e
Protector here acknowledges an answer received to his previous
letter of May 25. [The answer had been delivered to Morland early
in June, when he was on his way through Paris, and transmitted by
him to the Protector. A translation of it is given in Morland's
book, pp. 566-567.] He is glad to be confirmed in his belief that
the French officers who lent their troops to assist the Piedmontese
soldiery in that bloody business did so without his Majesty's order
and against his will--glad also to learn that these officers have
been rebuked, and that his Majesty has, of his own accord,
remonstrated with the Duke of Savoy, and advised him to stop his
persecution of the Vaudois. As no effect has yet been produced
however, [Morland has by this time delivered his speech at Turin,
and reported the dubious answer given by the Duke of Savoy: ante
pp. 42-43], the Protector is now despatching a special envoy [i.e.
Mr. George Downing] to Turin, to make farther remonstrances. This
envoy will pass through Paris, and his mission will have the
greater chance of success if his Majesty will take the opportunity
of again impressing his views upon the Duke. By so doing, by
punishing those French officers who employed his Majesty's troops
so disgracefully, and by sheltering such of the poor Vaudois as may
have sought refuge in France, his Majesty will earn the respect of
other Powers, and will strengthen the loyalty of his own Protestant
subjects.

(LXIV.) To CARDINAL MAZARIN, _July_ 29, 1655:--This is a
special note, accompanying the foregoing letter, and introducing
and recommending Mr. Downing to his Eminence.

Besides these official documents for Cromwell on the Piedmontese
business, there came from Milton his memorable Sonnet on the same,
expressing his own feelings, and Cromwell's too, with less restraint.
It may have been in private circulation at the Protector's Court at
the date of the last two of the ten letters:

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT.

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,
Forget not: in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubled to the hil