
 .1 voices, rose from his knees, and, going 
 lilt, he discovered, at a little distance, down 
 )!ie of the avenues of the forest, an old pea- 
 ant and a youth endeavouring to drag away 
 Benoit by his bridle, who, with all the deter- 
 niued obstinacy of his nature, refused to go 
 .\ ith them; but who, with much seeming ad- 
 lii'ss, appeared desirous of leading them 
 icarer to the children : for, whenever the 
 peasant turned towards that part of the forest 
 '. liere the tent was placed, Benoit followed 
 ikc a lamb; but whenever an attempt was 
 iiadc to lead him any other way, he set his 
 TM't firmly in the snow, and persisted inmain- 
 iiiiing his ground. 
 
 V\ hen the old peasant perceived Hubert, 
 ii' started with surprise to find any one in so 
 tiiiote a part of the forest. Hubert iinmedi-
 
 144 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 atelj addressed him; — in a few words told 
 him his sad story, and, taking him by the 
 hand, led him up to the little tent, under 
 whose shelter all that was dear — and ! how 
 very dear was that all ! — all that was dear to 
 him on earth of his mother remained. 
 
 The old peasant, in whose heart the kind- 
 ness, not only of nature, but of grace, had 
 place, was deeply aftected by Hubert's story: 
 ibr he was himself a man of like sorrows with 
 the exiles, having been necessitated, many 
 years before, to take refuge, in that very fo- 
 rest, from the scourge of persecution — where, 
 having escaped the storm, he had taken shel- 
 ter with his wife and children; and having 
 approved himself to the amiable possessor of 
 the wide domain, he had been a peasant on 
 her grounds ever since ; and his children had 
 been servants, both in her hall and in her 
 nursery. 
 
 When Hubert drew aside the folds of the 
 soldier's cloak that hung across the door of 
 the tenl, the sunbeams, — full of all that daz- 
 zling brilliancy peculiar to light only when 
 passing through the fine ethereal medium of a 
 clear, frosty, atmosphere,-r-darted into the 
 tent, and the rays passing partly through the 
 coloured drapery of the cloak, fell with an 
 exquisite illusion of life, on the lovely, lowly 
 form of the humble Blanche, who, in her little 
 cap and cloak, red stays, and blue petticoats,
 
 PIERRE A\'D HIS FAMILY. 145 
 
 presented all the appearance «f life without 
 its vitality. Tiie baby lay upon her out- 
 stretched arm, its own weight having disen- 
 gaged it from its place on her bosom. Ga- 
 brielle sat at their teet, looking alternately at 
 each, but most at her mother. When Hubert 
 drew aside the curtain, the light flashed pain- 
 fully on her swollen and tearful eyelids, and 
 she put up her hand to shade them from the 
 
 sun. Such was the aftecting scene which 
 
 presented itself to the eye of the peasant of 
 the Alps, as he looked within the tent door. 
 Need I say, my children, it was one that 
 wrung his heart .^ 
 
 The old man did not content himself with 
 merely shedding tears Avith these afflicted 
 children: Turning to the youth who accom- 
 panied him, and who was his grandson, he 
 gave him certain orders, which he directed 
 him to execute with despatch. In a short 
 time, the youth returned, bringing with him 
 some persons from the hamlet, who, with all 
 kindness, decency, and silence, prepared to 
 convey the remains of the happy to the pea- 
 sant's cottage, before paying to them those 
 rites which every mortal man expects himself 
 to receive, and therefore owes to his fellow. 
 
 The children followed, hand in hand. — 
 
 There seemed to be some new bond, or tie, 
 
 sprunu; up between them, such as th(>y had 
 
 never felt before. Gubrielle clung to her 
 
 N
 
 146 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 brother, and would not let him go, even for 
 a mon:jent. The old man could not look on 
 them without tears. He brought them to his 
 cottage — presented them to his wife, who 
 received them with the most affectionate hos- 
 pitality. Both the orplians were touched by 
 this unexpected kindness. But Gabrielie 
 sunk under her distresses, and, for many 
 weeks, was confined to bed. The remains of 
 the relatives, after a certain number of days, ' 
 were consigned to their mother earth, under 
 an oak in the forest — and one would have 
 thought the joy that Hubert felt, in having 
 every thing done decently in regard to the 
 sepulture of his motlier, almost relieved him, 
 of part at least, of the load of sorrow he felt 
 for her loss; and he could not sufficiently 
 express his gratitude to God, and his thank- 
 fulness to the pious peasants of La Cime, that 
 her " bones" lay not '' scattered on the Al- 
 pine mountains cold." 
 
 The illness of Gabrielie continued for many 
 weeks to the great distress of her brother, 
 who began almost to indulge in despair, think- 
 ing there was to be no end to their troubles. 
 By degrees, however, as the spring advanced, 
 Gabrielie recovered, and by the care and at- 
 tention, as well as skill, ol her rustic physi- 
 cian and nurse; and, with the blessing of 
 God, she began to get better. But her con- 
 valescence was long and tedious; and not- 
 
 1
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 1,47 
 
 withstanding old Marco knew every plant of 
 the mountains. — and his wife knew all their 
 properties, and how to mingle their various 
 ingredients, so as to have a •' imlm for every 
 wound," — yet her recovery took more time 
 than her sickness. 
 
 The kind service of the peasant and his 
 family to the orphan children, was, in the esti- 
 mation of Marco, repaid a thousand fold by 
 the visit of Hubert and Gabrielle. As I al- 
 ready hinted, Marco himself was a brother 
 in the faith, and hope, and bonds, and perse- 
 cution of the Waldenses. To hear of the 
 churches of the valleys, was to him like life 
 from the dead; and, while he heard, and wept 
 over the recital of their afflictions, he was, at 
 the same time, comforted in conversing with 
 fiuch a boy as Hubert, whose knowleclge of 
 the Bible, whose learning and education, from 
 his being the grandson and nephew of a pastor, 
 ■were so superior to that of his illiterate host, 
 that, for hours together, old Marco held him 
 to the delightful task of repeating v.hole chap- 
 ters from the Bible, not only to him and his 
 wife, but to his children and grandchildren, 
 and to the other peasants and goatherds of the 
 hamlet. But, though Hubert, out of gratitude 
 foil kindness received, gladly, so far as any 
 thing could make him glad, sat by the blazino; 
 fire, and wore out the crackling billets which 
 JaquelV. heaped u])on the hearth to cheer their 
 
 ^jj*"
 
 148 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 winter's night — repeating to these unlettered 
 men the words of inspiration; — jct his heart 
 was over the mountains; and his impatience 
 to reach La Flechere, where, alas ! tlie liope 
 that cheers, even while it deceives, led him to 
 expect to meet his father, made almost every 
 moment of delay a pain too great for him to 
 bear. But, till Gabrielle was better, it was 
 impossible to depart from the shelter which 
 the hospitable cottagers afforded tiiem; and 
 Hubert, conscious of all that generous love 
 which had been shown to him, and which he 
 never could repay, endeavoured at least to 
 express his sense of it — by going out to work 
 with his host every morning — assisting him in 
 his rural labours; while Gabrielle, recovering 
 from her illness and despair, though too un- 
 well to venture abroad, busied herself in aid- 
 ing the domestic labours of her kind hostess, 
 or, with her needle, repaired her humble 
 wardrobe, or assisted in any employment with 
 her daughters, in which she could be useful in 
 the cottage. 
 
 The history of the orphan boy and girl had 
 spread from the cottage to the kitchen of the 
 Castle, and from the kitchen, the interesting 
 story had reached the drawing-room ; and old 
 Marco, — whose kindness to the poor children 
 had not been forgotten by those domestics 
 who repeated the story to their superiors, — 
 had received orders, that, when tlie unhappy
 
 ri£lti?E AND HIS FAMILY. 149 
 
 fugitives were able to proceed to the place of 
 their destination, La Flechere, he should bring 
 them to rest one day at Jeanvilliers, — of which 
 castle, the lady, though a catholic, was kind, 
 and abhorred alike the spirit of her infatuated 
 confraternity, and the persecution of which 
 they were guilty. The old Countess, also, 
 had two orphan grandchildren, whom she 
 loved exceedingly, and their desire to see the 
 two young people at Marco's cottage, whose 
 mother and baby brother had died m conse- 
 quence of the persecution, was great. And 
 they wondered what kind of a religion it could 
 be, which one set of people thought so good 
 that they were willing to die for it; and which 
 another thought so bad, as to be ready to kill 
 those who professed it. 
 
 When Gabrielle was quite restored to 
 health, old Marco and his hospitable family at 
 last consented to let their young guests depart. 
 Their desire of rejoining, as they hoped, their 
 only surviving parent, was, as may easily 
 be imagined, great beyond expression, — and 
 much as the good peasants of the Alps would 
 have wished to detain the children till it could 
 be ascertained where that beloved parent 
 was, they nevertheless felt that they might per- 
 haps appear cruel, in asking them to prolong 
 their stay, now that the beautiful season of the 
 veai'. and the state of the roads, admitted of 
 N 2
 
 150 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 their travelling, not only with ease, but de- 
 light. 
 
 Accordingly, the day ot their departure ar- 
 rived, when, after a st&y of nearly three 
 months, in which time the Lord had caused 
 the pious peasants to treat these orphans as 
 their own children, — and in which, through 
 the blessing of God upon the reading of Hu- 
 bert's Bible, many youthful individuals of the 
 hamlet were " asking the way to Zion with 
 their faces thitherward." — Hubert and Ga- 
 brielle took leave of Marco's wife, Jaquette, 
 and all the inhabitants of the hospitable cabins 
 of La Cime. Hubert was sorry he had no 
 money to give to Marco for all his kindness 
 to them. He had indeed a gold ducat, which 
 he had received one day from young Raymond, 
 the Count's son, for a little osier basket he 
 had made for him as a present. The boy 
 loved Raymond, and never would part with 
 the piece of money, which he kept for his sake, 
 and he had made a hole in it, and tied a piece 
 of riband through it. But his gratitude to 
 Marco, for his kindness to the dead, was 
 stronger at tliis moment than his love to Ray- 
 mond for the kindness of his house to the liv- 
 ing; and, taking out the ducat from his 
 pocket, he cut the string by which he had, 
 sometimes in sport, worn it round his neck, 
 and as he was about to go away, he gave it 
 to the peasant. But, while old Marco v.as 
 
 i 
 
 ^
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 151 
 
 } (leased with tliis expression of the boy's 
 platitude, he would not accept the ducat. 
 "No," said he; ** you have received little 
 more from me than a cup of cold water, but, 
 little as that is, it has been given in the name 
 of a disciple; and truly 1 tiiink 1 have enter- 
 tained angels unawares." The old hostess, 
 then, blessed the children, and. accompanied 
 by Marco, they departed from La Cime, Ga- 
 brielle seated on their own faithful, trusty 
 Benoit, and Hubert walking by her side. 
 
