Their miseries are more grievous than words can express-they have no 'grapes in their vineyards-no cattle in their fields-no herds in their stalls-no corn in their granaries-no meal in their barrel-no oil in their cruise.' The stock that was gathered for them by the people of this and other countries, is fast consuming, and when that is spent, they must inevitably perish, unless God, who turns the hearts of princes as the rivers of water,' incline the heart of their prince to take pity on his pour, harmless, and faithful subjects."*

In 1686, the Waldenses were again permitted, by the great Head of the Church, to become the victims of the persecuting spirit of the friends of Rome. In October 22, of the preceding year, Louis XIV. revoked, as is well known, the edict of Nantes, and banished his Protestant subjects from his kingdom. About the end of 1685, a proclamation was issued by the governor of the valleys, ordering that no stranger should continue in the valleys above three days, without permission, on pain of be ing severely punished. This seemed mysterious, but it was soon unravelled by the intelligence, which presently arrived, of the dreadful proceedings against the French Protestants; for they immediately saw that it was intended to prevent them from giving an asylum to any of the unhappy exiles; yet they little apprehended the dreadful tempest that was gathering around themselves.

On the 31st of January, 1686, they were amazed at the publication of an order from the duke of Savoy, forbidding his subjects the exercise of the Protestant re ligion upon pain of death; the confiscation of their goods; the demolition of their churches; and the banishment of their pastors. All infants born from that time, were to be baptized and brought up in the Roman Catholic religion, under the penalty of their fathers being condemned to the galleys! Their consternation was now extreme. Hitherto the treaty which secured to them the free exercise of their religion, had been guaranteed by the kings of France; but they were now given to understand, that the duke of Savoy, in all these intolerant measures, was only fulfilling the wishes of that monarch; and, to crown the whole, the latter had marched an army to the confines of Piedmont, to see the order of the duke properly executed. In this truly affecting condition, their first step was, by submission and entreaty, to soften the heart of their sovereign. Four different applications were addressed to him, beseeching him to revoke this cruel order: the only advantage they reaped, was a suspension of the impending calamity, until their enemies were better prepared to execute it with effect.

Their old and tried friends, the Swiss cantons, being informed of this state of things, convened a diet at Baden, in the month of February, 1686, at which it was resolved to send ambassadors to the Duke of Savoy to intercede for the Waldenses; and early in the following month they arrived at Turin, where they delivered in their propositions relating to the revocation of the order of the 31st of January. They shewed his highness, that they were interested in the affair, not only as the brethren of the Waldenses, but also in virtue of the treaties of 1655 and 1664, which were the fruits of their mediation, and which this new order annulled. The court of Turin admitted the plea; but contented themselves with telling the ambassadors, that the engagements which the duke had recently entered into with the king of France opposed the success of their negociation. The Swiss ambassadors gave in a memorial, and urged a variety of pleas; in all which they were supported by letters from many Protestant princes in behalf of the Waldenses.

The strong remonstrances of the Swiss ambassadors appear to have been unavailing, since, a short time subsequently, a French army invaded the valleys, and committed the most shocking outrages upon the inhabitants. More than twelve thousand were committed to prison. The sufferings of these exceed description. For months they were fed upon bread and water-the former, in which were often found lime, glass, and filth of various kinds, was so bad as scarcely to deserve the name; while the latter, in many instances, brought from stagnant pools, was scarcely fit for the use of cattle. Their lodging was upon bricks or filthy straw. The prisons were so thronged, that, during the heat of the summer months, they became intolerabie, and deaths were daily taking place. Want of cleanliness necessarily

*Morland's Churches of Piedmont, p. 682-708.

engendered diseases among them-they became annoyed with vermain, which prevented their sleep either by night or day. Many women in child-bearing were lost for want of the care and comforts necessary to such a situation, and their infants shared the same fate.

Such was the state of these afflicted and persecuted creatures, when the duke of Savoy's proclamation was issued for releasing them. It was now the month of October; the ground was covered with snow and ice; the victims of cruelty were almost universally emaciated through poverty and disease, and very unfit for the projected journey. The proclamation was made at the castle of Modovi, 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 than a hundred and fifty of them sunk under the burden of their maladies and fatigues, and died. The same thing happened to the prisoners at Fossan. A company of them halted one night at the foot of Mount Cenis; 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; the consequence of which was, that eighty-six of their number died, and were buried in that horrible tempest of snow. Some merchants that afterwards crossed the mountains, saw the bodies of these miserable people extended on the snow, the mothers clasping their children in their arms!

It is but an act of justice, however, to add that, in some few instances, the officers who conducted the different troops of Waldenses out of the country, treated them with more humanity. Their own historians admit the fact, and it ought to be recorded, that some took a particular care of them: and certainly the picture that is drawn of their deplorable condition is such, as was well calculated to melt the most unfeeling heart to tenderness. The greatest part of them were almost naked, and without shoes; and they all bore such striking marks of suffering and wretchedness, that the very sight of them was enough to pierce the heart. Those who survived the journey arrived at Geneva about the middle of December, but in such an exhausted state, that several expired between the two gates of the city, "finding the end of their lives in the beginning of their liberty." Others were so benumbed with cold, that they had not power to speak; many staggered from faintness and disease, while others, having lost the use of their limbs, were unable to lift up their hands to receive the assistance that was tendered them.

At Geneva they experienced that kind and hospitable reception, which was due to them as their fellow creatures, and more especially as their persecuted Christian brethren. They clothed the naked, fed the hungry, succored the afflicted, and healed the sick. But what pen can describe the affecting scene which now took place, while they halted at Geneva for rest and refreshment, before they proceeded forward into Switzerland! Those who arrived first, naturally went to meet those who came after, anxiously inquiring for their relations and friends, of whom they had heard nothing since the fatal catastrophe in the valleys of Piedmont. The father inquired after his child, and the child after its parent-the husband sought his wife, and the latter her partner in life. Every one endeavored to gain some intelligence of his friend or neighbor; but as three fourths of them had died in prison or on the road, it exhibited a melancholy spectacle to see so many dissolved in tears, at the distressing accounts they received. Their principal earthly comfort now arose from the hospitable kindness of the people of Geneva, who flocked around them, and evinced such solicitude to conduct them to their own homes, that the magistrates of the city were obliged, in order to prevent confusion and disorder, to issue an injunction, prohibiting any from going out of the city. There was a noble emulation, who should entertain the most sick, or those that were most afflicted. They received them, not merely as strangers in distress, but as Christian brethren, who brought peace and spiritual blessings into their families. All that needed clothing, were either supplied by those that lodged them, or by the Italian bank, the directors of which, from first to last, evinced all the marks of tender compassion, and of disinterested kindness.

The sufferings of the Protestants in the Netherlands, or the Low Countries, as they were then called, were of a similarly tragical character. About the time the reformation began, these provinces were exceedingly flourishing, in trade, commerce and

manufactures. In consequence of the commercial intercourse, which subsisted be tween Germany and the Netherlands, the doctrines of the reformers were early pro pagated, from the former to the latter place. As early as in 1522, Charles V. pub lished his edict against the heretics, in that country; and during his reign, contem porary historians affirm, that not less than fifty thousand inhabitants were put to death, on account of their religious principles.

On the accession of Philip to the throne, he republished the edicts of his father, and ordered the governors and magistrates to carry them into rigorous execution.— In 1559, Philip left the Netherlands, to take up his residence in Spain; sometime after which, as the doctrines of the reformers continued to spread, he sent the duke of Alva, a nobleman of the most vindictive spirit, to subdue the heretics by the arm of power.

On his arrival, the duke commenced his work of bloodshed; and in the space of a few months, caused eighteen hundred persons to suffer by the hand of the executioner; yet his thirst was by no means satiated. Following up this work of carnage, he filled the whole country with consternation, and multiplied the victims of his cruelty, till even the magistrates, who assisted him in his sanguinary course, recoiled with horror at the cruelty, to which their sanction was required.

At length, some of the nobility, who were in general hostile to the Protestants, but who were shocked at the sanguinary proceedings of Alva, had the courage to remonstrate to the king against the governor's barbarity. Even the pope advised to greater moderation; but Philip was utterly deaf to all remonstrances, from whatever quarter they emanated, and the persecutions were continued, with the same unrelenting fury as before.

