CHAPTER X

THE WORSHIPFUL TOOTH

Blended faiths—Planet and spirit worship—Hindoo gods and Buddha—The

Temple of the Tooth—Oriental library—Tooth on show—Perahara—

Originally a Hindoo festival—3 and 9—Days of the week—Other teeth—

Christian relics.

Few things appear to me more remarkable—and surely none would more

surprise the European admirers of Buddhism—than the very strange manner

in which, in most countries where it is practised, it is so amalgamated

with the Hindoo mythology which Buddha sought to obliterate, that the

practical result of his teaching has been to add one more god—himself—

and innumerable objects of worship to those already so numerous.

In China,[86] in Siam, and in Ceylon this is specially conspicuous, but

in the latter the Hindoo images are sometimes excluded from the interior

of the _vihara_, as Buddha’s sanctuary is called. But in any case, they

almost invariably occupy a _dewale_ or house of gods in the outer

enclosure, where there is also a hall for the _kapuas_ or devil-dancers—

a very singular compromise between creeds which theoretically are so

antagonistic.

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Footnote 86:

See ‘Wanderings in China,’ vol. ii. p. 38. By C. F. Gordon Cumming.

William Blackwood & Sons.

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Thus these forms of worship are so curiously blended that the religion

of the majority of the Singhalese, though nominally Buddhist, is largely

coloured by Hindooism, and still more, whether avowed or only practised

in secret, by demon-worship, pure and simple. The extent to which the

latter prevails is extraordinary. There is not a village in the most

purely Buddhist districts which has not its _kattadia_ or devil-priest,

whose office it is to propitiate the innumerable malignant demons which

are supposed to be accountable for all the evils of every sort which

afflict poor human beings. As a minor precaution every small child wears

a charm of some sort—very often it wears nothing else!—and many grown-up

folk are similarly guarded.

A people naturally superstitious find demons and spirits requiring

propitiation in every tree and well, in dark river and raging

pestilence, in malarious swamp or neglected burial-grounds. Planets also

claim worship. The Bali, or planet-worship, is curiously blended with

demon-worship, and astrologers are consulted on every event of life.

At the birth of every Singhalese baby its horoscope is cast by one of

those, and so highly is the document esteemed, that even in the hour of

death more reliance is placed upon it than on the symptoms of the

patient![87] Again, the astrologer is called in to preside at baby’s

‘rice-feast,’ when some grains of rice are first placed in its mouth. He

selects for the little one a name which is compounded from the name of

the ruling planet of that moment. This name he tells only to the father,

who whispers it low in baby’s ear—no one else must know it, and, like

the Chinese ‘infantile name,’ this ‘rice-name’ is never used lest

sorcerers should hear it and be able to work malignant spells.

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Footnote 87:

In the case of the recent deeply lamented death from hydrophobia of an

eminent citizen, it was assumed to the last that the illness could not

prove fatal because his horoscope indicated a different cause for

death.

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Thenceforth at every step in life the counsel of the astrologer is

sought. He must decide the auspicious moment for the first shaving of

baby’s head, or in advancing years for the first shaving of the young

man’s beard; for starting on a journey, for commencing to build a house.

At the Singhalese festival of the New Year, which is in April, the

astrologer is ready to give each individual who will pay for them

directions how to secure luck for the incoming year. In case of illness

he carries far more weight than the doctor. The horoscope of the

sufferer is submitted to one of these gentry, who consults his

astrolabe, calculates the probable influence of certain planets, and

then prescribes the ceremonies or _bali_ to be observed, which include

incantations over a clay image representing the planet under which the

patient was born.

The astrologers are of all castes, from the lowest tom-tom beaters to

the highest agricultural aristocracy, and even include many Buddhist

priests, although this practice of divination was condemned by Buddha,

and is entirely borrowed from the Hindoos. The priests are, however,

wise in their generation, and like to reserve so important a hold on the

superstitions of their flock.

As to the Kattadias, they continue to make a very good profit on other

men’s labours, for the people do not venture to sow their fields till

the village priest has fixed a lucky day, when, having made their

offerings at the shrine of Buddha, they tie bunches of wild flowers and

cocoa-nut leaflets on sticks, placed at the corners of each field, to

scare away evil spirits. At harvest, too, the priest must choose a lucky

day for beginning work, in return for which he receives offerings of the

first-fruits. Sometimes in a corner of the field you may see a small

bower decorated with fragrant flowers; within this is placed a sheaf of

grain, together with a palm-leaf, on which the Kattadia has inscribed

mystic characters dedicating the sheaf to the guardian spirit of the

field.

An exceedingly singular superstition is prevalent in districts so far

apart as Tangalla in the far south and Jaffna in the far north—the

former being Singhalese and the latter Tamil—namely, the use of a very

peculiar _patois_, adopted by the villagers only during the most

important periods of the paddy cultivation, while sowing, weeding,

reaping, and threshing, the object being to deceive the malignant

spirits, which are supposed only to understand the language in ordinary

use. At the same time, they must be treated with a show of excessive

politeness.

The same custom prevails amongst the numerous agricultural moormen in

the eastern province. I quote the following interesting passage from an

account of these villagers within twenty years ago, by Mr. Somanader and

Mr. A. de Zylva, two of the local Mudaliyars:—

‘For threshing, Thursdays are considered the best days to commence,

and certain charms and ceremonies are performed to keep off _putams_,

or devils, from carrying away the fruits of their labour. The charm is

called _arrakku_, which consisted of the following stuffs shut up in a

box—viz., silver, copper, iron, coral, pearl, chanks, valampuri (a

fruit), chadaimudi (a vegetable), and some arrack in a vial—and buried

in the centre of the threshing-floor with margosa-leaves, &c., over

which the sheaves are heaped, and the cattle turned on them for

threshing.

