but there are no greater hero-worshippers than the Americans; none love a title more than a stanch republican; and I, a Hebrew of the Hebrews! frankly own to this little weakness. I love the grand old names and titles. I look with curiosity and respect on the footprints of kings and crusaders, and even of knights of low degree, and I tread with reverence the stones the blessed saints have trod. …
St. Sernin's church, built in imitation of St. Paul's at Rome, is of the Latin style, cruciform in shape, terminating, in pious memory of the five sacred wounds of our Saviour, with five chapels toward the holy East; for the orientation is carefully fixed, as in all ancient churches. There are five naves in this church, separated by four rows of majestic pillars. It is rare to find these collateral naves.
On entering this church, one is profoundly impressed by the majestic arches and the length of the grand nave with the double row of arcades on each side. A mysterious light, coming one hardly knows whence, is diffused through the multiplied arches, disposing the soul to calmness and meditation. The long naves all seem, through the converging rows of columns, to point to that altar in the distance where is seen the twinkling light that ever burns before the tabernacle, drawing one on like a powerful magnet. The Christian heart feels the influence of a Presence diffused, like the light before IT, throughout the vast enclosure.
Thoreau, who only worshipped nature, impressed by the religious atmosphere of a great Catholic cathedral, said such a vast cave at hand in the midst of a city, with its still atmosphere and sombre light disposing to serious, profitable thought, is worth thousands of our (Protestant) churches which are open only on Sundays. "I think," says he, "of its value, not only to religion, but to philosophy and poetry: besides a reading-room, to have a thinking room in every city!" And who can tell the influence, not only on the mind and heart, but on the taste, of such a church with its paintings, statuary, holy emblems, and antique shrines which have for ages been the glory of one's city, and intimately connected with its past history?
The most striking object, on entering the principal nave, is the tomb of St. Sernin, raised in the air on the uplifted heads of four gilded bulls. Over it is a baldaquin on which is represented the apotheosis of the saint. The whole is richly gilded, and, when lighted up, has a brilliant effect.
Ossa Sancti Saturnini,
in large gilded letters, is inscribed on the sarcophagus. At first the taureaux puzzled me. I thought of the bulls of Bashan—of the cattle upon a thousand hills—and of the sacrifices of the old law, but I could not see their connection with St. Saturnin. But in recalling his martyrdom I found the solution of my perplexity.
St. Sernin, the apostle and first Bishop of Toulouse, was sent by Pope St. Fabian, in the third century, to carry the light of faith into Gaul. His success in the conversion of the people to Christianity so infuriated the priests of Jupiter and Minerva, who were specially worshipped in the capital of Toulouse, that they one day seized him, and, on his refusing to sacrifice to the gods, attached him to the feet of an infuriated wild bull, who leaped down the hill, dashing out the brains of the saint. Two holy women gathered together his remains, but the place of their burial was known only to a few till after the triumph of the Christian religion in the empire of Rome. An oratory was erected over his tomb in the fourth century, and later a church rose which was completed by the great St. Exuperius, the seventh successor of St. Sernin in the see of Toulouse—that saint so renowned for his charities and learning, and whose remains are enshrined in this church. He was the friend of St. Jerome, who corresponded with him, and dedicated to him his commentary on the prophecies of Zachary. St. Exuperius even sold the sacred vessels of the altar to feed his flock during a great famine, so the Body of Christ had to be carried in an osier basket, and a chalice of glass was used in the service of the altar—a chalice carefully preserved by a grateful people till the Revolution of 1793.
One loves to recall, among the many sainted bishops of Toulouse, that "flower of royal blood," Louis of Anjou, grand-nephew of St. Louis, King of France, and nephew of the dear St. Elizabeth of Hungary. At the age of twenty-one he was offered a kingdom, which he refused in favor of his brother, wishing to consecrate himself to God among the Franciscans. "Jesus Christ is my kingdom," said he. "Possessing him, I have all things: without him, I have nothing." He was ordained priest at the age of twenty-two, and obliged by holy obedience to accept the see of Toulouse. Before receiving episcopal consecration he made a pilgrimage to Rome and took the habit of St. Francis. The Toulousains received him with magnificence as a prince, and revered him as a saint. Like St. Exuperius, he was devoted to the poor, to whom he gave the greater part of his revenues. Every day he fed twenty-five poor men at his table and served them himself, sometimes on his knees. Terrified by the obligations of his office, he begged to be released from them, and God granted what men denied. During his last sickness, he exclaimed: "I have at last arrived in sight of the desired haven. I am going to enjoy the presence of my God, of which the world would deprive me." He died with the Ave Maria on his lips, at the age of twenty-three and a half years.
What renders the basilica of St. Sernin one of the most remarkable and one of the holiest spots in the world, after Jerusalem and Rome, is the number of the saints herein enshrined. The counts of Toulouse brought back from the Holy Land many relics which they obtained in the East. Thus a great part of the body of St. George was brought from Palestine by William Taillefer, eighth Count of Toulouse. Kings of France also endowed this church with relics. Those of St. Edmund, King of England, were brought to France by Louis VIII. The crypts in which most of these relics are contained are intended to recall the catacombs of Rome. In the eleventh century they were not in shrines or reliquaries, but reposed in marble tombs, and the faithful went to pray before them, as in the crypts of St. Calixtus on the Appian Way. Over the door leading into the upper crypts is the inscription, "Hic sunt vigiles qui custodiunt civitatem," and over the door of the pilgrims, "Non est in toto sanctior orbe locus." This door leads to the inferior crypts, which you descend by a flight of steps. The numerous pilgrims of the middle ages paused on each step to repeat a prayer. Thus they passed on into the numerous passages of the crypts, recalling the catacombs. As you go down into them, you pause amid your prayers to read an inscription, in red letters, on a white marble tablet: