Orlando’s sentences that the world-sick courtier surmises he had been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and had conned his answers out of rings! The weeping maiden, in Shakspeare’s “Lovers’ Complaint,” is seen tearing letters in the extremity of her grief, and we are told that she
Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone.
The practice of thus inscribing rings was a widely-extended one. It obtains at this day amongst the Chinese, with whom the single word “Patience” is a favourite motto.
But the ring has not always been merely an ornament or a plaything; it has had its uses, and has frequently performed notable service. Its use, as a signet, dates from very early times, and in that character it is often mentioned in the narratives of the Bible. Cicero has the expression—“imprimere sigilla annulo.” The Pope has a ring which is called the Fisherman’s ring, because it bears the representation of Peter as a fisherman. It is used to seal the Papal briefs—instruments of less importance than bulls. When the Pope dies the Cardinal Chamberlain breaks the ring, and the city of Rome presents the succeeding occupant of St. Peter’s chair with a new one. The peculiar authenticity ascribed to impressions of signets has led to their being often employed to effect a sinister purpose both in real life and in fiction. The atrocious violence to which the virtuous wife of a Roman senator fell a victim was accomplished, it will be remembered, by the Emperor Valentinian, by means of her husband’s signet ring.
Another use of rings was, as we have already hinted, in the way of money. Ancient ring-money found in various parts of the island, may be seen in the British Museum: and bronze rings used for a similar purpose have been disinterred in Ireland.
Antiquarians are of opinion that large rings of gold, occasionally dug up in Scandinavia, were used at the ceremony of administering an oath.
Some persons have been known to carry poison secreted under the stone; Demosthenes is said to have been one of them, so that he had always a means of terminating his existence in that which seemed to others nothing but an innocent ornament.
As gifts and marks of affection, rings have figured largely in the intercourse of society. If a monarch desires to express his acknowledgments for the politeness of his inferiors, he thinks he does it most suitably by the gift of a diamond ring. If a lover wishes to intimate the strength or purity and endlessness of affection for his mistress, and at the same time to prefigure the knot which he hopes will hereafter bind them together, is it not all done by the present of a ring?
Fair sweet, if you desire to know,
And would the meaning understand,
Wherefore on you I do bestow
This ring of gold with heart in hand,
Read these few lines that are behind,
And there my meaning you shall find.[1]
How often has a ring been intended to typify the lasting force of a friendship the frailty of which a few months exposed. Amongst the Latin poems of Buchanan are some lines on a ring set with a diamond, presented by Queen Elizabeth to her dear cousin Mary Queen of Scots. The spotless lustre of the stone and its adamantine hardness, however, betokened something very different from the feelings which were meant to be expressed, or the qualities meant to be imaged, and the aspirations with which the poem concluded in the name of the ring—if Fate ordains that it should link each to the other with a chain as of adamant never to be broken by the attacks of envy, hatred, malice or time, then would it be the happiest, the most celebrated, and the most estimable of jewels—proved as fallacious as any human desire, as baseless as any human prophecy, has ever been. One of the large pictures in the Luxembourg Palace (from which we may obtain an excellent idea of the modern French school of High Art) should be mentioned as representing an episode in history in which the ring was an actor. Every one knows that Francis I. fell into the hands of the Emperor Charles V. at the battle of Pavia, and was kept a prisoner for some months in Spain. Subsequently, Charles, being desirous of visiting his Flemish dominions, asked permission of Francis to pass through his kingdom, which was granted. On his road he was entertained at Fontainebleau with great splendour. Some of the king’s friends exhorted him to take this opportunity of retaliating upon the emperor by seizing his person, and amongst them was the Duchess d’Etampes. Charles being conscious of his dangerous position, thought it prudent to gain the woman over to his interests by some species of bribe. One day, when preparing to wash his hands before seating himself at table, he drew from his finger a ring of great value, and purposely let it fall near the duchess, who picked it up from the floor and presented it to the owner. “No, madame,” said he, “the ring is in a hand too beautiful for me to take it again.” The trick answered its purpose; but the duchess was not the only one with whom Charles had to contend. When the Court jester—“a fellow wise enough to play the fool, a practice,” says Viola, “as full of labour as a wise man’s art”—laid a list of fools before the king, it was found to be headed with the emperor’s name as being fool enough to put himself into the clutches of his adversary.
“But,” said Francis, “if I allow him to pass free, what then?”
“Why, then,” said the jester, “I shall strike out his name and write yours in its place.”
We have seen that the ring is present at the most important act which a man performs in his course from the cradle to the grave. It appears once more at the last scene of all. This time, however, it is tricked with black, and glitters not with jewels, its sole ornament being a short and mournful admonition. Those who are acquainted with the history of the Spectator’s country knight (and who is not?) will remember that he left rings by his will for every one in the club.
Amongst our collection of annular curiosities we must not omit to mention that a diminutive watch has sometimes taken the place of the jewel- ↑ A sonnetta from a collection of poems principally by Thomas Delony, printed 1607.
