A word more of Elizabeth and Mary. Aubrey says,[279] “I have seen
some rings made for sweethearts, with a heart enamelled held between
two right hands. See an epigram of George Buchanan on two rings that
were made by Elizabeth’s appointment, being layd one upon the other
showed the like figure. The heart was two diamonds, which joyned,
made the heart. Queen Elizabeth kept one moietie, and sent the other
as a token of her constant friendship to Mary, Queen of Scots; but
she cut off her head for all that.” Aubrey, who also quotes an
old verse as to the wearers of rings: _Miles, mercator, stultus,
maritus, amator_,--here alludes, it is presumed, to a diamond ring
originally given by Elizabeth to Mary as a pledge of affection and
support and which Mary commissioned Beatoun to take back to her when
she determined to seek an asylum in England. The following is one of
Buchanan’s epigrams on the subject of the ring, described by Aubrey:
“_Loquitur adamas in cordis effigiem sculptus, quem Maria Elizabethæ
Angl. misit:_” (The diamond sculptured into the form of a heart and
which Mary sent to the English Elizabeth, says:)
“_Quod te jampridem videt, ac amat absens,_
_Hæc pignus cordis gemma, et imago mei est,_
_Non est candidior non est hæc purior illo_
_Quamvis dura magis non image firma tamen._”
These lines we thus render in verse:
“This gem is pledge and image of my heart:
A heart that looks and loves, though not in view.
The jewel has no clearer, purer part--
It may be harder, but is not more true.”
The sentiment in this epigram must have been gathered from
expressions made by Mary herself: for, at a time when she was at
Dumferline and desired and hoped for an interview with Elizabeth, she
received, through the hands of Randolph, a letter from the English
Queen, “which first she did read and after put into her bosom next
unto her _schyve_.” Mary entered into a long private conversation
with Randolph on the subject of their proposed interview; and asked
him, in confidence, to tell her frankly whether it were ever likely
to take effect. “Above any thing,” said she, “I desire to see my
good sister; and next, that we may live like good sisters together,
as your mistress hath written unto me that we shall. I have here,”
continued she, “a ring with a diamond fashioned like a heart: I know
nothing that can resemble my good will unto my good sister better
than that. My meaning shall be expressed by writing in a few verses,
which you shall see before you depart; and whatsomever lacketh
therein, let it be reported by your writing. I will witness the same
with my own hand, and call God to record that I speak as I think with
my heart, that I do as much rejoice of that continuance of friendship
that I trust shall be between the queen my sister and me and the
people of both realms, as ever I did in any thing in my life.” “With
these words,” continues Randolph, “she taketh out of her bosom the
Queen’s Majesty’s letter; and after that she had read a line or two
thereof, putteth it again in the same place, and saith, ‘If I could
put it nearer my heart I would.’”[280]
Mary’s sad going to England, makes us remember Wordsworth’s sonnet:
“----; but Time, the old Saturnian seer,
Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand,
With step prelusive to a long array
Of woes and degradations, hand in hand,
Weeping Captivity and shuddering Fear,
Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay!”
[Illustration: Original size.]
In the British Museum is a ring which belonged to one whose life
had been a tissue of cowardice, cruelty, falsehood and weakness,
Lord Darnley. If this was a ring he ordinarily wore, it probably
was upon his finger when he led the way to the murder of Riccio
and pointed him out to the slayers. However this may be, the story
goes that when Darnley was reconciled to Mary and was in the house
called Kirk of Field, she, one evening, on taking leave in order to
attend a marriage of a servant, embraced him tenderly; took a ring
from her finger and placed it upon his. It was on this night that
a terrific explosion was heard, which shook the city of Edinburgh.
Then it was that the Kirk of Field was blown up; and at a little
distance, in the garden, were the dead bodies of Darnley and his
page. We are not of those who believe that Mary’s hand or heart were
in this murder, notwithstanding we read of the vote of the Scotch
Parliament and peruse Buchanan’s suggested letters from the Queen to
Bothwell--especially as these epistles are not forthcoming. It has
been said that Buchanan expressed sorrow on his death-bed for what he
had written against Mary. But he certainly was not a repentant. We
have a proof of his indomitable disposition in the fact that when,
at his dying hour, he was informed that the King was highly incensed
against him for writing his books _De Jure Regni_ and History of
Scotland, he replied, “he was not much concerned about that, for
he was shortly going to a place where there were few kings.”[281]
Writers who show no esteem for Buchanan give him the character of an
inveterate drinker even up to his death hour; he, “continuing his
debauches of the belly, made shift to get the dropsy by immoderate
drinking,” and it was said of him, by way of jest, that he was
troubled _vino inter cute_ and not _aquâ inter cute_ (by _wine
between the skin_ and not _water between the skin_).[282]
There is a ring known in English history as the _Blue Ring_.[283]
King James the First kept a constant correspondence with several
persons of the English court for many years prior to Queen
Elizabeth’s decease; among others with Lady Scroope, sister of
Robert Carey, afterwards Earl of Monmouth, to which lady his majesty
sent, by Sir James Fullerton, a sapphire ring, with positive orders
to return it to him, by a special messenger, as soon as the Queen
actually expired. Lady Scroope had no opportunity of delivering
it to her brother Robert while he was in the palace of Richmond;
but waiting at the window till she saw him at the outside of the
gate, she threw it out to him and he well knew to what purpose he
received it. Indeed, he was the first person to announce to James his
accession to the crown of England; and the monarch said to him: “I
know you have lost a near kinswoman and a mistress, but take here my
hand, I will be a good master to you and will requite this service
with honor and reward.” This Robert Carey wrote his own memoirs;
and therein says: “I only relied on God and the King. The one never
left me; the other, shortly after his coming to London, deceived my
expectations and adhered to those who sought my ruin.”
Thomas Sackvil, Duke of Dorset, who was Lord High Treasurer of
England in the times of Elizabeth and James I., has left a remarkably
long and curious will, which shows exceeding wealth and a mixture
of seeming humility, obsequious loyalty and pride of position. His
riches appear to have mainly come from his father, who was called
by the people _Fill-Sack_, on account of his vast property. A great
number of personal ornaments are bequeathed; and among them many
rings, which are particularly described. He often and especially
notices[284] “one ring of gold and enamelled black and set round
with diamonds, to the number of 20., whereof 5. being placed in the
upper part of the said ring do represent the fashion of a cross.”
This ring is coupled with “one picture of the late famous Queen
Elizabeth, being cut out of an agate, with excellent similitude,
oval fashion and set in gold, with 20. rubies about the circle of it
and one orient pearl pendant to the same; one ring of gold, enamelled
black, wherein is set a great table diamonde, beying perfect and pure
and of much worth; and one cheyne of gold, Spanish work, containing
in it 48. several pieces of gold, of divers sorts, enamelled white
and of 46. oval links of gold, likewise enamelled white, wherein
are 144. diamonds.” These rings, chain and picture are to remain
as heirlooms; while particular directions are given to place them
in the custody of the warden and a senior fellow of New College at
Oxford during minority of his descendants, to be kept within the said
college “in a strong chest of iron, under two several keys,” etc.
