by Joe Nickell
Elsewhere in Turin, I visited the Church of Maria Ausiliatrice, whose crypt is a relic's chapel containing a fabulous collection: an estimated five thousand relics of saints! There are endless panels and display cases of them along the walls, including relics alleged to be from Mary Magdalene and, more credibly, St. Francis of Assisi.
The focal point of the chapel (figure 21.1) is a lighted cross containing, purportedly, a small amount of the Holy Blood of Christ. As with other such blood relics, however, there is no credible evidence to link it with Jesus or even with his time. With the blood is, purportedly, a piece of the True Cross discovered due to a vision by St. Helena in 326. Protestant reformer John Calvin, in his Treatise on Relics (1543, 61), stated that there were enough alleged fragments of the cross to “form a whole ship's cargo.”
Because such relics were eagerly sought by noblemen and churches alike in order to enhance their influence, there were always those willing to supply them—even if by unholy means.
The Catholic Church has addressed the question of authenticity of relics in something less than a head-on fashion. It often sidesteps the issue by refraining from taking a position regarding the genuineness of a particular relic. The veneration of certain doubtful relics was permitted to continue on the grounds that, even if a relic was in fact spurious, God was not dishonored by an error that had been continued in good faith, whereas it was felt that a final verdict could not easily be pronounced in the case of many relics. Besides, it was argued, the devotions “deeply rooted in the heart of peasantry” could not lightly be dismissed (“Christian Relics” 2004). Thus, an end-justifies-the-means attitude—which helped create and promote fake relics in the first place—prevailed.
HOLY GRAIL, HOLY HOAX
In Milan and Turin I visited sites that have gained new interest due to the runaway popularity of Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code (2004). The novel presents a modern-day quest for the Holy Grail, the legendary cup Jesus and his disciples drank from at the Last Supper, which was also subsequently used to catch and preserve his blood at the crucifixion (figure 21.2). That act was usually attributed to Mary Magdalene or Joseph of Arimathea. The original grail story is the French romance Le Conte du Graal (The Story of the Grail), composed about 1190 by Chrétien de Troyes (Barber 2004, 17–19).
Brown's novel is predicated on a conspiracy theory involving Jesus and Mary Magdalene. Supposedly the old French word sangreal is explained not as san greal (“holy grail”) but as sang real (“royal blood”). Although that concept was not current before the Late Middle Ages, a source Brown drew heavily on, Holy Blood, Holy Grail, argues that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene, with whom he had a child, and even that he may have survived the crucifixion. Jesus’ child, so the “non-fiction” book claims, thus began a bloodline that led to the Merovingian dynasty, a succession of kings who ruled what is today France from 481 to 751 (Baigent et al. 1996).
Evidence of the holy bloodline was supposedly found in a trove of parchment documents, discovered by Bérenger Saunière, the priest of Rennes-le-Château in the Pyrenees. The secret had been kept by a shadowy society known as the Priory of Sion, which harked back to the era of the Knights Templar and claimed among its past “Grand Masters” Leonardo da Vinci, Isaac Newton, and Victor Hugo.
Brown seizes on Leonardo—borrowing from “The Secret Code of Leonardo Da Vinci,” chapter one of another work of pseudohistory titled The Templar Revelation. This was coauthored by “researchers” Lynn Picknett and Clive Prince, whose previous foray into nonsense was their claim that Leonardo had created the Shroud of Turin—even though that forgery appeared nearly a century before the great artist and inventive genius was born!
Among the “revelations” of Picknett and Prince (1998, 19–21), adopted by Dan Brown in The Da Vinci Code, is a claim regarding Leonardo's fresco, Last Supper, which I visited in Milan with Massimo Polidoro. Supposedly, the painting contains hidden symbolism relating to the sang real secret. Picknett and Prince claim, for instance, that St. John in the picture (seated at the right of Jesus) is actually a woman—Mary Magdalene!—and that the shape made by “Mary” and Jesus is “a giant, spread-eagled ‘M,’” allegedly confirming the interpretation. By repeating this silliness, Brown provokes critics to note that his characterizations reveal ignorance about his subject (Bernstein 2004, 12).
Alas, the whole basis of The Da Vinci Code—the “discovered” parchments of Rennes-le-Château, relating to the alleged Priory of Sion—were part of a hoax perpetrated by a man named Pierre Plantard. Plantard commissioned a friend to create fake parchments which he then used to concoct the bogus priory story in 1956 (Olson and Miesel 2004, 223–39).
