When the Abbey was destroyed by fire in 1795, this ring, with other valuables, disappeared; it subsequently came into the hands of General Hydrow, and from him passed into the Imperial Russian Cabinet.
Ring of Gyges. [P. 96].
Nizámi, the famous Persian poet, who died in 1209, has a story of a ring which is a very close version of the ring of Gyges. A hot vapour once rent the ground, and brought to light in the chasm a hollow horse of tin and copper with a large fissure in its side. A shepherd saw it, and discovered in the body an old man asleep, with a gold ring on his finger. He took it off, and went next morning to his master to learn the value of his booty; but during his visit he discovered, to his astonishment, that when he turned the seal towards his palm he became invisible. He determined to make use of this power, and he proceeded to the palace, and secretly entered the council-chamber, where he remained unseen. When the nobles had left it, he revealed himself to the king by this miracle as a prophet. The king at once took him as his minister, and eventually the shepherd succeeded him on the throne.
In Reginald Scot’s ‘Discovery of Witchcraft,’ 1665, is given a charm whereby ‘to go invisible by these three sisters of the fairies,’ Milita, Achilia, and Sibylia. You are ‘first to go to a fair parlour, or chamber, and on even ground, and in no loft, and from people nine dayes, for it is better; and let all thy cloathing be clean and sweet. Then make a candle of virgin wax and light it, and make a fair fire of charcoles in a fair place in the middle of the parlour or chamber; then take fair clean water that runneth against the East, and set it upon the fire, and if thou warm thyself say these words, going about the fire three times holding the candle in thy right hand.’ The incantation is too profane to be repeated. The following is the effect produced: ‘and if they come not the first night, then do the same the second night, and so the third night, until they do come, for doubtless they will so come; and lie thou in thy bed in the same parlour or chamber, and lay thy right hand out of the bed, and look thou have a fair silken kerchief bound about thy head, and be not afraid, they will do thee no harm; for there will come before thee three fair women, and all in white cloathing, and one of them will put a ring upon thy finger wherewith thou shalt go invisible. Then with speed bind her with the bond aforesaid. When thou hast this ring on thy finger, look in a glass and thou shalt not see thyself. And when thou wilt go invisible, put it on thy finger, the same finger that they did put it on, and every new moon renew it again,’ &c.
The Cruel Knight and the Fortunate Farmer’s Daughter. [P. 99].
‘The Fish and the Ring, or the Cruel Knight, and the Fortunate Farmer’s Daughter’ (a reprint for William Robinson, Esq., 1843).
In famous York city a farmer did dwell,
Who was belov’d by his neighbours well;
He had a wife that was virtuous and fair,
And by her he had a young child every year.
In seven years six children he had,
Which made their parents’ hearts full glad;
But in a short time, as we did hear say,
The farmer in wealth and stock did decay.
Though once he had riches in store,
In a little time he grew very poor;
He strove all he could, but, alas! could not thrive,
He hardly could keep his children alive.
The children came faster than silver or gold,
For his wife conceiv’d again, we are told,
And when the time came in labour she fell;
But if you would mind an odd story I’ll tell:
A noble rich Knight by chance did ride by,
And hearing this woman did shriek and cry,
He being well learned in the planets and signs,
Did look in the book which puzzled his mind.
The more he did look the more he did read,
And found that the fate of the child had decreed,
Who was born in that house the same tide,
He found it was she who must be his bride;
But judge how the Knight was disturb’d in mind,
When he in that book his fortune did find.
He quickly rode home and was sorely oppressed,
From that sad moment he could take no rest;
At night he did toss and tumble in his bed
And very strange projects came into his head,
Then he resolv’d and soon try’d indeed,
To alter the fortune he found was decreed.
With a vexing heart next morning he rose,
And to the house of the farmer he goes,
And asked the man with a heart full of spite,
If the child was alive that was born last night?
‘Worthy sir,’ said the farmer, ‘although I am poor,
I had one born last night, and six born before;
Four sons and three daughters I now have alive,
They are in good health and likely to thrive.’
The Knight he reply’d, ‘If that seven you have,
Let me have the youngest, I’ll keep it most brave,
For you very well one daughter may spare,
And when I die I’ll make her my heir;
For I am a Knight of noble degree,
And if you will part with your child unto me
Full three thousand pounds I’ll unto thee give
When I from your hands your daughter receive.
The father and mother with tears in their eyes,
Did hear this kind offer and were in surprize;
And seeing the Knight was so noble and gay,
Presented the infant unto him that day.
But they spoke to him with words most mild,
‘We beseech thee, good sir, be kind to our child.’
‘You need not mind,’ the Knight he did say,
‘I will maintain her both gallant and gay.’
So with this sweet babe away he did ride,
Until he came to a broad river’s side.
