RINGS COUPLED WITH REMARKABLE HISTORICAL CHARACTERS OR CIRCUMSTANCES.

§ 1. When Egypt is mentioned, the Pyramids rise in their sublimity—a sublimity made perfect by their vastness and mysterious age. We can fancy Abraham beholding them with awe, as, in the moonlight, they seemed to be awful and gigantic reflexes of his own tents looming into the heavens. We can imagine Alexander, rushing triumphantly on as the sun warmed and brightened their points; and Cambyses, within their shadow, horrifying the Egyptians by the destruction of their god Apis. We can hear, too, the modern destroyer, with the bombastic cry to his soldiers that, from the summits of those monuments, forty centuries looked down upon them: they must indeed have looked down upon those who came as locusts and were swept away like them! And as our minds enter, from the outward heat, into the cold chamber of the Pyramids, we observe Champollion, Wilkinson, Vyse and Lepsius unrolling ages with the unwinding of papyrus and illuminated bandage.

Let us, however, attempt to sink these mighty mountains of man’s labor below the desert—upon which they now heavily press as though they were sealing the earth—and bring up, amid the vast desert and in their place, a single figure, bearing a signet-ring upon its finger. It is Suphis or Cheops, King of Memphis, who caused the Great Pyramid to be made for his monument. What a speck, for such a tomb! The monuments of man take up much space. Here was a whole nation employed to make one man’s mausoleum. We fear that the virtues which live after men could often go within the compass of their finger-ring.

To every kingly order or decree connected with the foundation of the Great Pyramid or with the thousands of men who had to work or with the prodigious material employed, an impression of the signet-ring of Suphis had to be attached. Rings have been used for higher and holier things; but never for so vast a human purpose.

Now, bring up, once more, (through the mind’s enchantment,) the Pyramids, built upwards of two thousand years before the time of Christ, with all the busy centuries which have encircled them; and looking back, we can hardly think that this ring of Suphis, a circle which an inch square might hold—is undestroyed! And even if it be, we can scarcely believe that it is to be seen within the sweep of our own observation. The city of New-York holds the ring of Suphis. In the Egyptian collection formed by Dr. Abbott is this ring. And if exquisite work can add to its value, it has it in a high degree. Beautiful in execution;—there is something wonderful in its preservation; while a species of awe, seldom attaching to a small substance, seems to chill our nature and we are dumb while we look upon it.

Here is the most valuable antique ring in the world. This ring alone ought to be sufficient to secure the collection to New-York for ever.[252]

It may be well to copy a description of this relic as it appears in Dr. Abbott’s Catalogue:

“This remarkable piece of antiquity is in the highest state of preservation, and was found at Ghizeh, in a tomb near that excavation of Colonel Vyse’s called Campbell’s tomb. It is of fine gold; and weighs nearly three sovereigns. The style of the hieroglyphics is in perfect accordance with those in the tombs about the Great Pyramid, and the hieroglyphics within the oval make the name of that Pharaoh of whom the pyramid was the tomb. The details are minutely accurate and beautifully executed. The heaven is engraved with stars: the fox or jackal has significant lines within its contour: the hatchets have their handles bound with thongs, as is usual in the sculptures; the volumes have the string which binds them hanging below the roll, differing in this respect from any example in sculptured or painted hieroglyphics. The determinative for country is studded with dots, representing the sand of the mountains at the margin of the valley of Egypt. The instrument, as in the larger hieroglyphics, has the tongue and semi-lunar mark of the sculptured examples; as is the case also with the heart-shaped vase. The name is surmounted with the globe and feathers, decorated in the usual manner; and the ring of the cartouch is engraved with marks representing a rope, never seen in the sculptures: and the only instance of a royal name similarly encircled is a porcelain example in this collection, inclosing the name of the father of Sesostris. The O in the name is placed as in the examples sculptured in the tombs, not in the axis of the cartouch. The chickens have their unfledged wings; the cerastes its horns, now only to be seen with the magnifying glass.”