Of course, Dan Brown—along with the authors of Holy Blood, Holy Grail and The Templar Revelation—was duped by the Priory of Sion hoax, which he in turn foisted onto his readers. He is apparently unrepentant, however, and his apologists point out that The Da Vinci Code is, after all, fiction, although at the beginning of the novel Brown claimed it was based on certain facts. Meanwhile, despite the devastatingly negative evidence, The Da Vinci Code mania continues, along with the quest for the fictitious Holy Grail.
BLOOD OF ST. JANUARIUS
Joined by paranormal investigator Luigi Garlaschelli (from the Department of Organic Chemistry at the University of Pavia), I flew from Turin to Naples to further investigate a miracle claim on which I had previously spent much time. It concerned the “blood” of the legendary martyr San Gennaro—St. Januarius—who was supposedly bishop of Benevento, Italy, in 305 CE when he was beheaded during the persecutions of Christians by Diocletian.
Eyewitnesses dating back to at least the fourteenth century reported that what is represented as the martyred saint's congealed blood periodically liquefies, reddens, and froths—in an apparent contravention of natural laws. The ritual takes place several times annually. According to tradition, if the phenomenon fails to occur, disaster is imminent (Nickell and Fischer 1992, 145–51).
Reasons for suspicions abound. First, the Catholic Church has never been able to verify the historical existence of San Gennaro. Moreover, there is absolutely no provenance for the saint's blood relics prior to 1389 (when an unknown traveler reported his astonishment at witnessing the liquefaction).
Another reason for suspicion is that there are additional saints, whose blood is said to liquefy—some twenty in all—and virtually every one of them is found in the Naples area. Such proliferation seems less suggestive of the miraculous than indicative of some regional secret.
It is important to note that no sustained scientific scrutiny of the blood relics has ever been permitted. Also, descriptions of the liquefaction vary, and it is not always easy to separate what may be permutations in the phenomenon's occurrence from differences attributable to individual perceptions. Assertions that the substance in the vials is genuine blood are based solely on spectroscopic analyses that employed antiquated equipment and were done under such poor conditions as to cast grave doubts on the results. (For a full discussion of the Januarian legend and phenomena, see Nickell and Fischer 1992, 145–64.)
Forensic analyst John F. Fischer and I offered a solution to the phenomenon, involving a mixture of olive oil, melted beeswax, and pigment. Only a small amount of the wax is added, sufficient that, when the whole is cool, the mixture is solid, but when slightly warmed (by body heat, nearby candles, and so on) the trace of congealing substance melts and—slowly or even quite suddenly—the mixture liquefies. As one authority states: “A very important fact is that liquefaction has occurred during repair of the casket, a circumstance in which it seems highly unlikely that God would work a miracle” (Coulson 1958, 239).
In 1991, before we could publish our research, a team of Italian scientists made international headlines with their own solution to the Januarian mystery. Writing in the journal Nature, Professor Garlaschelli and two colleagues from Milan, Franco Ramaccini and Sergio Della Sala, proposed “that thixotropy may furnish an explanation.” A thixotropic gel is one
capable of liquefying when agitated and of resolidifying when allowed to stand. The Italian scientists, creating such a gel by mixing chalk and hydrated iron chloride with a small amount of salt water, reported a convincing replication of the Januarian phenomenon (Garlaschelli et al. 1991).
In 1996, Garlaschelli was able to examine a similarly liquefying blood relic, that of St. Lorenzo (at the Church of St. Maria in Arnaseno, Italy). Using a test-tube mixer, he whirled the ampoule containing the “blood” to test the thixotropic-gel hypothesis, but there was no effect. He then immersed the ampoule in warm water to test the melting hypothesis, whereupon a “miracle” occurred: the contents liquefied and turned red—just like the Januarian phenomenon (Polidoro 2004).
In 2004, in company with Luigi Garlaschelli himself, I was able to visit the Italian sites that hold the reputed relics of San Gennaro. The sites included the Chapel of the Treasury, situated inside the Cathedral of Naples. This baroque chapel—rich in frescoes and marbles—holds the gilded silver bust of the saint and the ampulla of the “blood” that periodically liquefies and again coagulates. Garlaschelli (2004) cautions that the St. Januarius and St. Lorenzo “blood” relics do not necessarily work on the same principle, and he still believes the former may be a thixotropic substance.