‘In addition to these charms and ceremonies to keep off the devil from

stealing the paddy, they begin to use a peculiar slang to keep the

devils ignorant of what is spoken. For instance, the threshing cattle,

instead of being termed _madu_, as usual, go by the name _varikkalan_,

the meaning of which is ‘productive-legged’; the _marakkal_, or the

measure, is termed ‘accountant’; the baskets are called _peruvayan_,

or broad-mouthed, and every implement has a different name in the

threshing-floor. All expressions that have meanings suggestive of

decrease or other ill-omened significations are avoided, and the word

‘multiply’ is always substituted. For instance, the expression

Drive the bullocks is rendered, Multiply the _varikkalan_.

Sweep the corn ” Multiply the _poli_.

Bring the _marakkal_ ” Multiply the ‘accountant.’

Fill the basket ” Multiply the

‘broad-mouth.’

Bring some water ” Multiply some flood.

Go home for rice is rendered, Multiply home for white.

Call him to take this } ” { Multiply him to multiply

and deliver it at home } { this and to multiply at

home.

&c., &c., &c.

‘In threshing, cattle are driven with a song, the purport of which is

to invoke the deities to give them a good produce.’

Just as it was in the early days of Christian teaching in Britain, so in

Ceylon missionaries may work with comparative success against Buddhist

or even Tamil worship, but it seems scarcely possible to eradicate the

superstitious dread of demons, and so in the weakness of illness many so

far yield to the persuasions of heathen relations as to consult

astrologers or admit devil-dancers. Of course in many cases the luckless

patient has no voice in the matter.

But whatever be the illness or calamity in a Singhalese or Tamil home,

the devil-priests are sure to be called in, and come escorted by a

company of devil-dancers with wild dishevelled hair which is never cut

or combed, and wearing hideous masks to represent the devils who are

supposed to have done the mischief. They dance till they are in a state

of frenzy, while the Kattadia feigns to be inspired and talks

oracularly. An altar is erected, on which are piled flowers and rice,

and in some cases of illness a living red cock[88] is brought in, to be

touched by the patient and then sacrificed, or perhaps merely dedicated

to the demon, and given to his priest.

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Footnote 88:

For various instances of the identical sacrifice in Scotland in the

present half-century, see ‘In the Hebrides,’ by C. F. Gordon Cumming,

pp. 251, 252. Chatto & Windus.

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Among the old customs which still find favour with the natives,

notwithstanding the teaching of grave Buddhist priests, are certain

‘devil-dances,’ much practised about the New Year. They answer to our

Yule mummers; but their masquerading is of the simplest sort, as it

consists in a total absence of raiment, for which paint is the sole

substitute. The naked brown dancers are grotesquely painted from head to

foot, generally in stripes. Sometimes they adorn themselves with the

horns and tail of some wild beast, and go about in companies, dancing

wildly in every village, with an accompaniment of tom-toms and other

instruments of torture to the ear. Such severe exertion entails much

drinking of palm toddy; and when, at sunset, the devil-dancers and their

followers retire to the palm groves to spend the night leaping and

dancing round their blazing bonfires, the scene is as demoniacal as can

well be imagined.

A very elaborate festival in honour of evil spirits is sometimes held in

a district which has been ravaged by cholera or other infectious

disease. A temporary building of boughs is erected and draped with white

cloth and flowers; an altar is erected, on which offerings are laid, and

priests, who have been duly purified and are fasting, sprinkle the

worshippers with water tinged with saffron. Then follow incantations,

dances and all manner of games, representing the capture of elephants

and buffaloes, mat-weaving, &c. These continue through the night, with

an accompaniment of tom-tom beating and blazing of resin to symbolise

thunder and lightning. Finally, an earthenware vessel is carried to the

nearest stream, where it is broken to atoms, and its fragments are

thrown into the water.

The Singhalese especially dread one Yakka (_i.e._, devil) which is

supposed to haunt running water, and to cause much sickness. All those

malarial fevers which are so common in the damp jungles, more especially

near rivers, are attributed to him. Therefore they strive to propitiate

this water-fiend, or river-king, as they call him, by offerings of tiny

double-canoes, laden with flowers, rice, and betel, shaded by a canopy

of cocoa-palm leaves. After sundry ceremonies, these little barks are

launched on the stream; and in times of general sickness, such offerings

are so common that sometimes a small flotilla may be seen floating down

from beneath the cocoa shade, or stranded on some sandbank in midstream.

In cases of small-pox the goddess Patiné must be propitiated. She is

identified with the Hindoo goddess Doorga, by no means a pleasant

character. In her honour the Kandians play a game commonly known to the

British schoolboy as the tug of war. From among the tough twisted lianas

of the forest they cut two tough, strong, crooked pieces, shaped like

natural hooks. These they link together, and, having attached to each a

long stout cable of rattan cane, also from the jungle, they form

themselves into two companies, and, each holding on by the cable, tug

with might and main till one of the hooks breaks, when the victors place

the conquering hook in a palanquin, and carry it round the village with

shouts of triumph.

It is very necessary for anyone interested in the various ceremonies he

may chance to see in Ceylon, to bear in mind this curious blending of

faiths supposed to be so entirely antagonistic one to another.

Especially is this clue requisite to understand the greatest annual

festival of Kandy, known as the Perahara, or Procession, which is

generally assumed to be a great Buddhist ceremonial, whereas it is

really all in honour of several Hindoo gods and goddesses, the

Buddhist’s part being simply the nominal loan of a relic—in truth, the

loan of an empty shrine!

But seeing that the relic in question claims to be no less a treasure

than a veritable tooth of Gautama Buddha, and is the object of unbounded

reverence to all the many millions (somewhere about 400,000,000) who

worship him, and a relic for the possession of which bloody wars have

been fought, and incredible sums of money offered, it is perhaps not to

be wondered at that the priests take good care to lock it up securely,

before allowing its shrine to join in the procession of relics of the

Hindoo gods!

