modern design in jewellery and fans edited by charles holme offices of 'the studio,' london, paris, new york mcmii preliminary note john ruskin has laid down some broad and simple rules which are especially applicable to design in jewellery and fans. he says, "never encourage the manufacture of any article not absolutely necessary, in the production of which invention has no share." and, again, "never encourage imitation, or copying of any kind, except for the sake of preserving records of great works." it is in the thorough belief of the soundness or these principles that the editor has selected a number of representative modern examples of design by british and continental workers, which, from their beauty and freshness of treatment, bear testimony to the great advance that has recently been made in the right understanding and rendering of the jeweller's and fan-maker's arts. if articles of good taste are to be produced, there must be a demand for them. so long as a public is to be found that will purchase trinketry in imitation of wheel-barrows, cocks and hens, flower-pots, and moons and stars, so long will the advance in art be retarded. the editor has pleasure in acknowledging the courtesy of the owners of copyrights for their kindness in sanctioning the reproduction of important work; and his best thanks are due to all the artist-contributors, and especially to those who have made designs expressly for this publication. table of literary contents modern french jewellery and fans by gabriel mourey modern british jewellery and fans by aymer vallance modern austrian jewellery by w. fred modern german jewellery by chr. ferdinand morawe modern belgian jewellery and fans by f. khnopff modern danish jewellery by georg brochner list of craftsmen and designers french section aubert, félix plate 35 bécker, e. plate 15 bing, marcel plates 25, 26 boucheron plates 12, 13, 14 cauvin plate 12 colonna plates 25, 26 desbois, jules " 16, 17, 18 dufrène " 28, 33 feure, georges de " 1, 35 follot, paul " 19, 28 fouquet, g. plates 7, 8, 9, 11 grasset, e. plate 10 hirtz, l. plates 12, 13, 14 "l'art nouveau" plates 25, 26 lalique, rené plates 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 lambert, th. " 32, 33, 34 "la maison moderne" plates 19, 27, 28, 29, 30, 33, 35 mangeant, e. plates 23, 24 monvel, de, ch. boutet " 21, 22 mucha plate 7 orazzi plates 27, 28, 29, 30 richard, paul plates 14, 15 rivaud, charles plate 31 templier, p. plates 32, 33, 34 verger, ferdinand (_editeur_) plates 14, 15 vever plates 13, 19, 20 british section alabaster, annie plate 48 alabaster, m. " 34 allen, kate plates 19, 29, 31, 33, 38 angus, christine plate 12 arscott, a. e. " 29 ashbee, c. r. plates 17, 18, 20, 21 baker, oliver " 35, 36 barrie, b. j. " 19, 31, 34 brangwyn, frank plate 8 brown, e. may " 29 cook, thomas a. plates 15, 24 conder, frank plates 2, 5, 6, 7 dawson, nelson plate 14 dawson, edith " 14 dick, reginald t. plate 1 evers-swindell, nora plates 34, 50, 52 fell, h. granville plate 11 fisher, kate plates 25, 37 gaskin, arthur j. " 44, 45 guild of handicraft plates 17, 18, 20, 21 hammett, lydia c. plate 9 hart, dorothy " 34 hodgkinson, ethel m. plates 39, 50, 52 hodgkinson, winifred plates 29, 30, 39, 52 king, jessie m. plate 16 larcombe, ethel plates 10, 34 mcbean, isabel " 29, 47 mackintosh, c. r. plate 43 mackintosh, margaret macdonald plate 43 mcleish, annie plates 28, 29, 32, 34, 39, 50 mcleish, minnie plates 34, 47 mcnair, frances " 21, 22, 42 mcnair, j. h. " 22, 23 morris, talwin " 40, 41, 42 naylor, myra " 3, 4 pickett, edith " 25, 49 rankin, arabella " 51 robinson, f. s. " 46 simpson, edgar " 26, 27, 36 syrett, nellie " 13, 15 talbot, j. m. plate 51 veazey, david plates 19, 34, 39, 48, 50 austrian section fischmeister, herr plates 2, 3 gringold, emil plate 7 hauptmann, franz " 4 hofstetter, josef plates 1, 5 holzinger, e. plate 8 mesmer, f. plates 1, 8 prutscher, otto plates 1, 5, 6 roset, herr " 2, 3 schönthoner, v. plate 1 schwartz, prof. " 5 unger, elsa plates 7, 8 wagner, anna plate 8 german section fahrner, theodor plates 3, 8 gosen, theodor von plate 5 hirzel, h. r. c. " 4 koch, robert " 1 loewenthal, d. and m. plates 2, 3, 8 möhring, bruno plate 6 morawe, c. ferdinand plate 7 olbrich, joseph m. plates 2, 3, 8 "vereingte werkstaetten, munich," plate 5 werner, f. h. " 6 werner, louis " 4 belgian section cassiers, h. plate 1 dubois, paul " 9 van strydonck, l. plate 2 wolfers, ph. plates 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 danish section bindesböll, th. plate 8 bollin, moyens plates 6, 7, 8 magnussen, erick plates 2, 5, 6 slott-möller, h. plates 1, 2, 3, 4 modern french jewellery & fans. by gabriel mourey. [illustration] french superiority in the art of jewellery seems to be incontestable to-day. no unbiased observer will deny the fact that with us there is more richness, more variety, more originality than can be found elsewhere; and the jewellery section in the esplanade des invalides at the exhibition of 1900 showed to the whole world the progress made in this special branch of applied art by our craftsmen and our artists; showed, too, the verve, the imagination, the fancifulness, which are the special property of the french race in all that relates to articles of luxury, to those things which are essentially "useless," if so we may term a woman's adornments; if so we may regard the beauty of precious stones, of enamels skilfully and subtly formed--of all that, in a word, which, taken from nature's infinite treasure-house, serves to constitute that adorably vain, that exquisitely superfluous thing--the jewel. ruskin once remarked, in his strange, penetrating way, that the loveliest things are those which are the least useful--lilies and peacocks' feathers, for instance. furthermore, to depreciate the part played by jewellery in relation to decorative art would be equivalent to minimising the rôle of womankind in civilisation. then, again, as regards decoration or adornment, has not the highest mission devolved on woman? has she not had to assume the most active part in it all? the modern jewellery vogue has, i am convinced, done more in france to propagate new ideas in the way of decorative art than all the æsthetic theories ever evolved, however sound. one might say much, might make many reflections on this renascence of the jeweller's art, as manifested at the present moment in paris. this revival reveals itself rich and abundant--perhaps too rich and abundant; but what of the future? what fruit will it bear when the glamour of that which it has already borne has passed away? is there no danger of seeing good intentions miscarry--high gifts falling into excesses injurious to the prosperity of the movement? is not the new fashion--if it be merely a fashion--being adopted with too much enthusiasm, followed with too much ardour, to last? is there no fear of a reaction? here are several questions to which we cannot reply with any certainty. yet, what matter? among the works produced during the past five years or so--that is, since the full expansion of the movement--there are many which, by their originality, their technical perfection, deserve to remain. and remain they certainly will, to bear witness to the audacious fancy, the creative faculty of our artists, and as a sort of passionate homage laid by the men of to-day at the feet of the eternal feminine. * * * * * the name of m. rené lalique arises instinctively as soon as one begins to discuss the modern jewel. he is the renovator, or, preferably, the creator, of the art as we know it nowadays, and one can easily understand the enthusiasm and the admiration aroused by his work. m. lalique is almost as celebrated as m. edmond rostand; and he at least deserves his celebrity, for he is a real, a very great, artist. and such he must indeed be to be able to make one forget his imitators, many of whose productions are as detestable as copies can be. at times even--most unjustly, i admit--one almost comes to hate the art of m. lalique himself, so persistently is it badly imitated. one has been constrained before now to hate raphael, on seeing a cabanel or a bouguereau! but enough of that! the jewels by m. lalique now reproduced are rather different, both in conception and in treatment, from his usual manner. here he appears as a more direct observer of nature, more devoted to simplicity and breadth. his new combs, with pansy and sycamore-leaf _motifs_, in horn and silver--especially the exquisite one with sycamore seeds in horn, silex, black enamel, and obsidian, with golden insects here and there--show him still anxious to extend the field of his experiments, never tired of seeking fresh subjects and testing new materials. instead of remaining stationary and falling asleep at his post, he is spurred by a desire for conquest, and shows himself ever fertile in imagination, of infinite fancy, constantly advancing, with undiminished freedom and originality. at the universal exhibition the works executed by m. vever, in collaboration with m. eugène grasset, obtained the success that was their due. but the most important piece of work achieved by these two artists was not finished at that time. i refer to the sumptuous and heroic pendant of hercules, which we are fortunate enough to be able to reproduce here from the original water-colour by m. grasset. it is truly an admirable work, one in which all the imaginative and technical qualities possessed by the illustrator of the "quatre fils aymon" are to be seen in profusion. what richness, what distinction in the details; what perfection of balance, both in design and in colouring! as for the execution by the firm of vever, they deserve as much credit for it as if they had produced an original work. this is a jewel worthy to find a permanent place in one of the great european galleries, to rank side by side with the wonderful productions of the past. m. georges fouquet is a most daring _fantaisiste_, and his creations impress one by qualities altogether different from those of the mm. vever. he might perhaps be said to belong to the lalique school, not that he imitates him, but by reason of his imaginative gifts. he is generally complicated, somewhat byzantine, and thoroughly modern in any case. some of his jewels would, i think, gain by being less rich; nevertheless, they are very interesting, and they deserve all the success they have won. the chief objection that can be urged against them is their lack of spontaneity. m. georges fouquet certainly holds a foremost place in the new movement. already his production is considerable. altogether an artist of rare gifts and splendid audacity. i have always had a liking for the jewellery of m. colonna--for some of it, at any rate, that which is most simple, most original, and most wearable. his works have this great charm in my eyes, that they are neither show-case jewels nor mere _bijoux de parade_, things intended solely for display. as a rule, they are quiet and practical. in most cases they have no "subject," being simply happy combinations of lines and curves and reliefs, the _imprévu_ of which has a particular charm. m. marcel bing, all of whose productions, like those of m. colonna, are the monopoly of the "art nouveau bing," has done some delightful things. one can see that he is still somewhat timid and hesitating, but his taste is sure, and he has an imagination which, if not specially abundant, is at least delicate and fine. he has a sense of colour too, and his pretty fancies are carried out with evident delight. "la maison moderne," so actively directed by m. meier-graefe, has produced a large number of jewels. ordinarily the designs are supplied by mm. maurice dufrène, paul follot, and orazzi. of course, they are not of uniform merit, but this in no way diminishes the interest attaching to their efforts. they are marred to some extent, it must be admitted, by certain extravagances, but even that is better than a relapse into the old _formulæ_, or the profitless reproduction of the bad models which were the rage some thirty years since. moreover, "la maison moderne"--all praise to it!--has brought within the reach of the public quantities of jewellery which, without being masterpieces of conception or execution, are yet thoroughly good work based on excellent principles of novelty and freshness. they are what may be termed "popular" jewels. the works designed by m. théodore lambert, and executed by m. paul templier, are of altogether different character. in these days, when excessive complications in jewel-work are so general and so much esteemed, these rings, necklaces and _plaques_, with their symmetrical linear designs in monochrome or reddish or greenish metal, relieved at times by pearls only, and with their formal _ajourements_, will doubtless seem to many people too simple or too commonplace. it will be justly urged against them that they are not sufficiently symbolic, that they take no account of the human form. no nymph disports herself amid the fall of the leaves in a lake of enamel bordered by water-lilies and iris blooms; no serpent nor devil-fish winds about in spasmodic contortions: yet these are charming works of art, beautifully and harmoniously designed, and with lines balanced to perfection. they are, in fact, jewels meant to be worn, _bijoux de ville_, which, while attracting no special notice, form nevertheless most exquisite objects of female adornment. m. rené foy is a strange artist, rather restless, never altogether satisfied with himself, and haunted by a perpetual desire for something novel. is he completely himself, that which he wishes or strives to be? this is the question those who have closely watched his career are asking themselves. for my part, i know some delightful things of his, extraordinarily delicate and graceful; but i also remember some of his work in which his exaggerations are such that one despairs of understanding his meaning. unless i greatly mistake him, he wants the jewel to express more than it is possible for the jewel to express, and therefore is continually restless in his attempts to achieve the unachievable. he loses himself in a maze of "refinements" which, in my opinion, are outside the limits of the art he practises. he has created lovely things, things so novel as to be almost too novel, but i do not think he has said his final word yet. he is a young man who may have many surprises in store for us. the jewels of m. jules desbois are works of pure sculpture. his vision, at once broad and delicate, takes the form of beautiful female forms in dreamy or voluptuous attitude, sleeping amid the masses of their abundant hair, against a background of gold, or shell, or whatever the material may be. any womanly gesture suffices; and, in truth, what more is needed to make a real work of art in the form of a brooch or a button? no conventional flowers, no complicated interlacements, nothing "decorative" in the bad sense of the word; yet his work is powerfully and delicately modern. m. desbois' jewels are perfect pieces of sculpture. victor prouvé, the painter, has been influenced in a similar way, but, not being a regular sculptor, he is more complicated without being any more original on that account. there is more "composition" in his jewels than in those of m. desbois, more real, more visible, intention. his waistbelts, his brooches, &c., are admirably suited to the purpose for which they are intended, their modelling being full, supple, and keen. the jewels, executed with scrupulous care and irreproachable _technique_ by m. rivaud, are real works of art. m. bécker and m. paul richard, who are both working almost exclusively for m. ferdinand verger ("f. v." is the trademark of the firm), incline to that type of jewellery which might be termed "sculptured." they are very conscientious artists, but in my opinion, at any rate, the originality there may be within them has not yet made itself fully apparent. m. louis bonny's jewels deserve special attention. like m. vever, m. bonny shows a predilection for precious stones, which he has the art of using with rare originality. at the last _salon_ of the société des artistes français he exhibited a series of jewels which attracted much attention, among them--in addition to a beautiful necklace of wild grape in enamel, diamonds, and emerald, in addition to various floral pendants and neck ornaments in enamel and diamonds--a curious diadem, representing cocks in gold and enamel fighting for possession of a superb topaz. this was a real _tour de force_ in the way of execution. other beautiful things of his i know, particularly his _plaque de cou_ of geraniums, with the leaves in diamonds, the flowers in rubies, the stems and buds in dark green enamel, the whole being at once rich and sober in colouring and most harmoniously and flexibly composed. m. joé descomps is a sound artist, whose efforts, laudable as they may be, nevertheless lack boldness. he has imagination enough, but it looks as though he feared to give it rein. with a little less timidity m. descomps would doubtless produce something more piquant and more fresh. i greatly like the work of m. charles rivaud. it displays a love of simplicity too often wanting in the productions of many of his fellow artists. if his jewels recall--without imitating--the ornamental jewellery of egypt or greece, those of primitive civilisations or those sorts popular in russia, i can see no harm in the fact. better for him and for us that he should turn to these inexhaustible springs than become a mere imitator of other imitators of successful jewellers. his rings and his necklaces, in which he is always careful to leave to the materials employed all the natural charm they possess, are productions which will please the artist rather than the _bourgeois_ and the "snob." they are discreet and honest, never loud or eccentric. no less interesting, in another way, are the jewels by m. mangeant and m. jacquin. it is urged against them that they are crude, incomplete and imperfect in execution. the truth is, these two artists--whom i bring into conjunction, although their work is dissimilar, save from their common regard for freedom in the use of materials--have, above all, a love for natural forms. out of a flower, a piece of seaweed, or any humble _motif_, vegetable or animal, they construct jewels in gold or oxidised silver, discreetly relieved by stones, which, if of no great intrinsic value, are nevertheless highly decorative. m. mangeant, with mother-of-pearl and hammered _repoussé_ silver, has created charming jewels, in which all the constructive parts have been intentionally left visible. professional jewellers shrug their shoulders at the sight of these jewels, which bear so plainly the stamp of the hand that fashioned them. yet, in their _naïve_ rudeness, they appeal to me far more forcibly than does the polychromatic tin-ware of so many highly-esteemed producers. m. charles boutet de monvel, although gifted with a richer and subtler imagination, may be included in this little group. in certain of his jewels there is, as it were, a reminiscence of byzantine art--in this owl-comb, for instance, which i regard as one of his best works. his swan hair-pin, his seaweed buttons in gold and silver on greenish enamel with a pearl in the centre, his _plaque de cou_ in translucid enamel, are also strong and captivating. his sunshade handles too, and his scarf-pins, are full of delicate fancy. it is impossible, within the space at my disposal, to describe in detail the productions of many other workers well worthy of extended mention. let it suffice, therefore, to cite the names of m. henri nocq, that fresh and bold artist; of m. and mme. pierre selmersheim; m. feuillâtre; mme. annie noufflard; mm. haas, cherrier, chalon, falguières, dabault, g. laffitte, houillon, archambault, l. h. ruffe, quénard, blanchot, muret, desrosiers, le couteux, marioton, lucien hirtz, and nau--artists who work, some on their own account, some for the big jewellery firms. of the firms in question one must in justice name in the first place those of boucheron and falize frères, not forgetting l. aucoc, vever, sandoz, lucien gaillard, fouquet, després, teterger, chaumet, templier, ferdinand verger, j. duval, coulon, and piel frères. such, briefly, is the modern art-jewellery movement in france. its intensity, as one sees, is so great as to be almost alarming. whither is it tending? some of its excesses are dangerous; what will be the result? m. emile molinier, in a recent article on "objects of art in the salons of 1901," expresses certain fears which i share. he dreads a reaction due to the eccentricities of certain artists, to their love of the outrageous and the _bizarre_, to their lack of proportion, both in form and in choice of material. "it would really be a pity," he says, "if so promising a revival of the true artistic jewellery should come to a bad end. happily we have not reached that point yet, but it is a result which may soon be reached if artists continue to foist these weird things on the public. a fashion in jewellery should last longer than a fashion in dresses or in hats; but it should not be forgotten that it must rely in the long run on its appropriateness and adaptability." my sincere hope is that these fears may prove to be groundless. gabriel mourey. [illustration] (_french_) design for a fan by georges de feure. [illustration] [illustration: plate 1 ] [illustration: _comb in horn, silex, black enamel and obsidian. insects in gold_ rené lalique plate 2] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. pendant in gold, ivory, enamel and pearl_ _b. pendant in gold, enamel and pearl_ rené lalique plate 3 ] [illustration: _watch in ivory, gold and enamel_ _clasp, leaves of plane tree, in silver_ rené lalique plate 4 ] [illustration: _comb, leaves of sycamore horn and silver_ rené lalique plate 5 ] [illustration: _combs in horn and silver_ rené lalique plate 6 ] [illustration: _parure de corsage, in gold and enamels_ mucha and g. fouquet plate 7 ] [illustration: _girdle with pendants in gold, pearls and brilliants_ g. fouquet plate 8 ] [illustration: _necklet with pendant, gold and enamel_ g. fouquet plate 9 ] pendant and necklet by e. grasset. [illustration] [illustration: plate 10 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. pendant in gold, enamel and stones_ _b. pendant in gold, enamel and pearls_ g. fouquet plate 11 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. lorgnon in chased gold and chrysoprase_ } designed by cauvin } } executed by boucheron _b. lorgnon in chased gold_ } designed by l. hirtz } plate 12 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c { _a. devant de corsage, brilliants upon green { with emeralds "en cabochon"_ executed by boucheron { { _b. necklet in chased gold, with a large topaz_ both designed by l. hirtz _c. pendant in gold, diamonds, pearl, opal and enamel_ vever plate 13 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. waist-band buckle in silver_ designed by paul richard. executed by f. v. éditeur _b. brooches in chased gold_ designed by l. hirtz. executed by boucheron plate 14 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c fig. d _chatelaines and watches_ f. v. éditeur and paul richard _b_ and _c_ designed by e. bécker plate 15 ] [illustration: _brooches in chased gold_ jules desbois plate 16 ] [illustration: _buttons and brooches in chased gold_ jules desbois plate 17 ] [illustration: _brooch in chased gold and two waist-band buckles in silver_ jules desbois plate 18 ] (=french=) _design for a comb in enamel shell, and incrusted gold_ from an original drawing by henri vever _comb in enamel, shell, and precious stones_ designed by paul follot executed by la maison moderne _comb in enamel, gold, shell, and precious stones_ designed by paul follot executed by la maison moderne [illustration] [illustration: plate 19 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. comb in gold and horn. leaves in green translucent enamel, set with siberian amethysts_ _b. horn fan handle, incrusted with gold, brilliants, and enamel_ vever plate 20 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. hat pins in gold, enamel, and pearl_ _b. umbrella handle, silver gilt and stones_ ch. boutet de monvel plate 21 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. comb in horn and gold with turquoises_ _b. comb in ivory, silver and mother-o'-pearl_ ch. boutet de monvel plate 22 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. hammered and chased silver brooches_ _b. comb in silver and mother-o'-pearl_ e. mangeant plate 23 ] [illustration: _clasps in hammered and chased silver_ e. mangeant plate 24 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. c fig. b { _a. pendant in gold and enamel_ { _b. hanging mirror in gold and enamel_ executed by l'art nouveau { designed by marcel bing { _c. pendant in gold and pearls_ designed by colonna plate 25 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c { _a. brooch in gold, enamel and ivory_ executed by { _b. pendant in gold and enamel_ l'art nouveau { marcel bing { _c. belt clasp in gold_ { colonna plate 26 ] [illustration: _combs in various materials_ designed by orazzi executed by la maison moderne plate 27 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. c fig. d fig. b { _a. & b. brooches in gold with_ { _precious stones_ { designed by m. dufrêne executed by { _c. comb_ la maison moderne { designed by orazzi { d. _gold pendant with enamels { and precious stones_ { designed by p. follot plate 28 ] [illustration: _combs_ designed by orazzi executed by la maison moderne plate 29 ] [illustration: _hat and hair pins_ designed by orazzi executed by la maison moderne plate 30 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. plaque de corsage in gold, enamel and precious stones_ _b. rings_ charles rivaud plate 31 ] [illustration: _silver waist-band buckles_ designed by th. lambert executed by p. templier plate 32 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c fig. e fig. c fig. d _a, b, c & d. silver brooches_ designed by th. lambert executed by p. templier _e. chatelaine and watch_ designed by m. dufrène executed by la maison moderne plate 33 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c _a & b. silver brooches_ _c. silver necklet with pendant_ designed by th. lambert executed by p. templier plate 34 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. painted fan_ georges de feure _b. lace fan_ designed by félix aubert executed by la maison moderne plate 35 ] (_british_) design for a stencilled fan by reginald t. dick. [illustration] [illustration: plate 1 ] modern british jewellery & fans. by aymer vallance. [illustration] none but the most superficial observers can have failed to note the immense advance that has been attained in british jewellery; though how or at what precise point of time the improvement originated may not be determined with too rash precision. it began not more than fifteen or twenty, nor perhaps later than ten years ago. somewhere between these two limits is about the approximate date. at any rate, it is certain that, thirty years since, it was quite impossible to procure jewellery in the design and composition of which there entered any artistic taste whatever. such simply did not exist. whereas now there is a widespread, though unhappily not a universal, movement amongst us for the design and production of jewellery on true æsthetic principles. the movement may even be described as in a measure concerted, that is, in so far as it presents certain main characteristics common to the work of the various individual artists or schools of artists who are concerned with this branch of decoration. and, firstly, must be noted the development of the goldsmith's and silversmith's craft as an important artistic factor entirely distinct and apart from the subsidiary task of stone-setting. the recognition of the art of the metal-worker, as worthy and capable in itself of providing beautiful ornaments, without their serving any such ulterior purpose as sporting trophies or eccentric badges of buffoonery; and also without the adventitious attraction of costly gems, is a decided point gained. and, secondly, where stones do happen to be employed, there is an increasing practice of introducing them for the sake of their decorative properties, not, as formerly, for the commercial value they represent in pounds sterling. mere glitter and the vulgar display of affluence are gradually yielding before the higher considerations of beauty of form and colour. nor is it any longer deemed improper, should the æsthetic effect of the juxtaposition demand, to set diamonds or other valuable gems side by side with common and inexpensive stones. in these colour combinations, since flash and transparence are become of minor esteem, jewels, instead of being cut in facets, are not infrequently polished in their natural shape, _en cabochon_, or "tallow-cut," as it is called, their irregularities of formation imparting not a little to the barbaric richness of the ornaments in which they occur. moreover, out of the taste for colour effects in jewellery has arisen an enthusiastic study of the special peculiarities of many gems not hitherto much sought after; a study resulting in the adoption of certain gems not very precious, yet sufficiently rare, and such that, like mexican or fire opals, for example, possess peculiar qualities of chameleon-like iridescence or depth or lustre that render them admirably appropriate for quaint and picturesque settings. among other stones thus employed may be mentioned lapis lazuli; malachite and its corresponding blue mineral, azurite; connemara marble, or serpentine; amazonite, a light green spar; chrysoprase; and lumachella, hungarian both in name and origin. the last named consists of fossilised shells imbedded in a black matrix, the shells of wonderful iridescence, or flecked with streaks of vivid colour, and possessing, in short, such ornamental qualities as amply compensate the difficulty of obtaining it and of working when obtained. another material included in the same category is river pearl, or mother-of-pearl, in the form technically known as pearl "blisters," that is, pearls undeveloped in the shell and misshapen, which nevertheless are peculiarly useful for decorative jewellery. one advantage of these substances is that, on account of their comparative cheapness, one does not scruple to diminish and divide and fashion them as may best serve the purpose in hand; whereas in the case of the more precious stones, like diamonds, whose cost, _ceteris paribus_, increases proportionately with their size and weight, one shrinks from impairing their commercial value, and consequently is apt to preserve them whole, very often at the sacrifice of decorative effect. the craftsman is unhampered in the use of those jewels only which he knows he is at liberty to treat as adjuncts subordinated to his art. there has, moreover, taken place an extended revival of enamelling, an art which offers abundant opportunities for the exercise of the decorator's skill and fancy. it is worthy of remark that our artists' imagination in jewellery seldom degenerates into any great extravagance. for the most part the designs, even among beginners and students in art schools, a number of whom have taken up this branch of ornament, are strictly restrained within bounds, in accord, may be, with our national character of reserve. few drawings comparatively have been executed, but there is no reason why a large proportion should not be translated from paper into actual existence; for they are in general fairly simple, straightforward, and practicable, or such that, with but slight modifications, could be rendered quite practicable for working purposes. it is often stated that art can only flourish through the patronage of the wealthy, to whose comfort and luxury it ministers. if this be true at all, then surely of all things in the world the jeweller's craft should be a case in point, whereas it is conspicuously the reverse. the artistic jewellery produced in this country has not, from its very nature, appealed chiefly to the richest classes of the community, but rather to those of quite moderate means. and while, on the one hand, it is encouraging to observe how much of good work has been and is being done towards raising the standard of jewellery design amongst us, it is nevertheless disappointing to have to record how little support it has found in influential and official quarters. one notable exception is the commission mr. alfred gilbert received to design a mayoral collar, chain and badge for the corporation of preston. the sketch model for the same was exhibited at the royal academy in 1888, and, for bold originality of outline, as well as for the crisp curling treatment of the parts executed in sheet metal, must have been, as was remarked at the time, a revelation to the ordinary trade jeweller. among pioneers of the artistic jewellery movement, mr. c. r. ashbee holds an honourable place. he stood almost alone at the beginning, when he first made known the jewellery designed by him, and produced under his personal direction by the guild and school of handicraft in the east end. it was immediately apparent that here was no tentative nor half-hearted caprice, but that a genuine and earnest phase of an ancient craft had been re-established. every design was carefully thought out, and the