The testator states how the “said rynge of gould, with the great
table diamonde sett therein togeather with the said cheyne of goulde,
were given to him by the Kinge of Spayne;” while the way in which he
obtained the ring set round with twenty diamonds is thus elaborated
in the will: “And to the intent that they may knowe howe just and
great cause bothe they and I have to hould the sayed Rynge, with
twentie Diamonds, in so heighe esteeme, yt is most requisite that I
do here set downe the whole course and circumstance howe and from
whome the same rynge did come to my possession, which was thus: In
the Begynning of the monethe of June one thousand sixe hundred and
seaven, this rynge thus sett with twenty Diamondes, as is aforesayed,
was sent unto me from my most gracious soveraigne King James, by
that honorable personage the Lord Haye, one of the gentlemen of his
Highnes Bedchamber, the Courte then beying at Whitehall in London
and I at that tyme remayning at Horsley House in Surrey, twentie
myles from London, where I laye in suche extremitye of sickness as
yt was a common and a constant reporte all over London that I was
dead and the same confidentlie affirmed even unto the Kinge’s Highnes
hymselfe; upon which occasion it pleased his most excellent majestie,
in token of his gracious goodness and great favour towards me, to
send the saied Lord Hay with the saied Ringe, and this Royal message
unto me, namelie, that his Highness wished a speedie and a perfect
recoverye of my healthe, with all happie and good successe unto me
and that I might live as longe as the diamonds of that Rynge (which
therewithall he delivered unto me) did indure, and, in token thereof,
required me to weare yt and keep yt for his sake. This most gracious
and comfortable message restored a new Life unto me, as coming from
so renowned and benigne a soveraigne,”--but enough of this fulsome
praise of the coward King of Holyrood. It makes us think of Sir
Richie Moniplie’s scene: “But my certie, lad, times are changed since
ye came fleeing down the back stairs of auld Holyrood House, in grit
fear, having your breeks in your hand, without time to put them on,
and Frank Stewart, the wild Earl of Bothwell, hard at your haunches;
and if auld Lord Glenwarloch hadna cast his mantle about his arm and
taken bluidy wounds mair than ane in your behalf, you wald not have
crawed sae crouse this day.”
There is a ring in the Isle of Wight, shown as having belonged to
Charles the First of England; and the following story is told of
it.[285] When Charles was confined in Carisbrook Castle, a man
named Howe was its master gunner. He had a son, a little boy, who
was a great favorite of Charles. One day, seeing him with a child’s
sword by his side, the King asked him what he intended doing with
it? “To defend your Majesty from your Majesty’s enemies,” was the
reply; an answer which so pleased the King that he gave the child the
signet-ring he was in the habit of wearing upon his finger.
An engraving of the ring has been published. The article itself is in
the possession of a descendant of Howe’s. It is marked inside with
the letters A and T conjoined followed by E. The author cannot trace
or couple these letters with Charles the First; and he is otherwise
inclined to doubt the story. It is a tale to please loyal readers.
Charles was an intelligent man; and he was not likely, especially
under his then circumstances, to have given his signet-ring to a
child. There is a very pretty incident connected with his passing
to prison, where he might beautifully have left a ring with a
true-hearted lady. As he passed through Newport, on the way to
the Castle of Carisbrook, the autumn weather was most bitter. A
gentlewoman, touched by his misfortunes and his sorrows, presented
him with a damask rose, which grew in her garden at that cold season
of the year and prayed for him. The mournful monarch received the
lady’s gift, heartily thanked her and passed on to his dungeon.
It is true that Charles, when in the Isle of Wight, gave a ring from
his finger. But the receiver of it was Sir Philip Warwick. This
ring bore a figure cut in an onyx; and was handed to Sir Philip in
order to seal the letters written for the King by that knight at the
time of the treaty. This ring was left by Sir Philip to Sir Charles
Cotterell, Master of the Ceremonies, who, in his will, (16th April,
1701,) bequeathed it to Sir Stephen Fox. It came into the possession
of the latter’s descendant, the late Earl of Ilchester and was stolen
from his house in old Burlington street, London, about seventy years
ago.[286]
Just before his execution, the same monarch caused a limited number
of mourning rings to be prepared. Burke, in his Commoners of Great
Britain and Ireland, mentions the family of _Rogers in Lota_. This
family was early remarkable for its loyalty and attachment to the
crown. A ring is still preserved as an heirloom, which was presented
to its ancestor by King Charles the First during his misfortunes.
Robert Rogers of Lota received extensive grants from Charles the
Second. In the body of his will is the following: “And I also
bequeathe to Noblett Rogers the miniature portrait ring of the martyr
Charles I. given by that monarch to my ancestor previous to his
execution; and I particularly desire that it may be preserved in the
name and family.” The miniature is said to be by Vandyke.