It is said that Kandy owes its very existence as the mountain capital to

the fact of this precious bit of bone having in the course of its

wanderings been brought here for safety in the sixteenth century; for in

those days Kandy was a well-nigh inaccessible village, known as

Sengada-gala Nuwara—so named from a great rock which stands in the

jungle just above the Old Palace. But when such a treasure as the great

_dalada_ came to take up its abode here, its royal guardian was bound to

beautify the place so honoured; and the Dalada Maligawa, the Temple of

the Tooth, was year by year enriched by the offerings of the countless

throng of pilgrims who braved all the toil and difficulties of the

pilgrimage to this mountain fastness in order to do homage to a relic of

such inestimable sanctity, and to offer their gifts of gold and silver

ornaments, coins, jewels, vestments for the priests, fruit and flowers.

The latter are at all times a graceful feature in this worship, for as

none care to appear empty-handed before the altar of Buddha, to whom

even such simple offerings as these are acceptable, there are few in all

the throng of worshippers who have not some flowers to offer—often

white, pink, blue or yellow lotus, or the graceful grain-like sprays of

cocoa or areca palm blossom, almost as large as the little child who

often carries it. Many women and children make a living by providing

baskets of flowers for sale to those who have come unprovided.[89]

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Footnote 89:

See p. 61, note.

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(Among the very legendary acts of devotion recorded of the Ninety Kings

of the Lion race—for such is the meaning of the word Singhalese—we are

told of one ‘who is said to have offered six millions of blossoms in one

day to this rapacious tooth. Another daily offered one hundred thousand

blossoms all of one sort, and a different flower each day! After all, it

is not incredible that the kings who built the stupendous relic-shrines

at Anuradhapura, all by compulsory labour, may by the same means have

collected blossoms even by the millions if they so willed.)

Externally this famous temple is not conspicuous, being within the

precincts of the Old Palace, and partly concealed by the Audience Hall

and the Pattipuwa, an octagonal building which is now the Oriental

Library, but the whole is enclosed by a moat, with the same very

ornamental stone wall which surrounds the lake; and there are always

picturesque groups of people passing to and fro, whether of the laity or

brethren of the yellow robe.

Though the latter are happily not so numerous as in the palmy days of

Buddhism, when Ceylon supported sixty thousand priests, Kandy is very

fully supplied, having two ecclesiastical colleges, the Malwatta and

Asgiriya Viharas, both of the Siamese sect—the sect which incorporates

so much Hindooism, but whose distinguishing characteristic to the casual

observer is that of always wearing the yellow robe so as to leave one

shoulder bare.[90] From an artistic point of view, I am bound to say

that these stately brown beings draped in saffron colour, and sometimes

escorted by an attendant bearing a yellow silk umbrella, or a large

palm-leaf fan, form very harmonious bits of colour wherever one meets

them.

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Footnote 90:

See p. 59.

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(The symbolic honour implied by the umbrella used to be very real in

Ceylon, when the Buddhist priests shared with the monarch alone the

privilege of having an unfolded Talipot palm-leaf held over them, with

the broad end forward. Ordinary mortals must carry the narrow stalk end

foremost, and in presence of a superior must even turn that aside, so as

to expose their head to the sun! Priests were further honoured by having

their seats covered with white cloth. Sometimes a white or yellow canopy

is borne by four men, so as to overshadow the priest. Amongst the gifts

sent by the King of Cambodia in 1884 to the Buddhist College of

Maligakanda, in Colombo, were a brush made of his own hair, to be used

in sweeping the place where the image of Buddha is kept, and also an

umbrella ornamented with precious stones. Silver umbrellas figure

conspicuously within the Temple of the Tooth.)

To return thither. The architecture is not easy to describe. The chief

characteristics are the low square-cut pillars, the lavish display of

grotesque carving and mythological frescoes painted on the walls. At the

lower portal we stepped over a beautifully sculptured semi-circular

stone, and then passing between two wonderful stone beasts and four

really splendid elephants’ tusks (of a size very rare in Ceylon), we

entered the outer temple, where there are various objects of interest,—

gaudily painted images of Buddha, gigantic drums and tom-toms, rich

draperies, curious great honorific sunshades, &c. Thanks to an

influential friend, we were shown many strange jewels and costly

offerings sent to the Tooth by many Buddhist kings; but as to the Tooth

itself, we were told there was no possibility of our being allowed to

see it, as the dagoba containing it could only be taken from its inner

shrine once a year, at the time of the great Perahara, and even then the

Tooth was not visible, such a privilege as an actual sight of it being

reserved for very special occasions, such as might not occur for years.

When Major Forbes-Leslie had the good fortune to witness an exhibition

of the Tooth in May 1828 (when it was exhibited by order of Sir Edward

Barnes), fifty-three years had elapsed since it had been openly

displayed by King Kirti Sri, and of course comparatively few people had

ever since beheld this object of deepest veneration.

After it was captured by the British it was, as a matter of political

expediency, retained for many years in custody of the Government, and

the people firmly believed that its possession conferred the right of

sovereignty.

The exhibition of 1828, which was accompanied with all possible

ceremonial, was freely criticised, as it was obvious to all that the

Buddhist relic was being used as the political tool of a Christian

Government, and it was stated that many forced worshippers were drawn to

its shrine by worldly interest, rather than by any superstitious

reverence for the relic.

All writers on Ceylon in the first half of the century agree in saying,

that so low had Buddhism fallen in the estimation of the people, that it

was in a fair way to die out altogether. Of course, therefore, the

priests clung to this State protection, and were bitterly opposed to its

withdrawal, when, in 1853, the relic was finally made over to their

care, and all outward union of ‘Tooth and State’ ceased. Naturally they

do their best, with jealous care, to foster the mystery and reverence

with which it is guarded.