Probably the next most important ring is one believed to have been that which was given by Pharaoh to the patriarch Joseph. Upon opening, in the winter of 1824, a tomb in the necropolis of Sakkara near Memphis, Arab workmen discovered a mummy, every limb of which was cased in solid gold; each finger had its particular envelope, inscribed with hieroglyphics: “So Joseph died, being an hundred and ten years old; and they embalmed him and he was put in a coffin in Egypt.”[253] A golden scarabÆus or beetle was attached to the neck by a chain of the same metal; a signet-ring was also found, a pair of golden bracelets and other relics of value.[254] The excavation had been made at the charge of the Swedish Consul; but the articles discovered became the prize of the laborers. By a liberal application of the cudgel, the scarabÆus with its chain, a fragment of the gold envelope and the bracelets were recovered. The bracelets are now in the Leyden Museum, and bear the same name as the ring.[255] This signet-ring, however, which was not given up at the time, found its way to Cairo and was there purchased by the Earl of Ashburnham. That nobleman having put his collection of relics, with his baggage, on board a brig chartered in Alexandria for Smyrna, the vessel was plundered by Greek pirates, who sold their booty in the island of Syra. The signet in question fell thus into the hands of a Greek merchant, who kept it till about three years ago, when it was sold in Constantinople and purchased and brought finally to England. It is again in the possession of the Earl of Ashburnham. This signet has been assigned to the age of Thothmes III. The quantity and nature of the golden decorations existing in the tomb referred to indicate it as the sepulchre of one of the Pharaohs or of some highly distinguished officer of the royal household; and a calculation places the death of the patriarch Joseph in about the twentieth year of the reign of Thothmes III. The signet would be an excellent specimen of the antique of a kind called Tabat, still common in the country and which resemble, in all but the engraved name upon this signet, the ring placed by Pharaoh on Joseph’s hand. The seal turns on a swivel, (and, so, has two tablets,) and, with the ring or circle of the signet, is of very pure and massive gold. The carving is very superior and also bold and sharp, which may be accounted for from the difficult oxydization of gold above all metals. In connection with this ring, it is necessary to remember what occurred when “Pharaoh took off his ring from his hand and put it upon Joseph’s hand.”—“And he made him to ride in the second chariot which he had; and they cried before him, Bow the knee; and he made him ruler over all the land of Egypt. And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, I am Pharaoh and without thee shall no man lift up his hand or foot in all the land of Egypt. And Pharaoh called Joseph’s name Zaphnath-paaneah.” The seal has the cartouch of Pharaoh. And one line upon it has been construed into Paaneah, the name bestowed by Pharaoh on Joseph. This signifies, in combination with “Zaphnath,” either, the Revealer of Secrets, or, the Preserver of the World.

A discovery of the ring of Suphis and that which Pharaoh gave to Joseph appears to border on the marvellous; and, yet, such things were and gentleness of climate may allow us to suppose that they still exist,—while modern energy, science and learning are so laying bare the world’s sepulchre of the past that we ought not to disbelieve at the suggested resurrection of any thing. In excavations recently made in Persia, the palace of Shushan and the tomb of Daniel have probably been found; and also the very pavement described in Esther, i. 6, “of red and blue and white and green marble.”[256]

§ 2. Hannibal carried his death in his ring, which was a singular one. When the Roman ambassadors required the king of Bythinia to give Hannibal up, the latter, on the point of the king’s doing so, swallowed poison, which he always carried about in his ring. In the late war between America and Mexico, rings were found upon the fingers of dead officers of the latter country. These opened and, it is said, a poisonous substance was discovered; and there is a notion that the owners of these rings were ready to act the part of Hannibal: poison themselves rather than become prisoners.