work executed with not less careful and consistent technique. in fact, its high merits were far in advance of anything else in contemporary jewellery or goldsmith's work. the patterns were based on conventionalised forms of nature, favourite among them being the carnation, the rose, and the heartsease, or on abstract forms invited by the requirements and conditions of the material--the ductility and lustre of the metal itself. most of the ornaments were of silver, the surface of which was not worked up to a brilliantly shining burnish, in the prevalent fashion of the day, but dull polished in such wise as to give the charming richness and tone of old silverwork. mr. ashbee also adopted the use of jewels, not lavishly nor ostentatiously, but just wherever a note of colour would convey the most telling effect, the stones in themselves, _e.g._ amethysts, amber, and rough pearl, being of no particular value, save purely from the point of view of decoration. novel and revolutionary as were, at its first appearance, the principles underlying mr. ashbee's jewellery work--viz. that the value of a personal ornament consists not in the commercial cost of the materials so much as in the artistic quality of its design and treatment--they became the standard which no artist thenceforward could wisely afford to ignore, and such furthermore that have even in certain quarters become appropriated by the trade in recent times. mr. ashbee himself is an enthusiastic student of benvenuto cellini, whose treatises he translated, edited, and printed in 1898. but fortunately the influence of italian style is by no means paramount in mr. ashbee's own designs for jewellery, unless indeed the fine and dainty grace which particularly characterises some of his later work is to be attributed to this source. one or two of the necklaces here reproduced are examples of this lighter manner of mr. ashbee's, as the two handsome peacock pattern brooches are of his more solid and substantial jewellery; while, again, the necklace of green malachite, turquoise, and silver, with pendants of grape bunches alternating with vine-leaf and tendril ornaments, occupies an intermediate position midway between the two former classes of his work. one is always glad to welcome an artist who is courageous and firm enough to grapple with the practical difficulties that surround him, and who sets about to reform, where need requires, the native industry of his own neighbourhood. such is the aim of mr. and mrs. arthur gaskin. their home is in a locality where a large amount of very deplorable jewellery is produced; so deplorable that they determined, if possible, to provide an antidote to the prevailing degradation. and the reason why the vast mass of the trade jewellery manufactured in birmingham is bad is that in style and outline it is utterly devoid of artistic inspiration, while at the same time it is perfect as concerns mere technique. the pity of it is that such excellent workmanship should be wasted on such contemptible design. mr. gaskin, therefore, saw no alternative but to start afresh, reversing the accepted order of things. his plan is to give the foremost care to the design, and only secondly to regard technique; and so, by keeping design well in advance, executive skill following after, to raise the former to its proper level. absence of mathematical uniformity is no doubt held to be a blemish in the opinion of the tradesman, but it gives a living and human interest to the work, and a decorative quality which machine-made articles cannot claim to possess. mr. gaskin came to the conclusion that it was of little benefit for a draughtsman to make drawings on paper to be carried out by someone else; studio and workshop must be one, designer identical with craftsman. it is not very many years since mr. gaskin, ably seconded by his wife, started with humble, nay, almost rudimentary apparatus, to make jewellery with his own hands; but the result has proved how much taste and steadfast endurance can accomplish. their designs are so numerous and so varied--rarely is any single one repeated, except to order--that it is hardly possible to find any description to apply to all. but it may be noted that, whereas a large number have been characterised by a light and graceful treatment of twisted wire, almost like filigree, the two pendants here illustrated seem to indicate rather a new departure on the part of mr. gaskin, with their plates of chased metal, and pendants attached by rings, a method not in any sense copied from, yet in some sort recalling the beautiful fashion with which connoisseurs are familiar in norwegian and swedish peasant jewellery. next in order may be mentioned mr. fred robinson. this artist is actuated by similar ideals as mr. and mrs. gaskin, as is evidenced more especially by his necklace with bent wire pendants of open-work arabesque. another artist of distinction is miss annie mcleish, of liverpool, whose jewellery design, particularly in the way in which the several parts are connected together--an ornamental feature being made out of the structural requirement of strengthening and tying together the portions pierced _à jour_--is curiously suggestive of the perforated iron guards of japanese sword-handles. at the same time, it is not to be implied that miss mcleish is at all an imitator of japanese work. another point to be noticed is her decorative use of the human figure, in which regard two more lady designers, miss larcombe and miss winifred hodgkinson, also excel. the latter, to whose work black-and-white reproduction scarcely does adequate justice, is stronger in her figure work than in that which comes easiest to most people--to wit, the treatment of floral forms that constitute the subordinate portions of the design. the number of ladies who have achieved success in jewellery design proves this, indeed, to be a craft to which a woman's light and dainty manipulation is peculiarly adapted. besides those already mentioned one has only to instance miss ethel hodgkinson and miss swindell, who both contribute graceful designs for hat-pins and other small articles; miss dorothy hart, whose charming _pentacol_ is executed by herself; miss kate fisher and miss mcbean, in whose designs for clasps, etc., enamel is a prominent item; miss alabaster, whose beautiful gold brooch, adorned with blue and green enamel, is based on a _motif_ of trees with intertwining stems and roots; and miss rankin, whose four silver hat-pins of handsome design, representing a peacock, thistles, and celtic beasts respectively, are executed by mr. talbot, of edinburgh, himself a designer as well as artificer. miss edith pickert, in her designs for various articles of jewellery, usually employs a fairly thick outline of metal to enclose a coloured enamel surface. how diversely one and the same _motif_ may be rendered in different hands is illustrated by a comparison of miss pickert's belt design and mr. nelson dawson's belt-clasps, both in enamel and both founded on the flower "love in a mist." mr. nelson dawson, well known as an eminent metal-worker and active member of the society of arts and crafts, is also director of the artificers' guild. another belt-clasp from his design represents the delicate form of the harebell plant. mr. edgar simpson, of nottingham, is an artist of great gifts, as his drawings and, still more, the specimens of his actual handiwork here illustrated fully testify. many excellent designs lose vigour and character in the process of execution from the original sketch; but mr. simpson, on the contrary, manages to give his designs additional charm by the exquisite finish with which he works them out in metal. particularly happy is this artist's rendering of dolphins and other marine creatures; as in the circular pendant where the swirling motion of water is conveyed by elegant curving lines of silver, with a pearl, to represent an air-bubble, issuing from the fish's mouth. mr. david veazey's work, including, among other things, a hair comb decorated with enamel, has a variegated opal-tinted quality of colour; while miss barrie obtains admirable effects in translucent enamel without backing, after the russian method. her design for a belt-clasp with interlaced ornament and stones is excellent. other belt-clasps and buckles are from designs by mr. oliver baker. some of this strap-work ornament looks as though it might have been produced by casting from a model; but, as a matter of fact, it is entirely wrought and folded by hand. mr. and mrs. mcnair's jewellery, as well as that of mr. and mrs. mackintosh, has that quaint mannerism which one instinctively associates with the glasgow school of decorators, as also, in a still more marked degree, that of mr. talwyn morris, whose characteristic book-covers are well known. for jewellery, he frequently elects to work in aluminium. his design is strikingly original in effect, though on analysis it is found to consist of very simple units, such as various-sized rectangles overlaid, their boundary lines interpenetrating; with the occasional apparition of a peacock's eye-feather or the bird's neck and head in the midst. in these cases a completer sense of organic unity might be obtained if, instead of a detached limb, the whole bird were represented, or some other logical coherence established between the incidents of the composition. mr. thomas cook, of west ham, inserts small slabs of mosaic, after the italian mode, only he frankly adopts a purely conventional treatment, wisely refraining from any approach to pictorial realism. it is a hopeful sign that in many of the technical art schools throughout the land students are taking up jewellery design, and not only that, but in some cases carrying out the actual work themselves. it is largely due to the same fostering influence that the beautiful art of enamelling, frequently referred to above, has been developed amongst us, notably at the central school of arts and crafts, where classes for this department were inaugurated under the able guidance of mr. alexander fisher. but if the improvement in jewellery is to be general and permanent, in order to set it on a secure basis the motive power must come from within. much good, therefore, may be expected to result from the official sanction afforded by the goldsmiths' company to the jewellery work of their technical institute, to which a number of very creditable designs owe their existence. among others may be singled out some decorations for watch-backs, a branch of the craft as useful as it is neglected; those who have taken it up, like miss kate allen, for instance, being unfortunately but rare exceptions. there is no reason, however, why everyone who carries a watch should not enjoy in it the constant companionship of a thing of beauty. to sum up, then, if our modern art jewellery cannot boast any conspicuously brilliant features, at any rate it is of a high average standard. and though, as is the case of all good work, it must needs share many qualities in common with the noble treasures of the past, it yet does not assimilate to any historic style. in fine, it is original; and, withal, there may be traced in most of it a certain family likeness. it seems almost as if some new-born idea were really beginning to dominate it with the impress of a distinct nationality, destined to develop some day into a tradition which future generations may justly feel it a privilege to follow. the case of fans is the exact opposite to that of jewellery. in the former department, it cannot be said that there exists any sort of consensus of ideals, nor any paramount type of ornament. and, notwithstanding the existence amongst us of some few fan-painters of very considerable repute, their operations remain as yet quite personal and individualistic. they have no regular following; have founded no school of decoration. it is, therefore, a subject still open to determine by what principles the ornament of fans should be guided. firstly should be taken into account the peculiar shape of the surface available for decoration; and, secondly, the fact that this surface is not a flat plane, but such that must in practice infallibly be broken into so many set divisions or folds. the latter circumstance is the real crux of the question, many decorations, otherwise beautiful enough in the flat, being utterly ruined in effect as soon as they undergo the ordeal of mounting. thus it may perhaps seem an ingenious plan to subdivide the space horizontally, but it must be remembered that every horizontal line will lose its value when converted, as it must be, into a series of irregular zigzags. the folding is an essential factor, without taking which into account no fan decoration can be satisfactory. in setting out the design, then, it should always be borne in mind that no sharply defined straight lines are admissible, except those that radiate from the centre; and that, of curves, concentric ones are the best, such, that is, as are parallel with the arc shape. if the ornament is floral, it may take the form either of a powdering, or of an all-over pattern of moderately small scrolls. those on a large scale would run counter to the folds in too emphatic a manner to be agreeable. in figure subjects, of course, care should be taken so to dispose them that no important feature like an eye or a nose be split asunder by the lines of the folds. the larger and more pronounced the pattern, the more necessary it is to observe these conditions. on the other hand, where the colouring is of fairly even tone, and without strongly contrasted masses, or where the design is on a small scale, the surface can the more safely be spaced out by lines or medallions or cartouches, or other devices that may commend themselves. as regards material, there is no question that a silk ground, prepared with rice-size and stretched, until the decoration is completed, on a stretcher, offers as suitable a texture as one could desire for delicate and softly-blended harmonies in water-colour; as the fans of mr. conder, a prolific fan-painter, whose work appeals to a large circle of admirers, amply testify. the detail is all mr. conder's own, though the influence of french xviiith century ornament is unmistakable. miss syrett again is a clever artist working on somewhat similar lines. no one, however, who knew her figure compositions in her slade school days, productions full of promise, if marred by the attenuated model with prim, smooth-drawn hair, the type of carlos schwabe's illustrations to "le rêve" and "l'évangile," could have foreseen that miss syrett would develop in the direction of her present work. the reduced black-and-white illustrations convey no idea of the tender beauty of the colouring, nor of the exquisite pen-work in brown with which such features as the faces, hair, and hands are executed. another gifted artist is mr. brangwyn, who now makes his _début_ as a fan decorator, with a finished painting on silk, and also a crayon study for the same purpose. his design shows how much individuality an artist may impart even to work consciously founded on that of a past style. here, for example, in the drawing of cupids shooting their darts at a pair of lovers, may be recognised the very figures of the trianon period, but happily without any of their doll-like affectation and effeminacy. those who recollect miss jessie king's drawing in the last winter's special number of the studio--her _pelleas and mélisande_--in which the lank forms of schwabe or torop were combined with a wealth of accessory ornament of the artist's own, will scarcely recognise her hand in the present fan. she seems to be able to pass with marvellous facility from one fully matured style to another. the elaborate, nay, luxuriant finish of the whole, to say nothing of separate details such as the butterflies, the festoons, knots, etc., vividly recall the work of the late aubrey beardsley. it is no derogation of miss king's remarkable powers to assert that, but for the existence of mr. beardsley, this drawing of hers would certainly not have been what it is. one could wish that, for the sake of support to the leaf, more room had been allowed to the sticks. but, apart from this defect, the dainty care with which every minute detail is consistently carried out merits little else than praise. miss christine angus contributes two designs--one, in a pictorial style, for a paper fan, not nearly so decorative as the other, of nude boys and sweet peas, for painting on silk. miss ethel larcombe's gauze fans are attractive compositions, which bear tokens of a diligent appreciation of granville fell. another kind of fan ornamentation is exemplified by the stencil work of mr. reginald dick and mr. thomas cook. it is true these decorations are in a degree, but only in a slight degree, mechanical. the one unchangeable element is the white tie-lines of the pattern. for the rest, no little skill is required of the artist in devising and cutting his stencil. the number of plates is limited, but the mode adopted of colouring by hand admits of such variations that no two specimens from the identical stencil plates would ever be alike. mr. dick's fan is provided with enamelled sticks in keeping with the other parts of the decoration. mr. cook's design is the less characteristic of this particular method. indeed, though finished off at either end with a certain plausibility, the pattern is an obvious repeat, and such that might very well be the section of a circular dish border. less ambitious are the designs for different sorts of lacework by miss hammett and miss naylor. each of these patterns, while keeping strictly within the limits of the special technique proposed, shows yet much freshness and fertility of resource. in the one case the design is floral, in the other the theme is relieved by the introduction of bird forms into the composition. to conclude, the scope for decoration that fans afford is so great, and the possible methods so manifold, that the wonder is there are not many more artists employed in this industry. it is one well worthy of their attention; and it is to be hoped that no long time may elapse before the joint efforts of designers may, in this, as already in other branches of arts and crafts, result in something like a native style of ornamentation being evolved. aymer vallance. (_british_) a fan painted on silk by frank conder. (_in the possession of thomas greg, esq._) [illustration] [illustration plate 2 ] [illustration: _design for a lace fan_ myra naylor plate 3 ] [illustration: _design for a lace fan_ myra naylor plate 4 ] (_british_) a fan painted on silk by frank conder. (_in the possession of dalhousie young, esq._) [illustration] [illustration: plate 5 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. "the medallion" fan_ _b. "a travesty" fan_ frank conder (_by permission of messrs. carfax & co._) plate 6 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. "the empire" fan_ _b. "l'anglaise" fan_ frank conder (_by permission of messrs. carfax & co._) plate 7 ] (_british_) a painted silk fan by frank brangwyn. [illustration] [illustration: plate 8] [illustration: _designs for lace fans_ lydia c. hammett plate 9] [illustration: _designs for painted gauze fans_ ethel larcombe plate 10] (_british_) "the court of love" design for a painted fan by h. granville fell. [illustration] [illustration: plate 11] [illustration: _designs for painted silk fans_ christine angus plate 12] [illustration: _painted silk fans_ nellie syrett plate 13] (_british_) buckle in wrought silver and enamel by nelson and edith dawson. [illustration] [illustration: plate 14] [illustration: fig. a _a. painted silk fan_ thomas a. cook fig. b _b. painted silk fan_ nellie syrett plate 15] [illustration: _design for a fan_ jessie m. king plate 16] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. necklet in gold and silver, with amethysts and enamels_ _b. necklet in silver and gold, green malachite and turquoise_ designed by c. r. ashbee executed by the guild of handicraft plate 17 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. necklet in gold, pearls and enamels_ _b. silver muff-chain with pearl blisters_ designed by c. r. ashbee executed by the guild of handicraft plate 18 ] (_british_) _comb in mother-of-pearl and enamel_ b. j. barrie _comb in beaten silver with ivory prongs_ david veazey _hair comb in silver and transparent enamels_ kate allen [illustration] [illustration: plate 19 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c _a. peacock brooch with pearls, white enamel and turquoises_ _b. silver brooch, with green and blue enamels_ _c. peacock brooch, in gold, with pearls and diamonds, a ruby in the peacock's eye_ designed by c. r. ashbee executed by the guild of handicraft plate 20 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. silver clasp, enriched with amethysts, pearls and pale violet enamel_ designed by c. r. ashbee executed by the guild of handicraft _b. hair comb, in silver and enamels_ frances mcnair plate 21 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. vinaigrette and chain_ j. herbert mcnair _b. pendant in beaten silver, pierced and enamelled to hold a crystal locket_ frances mcnair plate 22 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. belt-buckle and two brooches in beaten silver and wire_ _b. brooches and earrings_ j. herbert mcnair plate 23 ] (_british_) designs for jewellery in gold, silver, enamels, mosaic and precious stones by thomas a. cook. [illustration] [illustration: plate 24] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. necklace in gold and enamel_ kate fisher _b. belt in silver and enamel_ edith pickett plate 25 ] [illustration: _silver clasps and gold pendants set with opals and amethysts_ edgar simpson plate 26] [illustration: _a pendant, two buttons, a brooch and a cloak clasp in silver_ edgar simpson plate 27] [illustration: _silver pendant, brooch and clasp_ annie mcleish plate 28] (_british_) _enamelled silver brooch_ a. e. arscott _silver pendant touched with enamel_ e. may brown _enamelled silver brooch_ w. hodgkinson _silver brooch with beads of enamel_ annie mcleish _brooch in silver and enamel_ kate allen _silver brooch set with red coral_ isabel mcbean _silver locket enamelled_ w. hodgkinson _brooch in gold and enamel with pearl centre_ kate allen _brooch, silver and enamel_ a. e. arscott _silver brooch enriched with enamel_ annie mcleish _enamelled silver brooch_ w. hodgkinson [illustration] [illustration: plate 29] [illustration: _belt buckles in silver, niello and enamels_ winifred hodgkinson plate 30] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. enamelled silver belt-clasp_ kate allen _b. silver clasp set with stones_ b. j. barrie plate 31 ] [illustration: _clasps in silver and enamel_ annie mcleish plate 32] [illustration: _watch backs in silver and enamels_ kate allen plate 33] (_british_) _brooch in silver and enamel_ david veazey _brooch in silver, enamel, and precious stones_ b. j. barrie _gold pendant with pearls, and turquoise, and champlevé enamel_ dorothy hart _gold pendant enriched with enamel_ e. larcombe _silver pendant with enamel_ minnie mcleish _brooch in silver and enamel_ annie mcleish _enamelled silver brooch_ minnie mcleish _enamelled brooch in silver_ n. evers-swindell _brooch in gold and enamel_ m. alabaster [illustration] [illustration: plate 34] [illustration: _silver clasps set with stones_ oliver baker plate 35] [illustration: british fig. a fig. b fig. c _a. silver pendant set with opal in matrix_ edgar simpson _b and c. silver buckles_ oliver baker plate 36 ] [illustration: _clasps in silver and enamels_ kate fisher plate 37] [illustration: _clasps in silver and enamels_ kate allen plate 38] _pin in beaten silver and enamel_ d. veazey _hair pin in silver and enamel_ e. m. hodgkinson _pin in silver and enamel_ e. m. hodgkinson _pin in beaten silver and enamel_ d. veazey _pin in beaten silver and enamel_ d. veazey _silver hair pin touched with enamel_ annie mcleish _hair pin of gold decorated with enamel and mother-of-pearl_ w. hodgkinson _hair pin in silver and enamel_ e. m. hodgkinson [illustration] [illustration: plate 39] [illustration: fig. c fig. a fig. b fig. d _a and b. jewelled brooches in beaten copper_ _c and d. jewelled buckles in beaten aluminium_ talwin morris plate 40 ] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c _a jewelled shoe-buckle in beaten copper_ _b. cloak clasp in beaten silver_ _c. waist-band clasp in beaten silver_ talwin morris plate 41] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c _a and b. buckles in beaten aluminium_ talwin morris _c. pendants in silver; the upper one with enamels, the lower with turquoises_ frances mcnair plate 42] [illustration: _silver finger ring set with pearls, amethysts, and rubies_ charles r. macintosh _silver brooch and pendant heart set with rubies, pearls, and turquoises_ m. macdonald mackintosh plate 43] [illustration: _necklet of beaten silver, chased, and set with fire opals_ arthur j. gaskin plate 44] [illustration: _silver pendant and chain set with turquoises and chrysoprase_ arthur j. gaskin plate 45] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. silver belt_ _b. silver necklet, set with pearl blisters, coral and aquamarine_ fred s. robinson plate 46] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. silver chain and pendants set with stones_ isabel mcbean _b. enamelled silver pendant_ minnie mcleish plate 47] _silver clasp enriched with enamel_ annie alabaster _silver clasp inset with enamel_ david veazey [illustration] [illustration: plate 48] [illustration: _silver and enamel clasps, pins and brooches_ edith pickett plate 49] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c fig. e fig. d fig. f fig. g _a, d, g. brooches and a cross in gold, set with stones_ annie mcleish _b. brooch in silver and enamels_ david veazey _c. silver brooch with opals_ ethel m. hodgkinson _f. brooch in silver, enamel and pearls_ nora evers-swindell plate 50] [illustration: _four silver hat pins_ designed by arabella rankin executed by j. m. talbot plate 51] [illustration: _a. six pins in silver and enamel_ nora evers-swindell _b. two pins in silver and enamel_ winifred hodgkinson _c. two silver pins set with enamel_ ethel m. hodgkinson plate 52] modern austrian jewellery. by w. fred. [illustration] critical examination of the jewellery of any particular period cannot fail to be practically a chapter of the history of culture. the popular saying: "every time has the poet it deserves," is superficially true, yet holds within itself a certain element of falsehood, as does pretty well every commonplace proverb of the same kind. however, if the sentence be slightly modified, as it very well may be, so that it reads, "every time has the jewellery it deserves," there will be absolutely nothing untrue about it, for the ornaments worn, whether on the dress, the hair, or the person of the wearer, have always reflected in a marked degree the taste of their period, and are very distinctly differentiated from those of any other time, so that changes in fashion imply changes of a more radical description in popular feeling. a history of personal ornament is open to many side issues, and unfolds itself in two different--indeed, opposite--directions. primitive savages, as is well known, wear ornaments before they take to clothes. the fiji islanders sport gold chains round their necks, and the african negroes in their untamed state load themselves with every glittering object they can get hold of, looking upon the multiplication of ornaments as a sign of wealth. very different, of course, is the state of civilisation of those who look upon decoration as an evidence of art culture, and care only for such ornaments as require the exercise of technical skill in their production, valuing them in proportion to the amount of that skill displayed by their craftsmen, rather than the intrinsic value of their material. the time of the italian renaissance is an instance of the truth of this. as has so often before been the case in the times of transition which are of inevitable recurrence, our own modern epoch is characterised by a certain unrest and confusion, in which many tendencies are contending with each other side by side, and neutralising, to a great extent, each other's effects. in america, the tiffany company seems to aim at producing masses of precious stones, which will give primarily the impression of the great wealth of their owner and producer; whereas, in france, lalique the jeweller endeavours rather to throw into the background the actual value of the jewels, their artistic setting being the first thing to strike the observer. we in austria have greater leanings to france than to america, and precious stones, however great their intrinsic value, are looked upon as of quite secondary value in modern art-work to beauty of line and of colour. french influence on austrian work cannot fail to be recognised. its germs fell indeed on a soil of exceptional fertility, with the result that they have taken root and borne abundant fruit. it should perhaps, however, be remarked that those races who are the heirs of a strong art tradition do not need, as do others less fortunate, to prove the wealth of their inheritance by the use of lavish ornament. their inherent artistic culture is indeed evidenced by the fact that they expect their artists to exercise their skill on materials less costly than do those who, to a certain extent, have their reputations still to make. benvenuto cellini had to be content to work in silver, the americans want to have every stick or umbrella-handle to be of gold. if we cast a glance, however hasty and cursory it may be, over the development of jewellery in vienna, noting the forms most popular in that city in past times, it is impossible not to be struck with the way in which every historical phase of art is reflected in these forms. the favourite style with viennese jewellers, and that in which the most effective, and at the same time the most characteristic, results have been achieved was undoubtedly the so-called _baroque_, a term originally restricted to a precise architecture or art-style alone, but now loosely applied to characterise any ornamental design of an unusual kind. it is in this half-serious, half-sportive style, with its grotesque yet bold effects and its complete freedom from convention, that the finest pieces of austrian jewellery have been produced. at the time of the great congress of vienna, when the representatives of the powers met in that city to settle the affairs of europe after the fall of napoleon--that is to say, about one hundred years later than the first introduction of the _baroque_ style from italy, french work, though it was of a crude description, exercised an influence over austrian jewellers, and what seemed like a second renaissance of the art of ornament began in austria. the art of jewellery in austria remained under french influence almost until the present day--in fact, throughout the whole of the 19th century--and it has only been in the last year that austrian art-industries have been set free from the foreign yoke which so long oppressed them, so that the true viennese style of jewellery has but rarely come to the fore. now at last, however, the liberating influence of the modern spirit is making itself felt in the art of jewellery, as in everything else; and every ornament produced, whether in precious stones or in enamel, bears the unmistakable impress of the distinctive psychic character of our capital city, which even foreigners do not fail to recognise. the result of this individuality is that a work of art is indissolubly bound up with the personality of its creator, and with the idiosyncrasies of the town which was its birthplace. in austria men wear very little jewellery, and the only noteworthy examples of ornaments made for them which can be quoted are a few rings and charms, the former perhaps adorned with designs in low-relief. the flat gold circle of the wedding-ring, which can be easily carried in the waistcoat pocket, and the engagement-ring, the psychic meaning of which is clear enough, the latter generally bearing one large diamond or other precious stone, do not afford much scope for the æsthetic feeling of their makers. a man who ventures to wear much jewellery is called old-fashioned, but there are still people who dare to sport a single great diamond or some other simple ornament on their shirt fronts. a pearl without setting, an emerald, or so-called sapphire _en cabochon_, are still frequently seen. the present fashion allowing men to tie their cravats in all manner of different styles to suit their own particular fancy, has led to the manufacture of a few varieties of scarf rings which admit of a certain amount of artistic intertwining of the gold, if it be gold of which they are made. when the making of jewellery for men is left to the unfettered imagination of the artist, he generally produces something quaintly original and fantastic, such as queer figurals, grotesque masks, comic caricatures of human or half-human figures or faces, etc. on the other hand, there is no doubt that there is far more activity in the production of jewellery for women in vienna than in almost any other city. the culture of our town is, indeed, essentially feminine. the graceful and witty, yet dreamy and passionate, girls and women of vienna