Being cruelly bent he resolv’d indeed
To drown the young infant that day with speed,
Saying, ‘If you live you must be my wife,
So I am resolved to bereave you of life;
For till you are dead I no comfort can have,
Wherefore you shall lie in a watery grave.’
In saying of this, that moment, they say,
He flung the babe into the river straightway;
And being well pleased when this he had done,
He leaped on his horse, and straight he rode home.
But mind how kind fortune for her did provide,
She was drove right on her back by the tide,
Where a man was a fishing, as fortune would have,
When she was floating along with the wave.
He took her up, but was in amaze;
He kissed her and on her did gaze,
And he having ne’er a child in his life,
He straightway did carry her home to his wife.
His wife was pleased the child to see,
And said, ‘My dearest husband, be ruled by me,
Since we have no children, if you’ll let me alone,
We will keep this and call it our own.’
The good man consented, as we have been told,
And spared for neither silver nor gold,
Until she was over eleven full year,
And then her beauty began to appear.
The fisherman was one day at an inn,
And several gentlemen drinking with him:
His wife sent this girl to call her husband home,
But when she did into the drinking room come,
The gentlemen they were amazed to see
The fisherman’s daughter so full of beauty.
They ask’d him if she was his own,
And he told them the story before he went home:
‘As I was fishing within my bound,
One Monday morning this sweet babe I found;
Or else she had lain within a watery grave;’
And this was the same which now he gave.
The cruel Knight was in the company,
And hearing the fisherman tell his story,
He was vexed at the heart to see her alive,
And how to destroy her again did contrive,
Then spake the Knight, and unto him said,
‘If you will but part with this sweet maid
I’ll give you whatever your heart can devise,
For she in time to great riches may rise.’
The fisherman answered, with a modest grace,
‘I cannot unless my dear wife were in the place,
Get first her consent, you shall have mine of me,
And then to go with you, sir, she is free.’
The wife she did also as freely consent,
But little they thought of his cruel intent;
He kept her a month very bravely they say,
And then he contrived to send them away.
He had a great brother in fair Lancashire,
A noble rich man worth ten thousand a year,
And he sent this girl unto him with speed
In hopes he would act a most desperate deed.
He sent a man with her likewise they say,
And as they did lodge at an inn on the way,
A thief in the house with an evil intent
For to rob the portmanteau immediately went,
But the thief was amazed, when he could not find
Either silver or gold, or aught to his mind,
But only a letter the which he did read
And soon put an end to this tragical deed:
The Knight had wrote to his brother that day,
To take this poor innocent damsel away,
With sword or with poison that very same night,
And not let her live till morning light.
The thief read the letter, and had so much grace
To tear it, and write in the same place,
‘Dear brother, receive this maiden from me,
And bring her up well as a maiden should be;
Let her be esteem’d, dear brother, I pray,
Let servants attend her by night and by day.
For she is a lady of noble worth,
A nobler lady ne’er lived in the north;
Let her have good learning, dear brother, I pray,
And for the same I will sufficiently pay;
And so, loving brother, this letter I send,
Subscribing myself your dear brother and friend.’
The servant and maid were still innocent,
And onward their journey next day they went.
Before sunset to the Knight’s house they came
Where the servant left her, and came home again.
The girl was attended most nobly indeed,
With the servants to attend to her with speed;
Where she did continue a twelvemonth’s space,
Till this cruel Knight came to this place,
As he and his brother together did talk,
He spy’d the young maiden in the garden to walk.
She look’d most beautiful, pleasant, and gay,
Like to sweet Aurora, or the goddess of May.
He was in a passion when he did her spy,
And instantly unto his brother did cry,
‘Why did you not do as in the letter I writ?’
His brother replied, ‘It is done every bit.’
‘No, no,’ said the Knight, ‘it is not so I see,
Therefore she shall back again go with me;’
But his brother showed him the letter that day,
Then he was amazed, but nothing did say.
Soon after the Knight took this maiden away,
And with her did ride till he came to the sea,
Then looking upon her with anger and spite,
He spoke to the maiden and bade her alight.
The maid from the horse immediately went
And trembled to think what was his intent.
‘Ne’er tremble,’ said he, ‘for this hour’s your last;
So pull off your clothes, I command you, in haste.’
This virgin, with tears, on her knees did reply,
‘Oh! what have I done, sir, that now I must die?
Oh! let me but know how I offend
I’ll study each hour my life to amend,
Oh! spare my life and I’ll wander till death,
And never come near you while I have breath.’
He hearing the pitiful moan she did make
Straight from his finger a ring did take,
He then to the maiden these words did say,
‘This ring in the water I’ll now throw away;
Pray look on it well, for the posy is plain,
That you when you see it may know it again.
I charge you for life never come in my sight,
For if you do I shall owe you a spite,
Unless you do bring the same unto me:’
With that he let the ring drop in the sea,
Which when he had done away he did go,
And left her to wander in sorrow and woe.