Now, to be at Kandy and not to see the famous Tooth was inexpressibly

trying; and though kind friends strove to comfort me by showing me many

treasures, including exceedingly valuable ancient books in the Oriental

Library, I was inconsolable.

Those, however, were really of very great interest, some being quite

unique manuscripts of very great antiquity, and all written, or rather

scratched, with styles on long narrow strips of carefully prepared

palm-leaf, generally about two and a half inches wide, and sometimes

twenty inches long. Each leaf, when written, was smeared with dark oil,

coloured with charred gum, which blackened the indented letters and has

preserved the leaves (_olas_ is the right word) from attacks of insects.

All the leaves, forming a book, are placed between two neat wooden

boards, some of which are elaborately painted, others embossed with

precious metal, and even gems: the whole are pierced with two holes, and

strung together by cords.

These ancient books are written in Pali and Sanskrit, classic sisters

alike descended from a long-forgotten Aryan mother-tongue, and which

respectively enshrine the most widespread Oriental faiths. The study of

these dead tongues, especially Pali, is in Ceylon confined almost

entirely to the priests, who are _supposed_ to master them before their

ordination; but it is said that, as a matter of fact, few do so—and no

wonder! Pali, which is exceedingly difficult, is _par excellence_ the

sacred tongue of Buddhism, being that in which Gautama Buddha preached.

Even Elu, or High Singhalese, which is the language of literature,

differs so greatly from the colloquial, that it is quite a study in

itself, just as, in China, mandarin Chinese differs from that of the

provinces.

The great historical record of Ceylon, the Maha-wanso, to which one

hears such frequent reference, is in Pali.

European students of Oriental learning are specially indebted to two

Wesleyan missionaries for first unlocking these stores of long sealed-up

knowledge, and their translations of Buddhist sacred books have proved

precious to a multitude of less erudite writers, including some whose

sole object is the exaltation of that system against which these

scholars toiled so earnestly. These honoured workers were the Rev. J.

Gogerly and the Rev. Richard Spence Hardy.

They were led to undertake this task owing to the fact that so soon as

the priests of Buddha realised that the new preachers of Christianity

were no longer satisfied with a merely nominal profession of the foreign

creed in order to obtain Government employment, but insisted on a

radical conversion, they roused themselves to resist their progress by

violently antagonistic preaching from village to village.

To meet these opponents on their own ground, it was necessary for the

missionaries to acquire as intimate a knowledge as possible of the very

voluminous sacred books. During forty-four years of mission life, Mr.

Gogerly toiled at this labour of love, producing his first book on the

subject in 1848, and persevering till his death in 1862. His friend Mr.

Spence Hardy tells how year after year found him with some learned

priest by his side poring over these strips of ancient palm-leaf, and

puzzling his companion by the subtle questions he asked, and the doubts

he raised relative to points which had never before been disputed.

When he first propounded his discoveries as to the real doctrines of

primitive Buddhism, he was assailed by nearly every Pali scholar in the

island, and his conclusions totally denied. But he calmly defended his

position, and by numerous quotations from their most authoritative

writings, this solitary Western student was able to lead these, the most

profound expositors of Buddhism, into its deepest mysteries, and prove

that they were utterly wrong in their estimate of its most essential

principles.

So wrote Mr. Spence Hardy, who carried on his share of the same work

till, in 1865, he returned to England, not only leaving behind him a

reputation for profound scholarly learning, but having awakened the more

thoughtful Buddhists to perceive their manifold departures from the very

law for which they profess such reverence. His works on ‘Eastern

Monachism,’ and his ‘Manual of Buddhism,’ published in 1850 and 1853,

were among the first to awaken the interest of English readers in the

faith of 470,000,000 of their fellow-men.

Some notion of the literary labour represented by those books may be

formed from his list of authorities, consisting of 467 works, of which

237 are in Pali, 80 in Sanskrit, and 150 in Elu (_i.e._, written

Singhalese), all of which were collected by himself in Buddhist

monasteries; some of the latter are so voluminous, that one alone fills

two thousand palm-leaves, each twenty-nine inches long, and inscribed

with nine lines of verse. As to the sacred writings in Pali, one of the

most celebrated contains 592,000 stanzas, and another (which is known to

be thirteen hundred years old) contains 361,550 more, so that the study

of these brittle palm-leaf pages—-dimly inscribed with such intricate

characters—must indeed have proved a toilsome task, suggestive of

strained and aching eyes.

Well it is for students that Buddhistic literature in Ceylon was so

effectually thinned by ruthless Malabar conquerors in their various

raids,—by none so resolutely as by Rajah Singha, who about A.D. 1590

became a convert to Brahmanism, and in his zeal for that religion,

sought to destroy all Buddhist books, and delighted in collecting heaps

as high as a cocoa-palm and burning them.

Besides the sacred and historical writings, the monastic libraries

contain a multitude of works on astronomy, physics and mathematics; a

curious detail being the extraordinary number of grammars, almost all of

which are written in rhyme.

After all, fortune favoured me in my ecclesiastical sight-seeing, for on

my return to Kandy in the month of February, after a pilgrimage to the

Holy Footprint on the summit of Adam’s Peak, I found to my unbounded

satisfaction that the authorities of the great temple had resolved to

raise money for its repair by a real exhibition of the Holy Tooth,

instead of merely lending its dagoba to be carried in procession. So it

had been disentombed from its guarded shrine, and was actually on show!

The town was swarming with pilgrims in their gayest holiday attire,

assembling from every corner of the country to gaze on the precious

relic, and pay their offerings into its treasury.

