Tyranny and oppression flow from the will of man, and appear only in varied forms according to the circumstances of time and place. The fairest lands have been stained with the blood of the children of God, and the cry of the oppressed has been uttered far and wide. Throughout Europe, from the blue skies of Italy and the sunny clime of Spain, to our own favored Britain, the dark stream of hate and violence has, at different times, swept many before it with resistless force. The meek, the unoffending, the harmless, were the sufferers, while the haughty and overbearing tyrant triumphed in their destruction again and again.
It is an intense relief to turn from the havoc made by man, and look upon the works of God which are far beyond the human hand to destroy. Thus from the city of Rome, so fraught with memories of guilt and cruelty, the eye can be attracted peacefully to the cloudless heavens above, or around on the Italian landscape spread out to view. In France, too, one can look away from many a priest-ridden town and valley steeped in ignorance and superstition, to where some stately mountain raises its hoary head, commanding a long and admiring gaze. The very purity of the snow and ice of God’s own giving, which rest on the summit, may well point the ignorant human mind from thoughts of man to his Creator-God. If in our island-home we have not the white-capped Alps, or Italian skies, we have yet much to remind us of God’s beautiful creation, as well as of man’s sin and folly in marring everything committed to his trust.
For centuries of that which men call “the Christian era,” Europe was wrapped in error and superstition, yet there were ever a few faithful ones who desired to obey God rather than man. These may often have seemed merged in the multitude, but “The Lord knoweth them that are His,” and not one of His believing people could possibly be forgotten by Him. As soon, however, as these obedient souls became known to their fellow-men by seeking to “depart from iniquity,” the storms of persecution began to assail them with ever increasing force, till many were swept onwards to perish by the enemy’s violence.
The sword was freely used for speedy destruction, but when the numbers of the faithful were great, the most common way of putting them out of the world seems to have been by fire. A very public place was usually the scene of martyrdom, unless in cases where the opinion of the people was feared as being strong on behalf of the victim. Priests and soldiers were generally prominent in the procession to the place of death.
When fire was the means employed, a stake was driven into the ground for each one who was to die. Round this, great fagots of wood were piled, the prisoner was bound in the midst, and then the lighted torch applied. Shortly before that last touch was given, it was usual to entreat the doomed one to change his mind. If he took this opportunity to confess Christ, his mouth was immediately gagged, but the gag was generally removed at the last if by any means a denial of the truth might be obtained.
Sometimes the end came speedily by suffocation from the smoke; at others, the body slowly smoldered in the flames. Many a martyr thanked God for being honored to die for Christ, and not a few prayed for their murderers with their latest breath. Others cheered their comrades, or spoke to the spectators as from the brink of eternity. Even the sound of singing could be heard, for many employed the last moments of their lives in praising God.
Ah! could the martyr and the persecutor have changed places for a moment, what a totally different scene would have been beheld! No patience, no endurance, neither peace nor joy in the man in the flames, but agony intense, both bodily and mental! But could the martyr have taken the persecutor’s place? Never! for the follower of the meek and lowly Jesus would have sought only to bless, and words of holy peace and counsel would have dropped from his lips. But places they could not change, and the fire was only a chariot to conduct a ransomed spirit to the presence of God. The hatred of man and the enemy’s ire were only hastening on to a glorious end the weary pilgrim feet.
The sword of the executioner was sometimes used, and this was a much less painful death than that of the fire and the stake. But that very fact made it less popular, because the enemies of God’s truth found inhuman pleasure in looking upon the lingering agonies of their victims. Kings and queens, lords and bishops, high and low, each and all took delight in the torture of those who were led forth to die. Therefore, for their depraved taste, the slower the method the greater the enjoyment.
In Psalms 76 we read these words, addressed to Jehovah by the inspired writer: “Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee: the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain.” How abundantly this was proved in the death-scene of many a martyr to the hatred and enmity of man! The more time there was allotted to the victim at such a moment, the longer could he openly testify to the worth of the holy One for whose name he was dying. If permitted to be heard, the martyr could speak with solemn power as face to face with death. When a hearing was denied, silent suffering to the end could still be the medium through which to show the meekness and gentleness of Christ. For all that was lovely in their lives or their words, was only the outcome of that which God had wrought in them for the glory of His Son.
While the times known as “the dark ages” held in slumber the European nations, one little light was shining brightly in the Alpine valleys of the south. As far back as the beginning of the fourteenth century, a people existed there who sought to maintain the purity of the truth so far as they knew it for themselves. When the night of error was at its darkest, God graciously gave power to some precious souls to hold forth the word of life, and that in the face of many a difficulty and countless dangers.
Separated from the outer world by the lofty mountains in which they had found a home, they passed their days in quiet seclusion and peace, far from outer scenes of fashion and folly. In the pursuits of agricultural life, and the daily toil which fell to their lot, that simple people endeavored to “live peaceably with all men,” and sought to obey God according to what they knew of His will. Their villages nestled in the valleys of the Alps, where these mountains rise in majestic grandeur, and form the boundary between France and Italy.
On the western side, where the range slopes to French soil, those Christians received the name of Albigenses; but on the east, where the valleys are within the Italian boundary, they are known by the name of Waldenses; and of the latter, perhaps, we may have heard most. Writers vary as to the origin of the name, but we usually think of them as “dwellers in the valleys,” so we speak of both Albigenses and Waldenses as Vaudois, which conveys that thought to our minds.
Some of the valleys were far up among the mountains, and could only be reached by steep and rugged ways. The lower lands are rich and fertile, but when such great heights are reached the climate is found to be cold, and the soil comparatively barren. The difficulties and dangers connected with their mountain homes were thoroughly understood, and a Vaudois could thread his way safely through all, when a stranger might have been lost or killed. And thus it was that these persecuted ones often escaped imprisonment and death, because so skillful in getting beyond reach of the enemy.