Precious Stones Worn as Symbols

The present age could afford us nearly as many examples of faith in talismans and amulets as any epoch in the past, if people were willing to confess their real beliefs. However, they are half-ashamed of their fondness for such objects, and fail to see that, back of all the folly and superstition that may find expression in this way, there is a deeper meaning in these talismans than we at first perceive. We may be disposed to smile when we are told that many of the soldiers in the Austro-Prussian War of 1866 carried amulets of some kind upon their persons, and that the great Marshal Canrobert trusted to the protection of an amulet in the Crimean campaign. Of course the Russian army, during the Russo-Japanese War, was amply provided with amulets, religious medals or pictures to which a special virtue had been given by a priestly blessing.

In all these cases, however, it is not the object itself, but the idea for which it stands and which it incorporates, that gives confidence to the wearer, and in this sense the wearing of a talisman is no more a proof of blind superstition than is the devotion to a flag, in itself only a few square feet of silk or bunting, but, nevertheless, the symbol of the noblest ideas and feelings, of patriotic devotion to one's native land and to one's fellow-countrymen. The tendency to give a substantial visible form to an abstract idea is so deeply rooted in humanity that it must be looked upon as responding to a human necessity. It is only very rarely that purely intellectual conceptions can satisfy us; they must be given some external, palpable and visible form to exert their greater influences.

Although it may bear a certain superficial likeness to fetichism, this use of signs and symbols is something entirely and radically different, for the idea is never lost sight of, it is only strengthened and vivified by the contemplation of the symbol. Hence, while we know quite well that the symbol is nothing in itself, we know just as well that it has a real power in its relation to the idea it typifies, and we can no more be indifferent to its injury or destruction than we could be indifferent to the injury or destruction of a cherished memento of one whom we have loved and lost.

What super-subtle sense is it that enables some women to endow their gems with a certain individuality, and leads them to feel that these cold, inanimate objects partake of human emotion? A French writer, Mme. Catulle Mendes, gives expression to this when she says that she always wears as many of her rings as possible, because her gems feel slighted when she leaves them unworn. She continues:

"I have a ruby which grows dull, two turquoises which become pale as death, aquamarines which look like siren's eyes filled with tears, when I forget them too long. How sad I should feel if precious stones did not love to rest upon me!"