Within the temple the scene was striking in the extreme, both as

regarded its human interest and as an artistic study of rich colouring.

For crowds of most reverent worshippers, men, women, and children,

almost all bringing flowers as well as more enduring gifts of jewels,

money, and pieces of silk, were all pressing towards the farther end of

the temple, which was now arranged as a sort of chancel, hung with rich

draperies and curtains which could be drawn at will, and there, on a

slightly raised platform, were grouped a phalanx of brown-shouldered

yellow-robed priests of all sizes and ages, from those who might have

been grey-headed had they not been so closely shaven, down to quite

small boys. With them stood the great laymen associated with them in the

charge of the temple and its property, all in the rich dresses of

Kandyan nobles, with the large-sleeved jacket and jewelled hat. The

greatest of them was dressed in the same style, but his clothes were

white and gold.

[Illustration]

All these were grouped around a temporary altar—really a silver table

supposed to represent a lake on which the golden lotus floats. Thereon

stood an octagonal cupola of solid silver and gold, supported by slender

pillars. In front of this were three miniature crystal dagobas or

bell-shaped relic shrines, each resting on a square base, and two golden

candlesticks with lighted candles. In the small dagobas on either side

were displayed priceless jewelled objects—royal gifts.

But all eyes were riveted on the central shrine, of purest crystal,

within which lay a large golden lotus-blossom, from the heart of which,

upheld by a twist of gold wire, was upraised the worshipful piece of

yellow ivory which, to the unquestioning eye of faith, actually passes

for a human tooth!

I can only say that it is well in keeping with the gigantic footprint on

the summit of Adam’s Peak, being nearly two inches long and as thick as

my first finger. On previous page is an exact portrait of it, which I

secured by returning in the stream of pilgrims day after day, and making

a pencil sketch the next moment on a scrap of paper in the palm of my

hand, to be corrected again and again till it was perfectly accurate.

For to be caught attempting to make a picture of it would be the direst

offence in the eyes of the priests. Not many years before, the Emperor

of Siam had sent large offerings to this temple, and his ambassadors

were accompanied by a Chinese artist, whose sole mission was to procure

such a drawing as this that his Majesty, though debarred from making

pilgrimage in person to the shrine, might at least be able to realise

the exact appearance of the priceless relic. This request was refused

with the utmost scorn. Only think what a valuable letter of introduction

my sketch might have proved had I chanced to visit Siam!

I always found the priests and people alike interested in the progress

of all my pictures, but their jealous terror lest I should draw _this_

was extreme; and when, a few days later, I expressed a wish to sketch

the general scene of the interior of the temple during the adoration of

the Tooth, their fear lest I should include the relic knew no bounds.

Being accompanied by several influential men, and having obtained the

consent of the Dewa Nilami, who stood beside me, I was rash enough to

begin work quite undisguisedly, sitting on a raised daïs in the middle

of the temple, and, worst of all, produced my opera-glasses (the

never-failing companions of all my wanderings, and source of endless

wonder and delight to many a simple soul in remote regions of the

earth).

This proved too much for the priestly mind. In a moment there was a

hubbub of alarm, the curtains were drawn in front of the relic, and a

procession of yellow-robed brethren headed by the high priest swept down

upon me. The latter deliberately put on his old spectacles, and demanded

a sight of my work. He rubbed his nose over it in vain. Luckily I had

not there drawn the actual tooth; in fact, from where I sat I could not

possibly see it, as we all strove to prove to him. But then he

maintained that the magic glasses had doubtless revealed it, and he must

look through them, which he accordingly did, holding them the wrong way,

however, to the quiet amusement of the more enlightened bystanders.

Naturally he did not see much.

Eventually he was in a measure pacified, and allowed himself to be drawn

into a conversation (of course through an interpreter) concerning our

mutual pilgrimages to many holy shrines, of which I had happily visited

a very great number, in all parts of the island—a fact conferring on me

a load of sanctity which, albeit involuntary, made me an object of envy

to many of the younger priests.

They, and even the old priest, were greatly mollified by my promising to

show them drawings of several of these, which I accordingly brought with

me on the following day. But from that time I was conscious of a strong

terror of my presence within the temple, more especially on the last day

of the festival, when, the exhibition of the relic being over, I was

happily included in a select party of Europeans, who by special favour

were permitted to be present in the innermost shrine upstairs to witness

the restoration of the Tooth to its secure prison, which really is an

ornamental ‘safe,’ only about twelve feet square, an upper chamber

protected by massive doors of richly wrought brass and silver, which are

always locked. Over each door is suspended a large silver lotus-blossom,

and the room is draped with white and gold brocade and priceless Indian

shawls.

The whole was artificially lighted, and very hot, as well it might be,

seeing how many eager spectators as well as guardian priests crowded

into that tiny sanctuary, the atmosphere being moreover heavy with the

scent of temple flowers. Many ceremonies had to be observed ere the

Tooth was safely housed. First it was laid in a case resembling a richly

jewelled thimble-case, but, as no human hand might touch the sacred

ivory, it received the honours of the white cloth; in other words, it

was tilted off its perch above the golden lotus on to a fair linen

cloth, from which it was dexterously slipped into its case. (I have

already mentioned that in Ceylon, as throughout the East, all favoured

guests receive ‘the honours of the white cloth’; that is to say, a linen

covering is thrown over the seat prepared for them, and a strip of

linen—probably the spare garments of some of the bystanders—is laid on

the ground, that they may walk over it on first entering a house.)

The tiny jewelled case was next enclosed in a golden dagoba, encrusted

with gems, which was formally locked by one of the chief priests, who

retained possession of the key. This was enclosed in a similar relic

shrine one size larger, and locked by another priest, who retained that

key. Then it was deposited within a third reliquary, and was locked by

the Dewa Nilame, the great lay authority of the temple. I regret to say

that he who held this office at that time was an apostate from the

Christian faith, which he had professed until this honourable (some say

lucrative) position devolved upon him, and, Judas-like, he found the

care of the bag too much for his principles.