She rambled all night, and at length did espy
A homely poor cottage, and to it did hie,
Being hungry with cold, and a heart full of grief,
She went to this cottage to seek for relief;
The people reliev’d her, and the next day
They got her to service, as I did hear say,
At a nobleman’s house, not far from this place
Where she did behave with a modest grace.
She was a cookmaid and forgot the time past,
But observe the wonder that comes at last.
As she for dinner was dressing one day,
And opened the head of a cod, they say,
She found such a ring, and was in amaze
And she, in great wonder, upon it did gaze
And viewing it well she found it to be
The very same the Knight dropped in the sea,
She smil’d when she saw it, and bless’d her kind fate,
But did to no creature the secret relate.
This maid, in her place, did all maidens excel,
That the lady took notice, and lik’d her well;
Saying, she was born of some noble degree,
And took her as a companion to be.
The Knight when he came to the house did behold
This beautiful lady with trappings of gold,
When he ask’d the lady to grant him a boon,
And said it was to walk with that virgin alone.
The lady consented, telling the young maid
By him she need not fear to be betrayed.
When he first met her, ‘Thou strumpet,’ said he,
‘Did I not charge thee never more to see me?
This hour’s thy last, to the world bid good night,
For being so bold to appear in my sight.’
Said she, ‘In the sea you flung your ring,
And bid me not see you unless I did bring
The same unto you. Now I have it,’ cries she,
‘Behold, ’tis the same that you flung into the sea.’
When the Knight saw it, he flew to her arms,
And said, ‘Lovely maid, thou hast millions of charms.’
Said he, ‘Charming creature, pray pardon me,
Who often contrived the ruin of thee:
’Tis in vain to alter what heaven doth decree,
For I find you are born my wife to be.’
Then wedded they were, as I did hear say,
And now she’s a lady both gallant and gay,
They quickly unto her parents did haste,
When the Knight told the story of what had passed.
But asked their pardon, upon his bare knee,
Who gave it, and rejoiced their daughter to see.
Then they for the fisherman and his wife sent,
And for their past troubles did them content.
And so there was joy for all them that did see
The farmer’s young daughter a lady to be.
The Rev. C. W. King, in his ‘Handbook of Engraved Gems,’ gives the following fish-and-ring story. Pietrus Damianus, a very unlikely personage to have ever read of Polycrates, relates in his Fifth Epistle a story worth translating literally, as a specimen of the style of thought of his age:—‘This Arnulphus was the father of King Pepin and grandfather of Charlemagne, and when, inflamed with the fervour of the Holy Ghost he sacrificed the love of wife and children, and exchanged the glory and pomps of this world for the glorious poverty of Christ, it chanced, as he was hastening into the wilderness, that in his way he had to cross a river, which is called the Moselle; but when he reached the middle of the bridge, thrown over it where the river’s stream ran deepest, he tossed in there his own ring with this protestation, “When I shall receive back,” said he, “this ring from the foaming waves of this river, then will I trust confidently that I am loosed from the bonds of all my sins.” Thereupon he made for the wilderness, where he lived no little space dead unto himself and the world. Meanwhile, the then Bishop of Metz having died, Divine Providence raised Arnulphus to the charge of that see. Continuing in his new office to abstain from eating flesh, according to the rule observed by him in the wilderness, once upon a time a fish was brought him for a present. The cook, in gutting the same, found in its entrails a ring, and ran full of joy to present it to his master; which ring the blessed Bishop no sooner cast eyes upon than he knew it again for his own, and wondered not so much at the strange mine that had brought forth the metal, as that, by the Divine propitiation, he had obtained the forgiveness of his sins.’
The same distinguished writer, in the work before mentioned, relates the story told by St. Augustine, bishop of the city where it happened, ‘and who has deemed it worthy of insertion in his great work, “De Civitate Dei” (xxii. 8):—“There lived an old man, a fellow-townsman of ours at Hippo, Florentius by name, by trade a tailor, a religious poor person. He had lost his cloak and had not wherewith to buy another. Certain ribald youths who happened to be present overheard him, and followed him as he went down, mocking at him as though he had demanded of the martyrs the sum of fifty folles (12½ denarii) to clothe himself withal. But Florentius walking on without replying to them, espied a big fish thrown up by the sea, and struggling upon the beach, and he secured it through the good-natured assistance of the same youths, and sold it for 300 folles (75 denarii) to a certain cook, by name Carthosus, a good Christian, for pickling, telling him at the same time all that had taken place—intending to buy wool with the money, so that his wife might make therewith, as well as she could, something to clothe him. But the cook in cutting up the fish found in its belly a gold ring, and forthwith, being moved with compassion, as well as influenced by religious scruples, restored it to Florentius, saying, ‘Behold how the Twenty Martyrs have clothed thee.’”’