One would like to think this the veritable horn of Orlando--which was so powerful, when sounded for the last time, that the very birds of the air fell dead, the Saracens fell back in terror, and Charlemagne and his court heard its notes afar off. There is far more enjoyment in accepting all these local traditions than in disputing their truth. Let us reserve our incredulity for so-called history.
From the tower of St. Sernin there is a magnificent view of the Pyrenees from sea to sea, and of a large extent of country full of historic and religious associations. Directly beneath is the old city of Toulouse, recalling Clemence Isaure and the golden violets, and the troubadours of an older time. St. Anthony of Padua frequented its famous schools. St. Dominick here founded the order of Preaching Friars, which has given so many doctors and missionaries to the church. St. Vincent Ferrier preached yonder in St. George's Square. In that same _Place_ afterward preached Friar Thomas de Illirico against the excesses of the Carnival, and against all games of chance, with such effect that all the cards found in the shops were publicly burned and the trade of card-maker abolished. One day, after the preaching of this servant of God, the capitouls had placed on the five principal gates of the city a marble tablet which bore _en relief_ the holy name of JESUS supported by angels--that name so powerful for defence that it makes the very demons tremble!
Another famous preacher of that time induced the capitouls to appoint four watchmen to patrol the city at night, from one till five, and chanting loudly:
"Réveillez-vous, gens qui dormez, Priez Dieu pour les trépassez."
Before leaving St. Sernin, we stop to murmur a _Requiescant in pace_ at the tombs of the counts of Toulouse, the first sovereigns who styled themselves "By the grace of God," and whose history is so glorious and yet so sad and tragical.
And as no Catholic Christian quits a church without leaving a tribute of love before the altar of the Madonna, so, before reluctantly leaving this antique basilica, perfumed with a thousand memories, I drop my bead at the feet of Mary, remembering that in this country were first strung together the bright jewels of the rosary, which have ever since adorned the garments of Christ's spouse--the Church.