The several locks being, as we have seen, in the charge of three

distinct persons—two priests and a layman—it follows that each must of

necessity be present when the relic is displayed, for the greater safety

thereof. Thus secured, the triple shrine (together with various

priceless offerings, the gifts of divers kings, including many strings

of the finest garnets, a tree covered with gold and silver roses, a

jewelled bird and crocodile, an image of Buddha carved out of one

gigantic emerald about three inches long by two deep, and chains and

ornaments without number) was deposited in the Karandua, which is a

large dagoba of silver-gilt, five feet in height, and about three feet

six inches in diameter—beside which were placed the crystal relic-shrine

in which the Tooth appears when on show, and one or two others. I have

seen it stated that the inner casket is enclosed in a nest of nine

golden dagobas. These may have been added, but I certainly saw only

three, as described the following morning in my journal, and also in a

letter now beside me.

All these relic-shrines (like the gigantic dagobas which are scattered

all over the island, each containing some saintly fragment) are made in

the form of a bell (consequently circular), resting on a square base.

Tradition declares that the first ever built was designed to resemble a

bubble floating on water. That which contains the Tooth is overshadowed

by the sacred umbrella of gold or silver, symbol of sovereignty, while

above it hang gold and silver lotus-blossoms and costly silk brocades.

Finally, the strong iron cage with open bars was locked and sealed with

much ceremony by the three great authorities, each with his own signet.

Then the metal doors of the inner sanctuary were locked by one of them,

and the down-stairs door by some one else (I think each has two locks!),

so all was once more safe, and we adjourned to the balcony of the

Octagon Library, thence to witness the start of the great annual

Perahara, or procession of elephants, bearing relics from the four

principal Hindoo temples, and also from the Delada Maligawa, which

contributes its entire stud of elephants to grace a festival of

prehistoric origin, but supposed to have been instituted in very ancient

days in honour of the birth of Vishnu, in his character of Krishna, the

Sun-god.

Certain it is that this festival was celebrated annually for many

centuries before the Buddhists recognised it in any way; and it was not

till the year 1775 that it was deemed expedient to incorporate it as a

Buddhist festival, and King Kirti Sri assigned the place of honour in

the Hindoo procession to the Holy Tooth.

This innovation was quite a sudden thought. The king had invited certain

Siamese priests to Ceylon to restore the highest order of the Buddhist

priesthood—the Upasampadawa—and these hearing the noisy preparations for

the Perahara, and learning that it was a festival solely in honour of

Hindoo gods, took umbrage thereat, whereupon the king commanded that

that very evening the shrine should be carried at the head of the

procession in his own howdah, and that thus the ceremony would be in

honour of Buddha as well as of the gods.

This amalgamation was no novelty—for so early as A.D. 413, when Fa Hian,

the Chinese traveller, visited the kingdom of Khotan, he there saw a

procession in which the image of Buddha was carried in company with

those of the Hindoo gods Indra[91] and Brahma, and of the Toegri of the

Moguls and the Lha of the Thibetans. These images were set in a great

four-wheeled car with silken curtains, forming a pavilion eighteen feet

in height. This was drawn round the city, all the streets having been

swept and watered, and the houses decorated with tapestry and banners in

token of rejoicing.

-----

Footnote 91:

Buddha ought surely to be on the best of terms with Indra; for it is

recorded in the Jātaka, No. 316, that in one of his many

transmigrations Buddha had been born as a hare, which, beholding a

starving Brahman, tried to roast itself, that the Brahman might eat

and live. But the Brahman really was the great god Indra, who, to

reward the wise hare, promised that its good deed should be made known

through all ages. He, therefore, squeezed the Himalayas, and with

their essence he drew on the face of the moon the figure of a hare,

whence, in Hindoo works, the moon is often described as being

hare-marked.

-----

Again, in Central India, he witnessed a great night festival, when the

city was illuminated, and there were theatrical representations and

wrestling-matches in honour of Buddha and the other worshipful gods and

heroes, whose images were placed on no less than twenty highly decorated

cars. That was a Perahara on a very grand scale.

So now the supposed relic of Buddha shares the homage which previously

was bestowed only on the (equally authentic) bows and arrows of the

gods, whom he did his best to discredit, and his priests salve their

consciences by taking no part in the procession, beyond lending the

temple elephants and the shrine purporting to contain the Tooth,

together with its octagonal canopy of silver-gilt.

These we saw placed with great ceremony on the back of the largest and

most richly caparisoned elephant, the whole being overshadowed by a rich

canopy raised on high poles, carried by six men on foot. The great

elephant was escorted by two lesser elephants, one on each side of him.

On these were mounted several headmen clothed in white, and bearing

baskets of flowers, which from time to time they threw towards the empty

shrine. Behind them sat attendants holding gold and silver umbrellas of

state.

Other headmen in gorgeous dresses followed on foot, and the people bowed

down in lowly reverence. Their attitude of worship is to bend the body

forward at right angles from the waist, the arms being thrown forward

and slightly raised and the tips of the fingers touching. All shout

_Saadu!_ which is the equivalent of All hail! the multitude of voices

blending in a deep solemn wave of sound.

To us who had just witnessed the scene in the inner sanctuary, this

procession was of course a supreme farce; nevertheless it was

picturesque and barbaric, as we witnessed it in the moonlight, amid

glare of torches, beating of tom-toms, the clanging of brass cymbals,

the shriek of shrill pipes, blowing of chank-shells, and contortions of

masked devil-dancers, posturing and dancing frantically to the noise of

these ear-torturing instruments—truly devil music!—and escorted by a

crowd of people fantastically dressed up. Were it not for the dreadful

music, there is something very eerie in the silent march of such a

procession, owing to the singularly noiseless tread of the elephants and

the barefooted crowds.