give to it its distinctive character. a foreigner who once spent two days only in our capital was yet able to say of it, that all through his wanderings in its streets and alleys the rhythm of female culture was sounding in his ears. the men of vienna pride themselves more than the french, more even than the people of northern europe, on their women, and as a result of this pride there is sure to be plenty of beautiful jewellery of varied design to be met with in the town in which they live. amongst jewels and precious stones the spotless white pearl is perhaps the favourite, but, as proved at the last great exhibition in paris, the pale rose-coloured coral from the east runs it very close. diamonds are still set in the old-fashioned way--that is to say, after simple designs, the best of which are copies from renaissance or _baroque_ models. only now and then is any attempt made to produce lightly incised representations direct from nature of flowers, birds, or leaves. of course, bouquets of brilliants and leaves consisting entirely of diamonds have always been easily made at any period; but what is now aimed at for that very reason is the evolution of designs which shall be essentially true to nature, but at the same time really artistic. crude masses of naturalistic flowers are really of no account whatever, for a bouquet of diamonds can never have the exquisite charm of a fresh, sweet-smelling bunch of real blossoms. only a fairly good design, founded on some flower or leaf which can be satisfactorily reproduced in, and is, so to speak, _en rapport_ with, the jewels to be used, can succeed in pleasing through beauty of form alone, independently of any association. good examples of the best style of ornament in which precious stones are used are the necklace, figured herewith, with the earrings to match, by roset and fischmeister. in them the natural form, which has been the motive from which the design was evolved, was the fruit and leaf of the rare plant known in germany as the gingopflanze. the delicate separate stems are worked in dull gold, and the way the joining is managed cannot fail to be admired, whilst the single stems are in platinum. the charm and distinction of this piece of jewellery is due above all to its beauty of form, in other words it is not the gross value of the precious stones with which it is set which makes it a worthy possession, but the skill with which the motive has been worked out. viennese jewellers do not use the colourless precious stones much. they generally combine jewels with enamel, and also with what they themselves call the coloured halbedelsteine, or half-jewels, such as the agate, onyx, cornelian, and other less valuable precious stones. the modern tendency is in every case to rely upon colour and line for effect rather than upon massive form, so that the greater number of new designs, or of revived designs of the past, require for their satisfactory treatment what may be almost characterised as a new technique. first of all, the modern buckle for the belt or girdle claims attention. the lately revived custom of wearing the blouse led, as a matter of course, to the use of the belt with a more or less ornate buckle, just as, a few years ago, the long necklace came into general use again. the young women of the present day found both all ready for use in the jewel-chests of their grandmothers. it seems likely, too, that there will presently be a revival of the costly shoulder-clasps which used to be the fashion in the time of the empire, and if this be the case, the new fancy will probably, to some extent, oust the belt buckle from popular favour. in the designing of ornaments for the neck, art jewellers have far more scope than formerly for the exercise of their imagination, and they are disposed, to some extent, to follow the french mode, that is to say, they make necklaces flat and broad, so as to give an effect of slenderness to the throat of the wearer. it is a matter of course that combs and pins for the hair are often of very fine workmanship, showing much skill and taste on the part of their designers. strange to say, however, even in vienna, few rings for women of real art value are produced. in certain cases, however, the pendants in gold relief, in crystal, or in enamel, are of pleasing, though not particularly original design. working in enamel is of course an independent art in itself, and to begin with, i must remark that, as a general rule, beautiful as are the colour effects produced by viennese craftsmen, it is impossible to reproduce exactly the delicate charm of the original sketches from which the designs are worked out. very good results can, however, be obtained in what the french call _émail à jour_, or _émail translucide_, as well as in the old-fashioned opaque enamel. it would, however, be out of place here to attempt to describe the various modifications of what may now be called an international art. gustav gurschner is a sculptor _par excellence_. his fingers are accustomed to moulding clay or plaster designs in such a manner as to be readily reproduced in bronze. his slim and graceful statuettes holding candles or gongs, and other artistically designed objects for household use, have all a distinctly viennese character. his charming nude figures are full alike of childlike innocence and nervous strength, and are moreover instinct with the spiritual expression which naturally belonged to their originals. gurschner's designs for jewellery have very much the same effect upon a true judge. the great thing distinguishing his work from that of his contemporaries is the fact that it is modelled from the living figure, not as is generally the case, from mere water-colour sketches. the difference cannot fail to strike the most superficial observer. elsewhere, colour is often the chief consideration; with gurschner it is form. in modern decorative work, silver is now very largely used and appreciated. it is her skilful use of this material which has won so high a position for elsa unger, a daughter of the wonderfully successful etcher, professor william unger. elsa unger has a very great predilection for silver, and has attained to rare skill in expressing herself in that material. she herself knows perfectly well how to deal with it at every stage of its progress as art material. she can hammer it out and chisel it; she can engrave it, and combine with it beautiful _émail à jour_ of soft, harmonious colouring. one of the most noteworthy peculiarities of elsa unger's work is, indeed, her mastery of her material. she is not content, as are unfortunately most of her contemporaries, with delegating to others the working out of her designs, but she herself sees to every detail, doing all the work with her own hands. some of her articles, such as gentlemen's studs and sleeve-links, in beaten silver, relieved with blue enamel, are alike simple and elegant, and have the rare advantage of being also cheap. with elsa unger may be classed another woman worker in silver, anna wagner, who has produced amongst other tasteful work a beautiful silver buckle, relieved with enamel. amongst men who have won a reputation as skilful workers in silver maybe named e. holzinger and franz mesmer, who were trained in the same institution as elsa unger and anna wagner, the school of art craftsmanship connected with the museum of vienna, well known for the thoroughness of the instruction given in it. in this academy, which was thoroughly reformed a few years ago, and is now under the able direction of baron myrbach, the students learn to esteem skill in art craftsmanship as it deserves, and become thoroughly familiar with the materials employed in it. in the course of their training, feeling for true beauty and elegance is mixed, so to speak, with their very blood, becoming part of their natures, so that they cannot go far wrong. look, for instance, at some of the combs made by elsa unger. how delicately harmonised are the beaten silver and the pale lilac-coloured enamel, and how well the gracefully curving lines of the two materials blend with and melt into each other! how chastely effective, moreover, is the way in which the leaf-motive is worked out in the pins for the hair designed by mesmer, and what a happy thought it was to make the many-coloured half-jewels, or jewels of minor value, emerge as they do from the beaten silver. these works are, moreover, a very striking example of how necessity may sometimes become a virtue. the cheapness of material, so essential in an educational establishment, has not been allowed to detract in the very slightest degree from the beauty of the work produced; so that it is possible to have a real work of art, of which but few examples are produced, at a very low price--say from about thirty-five shillings; and that work is not a machine-made article, but one the production of which, by his or her own hand, has been a true labour of love to the designer, marking a real progress in art culture. to the technical academy of vienna the architect, otto prutscher, and the painter, v. schoenthoner, also owe much, but the charm of their work consists rather in its colour than in its form. much is to be hoped in the future from both of these talented artists, and what they have already produced proves that there has been no sacrifice of individuality, no cramping of special tendencies, such as is so much to be deprecated elsewhere, in the training they have received. otto prutscher's necklaces and rings are remarkable alike for the beauty and harmonious variety of their colouring. he uses enamel to a great extent, and also quite small precious stones. very uncommon, too, is the way in which he employs metal, though only enough of it to hold the enamel in its place. it would appear as if the artist had in his mind a vision of the women who are to wear his work, who are too tender and frail to carry any weight, so that the use of much metal in ornaments for them would be quite unsuitable. for a salome or a queen of sheba that sort of thing is scarcely appropriate--but it is done for the softly nurtured mignonne of the present day. the little coloured pins designed by f. schoenthoner are also noticeable for their elegance and suitability for the purpose for which they are intended. a word of unstinted praise must be accorded to the graceful designs of the talented fräulein eugenie munk, whose skill and good taste have been devoted to the production of a great deal of very beautiful and refined jewellery. i have already spoken of the work in diamonds of roset and fischmeister, and i should like to refer to those two master craftsmen again in connection with some of their figural ornaments, such as buckles for belts, rings, studs for shirt fronts and cuffs, etc., worked in dull or bright gold, all of which i consider worthy to be spoken of as viennese works of art. the different masks on the studs, each with its own individual expression, really display quite remarkable talent in their designer, for they are not only thoroughly artistic but most amusing studies in physiognomy. unfortunately it is impossible to give in reproductions of such work any true idea of the subtle manner in which the blue-green colours of the enamels, the gleaming white of the diamonds, and the pearly opaline tints of the moonstones, harmonize with each other and with the gold of their setting in the beautiful necklaces of messrs. roset and fischmeister. the watch-chains for men, with their finely-modelled and characteristic ornaments, manufactured by the firm of f. hofstetter, must also be mentioned on account of the skill with which the links are interwoven. the pendant is designed from a sketch made by professor stephan schwartz. two other designs from the same firm show very considerable skill. very interesting is the way in which the materials are combined in the belt-buckles by franz hauptmann. the water-lily buckle is of greenish gold, and the enamel, which is of the translucid variety, is also of a green hue, as are the onyx stones worked into the design. the motive is the flower and seed of the water-lily, and from the water, represented in enamel, rise up the delicate flowers in the same material of a snowy whiteness. an examination of the sketches of designs for jewellery, reproduced here, cannot fail to bring one fact forcibly before the mind. mechanical repetition is most carefully avoided, and as a result every example retains its own unique charm--the mark of the artist's hand. w. fred. _scarf pin_ v. schönthoner _scarf pin_ v. schönthoner _scarf pin_ v. schönthoner _silver brooch with enamel_ f. mesmer _pendant in gold, enamel and pearls_ otto prutscher _silver brooch with enamel_ josef hofstetter _scarf pin_ v. schönthoner _head of scarf pin_ v. schönthoner _head of scarf pin_ otto prutscher _silver brooch with enamel_ f. mesmer _gold brooch with enamel_ otto prutscher [illustration] [illustration: plate 1.] [illustration: _necklace of brilliants_ roset & fischmeister plate 2] [illustration: _jewellery_ roset & fischmeister plate 3] [illustration: _belt-buckles in greenish gold, enriched with onyx stones and enamel_ franz hauptmann plate 4] [illustration: fig. a fig. b figs. c & d _a. silver pendant and chain_ the chain by j. hofstetter the pendant by prof. schwartz _b. a comb in silver and horn_ j. hofstetter _c and d. gold pendants set with precious stones_ otto prutscher plate 5 ] [illustration: _jewellery_ otto prutscher plate 6] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c _a. belt and silver clasp_ emil gringold _b and c. silver-mounted combs_ elsa unger plate 7 ] [illustration: _necklace_ e. holzinger & elsa unger _threefold clasp, upper central clasp_ e. holzinger & f. mesmer _large twofold silver clasp_ anna wagner _brooches and links_ e. holzinger, e. unger & a. wagner plate 8] modern german jewellery. by chr. ferdinand morawe. [illustration] my opportunities of surveying the german jewellery market, and of making acquaintance with the ins and outs of the jewellers' business, have been limited; but it is certain that both are flourishing; at least, the german jewellers do not look as if they starved! moreover, the demand for precious ornaments seems to increase year by year, and the display in the jewellers' windows grows more and more luxurious, as is the case with most other businesses. nobody will store superfluous and unmarketable goods, least of all the jeweller, who is always a business man. you will be thoroughly aware of this fact if you start discussing art with him. he is cautious and suspicious of anything in the shape of novelty. he seems to say to himself: "this artist has ideas; he wants to show something new; but we cannot agree with these ideas, for we do not know if we shall be able to do business." this is a great pity, for the trade in women's ornaments offers more artistic scope than almost any other. it is not enough nowadays just to set some nicely polished stones neatly, or to be so lavish of material that the ornament produced represents an immense value; for the result will probably be something not at all artistic. indeed, this generally occurs. the lot of the artist who designs women's ornaments is not a happy one, and it is almost like a message from heaven when a jeweller tells him that he will really condescend to carry out an original design. even then he must sometimes put up with the fact that his design, which was intended for one person or purpose only, is repeated, like a manufactured article, a hundred and a thousand times again. happily there are some artists in germany, as in england, france, and belgium, who are above the fashion, and whose artistic individuality is so strong that they are bound to succeed in other spheres of art as well as in that of women's jewellery. two of the first to show activity in this direction were the berlin artists, hirzel and möhring. both chose for their ornaments the same manner and methods which eckmann and his fellow-workers had previously employed in decorative art; they adhered as closely as possible to simple natural plant-forms, especially hirzel. thallmayr, of munich, is still working in the same style, but with more individuality than hirzel. thallmayr will certainly spend his life studying the leaves and blossoms of the trees and the flowers in his garden, while the other will doubtless produce new results, departing somewhat from the real forms of nature. möhring's works already showed this tendency when he produced them nearly at the same time as hirzel his. subsequently these artists were occupied less with women's ornaments than with other things coming within the category of decorative art,--this owing to lack of intelligence and enterprise on the part of the jewellers and manufacturers. tables, chairs, and other necessary household articles found a much wider market. but we are now dealing exclusively with women's ornaments. two circumstances in this connection are very strange. in the first place, it seems that the artists of the present time (i speak of germany) are not successful in designing finger-rings. here and there one sees an attempt made to design characteristic shapes, but the sphere of the ring is so confined that nobody has succeeded in producing anything really elegant and novel. mostly one sees extravagant examples, of confused design. the second peculiar fact is, that one very seldom finds an artist devoting himself to designing earrings. the whole artistic movement in relation to women's ornaments is still somewhat puerile. this may be recognised by the absence of the ear-ring, that most superior ornament, which, unlike all others, has an independent language of its own. although in the list of female ornaments the clasp and the brooch occupy the foremost place, the pendant for the breast should not be forgotten. the mission of the pendant is to show by its fancy and its tastefulness how and in what degree the german is distinguished from the englishman and from the frenchman. i will mention in this connection two artists living in germany who are not germans, but by their manner of life and work might be such. both these artists, in their several ways, will exercise great influence on the development of our ornaments. i refer to van der velde and olbrich. it is well known that the first is a belgian, while the other is a foreigner, inasmuch as he comes from austria. olbrich's pendants and pins are very characteristic. he takes a hammered gold-plate, enriches it with precious stones and enamel, and adds a rim set with long pearls. it is easy to see that he is fond of rummaging among the treasures of the old cathedrals and convents; he knows the secret of their effect, and, besides this, he has an extraordinary talent for inventing new things himself. his jewellery is the best we have now in germany, because it is superior to fashions and periods. his jewels are pure, thoughtful works of art. when worn, they produce a most sumptuous effect; but their richness has nothing tawdry about it. these jewels show us how we ought to deck our wives, both at home and at the theatre; moreover, they suggest things fit for the lady superiors of religious orders, for abbesses, even for our queens. they show us too how our burgomasters' chains, with their insignificant crosses and stars, might be improved. these ideas are perhaps at present as intangible as a beautiful dream, but that is no reason why we should not indulge our fancy in this direction. for the moment, however, we must be satisfied if the jeweller is inclined to carry out our designs. looking further among our artists, we find karl gross, of dresden. mr. gross, who formerly lived in munich, delighted us while there with a good many beautiful designs for jewellery. he produced not only female ornaments, but also paper-cutters, seals, and so on. he always displayed good taste and a fine sense of form, having, like olbrich, the capacity to carry out his designs quite independently, without consideration of his predecessors' effects. a hair-pin of gross's may be regarded as quite an independent work, although it relies on an old tradition. those artists, indeed, show the most freedom who have adapted the beautiful examples of past generations. examining our new jewellery, we find very little work which has the appearance of having been done by a strong hand. most of it in time becomes unbearably monotonous. still, it is something that we in germany have at least two artists who design in so fresh and characteristic a manner that their works are always looked at with the greatest interest. i already have mentioned them--olbrich and van der velde--and i fall back again upon them, though i have already taken them in consideration. we have other artists, too, who follow sound principles in other branches of decorative art. one of the most individual of these is riemerschmid, of munich. others there are who are nearly on the right way, but whose personal artistic sense is not broad enough to make them produce something really good. this general mention is, therefore, all their work demands. in addition to finger and earrings our jewellery artists are responsible for other objects, such as the bracelet, the watch, and the fan. i think it is very difficult to rescue the bracelet from conventionality. we must hope the best for the future. but what about watch-cases, especially those of ladies' watches? this art is quite neglected, not so much by the manufacturers as by the artists. at this year's darmstadt exhibition there were two watches displayed. one of them had the case enamelled, if i mistake not, in the form of a chrysanthemum, and on the other was modelled the figure of one of the "fates." the effect of the chrysanthemum watch was fairly good, but the less said about the "fate" the better. why is it not possible to design an ornament with taste and furnish it with precious stones and enamel? it is the greatest pity that our sculptors have no imagination. having arrived at the determination to think of a watch, the artist has no idea beyond depicting one of the "fates" with the thread and the scissors. i said just now that the watch was neglected less by the manufacturers than by the artists. nowadays you may find watches indeed with gaily-coloured cases, but the decorations are miserable, like everything else that is invented by the manufacturers. they don't want to pay a good price for the artist's sketch, and they are proud of the inspiration of their own muse. in this case one cannot avoid the conclusion that the artists are themselves to blame for their neglect of this branch of the jeweller's art. the condition of affairs with regard to the fan is also very astonishing. why do our artists not supply our ladies with nice fans? please do not confound "nice" with "precious." the fan as we know it now is so utterly "played out" that scarcely anything can be done with it. new arrangements of the feathers are invented; the handle is trimmed in different ways; new materials are used, but a really new and artistic idea cannot be devised. titian's "lady with the fan" is admired; the fan is known very well, but nobody thinks of making use of it. meanwhile another kind of fan is being more and more extensively employed. i refer to the palm-leaf of the japanese and the chinese. people are very fond of being fanned by these leaves, but nobody observes their artistic possibilities. an artist who can afford to be independent of mere fashion is therefore wanted to give new life to the fan. such an artist will win lasting success. [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. collar ornament in gold, enamel, onyx, and brilliants_ _b. collar ornament in gold, enamel, and brilliants_ robert koch plate 1] [illustration: _gold pendant, set with lapis lazuli, pearls, and rubies_ designed by joseph m. olbrich _silver pendant, set with bloodstones and a large pearl_ executed by d. & m. loewenthal plate 2] [illustration: _pendant in gold, silver, enamel, and pearl_ executed by theodor fahrner _gold pendant set with amethysts and pearls_ executed by d. & m. loewenthal both designed by j. m. olbrich plate 3] [illustration: _gold brooches_ designed by hermann r. c. hirzel executed by louis werner plate 4] [illustration: _gold brooches_ designed by theodor von gosen executed by "vereinigte werkstaetten," munich plate 5] [illustration: _gold brooches_ designed by bruno möhring executed by f. h. werner plate 6] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c _a and c. gold pendants set with a turquoise_ _b. gold pendant set with turquoises and moss-agates_ chr. ferdinand morawe plate 7] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. silver brooch set with turquoise and enamel_ executed by theodor fahrner _b. gold pendant set with pearls and sapphires_ executed by d. & m. loewenthal both designed by joseph m. olbrich plate 8] modern belgian jewellery and fans. by f. khnopff. [illustration] recent _salons_ in belgium have been notoriously unsuccessful, and it cannot be disputed that the public is becoming less and less interested in the large exhibitions of fine arts. notable artists have been conspicuously absent; new works have been as scarce as old ones have been abundant; and, lastly, the general arrangements have been altogether lacking in attractiveness. despite the violent opposition of interested persons, official and otherwise, the type of display started some time ago in brussels by the "xx" club, and continued by the "libre esthétique" and "pour l'art" societies, has succeeded in attracting the attention of _connoisseurs_ and art lovers generally, with, apparently, every prospect of retaining it. the combination of works of painting and sculpture with the most exquisite productions of ceramic art, glass-ware, and all that is most delicate in jewellery and goldsmith's work, adds a special attraction to these exhibitions, which are always looked for with the utmost interest. it is, indeed, the jewellers, who, among all our belgian art workers, have succeeded in making themselves and their productions the best known and most widely appreciated; the more so as in their case one was able to compare their works closely and determine their relative merits. it may truly be said that their most notable characteristic is diversity--a diversity which is shown, not only by the amateurs, so to speak, but also among the professionals. no remarks on belgian sculpture--particularly in its decorative sense--are complete without mention being made of charles van der stappen. true, he has executed but a small number of detached ornaments, but in the arrangement of the hair in his exquisitely fanciful busts he has lavished a wealth of fine modelling, the influence of which is still widely felt. in the works of m. paul dubois we discover the sculptor modelling the details of his buckles and clasps as he would so many powerful muscles. m. fernand dubois seems to be a _chercheur_ of a more subtle kind; but this very excess of ingenuity sometimes mars the plastic effect of his jewels. from victor rousseau we have had so far nothing more than a gold bracelet. the subject is quite simple--two hands holding a pearl; but the work is in every way worthy of the young brussels artist, whom i regard as one of the most remarkable personalities in the domain of contemporary belgian sculpture. the decorator van de velde, who has left brussels, and is now settled in berlin, exhibited at some of the "libre esthétique" _salons_ a series of jewels remarkable for their firm and consistent construction. the jewels displayed recently by m. feys are distinguished by grace and felicitous appropriateness; but even more striking is the perfection of their execution, which is really extraordinary in its suggestion of suppleness. other jewels displayed recently at the "libre esthétique" by m. morren and mlle. de bronckère also deserve notice. in the course of a very interesting study on m. ph. wolfers, m. sander pièrron, the sagacious brussels critic, thus described the work of this remarkable specialist in the "revue des arts décoratifs":-"m. wolfers seeks his inspiration in the study of the nature and the forms of his marvellous domain, and his vision of things is specially defined in his jewels. the detail therein contributes largely to the spirit of the entire work, which borrows its character from the decoration itself or from the subject of that decoration. he never allows himself to stray into the regions of fancy; at most, he permits his imagination to approach the confines of ornamental abstraction. nevertheless, he interprets nature, but is never dominated by it. he has too true, too exact a sense of the decorative principle to conform to the absolute reality of the things he admires and reproduces. his art, by virtue of this rule, is thus a modified translation of real forms. he has too much taste to introduce into the composition of one and the same jewel flowers or animals which have no parallel symbol or, at least, some family likeness or significance. he will associate swans with water-lilies--the flowers which frame, as it were, the life of those grand poetic birds; or he will put the owl or the bat with the poppy--that triple evocation of night and mystery; or the heron with the eel--symbols of distant, melancholy streams. he rightly judges that in art one must endeavour to reconcile everything, both the idea and the materials whereby one tries to make that idea live and speak. inspired, doubtless, by the fact that the ancients chose black stones for the carving of the infernal or fatal deities, m. wolfers uses a dark amethyst for his owls, which gives them a special significance. the grecians used the aqua-marina exclusively for the engraving of their marine gods, by reason of its similarity to the colour of the sea, just as they never carved the features of bacchus in anything but amethyst--that stone whose essence suggests the purple flow of wine." m. van strydonck expresses himself to me in the following terms on the subject of his art:-"i am of opinion that the jewel can be produced without the aid of stones, enamels, etc. i do not exclude them entirely, but they should not be used unless it be to give the finishing touch, or occasionally to relieve an _ensemble_ lacking in vigour of colour. my preference is for oxydations, for in general effect they are more harmonious to the eye, and by careful seeking one can find all the tones required. i think you will share my opinion that it is much easier to use enamels, by means of which one's object is instantly attained. yet it is seldom one produces a beautiful symphony of colour. enamel can only be employed in small quantities. why? because, in the first place, he who uses it must have a profound knowledge of colours and a special colourist's eye; he must remember, moreover, that he is appealing to a _clientèle_ composed principally of ladies, who in most cases regard the jewel simply as a means to complete such and such a toilette. "it seems to me, indeed," continues m. van strydonck, "that translucent enamel is the most suitable because it simply serves as an auxiliary--a basis necessary to the completion of the _ensemble_--and adds value to workmanship and design; and there is nothing to prevent its alliance with the beautiful oxydations which come almost naturally from gold." note how, little by little, enamel is being abandoned in favour of stones, such as onyx, agate, and malachite, materials of no special value, which can be cut in different ways, and whose colour gives fine effects infinitely preferable to those of inferior enamels. of course, i do not despise the fine stone, which, by its bold colour, often relieves the work, but this is not altogether the object of the jewel, unless profit be the sole object of the maker; and i ought to add that the revival of the jewel in recent years has not been favourably regarded by certain firms, who saw therein a distinct diminution of gain, the fact being that their large stock of fine stones--beautiful in themselves, but out of place in works such as i have mentioned--threatens to remain on their hands. one cannot truly say that belgian _eventaillistes_ exist, for it is only very occasionally that such water-colour painters as mm. cassiers, stacquet, and uytterschaut carry out their delightful landscapes and seascapes in the shape required for a fan. something has been done in lacework in connection with the fan, and on this point i should mention in terms of praise m. van cutsem, a brussels designer, who has made numerous models for m. bart and m. sacré, amongst which may be noted several happy experiments in the direction of the "modern style." to conclude, let me refer to the lace by mlle. bienaimé, admirably mounted by m. goosens, of brussels. (_belgian_) a fan painted on silk by h. cassiers. [illustration] [illustration: plate 1] [illustration: _design for a necklet in silver and enamel_ l. van strydonck plate 2] [illustration: _pendant with chain. the masque is an iris with red enamel for the hair. the orchid's petals are in translucent enamel of opalescent tones_ ph. wolfers plate 3] [illustration: _pendant and chain set with brilliants and pearls. the figure in gold, the serpent in black and brown enamel_ ph. wolfers plate 4] [illustration: _necklet, with ornaments of transparent enamel_ ph. wolfers plate 5] [illustration: _parure de corsage, set with emeralds, brilliants and transparent pearls_ ph. wolfers