The present possessor of this ring says that when it was shown in
Rome, it was much admired; the artists when questioned, “Whose
style?” frequently answered, “Vandyke’s.”[287] Although many doubt
whether Vandyke ever submitted to paint miniatures, yet portraits in
enamel by him are known to be in existence.
A ring, said to be one of the seven given after the King’s death,
was possessed by Horace Walpole and sold with the Strawberry Hill
collection. It has the King’s head in miniature and behind, a skull;
while between the letters C. R. is this motto:
“_Prepared be to follow me._”
There is another of these rings (all of which may be considered as
“stamped with an eternal grief”) in the possession of a clergyman.
The shank of the ring is of fine gold, enamelled black, but the
greater part of the enamel has been worn away by use. On the inner
side of the shank an inscription has been engraved, the first letter
of which still remains, but the rest of this also has been worn away
by much use. In the shank is set a small miniature in enamel of
the King, inclosed in a box of crystal which opens with a spring.
At the back of the box, containing the miniature, is a piece of
white enamel, having a death’s head surmounted by a crown with the
date January 30 represented upon it in black. A memorial ring of
Charles the First, which has a portrait of the King in enamel and
an inscription at the back, recording the day of his execution, was
exhibited before the members of the London Antiquarian Society in
March, 1854.[288]
Rings, with portraits of Charles the First on ivory, are not uncommon.
When the body of Charles the First was discovered in 1813, (in the
royal burial place at Windsor,) the hair at the back of the head
appeared close cut; whereas, at the time of the decollation, the
executioner twice adjusted the King’s hair under his cap. No doubt
the piety of friends had severed the hair after death, in order to
furnish rings and other memorials of the unhappy monarch.
A noble character was James Stanley, seventh Earl of Derby, who was
beheaded for his loyalty to Charles the First.
As a proof of his bravery, with six hundred horse he maintained fight
against three thousand foot and horse, receiving seven shots in his
breast-plate, thirteen cuts in his beaver, five or six wounds on his
arms and shoulders, and had two horses killed under him.
His manliness shows well in his answer to Cromwell’s demand that
he should deliver up the Isle of Wight: “I scorn your proffers;
I disdain your favors; I abhor your treasons; and am so far from
delivering this island to your advantage, that I will keep it to the
utmost of my power to your destruction. Take this final answer and
forbear any further solicitations; for if you trouble me with any
more messages upon this occasion, I will burn the paper and hang the
bearer.”[289]
He was executed contrary to the promise of quarter for life, “an
ancient and honorable plea not violated until this time.”
There is a deeply interesting account of his acts and deportment
written by a Mr. Bagaley who attended on him. The Earl wrote letters
to his wife, daughter and sons; a servant went and purchased all the
rings he could get and lapped them up in several papers and writ
within them and the Earl made Bagaley subscribe them to all his
children and servants. This coupling his servants with his children
in connection with these death tokens is charming. The Earl handed
the letters with the rings to Bagaley and, in relation to delivering
them, he used this beautiful and perfect expression--“As to them,
I can say nothing: _silence and your own looks will best tell your
message_.”
On quitting his prison, others confined there kissed his hand and
wept; but as to himself, he told them: “You shall hear that I die
like a Christian, a man and a soldier.”
He was to be beheaded at Bolton. On his way thither, Bagaley says:
“His lordship, as we rode along, called me to him and bid me, when I
should come into the Isle of Man, to commend him to the Archbishop
there and tell him he well remembered the several discourses that
had passed between them there concerning death and the manner of it;
that he had often said the thoughts of death could not trouble him
in fight or with a sword in hand, _but he feared it would something
startle him tamely to submit to a blow on the scaffold_. But,” said
his lordship, “tell the archdeacon from me that I do now find in
myself an absolute change as to that opinion.”
At night when he laid him down upon the right side, with his hand
under his face, he said: “Methinks I lie like a monument in a church;
and to-morrow I shall really be so.”