The Romans were very curious in collecting cases of rings, (dactylothecÆ,) many of which are mentioned as being at Rome; among these was that which Pompey the Great took from Mithridates and dedicated to Jupiter in the Capitol.[257]

And Pompey’s ring is known. Upon it were engraved three trophies, as emblems of his three triumphs over the three parts of the world Europe, Asia and Africa.[258] A ring with a trophy cut upon it has helped to victory: When Timoleon was laying siege to Calauria, Icetes took the opportunity to make an inroad into the territories of Syracuse, where he met with considerable booty; and having made great havoc, he marched back by Calauria itself, in contempt of Timoleon and the slender force he had with him. Timoleon suffered him to pass; and then followed him with his cavalry and light-armed foot. When Icetes saw he was pursued, he crossed the Damyrias and stood in a posture to receive the enemy, on the other side. What emboldened him to do this was the difficulty of the passage and the steepness of the banks on both sides. But a strange dispute and jealousy of honor which arose among the officers of Timoleon awhile delayed the combat: for there was not one that was willing to go after another, but every man wanted to be foremost in the attack; so that their fording was likely to be very tumultuous and disorderly by their jostling each other and pressing to get before. To remedy this, Timoleon ordered them to decide the matter by lot; and that each, for this purpose, should give him his ring. He took the rings and shook them in the skirt of his robe; and the first that came up happening to have a trophy for the seal, the young officers received it with joy and, crying out that they would not wait for any other lot, made their way as fast as possible through the river and fell upon the enemy, who, unable to sustain the shock, soon took to flight, throwing away their arms and leaving a thousand of their men dead upon the spot.[259]

CÆsar’s ring bore an armed Venus. On that of Augustus there was, first, a sphinx; afterwards, the image of Alexander the Great; and at last, his own, which the succeeding emperors continued to use. Dr. Clarke says, the introduction of sculptured animals upon the signets of the Romans was derived from the sacred symbols of the Egyptians and hence the origin of the sphinx for the signet of Augustus.

Nero’s signet-ring bore Apollo, flaying Marsyas. This emperor’s musical vanity led him to adopt it.

§ 3. When the practice of deifying princes and venerating heroes became general, portraits of men supplied the place of more ancient types. This custom gave birth to the cameo; not, perhaps, introduced before the Roman power and rarely found in Greece.

§ 4. In the British Museum is an enamelled gold ring of Ethelwoulf, King of Wessex, second King of England, A. D. 836, 838. It bears his name.[260]

The tradition of Madoc, one of the last princes of Powis, is kept up by the discovery of a gold signet-ring, with the impress of a monogram placed under a crown. It is supposed to be the ring of Madoc.

The ring of Edward the Confessor has been discovered; and is said to be in the possession of Charles Kean the actor and that he wears it whenever he plays the character of King Lear. This performer is a collector of antiquities. He purchased the red hat of Cardinal Wolsey at the sale of the Strawberry Hill collection. This hat was found by Bishop Burnet, when Clerk of the Closet, in the great wardrobe and was given by his son, the Judge, to the Countess Dowager of Albemarle, who presented it to Horace Walpole.

King John of England is reputed to have secured a ring to aid his designs upon the beautiful wife of the brave Eustace de Vesci, one of the twenty-five barons appointed to enforce the observance of Magna Charta.[261] The tyrant, hearing that Eustace de Vesci had a very beautiful wife, but far distant from court and studying how to accomplish his licentious designs towards her, sitting at table with her husband and seeing a ring on his finger, he laid hold on it and told him that he had such another stone, which he resolved to set in gold in that very form. And having thus got the ring, presently sent it to her, in her husband’s name; by that token conjuring her, if ever she expected to see him alive, to come speedily to him. She, therefore, upon sight of the ring, gave credit to the messenger and came with all expedition. But so it happened that her husband, casually riding out, met her on the road and marvelling much to see her there, asked what the matter was? and when he understood how they were both deluded, resolved to find a wanton and put her in apparel to personate his lady. The king afterwards boasting to the injured husband himself, Eustace had the pleasure to undeceive him. We may imagine the cheated monarch’s rage and how freely he used his favorite oath of, “by the teeth of God!”

