Chapter X: The Worshipful Tooth (2)

During the next seven days the Wali-yakon was danced in the four dewales by people belonging to the caste of tom-tom beaters. The dancers wore hideous masks, and they danced to the sound of tom-toms. The dancers of each dewale have certain distinctive characteristics; some jump and leap and turn somersaults, and twirl round till the spectators are giddy. Some wear strings of little jingling bells and bangles on neck, wrists, and arms; others beat cymbals and hollow metal rings.

Then for seven days more, people of the Balibat caste danced round heaps of boiled rice, curries, cakes, and fruits, which they subsequently consumed; and when these fourteen days of religious dancing were over, the four pillars of jak-wood which had been fixed in the four dewales were removed, and, amid much beating of tom-toms and waving of flags, were carried to the river and thrown therein.

Then once more the shrine of the Tooth, and the bows and arrows of the gods, were brought forth for a final procession; and thus, on the morning of the thirty-first day, this prolonged and noisy festival was brought to a close.

(Surely to the people accustomed to such services there must be peculiar force in the Singhalese translation of our Lord’s saying that ‘The kingdom of heaven cometh not with observation,’—‘not with Perahara,’ says the Singhalese version.)

All the main features of this festival are still annually observed, such as the _kap hitawima_—_i.e._, the division of the young jak-tree into the four logs—and the cutting of the waters, but the various companies of women have ceased to appear in the processions. Some new features have, however, been introduced, such as the appearance of young men in the attire of dancing-girls, their arms and legs covered with little bells. Vast crowds from the surrounding country flock to Kandy to witness the various processions, especially that returning from the river after the cutting of the waters, and the scene is very striking as seen in the bright morning sun, beneath a clear, blue sky, with so many thousand picturesque people dressed either in white or in gay colours, many carrying umbrellas of all hues, forming a brilliant foreground to the richly wooded hills which embosom the city.

To students of world-wide superstitions,[93] several of these details are suggestive, such as the recurrence of the numbers 3 and 9—the women three abreast, the temple elephants likewise, each elephant bearing a relic being escorted by one on either side. Then 3 times 3 comes in with the lamp having 9 wicks, and the offering of 9 betel-leaves and 9 kinds of flowers.

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Footnote 93:

In Scotland, where the ancient worship of sun, moon, and planets was
once as prevalent as in Ceylon, it may still be traced in modern
witchcraft, in the reverence for tides, sunwise circles, and these
mystic numbers. I have given various examples of these in ‘In the
Hebrides.’ On p. 257 will be found a modern charm to secure abundant
milk. A certain flower must be gathered during the flow of the tide,
waved thrice in a sunwise circle above the milk-pail, beneath which it
is then placed, while chanting an incantation to secure the nine
blessings.

Amongst the trials for witchcraft in 1607, I find Bartie Paterson,
teacher in Newbattle, accused of having cured a man by visiting him on
3 nights, and each night asking his health thrice 9 times of all
living wichts, in the name of Jesus. He also gave him a charm composed
of 9 pickles of wheat and 9 pieces of rowan-tree, to be worn
continually.

He was also charged with having cured his ain bairn by washing it
thrice at every corner of the Dow Loch beside Drumlanrig, and further
with administering water from this loch to a sick man, causing him to
lift the water-stoup thrice 9 times in the name of the Most Holy
Trinity.

For these offences he was sentenced to be strangled at the stake, his
body to be burnt, and his goods and gear escheat to the king.

In 1623, Isobel Haldane, suspect of witchcraft, being summoned before
the Presbytery of Perth, confessed to having made 3 large circular
cakes, each composed of 9 handfuls of meal gotten from 9 married
maidens, and had healed sick children by passing them 3 times through
the circular cakes to women who were on the other side of the cakes,
who then put the children 3 times backward through the cakes, each
time invoking the name of the Holy Trinity.

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Knowing what a hold Bali or planet-worship still has over the Ceylonese, whether Buddhist or Tamils, who naturally worship the Hindoo gods, it is interesting to know that the amulet most highly valued by all is one composed of 9 precious stones,—one to represent each of the seven planets, while the moon has two extra to symbolise its changes.

The amulet as worn by the Buddhists of Ceylon and Burmah is as follows; A sapphire represents Saturn; a topaz, Jupiter; coral, Mars; a diamond, Venus; an emerald, Mercury; a moonstone, the waxing Moon; a pearl, the full Moon; a cat’s eye, the waning Moon. These are set round a central ruby, which symbolises the Sun.

In India the stones composing the amulet of the Nava Ratna, or 9 years, vary in different provinces.

A very remarkable instance of the reverence for the mystic 9 was the magnificent Brazen Temple of Anuradhapura, which was nine storeys high.

As regards planet-worship, it has been pointed out as a strange coincidence that, in the division of the week, the Singhalese should not only have retained the seven days, but should actually have named each after the same planet as owned that same day, both amongst the Chaldeans and Egyptians, and also in the Western world.

In English, four of the days were filched from the planets in honour of the Scandinavian gods Tyr, Wodan, Thor, and Freya, but across the Channel our French neighbours retain the planetary names Mardi, Mercredi, Jeudi, Vendredi.

DAYS OF THE WEEK IN SINGHALESE.

Day. Planet. Planet. Day. _Irida_, from _Iru_, the Sun, and } _dawasa_, a day } = Sunday, _Handuda_, ” _Chanduya_, the Moon, = Monday. _Angaharuwada_, ” _Angaharuwa_, Mars, = Tuesday. _Badadada_, ” _Buda_, Mercury, = Wednesday. _Brahaspatinda_, ” _Brahaspati_, Jupiter, = Thursday. _Sicurada_, ” _Sikura_, Venus, = Friday. _Senasarada_, ” _Senasura_, Saturn, = Saturday.[94]

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Footnote 94:

I am indebted for the above to G. W. Mercer, Esq., of Glen Tulchan,
long resident in Ceylon.

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To return to the illustrious Tooth. Its history enters so largely into that of Ceylon that it is worth a few moments’ consideration on that score, to say nothing of its exceeding sanctity in the eyes of so many millions of our fellow-creatures. Its adventures were early recorded in the Deladawanso, a work still extant, written in Elu, and translated into Pali, A.D. 1196. From this, it is said, the story was quoted in the Maha-wanso.

The original article is supposed to have been one of Buddha’s four eye-teeth, rescued from his funeral pyre when he was cremated, B.C. 543, at Kusinaga, about a hundred miles to the north of Benares. Of these four teeth, one is said to have been translated to the Heaven of Indra; the other three were secured by the king of Kalinga, the king of Gandhara, now Peshawur, and the Naga kings. The two last may perhaps be the ancestors of various other holy teeth which are treasured in various countries, but the second is supposed to be that which is now at Kandy.

Immediately after Buddha’s cremation, it was carried off to the kingdom of Kalinga, south-west of Calcutta, where its sanctity was at once recognised, and it received devout worship. Thenceforward the capital was called Danta-poora, the city of the Tooth, and a great festival was annually celebrated in its honour, almost identical with that which is still observed in the same district by the worshippers of Juggernaut. (Kalinga is supposed to be the ancient name for Orissa, and Danta-poora is the modern Puri.)

All went on peacefully, till at length one of these Buddhist kings (determined to establish uniformity of faith throughout his dominions) banished all the remaining Brahmins from the land. These fled to the court of a greater king, who dwelt in the north, to whom the kings of Kalinga owed homage. Straightway an army was despatched, with orders to conquer the Buddhist king, and carry off the relic.

It seems, however, that the invading princes were at once converted on beholding the sacred Tooth. They escorted it with all reverence to the Imperial Court, where the wrathful Emperor commanded its immediate destruction. But vain were all the efforts of the Brahmins to annihilate that precious fragment of ivory. They cast it into the fire, but it re-appeared from amid the flames safely folded within the leaves of an exquisite lotus-flower; they tried to grind it to powder on an anvil, but the most crushing blows left it safely embedded in the hard iron. Then they made elephants trample upon it, that it might sink into the earth, but once more it rose from its burial, enthroned in the heart of a lotus-blossom, the petals of which were of fine gold, and its heart of silver.

Still the Brahmins would not acknowledge themselves defeated. They took the wondrous tooth and cast it into the foul sewers of the city. Straightway the sewers disappeared, and in their place there appeared a clear and beautiful lake, whereon floated lilies of many hues, whose fragrance attracted clouds of murmurous bees. This time the Brahmins were silenced, and the Emperor and all his people embraced the faith of Buddha, and paid their adoration to the wonder-working and indestructible relic.

The Emperor appears to have restored the precious treasure to the safe keeping of the kings of Kalinga, for long afterwards, when the reigning king found himself sorely beset by his foes, he bade his daughter, the Princess of Kalinga, conceal this treasure in the coils of her thick long hair, and make her way to Ceylon.

This she did A.D. 311, where King Kirti Sri Megahawarna received it with all possible honour, and built for it a splendid temple at Anuradhapura. It remained in Ceylon till about A.D. 1303, being carried from place to place, as successive kings changed their royal residence; but wherever it was taken, a splendid temple was erected to its honour. Amongst the places thus distinguished were Pollonarua, Hastiselapura, Kataragama, Delgamoa, Kotmalie, Beligala, Dambadeniya, Yapahame, Kurunegala, Kotte, Sitawaka, Delgamuwa, Nilambe, Hanguranketa, Kondesahe, and lastly Kandy. At some of these places ruins of the temples still exist, and I visited several in different parts of the island.

At length the Malabar conquerors captured this bone of contention and carried it off to Southern India. Thither in 1319 the King of Ceylon, Prakrama Bahu III., went in person to negotiate its surrender, and ransomed it for a price beyond telling. Then with much pomp and ceremony he carried it back to the Isle, and all the people rejoiced greatly, and exalted it to double honours.

Thus it continued to receive the adoration of multitudes until the coming of the Portuguese, who in A.D. 1560 captured it among the spoils of the principal temple at Jaffna, where it was said to have been sent for security. They took it to Goa, and thither the King of Pegu (who, being a devout man of exceeding wealth, had annually sent embassies to do it homage) despatched an ambassador craving permission to ransom it at whatever price might be named—offering a very large sum of money in addition to great political advantages.

Such an offer was exceedingly tempting, as it was justly urged that the heathen would only manufacture a new tooth were this idol destroyed; but the influence of the clergy was exerted so powerfully, that even the temptation of gold was withstood, and the ugly little Tooth in its golden setting was brought forth by the clergy in solemn state and placed in a mortar, where, with his own hand, the Archbishop, Don Caspar, bruised it to powder in presence of the Viceroy, and of a great assemblage of clergy and laity. The powder was then burnt in a brazier which stood ready, and the charcoal, with this minute atom of ash, was cast into the river in presence of all the multitude.