plate 6] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. waist-band buckle. the serpent in green bronze, the crab in silver-gilt_ _b. pendant. the pheasants in green and yellow-brown enamel, the centre stone a pale-green ceylon sapphire_ ph. wolfers plate 7] [illustration: _coiffure, set with brilliants; the petals in opal, the serpent in gold touched with a slight patina_ ph. wolfers plate 8] [illustration: fig. a fig. b fig. c fig. d _a, b, and d. silver belt-clasps_ _c. silver buckles_ paul dubois plate 9] modern danish jewellery. by georg brochner. [illustration] emanating from england--and, i am tempted to add, with the studio for its pioneer--the new movement, the rejuvenation, the second renaissance, or whatever one may be pleased to call it, in matters of fine, and more especially applied art, is like a mighty wave making its way over many lands. but, as with the waves of the ocean, its movements are often fitful and impulsive, its progress irregular and spasmodic. why this is so it is often futile to speculate upon, and even where a plausible explanation is apparently near at hand, it may on closer investigation prove more or less of a fallacy. thus it may appear natural enough that a small country should be unable to vie with large and rich empires in the matter of jewellery, for the making of such is likely to entail expenditure out of proportion to the buying capacity of smaller nations. yet this argument really does not hold good, for inasmuch as in modern jewellery it is more the design and conception, more the intrinsic artistic value and the proper choice and handling of the material which are the main things (and not the quantity of precious stones used), the cost need by no means be excessive. for day wear, at least, delightful jewellery is now made entirely from gold and silver, and enamel, and even bronze, possessing decorative properties immeasurably beyond those of the far more costly articles produced up to only a few years ago. be this as it may, the fructifying effects of these new ideas have, on the whole, been somewhat slow in making themselves felt within the craft of the gold and the silver-smith, or, rather, within that branch of it which embraces articles for personal adornment. some countries have so far ignored them altogether; in others they are only just beginning to take root. in denmark, for instance, which in other fields of applied art holds such an honourably prominent position, comparatively little attention has hitherto been given to jewellery by those distinguished artists who have for years brought their talent to bear upon other crafts. but, if i mistake not, a change is beginning to manifest itself in this respect, and i have very little doubt that the material for an article on modern danish jewellery will be vastly augmented within a span of but a few years, although it is unfortunately a little scanty at the time of writing. bindesböll, whose characteristic style is so easily recognised, has some good clasps and brooches to his credit. they are distinguished by that unconventional boldness and freedom which one always hails with unmixed pleasure wherever one finds them, whether it be on a book-cover, on a sofa cushion, on a metal vessel, or in some architectural decoration. it is only very rarely bindesböll deigns to employ a distinct figure or motif in his designs, but, in spite of a capriciousness in his lines--a capriciousness which at times borders upon recklessness--the effect is almost invariably harmonious and decorative. of a totally different stamp is harald slott-möller, to whom is due the place of honour when dealing with modern danish jewellery. his designs are carefully conceived and they almost invariably illustrate a fine poetic idea or allegory, always happily chosen. they are somewhat elaborate, both in details and drawing, and in the choice of material, with regard to which he is rather extravagant than otherwise. his jewellery is possessed of a distinguished decorative beauty, and although he is entirely original, both in his choice of motifs and in his way of dealing with them, it might perhaps not be very difficult to trace certain english influences in his work. he is himself a skilful craftsman, whilst some of his designs have been executed at the famous establishment of mr. michelsen, danish court jeweller. for one of mr. michelsen's daughters, slott-möller designed the exceedingly beautiful brooch of which we give an illustration (plate 4). it is made of silver, which is strongly oxidised, with blue, white, and green enamel. the stars are set in diamonds, and the pendants at the side are pearls. the comb with the butterflies on the lyre is the property of another sister, and is made of tortoise-shell and gold, with enamel, set with pearls, diamonds, and sapphires. a second comb, likewise made of tortoise-shell, has for its decorative motif a mermaid, gold, enamel, and coral being used with no mean skill. in the necklace the myth of helen is represented. the central portion is of dark oxidised silver, with flames and sparks in gold, the walls of burning troy and the grass are enamel, and the figure of helen is carved in ivory. on the side plates men fight and die, illustrating the inscription, in greek: "she brought devastation, she gave fame." slott-möller has himself made the whole of this elaborate and charming necklace. the hand-mirror is made in silver, with an ivory handle, in the likeness of a candle, round the flame of which a number of luckless moths flutter; the moths and the ooze from the candle are oxidised. moyens bollin, who has lately gone in for the making of artistic metal objects, has also designed several pretty combs, clasps, etc., made in silver or bronze. in the former material is a clasp, of which we give an illustration, with flowers in blossom and bud, admirably drawn so as to fill their allotted space. another clasp, a butterfly, is in bronze. erick magnussen is a very young artist, who seems to give promise. the "1901" in the pendant mirror is very deftly drawn, covering its space evenly and well, as does also the design of the "fish" clasp illustrated. the other, with the mermaids, shows that he can also successfully employ the female form for decorative purposes. a silver clasp and brooch by niels dyrlund are distinguished by a quaint but well balanced intertwining of lines, the effect produced being pleasing and decorative, and einar nielsen, the talented painter, axel hou, and georg jensen have also recently taken to the designing of clasps and such like objects. [illustration] [illustration: _necklace representing the story of helen of troy. the central part in dark oxidised silver, with flames and sparks in gold; the walls of burning troy and the grass in enamel; the figure of helen is carved in ivory_ harald slott-möller plate 1] [illustration: _a. belt-mirror in chased silver_ erick magnussen _b. silver hand-mirror with an ivory handle. the moths are oxidised_ harald slott-möller plate 2] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. "butterfly" comb in tortoiseshell and gold, with enamel, and set with pearls, diamonds, and sapphires_ _b. "mermaid" comb in tortoiseshell and gold, with coral and enamel_ harald slott-möller plate 3] [illustration: _enamelled brooches in oxidised silver_ harald slott-möller plate 4] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. silver clasp_ _b. enamelled silver clasp_ erick magnussen plate 5] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. twofold silver clasp_ moyens bollin _b. silver belt-clasp_ erick magnussen plate 6] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. "butterfly" clasp in bronze_ _b. silver clasp_ moyens bollin plate 7] [illustration: fig. a fig. b _a. silver clasp in three pieces_ moyens bollin _b. silver buckles and brooches_ th. bindesböll plate 8] * * * * * +----------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's notes: | | | | p.1. 'unbiassed' changed to 'unbiased'. | | p.4.(french) no devil-fish, 'no' changed to 'nor'. | | p.7. 'themelves' changed to 'themselves'. | | plate 43. 'pendent' changed to 'pendant'. | | corrected various punctuation. | | | | '=' around words mean bold as in =french=. | | '_' around words mean italic as in _french_. | | | +----------------------------------------------------------+ self-instructor in the art of hair work, dressing hair, making curls, switches, braids, and hair jewelry of every description. compiled from original designs and the latest parisian patterns by mark campbell. new york: m. campbell, 737 broadway. chicago: 81 south clark street. mdccclxvii. entered according to act of congress, in the year 1867, by mark campbell, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states, for the northern district of illinois. preface. the necessity for a comprehensive work, giving a full and detailed explanation of the art of manufacturing hair work in all its various branches, has been so frequently urged upon the attention of the author, that, in compliance with an almost universal demand, he has concluded to publish a book which will clearly illustrate the art of hair dressing, and making hair jewelry and hair work of every description. his perfect familiarity with the business--the result of many years' successful experience--renders him eminently competent to impart the fullest information upon the subject of which he treats, while the great consumption and rapidly increasing demand for every description of hair goods, will make this work he now presents to the public, one of particular interest to all classes. heretofore the art of making these goods has been zealously guarded by a few dealers, who have accumulated fortunes, and would still retain it a profound secret but for the publication of this book. this is the only descriptive volume ever published on hair work. it is an elaborate, carefully prepared book, containing over one thousand drawings, devices and diagrams, engraved at great expense to the publisher, and accompanied with the most comprehensive instructions. it not only reveals to the most ordinary comprehension the hitherto concealed mysteries of the art, but will prove an indispensable adjunct to every lady's toilet table, as by its aid she will not only be able to dress her own hair in every variety of style, but make her own hair jewelry and articles of hair work, including switches, braids, curls, waterfalls, &c., assisted by a reference to plates of the most modern european and american styles. for children, no art or accomplishment is more useful than the ability to make articles of tasteful ornament in hair work. this work will open to all such persons a path to agreeable and profitable occupation. jewelry dealers, from the clear instructions herein given, can manufacture any required pattern of hair jewelry, and add, without extra expense, a new and lucrative branch to their business. persons wishing to preserve and weave into lasting mementos, the hair of a deceased father, mother, sister, brother, or child, can also enjoy the inexpressible advantage and satisfaction of _knowing_ that the material of their own handiwork is the actual hair of the "loved and gone." no other work ever met with such an earnest demand as this treatise upon the art of hair braiding. it must certainly commend itself to the ladies of our country as invaluable. even a hasty perusal will convince every one of its utility and worth. translations in french and german are in progress. [illustration] introductory remarks. in this book of instruction, i have introduced for practice the easiest braids first--which are chain braids. the first pattern, found on page 9, is a very easy and handsome one, and should be practiced to perfection before trying any other, as it will enable the beginner to execute all others after the first is perfected. a new beginner should be particular to place the strands correctly upon the table, and mark the cover with precision, after the manner shown in the diagram. i have, by the introduction of plates, diagrams and explanatory remarks, made comprehensive and simple the execution of all the braids herein contained. the novice should first give special attention to preparing the hair for braiding, the adjustment of it to the bobbins, weights, molds, &c., of which plates, and full explanations are to be found elsewhere in this book. i wish to impress upon the mind of the worker, that every change made with the strands changes the numbers of them to correspond with the numbers on the table. for example: lift no. 1 over no. 2, which would make no. 1 no. 2, and no. 2 no. 1, &c. [illustration: braiding table and position in braiding.] square chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1,--one in each hand--lift them over the table, one on each side of the mold, and lay them between nos. 1 at b, and bring back the nos. 2 from b, one on each side of the mold, and lay them between nos. 2 at a; then go to c, lift nos. 1 over between nos. 1 at d, passing one strand each side of the mold, and bring back nos. 2 from d, and lay between nos. 2 at c. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first, and repeat until finished. [illustration] braid this over a mold, made of small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off the weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid tight together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until quite dry; then slip it off the wire on to the cord, sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. reverse chain braid. take sixteen strands and place on table like pattern. commence at a with sixty hairs in a strand. take nos. 2, lift over table to b, lay them in between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b, and lay in between nos. 1 at a. then walk around table to c; take nos. 1 and lift over table and lay them in between nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then take nos. 2 at c, lift over table and lay them inside of nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos. 2 from d to c. after braiding several times round to suit your taste, say five, reverse the braid by commencing at c, and braiding as you did at a, by taking nos. 2 at c, lift over table to d, and lay them in between nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 2 from d, and lay in between nos. 1 at c. then go to a and take nos. 1, lift over table and lay in between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a, then take nos. 2 at a, lift over table and lay in between nos. 2 at b, and fetch back nos. 2 from b to a, then commence at c again and braid five times. then commence at a as you did at first, reversing it every time you braid it five times through. braid it over a small wire, tie the ends on the wire, boil and dry the same as chain on page nine, only you need not press the braid together on the wire. [illustration] sixteen twist chain. take sixteen strands, with eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a and b; take no. 1 at a in right hand, and no. 1 at b in left hand, and swing them around the table to the right, changing places with them. then take nos. 1 at c and d and change as at a and b. then go to b and take nos. 2 at b and a, and change them by taking no. 2 at b in right hand and no. 2 at a in left hand, and swing them around table to the right as before, changing places with them. then go around the table to d, and take nos. 2 at d and c, and change places as before, then take nos. 3 at a and b and change as before. then take nos. 3 at c and d and change places with them. then take nos. 4 at b and a and change as before. then take nos. 4 at d and c and change as before. then commence at a, as at first, repeating until the braid is finished. [illustration] striped snake chain braid. take thirty-two strands with twelve hairs in a strand, or any number that can be divided by four, and sixty strands for usual size, and place them on table like pattern. have every alternate two strands of black hair, and the others of light hair. commence at a, taking two strands of light hair in left hand, nos. 1 and 2, and take two strands of black hair in right hand, nos. 3 and 4, and cross no. 2 (light) over no. 3 (dark), then no. 1 (light) under no. 3 (dark), then no. 4 (dark) over nos. 1 and 2 (light); so on around the table to the right until you get to a; then commence and work back to the left by taking light hair in left hand and dark hair in right hand, as before, and put no. 3 (dark) over no. 2 (light), and no. 4 (dark) under no. 2 (light), and no. 1 (light) over nos. 3 and 4 (dark), so on around the table till you get to a; then commence as at first, so on, braiding first one way around the table then the other till you have the chain completed. [illustration] braid it over wood, or brass wire, the size and length you wish your chain. when braided take off your weights, tie the ends fast and boil and dry, then take out the mold and put a cord through with some cotton wrapped around it so it will be soft and pliable. this is called the striped snake braid, and can be braided all of one color if desired. cable chain braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by two, eighty hairs in a strand, twenty strands for usual size, place on table like pattern. commencing, take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand, and swing around the table to the right, and lay the one in right hand at no. 1 at b, and the one in left hand at no. 1 at a; then bring back no. 2 at b with right hand, and no. 2 at a in left hand, to the left, then take no. 3 and swing to the right, then no. 4 and swing to the left, so on, round first to the right then to the left, with every number of strands till you get to no. 1; then commence as at first, and so on till the chain is as long as required. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid together on the wire; boil in water about ten minutes, then take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip off the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. snake chain braid. take thirty-two strands, or any number that can be divided by four, twelve hairs in a strand, and sixty strands for usual size; place them on table like pattern. commence at a, lift no. 2 in your right hand, and put your left under your right hand and take up no. 3 and bring it back of no. 1, and lay them both down; then take no. 4 up and lay it between nos. 1 and 2, then take the next four to the right, and so on till you get around the table; then commence and braid back around the table to the left, but reverse the braid by braiding it this way: lift no. 3 with your left hand, pass your right under and take no. 2 and bring it back over no. 4, and lay them both down; then take no. 1 and lift it over in between nos. 3 and 4, and so on, till you get around the table. then commence as at first, braid one way, then the other, till you have it as long as required. braid it over wood or brass wire the size and length you wish your chain; when braided take off your weights, tie the ends fast, and boil and dry them; take out the mold and put a cord through with some cotton wrapped around it so that it will be soft and pliable. this is called the snake chain braid. [illustration] eight square chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on the table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 strands, lift across the table and lay down inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a, then lift nos. 2 at a over inside nos. 2 at b and bring nos. 2 from b to a, then lift nos. 3 from a to b, and bring back nos. 3 from b to a, then lift nos. 4 from a to b and bring back nos. 4 from b to a, then commence at nos. 1 again and repeat until the chain is completed. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of an needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. half-twist chain braid. take sixteen strands or any number that can be divided by two, usually eighty hairs in a strand. commence at a and b, take no. 1 at a in right hand, and no. 1 at b in left hand, and swing them around table to right, and lay the one in right hand down at b across over no. 2, and the one in right hand lay down across over no. 2 at a; then go to c and d, and change no. 1 as before at a and b; then go to the next two strands and change as before, so on around the table, taking the next two each time until the chain is completed. directions same as on page 9. [illustration] square chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, lift nos. 1 across table and lay in between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then go to c, take nos. 1 and lift across table and lay in between nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then go to a, take nos. 2 and lift across inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then go to c, lift nos. 2 across inside of nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos. 2 from d to c; then go to a and commence as at first, and repeat until it is the required length. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid close together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire on to the cord, sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the ends to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. cable twist chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on table like pattern. commence at a and b with nos. 1, passing them around table to the right, and leave no. 1 from a at b, and no. 1 from b at a. then take nos. 7 at a and b, and pass around table to right, and leave the one from a at b, and the one from b at a. then take nos. 2 at a and b, changing places with them; then take nos. 8 and change as before; then take nos. 3 at a and b and change them as before; then take nos. 1 at a and b and change as at first; then take nos. 4 and change as before; then take nos. 2 and change as before; then take nos. 5 and change as before, so on until the braid is finished, all the time taking the third strand to the right, or forward, and the second one to the left, or backward. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. twist chain braid. take eighteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a and b, take nos. 1 and swing around table to the right, and place the no. 1 from a over the nos. 2 and 3 at b, and the no. 1 from b over the nos. 2 and 3 at a; then go to c and d, take the nos. 1 and change the same; then go to e and f and change the same; then go to b and a, and change as at first,--all the time taking the nos. 1, and swinging to the right, for when you lay them over the nos. 2 and 3 it makes them nos. 3, and makes nos. 2 nos. 1--and so on, until the chain is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid close together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire on to the cord, sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the ends to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. twist chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on table like pattern. commence at a and b, take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand and swing them around the table to the right and lay the one in the right hand down at b, over across nos. 2, 3 and 4, and the one in the left hand at a over across nos. 2, 3 and 4, then go to c and take no. 1 at c and d and change as before at a and b; then go to b and take no. 1 at b and a and change them by taking no. 1 at b in right hand, and no. 1 at a in left hand and swing them round the table to the right as before, laying them across over nos. 2, 3 and 4; so on braiding around the table to the right until you have it the required length. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. rib chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 2 and lift over across table outside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a outside of nos. 1 at a, then take nos. 1 at c and cross over inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 2 from d inside of nos. 2 at c, then go back to a and braid as before, so on repeating until it is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. twist chain braid. take ten strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on the table like pattern. commence at a and b, take nos. 1 and swing them around the table to the right, and leave no. 1 from a at b and the no. 1 from b at a, then take the nos. 2 and swing them around the table to the right and change places with each other, then take nos. 3 and change places as before; then take nos. 4 and change places as before; then take nos. 5 and change places as before; then commence at nos. 1 and repeat until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. half twist chain braid. take sixteen strands, seventy-five hairs in a strand, and place on the table like pattern. commence at a take nos. 1 and 2, lift across the table to b, and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and lay no. 2 between nos. 1 and 2, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from b to a, and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 outside of no. 1 at a; then go to c and take nos. 1 and 2, lift over table to d and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and lay no. 2 between nos. 1 and 2, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from c, and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 outside of no. 1 at c; then go to b and change the same, and so on around the table to the right until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. cable chain braid. take twenty strands, seventy-five hairs in a strand, place on table like pattern. commence at a, lift nos. 1 over across the table inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 at a, cross over and lay them between nos. 2 at b, and carry back nos. 2 from b to a; then take nos. 3 at a, cross over inside of nos. 3 at b, and bring back nos. 3 from b to a; then take nos. 4 at a and cross over inside of nos. 4 at b, and bring back nos. 4 from b to a; then take nos. 5 at a, cross over inside of nos. 5 at b, and bring back nos. 5 from b to a; then take nos. 1 at b, cross over inside of nos. 1 at a, and bring back nos. 1 from a to b; then take nos. 2 at b and cross over inside of nos. 2 at a, and bring back nos. 2 from a to b; then take nos. 3, so on around the table to the right until the braid is finished, all the time taking the next two. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. sixteen square chain braid. take thirty-two strands, fifty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, lift nos. 1 across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then change at c and d, e and f, and g and h the same, then go to a, lift nos. 2 across in place of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then change at c and d, e and f, and g and h the same. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first, repeating the changes until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid close together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire on to the cord, sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the ends to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. german twist chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on the table like pattern. commence at a and b, take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand, and swing them around to the right and change places with them; then take no. 1 at c in right hand and no. 1 at d in left hand, and swing around table to the right and change places as before; then take no. 2 at b in right hand and no. 2 at a in left hand and swing to the right and change as before; then take no. 2 at d in right hand and no. 2 at c in left hand and swing to the right and change as before; then take no. 3 at a in right hand and no. 3 at b in left hand and change as before; then take no. 3 at c in right hand and no. 3 at d in left hand and change as before; then take no. 4 at b in right hand and no. 4 at a in left hand and change as before then take no. 4 at d in right hand and no. 4 at c in left hand and change as before. then commence at a as at first and repeat till the braid is finished. [illustration] for further directions see page 9. fancy square chain braid. take twenty-four strands, seventy hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a--change nos. 1 at a across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a, then go to c, change nos. 1 across inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c, then take nos. 1 at e in right hand and no. 1 at f in left hand, lift across table in place of nos. 1 at g and h, and bring back nos. 1 from g and h to f and e; then take nos. 2 at e and f and change across to g and h, and lay in place of nos. 2, and bring back nos. 2 from g and h to f and e; then take nos 3 and change across to g and h as before; then take nos. 4 at f and e and change across to g and h as before; then go to c and change the nos. 1 across to d, and bring the nos. 1 from d to c; then go to a and change the nos. 1 across to b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then go to e and h, take no. 4 at h in right hand, and no. 4 at e in left hand, and lift across in place of nos. 4 at f and g, and bring back nos. 4 from f and g to e and h; then take nos. 3 at e and h and change across in place of nos. 3 at f and g, and bring back nos. 3 from f and g to e and h; then take nos. 2 at e and h and change across in place of nos. 2 at f and g and bring back nos. 2 from f and g to e and h; then take nos. 1 at e and h, and change across in place of nos. 1 at f and g, and bring back nos. 1 from f and g to e and h; then go to a and commence as at first, and repeat till the chain is finished. [illustration] for further directions see page 9. fancy square chain braid. take twenty-four strands, seventy hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, lift nos. 1 across inside of no. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then change nos. 1 at c and d the same; then change nos. 1 at e and f the same; then go to a, lift nos. 2 across to b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then change nos. 2 at c and d the same; then change nos. 2 at e and f the same, and you are through the braid ready to commence at a as at first. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. square chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on the table like pattern. commence at a, change the nos. 1 across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take no. 2 at a change over in place of nos. 2 at b and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then go to c, and change the nos. 1 from c to d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then take nos. 2 at c and change over in place of nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos 2 from d to c; then go to a and begin as at first, repeating until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry, then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fancy twist chain braid. take thirty-two strands, fifty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. change nos. 1 at a across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then change in the same way, successively, the nos. 3, 5, 2, 4, 6, 3, 5, 7, 4, 6, 8, 5, 7, 1, 6, 8, 2, 7, 1, 3, 8, 2, 4--then you are through, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire, then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fancy twist chain braid. [illustration] take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and lay on table like pattern. commence at a and b--take no. 1 at a in left hand and no. 1 at b in right hand, swing around table to the left, and change places with them; then take no. 7 at b in right hand and no. 7 at a in left hand, and swing around the table to the right and change places with them; then take no. 5 at a in right hand and no. 5 at b in left hand, and swing around the table to the left, and change places as before; then take no. 8 at a in right hand and no. 8 at b in left hand and swing around table to the left and change as before; then take no. 6 at a in left hand, and no. 6 at b in right hand and swing around table to the right and change as before; then take no. 4 at a in right hand and no. 4 at b in left hand, and swing around table to the left and change as before; then take no. 7 at a in right hand and no. 7 at b in left hand, swing around table to the left and change as before, then take no. 5 at a in left hand and no. 5 at b in right hand, swing around table to the right and change as before; then take no. 3 at a in right hand and no. 3 at b in left hand and swing around table to the left and change as before; then take no. 6 at a in right hand and no. 6 at b in left hand and swing around table to the left and change as before; then take no. 4 at a in left hand and no. 4 at b in right hand and swing around table to the right and change as before; then take no. 2 at a in right hand and no. 2 at b in left hand and swing around table to the left and change as before; then take no. 5 at a in right hand and no. 5 at b in left hand and swing around table to the left and change as before, then take no. 3 at a in left hand and no. 3 at b in right hand, and swing around table to the right and change as before. then commence at a as at first. braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. double twist chain braid. take eighteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a and b--take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand and swing them around the table to the right and change places with them; then change the nos. 8, 6 and 4 the same way; then count back five to the left (not counting the one last braided), bringing you to no. 9--swing as before to the right and change places; then change the nos. 7, 5 and 3 the same way; then count back five, bringing you to no. 8--change the same; and so on, first counting two forward and change three times, and then count five back and change the same, so on until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fancy cable chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on the table like pattern. commence at a and b, take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand, and swing them around to the left and change places with them; then take successively nos. 3, 5, 2, 4, 6, 3, 5, 7, 4, 6, 8, and change the same; then commence as at first with no. 1, so on repeating until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. half square chain braid. take twenty four strands, seventy hairs in a strand, and arrange like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and lay them in the place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 at c and lay in the place of nos. 2 at d and bring back nos. 2 from d to c. then take the nos. 3 from h and lay between the nos. 3 at g, and bring back the nos. 3 from g to h; then take the nos. 4 at h and place between the nos. 4 at g, and bring back the nos. 4 from g to h; then take nos. 5 at e and place between nos. 5 at f, and bring back the nos. 5 from f to e; then take the nos. 6 at e and place them inside of nos. 6 at f, and bring back the nos. 6 from f to e. commence at a as at first, and repeat until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. twelve square chain braid. take twenty-four strands, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and place between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b and lay in place of nos. 1 at a; then change the nos. 2 at a, and b the same way; then change the succeeding numbers, 3, 4, 5 and 6, all the same way. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at nos. 1 again, as at first, and repeat until the braid is the desired length. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid close together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire on to the cord, sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the ends to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. flat twist chain braid. take eight strands, ninety hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence, take no. 1 at a in right hand, and no. 1 at b in left hand, and swing around table to the right--the no. 1 in the right hand over across nos. 2, 3 and 4 at b, and the no. 1 in the left hand over across nos. 2, 3 and 4 at a; repeat until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. rib chain braid. take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on the table like pattern. commence at a, take both no. 1 strands and cross over in between nos. 1 on the opposite side to b, then bring back both nos. 2 from b to a, and place them in between nos. 2; then walk around table to c and braid it across table to d as before. then commence at a and repeat until braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fancy cable chain braid take any number of strands that can be divided by two, eight hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence by taking no. 1 at a and b and change places by swinging them to the right; then take no. 2 at a and b and change places with them by swinging to the left; then take no. 3 at a and b and change places by swinging them to the right; then nos. 4, and change places by swinging them to the left, and so on, swinging to the right and left alternately, until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. square cable chain braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by two, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a and b, take nos. 1 and swing them around table to the right--no. 1 from a around to b across no. 2 at b, and no. 1 from b across no. 2 at a; then take nos. 1 at c and d and change as before; then change the same at e and f and at b and a, so on around the table to the right until the chain is completed. any number of strands can be used by increasing the number in each place, or by having three, four, five or six in a place, care being taken to cross all the strands. for instance, there are four strands, no. 1 must be crossed over all as you braid around the table. by adding strands a different braid is formed. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fob chain braid. take twenty strands, seventy hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, cross no. 1 in the right hand over the no. 1 in the left hand, and then go to b and cross no. 1 in the left hand over no. 1 in the right hand; then go back to a and take nos. 1 and cross inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 and change the same; then change nos. 3 the same; then go to c and take nos. 1 and cross inside of nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d and lay inside of nos. 2 at c; then commence at a as at first, and repeat until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. square ribbed chain braid. take twenty strands, seventy hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand, swing to the right and change places with them; then take nos. 3 at a and lay inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring nos. 3 from b and lay inside of nos. 2 at a; then go to c and take no. 1 in right hand and no. 1 at d in left hand, swing to the right and change places with them; then take nos. 3 at c and lay inside of nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos. 3 from d and lay inside of nos. 2 at c. then commence at a as at first, and repeat until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry, then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. double loop chain braid. take twenty-four strands, sixty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a and b: take nos. 1 at a, and lift them across the table, and lay the one in left hand between nos. 1 at b, and the one in right hand on the outside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back the nos. 1 from b to a. then pass round the table to the right, and change (in the same manner) successively, the nos. 3, 5, 6, 2, 4, 6, 2, 4, 5, 1, 3 and 5; then commence at a with nos. 1, as at first, and repeat until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid close together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire on to the cord, sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the ends to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. knot chain braid. take thirty-two strands with fifty hairs in a strand, and place them on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 4 and lift over across table, and lay outside of nos. 1 at b, then bring back nos. 4 from b and lay outside of nos. 1 at a; then take nos. 3 at a and lift over across table and lay outside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 3 from b and lay outside of nos. 1 at a; then change nos. 2 at a and b the same; then take nos. 1 and change the same; then go to d and change the same as at a; then go to b and change the same; then go to c and change the same, and you are ready to commence again at a, as at first: repeat until braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. double rib chain braid. take thirty-two strands, sixty hairs in a strand and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 4 and lift over table and lay outside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 4 from b and lay outside of nos. 1 at a; then go to d and change the nos. 4 the same as at a and b; then go to b and change the same as at a; then go to c and change the same way, and then to a and change as at first, and so on, repeating the changes until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid close together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire on to the cord, sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the ends to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fancy chain braid. [illustration] take sixteen strands eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, change nos. 1 across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 at a and change across inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then go to c and change the nos. 1 and the nos. 2 across with the numbers at d the same as at a; then return to a and commence as at first and repeat ten times. then change the figures on the table to correspond with the following diagram: [illustration] then commence at a and b, take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand, and swing around the table to the right, changing places with them; then take nos. 1 at c and d and change the same; then change nos. 2 at b and a the same; then change the nos. 2 at d and c the same; then take nos. 3 at a and b and change the same; then change the nos. 3 at c and d; then the nos. 4 at b and a; then the nos. 4 at p and c; then commence at a as at first, and repeat ten times, so on braiding alternately ten rounds by the directions of each pattern until the braid is finished. fancy chain braid. [illustration] take sixteen strands eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, change nos. 1 across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 at a and change across inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then go to c and change the nos. 1 and the nos. 2 across with the numbers at d the same as at a; then return to a and commence as at first and repeat ten times. then change the figures on the table to correspond with the following diagram: [illustration] then commence at a, take nos. 1 and 2, lift across table to b and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 between nos. 1 and 2, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from b to a, and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 outside of no. 1 at a; then go to c and take nos. 1 and 2 and lift over table to d, and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 between nos. 1 and 2, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from c and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4 and no. 2 outside of no. 1 at c; then go to b and change the same, and so on around the table to the right, braiding alternately ten rounds by each diagram until the braid is finished. fancy chain braid. [illustration] take sixteen strands eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on table like pattern. commence at a, lift nos. 1 over across the table and lay them in between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then go to c and change the nos. 1 across with the nos. 1 at d the same; then take nos. 2 at a and change across inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then change the nos. 2 at c across inside of nos. 2 at d the same; then commence at a as at first, and repeat ten times. then change the numbers on table to correspond with the following pattern or diagram: [illustration] then commence at a, take nos. 1 and 2, lift across table to b and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 between nos. 1 and 2, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from b to a, and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 outside of no. 1 at a; then go to c and take nos. 1 and 2 and lift over table to d, and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 between nos. 1 and 2, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from c and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4 and no. 2 outside of no. 1 at c; then go to b and change the same, and so on around the table to the right, braiding alternately ten rounds by each diagram until the braid is finished. fancy chain braid. [illustration] take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on the table like pattern. commence at a and b, take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand, swing around the table to the right and change places with them; then take nos. 1 at c and d and change as at a and b; then change nos. 2 at b and a the same; then change the nos. 2 at d and c the same; then take nos. 3 at a and b and change the same; then change the nos. 3 at c and d; then the nos. 4 at b and a, and also the nos. 4 at d and c, all the time swinging to the right. braid around ten times. [illustration] then commence at a, take nos. 1 and 2, lift across table to b and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 between nos. 1 and 2, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from b to a, and lay no. 1 outside of no. 4, and no. 2 outside of no. 1 at a; then change the same at c, b and d; then commence again at a and braid ten rounds, so on braiding alternately ten rounds by the directions of each pattern until the braid is finished. fancy chain braid. [illustration] take sixteen strands eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, change nos. 1 across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 at a and change across inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then go to c and change the nos. 1 and the nos. 2 across with the numbers at d the same as at a; then return to a and commence as at first and repeat ten times. then change the figures on the table to correspond with the following diagram: [illustration] then commence at a and b, take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand, and swing them around the table to the right, and lay the one in right hand down at b over across nos. 2, 3 and 4, and the one in left hand at a over across nos. 2, 3 and 4; then go to c and change the nos. 1 at b and d the same; then go to b and change the nos. 1 at b and a the same; so on, braiding around the table to the right, alternately braiding ten rounds by the directions of each pattern until the braid is finished. fancy chain braid. [illustration] take sixteen strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place them on table like pattern. commence at a, lift nos. 1 over across the table and lay them in between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then go to c and change the nos. 1 across with the nos. 1 at d the same; then take nos. 2 at a and change across inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then change the nos. 2 at c across inside of nos. 2 at d the same; then commence at a as at first, and repeat ten times. then change the numbers on table to correspond with the following pattern or diagram: [illustration] then commence at a and b, take no. 1 at a in right hand and no. 1 at b in left hand, and swing them around the table to the right, and lay the one in right hand down at b over across nos. 2, 3 and 4, and the one in left hand at a over across nos. 2, 3 and 4; then go to c and change the nos. 1 at b and d the same; then go to b and change the nos. 1 at b and a the same; so on, braiding around the table to the right, alternately braiding ten rounds by the directions of each pattern until the braid is finished. double rib chain braid. take twenty-six strands, sixty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a and b, take nos. 1 and change places by swinging them around the table to the left; then take the third strands to the right of a and b, and change places by swinging them around the table to the right; then take the fourth strands to the right of the ones last taken, and change places by swinging them around the table to the left, and so on working around the table to the right; first swinging the strands to the left, and then to the right, taking alternately the third and fourth strands to the right of the ones last used, until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and then take out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire and on the cord, and sew the ends so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid vary the number of hairs in a strand. rope chain braid. take twenty-four strands, sixty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take no. 2 in right hand, swing around the table to the right and lay in place of no. 2 at b, and bring back no. 2 from b and lay in place of no. 2 at a; then take no. 1 at a in left hand, and change places with no. 1 at b by swinging around to the left; then go to c, take nos. 3 and lift over table and lay inside of nos. 3 at d, and bring back nos. 3 from d and lay in place of nos. 3 at c; then go to e and change the nos. at e and f the same as at a and b; then go to g and change the same as at c and d, and so on, alternately changing, first as at a and b, and then as at c and d, until the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and then take out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire and on the cord, and sew the ends so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. diamond shaped chain braid. take twenty-four strands, seventy hairs in a strand, and place on the table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 2 lift across table and lay in between nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then take nos. 1 at a and lift across table and lay between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then go to f, take no. 1 in right hand, swing around to the right and lay in place of no. 4 at e; then take no. 1 at e in left hand and swing around to the left and lay in place of no. 4 at f; then go to c, take nos. 2 lift across table, and lay them in between nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos. 2 from d to c; then take nos. 1 at c, lift across the table and lay between nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and then take out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire and on the cord, and sew the ends so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fancy square chain braid. take twenty-four strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take no. 1 in right hand, swing around to the right and lay in place of no. 4 at b; then take no. 1 at b in left hand, swing around table to the left and lay in place of no. 4 at a; then go to c, take no. 2 in right hand, swing around the table to the right and lay outside of no. 2 at d, and bring back no. 2 from d to c; then take no. 1 at c in left hand, swing around the table to the left and lay outside of no. 1 at d, and bring back no. 1 from d to c; then go to e and change the nos. at e and f the same as you did at a and b; then change the nos. at g and h the same as you did at c and d. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and then take out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire and on the cord, and sew the ends so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fancy square chain braid. take twenty-four strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take no. 1 in right hand, swing around to the right and lay in place of no. 4 at b; then take no. 1 at b in left hand, swing around table to the left and lay in place of no. 4 at a; then go to c, take nos. 1 and lift them across the table and lay in between nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then go to e, and change the nos. at e and f the same as you did at a and b; then go to g, and change the nos. at g and h the same as you did at c and d. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and then take out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire and on the cord, and sew the ends so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fancy square chain braid take twenty-four strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take no. 1 at the left side of a in the right hand, and no. 1 at the left of b in the left hand, swing them around the table to the right and lay the one from b at the right of a, and the one from a at the right of b; then go to c, take no. 1 at the left side of c in the right hand, and no. 1 at the left side of d in the left hand, swing them around the table to the right, and lay the one from c at the right of d, and the one from d at the right of c; then go to b, take nos. 3 and lift them across table and lay between nos. 3 at a, and bring back nos. 3 from a to b; then change nos. 2 and 1 the same way; then go to c, take nos. 3 and lift across the table and lay between nos. 3 at d, and bring back nos. 3 from d to c; then change nos. 2 and 1 the same way. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first, at a. [illustration] for explanation see page 9. fancy square chain braid. take twenty-four strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 2 and lift across the table and lay between nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then change nos. 1 the same way; then go to c, take nos. 2 and lift them across the table and lay between nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos. 2 from d to a; then change nos. 1 the same way; then go to e, take nos. 1 and 2 and lift them across the table to f, and lay no. 1 from e at the right of no. 1 at f, and no. 2 from e at the right of no. 2 at f, and bring back the nos. 1 and 2 from f to e; then go to g and change the same from g to h as you did at e and f. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and then take out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire and on the cord, and sew the ends so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. fancy twist braid. take twenty-four strands, seventy hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 cross over and lay between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b and lay between nos. 2 at a; then go to e, take nos. 1 and 2 and cross over to f, and lay no. 1 down at the right of no. 1 at f, and no. 2 at the right of no. 2 at f, and and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from f to e; then go to c, and change the nos. at c and d the same as you did at a and b; then go to g, and change the nos. at g and h the same as you did at e and f. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire, and push the braid together; then boil in water about ten minutes, and then take out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off the wire and on the cord, and sew the ends so it will not slip, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid vary the number of hairs in a strand. flat chain braid. take twenty-four strands, seventy hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and change places by crossing one over the other; then go to b and cross the nos. 1 the same way; then go back to a, take nos. 1 and cross over and lay between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 at a, and cross over and lay between nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then change nos. 3 and 4 the same way; then go to c, take nos. 1 and 2 and cross over to d, and lay the no. 1 from c down at the left of no. 1 at d, and the no. 2 from c down at the left of no. 2 at d, and bring back the nos. 1 and 2 from d to c; then take the nos. 3 and 4, cross over to d and lay the no. 3 from c down at the right of no. 3 at d, and the no. 4 from c down at the right of no. 4 at d, and bring back nos. 3 and 4 from d to c. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] for explanation see page 9. necklace pattern. [illustration] take sixteen strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and 4 left across to b, lay in place of nos. 1 and 4 at b, and bring back nos. 1 and 4 from b to a; then take no. 2 at a in right hand and no. 3 in left hand, pass right hand round table to the right to b, and lay the no. 2 from a in place of no. 3 at b, and bring back no. 2 from b to a in right hand, and pass left hand round table to the left, and lay no. 3 from a in place of no. 2 at b, and bring back no. 3 from b to a, and lay no. 3 from b down at no. 2 at a, and lay no. 2 from b down at no. 3 at a, then go to c and take nos. 1 across over inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then go to a and repeat this all three times; then the fourth time at c you take nos. 1 at c across over to d and lay outside of nos. 2 at d, bring back the nos. 1 from d to c and lay them outside of nos. 2 at c; then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first at a. braid it over a small cord so as to put it up together. necklace pattern. take sixteen strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 at a lift across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then go to c, take nos. 1 at c lift across inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then commence at a again and repeat it three times; then commence at a, take nos. 1 across to b and lay them outside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a and lay outside of nos. 2 at a; then go to c and change from c to d the same as from a to b; then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a small wire, with a hole in one end like the eye of a needle, so as to draw a small cord in the place of the wire. when you have it braided, take off your weights, tie the ends fast on the wire and push the braid together on the wire; then boil in water about ten minutes; then take it out and put in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry; then take it out and slip it off of the wire on to the cord, and sew the ends of the braid so it will not slip on the cord, and put a little shellac on the end to keep it fast. if you want it elastic, use elastic cord. to vary the size of the braid, vary the number of hairs in a strand. necklace pattern. take sixteen strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 at a across over inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 at a across over inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then take no. 1 at c in right hand and no. 1 at d in left hand and change them, lay the no. 1 from c in place of no. 1 at d, and lay the no. 1 from d in place of no. 1 at c; then change the nos. 1 and 2 at a and b as at first; then change the nos. 2 at c and d, as you did the nos. 1 at c and d; then change the nos. 1 and 2, as before, at a and b; then take nos. 3 at c and d and change as you did the nos. 2 at c and d; then change again nos. 1 and 2 at a and b as at first; then take the nos. 4 at c and d and change as you did the nos. 3 at c and d; then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this without cord or wire. necklace pattern. [illustration] take sixteen strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 lift over to b in place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 at a and change over in place of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then take no. 3 at a in right hand and no. 3 at b in left hand, and lay them inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d and lay in place of nos. 3 at a and b; then take no. 4 at a in left hand and no. 4 at b in right hand, and lay inside of nos. 1 at c, and bring back nos. 1 from c to a and b, and lay in place of nos. 4; then commence as at first and repeat this three times, then take nos. 1 at a, lift over to b in place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 at a and change over in place of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then take nos. 3 at a and b, lay inside of nos. 1 at d; then take nos. 4 at a and b, lay inside of nos. 1 at c; then take nos. 2 at a and lay outside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b and lay outside of nos. 1 at a; then take nos. 1 at c, lift over inside of nos. 1 at d and bring back nos. 1 from d and lay inside of nos. 1 at c; then take no. 1 at c, on the side next to b, in right hand, and lay it inside of no. 1 at b; then take the no. 1 at d, next to b, in left hand, and lay it inside of no. 1 at b; then take the no. 1 at c, next to a, in right hand, and lay it inside of no. 1 at a; then take no. 1 at d, next to a, and lay it inside of no. 1 at a; then take the nos. 3 and 4 at a, lift over to b, and lay outside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 3 and 4 from b and lay outside of nos. 1 at a; then lift nos. 2 at a over and lay in place of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a, and lay in place of nos. 2 at a; then take no. 4 at a, in left hand, and no. 4 at b in right hand, and lay them inside of nos. 1 at c, and bring the nos. 1 from c back in place of the nos. 4 at a and b; then take no. 3 at b in left hand, and no. 3 at a in right hand, and lay them inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d and lay in place of nos. 3 at a and b; then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. necklace pattern. [illustration] take twenty-two strands, fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. have the strands at a and b black hair, and those at c and d light hair. commence at a, take nos. 1 and cross over inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b and lay in place of nos. 1 at a, then take nos. 2 at a, cross over inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b and lay inside of nos. 2 at a; then take no. 1 at c in right hand, and no. 1 at d in left hand, cross over and lay the no. 1 from c at d, and the no. 1 from d at c; then change the nos. 1 and 2 at a and b as at first; then take the nos. 2 at c and d and change them as you did the nos. 1; then change again at a and b as at first; then take the nos. 3 at c and d, and change as you did the nos. 2; then change again at a and b, and so on till you get to nos. 7, and after changing that, change again at a and b; then change nos. 7 again, then those at a and b, then nos. 6, then at a and b, then nos. 5, and so on back to no. 1, and change no. 1 there as you did nos. 7. always braid those at a and b between each of those at c and d. necklace pattern. [illustration] take 24 strands, twenty-five hairs in a strand, and place on table like this pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 lift across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a, then go to c and take nos. 1 at c and cross inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c, then go to a and change nos. 1 from a to b, as at first, then take nos. 1 at e and f and swing round table with the same, and lay down in between nos. 1 at a and b, and lay the no. 1 at a and b in the place of no. 4 at e and f, then change the nos. 1 at c across inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c, then change nos. 1 at a and b the same, then the nos. 1 at c and d again, then take nos. 1 at h and g, swing round table with the same, and lay in between nos. 1 at c and d, and lay the right hand ones at c and d up in place of no. 4 at h and g, then you are through the braid ready to commence as at first. braid it over a cord so to push it together. necklace or edging braid. take sixteen strands, fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, lift nos. 2 across inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then take nos. 1 at a, lift across inside of nos. 1 at b, and cross them, the one in right hand over the left, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a, and cross the right over the left; then go to d, lift nos. 1 across inside of nos. 1 at c, cross the right over the left, and bring back nos. 1 from c to d, and cross the right over the left; then repeat all from the beginning three times round the table. then go to d, lift nos. 3, cross the right over the left, and lay them outside of nos. 1 at c; then go to a, lift nos. 2 across inside of nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then take nos. 1 at a, lift across inside of nos. 1 at b, cross the right over the left, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a, and cross them; then go to d, lift nos. 1 across inside of nos. 1 at c, cross the right over the left, and bring back nos. 1 from c to d; then take nos. 3 at c, and lay inside of nos. 2 at d, and leave them there. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] see explanation on page 9. head dress or necklace braid. take twenty-four strands, eighty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, lift nos. 1 and 2 across inside of nos. 1 and 2 at b, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from b to a; then go to c, lift nos. 1 and 2 across inside of nos. 1 and 2 at d, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from d to c; then go to a and change the nos. 1 and 2 from a to b the same as at first; then take nos. 1 at e and f, swing round table to the left, and lay them down between nos. 1 and 2 at a and b; then lay the nos. 2 at a and b in place of nos. 4 at e and f; then change the nos. 1 and 2 at c across inside of nos. 1 and 2 at d, and bring back nos. 1 and 2 from d to c; then change the same at a and b; then change again at c and d the same; then take nos. 1 at h and g, swing round table to the left, and lay them between nos. 1 and 2 at c and d, and lay the nos. 2 at c and d in place of nos. 4 at h and g. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid it over a strong cord, and when braided push it close together, tie the ends, and boil in water five minutes; then heat it in an oven until it is quite dry, and it is ready for use. ring pattern. take thirteen strands, fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, lift no. 5 over between nos. 2 and 3 at a; then take no. 1 at a, and lift over between nos. 2 and 3 at b; then take no. 1 at b, and lift over between nos. 2 and 3 at c; then lift no. 1 at c over between nos. 2 and 3 at c; then lift no. 4 at c over between nos. 2 and 3 at b; then lift no. 4 at b over between nos. 2 and 3 at a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first, and repeating until it is the required length. then tie it out straight on a flat stick, boil it in water five minutes, then heat it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry, and then it is ready for use. [illustration] the above directions, after braiding, will suffice for finishing all ring braids, unless other directions are given. ring braid. [illustration] take twenty-four strands, twenty hairs in the strands at c and d, and ten hairs in the strands at a and b, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and lift across table and lay inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b and lay outside of nos. 2 at a; then go to c, take nos. 1, cross over and lay in between nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then take nos. 3 at c, cross inside of nos. 3 at d, and bring back nos. 3 from d to c; then take nos. 4 at c, cross over inside of nos. 4 at d, and bring back nos. 4 from d to c; then commence at a, and change them at a and b as at first; then go to c and commence with the nos. 2. you must leave the nos. 1 every other time and the nos. 2 every other time, and braid it as at first. rib ring braid. [illustration] take nineteen strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take no. 1 and lift over nos. 2 and 3, under 4 and 5, over 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10, and lay over to b; then take no. 1 at b, lift over nos. 2 and 3, under 4 and 5, over 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10, and lay over to a; then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first,--first round to the left, and then to the right, and so on, repeating the changes as above, until the braid is finished. then tie it out straight on a flat stick, boil in water five minutes, then heat it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning until it is quite dry, and then it is ready for use. ring pattern. [illustration] take twenty strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take the nos. 1 and lift across the table and lay in place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take the nos. 2, 3 and 4, and change the same; then go to c, take the nos. 1 and lift across the table and lay in place of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then commence again at a, take nos. 1 and lift over the table and lay in the place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back the nos. 1 from b to a; then change the nos. 2 and 3 the same as the nos. 1; then go to c and change the nos. 1 over in the place of nos. 1 at d, and bring back the nos. 1 from d to c; then go to a, and take the nos. 1, 2 and 3, and change the same as before; then go to c and change the same as before. then you are through the braid ready to commence at a, as at first, and repeat until the braid is finished. ring pattern. [illustration] take twenty strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and lift over across the table, and lay in place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b and lay in place of nos. 1 at a; then take nos. 2, 3 and 4, and change their places the same as nos. 1; then go to c, take nos. 1 and lift over across the table and lay in place of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then go to a, take nos. 1 and lift them over the table and lay in place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 3 and 4 and change the same; then go to c, take nos. 1 and lift them over the table and lay in place of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first, and repeat the changes until the braid is finished. ring pattern. take twenty strands, fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1, lift across to b, and lay inside of nos. 1, and bring back nos. 2 from b and lay in between nos. 2 at a; then go to c, take nos. 1 and lift over inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then take nos. 2 at c, and cross over inside of nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos. 2 from d to c; then take nos. 3 at c, cross over inside of nos. 3 at d, and bring back nos. 3 from d to c; then commence again at a, as at first, and repeat until it is braided the desired length. [illustration] when the braid is finished, tie it out straight on a flat stick, boil in water five minutes, and heat in an oven until perfectly dry, and then it is ready for use. ring pattern. [illustration] take twenty strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and lay on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and lift over table and lay in place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2 and change the same; then the nos. 3, and change the same; then go to c, take the nos. 2 and lay outside of the nos. 1; then go to d, and take the nos. 2 and lay outside of the nos. 1; then go to c, and take nos. 2 and lift over table and lay in place of nos. 2 at d, and bring back the nos. 2 from d to c; then go to a, take nos. 1 and lift across the table and lay in place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 3 at a, and lift across table in place of nos. 3 at b, and bring back nos. 3 from b to a; then go to c, take nos. 2 and lay outside of nos. 1; then go to d, take nos. 2 and lay outside of nos. 1; then go to c, take nos. 2 and lift over table in place of nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos. 2 from d to c. then you are ready to commence at a, as at first, and repeat until finished. ring pattern. [illustration] take fifteen strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, by taking no. 1 and lifting it over nos. 2, 3 and 4, under nos. 5, 6, 7 and 8, and pass it over to b; then take no. 1 at b, lift over nos. 2, 3 and 4, under 5, 6, 7 and 8, and pass it over to a; then you are through, ready to commence at a, as at first, and repeat until the braid is finished,--first round to the left, and then round to the right. ring pattern. [illustration] take nineteen strands, ten hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take no. 1 and lift over nos. 2, 3 and 4, under 5 and 6, over 7 and 8, under 9 and 10, and pass it over to b; then take no. 1 at b, and lift over nos. 2, 3 and 4, under 5 and 6, over 7 and 8, under 9 and 10, and lay it over to a; then go to a and commence at no. 1, as at first, and repeat over and over, first to the left and then to the right, and so on, until the braid is finished. then tie it out straight on a flat stick, boil in water five minutes, and heat it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry, and then it is ready for use. ring pattern. [illustration] take twenty-four strands, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and lift across inside of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 2 inside of nos. 2 at a; then go to c, and take nos. 1 and cross over inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then take nos. 2 at c, and cross over inside of nos. 2 at d, and bring back nos. 2 from d to c; then take nos. 3 at c, and cross over inside of nos. 3 at d, and bring back nos. 3 from d to c; then take nos. 4 at c, and cross over inside of nos. 4 at d, and bring back nos. 4 from d to c; if you wish to reverse every other time, you may leave the nos. 1 and not braid them; then you are ready to commence at a as at first. ring pattern. [illustration] take twenty-four strands, sixteen hairs in a strand, and place on the table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and cross over to b, lay in between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b and lay in place of nos. 1 at a; then take nos. 2 at a, and change them the same way; then nos. 3 the same; then nos. 4 the same. then take nos. 1 at c and d, and lift over nos. 2; then lift nos. 1 at c over in place of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c; then go to a, and take nos. 2, cross over between nos. 2 at b, and bring back nos. 2 from b to a; then take nos. 3 and change the same way; then take nos. 4 and change the same. then go to c and d, and lift nos. 1 over nos. 2, and then lift nos. 1 at c over and lay in place of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d and lay in place of nos. 1 at c; then you are ready to commence as at first, at a, and repeat until the braid is finished. you will place double weight on the strands at c and d. ring pattern. [illustration] take twenty-eight strands, of twelve hairs, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, take nos. 1 and cross over the table and lay in place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then change the nos. 2 the same. then take nos. 4 at a, and lift over the table in place of nos. 4 at b, and bring back nos. 4 from b to a; then take nos. 5 and change the same way. then go to c and d, and lift the nos. 1 over the nos. 2; then take nos. 1 at c, and lift them over the table inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back the nos. 1 from d and lay in place of nos. 1 at c; then go to a, and take nos. 1 and cross over in place of nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then take nos. 2, 3, 4 and 5, and change all the same. then go to c and d, and lift nos. 1 over nos. 2; then lift nos. 1 at c over the table, and lay them inside of nos. 1 at d, and bring back nos. 1 from d to c. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first, and repeat until the braid is finished. place extra weight on the strands at c and d. ring or bracelet pattern. [illustration] take twenty-four strands, twenty hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern, thirteen on the right side and eleven on the left. take no. 1 at right hand, lift over nos. 2 3 and 4, and under nos. 5 and 6, and over no. 7; then take no. 1 again, in right hand, and lift over nos. 2 3 and 4, and under nos. 5 and 6; then take the same two that you have braided along, and lift over two strands, and under two, till you get to the center; then pass the same two strands across to the left side, and lay them down next to no. 11; then commence on the left side with no. 1, and braid the left side as you did the right; then the braid is through, ready to commence as at first, with no. 1 at right hand, and so on. repeat till finished. ring pattern. [illustration] take thirteen strands, twelve hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence by lifting no. 7 over nos. 6 and 5, and under nos. 4 and 3, and over nos. 2 and 1, and lay it next to no. 1 on the left side, making seven on the left side; then commence on the left side, take the outside one and braid it into the middle, over two and under two, till you get to the center, and lay it across on the opposite side; then you are through with the braid, and ready to commence as at first, with the no. 7 at right hand. you can have any odd number of strands you please. ring pattern. [illustration] take twenty strands, ten hairs in a strand, and lay on table like pattern. commence at a, take no. 2 in right hand and swing it round the table to the right, and lay it across no. 2 at b, and bring back no. 2 from b to a; then take no. 1 at a in left hand, and swing it round the table to the left, and lay it across no. 1 at b, and bring back no. 1 from b to a. then commence at c and d; take no. 1 at c in left hand, and no. 1 at d in right hand, and change places with them by passing the left hand over the right; then take nos. 2 at c and d, and change the same way; then take nos. 3 and change the same way; then take nos. 4 and change the same way. then go to b, and change the nos. 1 at e and f as you did at c and d, by commencing at nos. 1 first, then the nos. 2, 3 and 4, in succession. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first, at a. braid it over a small wire. bracelet tight braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2, and nos. 1 and 3 over nos. 2 and 4, and so on round table to the left, till you get to a; then go to c, braid to the left, lift nos. 1 and 2 over nos. 3 and 4, and so on round to a; then commence at a and braid round to the right; lift no. 2 over no. 3, and nos. 3 and 4 over nos. 2 and 1, and so on round table to a; then go to c, braid round to the right, and lift nos. 2 and 4 over nos. 3 and 1, and so on round to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. bracelet braid. [illustration] take sixteen strands, thirty hairs in a strand, and place on the table like pattern. commence at a, take the nos. 1 and 2 and lay them over nos. 3 right and left; then lay the nos. 1 at a over nos. 1 at c and d, and bring back the nos. 1 from c and d and lay outside of nos. 3 at a; then lay the nos. 2 at a over nos. 1; then go to b and repeat the same as at a, only change the nos. 1 at b with the nos. 2 at c, instead of the nos. 1 at c; then lift the nos. 1 at a over and lay between nos. 1 at b, and bring back nos. 1 from b to a; then go to c and lift nos. 1 and 2 over between nos. 1 and 2 at d, and bring back the nos. 1 and 2 from d to c. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. braid this over a small wire, and place double weight on the strands at c and d, and nos. 1 at a and b. bracelet braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--forty being the usual number for this braid--twelve hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and lift no. 3 over no. 2; then no. 1 over no. 2; then no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2; then go to b and change the same way, and so on round the table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and braid round to the left; lift no. 2 over no. 3; then no. 3 over no. 4; then no. 2 over no. 1; then no. 2 over no. 3, and so on round the table to a; then you will be through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying the braid so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven, as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. elastic bracelet braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--forty being the usual number for this braid--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 2 in right hand, and put your left hand under the right hand, and take nos. 3 and 4 and bring them back, and cross them over no. 1, and lay them all down; then go to b, and change the same way, and so on round the table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and braid round to the left; lift no. 3 in left hand, and put your right hand under the left hand and take nos. 1 and 2, bring them back, cross them over no. 4, and lay them all down, and so on round the table to a; then you will be through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying the braid so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven, as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. elastic bracelet braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four--sixty being the usual number for this braid--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and braid round table to the right; lift no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2; then repeat with the same strands, the no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2. then go to b and braid the same, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and braid round table to the left; lift no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2; then repeat with the same strands, the same as you did at a and b, and so on round table to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. after it is braided turn the braid inside out. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, and push it tight together, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. double elastic bracelet braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four--sixty being the usual number for this braid--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures; and braid round table to the right; cross no. 4 over no. 3, and no. 1 over nos. 2 and 3; then repeat with the same strands. then go to b, and braid the same, and so on round table to the right, until you get to a. then go to c, and braid back round table to the left, by crossing no. 2 over no. 1, and no. 3 over no. 4, and no. 2 over no. 3; then repeat with the same strands, and so on round table till you get to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, and push it tight together, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. fancy tight bracelet braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2, and nos. 1 and 3 over nos. 2 and 4; then go to b, and braid the same to the left until you get to a; then commence at c, with the outside row of figures, and braid round table to the left again; lift nos. 1 and 2 over nos. 3 and 4, and so on round table till you get to a. then commence with the inside row of figures at a, and lift no. 2 over no. 3, and nos. 2 and 4 over nos. 3 and 1; then go to b, and braid the same to the right, and so on round table to a; then commence at c with the outside row of figures, and braid round to the right, lift nos. 3 and 4 over nos. 2 and 1, and so on round table to a; then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. be sure and braid the first two times round table to the left, and the last two to the right. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. to have it elastic use elastic cord. reverse tight bracelet braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2, and no. 1 over no. 2, then no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2; then go to b and change the same to the left, and so on round table to a; then go to c, braid to the left with the outside row of figures, lift nos. 3 and 4 over nos. 1 and 2, and so on round to a. then commence again at a and braid round to the right; lift no. 2 over no. 3, then no. 2 over no. 1, and nos. 2 and 3 over no. 4, and so on round table to a; then commence at c and braid to the right, lift nos. 1 and 2 over nos. 3 and 4, and so on round to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. banded bracelet braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2, and no. 1 over no. 2, then no. 3 over no. 4, and no. 3 over no. 2; braid round table to the left till you get to a, then repeat the same at c with the outside row of figures. after braiding the second time round, commence again at a, with the inside row of figures, and braid round to the right; lift nos. 3 and 4 over nos. 1 and 2, and so on round to a; then repeat, at c, with the outside row of figures. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. plain open braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 1 over no. 2, no. 4 over no. 3, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over no. 3; then no. 3 over no. 2, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 2 and 3. braid round table to the left till you get to a, then repeat the same at c, only braid the outside row of figures. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. open fine braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number for this braid--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 2 over no. 3; then no. 2 over no. 1; then no. 2 over no. 3; then nos. 2 and 3 over no. 4; then no. 2 over no. 1. then go to b and change the same way, and so on round the table to a. then go to c, and commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as you did at a, and so on round the table, when you will be through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying the braid so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven, as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. open fine braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number for this braid--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 1 over nos. 2, 3 and 4; then no. 3 over nos. 2 and 1; then no. 2 over nos. 3 and 4; then no. 2 over no. 1. then go to b and change the same, and so on round the table to a. then go to c, and commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as you did at a, and so on round the table, when you will be through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying the braid so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven, as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. open lace braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 4, no. 1 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 2, and so on round the table to the left to a; then commence at c, lift no. 3 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 4, no. 1 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 2, no. 1 over no. 2 and no. 3 over no. 4. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. open braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number for this braid--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2; then no. 3 over no 4; then no. 1 over no. 2; then no. 3 over no. 2; then no. 1 over no. 2; then no. 3 over no. 4. then go to b and change the same way, and so on round the table to a. then go to c, and commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as you did at a, and so on round the table, when you will be through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying the braid so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven, as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. basket tight braid. take thirty-two strands, or any number that can be divided by four, fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and braid round the table to the left; lift no. 3 over no. 2, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 3 over no. 4; then commence at c, with the outside row of figures, and braid round the table to the left; lift nos. 1 and 2 over nos. 3 and 4; then commence at a, as before, and braid round the table to the right; put no. 3 under no. 2, and lift no. 2 over no. 1, and no. 3 over no. 4; then commence at c, as before, and braid round the table to the right, and put nos. 1 and 2 under nos. 3 and 4. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying the braid so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven, as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. tight braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--forty being the usual number--twelve hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and lift nos. 1 and 2 over nos. 3 and 4; then go to b and change the same way, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and braid round to the left; lift nos. 3 and 4 over nos. 1 and 2, and so on round the table to a. then you will be through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. acorn tight braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 2 over no. 3, no. 4 over no. 3, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 3 over no. 2, and so on round table to the right till you get to a; then commence at c, braid round to the right, lift nos. 3 and 4 over nos. 1 and 2, and so on round table to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. half tight braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2, and nos. 1 and 3 over nos. 2 and 4, and so on round table to a; then commence at c with the outside row of figures, lift no. 2 over no. 3, no. 2 over no. 1, no. 2 over no. 3, nos. 2 and 3 over no. 4, and no. 2 over no. 1, and so on round table to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. fancy tight braid. in this pattern you braid with eight strands, or with two groups of fours. commence at b, lift no. 4 in left hand and lay down between nos. 3 and 4 at c, and take no. 4 at c in right hand; then lift no. 3 at b over between nos. 2 and 3 at c, and take no. 3 at c in right hand; then lift no. 2 at b over between nos. 1 and 2 at c, and take no. 2 at c in right hand; then lift no. 1 at b over next to no. 1 at c, and take no. 1 at c in right hand, and then lift those in right hand over to b, and lay them all down. braid round to the right till you get to a, then take the next eight strands, and braid round table to the left; lift no. 1 at c over between nos. 1 and 2 at b, and take no. 1 at b in left hand; then lift no. 2 at c over between nos. 2 and 3 at b, and take no. 2 at b in left hand; then lift no. 3 at c over between nos. 3 and 4 at b, and take no. 3 at b in left hand; then lift no. 4 at c over next to no. 4 at b, and take no. 4 at b in left hand, and then lift those in left hand over to c and lay them all down, and so on round table, taking the next eight strands, till you get to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] see explanation on page 100. plain tight braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number for this braid--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2; then no. 3 over no. 4; then no. 1 over no. 2; then no. 3 over no. 2. then go to b and change the same way, and so round the table to a. then go to c, and commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as you did at a, and so on round the table, when you will be through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. acorn braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 4, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 3 over no. 2, and so on round table to a; then go to c, take the outside row of figures, and make the same changes round to a, and repeat alternately at a and c, until the braid is long enough to cover the bottom of the acorn, and then commence at a with the inside row of figures; lift no. 3 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 4, no. 1 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 2, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 3 over no. 4, and so on round to a; then go to c, take the outside row of figures, and make the same changes round to a; then repeat until the braid is long enough to make the top or bur of the acorn. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. half open braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 1 over between nos. 2 and 3 at b; then lift no. 1 at b over between nos. 2 and 3 of the next four strands, and so on round table to the left to a; then go to c, take the outside row of figures, lift no. 2 over no. 3, no. 2 over no. 1, nos. 2 and 3 over no. 4; then no. 3 over no. 4, and no. 2 over no. 1, and so on round the table to the right, till the braid is finished. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. overshot braid. [illustration] take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, braid to the right, lift no. 2 over nos. 3 and 4, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 3 over no. 2, and so on round to a; then go to c and repeat the same changes, with the outside row of figures, round to a; then commence at a with the inside row of figures, and braid to the left; lift no. 3 over nos. 1 and 2, no. 4 over no. 3, and no. 2 over no. 3, and so on round to a; then go to c, and repeat the same changes, with the outside row of figures, round to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. diamond tight braid. [illustration] take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and have nos. 1 and 2 of white hair, and nos. 3 and 4 of black hair; lift nos. 1 and 2 over nos. 3 and 4, and so on round table to the left, to a; then go to c, and braid round table to the right; lift nos. 3 and 4 over nos. 1 and 2, and so on round table to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. spiral striped braid. [illustration] take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and have alternately four strands of white hair and four of black; braid round table to the left, lift nos. 1 and 2 over nos. 3 and 4, and so on round table to a; then go to c, braid round table to the right, lift nos. 3 and 4 over nos. 1 and 2, and so on round to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. empress tight braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2, no. 1 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 4, and no. 3 over no. 2; braid round table to the left till you get to a, then go to c, take the outside row of figures, and braid round to the right; lift nos. 3 and 4 over nos. 1 and 2, and so on round to a, and repeat with the inside row of figures, and then repeat again with the outside row; then you are through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. commence at c every other time, for you only braid the first change of figures once, and the last change three times. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. open check braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. have one-half the strands white and one-half black, and place on table alternately, four white and four black. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 2 over no. 3, no. 2 over no. 1, no. 2 over no. 3, nos. 2 and 3 over no. 4, and no. 2 over no. 1. then go to b and change the same way, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as you did at a, and so on round the table; then you will be through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. scotch plaid braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. have one-third the strands white hair, one-third black, and one-third red, and place on table alternately, four white, four black, and four red. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 2 over no. 3, no. 2 over no. 1, no. 2 over no. 3, nos. 2 and 3 over no. 4, and no. 2 over no. 1. then go to b and change the same way, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as you did at a, and so on round the table; then you will be through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. half open braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 4, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 3 over no. 2; braid half way round the table, and then braid the last half by lifting no. 3 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 4, no. 1 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 2, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 3 over no. 4, and so on round to a; then go to c and repeat the same. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. open striped braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and have one-half the strands white hair, and one-half black, and place alternately one strand of white, and one strand of black; lift no. 2 over no. 3, no. 2 over no. 1, no. 2 over no. 3, nos. 2 and 3 over no. 4, and no. 2 over no. 1. then go to b and change the same way, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as at a, and so on round table; then you will be through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. chinchilla open braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and have one-half of the strands white hair, and one-half black, and place alternately two strands of white and two of black; lift no. 2 over no. 3, no. 2 over no. 1, no. 2 over no. 3, nos. 2 and 3 over no. 4, and no. 2 over no. 1; then go to b and change the same way, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as you did at a, and so on round table. then you will be through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. fancy lace braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and have one-half the strands white hair, and one-half black, and place alternately two strands of white, and two strands of black; lift no. 3 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 4, no. 1 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 2, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 3 over no. 4. then go to b and change the same way, and so on round to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as you did at a, and so on round table; then you will be through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. striped elastic braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and have one-half the strands white hair, and one-half black, and place alternately nos. 1 and 2 of white, and nos. 3 and 4 of black; lift no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2; then repeat with the same strands, the no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2. then go to b and braid the same, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and braid round to the left; lift no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2; then repeat with the same strands, the same as at a and b, and so on round to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. after it is braided, turn the braid inside out. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. open striped braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--sixty being the usual number--fifteen hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and have one-half of the strands white hair, and one-half black, and place alternately one strand of white and one of black; lift no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2; then repeat with the same strands, the no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2. then go to b and braid the same, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and braid round to the left; lift no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 4 over nos. 3 and 2; then repeat with the same strands, the same as at a and b, and so on round to a. then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. after it is braided, turn the braid inside out. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. wide striped braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number,--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and have one-fourth of the strands white hair, and three-fourths black, and place all the white strands on one side of the table, and all of the black on the other side; lift no. 2 over no. 3, no. 2 over no. 1, no. 2 over no. 3, nos. 2 and 3 over no. 4, and no. 2 over no. 1. then go to b and change the same way, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as at a, and so on round table; then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. neapolitan tight braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, and have one-fourth of the strands white hair, and three-fourths black,--the nos. 1 white, and the nos. 2, 3 and 4 black; lift no. 3 over no. 2, no. 3 over no. 4, no. 1 over no. 2, and no. 3 over no. 2. then go to b and change the same way, and so on round table to a. then go to c, commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as at a, and so on round table; then you are through the braid, ready to commence as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying it so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. open braid. take any number of strands that can be divided by four,--eighty being the usual number for this braid--four hairs in a strand, and place on table like pattern. commence at a, with the inside row of figures, lift no. 3 over no. 2; then no. 3 over no. 4; then no. 1 over no. 2; then no. 3 over no. 2. then go to b and change the same way, and so round the table to a. then go to c, and commence with the outside row of figures, and change the same as you did at a, and so on round the table, when you will be through the braid, ready to commence at a, as at first. [illustration] braid this over a round stick, the size you want the braid for use, varying the number of strands according to the size of the stick; then slip the braid from the stick on to the mold you wish to use, tying the braid so it will fit the mold exactly, and then boil in water five minutes, and take it out and put it in an oven, as hot as it will bear without burning, until it is quite dry. then it is ready for use. directions for new beginners. the hair to be used in braiding should be combed perfectly straight, and tied with a string at the roots, to prevent wasting. then count the number of hairs for a strand, and pull it out from the tips, dip it in water and draw it between the thumb and finger to make it lie smoothly; then tie a solid, single knot at one end, the same as you would with a sewing thread. the bobbin. to prepare the bobbin for the hair, wind it with white thread, as shown in the plate, and fasten it with a slip-knot over the knob, leaving an end of some three inches, with a solid knot tied at the end of it. to adjust the hair to the bobbins, take the prepared strands of hair and tie the knotted ends in a square knot to the ends of the strings on the bobbins. when each strand is thus prepared and tied to the bobbin strings, place them even, and tie the ends with a string to prevent their slipping. see cut of bobbins on another page. how to place them on the table-cover for braiding. place the strands across the table-cover, over the numbers, as shown in the diagram, and fasten a weight to the end of them, under the table, through the center of cover; then tie the mold or form to be braided, around in the center, and you are ready for braiding. for further reference, see plate of table, with explanations. [illustration: braiding table. no. 1.] the table cover, as shown in diagram no. 1, represents the under side of the cover, showing the rim that fits over the cap, allowing the cover to revolve, for the convenience of the braider. the cavity through the cover and cap allows the braid, with the weight attached, to pass through as fast as braided. for reference see braiding table complete, with bobbins and weights attached, on page 124. [illustration: braiding table no. 2.] the above cut represents braiding table no. 2, complete, showing the strands over the cover, with bobbins attached; also, the weight attached to the braid, showing the manner of its passing through the table. [illustration: braiding table and position in braiding.] [illustration: wood braiding bobbins. no. 1. no. 2.] the above cut shows the wood bobbins, for fine open work or tight braids. no. 1 is used for braiding any pattern of from one to four hairs in a strand. no. 2 is used for braiding any pattern of from five to twenty hairs in a strand. to prepare the bobbins for use, see explanations on page 121. [illustration: lead bobbins. no. 1. no. 2.] the above cut shows the size and shape of the lead bobbins. the no. 1 size is used for braiding rings and chains, that have but few hairs in a strand--from twenty to forty. no. 2 is used for braiding chains that have from forty to one hundred hairs in a strand. either size will answer for any pattern of chain or ring, but to vary the size of the bobbin according to the number of hairs in a strand, gives it a nicer finish. to prepare the bobbin, wind it with thread, as shown in the cut, leaving the thread some three inches long, with a solid knot tied at the end. [illustration: lead weight.] the above cut shows the weight used for drawing the work through the center of the table as fast as braided, and to balance the bobbins. attention should be given to have the weight balance the bobbins properly, as too great a weight will make the braid loose, or too light a weight will leave it rough. use any number of weights required to balance the bobbins. [illustration: forms for braiding over. no. 1. no. 2. no. 3. no. 4.] the above cuts are made of wire and wood, for braiding over. the nos. 1 and 2 are for braiding chains over--the no. 1 for small chains, and the no. 2 for large sizes. no. 3 is used for braiding tight or open work braids, of from thirty to forty strands. no. 4 is used for the same braids, with from forty to sixty strands in a braid. the mold may be made any length, to accommodate the work. [illustration: forms for braiding over. no. 5. no. 6. no. 7.] the above cuts show the size of forms used for tight or open work braids. the no. 5 is used for braids of from sixty to eighty strands, no. 6 of from eighty to one hundred, and no. 7 from one hundred to one hundred and twenty, according to the fineness of the braid. [illustration: explanations on bracelets. no. 1. no. 2.] the above cuts represent the completed bracelet braid. the no. 1 is formed from fourteen small braids, braided according to diagram and explanation on page 104,--using, however, but thirty-two strands, instead of eighty. after you have the small braids all completed and prepared, as required in the explanation, sew them together at one end, so they all lie smooth and flat, then divide them off in twos, using each two as one strand, and plait them together; commence at the right side, take one strand at a time, and lift over one and under two till you get to the center, then commence on the left side and braid the same way, and so on till finished. then sew the ends well, trim them, and put on a little shellac to fasten them in the clasps. no. 2 is from the same pattern, and is prepared and finished up in the same manner. for this bracelet you use fifteen small braids, divide them into threes for each strand, and lift over one and under one, from each side to the center. [illustration: explanations on bracelets. no. 1. no. 2.] the no. 1 cut of the above bracelet braids, is formed from patterns on pages 87 and 97, and instead of using forty and sixty strands, use but thirty-two for each. braid six small braids from pattern on page 87, and three from pattern on page 97. sew them tight together at one end, divide them off in threes, with the open work braid between the two tight ones, use each three as one strand, and plait them together in a common three strand braid. no. 2 is braided according to pattern on page 89. have three of the braids, sew them fast at one end, and then twist them carefully and evenly together; then sew and fasten with shellac, and it is ready for being gold mounted. [illustration: explanations on bracelets. no. 1. no. 2.] the no. 1 cut of the above bracelet braids, is formed from patterns on pages 26 and 86. have two small braids from each of the patterns, lay them side by side, as in cut, and sew them firmly together, either with some of the hair, or with very fine silk of the same color. then sew and trim the ends, and fasten with shellac. no. 2 is braided from patterns on pages 18 and 86. have four small braids like pattern on page 18, and two like pattern on page 86. place them side by side, as in cut, and prepare and finish up the same as in the above. [illustration: explanations on bracelets. no. 1. no. 2.] the patterns used for the no. 1, represented above, are found on pages 63 and 95. have one braid from pattern on page 63, and two from that on page 95. place them side by side, as in cut, sew the ends firmly together, either with some of the hair, or with very fine silk of the same color. then sew and trim the ends, and fasten with shellac. for the no. 2, use two small braids from pattern on page 18, one from pattern on page 63, and two from pattern on page 95. place them as in cut, sew them together, and prepare the same as no. 1. [illustration: explanations on bracelets. no. 1. no. 2.] the no. 1 of the above bracelet braids, is made up of two small braids from pattern on page 97, and three from pattern on page 101, using, however, but thirty-two strands, instead of sixty. place them side by side, as in cut, and sew them together with some of the hair, or with fine silk of the same color. sew, trim and shellac the ends, and they are ready for the gold mounting. no. 2 is formed of four small braids, from pattern on page 97, and is prepared, sewed and finished up the same as no. 1. lithographed designs. the following lithographic designs of hair jewelry, flowers and pictures, are given for the purpose of showing a few of the many beautiful forms into which the human hair may be transposed. each and every one of the devices on the following pages, with the exception of the flowers and pictures, can be braided from the diagrams and explanations given in the first one hundred and twenty pages of this book. select any article you may wish to make, and by referring to the patterns, you can easily find the style and directions whereby to braid it. we might have given twice the number of patterns, or even more, but any person can, after a little experience, readily invent new and different styles of braids, and by so doing, each can satisfy their own peculiar taste. the making of hair flowers is very simple, and yet, of course, every one has first to learn it. supply yourself with as many different colors of hair as you can, and by applying gum tragacanth, it renders it capable of being cut in any shape you may wish--such as leaves, twigs, buds, &c., and by judiciously arranging the colors, the effect will be very pleasing. pictures are made in the same manner, and any one possessing the least artistic skill, can make any flower or picture they may desire, and many pleasing adornments and lasting mementos may thereby be had. all articles intended to be worn as jewelry, should, of course, be mounted with gold, and as this kind of work is not done in all jewelry establishments, i wish to say that my facilities for this branch of business is complete, and the work done is in the best possible manner. i can guarantee satisfaction in all cases, let the style desired be what it may. in sending braids to be mounted, draw on paper, as near as can be, the style or design you want. [illustration: m. campbell's, designs of hair jewelry.] [transcriber's note: for this text edition, fifty instances of the [illustration] tag were removed at this point. this was done in an effort to make reading the text less tedious. the actual illustrations can, of course, be seen in the html edition of this text.] weaving hair for switches. [illustration] the above cut represents the apparatus used for weaving hair into switches, curls, wigs, &c. it is a very simple arrangement, and can be easily constructed. provide two straight sticks, about twelve inches long, and in one of them bore three small holes, two inches apart, in which to place as many thumb-screws, to be used for tightening or loosening the cords; in the other, have a single wooden pin or nail, to fasten the cords to. place the sticks in a firm, upright position, about three feet apart, either by boring holes through a table, or by using mortised blocks, such as is plainly shown in cut, at the right end. after placing them in position, put on three cords, as shown in diagram, numbered 1, 2 and 3. for this weft use linen thread, at nos. 1, 2 and 3. in commencing to weave, place the hair between two cards, as shown in diagram, and draw out with the right hand, between the thumb and fore-finger, the quantity of hair required for the size of the weft; then change it into the left hand, and place it up to the threads, nos. 1, 2 and 3, as shown in diagram; lay the strand over no. 1, under no. 2, over no. 3, around under no. 3, over nos. 2 and 1, around under nos. 1 and 2, over no. 3, around under nos. 3 and 2, and over no. 1. then push the strands together, as in cut. [illustration: sewing switches. no. 1. no. 2.] the no. 1 of the above cuts represents the winding and sewing of the switch after it is woven. for sewing a switch on points, after weaving, take berlin cord, about one-sixteenth of an inch thick, and tie a solid knot at the end, and sew the end of the weft to the knotted end of the cord; then wind the weft around the cord, as shown in cut, the length of point desired, turning the end of the cord over to form a loop. cut the weft according to the number of points desired in the switch. cut no. 2 shows the switch all complete. weaving hair for curls. [illustration] in commencing to weave, place the hair between two cards, or stiff brushes, as shown in diagram, pressing them tight together, so that in drawing out, it is perfectly free from tangles; draw out with the right hand, between the thumb and fore-finger, the quantity of hair required for the size of the weft; then change it into the left hand, and lift it up to the no. 1 cord, as shown in diagram; lay the strand over no. 1, under no. 2, over no. 3, around under no. 3, over nos. 2 and 1, around under nos. 1 and 2, over no. 3, around under no. 3, over no. 2, and under no. 1. then push the strands together, as shown in diagram. for this weft use fine, strong linen thread. making and preparing curls. [illustration: no. 1.] [illustration: no. 2.] after weaving, according to directions on page 241, take a piece of ribbon an inch wide, the same color of hair, and as long as you wish the curls to be in width, and sew the weft to it back and forth. after that is done, pipe them, which is done in this manner: dampen the hair, comb each curl out straight, and wind it tightly on a rattan stick about four inches long, having each curl on a separate stick, and commencing to wind at the tip end, tying them firmly to keep in place. then boil in water for thirty minutes, and place in an oven as hot as they will bear without burning, until quite dry. when dry and perfectly cool, take them off the sticks, and smooth over a curling iron, the size you wish the curls. side curls and frizzes should be prepared the same way. cut no. 2 represents a set of curls and puffs. for explanation of puffs, see page 245. weaving hair for wigs. [illustration] in commencing to weave, place the hair between two cards, or stiff brushes, as shown in diagram, pressing them tight together, so that in drawing out, it is perfectly free from tangles; draw out with the right hand, between the thumb and fore-finger, the quantity of hair required for the size of the weft; then change it into the left hand, and lift it up to the no. 1 cord, as shown in diagram; lay the strand over no. 1, under no. 2, over no. 3, around under no. 3, over nos. 2 and 1, around under nos. 1 and 2, over no. 3, around under no. 3, over nos. 2 and 1, around under nos. 1 and 2, over no. 3 around under nos. 3 and 2, and over no. 1. then push the strands together, as shown in diagram. for this weft use sewing silk. weaving hair for waterfalls and bows prepare the same as above, and place the strand under no. 1, over nos. 2 and 3, around under nos. 3 and 2, over no. 1, around under nos. 1 and 2, over no. 3, around under no. 3, and over nos. 2 and 1. aside from these changes, follow directions given above. making waterfalls and bows. [illustration: no. 1.] [illustration: no. 2.] [illustration: no. 3.] in making a chignon, you have first to make the cushion. take the combings or waste hair, which is of no other use, and place it between the cards or stiff brushes, the same as for weaving. use the weaving apparatus, with two piping cords, instead of three small ones, and wind the hair all up, by passing over, between and under the cords. boil and dry it, and then pull out the cord, which leaves it all crimped, ready to weave, according to directions on page 239. then sew it on a cord, the same as a switch, and form it in any shape you desire, for a waterfall, bow or puffs. this completes the cushion. then weave the long hair for the covering, according to directions on page 243, and sew it to the top end of the cushion; comb it out smooth, cover the cushion, and tie a cord around it immediately at the bottom; then bring up the end of the hair, and pin it to the inside. cut no. 1 is intended to represent the cushion, and no. 2 the complete waterfall. cut no. 3 represents the bow, which is made in the same manner, by using two small cushions, like cut no. 1, and placing between them a strand of smooth or braided hair. making puffs and coils. [illustration: no. 1.] [illustration: no. 2.] [illustration: no. 3.] to make puffs for front of head, from false hair, similar to cut no. 1, weave hair from eight to twelve inches long, according to directions on page 241; then take a ribbon, about one and a half inches wide, any length required, and tack it on a wig block, or straight piece of board, and sew the weft crossways a quarter of an inch apart, till the ribbon is entirely covered; then divide it off in as many puffs as desired, comb each out straight, and wind it over the two fore-fingers, close up to ribbon, and put in a hair-pin to retain it. to make puffs for back of head, cut no. 2, prepare the same way; make the foundation the shape and size you wish the puffs, and sew it on the same way you want the puffs to run. the puffs may be made over a cushion, formed of crimped hair the shape wanted, and wound over that instead of the fingers. ladies not wearing false hair, can have her own hair dressed by following the above directions. cut no. 3 represents a coil, which is made from a switch, and wound over a long roll of crimped hair. they are much nicer, but more expensive, by being made altogether from a switch, as that can be twisted into a rope or braided, before coiling. explanations on hair dressing. i herewith present, on the following pages, a number of engravings illustrative of a few of the many styles of hair dressing, accompanied with explanatory remarks as to their execution. they are the latest and most fashionable european and american styles, and will prove indispensable to every lady's toilet, as, from the explanations, they will be able, with very little practice, to dress their own hair in any desired style; and when any new style is inaugurated, after studying and practicing the directions given with each illustration, she will find it an easy matter to arrange it accordingly. any one learning hair dressing, should acquire perfectly the execution of the first pattern--the promenade head-dress--as that is very easily arranged, and when you have once executed it in a perfect manner, the others will prove comparatively easy. the manner of dressing the hair at the present day calls for much attention, and many inquiries are addressed us on the subject. it is plain, however, that what would correspond with the complexion and physiognomy of one, would certainly have a distasteful appearance on another; consequently, in answering inquiries, i can do nothing more than give the different styles worn. before giving my illustrations on hair dressing, i have given instructions how to weave hair for chignons, curls, switches, &c., and how to put them in shape, and with the directions given with each illustration on hair dressing, it will certainly be an easy task to arrange the hair in any style that is now or may be in fashion. [illustration: promenade head-dress.] our first cut represents the promenade head-dress, but is worn as frequently in the drawing-room, and even at public and private assemblies--in fact, a common and very pretty style. explanation: comb the front hair between the temples straight back, over a cushion of crimped hair, forming a chignon; then make two braids of two small switches, and place one of them over the top of the chignon, and the other across the forehead, forming a diadem, turning the ends under; then comb the hair from temples over the braids, and put back under the chignon, and fasten. place a net of pearl or gilt beads over the chignon, as in cut. you can use false hair for covering cushion, if desired. [illustration: reception head-dress.] this head-dress is a most charming composition, and entirely new. it is adapted either for a brown or fair complexion, to be worn at grand dinners or receptions. ornamented with pearl or gilt, it is in good taste for evening parties. explanation: curl the hair across forehead, or use false curls, combing the hair straight back, and form a chignon of curls at the back. place a diadem plait across forehead, and raise the hair from the temples over the plait. trim with roses and ribbans, or to suit dress. [illustration: soiree or evening head-dress.] this cut illustrates the soiree or evening head-dress. it is a very unique and modern style, suited for almost any complexion, and very easily executed. explanation: comb the hair straight back between the temples, tie it, and curl the ends, or use a set of long false curls. place a diadem plait, made from a switch, across the forehead; then comb the hair back from the temples, over the ends of the plait, twist it, pass it back under the curls, and fasten firmly. use a fancy back-comb on top of curls, and pin an ornament to diadem plait, with feather and chain attached, as in cut, or trim to suit dress. [illustration: grand evening party head-dress.] a very graceful head-dress, of a bold style, suited for a young lady of brown or fair complexion, and is in good taste to be worn at the theatre or grand evening parties. explanation: make a parting over the head, from ear to ear, two inches from front; on the forehead, between the temples, curl the hair in small friz curls, and from the temple to the ear, make loose puffs. divide the hair in three partings over the head, and roll each in a large puff; then form a large puff of the back hair, round the nape of the neck, as in cut. fasten a large set of loose curls over the puff, with a comb or other ornament. for reference, see page 245. [illustration: empress head-dress.] a charming head-dress, and entirely new, perfectly suiting a fair complexion. it may serve for the theatre or evening parties. when powdered it preferably suits a brown or brunette. explanation: make a front parting, and a cross one from ear to ear. divide each side into five parts; of the front parting make three puffs on each side. the remaining four make into long puffs, as in cut, according to explanations on page 245. the back hair may be arranged in the same style of puffs, or with a double chignon, placing a single, long false curl or braid, back of each ear. trim with orange leaves, or to suit dress. [illustration: parisian head-dress.] this head-dress, both bold and graceful, is suitable for any complexion or age, when the physiognomy allows it. explanation: comb back the hair from the forehead between the temples, make a large puff on the temples, and three puffs above each ear. place a cushion at the back of head, and comb the hair over it, forming a chignon; then place a diadem plait, or twist, made from a large switch, round on the top of head, trimmed with leaves or ribbon, as shown in cut. [illustration: the apollo head-dress.] this head-dress is one of the most graceful styles. it was worn in the time of louis xivth, and well agrees with the fashion of the present day. with some modifications, it is suited to every complexion. explanation: crimp the front hair, and raise it over the temples with a puff comb. comb the hair just above the ear back, and friz the ends, and curl the back hair in large flowing curls, as shown in the cut. [illustration: the modern head-dress.] a head-dress of elegant composition, coming down from antiquity, suitable for a young and pretty woman, and perfectly agreeing with a fair complexion. explanation: part the hair from temple to temple, one inch from front, comb it up on the forehead, and curl the ends in small snap curls; then comb the hair back from the temples, and form a loose puff. make three partings across the head, and form a puff of each. of the back hair, make a braided or plaited chignon, with a few friz curls underneath; then make two puffs back of the ear, as shown in cut. wear a fancy comb or band over the top of chignon. [illustration: evening promenade head-dress.] a head-dress of extraordinary simplicity, and of a most genteel kind, becoming a dark complexion. it may be adapted for the opera by changing the trimming. explanation: first crimp all the hair, then place a cushion high up under the hair at the back, forming a chignon, and friz the ends of the hair from ear to ear under the chignon. tuck the hair high up on the forehead, place bands of ribbon over the head with a net at the back, and bring the hair above the ear up, and fasten to the ribbon. pin a ribbon streamer to the net, as in cut. [illustration: the shepherdess head-dress.] an elegant head-dress, and was worn in the time of louis xvi, for balls and evening parties, or as a disguise when powdered. explanation: separate the hair across the head from ear to ear, three inches from front, and roll it in puffs according to directions on page 245. do up the back hair in a double chignon, either with your own or false hair; add a set of false curls underneath the chignon, extending from ear to ear. trim to suit dress with leaves, flowers and ribbon, as shown in illustration. [illustration: court head-dress.] a rich head-dress, having a great stamp of distinction, and for that reason will be adapted for a court head-dress, or grand evening parties. explanation: make a parting over the head from ear to ear, two inches from front, and form a row of nine small puffs over the forehead. comb the remaining hair back, and divide into four partings around the head, and form each parting in a large puff, as in cut. add a few small friz curls and orange blossoms between the puffs. for reference see page 245. [illustration: young bride's head-dress.] an exquisite head-dress, of a very graceful style, and well agreeing with a fair or brown complexion, to be worn by a young bride, or at grand assemblies. explanation: comb the hair back and place a set of small loose curls across the forehead; place a diadem plait over the top of the curls, and comb the hair off the temples over the ends of the plait, and form a chignon or bow of the back hair, and place a three-strand braid around the chignon, made either from the ends of hair from the temple or a switch. add a crown of white blossoms and a veil, as shown in the engraving. if not for a bride, trim to match dress. [illustration: neapolitan head-dress.] an exquisite head-dress, of exceedingly graceful and modern style, agreeing with nearly every complexion; may be worn as a promenade or at small parties. explanation: part the hair from front to crown, and from ear to ear; crimp the front, and braid the ends in a three-strand braid, and trim the ends with ribbon. either braid or twist the back hair, and form into a coil. place a small plait across the forehead, as shown in the engraving. deck the hair with flowers or beads, to suit the occasion. synoptic of human hair. in placing before the public the only book ever published in the "art of hair work," it is but due to the purchasers of it to say something in relation to the trade in human hair. it is not my intention, however, to enter into an extended detail and complete history, but simply give a few items that will serve to show what enormous strides have been taken within the last few years in this branch of business. it is a business that but few know anything about--at least in this country, for it is comparatively new here--but it is one that is very rapidly increasing, and is now almost doubling itself each year. the larger quantity, in fact nearly the whole amount of hair retailed in this country is imported from europe, where the dealing in human hair has been made an established and legitimate business for years, and a great deal of attention is paid in purchasing and preparing it for the market. paris is the greatest market for the sale of human hair in the world; but the amount of superfluous hair used and worn throughout all europe, could we give the figures, would seem incredible. the amount imported to the united states in the years of 1859 and 1860 was not far from 150,000 and 200,000 pounds, which was valued at that time at from $800,000 to $1,000,000. since that time it has been steadily increasing, and the amount imported last year may be set down at three times as much as during the years above mentioned. paris also finds as great a sale for the article in russia as in america--the shipments to each being about equal. thus, it will be seen, that if all the hair reserved in europe for the home demand were added to that which is imported, the amount would be almost beyond conception; and yet, but about one-tenth part of the whole production ever leaves its native country. it is mostly procured from the markets of france, italy, russia and germany, and large quantities are obtained from norway and sweden. the norwegians were among the first to make ornaments of hair to be worn as jewelry, but, in a great measure, we are indebted to the french for the perfection to which the art has attained. of the different varieties of hair, that which is obtained in france and italy is by far the best, being of a much finer texture, even color, and of a more glossy appearance than that from other countries. the principal requirement in hair to make it valuable is length, and after it is thrown upon the market it is all assorted--the long from the short--which is a task of extreme difficulty. the prices of hair range all the way from $15 to $200 per pound, (a wide range, but certainly not too large,) and is rated according to hue, length and texture. the smallest price paid is for the short, coarse hair of the poorest quality, and which can be used only for certain purposes. hair of the ordinary colors range in price from $15 to $100 per pound, but that of gray and white from $100 to $200 per pound, and even then is not considered exorbitant. in fact, hair is worth any and all prices. we know of one dealer who had in his possession a very small quantity, weighing but a half pound and measuring seventy inches, for which he was offered _four hundred dollars!