One Candle

by Gale Sears

“Your presence here in these beautiful valleys offended him.”

  “Yes. The Waldenese in the old days had to be careful about their worship. They hid their Bibles. They held their meetings in caves. But after joining with the other Protestants they started to pray and preach openly. The duke didn’t like it.” It took Madeleine time to get out the next words. “He gave orders to exterminate them.”

  “Exterminate?” Albertina questioned.

  Madeleine nodded. “Yes. The Duke of Savoy said the Waldensian people must either convert and attend Catholic Mass or be driven into the high mountain villages. It would become their prison. It was January, but even with the snow and cold, most of the people left their homes and lands in the lower valley and traveled to the upper valleys. They would not give up their faith.”

  Andrew looked over to see how Albertina was accepting the information, and found her still and watchful. He figured she had talked with her friend about her beliefs, but supposed she knew little if anything of the persecutions they had endured. She needed to understand. “So by April, the duke was tired of waiting for the other Waldenese to follow his order,” he said.

  Madeleine nodded. “He sent his troops into the valley to slaughter the people. And they . . . and they were . . .” her voice trailed away. “The soldiers were like animals. They killed people in the cruelest way. Women and children torn to pieces.” Albertina sat up abruptly as though burnt by fire, but Madeleine was unaware of her. She looked up towards Mount Castelluzzo as she continued. “People thrown alive from the cliffs. Tongues cut out. Families burned in their homes. Young girls buried alive.” She was crying now, as was Albertina. The anguish in her young voice made Andrew cover his face. “Thousands of people . . . my people.” There was a long hesitation before Madeleine’s voice came again. “Why? Why would you want me to tell you this story?”

  Father Andrew dropped his hands. His voice was thick with emotion when he answered. “Because I want Albertina to know what your people went through for their faith, and I need to be reminded of the same.”

  Madeleine wiped her face with her napkin and quieted her emotion. “But you are a priest.”

  “Yes. Even more the reason.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I am not long for this world, child, and—”

  “Uncle!”

  Andrew turned to look at his great-niece. “How long do you want me to live, my sweet Albertina?”

  “Forever.”

  “One can only live forever in heaven.” He reached over and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, I am not going today.” He looked back to Madeleine. “But when I do go, little daughter of the Waldenese, I would like to go to heaven.” He leaned forward. “And even though you and I are far from that cruelty, I would like to ask your forgiveness.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes. For I would like to go to heaven with a heart filled with compassion and peace. Do you understand this?” Madeleine nodded. “Good.” He smiled at them. “Good.”

  Madeleine stood and moved to the balcony’s railing.

  Albertina watched her for a moment, and then turned back to her uncle. “Why would the church condone such a terrible action?”

  “Fear.”

  “Fear?”

  “Those in power would not have their power threatened.”

  “By the simple Waldenese?”

  “By anyone whose preaching would draw people away from the church.”

  “That makes me sad,” Albertina said.

  “Yes, because you have a good heart.” Andrew glanced over at Madeleine. “I think it is enough for today.” He called out. “Now, I think we need singing! First from Madeleine, then from Albertina, and then from the two of you together.”

  Madeleine turned. “If I can.” She wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks and moved to stand beside her friend. “What would you like me to sing, Father?”

  “I want the one your grandfather often sings—the one about the strength of the hills.”

  “It is one of my favorites,” Madeleine returned.

  “As it should be,” Andrew said, as he sat back and tried to get comfortable.

  Madeleine hummed a little to get the melody and then began:

  For the strength of the hills we bless thee,

  Our God, our fathers’ God!

  Thou hast made thy children mighty

  By the touch of the mountain sod.

  Thou hast fixed our ark, our refuge

  Where the spoilers foot ne’er trod;

  For the strength of the hills we bless thee,

  Our God, our father’s God!