But true believers declare that the Holy Tooth was miraculously re-formed in the heart of a lotus blossom, and I suppose they consider its increase of bulk to be part of the miracle, for thousands of pilgrims have continued year by year to flock to Ceylon to adore the lump of ivory which the priests substituted for the lost treasure. (The marvel is, that they should not have replaced it by a human tooth. Surely such an offering would have been truly acceptable to Buddha! and they might have cast lots to know which of them might have the privilege of sacrificing one of his own!)

The Portuguese declare the tooth which they captured to have undoubtedly been that of an ape (possibly shed by Hoonooman, the Monkey-god, himself, and slyly substituted by some Brahmin!)

Certainly it does seem strange that so precious a treasure should have been sent to a place so remote as Jaffna, in the extreme north of the Isle, whose inhabitants are mostly Tamils and Brahmins. The Singhalese themselves maintain that the real tooth had been sent for safety to Saffragam. However, the tooth captured by the Portuguese had all the credit of being genuine, and the piece of ivory now held in such reverence was not heard of for many a day, and in the meantime the idea suggested by the Viceroy of Goa, that the destruction of the relic would only lead to the manufacture of another, proved literally true, for in a very short time _two_ spurious teeth appeared in the market!

The story of their manufacture was minutely recorded by Diego De Couto, who was intimately acquainted with several witnesses of the various scenes. He tells how in A.D. 1564, Brama, King of Pegu, sent ambassadors to Don Juan, King of Cotta, asking his daughter in marriage (the astrologers having predicted at his birth that he was to marry a princess of Ceylon). It so happened that the King of Cotta had no daughter, but the shipload of rich gifts was irresistible, and as he had brought up in the palace a daughter of his great chamberlain, who was of the blood royal, the king agreed with his kinsman that he should pass her off as his own, and send her to be the king’s bride.

They further agreed to have a facsimile of the ape’s tooth made of a bit of stag’s horn: this was mounted in gold, enclosed in a costly shrine, and conveyed to the house of the chamberlain, who then in strictest confidence disclosed to the ambassadors and their Buddhist priests that the tooth captured by the Portuguese was a fraud, and that the true tooth was concealed in his house.

Of course they besought permission to see it, which he granted with apparent reluctance, and finally led them disguised by night to a room where the tooth lay on an altar amid incense and lights. There they spent the night prostrate in devout adoration, and afterwards offered an immense sum of money and other costly gifts (including the annual gift of a ship laden with rice), if only this inestimable tooth might be sent to the King of Pegu, together with his bride.

The wily chamberlain decided that two such treasures should go separately; so the princess was despatched first, and was received with the utmost magnificence, all the people being required to swear allegiance to her as their queen. Ere long the fact that she was really only the daughter of the chamberlain reached the ears of the king, but the damsel had found so great favour in his sight that he ignored the matter, especially as his ambassadors and the priests then took occasion to tell him about the precious tooth, and of their negotiations to obtain possession of it.

‘This,’ said De Couto, ‘excited the desire of King Brama, who reverenced that tooth above everything in life, _even as we esteem the tooth of St. Apollonia_ (though I shall not say much of the tooth of that sainted lady) more highly than the nail which fastened our Saviour to the Cross.’

Accordingly he at once despatched the priests and ambassadors to Colombo in a vessel laden with costly gifts, to negotiate secretly with the Singhalese king, who with the greatest solemnity and secrecy made over to them this newest fraud in its costly shrine. On its arrival on the shores of Pegu a multitude of priests and people assembled to adore it, and the King Brama despatched all his nobles in magnificently decorated barges to receive it with due honour, and bring it up the river in state to his royal capital of Rangoon, he himself going two days’ journey in a boat richly decorated with gilding and brocaded silks, to meet the splendid procession.

‘On coming in sight of it,’ says De Couto, ‘he bathed, sprinkled himself with perfumes, assumed his most costly dress, and on touching the raft which bore the tooth, he prostrated himself before it with all the gestures of profound adoration, and on his knees approaching the altar on which rested the shrine, he received the tooth from those who had charge of it, and raising it aloft, placed it on his head many times with adjurations of awe; then restoring it to its place, he accompanied it on its way to the city.

‘As it passed along, the river was perfumed with the odours which ascended from the barges, and when they reached the city, the priests and nobles of the king, and all the chief men, advancing into the water, took the shrine upon their shoulders and bore it to the palace, accompanied by an innumerable multitude of spectators. The grandees, taking off their costly robes, spread them on the way, in order that those who carried that abominable relic might walk upon them.

‘The tooth was at last deposited in the centre of the courtyard of the palace, under a costly tabernacle, upon which the monarch and all his grandees presented their offerings, declaring their lineage, all which was recorded by scribes nominated for that duty. Here it remained two months, till the Vihare which they set about erecting could be constructed, and on which such expenditure was lavished as to cause an insurrection in the kingdom.’

In the following year details of all these transactions reached the ears of Wikrama Bahu, King of Kandy, who was filled with jealousy that his kinsman, the King of Cotta, should have secured so much treasure. He therefore despatched an envoy to the King of Pegu to tell him the whole truth, of how the wife and the tooth he had secured were alike frauds, the genuine tooth being in the safe keeping of the Kandyan monarch himself, who now offered his own royal daughter in marriage to the King of Pegu.

Apparently he also hinted at being open to a bid for the tooth, for King Brama, after due reflection, resolved to hush up the story of the frauds, and therefore merely replied that he was duly sensible of the honour designed for him by the proffered alliance, and likewise by the offer of the tooth, and that as a mark of consideration for the King of Kandy he would send back by his ambassadors a shipload of presents.

