“he must go to die!” Each verse began by a charming description of the life and beauty of the spring, and ended with the words, et moi je vais mourir!
Another ballad described the desolations caused by the persecution in the valleys. The husbandman sees his fields trampled down; “his walnut and chestnut trees burned down,—with what can he pay his taxes?” This lamentable ballad was full of power, simple and deeply bitter, and had long and dying cadences which resembled those in our northern folk-visor, yet have these a something still more melancholy in them. It amazes me that nobody has as yet noted down the words and music of these lamenting songs of the Waldenses. Les Complaints are an affecting memory of the tragical history of the valleys.
Arnaud's young descendants showed me the relics, which the family preserved with holy reverence; the silver-cup of the great ancestor, in which he dealt forth the wine when he administered the Holy Communion; his portrait, seal, &c. The eldest of the young girls bore in her handsome features a likeness to him. Mme. Peijrot's father, the old Arnaud, and last male descendant of his name, is a handsome old man, with snow-white hair, and it is beautiful to see him amongst the flock of blooming grand-children. The hill from which, in the old times, the peaceful valleys were fired upon and desolated, is now garlanded round with vines and fig-trees. Sleek, well-fed cattle, come home to the yard from labor, or from feeding in the valley.
After a month's residence in these valleys I am now about to leave them. I have had great enjoyment here, both from nature and from the people.