We also visited the Church of Capuchin Monks at Pozzuoli, Italy, a short train ride from Naples. Here is the marble slab, installed in the church wall, reputed to be the stone on which Januarius was beheaded (figure 21.3). In the late 1980s, however, the stone was examined and determined to be a paleo-Christian altar, possibly dating from the seventh century (hundreds of years after the martyrdom). The red spots that were supposed to be the blood of the saint are believed to be traces from an old painting together with some candle drippings. According to Garlaschelli (2004), the church itself now discourages the cult of the Pozzuoli Stone, he says, “as a superstition originating from the wishful thinking and self-delusion of the worshippers.” That could apply to many other miracle claims—throughout Italy and beyond.
In the old-town portion of Genoa, Italy, the city where Christopher Columbus was born, stands the great Romanesque-Gothic cathedral of San Lorenzo (Saint Lawrence).1 Here, in the subterranean Museum of the Treasury—which houses reputed pieces of the True Cross, relics of John the Baptist, and other religious objects—is displayed Il Sacro Catino, “the Holy Basin.” This is one of the most famous embodiments of the legendary “Holy Grail,” and I was able to study both it and its legend there in the fall of 2009 (figure 22.1), attempting to resolve some of the mysteries and controversies concerning it.
GRAIL LEGENDS AND MIRACLES
Romantic stories about the quest for the San Gréal, or “Holy Grail”—reportedly the cup used by Jesus at the Last Supper—have proliferated for centuries. Popularly, the grail (originally the word meant “dish”) is the talisman sought by the knights of King Arthur's Round Table. The quest is known to English audiences largely though French romances compiled and translated by Sir Thomas Malory in his Morte d'Arthur in 1470. Therein the grail is represented as the chalice from which Jesus and his disciples drank at the Last Supper before it was subsequently used to catch and preserve his blood from the crucifixion. This act was usually attributed to Mary Magdalene or Joseph of Arimathea (the latter having claimed Jesus’ body for burial [see Mark 15:43–46]).
The earliest grail romance is Le Conte du Graal (“The Story of the Grail”), which was composed by Chrétien de Troyes around 1190. It describes how, when a girl “entered holding the grail, so brilliant a light appeared that the candles lost their brightness like the stars or the moon when the sun rises…. The grail…was made of fine, pure gold, and in it were precious stones of many kinds.” Two other grail stories, both written by Robert de Boron circa 1200, were Joseph d'Arimathie and Merlin. These gave the grail quest a new Christian focus, representing it as a spiritual rather than a chivalrous search. This epic constitutes the most important and best-known English version of the Arthurian and grail adventures (Barber 2004, 19; Cox 2004, 75–76).
Other legends represent the Holy Grail variously as a silver platter, a salver bearing a man's severed head (like that of John the Baptist in Matthew 14:3–12), or a crystal vase filled with blood. Over time the grail has also been represented as a reliquary (containing the Sacred Host or holy blood), a secret book, an effigy of Jesus, the philosopher's stone, and many other portrayals.
It was sometimes held to be supernatural—being in one embodiment a miraculous dish of plenty that could feed a multitude bread and wine. Around 1205, in a Bavarian poem titled Parzival, it was described as a magical luminous stone, more specifically as an emerald from Lucifer's crown that had fallen to earth during the struggle in heaven. The term Holy Grail now popularly refers to any object of a quest, usually an unattainable one (Nickell 2007, 50–53).
THE HISTORICAL EVIDENCE
Unfortunately, there is no story about Joseph of Arimathea and the Holy Grail in any text until the close of the twelfth century, when Robert de Boron penned his romance. Notably, the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ death do not suggest that Joseph or anyone obtained a dish or other vessel from the Last Supper and used it or any other receptacle to preserve Jesus’ blood. Records of the Holy Blood—the reputed contents of the cup Joseph possessed—are also of late vintage, perhaps the earliest coming from Mantra, Italy, in 804 (Nickell 2007, 53–56).
