The opal seems to have appealed to Shakespeare as a fit emblem of inconstancy, for in “Twelfth Night” he makes the clown say to the Duke:[218]
Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the Tailor make thy garment of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is very opal.
That the beauty of the opal was fully appreciated in the sixteenth century is shown by the words of Cardano, who states that he once bought one of these stones for fifteen gold crowns and found as much pleasure in its possession as he did in that of a diamond that had cost him five hundred crowns.[219] Although superstitious beliefs were rather the rule than the exception in Cardano’s time, none of the silly fancies regarding the ominous quality of the opal were then current. It was reserved for the nineteenth century to develop these altogether unreasonable—and indeed almost inexplicable—superstitions. The ownership of so fair an object as a fine opal must certainly be a source of pleasure, and hence add to the good fortune of the owner.
Although opal has been considered by some a stone of misfortune, black opal is regarded as an exceptionally lucky stone. Formerly black opals were artificially made by dipping the light-colored stone into ink, or by allowing burnt oil to enter cracks in the stone produced by heating. About the year 1900, however, a number of deposits of natural black opals were found in the White Cliff region of New South Wales, whence exceedingly beautiful gems have been secured, with wonderful flames of green, red, and blue in a black field. Some of these have sold for $1000 and even for a higher price, the smaller ones bringing from a few dollars upward each. It has been claimed that $2,000,000 worth have been sold from New South Wales. A remarkable example is figured on the frontispiece of this volume. The late F. Marion Crawford was a great admirer of this strangely beautiful variety of opal.
That ill-luck and good-luck are relative terms is shown us published of an opal by Paris newspapers. A shopgirl, plainly clad, in crossing the Place de l’Opéra, when the street traffic was at its greatest, stopped at one of the “refuges” halfway across the street. To the girl’s great surprise, an elegantly attired lady standing there slipped an opal ring from her finger and gave it to the girl, who took it to a jeweller’s shop to sell it. Here she was arrested on suspicion of having stolen it. The magistrate before whom she appeared was inclined to believe her story and ordered a “personal” in a widely read journal asking the lady to clear the girl of the charge. A titled lady presented herself, substantiating the girl’s statement. She feared ill-luck would befall her if she wore or kept the ring, which was returned to the shopgirl.
A possible explanation of the superstitious dread the opal used to excite some time ago may be found in the fact that lapidaries and gem-setters to whom opals were entrusted were sometimes so unfortunate as to fracture them in the process of cutting or setting. This was frequently due to no fault on the part of the cutters or setters, but was owing to the natural brittleness of the opal. As such workmen are responsible to the owners for any injury to the gems, they would soon acquire a prejudice against opals, and would come to regard them as unlucky stones. Very widespread superstitions have no better foundation than this, for the original cause, sometimes a quite rational one, is soon lost sight of and popular fantasy suggests something entirely different and better calculated to appeal to the imagination.
The belief that the diamond fractured the teeth if it were put in the mouth, and ruptured the intestines if it were swallowed, already appears in pseudo-Aristotle,[220] and can therefore be dated back to the ninth and perhaps to the seventh century. This fancy evidently owes its origin to the fact that the diamond, because of its hardness, was used to cut all other stones, and the idea of its destructive quality was strengthened by the old legends regarding the venomous serpents which guarded the place where it was found. Hence the firm conviction that it would bring death to any one who swallowed it.
According to Garcias ab Orta (1563), the diamond was not used for medicinal purposes in the India of his time, except when injected into the bladder to break up vesical calculi. He notes, however, the prevalent belief that diamonds, or diamond dust, when taken internally, worked as a poison. As a proof of the falsity of this belief, Garcias adduces the fact that the slaves who worked in the diamond mines often swallowed diamonds to conceal them, and never experienced any ill effects, the stones being recovered in a natural way. The same author notes the case of a man who suffered from chronic dysentery and whose wife had for a long time administered to him doses of diamond dust. If this did not help him, neither did it injure him; finally, by the advice of the doctors, this strange treatment was abandoned. The man eventually died of his disease, but many days after the doses of diamond dust had been discontinued.[221]
The Hindus believed that a flawed diamond, or one containing specks or spots, was so unlucky that it could even deprive Indra of his highest heaven. The original shape of the stone was also considered of great importance, more especially in early times, when but few, if any, diamonds, were cut. A triangular stone was said to cause quarrels, a square diamond inspired the wearer with vague terrors; a five-cornered stone had the worst effect of all, for it brought death; only the six-cornered diamond was productive of good.[222]
The Turkish sultan Bejazet II (1447-1512) is said to have been done to death by a dose of pulverized diamond administered to him by his son Selim, who mixed the diamond dust with the sultan’s food.[223] It is also related that the disciples of Paracelsus (1493-1541) spread the report that he died from the effects of a dose of diamond dust. Ambrosius[224] conjectures that this was only an excuse to explain the demise of the master in the prime of life—he was but forty-eight years old at the time of his death—although he had promised long life to all who made use of his medicaments.