"Dere," said the priest, opening an ivory box, in which was about a
quart of _teeth_ of different sizes, "dere is de teeth of the
eleven thousand."
"Indeed," echoes C., "their teeth!"
S., at this, waxed magnificent, and, as a novel writer would say,
swept from the apartment. I turned round, shaking with laughter, while
the priest went on.
"Dere is a rib of St. - - ."
"Ah, his rib; indeed!"
"And dere is de arrow as pierced the heart of St. Ursula."
"H.," says C., "here is the arrow that killed St. Ursula." (The wicked
scamp knew I was laughing!)
"Dere is the net that was on her hair."
"This is what she wore on her hair, then," says C., eyeing the rag
with severe and melancholy gravity.
"And here is some of the blood of the martyr Stephen," says the
priest, holding a glass case with some mud in it.
In the same way he showed two thorns from the crown of Christ, and a
piece of the Virgin's petticoat.
"And here is the waterpot of stone, in which our Lord made the wine at
the marriage in Cana."
"Indeed," said C., examining it with great interest; "where are the
rest of them?"
"The rest?" says the priest.
"Yes; I think there were six of them; where are they?"
The priest only went over the old story. "This came from Rome, and the
piece broken out of the side is at Rome yet."
It is to be confessed that I felt in my heart, through this disgusting
recital, some of S.'s indignation; and I could not help agreeing with
her that the odor of sanctity, as generally developed in the vicinity,
was any thing but agreeable. I did long to look that man once steadily
in the eyes, to see if he was such a fool as he pretended; but the
ridiculousness of the whole scene overcame me so that I could not look
up, and I marched out in silence. The whole church is equally full of
virgins. The altar piece is a vast picture of the slaughter, not badly
painted. Through various glass openings you perceive that the walls
are full of the bones and skulls. Did the worship of Egypt ever sink
lower in horrible and loathsome idolatry? I had heard of such things;
but it is one thing to hear of them, and another to see them by the
light of this nineteenth century, in a city whose streets look much
like the streets of any other, and where men and women appear much as
they do any where else. Here we saw, in one morning, the splendor and
the rottenness of the Romish system. From those majestic arches, that
triumphant chant, there is but a step down to the worship of dead
men's bones and all uncleanness.