Thereupon he prepared two vessels, each freighted with rice and rich cloths, one for the King of Cotta, the other for the jealous King of Kandy. On board of the former he sent all the Portuguese subjects who had been held captive in Pegu, and from the lips of one of these De Couto wrote his narrative.[95] The vessel for the King of Kandy had her cables maliciously cut, and was wrecked in Colombo harbour.

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Footnote 95:

Translated from the Portuguese by Sir James Emerson Tennant.

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Sir James Tennant, commenting on this story, observes that ‘the Singhalese never seem to have been scrupulous about multiplying Buddha’s teeth, for Marco Polo says the great Khan Khubla sent to demand one in the year 1281, and obtained from the King of Ceylon two large back teeth, together with some of his hair.’

Long before the days of King Brama of Pegu, another Burmese monarch, Anarapta, who reigned in the eleventh century, sent a mission to Ceylon to treat for the purchase of the tooth, of which ‘a miraculous emanation’ was delivered to his ambassadors. It must have been a solid fact, for the temple in which it was lodged is still shown, attached to the palace of Amarapura.

Sir Henry Yule tells how yet another Burmese monarch, King Nauratha Men-zan, went with a large army into China to invite a tooth of Buddha to come to Burmah. The tusk, as it is called, declined to come, but a duplicate was miraculously produced, and was enshrined in the Shwé-Zeegoong Pagoda, one of the most celebrated temples in Burmah.[96]

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Footnote 96:

Mission to the Court of Ava.

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The Burmese, however, do not seem to have been satisfied with these duplicate teeth, for when in 1815 the present piece of ivory was captured by the British, the King of Burmah, Minderagu Praio, sent two embassies to Calcutta to treat for its purchase.

The British soon afterwards received a practical lesson in the necessity of guarding this coveted object, for in the insurrection of 1818 the priests in charge of it carried it off to lend its influence to the insurgents. By a happy accident the British recaptured it, whereupon the Kandyans laid down their arms, saying, ‘As the English possessed the tooth, they had the right to govern.’

It was then committed to the care of the Government agent, who kept the key of its shrine, and the temple was guarded by sentries till 1847, when objections being raised to such official recognition of idolatry, the relic was returned to the care of the Buddhist priests. Shortly afterwards, however, another insurrection broke out, and but for the timely action of the Government agent in securing the Delada, it would again have been carried off to inspirit the rebels. When all danger seemed past, it was restored to the priests, who have had it in charge for the last forty years.

Of the other teeth supposed to have been rescued from Gautama Buddha’s funeral pyre, I was shown one in the Monastery of Kushan, on the sacred mount overlooking the city of Foochoow. It is kept in a dull casket within a securely locked shrine. Before it lies an elephant’s tooth—an appropriate offering.[97] It is supposed to have been brought to China in A.D. 530 by an embassy from Persia to the Chinese Emperor. The Buddhists in China are said to have several similar relics.

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Footnote 97:

‘Wanderings in China,’ pp. 261-267. By C. F. Gordon Cumming. William
Blackwood & Sons.

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Fa Hian, the Chinese traveller who in the fourth century visited so very many shrines, tells of a tooth which was preserved by the priests at Ladak, and in honour of which a tower had been erected. He mentions another which was treasured by the King of Nakia in Afghanistan.

Mr. William Simpson, of the ‘Illustrated London News,’ has just sent me what he calls ‘a complete set of teeth!’ most of which are mentioned by another Chinese traveller—namely, Hiouen Thsang, who lived in the first half of the seventh century. He records that teeth of the Tatagata were to be found all over India, and as far as Balkh, where he saw a back tooth very much like the Delada at Kandy—namely, about an inch in length, and of a yellowish-white colour. He says it continually gave forth a lustre of happy augury. He saw another (which is described as a milk-tooth), answering to exactly the same description, in the north-west of Cabul, and one rather larger in Cashmere.

He was told of another enclosed in a stupa or dagoba at Nagarahara, the former capital of the Jellalabad valley.

At Bamian he found quite a collection of teeth. There was a back tooth of Gautama Buddha, and also one of a T’o-Khio Pratyeka Buddha, who lived at the beginning of the present _kalpa_. The latter was five inches in length, and rather less than four in circumference! A third tooth was that of a king who had turned the wheel of gold (Souvarna tchakra radja). This was three inches long and two in circumference.

At Nalanda, the great monastery near Buddha-gaya, he saw a tooth of Buddha an inch and a half long, and yellowish-white. He also tells of a mountain in Gandhara which was called Danta-loka, or Heaven of the Tooth.

Dr. Edkins says that in the monasteries of Northern China there are various teeth and other relics of Sakya-muni—_alias_ Buddha. He describes a tooth which he saw at the temple called Teu-shwai-sï, which was two inches and a half thick and ten by thirteen in width![98]—a miraculous tooth indeed, and yet insignificant compared with one, likewise attributed to Buddha, which weighs about twenty pounds, and is enshrined in one of the numerous temples which cluster round Mount O-mei, a mighty mountain 10,000 feet high in Central Ssu-ch’un, the great place of pilgrimage for the Buddhists of Western China. Only think how terribly poor Buddha must have suffered before he cut such a wisdom-tooth as that!

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Footnote 98:

‘Chinese Buddhism,’ p. 250.

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Apparently some special virtue attaches to teeth, whatever be their origin. In his ‘River of Golden Sand,’ Captain Gill describes an object held in reverence by the people of Ch’êng-Tu, in Northern China—namely, a stone called ‘The Tooth of Heaven.’ ‘It was merely a bit of sandstone in the shape of a tooth. There was a little house built over the entrance to it, but the roof did not cover the stone itself, for they say that if the stone were covered, the God of Thunder would commit some fearful devastation on the town.’

In India a few years ago a small tope was opened by Dr. Bird, near the Kankeri caves in the Isle of Salsette, and therein was found a copper-plate recording that a canine tooth of Sakya had once been deposited there. But it had departed.

Another vanished tooth is that of St. Patrick—at least there is an allusion in the ‘Archæological Journal’ (vol. xvi., 1859, p. 150) to the Fiocail Phadraig, or Shrine of St. Patrick’s Tooth.

Apart from things held sacred, the prices obtained for kindred treasures, even in modern England, are sometimes startling. Imagine Sir Isaac Newton’s tooth having been sold in 1816 for £730! The purchaser had it set as a ring, and wore it till the day of his death. ‘Wanted. A fool and his money.’ Would not that be the right heading for an auctioneer’s advertisement of such goods?

To return to the veritable Delada at Kandy. About twenty years ago the Siamese sent an embassy to Ceylon, offering a sum of £50,000 for permission to remove the Tooth to their own capital. The offer was rejected with scorn. They then begged that the Tooth should be dipped in oil, which they might carry back to their king.

But the ambassadors were not even allowed to look at the precious and greatly coveted object. They appealed to the British authorities, and appointed an agent to plead their cause. At his request the priests were commanded to produce the Tooth, that he might the better explain their exact wishes. No sooner was the jealously guarded treasure revealed than he produced a small piece of rag, and observing, ‘This is all my clients want,’ he rapidly rubbed it over the holy relic as if merely illustrating their wishes, and quickly dropped the rag into a small phial of oil. Thus the oil was consecrated, and endued with sufficient virtue to consecrate tons of oil wherewith to sanctify the whole kingdom of Siam. Of course the priests were furious, and vowed that the tooth had been desecrated; but the mischief was irreparable, and the ambassadors returned to their own land with their money in hand and a holy oil that was nearly as efficacious as the possession of the Tooth itself.

The account of the Siamese ambassadors and their little phial of consecrated oil reminds me of some very similar use of relics in our own land. Thus Dr Rock[99] mentions that in olden days, ‘when any widespreading disease befell this land and took off men or beasts of the field, our bishops would send forth orders that the relics in every church should be steeped in holy water, which was afterwards to be sprinkled on the sick or given them to be drunk as a medicine.’

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Footnote 99:

‘Church of our Fathers.’

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Hence arose the fame of the Durham water, wherein had been washed the dead body of St. Cuthbert, and the still more famous relic-water of Canterbury, wherein was mixed some well-diluted portion of the blood of the murdered Thomas à Becket (scraped up with the dust off the pavement), a relic which, being carried round the neck of ‘y^e pilgrime,’ was a sure safeguard against all ill.

We of the nineteenth century would fain believe that English common-sense had driven out all such folly. Yet it is only a few years since the daily papers were discussing the curious homage paid annually by hundreds of our countrymen in ire’ to the poor shrivelled hand of a certain Father Arrowsmith, which is kept in a white silk bag at Garswood, in charge of the Roman Catholic priests; and the sick and afflicted flock thither in hopes that they may be cured of their diseases by a touch of the holy hand. We heard of one poor woman who had travelled many miles to have this healing touch applied to a paralysed side, a curious revelation indeed of superstition in England in our own day.

As we ponder on the strange relic-worship of heathen lands, a stranger vision yet rises before us of the relics still held priceless by Christian people of the Roman and Greek Churches, and of many more, once precious objects of adoration, now lost to the faithful, such as a _Tooth of Our Lord, whereby the monks of S. Medard de Soissons pretended in olden days to work miracles_. Or that arm of St. Augustine, which our own Canute commissioned his ambassadors at Rome to purchase for the sum of one hundred talents of silver and one of gold!

We are inclined to smile at the superstition of the Kandyans who carried the Tooth to battle to ensure victory, but we forget that King Robert Bruce so greatly revered the arm of St. Fillan that he caused it to be carried by the Abbot of Inchaffray to grace the battle of Bannockburn, and doubtless gave the relic its full share of credit for his glorious victory.

About fifty years earlier, King Henry III. had summoned all his nobles and wise men to meet in London. Multitudes assembled, marvelling for what purpose their presence was required. The king then solemnly announced that the Grand Master of the Knights Templars had sent him a phial containing a few drops of that Most Precious Blood shed upon the Cross, and _attested to be genuine_ by the seals of the patriarch of Jerusalem, and others! He commanded that on the following day a great procession should be formed, to conduct this inestimable relic to Westminster Abbey; and it has been recorded that though the roads between St. Paul’s and Westminster were deep and miry, the king never took his eyes off the sacred phial till he had safely deposited it in the Abbey, dedicating it to God and St. Edward. ‘Thus,’ says the old historian, ‘was all England made to shine with glory!’

Doubtless many remember the fresco in the Grand Master’s Palace at Malta, showing the Earl of Cornwall receiving a Reliquary ‘full of the Blood of Christ.’ And among the relics at Città Vecchia in Malta are a piece of the True Cross, a fragment of St. Paul’s arm, and some milk of the Blessed Virgin! Verily Christianity can ill afford to jeer at Buddhist relic worship. If, as seems probable (indeed, wellnigh certain), this practice was borrowed by the Christians from the followers of Buddha, the pupils have surely surpassed their teacher in their multitude of strange objects of veneration.