Nevertheless, several vessels lay claim to being the true Holy Grail—some twenty of which had surfaced by the sixteenth century. John Calvin ([1543] 2009, 62, 63) reported on several of the rival claimants for the title of “the cup in which Christ gave the sacrament of his blood to the apostles” (at the Last Supper). Calvin mentioned one at Notre Dame de l'Isle, near Lyons; another was in a monastery in the Albigéois; still another could be found at Genoa. This was “a vessel or cup of emerald” so “costly,” says Calvin sarcastically, that “our Lord must have had a splendid service on that occasion” (see also my introduction to Calvin [1543] 2009, 32–33).
THE EMERALD BOWL
Calvin is clearly referring to Il Sacro Catino, “The Holy Basin.” Most sources allege that this vessel—actually an emerald-green, hexagonal bowl—was brought to Genoa by Guglielmo Embriaco, following the conquest of Caesarea in 1101.2 A fresco on the main façade of the Palazzo San Giorgio (figure 22.2) depicts crusader Guglielmo (“William” in English) holding as war booty the distinctive catino. Twelfth-century writers acknowledged the purported intrinsic value of the bowl. For example, William of Tyre noted circa 1170 that it was “a vase of brilliant green shaped like a bowl” and that “the Genoese, believing that it was of emerald, took it in lieu of a large sum of money and thus acquired a splendid ornament for their church.” He adds, “They still show this vase as a marvel to people of distinction who pass through their city, and persuade them to believe it is truly an emerald as its color indicates” (quoted in Barber 2004, 168).
Others have seemed even more skeptical. States George Frederick Kunz in his The Curious Lore of Precious Stones ([1913] 1971, 259):
A queer story has been told regarding the Genoese emerald. At one time when the government was hard pressed for money, the Sacro Catino was offered to a rich Jew of Metz as pledge for a loan of 100,000 crowns. He was loath to take it, as he probably recognized its spurious character, and when Christian clients forced him to accept it under threats of dire vengeance in case of refusal, he protested that they were taking a base advantage of the unpopularity of his faith, since they could not find a Christian who would make the loan. However, when some years later the Genoese were ready to redeem this precious relic, they were much puzzled to learn that a half-dozen different persons claimed to have it in their possession, the fact being that the Jew had fabricated a number of copies which he had succeeded in pawning for large sums, assuring the lender in each case that the redemption of the pledge was certain.
Be this anti-Semitic folktale as it may, the catino was indeed pawned in 1319 and redeemed in 1327 (Mar
ica 2007, 7; Lottero 2010). It is still owned by the municipality of Genoa (Marica 2007, 12).
In any event, the catino is not made of emerald—no matter how much its color and hexagonal shape give it the appearance of a faceted gemstone. At about fifteen inches in diameter, it would have been an immense emerald indeed! Actually, according to the museum's guidebook (Marica 2007, 12), it is simply of “mould-blown green glass.” Its manufacture is said to be Egyptian (Barber 2004, 168) or ninth-century Islamic (Marica 2007, 12), or possibly later.
Its glass composition was revealed when it became broken (figure 22.3). According to the 1910 Encyclopedia Britannica (s.v. “Genoa”), the catino “was long regarded as an emerald of matchless value, but was found when broken at Paris, whither it had been carried by Napoleon I., to be only a remarkable piece of ancient glass.” (Another view is that it was broken on its return to Genoa [Marica 2007, 7], and a 1914 New York Times story claimed—possibly because of erroneous translation—that it had just been “accidentally broken” and was “beyond the possibility of repair” [“‘Holy Grail’ Shattered” 1914].) In any case, the bowl was restored in 1908 and again, finally, in 1951, when it received the metal armature that holds the pieces together Lottero 2010; Marica 2007, 7). (A rumor claims that the missing piece—again see figure 22.3—was kept in Paris in the Louvre [Lottero 2010].)
UNHOLY GRAIL
When the belief that the catino was made of emerald was broken to pieces, so was the claim that it was the Holy Grail. Its alleged Christological link was asserted long after the bowl arrived in Genoa, and it was predicated on the basis of its supposed emerald composition. This leap of faith was made by Jacopo da Voragine, archbishop of Genoa and author of Legenda Aurea (Golden Legend).
In a chronicle of Genoa written at the close of the thirteenth century, Jacopo, believing the vessel was indeed made of emerald, linked it to one of the grail traditions. He cited certain English texts that claimed that Nicodemus had used an emerald vessel to collect Jesus’ blood when his body was placed in his tomb and that these texts called it “Sangraal”—that is, “Holy Grail” (Marica 2007, 7; Barber 2004, 168).