  As the song continued, Andrew closed his eyes and saw images of the Waldenese holding fast to their faith in spite of bitter persecution, of teaching God’s word in dark caverns, of finding strength in the very cliffs surrounding them. He let the words wash his soul. Truth was to be honored whatever its source. He knew Father Pious would be alarmed by this broad thinking. Father Andrew smiled. All the more reason to hold to it.

  Notes

  The Easter Massacre occurred in April 1655 in the valleys of the Piedmont. Between 1,800 and 2,000 Waldenese were slaughtered, and thousands more displaced. The incident caused such outrage in Europe that the English prime minister, Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of Britain, threatened the Duke of Savoy with military action. He also encouraged the English people to pray and fast for the Waldenese and raise money for their financial support. John Milton, one of England’s great poets, wrote a moving poem entitled “On the Late Massacre in Piedmont.”

  The House of Savoy was established in the eleventh century. It controlled an area known as the County or Duchy of Savoy, which straddled the Cottian Alps. It included the Savoy land of eastern France and the Piedmont land of northwestern Italy.

  Chapter Nine

  Genoa, Italy

  June 28, 1850

  “Ah, brethren, it is Italy! Do you feel the gentle kiss of the air? Do you smell the lavender and the salt of the sea? And look! Look there, that beautiful old villa with the statues and fountains.”

  Elder Snow shared a look of amusement with Elder Stenhouse, and then turned back to watch Brother Toronto striding exuberantly down the Via di Porta Soprana, pointing out first a remarkable vista and next the smell of bread from a bakery tucked away on a narrow side street. Lorenzo had to agree, it was a bella vista—a lovely land of enchantment. He looked out over the port of Genoa where lay fishing boats, schooners, war frigates, steamers, and ships of many nations. The harbor was embraced by the arms of the gentle rolling landscape, which rose to higher hills, and then, hazy in the distance, the Apennines mountains. Scattered within the hilly province they were traversing, Lorenzo noted palaces, churches, simple stone houses, ancient buildings, promenades, and parks. He breathed in the smell of lavender and felt a sudden pang of melancholy. His wife Charlotte sometimes brushed a light scent of lavender into her hair. The longing for family and home tugged at his heart, so Lorenzo turned his attention to a conversation with the man next to him to allay the gloomy feelings.

  “It seems as though Brother Toronto is glad to be back in his native country.”

  Thomas Stenhouse grinned. “Hmm. Whatever gave you that idea?” Elder Stenhouse’s Scottish manner and articulation added to the humor of the comment, and both men laughed. “’Tis a wonder of a place, no mistaking. In Scotland and England it’s likely we’d still be having fog and cold rain.”

  “And in Salt Lake, we’d be having heat and dry wind.”

  “Well, as the saying goes, ‘One must thrive where one is planted.’”

  Lorenzo sobered. “I am very grateful you accepted the Lord’s call, Brother Stenhouse. Only being in England those few weeks, I did not anticipate calling other missionaries to assist in this field of labor.”

  “I’m just glad I was living in Englan
d at the time of your arrival. And about anticipating the call, I often find it near impossible for us puny mortals to figure out the mind of God. Isn’t that truth?”

  “Indeed. And here you are, only twenty-four—”

  “Twenty-five, actually,” Elder Stenhouse corrected.

  Lorenzo smiled. “Twenty-five, as old as that? Twenty-five, and asked to leave a new wife and home.”

  “Ah, to be sure. The beguiling Fanny Warn.” Elder Stenhouse tried to keep his demeanor light, but his voice thickened with emotion. “She’s a fair one, to be sure. The light of my life.”

  Lorenzo put his hand on the man’s arm. “And I witnessed how difficult it was for you to leave her, Thomas.”

  “No more so than you, Elder Snow. No more so than you when you left your family. If the people of Italy only knew the sacrifices we have made for their sakes, they would have no heart to reject us.” He gave Lorenzo a steady look. “Here’s the thing. I believe you to be an apostle of God, set apart to do the work the Lord has called you to do. If that is my testimony, then who am I to say no when my name is called out?”