As to the fragments of the True Cross, treasured by all the Churches, it has been computed that, were they all collected, they might suffice to build a ship of the line! This was openly acknowledged by the priests, who rather glorified in the fact: St. Cyril, after declaring that the whole earth was filled with this sacred wood, went so far as to compare its amazingly diffusive powers to the miracle of the loaves and fishes!

The tears of our Saviour, and those of the Virgin and of St. Peter, were also bought freely by pilgrims to the Holy Land, and brought home in jewelled caskets, while the hair and toe-nails of divers saints have ever been treasured as priceless relics. Of St. Peter’s nails it was estimated that enough existed to have filled a large sack, so prolific were the sacred toes of that great apostle. Some of these are still preserved at Aix-la-Chapelle, and the faithful make pilgrimages from afar to gaze upon them!

To such an extent was the veneration for Christian relics carried, that in the days of Constantine it was solemnly decreed in Council that all altars beneath which none were found should be demolished, as a church without relics could not be consecrated; and so, even in the present day, the Church of Rome requires that some holy tooth, hair, or nail shall, on the consecration of every new church, be carried in solemn procession by the priests to the altar, and therein deposited by the Bishop (who stands mitreless to receive that precious reliquary, hoping perhaps that his own bones may some day receive similar honour). Having duly offered incense, he anoints the covering-stone with holy oil, and so seals the relic tomb, while solemn anthems rise, and prayers are duly said.

We can only account for such strange excrescences of Christianity (professedly the worship solely of One Living Lord) by the assumption that even among ourselves the widespread instinct of ancestor-worship survives to an extent we dare not admit.

How else can we account for the craving for saintly relics even in this wise nineteenth century? In Italy, not many years ago, it led to a scene that would disgrace savages—namely, a free fight over the dead body of a saintly Bishop, which resulted in the populace tearing off every fragment of his episcopal robes as most precious relics; so that at length the military had to come in and rescue the poor naked corpse, which the civic authorities were unable to defend.[100]

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Footnote 100:

This scandalous scene, which occurred at Torre del Greco in August
1872, was thus reported by the _Daily News_ :—

‘Last Monday, Torre del Greco was in a state of indescribable tumult.
The Bishop of Ischia, Monsignor Romano, who was a native of the place,
had died, and on that day was to be buried in the public cemetery.
Some time before his death popular feeling had declared the dying
Bishop to be a saint. When he died his body was first laid out in the
church, and thence, on Monday, the 5th, followed by an immense crowd,
was conveyed to the cemetery.

‘But it was not destined to reach on that day its earthly
resting-place, for before entering the gate messengers came hastening
from the town to announce that the dead Bishop was working miracles—
that one lame man of Sorrento had suddenly been able to walk; that
another who for years could only crawl on crutches had thrown them
away and attained the use of his limbs; that a young waiter in a café,
known for years to be dumb, had received the use of his speech; with
other marvels of the like kind. “A miracle! a miracle! a miracle!” cry
the excited crowd.

‘The bearers of the corpse were prevented from entering the cemetery.
The funeral procession turned back; and as the coffin was brought
again to the church of Torre del Greco, cries of “Bring out the sick!”
“Bring out the fever patients!” “Bring out the paralytic!” rang out
all along the road, the crowd telling the inmates of the houses before
which they passed to carry into the street the sick, that they might
participate in the miraculous cures which the dead Bishop was
effecting.

‘At length the corpse was brought to the church; the large crucifix on
the altar was torn down, and the dead body of the wonder-working
Bishop put in its place. The deceased had been arrayed in episcopal
garments, but these soon disappeared. The populace, in the belief that
the powers of the dead saint would attach to every shred of his
clothes which they might secure, made a rush—each ignorant fanatic
energetically tearing and struggling to seize and carry off a precious
relic. So effectually was the corpse stripped that there remained at
last only the naked form of the poor Bishop.

‘The parish priest in whose church the scene took place, after having
vainly attempted to dissuade the populace, seems to have thought that
his own safety would be best secured by flight. Meanwhile the local
magistrate and the mayor, with a party of Carbineers, hastened to the
spot for the purpose of restoring order. The mob would not listen to
their exhortations. “He is working miracles!” “He is working
miracles!” was again the universal cry.

At this stage of the proceedings the steward, or manager of the church
funds, mounted the pulpit and told the people that the age of miracles
had passed away. He might have paid dearly for this untimely
announcement had not a sudden and violent ringing of the church bells
diverted the attention of the people, and brought them out into the
street to ascertain the cause. This diversion was dexterously taken
advantage of by the mayor and the other authorities. The doors of the
church were shut and barred, the naked corpse was left undisturbed,
and before long the arrival of a sufficient military force proved the
best preventive against a renewal of such outrages.’

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In France thousands annually wend their way to the Puy de Dôme, there to do homage to the ‘Sainte Ceinture’—the Holy Girdle supposed to have been worn by the Mother of our Lord—and which was conveyed to the mountains of Auvergne by a crusading Count of Poitou six or seven centuries ago.

Multitudes more make devout pilgrimage to a shrine near Samur, in the Alps of Dauphiny, to purchase holy water from a well said to have sprung from the Madonna’s tears, and which, consequently, is an infallible cure for sore eyes.