Lord L’Isle, of the time of Henry VIII. of England, had been committed to the Tower of London on suspicion of being privy to a plot to deliver up the garrison of Calais to the French. But his innocence appearing manifest on investigation, the monarch released and sent him a diamond ring with a most gracious message. Whether it was his liberty or the ring or the message, the fact is that he died the night following “of excessive joy.”[262]

The turquoise was valuable enough for princely gift. Anne of Brittany, young and beautiful, Queen of Louis the Twelfth of France, sent a turquoise ring to James the Fourth of Scotland, who fell at Flodden. Scott refers to it:

And, in a note, he says that a turquoise ring, “probably this fatal gift,” is (with James’s sword and dagger) preserved in the College of Heralds, London; and gives the following quotation from Pittscottie: “Also, the Queen of France wrote a love-letter to the King of Scotland, calling him her love, showing him that she had suffered much rebuke in France for the defending of her honor. She believed surely that he would recompense her again with some of his kingly support in her necessity, that is to say, that he would raise her an army and come three foot of ground, on English ground, for her sake. To that effect she sent him a ring off her finger, with fourteen hundred French crowns to pay his expenses.”

Some of the trials of life which Richard Bertie and his wife Catharine, Duchess of Suffolk, underwent,[263] are matters of history. They arose from the zeal of the Duchess for the Reformation in the reign of Edward VI. and through the malice of Bishop Gardiner. The lady had in her “progress” caused a dog in a rochet (part of a bishop’s dress) to be carried and called by Gardiner’s name. They had an only son Peregrine Bertie, who claimed and obtained the Barony of Willoughby of Eresby. He was sent as general of auxiliaries into France; and did good service at the siege of Paris and by the reduction of many towns. His troops were disbanded with great commendation; and Lord Willoughby received a present of a diamond ring from the King of France.[264] This ring he, at his death, left his son, with a charge, upon his blessing, to transmit it to his heirs. Queen Elizabeth wrote a free letter inviting him back to England, beginning it, “Good Peregrine.” His will is a remarkable one. It begins thus: “In the name of the blessed divine Trynitie in persons and of Omnipotent Unitye in Godhead, who created, redeemed and sanctified me, whom I steadfastlye beleeve will glorifye this sinfull, corruptyble and fleshely bodie, with eternal happiness by a joyeful resurrection at the general Judgment, when by his incomprehensible justice and mercye, having satisfied for my sinfull soule, and stored it uppe in his heavenlye treasure, his almightye voyce shall call all fleshe to be joyned together with the soule to everlasting comforte or discomforte. In that holye name I Pergrin Bertye,” etc., etc., etc. He was once confined to his bed with the gout and had an insulting challenge sent him, to which he answered, “That although he was lame of his hands and feet, yet he would meet his adversary with a piece of a rapier in his teeth.” His idea of a “carpet knight” is observable in his saying, that “a court became a soldier of good skill and great spirit as a bed of down would one of the Tower lions.”

Richard Boyle, who, by personal merit, obtained a high position and is known as the “great Earl of Cork,” did not forget his early life. When he was in the height of his prosperity, he committed the most memorable circumstances of his life to writing, under the title of “True Remembrances;” and we find the mention of a ring which his mother had given him: “When first I arrived in Ireland, the 23d of June, 1588, all my wealth then was twenty-seven pounds three shillings in money and two tokens which my mother had given me, viz. a diamond ring, which I have ever since and still do wear, and a bracelet of gold worth about ten pounds; a taffety doublet cut with and upon taffety; a pair of black silk breeches laced; a new Milan fustian suit laced and cut upon taffety, two cloaks, competent linen and necessaries, with my rapier and dagger; and, since, the blessing of God, whose heavenly providence guided me hither, hath enriched my weak estate in the beginning with such a fortune as I need not envy any of my neighbors, and added no care or burthen to my conscience thereunto.”[265]

We have mentioned Shakspeare’s signet-ring. It is of gold and was found on the sixteenth day of March in the year one thousand eight hundred and ten, by a laborer’s wife upon the surface of the mill-close, adjoining Stratford churchyard. The weight is twelve penny-weights; it bears the initials W. S.; and was purchased by Mr. R. B. Wheeler (who has published a Guide to Stratford-upon-Avon[266]) for thirty-six shillings, the current value of the gold. It is evidently a gentleman’s ring of the time of Elizabeth; and the crossing of the central lines of the W. with the oblique direction of the lines of the S. exactly agree with the character of that day. There is a connection or union of the letters by an ornamental string and tassels, known commonly as a “true lover’s knot”—the upper bow or flourish of which forms the resemblance of a heart. On the porch of Charlcote House near Stratford, erected in the early part of Elizabeth’s reign by the very Sir Thomas Lucy said to have persecuted Shakspeare for deer stealing, the letters T. L. are surrounded in a manner precisely similar. Allowing that this was Shakspeare’s ring, it is the only existing article which originally belonged to him.