As to the surprising get-up of the devil-dancers in their truly hideous

masks, words fail to convey any idea of it, and a group of elephants in

full-dress is always impressive. Like the very stout lady whom Dickens

describes as affording such a magnificent expanse for the display of

costly jewels, these majestic beasts do offer a large field for

decoration, of which the Oriental mind fully avails itself in the use of

gorgeous trappings and howdahs, richly embroidered cloths quite covering

the huge body and head, and partly covering the trunk. On the face-cloth

of the three elephants specially devoted to the Tooth is embroidered an

image of Buddha enthroned. The whole is resplendent with gold, and

silver, and jewels, the tusks of the principal elephants being also

decorated.

After the elephants belonging to the Delada—_i.e._ the Tooth—followed

those of the Hindoo temples, also in trios, each elephant bearing a

sacred relic being escorted by two attendant elephants. Other elephants,

forming a double line from the temple gate, knelt down, that the

procession might pass between them, ere starting to make the round of

the city.

Of course every such scene includes a multitude of details to attract

the eye, which it would only be wearisome to describe,—suffice it to say

that, though the Perahara of the present day is said to be a far less

imposing show than it was a hundred years ago, it is still very well

worth seeing. Of course, however, its chief interest lies in its

antiquity.

It can be traced as far back as the second century of the Christian era,

when Gajabahu returned from a campaign in Southern India, bringing with

him a multitude of rescued Singhalese and Tamil captives who had been

carried off from Ceylon by the Malabars in a previous invasion of the

Isle. He also recovered the sacred vessels of four dewales (temples),

and the refection dish of Buddha, which had been carried away about 90

B.C. To celebrate the return of these treasures, on which the heathen

used to swear in the Courts of Justice, a great Perahara was held, and,

except during certain times of war and anarchy, it has been held

annually ever since. But it is probable that it really represents a

midsummer festival of far more remote origin.

It is, however, a very movable feast, Forbes-Leslie having witnessed it

in 1828 in the month of May, and the Rev. R. S. Hardy in 1834 saw it in

August, in which month it was celebrated in 1888 and 1891, while June or

July is more frequent. It begins on the day of the new moon in the month

of _æsala_, but from the imperfection of native astronomy this date may

vary exceedingly.

Probably the earliest record by an eyewitness which we have of this

festival is that given by Knox, who during his twenty years as a captive

at large in Kandy, from A.D. 1659 to 1680, had ample opportunities of

observing all native customs and ceremonies. He speaks of it as relating

solely to ‘the gods that govern the earth,’ ‘the Buddou’ having no part

in it. The streets were decorated with upright poles from which floated

flags and pennons, and between these poles hung fringes of cocoa-palm

leaves; and _there were lighted lamps all along both sides of the street

both by day and night_. These very primitive lamps consisted of

cocoa-nut shells filled with their own oil, and a wick floating in it.

These were stuck on low posts—frequently banana stems—all along the

road.

The procession was headed by forty or fifty elephants, with brass bells

hanging on each side of them, which tinkled as they marched. Next

followed men dressed up like giants, and after them a great multitude of

drummers, trumpeters, and pipers: each chief brought his own company of

awful musicians, and picturesque attendants bearing great palm-leaf fans

and flat-topped state umbrellas. Then several companies of the women

engaged in the service of the temple as washerwomen, and potters, and

other trades, _walking three and three in a row, holding one another by

the hand_. Between each company went dancers and musicians. Then

followed the men of the washer caste carrying painted sticks, and those

of the potter caste carrying cocoa-nut blossoms in earthen vessels. Next

came three elephants, on each of which were mounted two priests, one to

represent the god of one of the three chief temples, and the second

holding his honorific sunshade. The central elephant marched slightly in

advance of the other two, and was covered with white cloth, his rider a

priest representing the Creator of Heaven and Earth, bearing a painted

stick partly wrapped in silk brocade, and from which hung strings of

flowers, supposed to be the wonder-working rod that was carried by the

conqueror Gajabahu. Before this stick the people bowed down and

worshipped, and so great was its sanctity, that a cloth was tied round

the mouth of the priest lest he should breathe upon it, and so defile

it.

After these gods and their attendants followed several thousands of the

highest ladies in the land, _walking hand in hand, three in a row_, and

dressed ‘in the bravest manner that their ability can afford.’

Finally came a military escort sent by the king, and in this manner they

daily marched round about the city once by day and once by night, from

the new moon until the full moon either in June or July, every year.

‘Two or three days before the full moon, each of these gods hath a

palanquin carried after them, ... in the which there are several pieces

of their superstitious relics, and a silver pot, which, just at the hour

of full moon, they ride out into a river and dip full of water, which is

carried back with them into the temple, where it is kept till the year

after, and then flung away, and so the ceremony is ended for that year.

‘The greatest solemnity is performed in the city of Kandy, but, at the

same time, the like festival or perahar is observed in divers other

cities and towns of the land.’

An exceedingly interesting report was drawn up for Sir Robert Brownrigg,

who was the Governor of Ceylon in 1817, by the Dessawe of Wellasse, in

which he says that Perahara is a very ancient ceremony in commemoration

of the birth of the god Vishnu, or, as it is stated in some sacred

books, in remembrance of his victory over the Assureyas or enemies of

the gods.