A leading article in the ‘Times,’ September 2, 1872, after speaking of the so-called miraculous apparition of Nôtre Dâme de la Salette in 1846, and reminding its readers how the case was tried in a court of law and proved to be a glaring imposture—a poor half-crazed lady having been convicted of acting the part, with the connivance of sundry other people—added, ‘Yet in spite of this, our Lady of La Salette is now greater than she ever was; a temple of enormous dimensions has risen in her honour; the pilgrims, who, till lately, did not exceed 40,000 to 60,000, are mustering this year more than the average; and the sale of the water from the Holy Well, said to have sprung from the Virgin’s tears, realised more than £12,000.’

Twenty years have elapsed since that leader was penned, and still the popularity of this Well of Tears shows no symptom of waning.

Thousands more betake them to the Holy Well at Lourdes in the Pyrenees, which was also sanctified by the miraculous appearance of the Virgin, and which also works wondrous cures on all threatened with blindness, provided they thrice pray, and thrice bathe their eyes with the healing waters. One devout pilgrim was so well satisfied with the benefit he there received, that he published a detailed account of his cure. The book rapidly passed through upwards of forty editions, and while bringing a considerable annual income to the author, has encouraged thousands of fresh pilgrims to press onwards to the same goal.

But we need not go beyond Ireland for cases in point, as every one knows who has visited Our Lady’s Well at Knock, in County Mayo, in the middle of August, when deaf, dumb, blind, paralytic, and insane persons may be cured by spending a whole night alone in the adjoining churchyard! Should anyone, however, touch or speak to them, the charm would be broken. A wall, near which the blessed Virgin was said to have appeared, had to be taken down, but the mortar was carried to the priest’s house, and has ever since been sold in fragments to give virtue to the foundation of new houses. All rain that falls on the chapel is so holy that it is carried home in bottles by the pilgrims. The first fire in a new house must be kindled by a blessed candle bought at this shrine; and if ever a turf fire goes out (which is unlucky), it must be rekindled by the same means.

To bring these strange subjects quite up to date, I must just refer to the exhibition of the Holy Coat, which has drawn such crowds to Trèves (or, as we must now call it, Trier) in the autumn of 1891. As every one now knows, the garment which has been invested with such sacred interest is supposed to be the very coat without seam worn by our LORD on the day of His Crucifixion, and for which the soldiers cast lots.

Where it lay for the next three hundred years, even ecclesiastical legend does not state, but about A.D. 311 a seamless garment of brownish material was brought from Palestine by the Empress Helena, mother of the Emperor Constantine the Great, on that memorable pilgrimage when she was supposed to have also discovered the True Cross.

She deposited the Holy Coat in the Cathedral at Trèves, where, in the ninth century, it was concealed from the ravaging Normans in the crypt, and was not rediscovered till 1196, when it was solemnly deposited by the Archbishop within the newly consecrated high altar of the Cathedral, enclosed in a beautiful chest of wood and ivory. Thence, three hundred years later, it was brought forth for exhibition at Easter 1512, when absolution was promised to all who came to do it homage. It continued on show for twenty-three days, during which the Emperor Maximilian held a Reichstag in the town, which brought thither representatives of the kings of England, France, and Navarre, besides numerous princes, dukes, bishops, nobles, and 100,000 pilgrims of lower degree.

Such was the enthusiasm awakened, that Pope Leo X. commanded that it should thenceforth be exhibited once in seven years. The progress of the Reformation, however, rendered this impossible or undesirable. In 1640, during the Thirty Years’ War, it was carried for safety to Cologne, thence to Ehrenbreitstein, Würzburg, Bamburg, and Augsburg, where it remained till 1810, when it was restored to Trèves, and welcomed with the wildest enthusiasm.

It was brought back in a waggon all garlanded with flowers, and every town and village through which it passed held festival. As it entered Trèves itself, all business was at a standstill, altars with burning tapers lined the road, streets were decorated, paths strewn with flowers, men and women wept for joy. At that time it was computed that at least 227,000 persons came to gaze upon it. Again, in 1844, it was displayed to still larger crowds, the total number of pilgrims exceeding a million of human beings, whose adoration evoked such response in the sacred vestment that it commenced working miracles, upwards of a score of miraculous cures of diverse diseases being circumstantially recorded.

And now in 1891, funds being required for the restoration of the Cathedral, it was decided to exhibit the Holy Coat for fifty days, from August 18 till October 6, so as to allow ample time for a multitude of pilgrims to bring their offerings. Large barracks were erected for the accommodation of pilgrims, tanneries and storehouses were fitted up with bedding consisting of sacks of straw, almost every dwelling-house arranged to let the largest possible number of beds at the highest possible price.

The one thought of all the inhabitants seems to have been how to reap the largest pecuniary harvest from the pilgrims. It is said that, with a keen eye to business, no less than four hundred persons applied for licences to open hotels and restaurants. But, besides the provision of necessary board and lodging, there was much ingenuity in devising a strangely varied assortment of objects for sale, such as medallions, rosaries, images, cigarettes, pocket-handkerchiefs, boxes of sweetmeats, even match-boxes, all bearing the picture of the sacred tunic, which was also embossed on the bowls of clay pipes! Near the railway stations there were whole villages of refreshment booths, and for the sale of these catch-pennies. A single firm ordered 1,500 dozens of one picture of the garment.

The city was gay with countless flags; the Bishop’s flag, bearing a great red cross on a white ground, floated from the Cathedral. Day after day endless processions of picturesque pilgrims with sacred banners poured into the city, wearing the distinctive costumes of their several provinces, and marched about the livelong day chanting Ave Marias and the Litany of the Sacred Coat. Dancing, concerts, and all secular amusements, were prohibited during the fifty days. As some consolation, however, there was granted a general dispensation from all fasting during that period.