Singularly enough, a man named William Shakspeare was at work near the spot when this ring was picked up.[267] Little doubt can be entertained that it belonged to the poet and is probably the one he lost before his death and was not to be found when his will was executed, the word hand being substituted for seale in the original copy of that document. The only other person at Stratford having the same initials and likely to possess such a seal was William Smith, but he used one having a different device, as may be seen from several indentures preserved amongst the records of the corporation. Halliwell believes in the authenticity of this relic. Mr. Wheeler, its owner, says: “Though I purchased it upon the same day for 36s. (the current value of the gold) the woman had sufficient time to destroy the precious Ærugo, by having it unnecessarily immersed in aquafortis, to ascertain and prove the metal, at a silversmith’s shop, which consequently restored its original color.”

In the Life of Haydon the painter,[268] we have the following letter from him to Keats, (March 1, 1818:) “My dear Keats, I shall go mad! In a field at Stratford-upon-Avon, that belonged to Shakspeare, they have found a gold ring and seal, with the initials W. S. and a true lover’s knot between. If this is not Shakspeare’s, whose is it?—a true lover’s knot! I saw an impression to-day, and am to have one as soon as possible: as sure as you breathe and that he was the first of beings, the seal belonged to him.

“O Lord! B. R. Haydon.”

Let us now turn to the ring that Queen Elizabeth gave to the handsome, brave and open-hearted Devereux, Earl of Essex; and which was probably worn by him, when, on his trial, he was desired to hold up his right hand, and he said that he had, before that time, done it often at her majesty’s command for a better purpose. The story of this ring has been discarded by some authors; but we see no reason to doubt it. We take our account from Francis Osborn’s Traditional Memoirs on the Reign of Queen Elizabeth.[269] “Upon this,” says he, “with a great deal of familiarity, she presented a ring to him, which after she had, by oaths, endued with a power of freeing him from any danger or distress, his future miscarriage, her anger or enemies’ malice could cast him into, she gave it him, with a promise that, at the first sight of it, all this and more, if possible, should be granted. After his commitment to the Tower, he sent this jewel to her majesty by the then Countess of Nottingham, whom Sir Robert Cecill kept from delivering it. But the Lady of Nottingham, coming to her death-bed and finding by the daily sorrow the Queen expressed for the loss of Essex, herself a principal agent in his destruction, could not be at rest till she had discovered all and humbly implored mercy from God and forgiveness from her earthly sovereign; who did not only refuse to give it, but having shook her as she lay in bed, sent her, accompanied with most fearful curses, to a higher tribunal.” This reads like truth; and what a picture it presents! Mark the fury of such an overbearing, half-masculine Queen; and, the repentant passiveness of the dying Countess!

Dr. Birch, in his Memoirs, says: the Queen observed, “God may forgive you, but I never can.”

We are inclined to believe that Elizabeth swore pretty roundly on this occasion, as it is known she could; and that there was a violence on the occasion is even shown by Dr. Birch: he says—“The Countess of Nottingham, affected by the near approach of death, obtained a visit from the Queen, to whom she revealed the secret; that the Queen shook the dying lady in her bed, and thenceforth resigned herself to the deepest melancholy.”

The melancholy continued; and this haughty woman was soon smitten; refusing to rest on a bed, from a superstition that it would be her death couch, she became almost a silent lunatic, and crouched upon the floor. There sat she, as did another queen, who cried—

neither rising nor lying down, her finger almost always in her mouth, her eyes open and fixed on the ground.[270] But her indomitable will did not leave her in her death hour. She had declared she would have no rascal to succeed her; and when she was too far gone to speak, Secretary Cecil besought her, if she would have the King of Scots to reign after her, to show some sign unto them. Whereat, suddenly heaving herself up, she held both her hands joined together, over her head, in manner of a crown. Then, she sank down, and dozed into another world.

