A Visit to the Vaudois of Piedmont

By Edward Baines

This book, “A Visit to the Vaudois of Piedmont,” describes, through the eyes of an Englishman, liberal politician and member of the English Parliament, the Protestant Waldensians whom he visited during excursions in the Piedmont region near the mountains of Northern Italy and Southern France, in the mid-19th century. The author dwells at length on the history of the region, the various religious wars and persecutions endured by the early Protestants, and also describes something of the village people and life in that mountainous area.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Full Well Ventures
• Release date: Mar 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9791221314823

Book preview

ONE

The Valleys of the Vaudois — Comparatively Little Visited — View from the Superga — Reflections — Position and Names of the Valleys — Early History of the Vaudois, or Valdesi — The Noble Lesson and Catechism — Their Principles of Religious Liberty — Vaudois Manuscripts.

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the lovely and romantic yet rugged valleys which conduct from the rich plain of Piedmont to the summits of the snowy Alps, have found refuge for many centuries that small and persecuted people called the Vaudois, or Waldenses, who clung with the tenacity of martyrs to the simple faith of the Gospel, when all Christendom besides was involved in the corruptions of Popery. The history of this remarkable people is well known to many readers, from the interesting Waldensian Researches of their zealous and invaluable friend, the Rev. Dr. Gilly, ¹ the beautifully illustrated volumes of Dr. Beattie, the modern Vaudois historians, Monastier and Bert, and the writings of several travellers. It forms part of the long and dismal annals of Papal persecutions, is remembered as having excited the sympathy of Cromwell and William III, is embalmed in one of Milton’s sonnets, and has formed the subject of a recent painting by Newneham. Still the number of those who have any distinct knowledge of the present state of the Vaudois is extremely small. Not one in a thousand of the English travellers in Switzerland and Italy reaches their secluded valleys. With scenery almost equal to that of the Oberland of Berne, with annals not less romantic than the land of Tell and Winkelried, with services to the cause of pure Christianity rendered centuries earlier than those of Zuingle, Calvin, Luther, or even Wycliffe, the Vaudois have been to a surprising extent passed by. The causes may be, in part that their numbers are small, and that they possessed little political importance, in part that their achievements fell out of the line of the great European histories, in part that their valleys lie somewhat out of the track of tourists, who, having crossed the Alps, impatiently launch into the great and captivating cities of Italy. It may even be, that the many and long ages of persecution, which did not weary out the virtue of these primitive Christians, weary out the patience of readers who love variety. Still there are a few of our countrymen who have gone to look upon the remnants of this heroic people, and have found themselves richly rewarded. Having enjoyed this pleasure in the course of the present autumn (of 1854), I think it possible that some of my fellow countrymen may not object to receive a few particulars of the visit.

After a delightful excursion in Switzerland, my wife and I came within view of Italy on the hoar summit of the Great St. Bernard, being welcomed by fog, storm, snow, and darkness to that gate of the sunny land. A rapid descent from the hospitable Monastery brought us down the next day from the line of eternal frost into the superb valley of Aosta, where all Italian luxuriance and grace lay glowing beneath a brilliant noon. Emerging from that classic vale, in which the filth and degradation of the inhabitants form the saddest contrast to their Elysian abode, we opened on the vast plain of Piedmont. We reached the elegant and finely-situated capital of Turin, at the confluence of the Dora and the Po; and from the neighbouring height of the Superga we saw at one glance, as on a map, almost the whole of the continental dominions of Sardinia, environed by one of the noblest ranges of mountains in the world — extending from Monte Rosa on the northeast, along by the Alps of Savoy in the north, and the Cottian and Maritime Alps on the west and south, right round to the commencement of the Apennines and the meridian of Genoa. Amidst the countless peaks in this glorious vision, not one is so striking as yon slender shaft in the southwest, Monte Viso, which soars to the height of more than thirteen thousand feet, and which for us has the additional attraction, that at its base wind the deep valleys of the Vaudois — a race small, indeed, and oppressed, but who have stood firm as their guardian mountain amidst the storms of centuries, and maintained a faith as pure as its untrodden snows.

Standing on the top of the monumental temple which crowns the Superga, ² and which forms the unrivalled mausoleum of the royal house of Savoy, we could not but reflect on the mysterious course of Providence. Around us stretched a mighty panorama of well-watered plains and wooded hills, which within their Alpine frame might seem to form one of the choicest abodes of man. Grandeur, beauty, and fertility combine to speak the goodness of the Creator, and to give to his creatures every incentive to obedience and piety, to peace and love. The cities and villages which stud the plain, the palaces, chateaux, and churches which crest the hills, attest outward prosperity, the successful prosecution of the arts, and a certain prevalence of religion. Yet here for many centuries have superstition and bigotry held the most absolute sway: here the Dukes of Savoy, obsequious vassals of Rome, have hunted down with their armies the primitive Vaudois of Piedmont, and fought against the Reformers of Switzerland: here the faithful witnesses for New Testament purity of faith have been chased into the clefts of the mountains with relentless bloodthirstiness, and all but absolutely exterminated. Strange that the superstitious persecutors should have remained lords of this fair land, whilst the faithful few should be driven to the dens and caves of the earth! Strange that so small a band should be preserved, and yet in a kind of perpetual martyrdom! Strange that the seeds of truth should live, and yet not flourish! Strange that the blood of the martyrs should not here have proved the seed of the church! Yes, to human reason these things are strange; but not more strange than many things recorded in God’s Word concerning his own people; — not more strange than the bush that burned and was not consumed. They are trials of faith and patience. They afford a strong presumption that there is a hereafter, to redress the wrongs of the present. They show the corruption and deceitfulness of human nature, and the hatefulness of religious persecution. They illustrate the sustaining power of divine grace. They keep alive a seed, which, if it has not spread for centuries past, may in centuries to come. They are a historical testimony against Papal errors. They humble our reason. They call forth our Christian sympathy. They rebuke our inertness in the propagation of the truth.

Nay, in our own day, we have seen the establishment of civil and religious freedom in this very land, — a freedom, which, if it should be maintained, may be the commencement of the regeneration of Italy,-a freedom, which may perhaps owe something to the brave people whose wrongs have hitherto produced so little apparent fruit, — and which, marvellous to say, was freely bestowed by a sovereign of the house of Savoy.

Stayed with such thoughts, let us descend the steep of the Superga, hasten across the plain of Piedmont, and, passing by the town of Pignerol, whence so many armies have issued to ravage the valleys, enter the humble capital of the Vaudois, La Tour.

Between the mountain ribs which descend from the great vertebral chain of the Alps towards the plain of Piedmont, are many beautiful valleys, each conducting its streamlet to swell the rivers of the plain. The best known of these valleys is that of Susa, due west of Turin, through which passes the great route of the Mont Cenis, the principal highway between Italy and France, and down which flows the Dora to unite its waters with those of the Po at Turin. Just south of the valley of Susa, and betwixt the Mont Cenis and Monte Viso, are the valleys of the Vaudois. The largest and most northerly of these valleys is that of Perouse, ³ extending from the town of Pignerol to the town of Perouse, and there branching off in a north-westerly direction into the Valley of Pragelas, and westward into the Valley of St. Martin; which latter again divides into two, namely, that of the Balsille and that of Prali. More southerly is the Valley of Luserne, which runs westward from the town of Luserne to the roots of the Col de la Croix and Monte Viso; and this valley is joined at its embouchure upon the plain by the smaller Valley of Angrogna. The principal