The mystic ceremonies begin as soon as the new moon is visible, either

in the morning or evening, but on no account at mid-day. The Kapuralas

or priests of the four principal dewales in Kandy—namely, the Maha or

great temple of Vishnu, and those of Nata, Kataragama, and Pattini—have

previously secured four logs of sacred wood from the stem of a young

jak-tree not yet in fruit, and not more than three spans in

circumference. They first clear the ground round the tree, and

consecrate it by fumigating it with the smoke of burning resin, smearing

it with a preparation of sandal-wood made for the purpose, and further

by an offering of a lighted lamp _with nine wicks_ (which is put at the

foot of the tree), and of _nine betel-leaves_, and _nine different kinds

of flowers_ arranged on a chair.

This being done the wood-cutter of the Maha dewale, dressed in a clean

cloth, and purified by washing and rubbing himself with lemon-juice,

fells the tree at its root with an axe, and cuts the trunk transversely

into four pieces of equal length, to be divided among the four dewales,

the lowest piece being the property of the Nata dewale, the next of Maha

dewale, the next of the Kataragama dewale, and the top piece that of the

Pattini dewale. Each log is carried (under a white canopy) to its

respective dewale, accompanied with beating of tom-toms.

On the day of the new moon each piece is fixed into the ground in a

particular spot in each of the dewales. A roof is erected over it, and

it is covered with cloth to keep it concealed, and decorated all round

with white _olas_, fruits and flowers. Thus prepared and fixed the logs

are called _kap_ (which signifies pillars), and till the fourth day,

from that on which these are fixed, the Kapuralas every morning and

evening carry round the _kap_ the bow and arrows of the gods to whom the

temples are consecrated. Carrying the bow and arrows is called carrying

the god, and this procession is confined to the precincts of the temple.

On the fifth day of Perahara, the Kapurale of each temple brings forth

the bow and arrow which are the visible symbol of his god, and places

them in the Ranhiligay (? howdah) on the back of an elephant. The four

elephants thus honoured, each escorted by two attendant elephants with

umbrella-bearers, are led to the Adahana Maluwa, a consecrated place

near the tombs of the ancient kings.

(Forbes says the Maluwa was a kind of sanctuary: it was encircled by

stones, within which, it is said, the kings had no jurisdiction.)

Thence, after making the circuit of the Nata dewale, the procession

proceeded to the Delada Maligawa, the Temple of the Tooth, to the gate

of which the Buddhist priests bring forth the shrine purporting to

contain the Tooth, which is also placed in the Ranhiligay on the back of

an elephant, and takes its place in the evening procession. But in the

nocturnal procession at the seventh hour of the night it is not

permitted to appear, except on the night of the full moon.

During these five days the five temples represented take precedence by

turns.

The report then goes on to tell how on the sixth day a new feature was

introduced. From each temple was brought forth a randoelie or palanquin

containing a golden pitcher and a sword, each dedicated to a different

goddess. For the next five evenings these were carried after the bows

and arrows, and in every nocturnal procession they took the lead. All

the women attended as of old, and the young wives and daughters of the

chiefs accompanied each randoelie by turns.

On the fifteenth night, which was that of the full moon, at the close of

the procession, the shrine of the Tooth was deposited for the night in

charge of the Buddhist priests at the Gedige—_i.e._, Asgiriya Vihara.

But the priests and all the properties of the four dewales returned to

their several temples, where curry and rice were offered to the gods,

and doubtless enjoyed by the hungry human beings, who, thus refreshed,

started again in procession with their bows and arrows, swords and

golden water-vessels, and journeyed to the banks of the Maha-velli river

near Peradeniya.

[Illustration:

THE MAHA-VELLI-GANGA, FROM THE SATINWOOD BRIDGE.

(Bamboo Foliage.)

]

There they found a richly decorated boat, in which embarked the four

priests bearing the four swords of the goddesses, attended by four

assistants bearing the golden water-vessels containing the water drawn

just a year before. They rowed some distance up the river, and taking up

a position in mid-stream, they there awaited the first streak of dawn,

when suddenly the four Kapuralas struck the water with their swords,

describing a magic circle in honour of the sun, and at the same instant

their assistants emptied the water-vessels, and refilled them from

within the circle where the swords had cut the waters.[92]

-----

Footnote 92:

Could there be any connection between the Goddess of the Nata Dewale,

whose sword cut the bright waters, and the Celtic Goddess of Waters,

Nait or Annait, whose worship can still be traced in our Northern

Isles? See ‘In the Hebrides,’ by C. F. Gordon Cumming, p. 205.

Published by Chatto & Windus.

-----

Returning to land, and having replaced the swords and water-vessels in

the palanquins, they marched back to the city (being met on the road by

any chiefs who had been unable to attend in the night), and went

straight to the Asgiriya Vihara, where the shrine of the Tooth again

joined the procession, which then returned to the Adahana Maluwa, whence

it had started. It then dispersed, each party returning to its own

temple. On that day four bundles of fine cloth, four pieces of

sandal-wood, together with gold and silver coins, were given to the four

dewales from the king’s treasury.

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.

-----

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.

-----

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]

-----

Footnote 94:

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

long resident in Ceylon.

-----

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.

-----

Footnote 95:

Translated from the Portuguese by Sir James Emerson Tennant.

-----

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]

-----

Footnote 96:

Mission to the Court of Ava.

-----

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.

-----

Footnote 97:

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

Blackwood & Sons.

-----

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!

-----

Footnote 98:

‘Chinese Buddhism,’ p. 250.

-----

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.’

-----

Footnote 99:

‘Church of our Fathers.’

-----

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]

-----

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.’

-----

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.

First and last, relic-worship is a singular subject, and the habit

occasionally brings honour to most unexpected objects. Thus the author

of ‘Erewhon’ relates that he once passed an Italian woman kneeling in

devout worship before a dentist’s show-case in the Hampstead Road,

evidently believing the teeth to be worshipful and saintly relics!

Doubtless they answered her purpose quite as well as any more highly

authenticated fragments of humanity.