What else could be expected from a monster like Philip! Justly did the people of the Netherlands despair of obtaining mercy from a father, who could drive to distraction, and pursue even to death, a son. Don Carlos, from his earliest youth, had indeed been noted for the violence of his temper, and had early discovered a desire to participate in the government with his father. The latter, however, either from jealousy, or from a conviction of his son's unfitness for so important a trust, refused to gratify his ambition, and behaved towards him with distance and reserve. At the same time, he gave all his confidence to such men as the bloodthirsty duke of Alva. Don Carlos, aware of the conduct of his father in relation to the people of the Netherlands, and of the rigorous manner in which the duke of Alva carried his edicts into execution, did not scruple, on different occasions, to express his own abhorrence of such proceedings. He had sometimes expressed his compassion for the people there; had threatened the duke of Alva, and even made an attempt upon his life, for accepting the government; had been suspected of holding secret interviews with the marquis of Mons and the baron de Montigny; and had afterwards formed the design of retiring into the Netherlands, with an intention to put himself at the head of the malcontents.

Of this design, intelligence was carried, by some of the courtiers, to the king; who having consulted with the inquisitors, at Madrid, as he usually did in matters of great importance and difficulty, resolved to prevent the prince from putting his scheme into execution, by depriving him of his liberty. For this purpose, he went into his chamber in the middle of the night, attended by some of his privy counsellors and guards; and after reproaching him with his undutiful behavior, told him that he had come to exercise his paternal correction and chastisement. Then having dismissed all of his attendants, he commanded him to be clothed in a dark colored mourning dress, and appointed guards to watch over him, and confine him to his chamber. The high spirited young prince was extremely shocked at such unworthy treatment, and prayed his father and his attendants to put an immediate end to his life. He threw himself headlong into the fire, and would have put an end to his life, had he not been prevented by the guards. During his confinement, his despair and anguish rose to a degree of frenzy. He would fast sometimes for whole days together, then eat voraciously, and endeavor to choke himself by swallowing his victuals without chewing. Several princes interceded for his release, as did many of the principal Spanish nobles. But his father was relentless and inexorable. After six months, imprisonment, he caused the inquisition of Madrid to pass sentence against his son, and

under the cover of that sentence, ordered poison to be given him, which, in a few hours, put a period to his miserable life, at the age of twenty-three.

Philip had, before this time, given a proof of the cruelty of his disposition; when, as above related, he chose to be present at the execution of his Protestant subjects in Spain. His singular conduct on that occasion, and the composure with which he be held the torments of the unhappy sufferers, were ascribed by some to the power of superstition; while they were regarded by others, as the most convincing evidence of the sincerity of his zeal for the true religion. But his severity towards his son did not admit of any such interpretation. It was considered by all the world as a proof that his heart was dead to the sentiments of natural affection and hu manity; and his subjects were every where filled with astonishment. It struck terror in a particular manner into the inhabitants of the Low Countries; who saw how vain it was to expect mercy from a prince, who had so obstinately refused to exercise it towards his own son; whose only crime, they believed, was his attachment to them, and his compassion for their calamities.*

Similar calamities were permitted to be visited upon those who had embraced the Protestant faith in Spain. The inquisition had been introduced into that country, about a century before Philip took up his residence there. This institution met his entire approbation; he determined, therefore, to support it with all his power, and directed its officers to exert themselves with the utmost vigilance.

Before his arrival in the city of Valladolid, an auto da fe, i. e. a public burning of victims of the inquisition, had already been celebrated. There were still, however, in the prisons of the inquisition, more than thirty persons, against whom the same dreadful punishment had been denounced. Philip, eager to give a public proof of his abhorrence of heretics, desired the inquisitors to fix a day for the repetition of the auto da fe.

On the arrival of the day, Philip, attended by his court and guards, presented him. self to witness the execution of the miserable victims. After hearing a sermon from the bishop of Zamora, he rose from his seat, and having drawn his sword, as a signal that with it he would defend the holy faith, he took an oath, administered to him by the inquisitor general, to support the inquisition and its ministers against all heretics and apostates, and to compel his subjects every where to yield obedience to its de

crees.

This dreadful severity, joined with certain rigid laws, soon produced the desired effect. The Protestants were driven from Spain, or were obliged to conceal their sentiments.

In Germany, also, efforts were made by the Roman Church to crush the Protestants, and to regain her former dominion there. Through the bigoted house of Austria, war was commenced upon the friends of the reformation in 1618, and they were overcome and awfully oppressed. The oppressions they suffered called forth the interposition of the noble Gustavus Adolphus, of Sweden, who appeared in Germany with a small army in 1629, and fell in the battle of Lutzen, in 1632. After his death his generals continued the contest, till all parties, worn out by a thirty years' war, agreed in the treaty of Westphalia, A. D. 1648; in which the Church of Rome consented to confirm anew to the Lutherans all their rights and privileges.