The Chevalier Louis Aubery de Maurier, who was many years the French Minister in Holland, and said to have been a man of great parts and unsuspected veracity, gives the following story of the Essex ring:[271]

“It will not, I believe, be thought either impertinent or disagreeable to add here what Prince Maurice had from the mouth of Mr. Carleton, Ambassador from England in Holland, who died Secretary of State, so well known under the name of my Lord Dorchester and who was a man of great merit. He said that Queen Elizabeth gave the Earl of Essex a ring in the height of her passion for him, ordering him to keep it, and that whatever he should commit she would pardon him when he should return that pledge. Since that time, the Earl’s enemies having prevailed with the Queen, who besides was exasperated against him for the contempt he showed for her beauty, which, through age, began to decay, she caused him to be impeached. When he was condemned, she expected that he should send her the ring; and would have granted him his pardon according to her promise. The Earl finding himself in the last extremity, applied to Admiral Howard’s lady, who was his relation, and desired her, by a person whom she could trust, to return the ring into the Queen’s own hands. But her husband, who was one of the Earl’s greatest enemies and to whom she told this imprudently, would not suffer her to acquit herself of the commission; so that the Queen consented to the Earl’s death, being full of indignation against such a proud and haughty spirit who chose rather to die than to implore her mercy. Some time after, the Admiral’s lady fell sick and being given over by her physicians, she sent word to the Queen that she had something of great consequence to tell her before she died. The Queen came to her bedside, and having ordered all the attendants to withdraw, the Admiral’s lady returned her, but too late, that ring from the Earl of Essex, desiring to be excused that she did not return it sooner, having been prevented doing it by her husband. The Queen retired immediately, being overwhelmed with the utmost grief; she sighed continually for a fortnight following, without taking any nourishment; lying abed entirely dressed and getting up an hundred times a night. At last she died with hunger and with grief, because she had consented to the death of a lover who had applied to her for mercy. This melancholy adventure shows that there are frequent transitions from one passion to another and that as love often changes to hate, so hate, giving place sometimes to pity, brings the mind back again into its first state.” Sir Dudley Carleton, who is made the author of this story, was a man who deserved the character that is given of him and could not but be well informed of what had passed at court. The Countess of Nottingham was the daughter of the Lord Viscount Hunsdon, related to the Queen and also, by his mother, to the Earl of Essex.

The story of the ring and the relations of the Queen’s passion for the Earl of Essex were long regarded by many writers as romantic circumstances. But these facts are now more generally believed. Hume, Birch and other judicious historians give credit to them. Dr. Birch has confirmed Maurice’s account by the following narrative, which was often related by the Lady Elizabeth Spelman, a descendant of Sir Robert Cary, Earl of Monmouth, whose acquaintance with the most secret transactions of Queen Elizabeth’s court is well known:[272]

“When Catharine, Countess of Nottingham, wife of the Lord High Admiral and sister of the Earl of Monmouth, was dying, (as she did, according to his Lordship’s own account, about a fortnight before the Queen,) she sent to her majesty, to desire that she might see her in order to reveal something to her majesty, without the discovery of which she could not die in peace. Upon the Queen’s coming, Lady Nottingham told her that, while the Earl of Essex lay under sentence of death, he was desirous of asking her majesty’s mercy, in the manner prescribed by herself, during the height of his favor: the Queen having given him a ring which, being sent to her as a token of his distress, might entitle him to her protection. But the Earl, jealous of those about him and not caring to trust any one with it, as he was looking out of the window one morning, saw a boy, with whose appearance he was pleased, and, engaging him, by money and promises, directed him to carry the ring, which he took from his finger and threw down, to Lady Scroope, a sister of the Countess of Nottingham and a friend of his lordship, who attended upon the Queen and to beg of her that she would present it to her majesty. The boy, by mistake, carried it to Lady Nottingham, who showed it to her husband, the Admiral, an enemy of Lord Essex, in order to take his advice. The Admiral forbid her to carry it or return any answer to the message; but insisted upon her keeping the ring.

