room with much
pride--he seemed a simple and earnest old fellow--I made ready to depart
and, before doing so, drew from my pocket a handful of the brass coins,
called cash, with which you are no doubt familiar, and thrust them into
the old fellow's outstretched hands. He seemed deeply grateful and said
a few words in his native tongue to my servant, who turned to me with
the information that the priest was about to accord me an especial honor
by showing me the sacred relic of the Buddha. He approached the altar,
and, taking a key from his girdle, opened a small gold box covered with
wonderful repousse work, which stood directly in front of the sitting
figure of the god, and rested between his knees. Upon opening this box,
he drew forth a small ivory shrine, also elaborately carved, which he
set upon the top of the first box, and arranged so that the light from
the candles fell upon it. He then opened the ivory box with a small gold
key, and I looked in. The relic of the Buddha, a small and insignificant
looking piece of dirty brown bone, I paid slight attention to, for in
that box, glistening and glowing with the most wonderful color in the
light of the candles, stood the emerald Buddha. The relic lay upon a
piece of white silk, at the bottom of the box. There was a shelf in the
box, of ivory, half-way up its height, and upon this shelf, occupying
the upper half of the ivory casket, stood the emerald, its brilliant
color and marvelous workmanship rendered the more noticeable by the
white background of the ivory. I inquired as to its history, through my
servant, and was informed that it had been brought to Ping Yang many
centuries before, by the priest who brought the relic from Thibet and
founded the temple. He told me that it was an emerald, but neither the
fact of its enormous size and value as a jewel nor its priceless beauty
as an example of the most exquisite workmanship in the carving and
cutting of gems that I had ever seen seemed to appeal to him. To him its
value was solely of a religious nature: it was a statue of the great
teacher, carved by some devoted worshiper or patient monk centuries
before, and had always been venerated, next to the relic, as the most
precious of all the temple's possessions. I told my servant to ask the
priest if they would sell it, but he seemed disinclined to make the
request until I repeated my injunction rather sharply. When the message
had been translated to the old man, he scowled