Exertions similar to those in Germany, and even greater, were made to re-establish the entire dominion of the Roman faith in France. The Protestants in that country were denominated Hugonots, a term of uncertain origin, though it seems probable that it was derived from the word Haguon, a night-walker, the Protestants assembling pri vately in the evening for religious worship.

The introduction of Protestantism into France, and the opposition it met with from Francis I., have already been noticed (Period VII., 31.) Notwithstanding this opposition, the friends of the reformation gradually increased; and, at length, became nu merous in all parts of the kingdom.

The successor of Francis, Henry II., was even more bitter against them than the former monarch. On the day of his inauguration, he caused several Protestants to

*Watson's Hist. of Philip II. vol. i., b. viii.

be tied to a stake; and, as he passed by, the flames were kindled, as a spectacle for his amusement.

But it was left to the son and successor of Henry II., Charles IX., to exceed all his predecessors in hostility to Protestantism, and by a bold and wanton act of barbarity, to attempt its utter overthrow and annihilation. We allude to the celebrated and coldblooded massacre of St. Bartholomew, so called, from its happening on the day consecrated to that saint, viz. 24th of August, 1572.

At the period of which we are now about to speak, the actual ruler of France was the celebrated Catharine de Medicis, the widow of Henry II., and the mother of the reigning King Charles IX. In the bosom of this woman the spirit of ambition was predominant. It has been well said of her, “that unrestrained either by religion or humanity-despising alike the law of God and the opinion of man-she was fitted to move forward in the pursuit of her purposes, with the reckless and unshrinking audacity which their nature demanded, and to brook neither obstacle nor competitor in her path."

The people of France were divided, at this time, into two great religious parties. At the head of the adherents to the Romish faith, were the duke of Guise and his brother, the cardinal of Lorraine, who were nearly connected with the royal family by the marriage of their niece, Mary of Scotland, with the late king, Francis II. The chiefs of highest rank among the the Hugonots, or Protestants, were the two young princes of the blood, Henry, king of Navarre, and the princes of Conde. The main stay of the party, however, and the individual who principally directed it, both by his councils and his popular influence, was the able, brave, and virtuous Coligny; or, as he was generally called in his own day, the admiral of Chatillon. Of the general population, the immense majority were Catholics; but still the Protestants formed a very numerous and powerful body.

For a time, Catharine had managed to keep the ascendancy over both these parties—making use of the one, as necessity required, to balance the other-sometimes courting the alliance of the Catholics, and again that of the Protestants; just as it best suited, at the moment, the interests of her own authority.

But, at length, wearied with this sort of management, she appears to have resolved upon the adoption of a new policy. She determined to avail herself of the assistance of the stronger party to effect, once for all, the extermination and destruction of the weaker.

The occasion which Catharine determined to seize upon for the perpetration of her diabolical design, was one singularly calculated to deepen the revolting character of the tragedy, about to be enacted. To crown and consummate, as it was pretended, the reconcilement of the two religions, the court had proposed that a marriage should take place between Charles' sister Margaret, and Henry of Navarre. There is too much reason to conclude, that Catharine and her son, had, from the first, suggested this union, with no other object than drowning the day of its celebration in the blood of their unsuspecting subjects.

Every expedient was now resorted to, in order to make the Protestants forget their ancient jealousy of the court, and to lull them into a sleep of reliance and security. Old Coligny was invited to court; all his honors were restored, and he was consulted on affairs of state, with apparently more sincerity than in the days of his greatest intimacy. Coligny thus deceived, it was not wonderful that the great majority, who looked upon him as their head, should be caught in the same snare.

As the day, on which the marriage was to take place, approached, the Hugonot gentlemen, and even numbers of the humbler orders, who belonged to that persuasion, flocked to Paris, from all quarters. And by the middle of August, the capital had collected within its walls nearly all the persons of consequence, in France, attached to the new faith. On the evening of Sunday the 17th, the espousals of the royal pair were celebrated in the Louvre, with becoming festivity; and, on the following morning, the marriage ceremony was performed on an elevated platform, erected before the great door of the cathedral of Notre Dame, in the presence of a splendid company, composed both of Catholics and Protestants. In the evening, a supper and masked ball again collected the revellers in the grand hall of the Louvre, although most of the Protestants were restrained, by their religious scruples, from attending this conclusion of the day's festivities. Coligny himself was absent, under