There was a delay in his execution, for the people of Bolton refused
to strike a nail in the scaffold or to give any assistance. He asked
for the axe and kissed it. He forgave the headsman before he asked
him. To the spectators, he said: “Good people, I thank you for your
prayers and for your tears; I have heard the one and seen the other
and our God sees and hears both.” He caused the block to be turned
towards the church. “I will look,” cried he, “towards the sanctuary
which is above for ever.” There were other interesting circumstances
attending his execution. With outstretched arms he laid himself down
to the block, exclaiming, “Blessed be God’s name for ever and ever.
Let the whole earth be filled with his glory.” Then the executioner
did his work--“_and no manner of noise was then heard but sighs and
sobs_.”
We are left without any account of the way in which Bagaley delivered
the rings; but, imagination can make a picture of a darkened and
dismantled mansion, suffering widow and children, with terrified
retainers, and Bagaley standing in the midst, weary, heart-sick,
tearfully presenting the melancholy remembrances and realizing the
truthfulness of the words of his brave, good and gentle master:
“_Silence and your own looks will best tell your message_.”
The French woman Kerouaille, favorite mistress of Charles the Second,
and created Duchess of Portsmouth, is said to have secured two
valuable diamond rings from the King’s finger while the throes of
death were on him. The following graphic description is worth reading:
“I should have told you, in his fits his feet were as cold as ice,
and were kept rubbed with hot cloths, which were difficult to get.
Some say the Queen rubbed one and washed it in tears. Pillows were
brought from the Duchess of Portsmouth’s by Mrs. Roche. His Highness,
the Duke of York, was the first there, and then I think the Queen,
(he sent for her;) the Duchess of Portsmouth swooned in the chamber,
and was carried out for air; Nelly Gwynne roared to a disturbance
and was led out and lay roaring behind the door; the Duchess wept
and returned; the Princess (afterwards Queen Anne) was not admitted,
he was so ghastly a sight, (his eye-balls were turned that none of
the blacks were seen, and his mouth drawn up to one eye,) so they
feared it might affect the child she goes with. None came in at
the common door, but by an odd side-door to prevent a crowd, but
enough at convenient times to satisfy all. The grief of the Duchess
of Portsmouth did not hinder her packing and sending many strong
boxes to the French ambassador’s; and the second day of the King’s
sickness, the chamber being kept dark--one who comes from the light
does not see very soon, and much less one who is between them and the
light there is--so she went to the side of the bed, and sat down to
and taking the king’s hand in hers, felt his two great diamond rings;
thinking herself alone, and asking him what he did with them on, said
she would take them off, and did it at the same time, and looking up
saw the Duke at the other side, steadfastly looking on her, at which
she blushed much, and held them towards him, and said, ‘Here, sire,
will you take them?’ ‘No, madam,’ he said, ‘they are as safe in your
hands as mine. I will not touch them till I see how things will go.’
But since the King’s death she has forgot to restore them, though he
has not that she took them, for he told the story.” This extract is
taken from a letter written by a lady who was the wife of a person
about the court at Whitehall and forms part of a curious collection
of papers lately discovered at Draycot House near Chippenham,
Wiltshire, England.[290]
Jeffreys, the bloody Jeffreys, whose greatest honor was to make a
martyr of Sidney, while rising in royal favor and when about to
depart for the circuit to give the provinces “a lick with the rough
side of his tongue,” (a favorite expression of his,) experienced a
mark of regard from Charles the Second. The King took a ring from his
own finger and gave it to this besotted wretch of a chief justice.
At the same time the monarch bestowed on him a curious piece of
advice to be given by a king to a judge: it was, that, as the weather
would be hot, Jeffreys should beware of drinking too much.[291] The
people called the ring “_Jeffrey’s blood-stone_,” as he got it just
after the execution of Sir Thomas Armstrong. Roger North says: “The
king was persuaded to present him with a ring, publicly taken from
his own finger, in token of his majesty’s acceptance of his most
eminent services; and this by way of precursor being blazoned in
the Gazette, his lordship went down into the country, as from the
king _legatus a latere_.” The Lord Keeper North, who, it has been
said, hated Jeffreys worse than popery,[292] speaks of the terror
to others of the face and voice of the chief justice: “as if the
thunder of the day of judgment broke over their heads;” and shows
how Jeffreys, who, by this time, had reached the position of Lord
Chancellor, was discovered by a lawyer that had been under the storm
of his countenance:[293] “There was a scrivener of Wapping brought
to hearing for relief against a bummery bond; the contingency of
losing all being showed, the bill was going to be dismissed. But one
of the plaintiff’s counsel said that he was a strange fellow and
sometimes went to church, sometimes to conventicles and none could
tell what to make of him and it was thought he was a trimmer. At
that the Chancellor fired; and ‘A trimmer,’ said he, ‘I have heard
much of that monster, but never saw one. Come forth, Mr. Trimmer,
turn you round, and let us see your shape;’ and at that rate talked
so long that the poor fellow was ready to drop under him; but, at
last, the bill was dismissed with costs and he went his way. In the
hall, one of his friends asked him how he came off? ‘Came off!’
said he, ‘I am escaped from the terrors of that man’s face, which I
would scarce undergo again to save my life; and I shall certainly
have the frightful impression of it as long as I live.’ Afterwards,
when the Prince of Orange came and all was in confusion, this Lord
Chancellor, being very obnoxious, disguised himself in order to go
beyond sea. He was in a seaman’s garb and drinking a pot in a cellar.
This scrivener came into the cellar after some of his clients; and
his eye _caught that face_, which made him start; and the Chancellor,
seeing himself eyed, feigned a cough and turned to the wall with his
pot in his hand. But _Mr. Trimmer_ went out and gave notice that he
was there; whereupon the mob flowed in and he was in extreme hazard
of his life,” etc., etc. This term “Trimmer” seemed to be very
obnoxious to Jeffreys. Once at the council and when the king was
present, Jeffreys “being flaming drunk, came up to the other end of
the board and (as in that condition his way was) fell to talking and
staring like a madman, and, at length, bitterly inveighed against
Trimmers and told the king that he had Trimmers in his court and he
would never be easy so long as the Trimmers were there.”[294] North
gives the interpretation of the word “Trimmer,” which was taken up
to subdivide the Tory party, of whom all (however loyal and of the
established church professed) who did not go into all the lengths of
the new-flown party at court, were so termed.[295]
The name of the great Dundee instantly brings to mind one of the most
spirited and characteristic ballads ever written:
“The Gordon demands of him which way he goes--
Where’er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!
Your Grace, in short space, shall hear tidings of me:
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come, fill up my cup; come, fill up my can;
Come, saddle the horses and call up the men;
Come, open your gates and let me gae free,
For it’s up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.”[296]
All of this is gone; low lies Bonny Dundee; and the untruth of what
is called history is all we have of him. There was a ring of which a
description and an engraving remain containing some of Lord Dundee’s
hair, with the letters V. D. surmounted by a coronet worked upon it
in gold; and on the inside of the ring are engraved a skull and this
poesy:
“_Great Dundee, for God and me. J. Rex._”
This ring, which belonged to the family of Graham of Duntrune,
(representative of Viscount Dundee,) has, for several years, been
lost or mislaid.[297]
A memorial of Nelson is left in some half-dozen of rings. In
the place of a stone, each ring has a metal _basso relievo_
representation of Nelson, half bust. The metal, blackish in
appearance, forming the relief, being, in reality, portions of the
ball which gave the Admiral his fatal wound at Trafalgar.
Cardinal York, the last of the Stuart family, left as a legacy to the
Prince of Wales, afterwards George the Fourth, a valuable ring which
was worn by the kings of Scotland on the day of their coronation.[298]
We have met with but one case where, in a college disputation, the
successful contestant was rewarded with a ring. James Crichton,
who obtained the appellation of the “Admirable Crichton,” had
volunteered--it was at a time when he was only twenty years of
age--to dispute with any one in Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, Greek, Latin,
Spanish, French, Italian, English, Dutch, Flemish and Sclavonian; and
this, either in verse or prose. He did not seem to prepare himself,
but occupied his time in hunting, hawking, tilting, vaulting, tossing
a pike, handling a musket and other military feats. Crichton duly
appeared in the College of Navarre and acquitted himself beyond
expression in the disputation, which lasted from nine o’clock in the
morning until six at night. At length, the President, after extolling
him highly for the many rare and excellent endowments which God and
nature had bestowed upon him, rose from his chair and, accompanied
by four of the most eminent professors of the University, gave him
a diamond ring (with a purse full of money) as a testimony of regard
and favor.[299]
In England, during the year 1815, a tooth of Sir Isaac Newton was
sold for seven hundred and twenty pounds to a nobleman who had it set
in a ring.
The elder Kean used to wear, to the hour of his death, a gold snake
ring, with ruby head and emerald eyes. At the sale of his effects, it
fetched four guineas and an half.[300]
On the day of the arrival of Miss Milbankes’ answer to Lord Byron’s
offer of marriage, he was sitting at dinner in Newstead Abbey, when
his gardener came and presented him with his mother’s ring, which
she had lost and which the gardener had just found in digging up the
mould under her window. Almost at the same moment, the letter from
Miss Milbankes arrived; and Lord Byron exclaimed, “If it contains
a consent, I will be married with this very ring.”[301] It does
not appear whether it was really used. Strange, if it were! and
singular that his lordship, so full of powerful superstition, should
have suggested it. His mother’s temper had been, in part, his bane;
her marriage was a most unhappy one; the poet’s father notoriously
wedded for money and was separated from his wife--while, the poet’s
offer, at a time when he was greatly embarrassed, coupled with his
own mysterious after-separation, would make this ring appear a fatal
talisman if it were really placed upon Miss Milbankes’ finger. It was
in his after-bitterness, in his desolate state and dissoluteness
that Byron called the wedding-ring “the damn’dest part of matrimony.”
§ 5. In the last Polish struggle, the matrons of Warsaw sent their
marriage rings to coin into ducats.[302]
A few years ago the signet-ring of the famous Turlough Lynnoch was
found at Charlemont in the county of Armagh, Ireland. It bears the
bloody hand of the O’Neils and initials T. O. The signet part of the
ring is circular and the whole of it silver. O’Neils had been kings
of Ireland and were also Earls of Ulster. The symbol of the province
of Ulster was a bloody hand. Fergus, the first King of Scotland, was
descended from the O’Neils. King James the First made this bloody
hand the distinguishing badge of a new order of baronets and they
were created to aid by service or money for forces in subduing the
O’Neils.[303]
During the years 1813, 1814 and 1815, when Prussia had collected
all her resources, in the hope of freeing herself from the yoke
which France had laid upon her, the most extraordinary feelings of
patriotism burst forth. Every thought was centred in the struggle;
every coffer was drained; all gave willingly. In town and village
altars were erected, on which ornaments of gold, silver and precious
stones were offered up. Massive plate was replaced in palaces by
dishes, platters and spoons of wood. Ladies wore no other ornaments
than those made of iron, upon which was engraved: “_We gave gold for
the freedom of our country; and, like her, wear an iron yoke._”
One evening, a party had assembled in the house of an inhabitant
of Breslau. Among them, was a beautiful though poor maiden. Her
companions were boasting what each had contributed towards the
freedom of their country. Alas! she had no offering to proclaim--none
to give. With a heavy heart she took her leave. While unrobing for
the night, she thought she could dispose of her hair and, so, add
to the public fund. With the dawn, she went to a hairdresser’s;
related her simple tale; and parted with her tresses for a trifling
sum, which she instantly deposited on an altar and returned to her
quiet home. This reached the ears of the officers appointed each
day to collect the various offerings; and the President received
a confirmation from the hairdresser, who proposed to resign the
beautiful hair, provided it was resold for the benefit of fatherland.
The offer was accepted; iron rings were made, each containing a
portion of hair; and these produced far more than their weight in
gold.[304]