The account of the disentombment of the sacred tunic from within the high altar is even more strange than are the details of the enshrinement of Buddha’s Tooth in its various cases. The provost of the Cathedral having read the protocol of the last locking up of the relic in the previous year, three officials opened the high altar, thence breaking out large masses of stone with heavy crowbars. A box about two mètres long was then lifted out and opened, and a long document and a smaller box covered with leather were taken out; within the latter lay another document and a third box of metal, fastened with six seals.

The Bishop threw a red cloth over this metal box, and with the aid of the provost carried it to the treasure chamber, where the seals were carefully examined, and found to be intact, after which the box was opened, and the Bishop took thence a parcel wrapped in blue silk, within which was a wrapping of red silk, and within that of white silk, enfolding the vestment, which he then spread out on the table. No one else was privileged to touch it.

It was found to be in so tattered a condition that it could not be exhibited. Various experts were consulted, and finally a venerable nun was called in, who proposed that the fragments should be gummed together, the material being too much worn to stand the strain of needle and thread. It seems to have been previously mounted in a similar manner, as a microscopic examination proved it to be a triple garment, the brown linen lying between a coating of purple silk and one of greenish silk, all of very ancient manufacture.

The garment thus renovated was placed full length in an oaken shrine, open in front and lined with white silk, and this was suspended above the altar, beneath a great golden cross, with a background of rich crimson velvet drapery. The Cathedral was all decorated with garlands of flowers and evergreens, and a thousand citizens of Trèves declared their willingness to take it by turns to watch day and night beside the precious relic.

On the day of the unveiling, a guard of honour of Knights of Malta in scarlet uniform (all members of ancient Catholic nobility) stood with drawn swords on either side of the shrine, and as the light streamed through stained glass windows on these, and on the very large white-robed choir, and a body of upwards of a hundred clergy in richest vestments, and on a vast company of worshippers, the scene was striking in the extreme.

Thenceforth every day, and all day long, a ceaseless throng passed in a continuous stream up the great marble stairs on either side of the altar, so as to pass in front of the relic. Thousands came by special train, thousands more by steamboat, and large waggons from the country— men and women of every degree, from highest nobles and ecclesiastics to poorest peasants, but the admission of children under ten years of age was discouraged, on account of danger in so great a crowd. It was found impossible to arrange for the admission of more than 45,000 persons daily, so multitudes had to wait their turn from day to day. In truth, they had need of patience, for not only had the various bands to wait for many hours in the streets, but from the moment of entering the Cathedral till he passed out again each pilgrim took about three hours, progressing at a foot’s pace, only a moment’s halt for adoration or veneration being possible when he actually reached the Holy Coat. Almost all carried with them some article—a handkerchief, a crucifix, rosary, image, or photograph, which, at the moment of passing, they handed to an attendant priest, that he might therewith touch the coat, and thus sanctify it for ever.

Day by day, at half-past four in the morning, the Cathedral opened, and crowds poured in from the darkness towards the blaze of light, where the Bishop and clergy ministered at the high altar. The pilgrims included many aged and infirm persons—cripples, blind, deaf, dumb, and many suffering from divers diseases deemed incurable, who had come from distant parts of Europe and America hoping to be healed. Those provided with medical and good-conduct certificates were permitted to touch the garment; and pitiful was the intense earnestness with which they awaited the eagerly desired miracle!

Nothing was more remarkable than the quiet and orderly conduct of these vast crowds of poor devout peasants. There was no drunkenness, and the publicans who had laid in incredible stores of beer and wine in expectation of much conviviality, were grievously disappointed at the small consumption thereof.

At the close of the fifty days’ exhibition, it was found that no less than 1,925,130 persons had visited the Cathedral, and many tardy pilgrims were subsequently admitted to the treasure-chamber in which the Coat was then temporarily enshrined. The united offerings realised an immense sum.

When so-called Christian relics are turned to such profitable use, we can scarcely wonder that the revered bit of ivory at Kandy should in like manner be exhibited as a secure method of raising funds for temple repairs.

In the case of all objects of veneration, it appears inevitable that many claimants for the honour should exist, and so it was found to be in this case, for no sooner was this exhibition of the Trèves relic announced, than various other cities were found to be in possession of a garment supposed to be that which was worn on Calvary. The most determined of these rivals was the Coat of Argenteuil, which was likewise subjected to microscopic investigation, and pronounced by the Pope to have been a genuine garment worn by our Lord, but in earlier years than that of Trèves; so Argenteuil had to bow to this decree, and accept a lower place in the scale of relic-owners.

But perhaps the most singular relics thus brought from sacred seclusion into sudden publicity are ‘the holy Trousers of Saint Joseph,’ enshrined in the treasure-chamber of the great church of Maria-Zell in Styria, the recovery of which is likewise ascribed to the Empress Helena on her memorable visit to Palestine. (I was not aware that such garments were worn in Judea in the first century, but here is proof positive!) They are preserved in a glass case behind a screen, in a corner of what is said to be probably the largest collection in Europe of curious relics of this sort. They are said to be much worn—in fact, to have been darned and patched. Women are not allowed to gaze upon these garments, which, however, are said to have wrought remarkable miracles for some lords of the creation, as is testified in a certain document bearing large official seals, and illustrated by a picture of a happy Croatian couple on their knees, followed by a troop of kneeling children, whose existence is ascribed to the miraculous influence of these remarkable nether garments! A small vignette also shows the happy father with his money-bags, kneeling at the feet of a group of bishops, one of whom is holding up these venerable trousers.