“The Countess of Nottingham having made the discovery, begged the Queen’s forgiveness, but her majesty answered, ‘God may forgive you, but I never can;’ and left the room with great emotion. Her mind was so struck with this story that she never went to bed, nor took any subsistence, from that instant: for Camden is of opinion that her chief reason for suffering the Earl to be executed was his supposed obstinancy in not applying to her for mercy.”

Miss Strickland considers that the story of this ring should not be lightly rejected.

There are two rings extant claiming to be the identical one so fatally retained by Lady Nottingham. The first is preserved at Hawnes, Bedfordshire, England and is the property of the Reverend Lord John Thynne. The ring is gold, the sides are engraved and the inside set with blue enamel; the stone is a sardonyx, on which is cut, in relief, a head of Elizabeth, the execution being of a high order. The second is the property of a Mr. Warner, and was given by Charles the First to Sir Thomas Warner, the settler of Antigua, Nevis, etc. It is a diamond set in gold, inlaid with black enamel at the back and sides.[273]

And now let us turn to one of Elizabeth’s victims, who had her talent and was her contrast: for Mary of Scotland was womanly and beautiful. So charming was she in the mind of the French poet Ronsard that he tells us France without her was as “a ring bereft of its precious pearl.”[274] The nuptial ring of Mary, Queen of Scots, on her marriage with Lord Darnley, is extant.[275] It is, in general design, a copy of her great seal, the banners only being different, for, in the great seal they each bear a saltier surmounted by a crown. (In her great seal made when Dowager of France, after the death of Francis the Second, the dexter banner is St. Andrew’s Cross, the sinister the Royal Arms of the Lion.) The ring part is enamelled. It is of most beautiful and minute workmanship. An impression is not larger than a small wafer. It has the initials M. R.; and on the interior is a monogram of the letters M. and A., Mary and Albany: Darnley was created Duke of Albany.

A use of the arms of England by Mary came to the knowledge of and gave great offence to Elizabeth and Burghley; and the latter obtained a copy of them so used, which copy is now in the British Museum. It is endorsed by Burghley, “False Armes of Scotl. Fr. Engl. Julii, 1559.” The following doggrel lines are underneath the arms:

A letter has been discovered in the handwriting of Mary herself which presents the monogram of M. and A. that is upon the ring. This epistle is in French; and the following is a translation:

“Madam, my good sister, the wish that I have to omit nothing that could testify to you how much I desire not to be distant from your good favor, or to give you occasion to suspect me from my actions to be less attached to you than, my good sister, I am, does not permit me to defer longer the sending to you the bearer, Master of my Requests, to inform you further of my good will to embrace all means which are reasonable, not to give you occasion to be to me other than you have been hitherto; and relying on the sufficiency of the bearer, I will kiss your hands, praying God that he will keep you, Madam my good sister, in health and a happy and long life. From St. John’s Town, this 15th of June.

“Your very affectionate and faithful
“Good Sister and Cousin,
“Marie R.”

“To the Queen of England,
“Madam my good Sister
“and Cousin.”

The history of the ring bearing the arms of England, Scotland and Ireland, (and which is said to have been produced in evidence at the trial of the unfortunate Mary as a proof of her pretensions to the crown of England,) is curious. It descended from Mary to her grandson Charles the First, who gave it on the scaffold to Archbishop Juxon for his son Charles the Second, who, in his troubles, pawned it in Holland for three hundred pounds, where it was bought by Governor Yale; and sold at his sale for three hundred and twenty dollars, supposed to the Pretender. Afterwards it came into the possession of the Earl of Ilay, Duke of Argyll. It was ultimately purchased by George the Fourth of England, when he was Prince Regent.[276] This is sometimes called the Juxon ring.

It appears by Andrews’s continuation of Henry’s History of Great Britain,[277] that Mary had three wedding rings on her marriage with Darnley: “She had on her back the great mourning gown of black, with the great mourning hood,” (fit robes for such a wedding!) “The rings, which were three, the middle a rich diamond, were put on her finger. They kneel together and many prayers are said over them,” etc., etc. Rings of Mary of Modena have been mistaken for those of Mary of Scotland.

There is a ring at Bolsover Castle containing a portrait of Mary.[278]

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:)

These lines we thus render in verse:

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:

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 aqu 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: