Charles Mackay (
1814-
1889),
Extraordinary Popular Delusions And The Madness Of Crowds
RELICS
A fouth o' auld knick-knackets,
Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets,
Wad haud the
Lothians three, in tackets,
A towmond guid;
An' parritch pats, and auld saut backets,
Afore the flood.
--
Burns.
The love for relics is one which will never be eradicated as long as feeling and affection are denizens of the heart. It is a love which is most easily excited in the best and kindliest natures, and which few are callous enough to scoff at. Who would not treasure the lock of hair that once adorned the brow of the faithful wife, now cold in death, or that hung down the neck of a beloved infant, now sleeping under the sward? Not one. They are home-relics, whose sacred worth is intelligible to all; spoils rescued from the devouring grave, which, to the affectionate, are beyond all price. How dear to a forlorn survivor the book over whose pages he has pored with one departed! How much greater its value, if that hand, now cold, had written a thought, an opinion, or a name, upon the leaf! Besides these sweet, domestic relics, there are others, which no one can condemn; relics sanctified by that admiration of greatness and goodness which is akin to love; such as the copy of
Montaigne's
Florio, with the name of
Shakspeare upon the leaf, written by the poet of all time himself; the chair preserved at
Antwerp, in which
Rubens sat when he painted the immortal "
Descent from the Cross"; or the
telescope, preserved in the Museum of
Florence, which aided
Galileo in his sublime discoveries. Who would not look with veneration upon the undoubted arrow of
William Tell--the swords of
Wallace or of
Hampden--or the
Bible whose leaves were turned by some stern old father of the faith?
Thus the principle of reliquism is hallowed and enshrined by love. But from this germ of purity how numerous the progeny of errors and superstitions! Men, in their admiration of the great, and of all that appertained to them, have forgotten that goodness is a component part of true greatness, and have made fools of themselves for the jaw-bone of a
saint, the toe-nail of an
apostle, the handkerchief a king blew his nose in, or the rope that hanged a criminal. Desiring to rescue some slight token from the graves of their predecessors, they have confounded the famous and the infamous, the renowned and the notorious. Great saints, great sinners; great philosophers, great quacks; great conquerors, great murderers; great ministers, great thieves; each and all have had their admirers, ready to ransack earth, from the
equator to either pole, to find a relic of them.
The reliquism of modern times dates its origin from the centuries immediately preceding the
Crusades. The first
pilgrims to the
Holy Land brought back to
Europe thousands of apocryphal relics, in the purchase of which they had expended all their store. The greatest favourite was the wood of the
true cross, which, like the
oil of the widow, never diminished. It is generally asserted, in the traditions of the
Romish Church, that the
Empress Helen, the mother of
Constantine the Great, first discovered the veritable "true cross" in her
pilgrimage to
Jerusalem. The Emperor
Theodosius made a present of the greater part of it to
St. Ambrose,
Bishop of
Milan, by whom it was studded with precious stones, and deposited in the principal church of that city. It was carried away by the
Huns, by whom it was burnt, after they had extracted the valuable jewels it contained. Fragments, purporting to have been cut from it were, in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, to be found in almost every
church in Europe, and would, if collected together in one place, have been almost sufficient to have built a
cathedral. Happy was the
sinner who could get a sight of one of them; happier he who possessed one! To obtain them the greatest dangers were cheerfully braved. They were thought to preserve from all evils, and to cure the most inveterate diseases. Annual pilgrimages were made to the shrines that contained them, and considerable revenues collected from the devotees.
Next in renown were those precious relics, the tears of the
Saviour. By whom and in what manner they were preserved, the pilgrims did not often inquire. Their genuineness was vouched by the
Christians of the Holy Land, and that was sufficient. Tears of the
Virgin Mary, and tears of
St. Peter, were also to be had, carefully enclosed in little caskets, which the pious might wear in their bosoms. After the tears the next most precious relics were drops of the blood of
Jesus and the martyrs. Hair and toe-nails were also in great repute, and were sold at extravagant prices. Thousands of pilgrims annually visited
Palestine in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, to purchase pretended relics for the home market. The majority of them had no other means of subsistence than the profits thus obtained. Many a nail, cut from the filthy foot of some unscrupulous
ecclesiastic, was sold at a
diamond's price, within six months after its severance from its parent toe, upon the supposition that it had once belonged to a saint. Peter's toes were uncommonly prolific, for there were nails enough in Europe, at the time of the
Council of Clermont, to have filled a sack, all of which were devoutly believed to have grown on the sacred feet of that great apostle. Some of them are still shown in the cathedral of
Aix-la-Chapelle. The pious come from a distance of a hundred
German miles to feast their eyes upon them.
At
Port Royal, in
Paris, is kept with great care a thorn, which the priests of that seminary assert to be one of the identical thorns that bound the holy head of the
Son of God. How it came there, and by whom it was preserved, has never been explained. This is the famous thorn, celebrated in the long dissensions of the
Jansenists and the
Molenists, and which worked the miraculous cure upon
Mademoiselle Perrier: by merely kissing it, she was cured of a disease of the eyes of long standing. {
Voltaire,
Siecle de Louis XIV.}
What traveller is unacquainted with the
Santa Scala, or
Holy Stairs, at
Rome? They were brought from Jerusalem along with the true cross, by the Empress Helen, and were taken from the house which, according to popular tradition, was inhabited by
Pontius Pilate. They are said to be the steps which Jesus ascended and descended when brought into the presence of the
Roman governor. They are held in the greatest veneration at
Rome: it is sacrilegious to walk upon them. The knees of the faithful must alone touch them in ascending or descending, and that only after they have reverentially kissed them.
Europe still swarms with these religious relics. There is hardly a
Roman Catholic church in
Spain,
Portugal,
Italy,
France, or
Belgium, without one or more of them. Even the poorly endowed churches of the villages boast the possession of miraculous thigh-bones of the innumerable saints of the Romish calendar. Aix-la-Chapelle is proud of the veritable
chasse, or thigh-bone of
Charlemagne, which cures
lameness.
Halle has a thighbone of the Virgin Mary; Spain has seven or eight, all said to be undoubted relics.
Brussels at one time preserved, and perhaps does now, the teeth of
St. Gudule. The faithful, who suffered from the tooth-ache, had only to pray, look at them, and be cured. Some of these holy bones have been buried in different parts of the
Continent. After a certain lapse of time, water is said to ooze from them, which soon forms a spring, and cures all the diseases of the faithful. At a church in Halle, there is a famous thigh-bone, which cures
barrenness in women. Of this bone, which is under the special superintendence of the
Virgin, a pleasant story is related by the incredulous. There resided at
Ghent a couple who were blessed with all the riches of this world, but whose happiness was sore troubled by the want of children. Great was the grief of the lady, who was both beautiful and loving, and many her lamentations to her husband. The latter, annoyed by her unceasing sorrow, advised her to make a pilgrimage to the celebrated chasse of the Virgin. She went, was absent a week, and returned with a face all radiant with joy and pleasure. Her lamentations ceased, and, in nine months afterwards, she brought forth a son. But, oh! the instability of human joys! The babe, so long desired and so greatly beloved, survived but a few months. Two years passed over the heads of the disconsolate couple, and no second child appeared to cheer their fire-side. A third year passed away with the same result, and the lady once more began to weep. "Cheer up, my love," said her husband, "and go to the holy chasse, at Halle; perhaps the Virgin will again listen to your prayers." The lady took courage at the thought, wiped away her tears, and proceeded on the morrow towards Halle. She was absent only three days, and returned home sad, weeping, and sorrow-stricken. "What is the matter?" said her husband; "is the Virgin unwilling to listen to your prayers ?" "The Virgin is willing enough," said the disconsolate wife, "and will do what she can for me; but I shall never have any more children! The priest! the priest!--He is gone from Halle, and nobody knows where to find him!"
It is curious to remark the avidity manifested in all ages, and in all countries, to obtain possession of some relic of any persons who have been much spoken of, even for their crimes. When
William Longbeard, leader of the populace of
London, in the reign of
Richard I, was hanged at
Smithfield, the utmost eagerness was shown to obtain a hair from his head, or a shred from his garments. Women came from
Essex,
Kent,
Suffolk,
Sussex, and all the surrounding counties, to collect the mould at the foot of his gallows. A hair of his beard was believed to preserve from evil spirits, and a piece of his clothes from aches and pains.
In more modern days, a similar avidity was shown to obtain a relic of the luckless
Masaniello, the fisherman of
Naples. After he had been raised by mob favour to a height of power more despotic than monarch ever wielded, he was shot by the same populace in the streets, as if he had been a
mad dog. His headless trunk was dragged through the mire for several hours, and cast at night-fall into the city ditch. On the morrow the tide of popular feeling turned once more in his favour. His corpse was sought, arrayed in royal robes, and buried magnificently by torch-light in the cathedral, ten thousand armed men, and as many mourners, attending at the ceremony. The fisherman's dress which he had worn was rent into shreds by the crowd, to be preserved as relics; the door of his hut was pulled off its hinges by a mob of women, and eagerly cut up into small pieces, to be made into images, caskets, and other mementos. The scanty furniture of his poor abode became of more value than the adornments of a palace; the ground he had walked upon was considered sacred, and, being collected in small phials, was sold at its weight in gold, and worn in the bosom as an amulet.
Almost as extraordinary was the frenzy manifested by the populace of Paris on the execution of the atrocious
Marchioness de Brinvilliers. There were grounds for the popular wonder in the case of Masaniello, who was unstained with personal crimes. But the career of Madame de Brinvilliers was of a nature to excite no other feelings than disgust and abhorrence. She was convicted of poisoning several persons, and sentenced to be burned in the
Place de Greve, and to have her ashes scattered to the winds. On the day of her execution, the populace, struck by her gracefulness and beauty, inveighed against the severity of her sentence. Their pity soon increased to admiration, and, ere evening, she was considered a saint. Her ashes were industriously collected, even the charred wood, which had aided to consume her, was eagerly purchased by the populace. Her ashes were thought to preserve from
witchcraft.
In ]England] many persons have a singular love for the relics of thieves and murderers, or other great criminals. The ropes with which they have been hanged are very often bought by collectors at a guinea per foot. Great sums were paid for the rope which hanged
Dr. Dodd, and for those more recently which did justice upon Mr.
Fauntleroy for
forgery, and on
Thurtell for the murder of Mr.
Weare. The murder of
Maria Marten, by
Corder, in the year
1828, excited the greatest interest all over the country. People came from
Wales and
Scotland, and even from
Ireland, to visit the barn where the body of the murdered woman was buried. Every one of them was anxious to carry away some memorial of his visit. Pieces of the barn-door, tiles from the roof, and, above all, the clothes of the poor victim, were eagerly sought after. A lock of her hair was sold for two
guineas, and the purchaser thought himself fortunate in getting it so cheaply.
So great was the concourse of people to visit the house in
Camberwell Lane, where
Greenacre murdered
Hannah Brown, in
1837, that it was found necessary to station a strong detachment of police on the spot. The crowd was so eager to obtain a relic of the house of this atrocious criminal, that the police were obliged to employ force to prevent the tables and chairs, and even the doors, from being carried away.
In earlier times, a singular superstition was attached to the hand of a criminal who had suffered execution. It was thought that by merely rubbing the dead hand on the body, the patient afflicted with the king's evil would be instantly cured. The executioner at
Newgate, sixty or seventy years ago, derived no inconsiderable revenue from this foolish practice. The possession of the hand was thought to be of still greater efficacy in the cure of diseases and the prevention of misfortunes. In the time of
Charles II as much as ten guineas was thought a small price for one of these disgusting relics.
When the maniac,
Thom, or
Courtenay, was shot, in the spring of
1838, the relic-hunters were immediately in motion to obtain a memento of so extraordinary an individual. His long, black beard and hair, which were cut off by the surgeons, fell into the hands of his disciples, by whom they are treasured with the utmost reverence. A lock of his hair commands a great price, not only amongst his followers, but among the more wealthy inhabitants of
Canterbury and its neighbourhood. The tree against which he fell when he was shot, has already been stripped of all its bark by the curious, and bids fair to be entirely demolished within a twelvemonth. A letter, with his signature to it, is paid for in gold coins; and his favourite horse promises to become as celebrated as his master. Parties of ladies and gentlemen have come to
Boughton from a distance of a hundred and fifty miles, to visit the scene of that fatal affray, and stroke on the back the horse of the "mad
Knight of Malta." If a strict watch had not been kept over his grave for months, the body would have been disinterred, and the bones carried away as memorials.
Among the
Chinese no relics are more valued than the boots which have been worn by an upright
magistrate. In
Davis's interesting Description of the Empire of
China, we are informed, that whenever a judge of unusual integrity resigns his situation, the people all congregate to do him honour. If he leaves the city where he has presided, the crowd accompany him from his residence to the gates, where his boots are drawn off with great ceremony, to be preserved in the hall of justice. Their place is immediately supplied by a new pair, which, in their turn, are drawn off to make room for others before he has worn them five minutes, it being considered sufficient to consecrate them that he should have merely drawn them on.
Among the most favourite relics of modern times, in Europe, are Shakspeare's
mulberry-tree,
Napoleon's
willow, and the table at
Waterloo, on which the Emperor wrote his despatches.
Snuffboxes of Shakspeare's mulberry-tree, are comparatively rare, though there are doubtless more of them in the market than were ever made of the wood planted by the great
bard. Many a piece of alien wood passes under this name. The same may be said of Napoleon's table at Waterloo. The original has long since been destroyed, and a round dozen of counterfeits along with it. Many preserve the simple stick of wood; others have them cut into brooches and every variety of ornament; but by far the greater number prefer them as snuff-boxes. In
France they are made into
bonbonnieres, and are much esteemed by the many thousands whose cheeks still glow, and whose eyes still sparkle at the name of Napoleon.
Bullets from the field of Waterloo, and buttons from the coats of the soldiers who fell in the fight, are still favourite relics in Europe. But the same ingenuity which found new tables after the old one was destroyed, has cast new bullets for the curious. Many a one who thinks himself the possessor of a bullet which aided in giving peace to the world on that memorable day, is the owner of a dump, first extracted from the ore a dozen years afterwards. Let all lovers of genuine relics look well to their money before they part with it to the
ciceroni that swarm in the village of Waterloo.
Few travellers stop at the lonely isle of
St. Helena, without cutting a twig from the willow that droops over the grave of Napoleon. Many of them have since been planted in different parts of Europe, and have grown into trees as large as their parent. Relic-hunters, who are unable to procure a twig of the original, are content with one from these. Several of them are growing in the neighbourhood of London, more prized by their cultivators than any other tree in their gardens. But in relics, as in everything else, there is the use and the abuse. The undoubted relics of great men, or great events, will always possess attractions for the thinking and refined. There are few who would not join with
Cowley in the extravagant wish introduced in his lines "written while sitting in a chair made of the remains of the ship in which Sir
Francis Drake sailed round the world":
"And I myself, who now love quiet too,
Almost as much as any chair can do,
Would yet a journey take
An old wheel of that chariot to see,
Which
Phaeton so rashly brake."