 As they slowly proceeded, something like 
 hope began to dawn upon the mind of Hubert, 
 and he felt more cheerful, either from the cir- 
 cumstance of mere change of place, or be- 
 cause he imagined he was in the way to meet 
 with his father. After the travellers came 
 out of the forest, through which they passed 
 Avith a strange feeling of horror, sorrow, and 
 gratitude, — the scenes that opened upon them 
 were so beautiful and so magnificent, that 
 even they, poor children, with little taste ei- 
 ther for the sublime or the lovely, felt an un- 
 common delight in looking around them. On 
 one side, the roadwhicii they were traversing 
 seemed supported by a species of natural pil- 
 lars and parapet, so that they could look 
 down with safety into the deep abyss below; 
 at other times the road was liardly passable, 
 even for the sure-footed Benoit, from the 
 steepness and rapidity of the descent; now,
 
 152 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 it was smooth and level, and, again, nearly 
 blocked up by enormous masses of rocks, 
 which the weight or melting of the snows had 
 precipitated from above. As they continued 
 their route, the country became more open, 
 presenting a greater variety of objects; the 
 plains in the distance, seen through the open- 
 ings of the mountains, appeared rich in culti- 
 vation, and covered with flocks and herds of 
 cattle. The snows, which had for some time 
 disappeared from the valleys, were also melt- 
 ing on the mountains; and Gabrielle called to 
 Hubert to gather her some of those flovvers 
 which Marco said he had seen blooming to- 
 day, in the place where, perhaps yesterday, 
 the J had been covered with snow, — such a? 
 the crocus and soldanella; and as they de 
 scended into the valley, where the castle of 
 Jeanvilliers was situated, they perceived the 
 rhododendron, crowned with its purple flow- 
 ers, which here exhale an odour as sweet as 
 they are beautiful, while at its foot grew the 
 auricula, the saxifrage, the polygala, and many 
 other plants; and Marco said, lie had some- 
 times seen it amid forests of pine and birch, 
 growing on the very edges of the distant 
 glaciers. 
 
 As the travellers continued their descent 
 into the vale, they passed near a beautiful 
 cascade of no great volume of water, but of 
 the most limpid purity: Its perpendicular
 
 F 
 
 PIERRK AND IIIS FAMILY. 153 
 
 Iieight might not be above a hundred feet, 
 perhaps; but, as they travelled ah)ng beneath 
 it, the rays of the sun, falling at tiiat moment 
 upon the spray, formed the softest circle of 
 coloured light wliich could possibly be ima- 
 gined. And as they paused to look at it, old 
 Marco, with pious feeling, and much sympa- 
 thy for the peculiarly afflicting circun»stances 
 in which the dear children were placed, re- 
 minded them, for their consolation, of the 
 romises of God to Noah, when he first be- 
 leld that beautiful thing on Ararat, telling 
 them that the '' Rainbow of the Covenant" 
 was not more beautiful than the God of the 
 Covenant was true — and bidding them, ^* trust 
 in him for ever, for in the Lord Jehovah is 
 everlasting strength." 
 
 The children and their guide continued on 
 their way, till at last they descried the noble 
 and magnificent castle of Jeanvilliers, with 
 its lofty turrets — whose outline looked sub- 
 lime, as seen against the evening sky, and its 
 hi^h -arched windows were bright as gold, 
 sinning in the rays of the setting sun. As the 
 party came nearer, they lost sight of the 
 house, and crossing a narrow-pointed bridge, 
 over a deep ravine, tiiey entered an avenue 
 of beeches, whose dry rustling leaves, now 
 discarded for a greener foliage, littered all tiie 
 gi-ound, and rustled amon^; their feet, as Be- 
 noit and the peasant, with their iron heels,
 
 154 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 trod over them. When thej arrived at the 
 end of this avenue, a lofty gateway presented 
 itself to the astonished view of the young 
 travellers, who, having never before seen any 
 thing grander than the chateau of Count Ray- 
 mond, had imagined it could not be excelled 
 by any edifice in the world. Two griffins, the 
 crest of Jeanvilliers, carved in stone, raised 
 their immense wings from a lofty pedestal on 
 each side of the gate. The breadth of wing, 
 — the granite feathers, — the lion's paws, and 
 eyes of fire, — were all so strange, and so ill 
 comported with each other, that Hubert, who, 
 though happily a novice in fabulous history, 
 M'as, for his years, a pretty good naturalist, 
 could not imagine to what class of animals or 
 genus of birds he could assign the creatures. 
 Marco could neither assist him in the arrange- 
 ment, nor solve his doubts; so they passed on 
 - — and, going round to the left or the great 
 entrance, they stopped at a little gate, that 
 opened into the apartments of the domestics, 
 where Marco desired his youthful charge to 
 -wait till he should inquire for the house- 
 keeper. 
 
 The housekeeper was engaged; but a per- 
 son, who acted under her^ came out to receive 
 them. A lad took the mule round to the sta- 
 bles, and Marco and the children, tired and 
 Imngry, went into the hall, where they were 
 kindly greeted by the servants, and where
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 155 
 
 tliej received refreshments from tin* young 
 woman who had come out to muet them at the 
 gate. 
 
 Some time after this, Madame La Beaume, 
 the housekeeper, being informed of their ar- 
 rival, came into the hall. She expressed great 
 pleasure at seeing old Marco, who was a fa- 
 vourite with most of the household, and she 
 received the dear children with much kind- 
 ness. She did not choose to ask them many 
 questions before the servants; and, observing 
 that they were weary, and that it was too late 
 an hour now for them to expect to see the 
 Countess that evening, she proposed they 
 should go to bed, and in the morning, when 
 they had seen lier lady, and she had received 
 her orders, they should be sent onward in 
 safety to La Flechere. The old peasant was 
 obliged to return on his way home, early in 
 the morrow; he said he would therefore take 
 leave of the children that night. Their part- 
 ing was exceedingly affecting, for ^Larco had 
 been a father to them since the day they had 
 lost their dear mother. The old peasant 
 wiped the tears from his weather-beaten 
 cheek, as the children, caressing him, tried, 
 in vain, to say — farewell ! Gabrielle embraced 
 him, and hid her face in his rough doublet, as 
 the old man with uianv a blessing, confided 
 them to the care of Him in whom the fither- 
 'ess findeth mercv; and who l^, in an espe- 
 
 fc 
 
 Ji^
 
 156 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 cial manner, the God of tlie helpless and the 
 orphan. He then went aside and spoke to 
 Madame La Beaume for some time, wlio gave 
 him every assurance lie could desire, in regard 
 to the care that should be taken of the chil- 
 dren — telling him that the kind dispositions 
 of the Countess were too well known to per- 
 mit him to dread any thing in regard to tiieir 
 safety, even if the young Count's tutor were 
 at home, which he was not. Some other 
 things were added, in a whisper, — after which 
 Marco again embraced and blessed the chil- 
 dren, who left the hall, following I^a Beaume. 
 
 The apartments to which Hubert and Ga- 
 brielle were conducted by the good house- 
 keeper, were at a great distance from that 
 part of the house where they had entered. 
 They followed her up a number of stairs, and 
 along two or three galleries, lighted up with 
 beautiful large lights, making the w^hole house 
 as bright as day. La Beaume then showed 
 them where they were to sleep, namely, Ga- 
 brielle in a little bed, close to her own; and 
 Hubert in a closet which opened through her 
 room: — so that she said she would keep her 
 word to Marco, and take good care of them. 
 
 When Hubert and Gabrielle separated for 
 the night, the former to go into his little curi- 
 ous antique closet, and Gabrielle to her nice 
 bed, close to the housekeeper''s, in the outer 
 chamber — they were no sooner apart, and had
 
 PIRRTIK AND HIS FAMILY. 157 
 
 began to pray to their Father in heaven, each 
 kneeling down beside their own bed, than 
 they began bitterly to weep, and to deplore 
 their destitute condition. Both gave vent to 
 the anguish of their hearts, in shedding those 
 tears, which, except while parting with Marco, 
 each had, with strong selt-denial, and out of 
 tenderness for the feeling of the other, sup- 
 pressed during the day. And though, no 
 doubt, they were comforted and supported in 
 answer to their own prayers, and to the prayer 
 which each offered for the other; yet still 
 they were human creatures, suffering under 
 no common afflictions, and their hearts were 
 pierced with the tenderest sorrow wliich any 
 child on earth can feel. Ah ! give thanks to 
 God, you that are so blessed, that you have 
 still a father and mother! None can know 
 the value of a mother's love till they have 
 lost it. Who knows the yearnings of her 
 heart over the objects of her tenderest affec- 
 tion? — And where, — or in whom, will the 
 child ever meet again with the same gentle- 
 ness — the same forbearance? Who will again 
 behold her with the same complacency and 
 delight — smile when she smiles, and weep 
 when she weeps? — Ah! she can have but one 
 mother: Let lier never hope to experience 
 such a love again on earth. It is no wonder, 
 then, that these two orphan children this Jiight 
 wept till thev fell asleep, with thoughts of 
 O
 
 158 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 their mother, whose loss, tliough in part for- 
 gotten, was this night, on account of their 
 leaving the spot wliere she was laid, and 
 parting with Marco their friend, and coming 
 into the house of strangers, and among the 
 people whose priests and monks had been 
 the cause of all their afflictions, brought in a 
 peculiar manner, fresh before them. Poor 
 Hubert, though accustomed to lay a greater 
 restraint upon his feelings than Gabriel le, 
 was this nignt not less attected than her. The 
 form of tlie leafless oak in the forest, that bent 
 its naked arms over the little mound of earth 
 beneath, where lay the cold remains of his 
 beloved mother and her sweet baby, presented 
 itself perpetually to the mind of Hubert, as, 
 in his restless and unrefreshing sleep, he 
 tossed to and fro until the morning. Some- 
 times he thought he saw the tree with its 
 naked boughs and branches waving and groan- 
 ing in the winter blast : — Then he tiiought he 
 saw the tree covered with budding leaves and 
 the fullest foliage. A dove had built her 
 nest in the midst of it, and there she reared 
 and fed her young. She went out to seek 
 food for her callow offspring, but when she 
 returned her feathers were all ruffled — a flagg- 
 ing wing, and drops of blood upon her pur- 
 ple breast, showed that she had been wounded. 
 Her plaintive cries seemed to afflict her un- 
 fledged brood beside her. '* Poor birds,"
 
 flERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 159 
 
 thought Hubert, •' what will you do without 
 your mother; her wing droops, she cannot 
 inow fly about to bring you food to eat." As 
 Hubert seemed thus to speak to himself in 
 his dream, another bird, but of a far more 
 beautiful plumage than the dove, alighted 
 among the branches, with a cluster of ivy ber- 
 ries in his mouth, which he dropt into the 
 nest and the little birds began to eat. Tiien 
 Hubert, addressing himself, in sleep, to the 
 mother-bird, and saying, — " You see the little 
 ones will always have somebody to take care 
 of them, though you cannot,'' — put out his 
 hand to pat her lovely head and glossy back, 
 when she, frightened and fluttering, again ut- 
 tered her exquisitely plaintive cry, and the 
 dreaming boy awoke. 
 
 AVhen Hubert opened his eyes, and saw 
 the sun shining brightly into his chamber, and 
 heard the '• swallow twittering'' from its 
 shed, where, all the morning, it had been busy 
 building its nest, he was led, by the natural 
 elasticity of youth, to entertain more cheerful 
 thoughts than he had done the preceding even- 
 ing, and could not help expecting, so apt are 
 we to hope for what we wish, that, like the 
 little birds in his dream, though he had lost 
 the protection and tender aftection of one pa- 
 rent, he should, ere long, enjoy the love and 
 compassionate care of another; and he blessed 
 his Father in heaven for such a hope.
 
 160 PIERRE AND HIS FAMIL^ 
 
 After the chidren were up and dressed, 
 Gabrielle went into Hubert's closet to hear 
 him read a portion of his Testament; for this 
 was the practice of these good children from 
 their earliest youth, and ought to be that of 
 every pious child, never to go out of the apart- 
 ment in which they have slept, till they have 
 engaged in prayer to God, and in reading his 
 holy word. 
 
 When these pious exercises were over, and 
 the children had talked about their father for 
 some time, and expressed to each other their 
 hope of seeing him, and had wondered whether 
 Count Philippe, tlie lady's grandson, would be 
 like the son of Count de Raymond, — and 
 whether old Marco would ever forget them, — 
 and many other similar conjectures ; they 
 thought they would like to go down stairs: 
 but as they did not know how to find their 
 way again to the hall where they had been the 
 night before, they amused themselves in the 
 room where they were till the housekeeper 
 should call them. 
 
 It was a curious round tower in which Hu- 
 bert had slept, with strangely shaped win 
 dows, one of which opened like a door, and 
 by a few steps, led down to a sort of balcony 
 that seemed to run along the whole of that 
 end of the building. Hubert did not venture 
 to go out, or even to open the door; but he 
 and Gabrielle looked through the casement.
 
 PlERKE AND HIS FAMILY. l6t 
 
 and br'held, in the valley, a beautiful stream, 
 whose waters sparkled in the sunbeam: — 
 beyond the stream, a wood, whose trees were 
 in their first sweet leaf, and whose outline, in 
 the slanting light of the morning sun, was 
 tinged with that lovely green that the eye de- 
 lights so much to dwell upon. Above the 
 wood appeared a pretty hill covered M'ith 
 herds of cattle; and. far beyond it, and less- 
 ening away to the verge of the western hori- 
 zon, instead of the white range of the Alps, 
 ft long, flat distance, that looked like two pale 
 fines drawn across the sky, terminated the 
 view. 
 
 While these objects engaged the attention 
 of the children, and each tried to conjecture 
 which side of the valley would lead towards 
 La Flechere, the housekeeper herself came 
 up to the chamber for them; and, instead of 
 taking them into the hall among the servants, 
 she brought them into her own room. There 
 she set before them, for breakfast, some nice 
 white bread, cakes of figs, and bunches of 
 raisins, with milk from the cow, and Neuf- 
 chattel cheese; telling them that, when they 
 had finished their breakfast, she would pre- 
 sent them to her lady the Countess, and to 
 the young Count, who was impatient to see 
 Hubert and his sister. 
 
 Hubert, though little more than a peasant 
 b-iv, I may sav, — except, indeed, his educa- 
 2^
 
 162 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 tion, which was very superior, should lead us 
 to call him better, — Hubert, though a humble 
 boy, possessed a peculiar gracefulness of 
 speech and manner, which was not only be- 
 coming but insinuating. He bowed in reply 
 to all tnis kindness of La Beaume, and politely 
 thanked her, in behalf of himself and sister, 
 for her goodness and condescension, and par- 
 ticularly for the honour she proposed to confer 
 on them in bringing them into the presence of 
 the young Count and his grandmother. When 
 he had said this, they were about to begin 
 breakfast; but, before seating themselves in 
 the curious high raised chairs which were set 
 for them at table, Hubert lifted his right hand, 
 and, bending forward, implored the blessing 
 of God on what they were about to partake 
 of, and gave thanks for all his mercies. When 
 he had finished, they sat down to table ; and 
 the housekeeper, who, perhaps, had never 
 seen one pray thus before, or had perhaps ob- 
 served something peculiar in the manner of 
 the boy, inquired if what he had just done was 
 a practice conmion to the Waldenses, and 
 asKed some other questions about it. Hubert 
 told her it was the sacred duty of all to ac- 
 knowledge the goodness of God in his gifts, 
 and explained to her the reason why the 
 Waldenses gave tlianks before eating, saying 
 they were taught so to do by the example of 
 Christ and his disciples, as well as by t!ic ex-
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 163 
 
 jness precept, — '* Whether ye eat or drink or 
 whatsoever ye do, do all to the J^lory ot God ;" 
 and, '* Every creature of God is ^oud, and 
 nothino; to be refused if it be received with 
 thanksgiving, — for it is sanctified by the word 
 of God and prayer.'' 
 
 Tlie good La Beaunie liked to hear the boy 
 talk. When I say good, I do not use it in a 
 religious sense; 1 mean benevolent. For La 
 Beaume, though professing the Catholic faith, 
 had nevertheless, so far as her light would go, 
 no love for its works of darkness. The whole 
 household of the amiable Countess leaned, 
 both in mind and deed, to the side of mercy; 
 and not only abhorred the cruelty which they 
 understood was practised against the poor 
 Waldenses, but had openly expressed their 
 pity for them, though these two children were 
 the first of these people they had ventured to 
 protect since the commencement of the last 
 persecution; but tiie youth of the two Beau- 
 voisins appeared to the Countess sufficient 
 excuse for her exercising hospitality towards 
 tliem; and, whatever the consequences mi^ht 
 be, she was prepared to abide them. 'Inis 
 kind feeling of the Countess toward the per- 
 secuted Waldenses, arose from a sentiment 
 not only of natural benevolence in iier, but of 
 hereditary sympatliy for this afllicted people. 
 And so stroni:;ly had some of her ancestors, 
 titough of Spanish extraction, and who might 
 
 «^
 
 164 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 therebj!^ have been expected to have been even 
 more bigoted than other Catholics — so strong- 
 ly had some of her family sympathized with 
 these persecuted people in the earlier periods 
 of their history', that, after a battle fouglit near 
 the Garonne in Gascony, two of her ances- 
 tors, professing the papal faith, who were 
 found among the slain, had, together with 
 other noble Spaniards, also of the Catholic re- 
 ligion, been fighting on the side of the perse- 
 cuted Waldenses!* 
 
 After breakfast, La Beaume took the chil- 
 dren into the interior of the castle, which was 
 peculiarly appropriated to its noble owners, 
 and which was at some distance from that 
 wing of the building occupied by her and the 
 servants. The children gazed with wonder 
 on what they saw, as they went along a wide 
 and extensive gallery, one side of which was 
 hung with pictures of knights and ladies, nuns 
 and priests, the ancestors of the Count, or re- 
 lations of his family. The other side was 
 lighted by a range of high arched windows, 
 each as large as the great window in the little 
 church of St. Madelaine. At the end of the 
 gallery they came to a staircase, whose curi- 
 ous balustrades and rich carpeting attracted 
 the notice of the children. La Beaume de- 
 sired them to follow her up stairs, and, put- 
 Sec Note VI.
 
 PIERRK AND HIS FAMILY. 165 
 
 tin^ them into a little anti-room, bade them 
 wait till she should return. She then called 
 a servant, who, by her directions, entered 
 through a foldinj;^ door opposite, which letl into 
 the sah)on, and who, returning a moment 
 after, took the children into the same room, 
 and repeating their names aloud, withdrew. 
 
 When Hubert ventured to litt up his eyes 
 from the ground, after making his peasant's 
 bow, which, even if it had wanted grace, 
 which it did not, wanted none of that respect 
 and reverence which he had early been taught 
 both to feel and to pay to his superiors: — 
 when Hubert lifted his eyes from the j^round, 
 he saw an elderly lady of great dignity and 
 loveliness, seated by a table in the middle of 
 the room, on whicli were some books and 
 work, and over ^vhich depended a lamp of 
 curious workmanship, composed of gold and 
 crystal, which hung suspended by a chain 
 from the talons of an eagle tliat was carved in 
 the centre of the roof. Behind the lady was 
 an antique mirror that reached almost to the 
 ceiling, and which, doublin<^ the length of an 
 apartment, already of magnilicent dimensions, 
 presented, in long perspective, the figures of 
 Hubert and Gabrielle making their humble 
 entry at the door of the saloon. At the far- 
 ther end of the apartment, and half within a 
 recess formed by a window, a young girl about 
 the iige of Gabrielle, was sitting on a low seat
 
 166 
 
 PIERRE AxVD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 or cushion with a guitar on her lap, over which 
 she was carelessly drawing her finger; now 
 and then touching a string, but not playing. 
 Beside her, with his back towards the door, 
 stood an elegant boy, or rather indeed a youth, 
 at least a boy about the age of Hubert, or a 
 little younger, who was dressed in a rich suit 
 of clothes, in the Spanish fashion, with a ruff 
 round his neck, and beside him lay a velvet 
 hat, with a fine feather in it, which he had 
 just thrown off. He seemed as much older 
 than the beautiful girl his sister, as he was 
 perhaps younger than Hubert, — that is, about 
 a year or so. This boy was Philippe, Count 
 of Jeanvilliers; his father had been killed in 
 a battle when he was a child, and his mother 
 was so distressed at the death of her husband, 
 that she died almost immediately after him, in 
 giving birth to the lady Isabella. Philippe 
 appeared just to have entered the room by the 
 open sash, which led out upon a balcony, from 
 which a flight of steps descended into a curi- 
 ous garden wherein were many rare things to 
 be seen; as images cut out of cypress, juni- 
 per, and yew-trees — fountains oi pure water 
 running out of the mouths of lions and dol- 
 phins — a fair mount in the middle of the lawn, 
 with ascents in circles, having bulwarks and 
 embossments. Philippe, as he stood beside 
 his sister, appeared to be explaining to her 
 some lesson he had been learning in falconry; 
 
 r j£tL
 
 PIERRE AND »IIS FAMILY. 
 
 i6r% 
 
 for he lield a hooded hawk on one liand, while, 
 with the other, he pointed to the leaves of* a 
 book that lay open on a little table before 
 him, from which he was reading aloud to iier 
 these words: — 
 
 *' Having done this, ride out in a fair morn- 
 ing into some field unincumbered with trees 
 or wood, with your hawk on your first: then 
 whistle softly to provoke her to fly; unhood 
 her, and let her fly with her head to the wind; 
 after she has flown two or three turns, then 
 lure her with your voice, and" — 
 
 "Philippe!" said the old lady: The youth 
 paused as his grandmother spoke to him, and, 
 turning round, he observed Hubert and Ga- 
 brielle — "Philippe," repeated the Countess, 
 "■1 do not like you to bring your hawk into 
 this room; let Renaud take her to her perch." 
 
 Renaud, who was pouring some water on 
 two beautiful plants, whose flowers and fo- 
 liage filled one entire window of the apart- 
 ment, went up to his youn«j master, ana re- 
 ceiving the bird from his liand, carried her 
 out upon the balcony, and from thence into 
 the garden. 
 
 The Countess then directed Hubert to 
 come near to where she sat. that she miglit 
 converse with him. Gabriel le, who liad al- 
 ready twice repeated her simple act of obei- 
 sance to this lireat laily, and who was alike 
 afraid to n'maiii alone wheie she stood, or to
 
 168 
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 advance, as Mell as Hubert, at last followed 
 him up the room, but at a little distance, again 
 making her timid curtsj, and fixing her eyes 
 upon the ground. When Philippe and Isabella 
 perceived the young strangers, they also ap- 
 proached the table where their grandmotlier 
 was seated, and, standing at the back of her 
 chair, seemed to look with much apparent in- 
 terest at tiie poor boy and girl whose mother, 
 with her little baby, had perished of hunger 
 and cold in the snow. 
 
 The old lady felt a little uneasy as she con- 
 versed with Hubert and Gabrielle. Her na- 
 tural humanity was great; but tlie fear of 
 ecclesiastical censure, — though that censure 
 was more contemned by her than by most of 
 the Catholics, — gave to her a kind of timid 
 dread, or superstitious sort of feeling, of she 
 knew not what. She rallied her spirits, how- 
 ever, and could not help receiving strength 
 from the recollection of such precepts of 
 mercy as had reached her knowledge from the 
 closed leaves of that sacred Book, which, as 
 one of the laity, she durst not read herself. 
 But, as her priest had often inculcated on her 
 mind the duty of charity, she thought she could 
 not be to blame in sheltering, for a night or 
 two, these poor, helpless orphans, and then 
 sending them on their way. 
 
 Hubert, tliei'efore, encouraged by her sweet 
 voice and kind manner, related to the
 
 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 169 
 
 Countess the whole history of tlieir afflic- 
 tions, from the moinent when tlie edict of the 
 ;rovernor was proclaimed in the valleys, to 
 the moment in which he then stood before 
 her. The boy had wept at his own recital, 
 a,nd once or twice, from excess of grief, had 
 made a momentary pause, in the course of 
 his affecting story; wliile poor Gabrielle. — 
 who, if nothing else had afiiicted her, would 
 have wept because Hubert was weeping, — 
 afraid to speak or look up in such august com- 
 pany, covered her face with the corner of her 
 peasant's apron, and thereby concealed alike 
 her timidity and her tears. The young and 
 generous Philippe betrayed much emotion as 
 Hubert described the awful conflagrations in 
 the valleys — the sufferings of the exiles in the 
 mountains — and, above all, the cruelties prac- 
 tised by the monks in the villages, as detailed 
 by the people who accompanied the courier. 
 At last he exclaimed, with a noble indigna- 
 tion — " If this be my religion, I am ashamed 
 of it. I would like a religion that would 
 protect the Waldenses, and every injured 
 person ; and not one that would oppress any 
 of them." 
 
 " My dear child," said the Countess, "you 
 must not speak of matters too high for you or 
 me to un<lerstand; — we must be silent." 
 
 '*But,*" said Philippe, addiessing himself 
 to Hubert, *' when vou are a man. will vou 
 P
 
 170 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 not try to avenge yourself on jour enemies?" 
 "No," said Hubert: — "No, Sir; vengeance 
 does not belong to us! ' Vengeance is mine, 
 saith the Lord.'" " What!" said the C\)unt, 
 '*are you not taught to hate the Catholic — 
 do not your pastors teach you so?" "No," 
 replied Hubert; "our pastors only teach us 
 to avoid their errors, and to pray foi- tlieir 
 conversion. We are taught to bless tliem that 
 curse us; to do good to them that hate us; 
 and to pray for them that despitefully use us 
 and persecute us." 
 
 The old lady was aftected at once by the 
 simplicity and sublimity of this reply. Sure- 
 ly, thought she, that must be a pure faith, and 
 gentle, and amiable, that teacheth so sweet a 
 morality as this: W^hile she spoke, she raised 
 her eyes to a picture that hung against the 
 wall, and which, perhaps, might be that of 
 some saint: The expression of her counte- 
 nance, as she did so, was strange and contra- 
 dictory, between a smile and a sigh: The 
 smile passed away in a moment, but the soft- 
 ness returned; and she raised her handker- 
 chief to her face. 
 
 After a while she said to Hubert, '* Your 
 desire, then, is to proceed to La Flechere to 
 rejoin your father and the family of your uncle 
 the pastor, who you believe are there; but 
 how can vou be assured of that? or liow can I
 
 PIERRE AND ttIS FAMILY. 171 
 
 permit you to continue a journey which may 
 end in disappointment?" 
 
 Alas! the Countess had much reason to 
 fear that the refugees at La Flechere liad 
 met with too little kindness: report, however, 
 exaggerates every thing — it might not be so. 
 She therefore, after some further conversation, 
 determined that the poor children should not 
 proceed to the place of rendezvous, till she 
 had made inquiry whether or not their rela- 
 tives had ever arrived there ; or whether, hav- 
 ing done so, they still remained there. "Tlie 
 children," she said, '' had been brought, at 
 her own desire, from the protection of faithful 
 Marco, who would have cherished and de- 
 fended tliem while he had life ; she, therefore, 
 could not consent to their taking a step that 
 might expose them to peril in such circum- 
 stances; but, as her steward was going to La 
 Flechere, on business, in a few days, she 
 would direct him to make such inquiries as 
 would lead to the information she wanted. 
 And in the mean while," she added, with infi- 
 nite condescension, *• in the mean while, my 
 dear children, you will remain under my pro- 
 tection till he return." 
 
 Hubert and Gabrielle made their simple 
 and low obeisance to the lady and her chil- 
 dren, as she said this, and were about to re- 
 tire, when the Countess, wishing to entertain 
 both tliem ami her grandchililrcu, saici, ihat •
 
 172 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 Philippe might take Hubert to see his hawks 
 and hounds; and tliat Isabella would allow 
 Gabrielleto assist her at the loom. 
 
 You smile, my dear children, to hear of a 
 noble lady, like the sister of Jeanvilliers, en- 
 gaging in the humble " labours of the loom." 
 But it was the fashion, in those days, for fe- 
 males of the highest rank, like the princesses 
 of eastern story, to be taught the arts of em- 
 broidery, of weaving tapestry, and of "nee- 
 dle-work sublime." 
 
 ' Tapestry richly wrought, 
 And woven close, or needle-work sublime, — 
 Where you might see the piony spread wide, 
 The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his Iciss, 
 Lap-dog and lambkin with black staring eyes, 
 And parrots with twin cherries in their beak." 
 
 -Philippe and his young companion 
 
 had not been long together, before the former 
 perceived that Hubert cared very little about 
 either hounds or hawks, so he asked him if 
 he would like Renaud to be sent for, and they 
 would play a game at tennis.^ or would he 
 like to go and see his Spanish jennet? — or 
 what would he like? Hubert said he was at 
 Philippe's service to do, or go where he 
 pleased; but that he knew nothing about 
 either tennis-balls, or Spanish jennets, and 
 asked what kind of things they were? The 
 young Count laughed good-naturedly at the
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 173 
 
 simplicity of this humble boy, and then said — 
 *' Come, I know what you would like best — 
 books! Come then, I will show you my 
 books." This pleased Hubert very much, 
 for he delighted in books; and though his 
 noble host would rather have played a game 
 at tennis, or flown a hawk, or rode his Spanish 
 jennet, than turned over the leaves of musty 
 books and parchments; yet he had so m.ucli 
 kindness of nature, as well as true politeness, 
 that it gave him more pleasure to gratify his 
 lowly companion than to follow his own 
 sport. 
 
 Hubert's delight, in being brought into the 
 library of the castle, was extreme. He had 
 never seen so many books before; and hardly 
 imagined there were so many in any one 
 house in the world. A great part of them 
 indeed were manuscripts; for, though the art 
 of printing had been know^n at that time for 
 about two hundred years, yet books were 
 scarce and valuable, and accessible only to 
 the rich. The Count took down some superb 
 missals from the shelves and showed them to 
 Hubert. They were beautifully written, and 
 emblazoned with exquisite illuminations of the 
 purest and most brilliant colours. These 
 missals were esteemed the most valuable arti- 
 cles in the library, from having been in tiie 
 possession of the family for a great many 
 3 ears, and from iiaving been used bv son»e of 
 P 2
 
 174 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 the most illustrious persons, either of Phi- 
 lippe's own house, or that of his grandmo- 
 ther. He also showed Hubert some brevia- 
 ries, and explained to him that they contained 
 the daily service performed by the clergy, 
 composed of " matins, lauds, first, third, sixth, 
 and ninth vespers," &c. Hubert asked per- 
 mission to look over one or two books, which 
 he saw there, upon the subject of the Catholic 
 religion, of which he had often heard his uncle 
 the Pastor speak. The Count said he would 
 order them to be carried to La Beaume's 
 room, where he might read them at his lei- 
 sure. Among the gilt letter and black letter 
 titles that marked the subjects of each volume, 
 Hubert looked in vain for a Bible. Alas! 
 though Philippe had heard of such a book, he 
 declared he never had seen one. 
 
 The heart of Hubert yearned over the 
 young nobleman as he said this. Ah ! thought 
 Hubert, though I have no inheritance in this 
 world, no, not so much as to set my foot on^ 
 I am yet richer than this noble boy — for noble 
 he truly is. In Hubert's opinion, Philippe 
 appeared to possess every thing that could 
 constitute happiness, except that in which 
 happiness alone could be found. Though this 
 reflection of Hubert's, as I have expressed 
 it, seems contradictory, it is nevertheless 
 just. Every thing that this world could fur- 
 nish to promote happiness, was abundantly 
 
 ^.M
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 175 
 
 bestowed upon Jeanvilliers ; but, being with- 
 out the Bible, he seemed to Hubert to be 
 without a key to open his treasures, or with- 
 out a guide to direct him how to use them. 
 Hubert was grieved, on this account, for this 
 amiable and interesting youth ; and, when 
 they separated, and the humble peasant re- 
 tired to his closet, he knelt down and prayed 
 to God for him. 
 
 Gabrielle was as much delighted with the 
 lady Isabella, as Hubert had been interested 
 in the brother. She had taken her to the 
 apartment appropriated to the labours of the 
 females in the house, and had shown her some 
 of the curious tapestry on which they were 
 employed ; also, the glittering embroidery in 
 which others were occupied. These were 
 exceedingly admired by Gabrielle, particu- 
 larly the latter, which was beautiiul, and 
 might be considered works such as the mo- 
 ther of Sisera desired for her son, when she 
 said — " To Sisera a prey of divers colours ; 
 of divers colours of needle-work ; of divers 
 colours of needle-work on both sides, meet 
 for the necks of them that take the spoil ;" 
 Judges V. 30. The little peasant girl, with 
 the simplicity natural to her age, and the 
 naivete peculiar to her education, and to her 
 retired and humble lot in life, delighted and 
 amused Isabella and her grandmamma's 
 maidens, who asked her a great many ques-
 
 176 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 tions about her own people in the valleys, 
 and if all the stories tliey had heard of the 
 Waldenses were true. Gabriel) e answered 
 them civilly, tliough many of their questions 
 were, she thought, very strange, if not very 
 impertinent. She was often surprised to see 
 how they crossed themselves, and invoked 
 the saints by name, as she affirmed many 
 things to be false, which their priests had told 
 them were true. They also wondered to hear 
 that there were no images in the churches of 
 the valleys, — that they kept no saints' days, 
 nor vigils, — and that they had no breviaries ; 
 for, when they asked her to show them her 
 breviary, Gabrielle did not so much as know 
 what they meant : however, when it was ex- 
 plained to her, she told them, in her own 
 simple and sweetly serious manner, how her 
 beloved people were instructed in the duties 
 of their holy religion, reciting to them great 
 parts of the Bible, repeating also many of the 
 doctrines taught in the catechism of her 
 church, confirming; every truth she had learnt 
 either from her father or the pastor, by pas- 
 sages from Scripture; and, with much sim- 
 plicity and affectionate earnestness, entreat- 
 ing those who heard her to believe in them — 
 to trust, and to pray. When the maids ask- 
 ed her what book she had learnt all these 
 things from, and when she told them it was 
 from the Bible, wliich is tlie book or word of
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 177 
 
 God, they were surprised — tliey did not know 
 that there was such a book in the worhl, or 
 else they had a very indistinct iilea of it, or 
 liow it liad been given to man. When Isa- 
 bella was at dinner witli her grand inainina, 
 she repeated much of wliat she had heard 
 from Gabrielle, by which her curiosity also 
 was excited, and she desired Hubert and 
 Gabrielle to come into the drawing-room in 
 the evening, for the purpose of explaining 
 some things that Isabella had said. 
 
 When the children came into the drawing- 
 rootn, Hubert, who was much more learned 
 than his sister, answered all the questions 
 put to him by the Countess; and he recited, 
 in the course of that evening, as well as many 
 other evenings, to her, and her beloved grand- 
 children, a great part of the contents of the 
 Holy Book. With many things that the boy 
 said, this excellent lady seemed much aftect- 
 ed; and indeed, there were few people in 
 that house to whom his words were not mat- 
 ter either of meditation or conversation : and 
 tlie good seed of the w ord, thus sow n by these 
 persecuted children of God, was known, in 
 several cases, to spring up after many days. 
 La Beaume, as well as her lady, loved to 
 hear Hubert speak of good things ; and slie 
 often made others of the servants come into 
 her room and liear him talk of these things; 
 and Hubert liad no greater pleasure than to
 
 ITS PIERRE AKD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 obey La Beaume in this matter, for he could 
 have repeated chapters from the Bible from 
 morning till midnight, without exhausting 
 his well-stored memory; for Hubert did not 
 choose to let the Catholics see his Bible, lest 
 the priest, when he came home, should take 
 it from him. Surely, we ought to learn, from 
 this boy's conduct, dearly to prize our Bibles, 
 and to be ready, at all times, as suitable op- 
 portunities present themselves, to impart our 
 knowledge to our ignorant fellow creatures, 
 as well as to give a scriptural reason for the 
 blessed hope tliat is in us. 
 
 Young minds generally desire to possess 
 that which seems to procure esteem or respect 
 for others. Every person in the castle of 
 Jeanvilliers was full of the praises of Hubert 
 de Beauvoisin. La Beaume said, she loved 
 the sweet boy as her own son ; — Renaud could 
 speak of nobody else to his young master; 
 — and the amiable Countess, in giving her 
 usual benediction to the children, had, for the 
 last two or three nights, passed over every 
 saint in her bead-roll, and, with a tenderness 
 and piety that no false religion ever excited, 
 had invoked for them the blessing of the God 
 of the Waldenses, the only Saviour of man! 
 
 Philippe, penetrated with admiration of 
 Hubert's learning, and feeling a strong desire 
 to inspire the same respect, and to secure the 
 same regard from all around liim, which he
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 179 
 
 enjoyed, and which Philippe attributed to his 
 knowledge of the Bible, requested him to 
 come every day into the library to instruct 
 iiim in the knowledge of his faitli; for, while 
 his tutor was from home, which was the case 
 at present, he had no other studies to occupy 
 him. And here, as has often happened in the 
 dispensations of Him who in his sovereign 
 wisdom maketh the wrath of man to praise 
 him, and who overruleth the moral whirlwind 
 and the storm, for the promotion of purposes 
 of unutterable goodness, botii to individuaU 
 and nations, — here was doubtless laid, by this 
 simple boy, by means of the word of truth, 
 the foundation of those Christian principles 
 which afterwards shone forth in the ciiaracter 
 of Jeanvilliers; and which led him to be the 
 protector of the people of the valleys, as well 
 as the benefactor of thousands of his fellow 
 creatures beside, whose civil rights he assert- 
 ed in the senate of his country, and of the 
 worth of whose religious sentiments, as well 
 as of the purity and excellence of their con- 
 duct, he was at once the bright example and 
 the pledge. 
 
 Hubert, dear boy, expecting no such grand 
 results from his poor instructions, yet, above 
 the false humility that would have shrunk 
 from the honour of having so noble a pupil, 
 gladly obeyed the re(|uest of Philippe, and, 
 (Iny after d'av. while he remained at JeauvU-
 
 180 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 liers, these two interesting boys devoted 
 themselves to the study of tlie Bible — for 
 Hubert showed his Bible to the Count; — and 
 though it did not, like his grandfather's, con- 
 tain the whole of the scriptures, but only de- 
 tached books of them, yet Hubert was enabled 
 to illustrate what was wanting, by many a 
 text, promise, precept, and prophecy, from a 
 memory richly stored with the sacred contents 
 of the word of God. 
 
 With you, my dear children, who each 
 possess a Bible of your own, I need not go 
 over the subjects discussed by Hubert and 
 his scholar on these occasions. Suffice it to 
 say, that to both the matter was deeply in- 
 teresting, as Hubert, beginning at "Moses 
 and the Prophets," went through the doc- 
 trines of that Holy Book, presenting, to the 
 mind of the young Catholic, such views of 
 divine truth, and of the love of the Saviour, 
 as he sometimes wept to hear; and explain- 
 ing all with a simplicity, and occasionally 
 with a degree of pathos, that touched the 
 heart not only of the noble pupil, but of the 
 humble instructor, though he liad heard the 
 same truths a hundred times before. • As Hu- 
 bert knew that nothing was so important, as 
 the fact, that the Bible is a revelation fiom 
 God to man, so he early endeavoured to im- 
 press it on the mind of Pliilippe, warning 
 and exhorting him on this subject ; assuring
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 181 
 
 him that ''all scripture is given by inspira- 
 tion of God, and is prolitabU' ior doctrine, 
 tor reproof, for correction, and for instiuc- 
 tion in nghteousness, tliat the man of God 
 may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto 
 all good works." — 2 Tim. iii. 16, 17. And to 
 convince him that nothing is to be diminished 
 from the scriptures, nor added to tliem, he 
 read to him this verse — "1 testify unto every 
 man that heareth the words of the propliecy 
 of this book; if any man sliall add unto 
 these things, God shall add unto him the 
 plagues that are written in this book : and if 
 any man shall take away from the words of 
 the book of this prophecy, God shall take 
 away his part out of the book of life, and out 
 of the holy city, and from the things that are 
 written in this book." — Rev. xxii. 18, 19. — 
 And the more to impress the authoiity of the 
 scriptures on the mind of Philippe, and to 
 weaken his superstitious reverence for tra- 
 dition, Hubert told iiim that, if even an angel 
 from heaven were to alight upon our earth, 
 and attempt to preach any other gospel, or 
 any other way of salvation than that reveal- 
 ed in the Bible, he is to be accursed. '"For 
 though we, or an angel from heaven, preach 
 any other gospel unto you tlian that which 
 we have preached unto you — let him be ac- 
 cursed. As we said befdie. so say 1 now 
 again, If anv man preach any othei' j;=ispel 
 #0
 
 182 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 unto you, than that ye have received — let him 
 be accursed." — GaL i. 8, 9. All this Hubert 
 particularly pressed upon the notice of the 
 Count, because of the foolish legends and tra- 
 ditions which he had seen among the books in 
 the library, and because of the importance 
 which the Count and others seemed to attach 
 to their contents. Hubert, therefore, when 
 enforcing upon the mind of his pupil the im- 
 portance of valuing no book as a guide in re- 
 ligious matters, that was not built upon the 
 foundation of the apostles and prophets, con- 
 cluded by reminding him of the nrst lesson 
 with which he had set out — That the Bible is 
 the only infallible rule of faith and life — 
 teaching us what we are to " believe concern- 
 ing God, and what duty God requires of 
 man." 
 
 While Hubert thus spoke to Philippe of 
 the doctrines and religion of his own people, 
 you may believe he sometimes asked the 
 young Catholic to tell him about his; and I 
 must do them the justice to say, that the sub- 
 jects, in both cases, were treated with great 
 gravity by these two young reasoners. Phi- 
 lippe, however, seemed to be rather ignorant, 
 or possessed of very crude and indistinct no* 
 tions, both of what he professed to believe, 
 and what he believed not; and if proselytism 
 had been the object of Hubert in liis instruc- 
 tions, he would doubtless have had little liiffi-
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 183 
 
 culty in bring:in;^ over his ynunz and noble 
 friend to liisopinif)ns ; but Hubert wished only 
 to promulgate the truth, knowing that when- 
 ever it was savin«;ly believed, it would soon be 
 accompanied by correspondent actions. His 
 object, therefore, in rpiestioning Philij)pe about 
 his religion, was merely for the sake of deriv- 
 ing some information on the subject; but Phi- 
 lippe seemed to have little to impart. He 
 could, indeed, describe the nature of its forms, 
 and tell the number of its sacraments, for his 
 tutor was considered as a man of singular de- 
 votion amon^ his own people, and had well 
 instructed his pupil in the formulary of his 
 creed; the mass, the saints, the images, pur- 
 gatory, penance, indulgences, were therefore 
 topics familiar to the boy, though of their spi- 
 ritual meaning, if they had any, he seemed 
 entirely ignorant. 
 
 Hubert was very much shocked by many 
 things which the youn^ Catholic represented 
 to him, as the objects ot his faith and worship, 
 — or at least which he was directed to believe, 
 and offer homage to, or pray before, which 
 seems to be the same thing. Hubert would 
 gladly have argued away all these absurdities 
 from the mind of Philippe, but he did not 
 know how to do it, except by showing him 
 how contradictory they were to Scripture; — 
 and tliis ])lan he adopted, thou sih not with any 
 marked, or even aj)parent success, at that
 
 184 I'lEKRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 time, — yet the good seed, as I have already 
 said, did spring up afterwards, and brougiit 
 forth fruit an hundred fold. 
 
 One day, Hubert asked Philippe, "- if it was 
 true that he confessed his sins to the priest?" 
 To which Philippe replied — '' Certainly, when 
 I have any sins to confess." When he an- 
 swered thus, Hubert was greatly grieved for 
 him; and told him, with much affection and 
 earnestness, that no priest on earth could ab- 
 solve him from the guilt, or avert from him 
 the punishment due to sin: — saying, "who 
 can forgive sins but God only?" And, as to 
 his having sins to confess, he explained to 
 him the utter depravity of man by nature; 
 and how every thought of his heart is evil, 
 and only evil in the sight of a holy God ; and 
 that he was, by nature, a child of wrath as 
 well as others, — and that there was no mo- 
 ment of his life, in which he could be said to 
 have no sins to confess to God. When Phi- 
 lippe heard this, he said " the saint of Jean- 
 villiers would intercede for him, for he had 
 been saint to his family for three hundred 
 years and more." When Hubert heard these 
 words, he uttered a groan of horror and de- 
 spair, to think that his beloved Philippe should 
 entertain sentiments so full of blasphemy and 
 absurdity as these. He, therefore, with tears, 
 urged him to give up so shocking an article 
 of his faith, and to believe that there is but
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 185 
 
 one Mediator between God and man, tlie 
 man Christ Jesus." This verse he read to 
 him from the Bible, adding •• Him the Father 
 heareth always." '• Wherefore, he is able to 
 save them to the uttermost that come unto 
 God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make 
 intercession for them." 
 
 But none of you are Catholics, my dear 
 readers, therefore I need not repeat any more 
 of Hubert's arguments with the Count, at this 
 time, which touched on many other topics of 
 no importance to you. As they were about 
 to part, Philippe, who had been particularly 
 struck by something Hubert had said, re- 
 
 farding the second commandment — of which 
 e affirmed, as of every other it might be said, 
 *'I give thee charge, that thou keep this com- 
 mandment without spot, unrebukable ;" — Phi- 
 lippe, who had been alarmed by some strong 
 argument used by Hubert, on the subject of 
 worshipping pictures and images, asked him 
 to accompany him to view some pictures and 
 statues, which, he thought, would overcome 
 Hubert's very strong aversion to this part of 
 the Roman ritual. Hubert, therefore, fol- 
 lowed him to an apartment in the Castle, 
 which he had never seen before. It was a 
 kind of chapel, or place for prayer; and there 
 were many things in it of which Hubert knew 
 neither the names nor the use. Philippe, go- 
 ing up to the top of the room, ctrew aside a 
 ^2
 
 186 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 green curtain which was hanging in front of a 
 splendid piece of painting, that covered the 
 whole end of tlie room, and disclosed to the 
 eyes of Hubert a work of art, of the eminent 
 merit of which, he, poor boj, could know no- 
 thing, though, by its illusion, he was almost 
 entranced. 
 
 In one moment, Hubert felt himself in the 
 presence of a number of persons whom he had 
 never seen before, but with whose names, as 
 Philippe repeated some of them, he was sa- 
 credly familiar. ** There!" said the young 
 Catholic, with feelings at once chastened by 
 superstitious reverence, and half triumphing 
 in the expression of astonishment and delight 
 with which Hubert gazed on the painting. — 
 " There! my dear Hubert, tell me if there be 
 sin in coming here to pray — or, as you call it, 
 to worship?" 
 
 Hubert looked sternly at Philippe, as he 
 asked him that question — for he was now just 
 beginning to collect the meaning of the pic- 
 ture, — which, in its first appearance, was 
 not offensive, Philippe having reserved those 
 pictures to which Hubert's objections would 
 probably be strongest, to show him at last. — 
 As Hubert began to gather the meaning of 
 the picture, he turned away his head, but 
 Philippe entreated him to look again, as he 
 stood holding the string of the curtain in 
 one hand, and beckoning Hubert with the
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 187 
 
 other to approach nearer ; but Hubert main- 
 tained his station at the bottom of the room, 
 wliile Philippe named in succession the dif- 
 ferent persons represented in the piece, as 
 he had lieard the subject explained by his 
 tutor. 
 
 "These figures which jou name disciples 
 and apostles," said Hubert, "I may inno- 
 cently look at. And these boys on the stairs 
 of the temple, who seem to be crying Hosan- 
 na; and that girl with the basket of doves on 
 her head — these I may gaz,e on — and may 
 even look at the twilight lustre of that seven- 
 branched candlestick, which I see far down 
 the inside of the temple; but, at that figure 
 with the shining circle of light around his 
 head, I must not look — for, you say, it pre- 
 sumptuously dares to represent Him, who 
 hath said — * Thou shalt not make unto thee 
 any graven image; or any likeness of any 
 thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the 
 earth beneath, or that is in the water under 
 the earth ; thou shalt not bow down thyself 
 to them, nor serve them.' — Then after a pause 
 he added — ' Take ye good heed unto your- 
 selves, for ye saw no manner of similitude 
 on the day that the Lord spake unto you in 
 Horeb, out of the midst of the fire, lest ye 
 corrupt yourselves, and make you a graven 
 image, the similitude of any fio;ure, the like- 
 ness of male or female.' — • Forasmuch, then,
 
 188 PIERRE AND HIS TAMILY. 
 
 as we are the offspring of Go<l, we ought not 
 to think that the Godliead is like unto gold, 
 or silver, or stone, graven by art and man's 
 device.' Let us beware of the iniquity of 
 changing the 'glory of the incorruptible God, 
 into an image made like to corruptible men.' " 
 
 Notwithstanding the energy and fervour 
 with which the pious Waldense recited these 
 Scriptures, in the hearing of Philippe, he 
 still imagined that Hubert was not quite 
 sincere. "How," said he, "I thought you 
 were struck with delight, Hubert, my friend, 
 as I drew aside the curtain, — you really 
 seemed not less pleased than astonished witn 
 the picture!" "True," replied Hubert, ''I 
 was taken by surprise — I imagined the thing 
 was real. — I thought if I had proceeded one 
 step further into the room, 1 snould have in- 
 terrupted the healing of that sick man." 
 
 In these expressions of unsophisticated 
 feeling, this boy proved, more than the most 
 learned arguments could have done, the fas- 
 cination in which the senses are held by the 
 visible representation of invisible things; 
 and, consequently, the sin and danger of such 
 a practice. ''It I were of your religion," 
 added Hubert, " I should not worship with 
 my spirit. How could I attach to that image 
 any of the attributes of my God. Like the 
 idols of the heathen, 'blue and purple is 
 their clothing, and tliey are the works ot cun-
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 189 
 
 iiing men.' — 'They arc upright as the palm 
 tree, but speak not; they must needs be 
 borne because they cannot go: — Be not afraid 
 of them, for they cannot do evil, neither also 
 is it in them to do good.' " 
 
 Philippe appeared thoughtful as his young 
 friend expressed, first his horrors of the wor- 
 ship of images, and then his contempt of the 
 images themselves; he never in his life be- 
 fore, imagined that such a practice was not 
 accordant with true holiness — nay, a proof of 
 it — he had been taught to venerate these ob- 
 jects — he had never approaciied them with- 
 out some such veneration ; — in short, he had 
 experienced, in his own young heart and 
 ardent imagination, all that idolatrous at- 
 tachment to these sensible objects, which, 
 whatever may be said to the contrary, this 
 specious form, or means of worship, is so 
 perniciously fitted to create. Philippe re- 
 mained thoughtful awhile, and then begged 
 Hubert to instruct him in the nature of what 
 he called spiritual worship, and to tell him 
 again why he spoke with such an utter ab- 
 horrence and contempt of objects which fill- 
 ed his mind only with sentiments of rever- 
 ence and holy awe. Hubert gladly availed 
 himself of Philippe's question, to give him 
 all the instruction in his power upon these 
 interesting subjects; showing him that "God 
 is a spirit, and they that worship him must
 
 190 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY 
 
 worship him in spirit and in truth, for such 
 the Father seeketh to worship him." It is 
 the homage of the heart which God requires 
 of us. — '* My son give me thine heart." 
 **Turn ye unto me with all your heart." 
 Hubert also showed him, from his Bible, 
 how express the command of God was against 
 all idolatry ; and " as to my own catechism," 
 said Hubert, "it teaches me to abhor the 
 making any representation of the Deity 
 either inwardly in my mind, or outwardly in 
 any kind of image, or likeness of any crea- 
 ture whatsoever; all worshipping of it, or of 
 God in it, or God by it." 
 
 "If I had a Bible," said Philippe, ''I 
 would learn all these things that you speak 
 of, dear Hubert. When Le Maitre goes to 
 Paris, I will direct him to buy me a Bible, 
 if it can be had for money. " 
 
 Hubert's eyes sparkled with delight as the 
 Catholic said he was determined to have a 
 Bible. '' My dear lord," said Hubert, " that 
 is all I want for you, and all I wish for you — 
 a Bible, and the teaching of the Holy Spirit. 
 When you have these, you will soon give your 
 idols to the ' moles and to the bats.' " Isaiah ii. 
 20. Thus saying, they left the apartment, in 
 which there were several other paintings and 
 images, as well as statues in niches in the 
 walls, but all were covered up to preserve 
 them from the lidit and ilust. Soniething at
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 191 
 
 the east end of the room, perhaps from its 
 pre-eminence, had a richer coveriu]^ tlian any 
 of the others, being hung witli a drapery oV 
 crimson velvet, and placed within a space 
 railed oft* from the rest of the chapel. Within 
 this space was an altar-piece, between pil- 
 lars, which, together with the railing, were 
 richly gilt. On one side stood a baptismal 
 font, composed of bronze and gold, and lined 
 with white marble. The steps leading up to 
 the altar were richly carpeted, and the chairs 
 m front were covered with crimson velvet 
 the same as the drapery. It was, however, 
 merely the outside of these things which 
 Hubert beheld ; for Philippe, having wit- 
 nessed his strong aversion to images and 
 pictures, did not venture to ask him to look 
 at the immense crucifix which was here con- 
 cealed under the drapery, and to which mor- 
 tal hands had dared to afl&x the image of a 
 human figure as large as life, before which, 
 multitudes had, for many a year, been called 
 to bow down and worship. Hubert, there- 
 fore, left the chapel without seeing either the 
 decorations of the altar or the altar-piece ; 
 he saw, however, enough of the tinsel — the 
 trumpery — the meagreness — and the absur- 
 dities of this superstition to enable him to 
 place it in contrast with the naked majesty 
 — the exquisite proportion — the noble sym- 
 metry — the dignity, and perfect fulness of
 
 192 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 that system of divine truth which the gospel 
 of our Lord reveals to man. Meditating 
 such thoughts as these, Hubert and Philippe 
 crossed the hall — at the end of which, they 
 separated; the one to dress for dinner, the 
 other to seek for Gabrielle, and to inclulge 
 again his grief, his anguish, and despair, at 
 being so long separated from his father aiid 
 his people. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 •* The most beloved on earth 
 
 Not long survives to-day ; 
 So music past is obsolete, 
 And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, 
 
 But now 'tis gone away." 
 
 Henry Kirk While. 
 
 The time for Le Maitre, the steward, pro- 
 ceeding to La Flechere, had extended far be- 
 yond the few days at first specified by his mis- 
 tress. At length the evening arrived previous 
 to the day on which he was to set out. Hu- 
 bert busied himself all the preceding day in 
 writino: letters to his dear fatlier; for he tried
 
 PIERRE AXn HIS FAMILY. 193 
 
 two or three before he could satisfy himself 
 which he ought to send. To tell his father 
 first that Henri only was dead, he thought 
 would be best, and leave the other part of his 
 melancholy news till they should meet. But 
 no sooner had he written thus, than he remem- 
 bered how much his father had afiiicted him- 
 self for the death of Antoine. So he changed 
 his mind, and thought he would not tell him 
 that they had suffered any bereavement at all. 
 Then again, it occurred to him, that neither 
 he nor Gabriel le would be able, after all they 
 had sutt'ered, to sustain the view of their fa- 
 tiier's despair, when he should see them with- 
 out either their beloved mother or her baby; 
 and therefore he wrote another letter in which 
 he communicated the death of both ; but 
 hardly had he finished this, than he was per- 
 suaded the bare perusal of it would kill his 
 father at once, — so he tore it to atoms, and, 
 in his fourth and last attempt, which was to 
 be general and concise, he wrote as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 *'my dear, dear father. 
 
 " 1 ARDENTLY desirc to see you. I do not 
 know whether you are really at LaFlechere: 
 but Monsieur Le Maitre has given us his 
 faithful promise that he will endeavour to find 
 you out. We have suffered much "^rief since 
 we left our own dear vallev. I will tell vou 
 li
 
 194 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY.' 
 
 the cause of our sorrow when we meet. The 
 God of our fathers has tenderly cared for us, 
 and every body is our friend, especially the 
 Countess and Philippe: I love and respect 
 them very much; and Gabrielle has the same 
 regard for the Lady Isabella, who is as kind 
 to her as if she were dear Marguerite, and the 
 same almost as her sister, only she is noble 
 and rich, and Gabrielle is poor. Every body 
 in the house, particularly I^a Beaume and 
 Renaud, treat us with compassion. 1 will tell 
 you all, dearest father, when we meet. Ga- 
 brielle weeps to embrace you once more, 
 my beloved father! — Make haste to write a 
 letter to us. We will come to you the instant 
 Le Maitre returns. Accept the affection and 
 reverence of 
 
 " Your loving son, 
 
 "Hubert de Beauvoisin." 
 " Castle of Jeanvilliers, Friday Eve.'- 
 
 During the absence of Monsieur Le Maitre, 
 the young orphans continued to receive the 
 same marks of kindness as before, from the 
 inhabitants of Jeanvilliers. The same Lord 
 who caused Israel to be pitied of those that 
 carried him away captive, caused the hearts 
 of this ftimily to pity and protect the children 
 of his people; so that even those of the house- 
 hold, who would, either Irom prejudice or 
 superstition, have been rather inimical to
 
 PIERRE AXD HIS FAMILY. 195 
 
 these AValdenses, and jealous, — from a mis- 
 taken zeal perhaps, — of the favour they ob- 
 tained from their mistress, were, on this occa- 
 sion, prevented from showint^ their dislike, 
 insomuch that it might be said, in regard to 
 the kindness thev met with both from liigh and 
 low, that " tlie hairs of their head were all 
 numbered." 
 
 Hubert was almost constantly in the com- 
 pany of Philippe, either in the library, in the 
 manege, or in the guard room, where the 
 Count was taught the accomplishments com- 
 mon to his age and rank. Sometimes he rode 
 out with him into the fields, and sometimes 
 they spent a day in the mountains ; from 
 whence, though the castle of Jeanvilliers was 
 situated at the opening of the plain, and 
 at the descent of the last of the hills, they 
 were not more than a day's journey distant. 
 On these occasions Hubert showed that he 
 possessed accomplishments fully as valuable 
 as riding or fencing; for there was hardly a 
 plant that adorned the sward beneath their 
 feet, or a bird that spread its pinions over 
 their head, or even an insect that danced in 
 the sunbeam, from the pale green grasshopper 
 to the brilliant dragon fly, that Hubert did 
 not know by name; — while of many he knew 
 both the habits, and the uses. 
 
 But though Hubert was thus honoured to 
 attend the vouuu. Joauvilliers on such occa-»
 
 196 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 sions as these, he was not achnitted to sit at 
 the same table with the Count. Gabrielle 
 and he lived at La Beaiune's table, who was 
 kind to them, not merely because her ladj 
 desired it, but because she really loved these 
 children; so much had their piety and their 
 afflictions, as well as that amiableness which 
 ever accompanies the true child of God, en- 
 deared them to her heart. Once, when she 
 had occasion to remark the self-denial and 
 courtesy of Hubert to an inferior of the castle, 
 she asked him if he learnt good manners 
 from his Bible, as well as every other virtue.^ 
 He said, " Yes; it not only taught him to do 
 unto others as he would that they should do 
 unto him, — to be true, just, and honest — 
 meek, patient, and gentle, — it also taught him 
 to be courteous, and not merely to think of 
 and practice every thing that was pure, and ^ 
 worthy of praise, and of good report, but 
 every thing that was lovely. The attain- 
 ment of all that was implied in this word 
 lovely, my grandfather, the dear old Pastor, 
 used to say, was the last refinement of the 
 Christian; he called it the perfect fruit, with 
 its bloom — freshness — fragrance — and sweet- 
 ness; like natural fruit gathered in the very 
 dew of the morning." 
 
 Hubert and Gabrielle, who had counted 
 first the hours, and then the days, from the 
 time of Le Maitre's departure, waited his re-
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 197 
 
 turn with a de^^reo of iinpatience which almost 
 threw Galjrielle into a tever. The steward's 
 errand to La FItchere was connected with 
 business of the Count's which he could not jret 
 accomplished so speedily as he wished. At 
 the end of another week, however, he was 
 enabled to return to Jeanvilliers; but, to the 
 utter despair of Hubert and his sister, he 
 brought back the unopened letter which the 
 boy had written to his father, together with 
 the overwhelming intelligence that Pierre had 
 perished in the destruction of the village of 
 St. Madelaine-de-Relleville I 
 
 But the Pastor Pascal was still alive. Hav- 
 ing escaped the massacre which took place in 
 the valley, and having ascertained — so far as 
 it was possible to ascertain it — the fate of his 
 brother Pierre, he had collected together as 
 many of his beloved flock as survived the 
 wreck of property and the loss of kindred and 
 friends, and, departing from the valley, had, 
 by a long and circuitous route, crossed the 
 mountains, and succeeded in rejoining his 
 family and conveying them to a temporary 
 asylum. The Pastoi- had made the most 
 anxious inquiries and most unwearied search 
 for the wife and children of his brother, whose 
 unfortunate departure from the rest of the 
 party in the mountains had not been observed 
 till too late to be remedied. All tho Pastor's 
 endeavours to find the children had hitherto 
 R 1 
 
 h 
 
 !*'••»
 
 198 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 been fruitless. He .had, however, obtained 
 the assistance of a kind friend, an inhabitant 
 of La Flechere, who had promised not to give 
 up the search; but to endeavour, by every 
 means in his power, to bring the uncle and 
 children into communication with each other. 
 To this person Le Maitre had addressed 
 himself, and, through his instrumentality, the 
 children were now to be conducted in safety 
 to the distant valley where the Pastor Pas- 
 cal, with such of his family and flock, and 
 other exiles, as had outlived the miseries of 
 the persecution, were about to unite, and 
 form themselves into a Christian community. 
 Need I tell you that the grief of Hubert 
 and Gabriel le, on hearing of the death of 
 their beloved father, was bitter? Ah! it was 
 indeed bitter — deep — impassioned ! But the 
 Lord tempered it to them by a thousand kind- 
 nesses and condescensions on the part of the 
 amiable Countess and her dear family. And 
 when the time arrived for them to depart for 
 La Flechere to Monsieur Roland's, through 
 whose kindness they were to be conveyed m 
 safety to the Valley of Hope, as the fugitive 
 flock had, in the gratitude of their heart to 
 God for a place of shelter, denominated their 
 new abode ; — when the time arrived for their 
 departure, the Countess and Philippe loaded 
 Hubert and Gabrielle with presents for them- 
 selves, and with presents for the Pastor their
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 199 
 
 uncle, and for liis^ood F^ouise. The Countess 
 not only sent her own servant and mules with 
 them to Monsieur Roland's, but directed him 
 to accompany them after they should leave 
 La Flechere, till he saw them safe under the 
 protection of their relatives. This excellent 
 lady assured these young orplians that they 
 might depend upon her protection at ail 
 times, and made them promise that, if either 
 deserted or persecuted, they w^ould take re- 
 fuge with her. 
 
 After many days' journey Hubert and Ga- 
 brielle arrived at the valley. Their meeting 
 with such of the fugitives from St. Madelaine 
 as yet remained alive, was deeply affecting. 
 Pascal and his good Louise wept over them 
 in silence — embraced them — and then wept 
 again, — nor was it for many days after their 
 reunion, that the name of their beloved 
 mother or her affecting history could be 
 touched upon; while, on the other side, the 
 same silence was maintained in regard to 
 their father. '' He is blest," — or " tliey are 
 happy;" — these were the only words uttered 
 by the Pastor. 
 
 But time, if it do not erase, at least sooths 
 our sorrows, softens the acuteness of agoniz- 
 ing thought, and takes away much of the bit- 
 terness of our reflections. In the course of 
 years the new valley was as much beloved by 
 the )'»ung Waldeiise, as the valley of St.
 
 200 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 Madelaine had been bj the old. Hubert 
 became the assistant of his uncle the Pastor, 
 till a situation among his own people, in some 
 other district, should open up to him a wider 
 sphere of Christian usefulness. Trained in 
 ine school of affliction, and educated under a 
 preceptor of the purest principles, and of the 
 most devoted consecration of his whole being 
 to his Master's service, Hubert early became 
 a workman that needed not to be ashamed. 
 Gabrielle, retaining all her artlessness of 
 character, her simplicity of manner, and re- 
 gaining much of her playful vivacity, became 
 the wife of her cousin Albert, and met a hap- 
 pier lot on earth than had been cast for her 
 beloved mother. 
 
 The fury of persecution, which had scat- 
 tered the Waldenses, had also scattered wide 
 the seeds of truth. And while the Lord's 
 people had, by his blessing, gained all that is 
 to be gained in the furnace of affliction, many 
 who had not, with them, "sown in tears," 
 were, nevertheless, in consequence of their 
 distresses, now " reaping in joy." 
 
 Among those who had been benefited by 
 the wide sowing of the good seed of the word, 
 on that occasion, was the noble boy Jeanvil- 
 liers. Philippe, according to his promise 
 given at parting with Hubert, had purchased 
 a Bible for himself — had read it for himself — 
 "without note or coimnenl," and, a'^re abK'
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 201 
 
 (o the advice of liis huin)}le instructor, haJ 
 asked, in prayer, for the aid of that other 
 Teacher, even the Holy One, who alone 
 teacheth savingly, and to proiit. Under the 
 guidance of Him who is the Spirit of Truth, 
 and who guides into all truth, none can err. 
 Jeanvilliers had much to combat with, before 
 he was enabled to shake ott' the trammels of 
 those forms of religion, or rather of supersti- 
 tion, in which he had been educated. Each 
 new conviction of the truth upon his mind, 
 however, he was happily enabled to follow up 
 by correspondent firmness of action ; till he 
 finally renounced all the errors of Popery, and 
 allied himself to that church which in those 
 days began to take to itself, for the first time, 
 the name of Protestant. Thus, through the 
 instrumentality of Hubert the peasant boy, 
 this noble Catholic became by inquiry, — from 
 conviction, — and in the use of proper means, 
 — a most valuable and interesting Christian. 
 By nature, perhaps, Jeanvilliers would have 
 been a philanthropist, and would have la- 
 boured for the moral improvement and tem- 
 poral happiness of mankind. But, as a Chris- 
 tian, he took a higher aim; and to guard from 
 the encroachments of power, the religious pri- 
 vileges of his people, and to promote the spi- 
 ritual benefit of his fellow creatures, were 
 labours to which he bent himself with all the 
 
 ^.
 
 202 yiERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 weight of his wealth, his worth, his influence* 
 and his talents. United also to one, every 
 way worthy of being; the wife of such a man 
 — they botli, in their domestic, as well as in 
 their public characters, exhibited to all around 
 them, the beauty — the holiness — the sanctity 
 — and blessedness of that religion, which 
 springs up in the heart, and blossoms in the 
 life of all those who savingly believe in '* Him 
 of whom the Scriptures testify," and who 
 prize, above all things, the precious, precious 
 Bible. 
 
 Happily for the Count, his religious senti- 
 ments, were not peculiar to himself; — they 
 were shared by his family; for his excellent 
 parent, the only mother at least he had ever 
 known, had long leaned — secretly, for fear 
 of the priest— to the doctrines of the Wal- 
 denses. The lady Isabella also, once too 
 gentle and humble almost to venture to ex- 
 press an opinion of her own, or to question 
 any sentiment uttered by another, was now, 
 not only from conviction and by conversion, 
 a sincere and devoted professor of the true 
 religion, but, animated by zeal and guided by 
 love, she sought to impart to others the pre- 
 cious truths she herself believed ; truths 
 which had filled her with so much comfort, 
 peace, and hope, and by which she .had been 
 delivered from a yoke of foir^is and ccremo
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 203 
 
 riies, without woitli. and ovfii without mean- 
 ing, which only served cruelly to lull the con- 
 science asleep, that the soul niij^ht thereby 
 Tall a more easy prey to the merciless wiles 
 of the Devil. 
 
 The grateful Philippe no sooner found 
 himself in circumstances to promote the dis- 
 semination of the word of God, and the know- 
 ledge of the true religion, among the pea- 
 santry on his wide estates, and among the 
 artizans and mechanics in the neighbouring 
 villages, than he despatched a messenger to 
 Hubert, his friend, the honourable name by 
 which he always distinguished the humble 
 Waldense — entreating him to add to the 
 early benefits he had conferred on him, and 
 all his house, by consenting to become the 
 Pastor of a church in the valley of Jeanvil- 
 liers, and preaching the same gospel to the 
 people of the cottages that he had once 
 preached to the inhabitants of the castle. 
 
 Hubert received this call with joy, and 
 soon became the Pastor of a most interesting 
 iiock, and was honoured to gather in many a 
 wanderer to the fold of the Chief Shepherd. 
 Hither also resorted many of his persecuted 
 brethren from the "places where they had 
 been scattered in the cloudy and dark day." 
 By the blessing from above, and under the 
 protection of the house of Jeanvilliers, the
 
 204 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 churches of the valleys were again seen green 
 and flourishing, having lost nothing by being 
 transplanted to another soil : Tlie promise 
 made to the dispersed flock of old, seemed 
 now to be fulfilled to this hitherto "tossed 
 and afflicted" people. " I will seek that 
 which was lost, and bring again that which 
 was driven away, and will bind up that whicii 
 was broken, and will strengthen that which 
 was sick;" — for the lost and the scattered, 
 and the broken-hearted, and the sick, now 
 met in health, in cheerfulness, and in hope; 
 and of those happy people, you would have 
 said, "Behold! how good and pleasant it is 
 for brethren to dwell together in unity." For 
 as, after the natural storm and tempest, calm 
 is sweet, and it is a pleasant thing for the 
 eyes to behold the sun — so, after the whirl- 
 wind of persecution, thus to meet again in 
 the bond of Christian fellowship, in the still- 
 ness and repose of peace, was, to these lioly, 
 simple people, sweet and soft as the drop- 
 ping of the gentle dew from heaven — as the 
 *'dew of Hermon or of Zion; for there the 
 Lord commandeth the blessing, — even life for 
 evermore." 
 
 And here, my beloved readers, I might add 
 one or two sentences of solemn admonition, 
 before concluding my history. But I trust 
 
 f^- .
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 205 
 
 you have been enabled to see that tho lesson 
 it is chiefly intended to iinj)art, is to lead you 
 to the perusal of that hook which contains 
 all the treasures of" wisdom; and not oidy to 
 prize your Bible above all things yourself, but 
 to dispose you to communicate tlie knowledge 
 of it to your less favoured brethren around 
 you, or to those at a distance, who, like Phi- 
 lippe and his family, in the day of their igno- 
 rance, may not know that there is such a 
 blessed book as the Word of God in the 
 world. 
 