  “Thank you for that, my friend.”

  Brother Toronto came back from his wanderings to join them. “I am sorry, my brothers, to leave you behind. I am going off in a trance. My heart cannot stop bringing everything to it.” He made a sweeping motion with his arms as though bringing all of Genoa to him.

  Brother Stenhouse thumped him on the back. “Perfectly understandable, Brother Toronto. The air of Italy is in your lungs.”

  “Yes! Yes, that is it, right? I have not been feeling so well, but now my blood is gaining the energy.”

  “Yes. We can hardly keep up with you,” Elder Snow said.

  Brother Toronto stood straighter and placed his hand over his heart. “So now I will be a good missionary and stay nearby. You tell me where you want to go. We can go to the docks, to the house of Christopher Columbus, or perhaps to the Cathedral di San Lorenzo. It is beautiful. Not too far.” Brother Toronto stopped talking and looked expectantly at Elder Snow.

  “The library,” Lorenzo said.

  “The library? You have been in Italy three days and you wish to go to the library?” Brother Toronto studied his leader with skepticism.

  “Do not worry, Brother Toronto. I have not lost my wits. There is purpose in my request.” Four Catholic priests in black robes and three-cornered hats passed them at that moment and Lorenzo nodded to them. After they passed, Lorenzo continued his explanation. “When President Young was calling out the fields of missionary service at the general conference, I had the calm impression that I would be among the names called. What I did not expect and what unsettled my spirit was the place to which I was called. I know that the men and women of Italy are my brothers and sisters. I know that God loves them tenderly as He does all His children, but how to reach them with the gospel message is our dilemma.”

  “Considering the government will not let us preach openly,” Brother Stenhouse said.

  Lorenzo nodded. “And the people live under a shroud of religious superstition and tradition.”

  “This I know well,” Brother Toronto said. “It makes it hard for the ears to hear new things,” he added, pointing to his ears.

  “Yes,” Lorenzo agreed. “It is something I have been contemplating with deep solicitude. How are we to proceed? Where does the Lord wish us to go?”

  “We have been praying for guidance also,” Brother Stenhouse said.

  “For that, brethren, I am grateful. The Lord knows our hearts and hears our prayers. Of this I am sure. And I believe there may be a glimmer of light hidden away in the valleys of the Piedmont.”

  The two companions were silent at this pronouncement. Finally, Brother Stenhouse said, “Have . . . have you received revelation, then, Elder Snow?”

  Lorenzo smiled. “Well . . . guidance, Brother Stenhouse. Guidance. Last evening, on returning from one of my solitary walks, I met with a teacher from England who is in Italy doing research. In the course of our conversation he inquired as to my business, and I told him I was a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was of no particular faith, but felt for the difficulty of our situation in the towns and cities of Italy. He then inquired whether I had heard of the Waldenese people.”

  “Waldenese?” Brother Stenhouse questioned.

  “Yes. A group of Protestant believers living in the Alpine mountains of the Piedmont.” Lorenzo turned to Brother Toronto. “Have you ever heard of them, brother?”

  “I have not, Elder Snow. I have never heard this name.”

  “I tell you, brethren, when I heard it, a flood of light seemed to burst upon my mind, and I determined to learn more about them.”

  “Hence our trip to the library,” Brother Stenhouse said with a smile.

  “Yes.” Lorenzo laid his hand on Brother Toronto’s shoulder and looked between the two men. “I didn’t share this news with either of you last night because I needed time to contemplate.”

  Brother Toronto chuckled. “Of course—you are the apostle. I am not going to question what you do.” He tipped his hat. “So even though I cannot read, I know what I am going to do.”

  Lorenzo gave him an amused look. “And what is that, Elder Toronto?”

  “I am going to take you to the library!”

  Lorenzo had never been in a library housed in what had been a palace. The marble floors of the ballroom were covered with exquisitely woven area rugs and furnished with leather couches and armchairs. These heavy furnishings sat in contrast to the pastel-painted ceiling and sparkling chandeliers. Lorenzo brought his gaze back to the thousands of books that lined the walls. They sat on dozens of tall, ornately carved bookshelves, each flanked by spiral malachite pillars. Ten impressive world globes stood in a row down the middle of the room. He and Eliza had always loved libraries, and he couldn’t wait to write her a letter describing this marvel. He turned to the desk as the librarian approached. As his companions had deserted him for the intrigue of the books, Lorenzo steadied himself to attempt a bit of Italian.

  “Good day, sir.”

  “Good day.”

  “I . . . I am desiring a book on the Piedmont. On the Waldenese people. Do you have anything?”

  “The Waldenese? Yes, we do. But I am sorry. A lady has just taken it.”

  “Just taken it?”

  “Yes, just a couple of hours ago. I am sorry. Maybe you can come back next week?”

  “All right. Thank you.” Lorenzo turned from the desk, a twinge of disappointment blunting his enthusiasm, and the urgency for information still troubling his spirit. He passed by a female patron in his search for his companions, but before he’d taken five more steps, the voice of the librarian called out to him.

  “Sir! Sir! Here is the lady! The lady with the book!”

  Lorenzo turned, feeling the warmth of the Spirit enfold him. He walked back to the desk just as the woman was handing the book to the astonished librarian.

  “Oh, this is a remarkable circumstance,” he said. “This gentleman has just called for that book.”

  “Oh, yes?” the woman asked. “Well, I went to the park to read, but found the content too heavy for a summer’s day. Do you understand this?”

  Lorenzo smiled. “Oh, yes, I understand many things.”

  She spoke nonchalantly as she retied the ribbon of her hat. “I was going to return it tomorrow, but then felt as though I did not wish to carry it around. So I brought it back. I am glad if it serves you.”

  “Yes. Thank you very much,” Lorenzo said with a slight bow.

  “Good day, sir,” the woman said to the open-mouthed librarian.

  “Ah . . . ah, good day, madam.” As the woman turned and left, the librarian’s gaze slid over to Lorenzo. “Well, what good fortune!” he said with a shake of his head. “What good fortune.” H
e handed Lorenzo the book. “Would you like to take it with you?”

  “No, thank you. I would love to read it here in this beautiful place.”

  The librarian beamed. “Yes. Yes, of course. There are many comfortable places.”

  Lorenzo nodded and went off to find his friends. They were settled on a couch at the back of the room with a large atlas opened across their laps. Elder Stenhouse looked up from turning pages. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “I did.”

  The men sat staring as Lorenzo related the improbable story of the book’s return.

  “Really, ought we be surprised?” Elder Stenhouse said with a grin when Lorenzo finished. “It never ceases to amaze me what the Lord can orchestrate.”

  “Nor I,” Lorenzo agreed. He leaned forward in his chair to peruse what his companions were studying. “Maps?”

  “Maps of northern Italy. I cannot read the words, but I am looking at the pictures,” Brother Toronto said with a wink. “We are trying to find one that gives details of the Alpine region of the Piedmont.”

  “Wonderful idea!” Lorenzo answered. “I will sit here and read, and you two will be geography experts.”

  For the next two hours the three Mormon missionaries sat in the splendid library in Genoa studying about a place and a people that, prior to this, had been unknown to them. While Brothers Stenhouse and Toronto found maps of the Waldenese homeland and made several rather exquisite renderings of the area, Lorenzo read of the beginnings of their doctrinal desires, their longing for the primitive faith, and their fortitude against hundreds of years of torture and oppression. His spirit recognized a kinship—a brotherhood of truth seekers.

  After deep contemplation, Lorenzo looked up from the book, his face filled with reverence. “Brethren,” he said quietly, “I am convinced that these people are worthy to receive the first proclamation of the gospel in Italy.”

  Note

  The incident at the library in Genoa concerning the serendipitous return of the book is actual. Lorenzo wrote about it in his journal.