 The Bible is the charter both of the religion 
 and of the liberty of the Christian. The re- 
 ligion of the Bible is a religion of love. It 
 abhors persecution — it knits human beings to 
 each other — it sanctifies the affections — it 
 gives to character a species of heroism, which 
 enables man — as in the case of the Waldenses 
 — to sustain oppression, cruelty, and con- 
 tumely, with the dignity of an immortal 
 creature, and with a constancy of endurance 
 which shows that its origin is from Heaven. 
 
 The religion of the Bible also teaches the 
 subject not only to respect his sovereign, but, 
 with an interchange of feeling w^hich the Gos- 
 pel alone can inspire, teaches the sovereign 
 to respect his subject. 
 
 If, then, we have seen, in the history of 
 Pierre anil his Family, the evils arising from 
 S 
 
 i
 
 206 
 
 PIERRE AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 a false religion and a despotic government, — 
 let us give thanks to God for the purer dispen- 
 sation of trutii whicli we enjoj, and for that 
 happier government with which he hath blessed 
 our country, where every "man may sit un- 
 der his own vine, and under his own tig-tree, 
 with none to make him afraid."
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 25. 
 
 Amoito a great many other charges brought against 
 the Waldenses, by the Roman Catholic writers of those 
 days, the following are mentioned by Jones, in his His- 
 tory of the Waldenses^ page 361. 
 
 " Whatsoever is preached without scripture proof, 
 the Waldenses account no better than fables. They 
 hold that the Holy Scripture is of the same efficacy in 
 the vulgar tongue as in Latin, and accordingly they 
 communicate and administer the sacraments in the 
 vulgar tongue. They can say a great part of the Old 
 and New Testament by heart." 
 
 Another author, quoted by the same historian, ac- 
 knowledges that the Waldenses were " so well instruct- 
 ed in the Holy Scriptures, that he had seen peasants 
 who could recite the whole book of Job verbatim^ and 
 several others who could perfectly repeat the whole of 
 the New Testament." — Jones, p. 335. 
 
 The following account of the proficiency oi Little 
 Children is exceedingly interesting : — " In the time of 
 a great persecution of the Waldenses of Merindol and 
 Provence, a certain monk was deputed, by the bishop
 
 208 NOTES. 
 
 of Cavaillon, to hold a conference with tnem, that they 
 might be convinced of their errors, and the eflfusion of 
 blood prevented. But the monk returned in confusion, 
 owning that in his whole life he had never known so 
 much of the scriptures as he had learned during those 
 few days that he had been conversing with the heretics. 
 The bishop, however, sent among them a number of 
 doctors, young men, who had lately come from the Sor- 
 bonne, which, at that time, was the very centre of theo- 
 logical subtilty at Paris. One of these publicly owned 
 that he had understood more of the doctrine of salva- 
 tion from the answers of the little children in their 
 catechisms, than by all the disputations which he had 
 ever before heard." — Ibid. p. 385. 
 
 The manner in which these pious and zealous Chris- 
 tians endeavoured to spread the savour of that know- 
 ledge which they possessed, for the instruction and 
 conversion of others, is both simple and striking, and 
 may well deserve the attention of missionaries of the 
 present day : — 
 
 " It seems to have been a common practice with their 
 teachers, the more readily to gain access for their doe- 
 trine among persons in the higher ranks of life, to carry 
 with them a small box of trinkets, or articles of dress, 
 something like the hawkers or pedlars of our day, and 
 Reinerius thus describes the manner in which they 
 were wont to introduce themselves : — 
 
 " Sir, — Will you please to buy any rings, or seals, 
 or trinkets '' — Madam, will you look at any handker-
 
 X0TE9. 209 
 
 chiefs, (»r pieces of needle-work, for veib? [ can afford 
 them clieap." — If, after a purchase, the company aak, 
 " Have you any thing more r'' the salesman would re- 
 ply, " O yes, I have commodities far more valuable 
 than these, and I will make you a present of them, if 
 you will protect me from the clergy." Security being 
 promised, he would go on to say, " The inestimable 
 jewel I spoke of, is the word of God, by which he 
 communicates his mind to men, and which inflames 
 their hearts with love to him." ' In the sixth month 
 the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of 
 Galilee named Nazareth' — and so he would proceed 
 to repeat the remaining part of the first chapter of 
 Luke. Or, he would begin with the thirteenth of 
 John, and repeat the last discourse of Jesus to his dis- 
 ciples. If the company should seem pleased, he would 
 proceed to repeat the twenty-third of Matthew : ' The 
 
 scribes and pharisees sit in Moses' seat Wo unto 
 
 you; ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against men : 
 for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them 
 that are entering, to go in. Wo unto you, ye devour 
 widows' houses.' — " And pray," should one of the 
 company say, " against whom are these woes denoun- 
 ced, think you ?" he would reply, " Against Uie clergy 
 and the monks. The doctors of the Roman church are 
 pompous, both in their habits and their manners — they 
 love the uppermost rooms, and the chief seats in the 
 synagogues, and to be called Rabbi, Rabbi. For our 
 j.urts, we desire no such Rabbies. They are the rich 
 S 2
 
 210 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 and uA-aricious, of whom the Lord says, — ' Wo unto 
 you, ye rich, for ye have received your consohitioii ;' 
 but we, ' having food and raiment, are therewitli coP' 
 tent.' They are voluptuous, and devour widows' 
 houses : we only eat to be refreshed and supported. — 
 They fight and encourage wars, and command the poor 
 to be killed and burnt, in defiance of the saying, *■ He 
 that taketh the sword shall perish by the sword.' For 
 our parts, they persecute us for righteousness' sake. 
 They do nothing, but eat the bread of idleness : we 
 work with our hands. They monopolize the giving 
 of instruction, and ' wo be to them that take away the 
 key of knowledge :' but, among us, one disciple, as 
 soon as he is informed himself, teaches another. — 
 Among them, you can hardly fijid a doctor who can 
 repeat thi-ee chapters of the New Testament by heart ; 
 but of us there is scarcely man or woman Avho doth 
 not retain the whole. And because we are sincere be- 
 lievers in Christ, and all teach and enforce a holy life 
 and conversation, these Scribes and Pharisees perse- 
 cute us to death, as their predecessors did Jesus Christ." 
 /6irf. p.390,391. 
 
 Note 11. page 42. 
 
 " Against the Waldenses," says Thuanus, " when 
 exquisite punishments availed little, and the evil was 
 exasperated by the remedy which had been unseason- 
 ably applied, and their numbei- increased daily, com^
 
 211 
 
 plete armies were at len,^th raised, and a war of no less 
 weight than wliat our people had before waged against 
 the Saracens, was determined aijainst thern. The result 
 was, tliat they were ratJier slain, put to flight, spoiled 
 every where of their goods and possessions, and dis- 
 persed abroad, than convinced of their error and 
 brouglit to repentance. So that they who at first had 
 defended themselves by arms, fled into Provence, and 
 the neighbouring Alps of the t'rench territory, aiid 
 found a shelter for their life and doctrine in those 
 places. Part of them withdrew into Calabria, and 
 continued there a long while." — Ibid. p. 448. 
 
 J^ote III. jiage 50. 
 "They,'' that is, tlie Waldotees, " can all read and 
 write. They know French sufficiently for the under- 
 standing of the Bible and the shiging of Psalms. You 
 can scarcely find a boy among them, who cannot give 
 you an intelligible account of the faith which they 
 profess. In this, they resemble their bretlu^en of tlie 
 other vaUeys."— 76t(f. p. 388. 
 
 JVo/e IF. page 97. 
 The Holy Office is the name given to the Court of 
 Inquisition, — a tribunal which, in tlie days of the Wal- 
 denses, as in later times, charged itself with tlie punish- 
 ment of heretics. In this court it was customary to 
 extort confession by means of torture. n':'n':e, tu be
 
 212 NOTES. 
 
 put to the question^ was another word for undergoing 
 the anguish of the rack. But such of my readers as 
 wish for information on this subject, may consult the 
 " Book of Martyrs," page 151, in which there is a full 
 account of this dreadful tribunal. 
 
 J^ote K page 113. 
 *' About the year 1400, a violent outrage was com- 
 mitted by the Catholic party residing in that neigh- 
 bourhood, upon the Waldenses who inhabited the 
 valley of Pragela, in Piedmont. The Waldenses fled 
 to one of the highest mountains of the Alps, with their 
 wives and children, — the unhappy mothers carrying 
 the cradle in one hand, and in the other leading such 
 of their oflfspring as were able to walk. Their inhuman 
 invaders, whose feet were swift to shed blood, pursued 
 them in their flight, until night came on, and slew a 
 great number of them before they could reach the 
 mountains. Those that escaped, were, however, re- 
 served to experience a fate not more enviable. Over- 
 taken by the night, they wandered up and down the 
 mountains, covered with snow, without the means of 
 shelter from the inclemencies of the weather, or of 
 supporting tlieraselves under it by any of the blessings 
 which Providence has granted for that purpose. Be- 
 numbed with cold, they fell easy martyrs to tlie seve- 
 rity of the climate ; and, when the shades of night had 
 passed away, there were found in their cradles or lying
 
 NOTES. 213 
 
 upon the snOWt fourscore of their infimts, destitute of 
 life, many of their mothers also lyinj dead by their 
 side, and others just upon the point of expiring.'" — 
 Jones^ p. 463. 
 
 The description ^ven of the state of the Waldenaea 
 who survived the persecution of 1686, at the time the 
 order came for their release, is truly afflicting. The 
 following account is given of those who came out of 
 the prisons on the proclamation of the Duke : — 
 
 " The proclamation was made at the Castle of Mon- 
 dovi, for example, and at five o'clock the same evening 
 they were to begin a march of four or five leagues ! 
 Before the morning more tlian a hundred and fifty of 
 them sunk under the burden of their maladies and fa- 
 tigues, and died. The same thing happened to the 
 prisoners at Fossan. A company of them halted one 
 night at the foot_of Mount Ccnis. When they were 
 about to march the next morning, they pointed the 
 officer, who conducted them, to a terrible tempest 
 upon the top of the mountain, beseeching him to allow 
 them to stay till it had passed away. The inhuman 
 officer, deaf to the voice of pity, insisted on their 
 marching ; tlie consequence of which was, that eighty- 
 eix of their number died, and were buried in that hor- 
 rible tempest of snow. Some merchants that afterwards 
 crossed the mountains, saw tlie bodies of these misera- 
 ble people extended on the snow, the mothen claspir^ 
 their child r €71 in their arms." — Ihid. p. 576.
 
 UCSB UBU^Y X-(^6^^r2J' 
 
 £14 NOTES. 
 
 JVb/e FI. page 164. 
 
 The feelings of the Catholics towards the persecuted 
 Christians of those days, may be learned from the fol- 
 lowing circumstance, related by the author already so 
 often quoted ; it occurred after a battle fought in Gas- 
 cony, between the armies of the popish party and tlie 
 unhappy Albigenses : — 
 
 " A singular disclosure was made after this battle ; 
 and as the circumstance tends to throw a ray of light 
 upon the secret history of these times, it deserves to be 
 recorded. When the battle of Muret was over, there 
 was found among the slain belonging to the Albigenses, 
 a knight in black armour. On examination, behold it 
 was found to be none other than Peter, king of Aragon. 
 There also lay one of his sons, and many of the Ara- 
 gonian gentlemen and vassals, who, isrhile ostensibly 
 supporting the Roman church, had,*m disguise, been 
 fighting in defence of the Albigenses 1 1" — Ibid. p. 440. 
 
 THE END
 
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