_ and, strange as it may appear, he refused to accept it. white hair is mostly obtained by being picked from the gray, and it not unfrequently happens that many hundred pounds have to be assorted before being able to secure one single pound of pure white. it is mainly used in the manufacture of wigs, and it frequently puzzles the dealer to prepare one for a customer that will exactly match, and this, with the scarcity of the article, cause the extraordinary price. hair is shipped in both a prepared and unprepared state. that which is prepared undergoes a process of washing, scouring and cleansing, which leaves it in the nicest possible state; all the oil, dirt and other unhealthy substances are completely separated from it, leaving it perfectly free from all unhealthy influences. that which is shipped in an unprepared, or raw state, is subjected to the same process of cleansing after its arrival, and it is so thorough that it is altogether impossible for anything except the hair to remain. it has frequently been examined with a microscope, which has proved in every case how successful the cleansing process had been, for it revealed nothing whatever of a foreign nature, and, in fact, after its extraordinary cleaning it would be simply impossible. after being fully prepared it is then made into switches, curls, plaits, fronts, wigs, chignons, and not a small amount is used in the manufacture of hair jewelry, and such other articles as are worn for ornaments. the jewelry manufactured at this time is as durable as the all gold jewelry, and is done in a style of surpassing neatness, thus rendering it beautiful, either as an ornament or memento. there are but very few places in the united states where hair jewelry is made, and as it is comparatively a new business, but few have learned it. it is surprising, however, to notice the many beautiful patterns and elegant designs into which it is transformed. there is nothing in the way of jewelry or ornament of any description but what is or may be made from human hair; and, after being gold-mounted, the contrast between them makes the hair jewelry preferable to the all gold. there are many strange incidents related of the human hair suddenly changing its color--many of which it is hard to believe--and the causes assigned are various. we are told of persons who, from excessive grief, found their hair had gradually changed from a dark brown to an almost perfect white; others, from the same cause, in the short space of one week discovered their hair plentifully streaked with grey, giving them the appearance, although young, of being quite old. many have had their hair change on account of extreme fright, but we have now to give the first instance we have ever heard of its turning from white to that of any other color, except by the aid of dyes. a parisian, m. stanislaus martin, has published in the _bulletin de therapeutique_ the curious case of a worker in metals who had wrought in copper only five months, and whose hair, which was lately white, is now of so decided a _green_ that the man cannot appear in the street without immediately becoming the object of general curiosity. he is perfectly well, his hair alone being affected by the copper, notwithstanding the precautions taken by him to protect it from the action of the metal. chemical analysis shows that his hair contains a notable quantity of acetate of copper, and that it is to this circumstance that it owes its beautiful green color, which is most singular and remarkable. the practice of wearing false hair, although it was not generally dealt in as traffic, has been in vogue many hundred years. the greek and roman ladies were, in olden times, as active in their toilet for the head as the fashionable ladies of the present day, and false hair was always brought into requisition, which was then obtained from the germans, and they in turn from their slaves. powdering the hair, which is now the rage in all fashionable circles, is also an ancient practice, and was as much indulged in by the men as the women. history tells us that the consumption of hair powder by the soldiers of george ii was enormous. it was calculated, that inasmuch as the military force of england and the colonies was, including cavalry, infantry, militia and fensibles, 250,000, each man used a pound of flour a week, simply for powdering their hair. the quantity consumed in this way was 6,500 tons per annum; an amount sufficient to sustain 30,000 persons on bread. gold and silver hair powder was also plentifully used, and at a time much earlier in the world's history, than is generally supposed. josephus relates that solomon's horse-guards daily strewed their heads with gold-dust, which glittered in the sun; and there are similar instances of different personages recorded in the bible. the human hair seems to have been given us both for an ornament and covering--being susceptible of transformation in almost any desired shape, and apparently indispensable for covering and protecting the head. the ancient greeks were very partial to long hair, considering it by far the more becoming; but the egyptians regarded it as an incumbrance, shaved their heads, and substituted wigs. the ancients, generally speaking, strangely considered a fine head of hair so desirable, that it became sacred. they frequently dedicated it to the gods, on important occasions of marriage, victory, escape from death and danger, and the burial of friends. different styles of wearing the hair, was resorted to for denoting the various grades, or positions in life, of the people, some wearing it quite long, others short, and some dressing it in a peculiar manner,--each style, or length, being according to the condition, wealth, or social standing of the wearer. plucking it out, or neglecting it, was a token of affliction. hair contains a very small quantity of water, manganese, iron, and various salts of lime, which have been found by the various methods of analyzation, and it is owing to these properties that it is peculiarly indestructible. it has been found on mummies, more than twenty centuries old, in a perfect and unaltered state, and many instances are related, which are now admitted to be facts, of the hair continuing to grow, for a time, after death. there has never before been a book written and published, that was particularly dedicated to the subject of hair, and as the field is a vast one, both as regards the importance of the subject, and the information to be gained thereby, it is simply strange that no one has ever entered it. it has been too long neglected, and the increasing necessity for a treatise of this kind, has been pressed upon the attention of the author, and induced the publication of this work, which will certainly meet the necessities of the age. there is much else that might be said on this subject that would prove both interesting and instructive, but we prefer for the present to let it rest. we have endeavored in preparing this book both to instruct and amuse; for, by following its instructions, it may be made to be profitable and highly remunerative, and in making articles, either for gifts, mementoes, or otherwise, it will certainly be amusing and entertaining. we have given the instructions in a way that all may readily understand, and as the patterns are numerous, and the designs elegant, we think there can be nothing lacking to make the book all it claims to be. the principal offices for the sale of these books, will be at my establishments, no. 737 broadway, new york, and no. 81 south clark street, chicago. [illustration] retail department. [illustration] in placing before the trade my list of hair jewelry and hair goods, i beg sincerely to thank my customers for the increasing support i have received from them, and let them be assured i shall do all on my part to merit a continuance of the same. the following is a list of some of the leading articles i import, manufacture and sell, at wholesale and retail, and at prices less than can be found in any other house on this continent. i import human hair of the finest quality! of every length and shade, prepared and unprepared, _which i furnish the trade at low prices_: _hair jewelry, gold mountings for hair jewelry, gent's wigs and toupees, ladies' wigs, switches, braids, curls, waterfalls, frizettes, coils, bows, fronts, scratches, bands, hair-nets, ornamental hair, partings, whiskers, beards, mustaches, puffs, curling-irons, curling-sticks, crimping-irons, perfumery, pomades and creams, soaps, hair brushes, combs, hair oils, cosmetiques, crimping-pins._ "chrevolion," for the hair! for restoring the growth and natural color of the hair, and beautifying the complexion. face powders, rouges and french enamel. hair powders- diamond powder, gold powder, silver powder. wig material, and tools of every description! in conclusion, i again renew my thanks to my customers, and trust, by the best attention to all orders, to give them increased satisfaction, as well as to merit the support of any portion of the trade who have not heretofore favored me with their commands. all orders sent by mail, accompanied by a post office certificate, will be promptly filled and a safe return guaranteed. wig manufactory. [illustration] wigs! toupees! switches! curls! the great success i have met with, and the rapidly increasing demand for goods of my manufacture, is owing mainly to the superior quality of hair which i import exclusively for my trade, and the superior workmanship in their manufacture. _wigs! wigs! wigs! wigs!_ i have the largest assortment of wigs in the united states, and manufacture to order any and every style. gent's wigs and toupees, ventilated on human hair gauze or silk seams. weft wigs and toupees, with or without seams, of straight or natural curly hair. ladies' wigs, short or long glossy hair, straight, natural curly or frizzed. also fronts and bandoes. [illustration: directions for measuring the head for a wig. no. 1--the circumference of the head. no. 2--from forehead to nape. no. 3--from ear to ear, across the forehead. no. 4--from ear to ear, over the top of the head. no. 5--from temple to temple, round back of the head.] to measure for toupee or scratch, cut a piece of paper the exact size and shape of bald spot. send your orders according to the above directions, and we will warrant a fit. i offer to the public the largest assortment of switches, curls, braids and frizzettes, to be found in any establishment in america, and defy competition in quality and price. manufacturing department. [illustration: gold jewelry manufactory.] [illustration: hair braiding rooms.] i manufacture and sell, at wholesale and retail, hair jewelry and _gold mountings for hair jewelry_, of every pattern and device, to suit the fancy of my patrons. i have given years of study and practical experience to this branch of my business, and have so perfected and enlarged my manufacturing facilities, as to feel confident of being able to give entire satisfaction, in workmanship and price. i furnish or make the gold mountings for hair jewelry, of any style or pattern desired. i also furnish the braids separate from the mountings, or the two complete. persons buying books, and wishing to procure _braiding tables,_ _weights,_ _bobbins,_ _moulds_ _or forms,_ will be supplied at very low rates. for the accommodation of my trade, i have made arrangements to have braiding tools and material manufactured in very large quantities, which i will furnish at prices sufficient only to cover the cost of manufacture and transportation. campbell's chrevolion. [illustration] campbell's chrevolion for _restoring the color and growth of the hair, purifying, whitening and beautifying the complexion._ it is a preventive and sure cure for baldness, _cleansing the scalp of dandruff and all impurities, invigorating the roots of the hair, giving it life, health, and its_ natural color. it is a sure cure for rough skin, freckles, sunburn, and all impurities of the complexion. campbell's chrevolion. [illustration: m. campbell's chrevolion manufactory.] [illustration: before using] [illustration: after using] m. campbell's chrevolion no. 1, for _restoring the hair to its natural color_. this wonderful preparation needs only to be used to be appreciated. it is free from those objections that accompany preparations compounded from minerals, which have been offered to the public in imitation of chrevolion. it will restore the natural color of the hair with but two or three applications. it is a common practice with compounders, when presenting an article to the public, to advertise an array of testimonials purporting to be from distinguished persons, but i prefer to rest the success of the chrevolion strictly upon its efficacious merit, knowing it will do all that is claimed. [illustration: pointing hand] sold by all the principal druggists in this country, and prepared by m. campbell, broadway, n. y., and south clark street, chicago, ill. campbell's chrevolion. [illustration: ladies' hair dressing.] [illustration: before using.] [illustration: after using.] chrevolion no. 2, for purifying and whitening the complexion and _restoring the growth of the hair_. this complexion purifyer is a magical curative for the face and scalp. it will allay all feverish humor of the skin, and remove freckles, pimples sunburn and other eruptions, leaving the face soft, white and beautiful, with _but two or three applications_. hundreds of cases, where the hair was dropping, and baldness seemed inevitable, have been effectually cured by the use of the chrevolion. prepared only by m. campbell. sold by all the principal druggists in this country. price $1.00 per bottle. hair jewelry. price list. no. mount's. compl't. 1 $ 5 50 $ 8 00 2 3 75 6 00 3 3 00 5 00 4 5 25 8 00 5 4 00 7 00 6 4 50 7 00 7 6 00 10 00 8 5 50 8 00 9 11 00 15 00 10 10 00 12 50 11 5 75 8 00 12 5 00 7 00 13 8 00 10 00 14 6 00 8 00 15 4 50 6 00 16 9 00 10 00 17 7 50 10 00 18 6 50 8 00 19 10 00 12 50 20 9 00 12 50 21 7 50 10 00 22 10 00 12 50 23 8 00 10 00 24 7 50 10 00 25 10 00 15 00 26 12 50 15 00 27 4 00 7 00 28 4 00 8 00 29 10 00 12 50 30 10 00 12 50 31 15 00 17 50 32 15 00 17 50 33 12 50 15 00 34 12 50 15 00 35 12 50 15 00 36 12 50 15 00 37 13 00 15 00 38 11 00 12 50 39 13 00 15 00 40 13 00 15 00 41 12 50 15 00 42 11 00 12 50 43 10 00 12 50 44 8 00 10 00 45 6 50 8 00 46 6 50 8 00 47 8 50 10 00 48 10 00 12 00 49 4 00 5 00 50 4 00 5 00 51 3 50 5 00 52 7 00 8 00 53 5 00 6 00 54 6 50 8 00 55 10 00 12 00 56 5 00 6 00 57 5 50 6 00 58 7 00 8 00 59 6 50 8 00 60 8 50 10 00 61 8 00 10 00 62 6 00 7 00 63 12 50 15 00 64 15 00 17 50 65 12 50 15 00 66 15 00 17 50 67 12 50 15 00 68 12 50 15 00 69 13 00 15 00 70 11 00 12 50 71 13 00 15 00 72 13 00 15 00 73 12 50 15 00 74 11 00 12 50 75 10 00 12 50 76 8 00 10 00 77 6 50 8 00 78 6 50 8 00 79 8 50 10 00 80 10 00 13 00 81 10 00 12 50 82 8 00 10 00 83 13 00 15 00 84 6 00 8 00 85 8 00 10 00 86 10 00 12 50 87 8 00 10 00 88 6 50 8 00 89 10 00 12 00 90 8 00 10 00 91 6 00 8 00 92 4 50 6 00 93 12 50 15 00 94 6 00 8 00 95 13 00 15 00 96 12 00 15 00 97 10 00 12 50 98 10 00 12 50 99 10 00 12 00 100 5 00 7 00 101 8 00 10 00 102 12 50 15 00 103 8 00 10 00 104 10 00 12 00 105 7 00 9 00 106 6 00 8 00 107 7 00 8 00 108 6 00 7 00 109 9 00 10 00 110 6 00 7 00 111 12 00 15 00 112 13 00 15 00 113 13 00 15 00 114 12 00 15 00 115 4 50 6 00 116 4 00 5 00 117 5 00 7 00 118 5 00 7 00 119 7 00 8 00 120 5 00 6 00 121 5 00 6 00 122 7 00 8 00 123 9 00 10 00 124 6 00 7 00 125 5 00 6 00 126 6 00 7 00 127 4 50 5 00 128 7 00 8 00 129 4 50 5 00 130 5 00 6 00 131 7 00 8 00 132 5 50 6 00 133 5 00 6 00 134 5 50 6 00 135 6 00 7 00 136 5 50 6 00 137 4 00 5 00 138 4 25 5 00 139 4 25 5 00 140 6 00 8 00 141 6 00 7 00 142 5 00 6 00 143 4 00 5 00 144 3 00 5 00 145 2 50 3 50 146 4 00 5 00 147 6 50 8 00 148 4 00 5 00 149 8 00 10 00 150 10 00 12 00 151 4 25 5 00 152 10 00 12 00 153 3 50 4 00 154 3 50 4 00 155 4 00 5 00 156 5 25 6 00 157 3 50 4 00 158 3 50 4 50 159 5 00 6 00 160 3 00 3 50 161 4 00 5 00 162 3 50 4 00 163 5 00 6 00 164 4 50 5 00 165 5 00 6 00 166 4 00 4 50 167 6 00 7 00 168 4 00 4 50 169 7 00 8 00 170 6 00 7 00 171 1 00 1 50 172 4 50 5 00 173 11 00 12 00 174 3 50 4 00 175 1 00 1 50 176 9 50 10 00 177 5 50 6 00 178 3 00 4 00 179 6 00 7 00 180 1 50 2 00 181 6 00 7 00 182 2 50 3 00 183 6 00 7 00 184 4 50 5 00 185 6 00 7 00 186 4 50 5 00 187 7 50 8 00 188 5 50 6 00 189 9 00 10 00 190 11 00 12 00 191 9 00 10 00 192 3 50 5 00 193 8 50 10 00 194 3 50 5 00 195 10 00 15 00 196 5 00 8 00 197 4 50 7 00 198 4 00 6 00 199 4 00 6 00 200 6 00 10 00 201 10 00 10 00 202 12 00 15 00 203 10 00 12 00 204 6 50 8 00 205 4 00 5 00 206 10 00 12 00 207 8 00 10 00 208 10 00 12 00 209 6 50 8 00 210 12 00 13 00 211 8 50 10 00 212 9 00 10 00 213 8 50 10 00 214 10 00 12 00 215 8 50 10 00 216 6 00 7 00 217 13 00 15 00 218 13 00 15 00 219 8 50 10 00 220 8 50 10 00 221 7 00 8 00 222 10 00 12 00 223 7 00 8 00 224 8 50 10 00 225 10 50 12 00 226 8 50 10 00 227 10 50 12 00 228 14 00 15 00 229 10 00 10 00 230 14 00 15 00 231 8 50 10 00 232 8 50 10 00 233 10 00 12 00 234 7 50 9 00 235 7 50 9 00 236 6 75 8 00 237 2 25 6 00 238 11 00 15 00 239 5 00 10 00 240 3 50 7 00 241 3 50 6 00 242 4 50 7 00 243 6 00 8 00 244 12 00 20 00 245 20 00 28 00 246 8 00 12 00 247 8 00 12 00 248 8 00 10 00 249 10 00 12 00 250 25 00 30 00 251 25 00 30 00 252 13 00 15 00 253 8 00 12 00 254 18 00 20 00 255 10 00 12 00 256 12 00 15 00 257 8 00 10 00 258 10 00 12 00 259 9 50 12 00 260 10 00 12 00 261 10 00 12 00 262 8 00 10 00 263 16 00 20 00 264 10 00 12 00 265 21 00 25 00 266 25 00 30 00 267 6 00 8 00 268 20 00 25 00 269 10 00 12 00 270 3 50 6 00 271 4 00 7 00 272 4 50 8 00 273 4 00 6 00 274 9 00 12 00 275 9 00 12 00 276 7 50 10 00 277 3 50 6 00 278 18 00 20 00 279 18 00 20 00 280 17 00 20 00 281 9 00 12 00 282 12 00 15 00 283 9 00 12 00 284 16 00 20 00 285 30 00 40 00 286 9 00 12 00 287 9 00 14 00 288 4 50 6 00 289 4 00 7 00 290 18 00 20 00 291 22 00 25 00 292 6 50 293 6 00 294 4 00 295 5 00 296 4 50 297 5 50 298 8 00 299 6 00 300 2 25 301 4 50 302 2 50 303 7 50 304 6 00 305 18 00 20 00 306 18 00 20 00 307 23 00 25 00 308 15 00 17 50 309 22 00 25 00 310 12 00 15 00 311 23 00 25 00 312 18 00 20 00 313 23 00 25 00 314 12 00 15 00 315 15 00 18 00 316 22 00 25 00 317 18 00 20 00 index. title. page. preface, 5 introductory remarks, 7 position in braiding, 8 square chain braid, 9 reverse braid, 10 sixteen twist chain braid, 11 striped snake chain braid, 12 cable chain braid, 13 snake chain braid, 14 eight square chain braid, 15 half twist chain braid, 16 square chain braid, 17 cable twist chain braid, 18 twist chain braid, 19 to 20 rib chain braid, 21 twist chain braid, 22 half twist chain braid, 23 cable chain braid, 24 sixteen square chain braid, 25 german twist chain braid, 26 fancy square chain braid, 27 to 28 square chain braid, 29 fancy twist chain braid, 30 to 32 double chain braid, 33 fancy cable chain braid, 34 half square chain braid, 35 twelve square chain braid, 36 flat twist chain braid, 37 rib chain braid, 38 fancy cable chain braid, 39 square chain braid, 40 fob chain braid, 41 square rib chain braid, 42 double loop chain braid, 43 knot chain braid, 44 double rib chain braid, 45 fancy chain braid, 46 to 51 double rib chain braid, 52 rope chain braid, 53 diamond shaped chain braid, 54 fancy square chain braid, 55 to 58 fancy twist chain braid, 59 flat chain braid, 60 necklace pattern braid, 61 to 67 necklace or edging braid, 68 necklace or head dress braid, 69 ring pattern braids, 70 to 81 ring or bracelet braids, 82 to 84 bracelet tight braids, 85 to 87 elastic bracelet braids, 88 to 89 double elastic bracelet braid, 90 fancy tight bracelet braid, 91 reverse tight bracelet braid, 92 banded tight bracelet braid, 93 plain open braid, 94 open fine braid, 95 open fine braid, 96 open fine lace braid, 97 to 98 basket tight braid, 99 tight braid, 100 acorn tight braid, 101 half tight braid, 102 fancy tight braid, 103 plain tight braid, 104 acorn braid, 105 half open braid, 106 overshot braid, 107 diamond tight braid, 108 spiral striped braid, 109 empress tight braid, 110 open check braid, 111 scotch plaid braid, 112 half open braid, 113 open striped braid, 114 chinchilla open braid, 115 fancy lace braid, 116 striped elastic braid, 117 open striped braid, 118 wide striped braid, 119 neapolitan tight braid, 120 open braid, 121 directions for new beginners, 122 braiding table no. 1, 123 braiding table no. 2, 124 braiding table and position in braiding, 125 wood braiding bobbins, 127 lead braiding bobbins, 128 lead weight bobbins, 129 forms for braiding over, 130 to 131 explanations on bracelets, 132 to 136 lithograph designs, 137 to 238 weaving hair for switches, 239 sewing switches, 240 weaving hair for curls, 241 making and preparing curls, 242 weaving hair for wigs, 243 making waterfalls or bows, 244 making puffs and coils, 245 explanations on hair dressing, 246 hair dressing, 247 to 259 synoptic of human hair, 260 to 265 retail department, 266 wig manufactory, 267 manufacturing department, 268 campbell's chrevolion, 269 campbell's chrevolion, no. 1, 270 campbell's chrevolion, no. 2, 271 price list, 272 to 274 index, 275 to 276 * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. some patterns began with small caps and some did not. for the sake of consistancy, all patterns now begin with small caps. this will show up as all caps in the text version. index, the page numbers were missing and the transcriber supplied them for the following entries: preface; introductory remarks; position in braiding; and square chain braid. page 10, repeated word "and" removed from text. original read (and and lift over table) page 13, "very" changed to "vary" (vary the size of the braid) page 36, 43, "t" changed to "it" (keep it fast) page 50, "ocross" changed to "across" (b over across nos. 2) page 127, "srtand" changed to "strand" (four hairs in a strand) page 246, "llustrative" changed to "illustrative" (engravings illustrative of a) page 251, "prefably" changed to "preferably" (it preferably suits a brown) page 271, "effectualy" changed to "effectually" (been effectually cured by) page 272, missing "3" added to table, fourth line (3 3 00 5 00) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 36400-h.htm or 36400-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36400/36400-h/36400-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36400/36400-h.zip) [illustration: one young woman brought a great pan of stew and bread and three spoons to the van. _frontispiece._] the corner house girls among the gypsies how they met what happened and how it ended by grace brooks hill author of "the corner house girls," "the corner house girls on a houseboat," etc. illustrated by thelma gooch barse & hopkins publishers newark, n. j. new york, n. y. * * * * * books for girls the corner house girls series by grace brooks hill _12mo. cloth. illustrated._ the corner house girls the corner house girls at school the corner house girls under canvas the corner house girls in a play the corner house girls' odd find the corner house girls on a tour the corner house girls growing up the corner house girls snowbound the corner house girls on a houseboat the corner house girls among the gypsies publishers barse & hopkins newark, n. j. new york, n. y. * * * * * copyright, 1921, by barse & hopkins _the corner house girls among the gypsies_ printed in u. s. a. contents chapter page i the fretted silver bracelet 9 ii a profound mystery 20 iii sammy pinkney in trouble 31 iv the gypsy trail 40 v sammy occasions much excitement 50 vi the gypsy's words 60 vii the bracelet again to the fore 70 viii the misfortunes of a runaway 81 ix things go wrong 90 x all is not gold that glitters 100 xi mysteries accumulate 108 xii getting in deeper 114 xiii over the hills and far away 122 xiv almost had him 134 xv uncertainties 143 xvi the dead end of nowhere 149 xvii ruth begins to worry 157 xviii the junkman again 165 xix the house is haunted 175 xx plotters at work 184 xxi tess and dot take a hand 195 xxii excitement galore 206 xxiii a surprising meeting 217 xxiv the captives 234 xxv it must be all right 244 list of illustrations one young woman brought a great pan of stew and bread and three spoons to the van title "you have found it!" he chattered with great excitement 112 the girls could sit under the trees while luke reclined on a swinging cot 158 "they want that silver thing back. it wasn't meant for you" 203 the corner house girls among the gypsies chapter i--the fretted silver bracelet if sammy pinkney had not been determined to play a "joey" and hooked back one of the garage doors so as to enter astride a broomstick with a dash and the usual clown announcement, "here we are again!" all would not have happened that did happen to the corner house girls--at least, not in just the way the events really occurred. even dot, who was inclined to be forgiving of most of sammy's sins both of omission and commission, admitted that to be true. tess, the next oldest corner house girl (nobody ever dignified her with the name of "theresa," unless it were aunt sarah maltby) was inclined to reflect the opinion regarding most boys held by their oldest sister, ruth. tess's frank statement to this day is that it was entirely sammy's fault that they were mixed up with the gypsies at all. but-"well, if i'm going to be in your old circus," sammy announced doggedly, "i'm going to be a joey--or _nothin'_." "you know very well, sammy, that you can't be that," said tess reprovingly. "huh? why can't i? i bet i'd make just as good a clown as mr. sully sorber, who is neale's half-uncle, or mr. asa scruggs, who is barnabetta's father." "i don't mean you can't be a clown," interrupted tess. "i mean you can't be just _nothing_. you occupy space, so you must be something. our teacher says so." "shucks!" ejaculated sammy pinkney. "don't i know that? and i wish you wouldn't talk about school. why! we're only in the middle of our vacation, i should hope." "it seems such a long time since we went to school," murmured dot, who was sitting by, nursing the alice-doll in her arms and waiting her turn to be called into the circus ring, which was the cleared space in the middle of the cement floor. "that's because all you folks went off cruising on that houseboat and never took me with you," grumbled sammy, who still held a deep-seated grouch because of the matter mentioned. "but 'tain't been long since school closed--and it isn't going to be long before the old thing opens again." "why, sammy!" admonished tess. "i just _hate_ school, so i do!" vigorously announced the boy. "i'd rather be a tramp--or a gypsy. yes, i would." "or a pirate, sammy?" suggested dot reflectively. "you know, me and you didn't have a very nice time when we went off to be pirates. 'member?" "huh!" grumbled sammy, "that was because you was along. girls can't be pirates worth shucks. and anyway," he concluded, "i'm going to be the joey in this show, or i won't play." "it will be supper time and the others will be back with the car, so none of us can play if we don't start in pretty soon," tess observed. "dot and i want to practice our gym work that neale o'neil has been teaching us. but you can clown it all you want to, sammy." "well, that lets me begin the show anyway," sammy stated with satisfaction. he always did want to lead. and now he immediately ran to hook back the door and prepared to make his entrance into the ring in true clowning style, as he had seen sully sorber do in twomley & sorber's herculean circus and menagerie. the kenway garage opened upon willow street and along that pleasantly shaded and quiet thoroughfare just at this time came three rather odd looking people. two were women carrying brightly stained baskets of divers shapes, and one of these women--usually the younger one--went into the yard of each house and knocked at the side or back door, offering the baskets for sale. the younger one was black-eyed and rather pretty. she was neatly dressed in very bright colors and wore a deal of gaudy jewelry. the older woman was not so attractive--or so clean. loitering on the other side of the street, and keeping some distance behind the gypsy women, slouched a tall, roughly clad fellow who was evidently their escort. the women came to the kenway garage some time after sammy pinkney had made his famous "entrance" and dot had abandoned the alice-doll while she did several handsprings on the mattress that tess had laid down. dot did these very well indeed. neale o'neil, who had been trained in the circus, had given both the smaller corner house girls the benefit of his advice and training. they loved athletic exercises. mrs. mccall, the corner house housekeeper, declared tess and dot were as active as grasshoppers. the two dark-faced women, as they peered in at the open doorway of the garage, seemed to think dot's handsprings were marvelously well done, too; they whispered together excitedly and then the older one slyly beckoned the big gypsy man across the street to approach. when he arrived to look over the women's heads it was tess who was actively engaged on the garage floor. she was as supple as an eel. of course, tess kenway would not like to be compared to an eel; but she was proud of her ability to "wriggle into a bow knot and out again"--as sammy vociferously announced. "say, tess! that's a peach of a trick," declared the boy with enthusiasm. "say! lemme--huh! what do _you_ want?" for suddenly he saw the two gypsy women at the door of the garage. the man was now out of sight. "ah-h!" whined the old woman cunningly, "will not the young master and the pretty little ladies buy a nice basket of the poor gypsy? good fortune goes with it." "gee! who wants to buy a basket?" scoffed sammy. "you only have to carry things in it." the bane of sammy pinkney's existence was the running of errands. "but they _are_ pretty," murmured tess. "oh--oo! see that nice green and yellow one with the cover," gasped dot. "do you suppose we've got money enough to buy that one, tess? how nice it would be to carry the children's clothes in when we go on picnics." by "children" dot meant their dolls, of which, the two smaller corner house girls possessed a very large number. several of these children, besides the alice-doll, were grouped upon a bench in the corner of the garage as a part of the circus audience. the remainder of the spectators were sandyface and her family. sandyface was now a great, _great_ grandmother cat, and more of her progeny than one would care to catalog tranquilly viewed the little girls' circus or rolled in kittenish frolic on the floor. it sometimes did seem as though the old corner house demesne was quite given up to feline inhabitants. and the recurrent appearance of new litters of kittens belonging to sandyface herself, her daughters and granddaughters, had ceased to make even a ripple in the pool of corner house existence. this explanation regarding the dolls and cats is really aside from our narrative. tess and dot both viewed with eager eyes the particular covered basket held out enticingly by the old gypsy woman. of course the little girls had no pockets in their gymnasium suits. but in a pocket of her raincoat which tess had worn down to the garage over her blouse and bloomers, she found a dime and two pennies--"just enough for two ice-cream cones," sammy pinkey observed. "oh! and my alice-doll has eight cents in her cunning little beaded bag," cried dot, with sudden animation. she produced the coins. but there was only twenty cents in all! "i--i--what do you ask for that basket, please?" tess questioned cautiously. "won't the pretty little ladies give the poor old gypsy woman half a dollar for the basket?" the little girls lost hope. they were not allowed to break into their banks for any purpose without asking ruth's permission, and their monthly stipend of pocket money was very low. "it is a very nice basket, little ladies," said the younger gypsy woman--she who was so gayly dressed and gaudily bejeweled. "i know," tess admitted wistfully. "but if we haven't so much money, how can we buy it?" "say!" interrupted the amateur joey, hands in pockets and viewing the controversy quite as an outsider. "say, tess! if you and dot really want that old basket, i've got two-bits i'll lend you." "oh, sammy!" gasped dot. "a whole quarter?" "have you got it here with you?" tess asked. "yep," announced the boy. "i don't think ruth would mind our borrowing twenty-five cents of you, sammy," said tess, slowly. "of course not," urged dot. "why, sammy is just like one of the family." "only when you girls go off cruising, i ain't," observed sammy, his face clouding with remembrance. "_then_ i ain't even a step-child." but he produced the quarter and offered it to tess. she counted it with the money already in her hand. "but--but that makes only forty-five cents," she said. the two gypsy women spoke hissingly to each other in a tongue that the children did not, of course, understand. then the older woman thrust the basket out again. "take!" she said. "take for forty-fi' cents, eh? the little ladies can have." "go ahead," sammy said as tess hesitated. "that's all the old basket is worth. i can get one bigger than that at the chain store for seven cents." "oh, sammy, it isn't as bee-_you_-tiful as this!" gasped dot. "well, it's a basket just the same." tess put the silver and pennies in the old woman's clawlike hand and the longed-for basket came into her possession. "it is a good-fortune basket, pretty little ladies," repeated the old gypsy, grinning at them toothlessly. "you are honest little ladies, i can see. you would never cheat the old gypsy, would you? this is all the money you have to pay for the beautiful basket? forty-fi' cents?" "aw, say!" grumbled sammy, "a bargain is a bargain, ain't it? and forty-five cents is a good deal of money." "if--if you think we ought to pay more--" tess held the basket out hesitatingly. dot fairly squealed: "don't be a ninny, tessie kenway! it's ours now." "the basket is yours, little ladies," croaked the crone as the younger woman pulled sharply at her shawl. "but good fortune goes with it only if you are honest with the poor old gypsy. good-bye." the two strange women hurried away. sammy lounged to the door, hands in pockets, to look after them. he caught a momentary glimpse of the tall gypsy man disappearing around a corner. the two women quickly followed him. "oh, what a lovely basket!" dot was saying. "i--i hope ruth won't scold because we borrowed that quarter of sammy," murmured tess. "shucks!" exclaimed their boy friend. "don't tell her. you can pay me when you get some more money." "oh, no!" tess said. "i would not hide anything from ruth." "you couldn't, anyway," said the practical dot. "she will want to know where we got the money to pay for the basket. oh, _do_ open it, tess. isn't it lovely?" the cover worked on a very ingeniously contrived hinge. had the children known much about such things they must have seen that the basket was worth much more than the price they had paid for it--much more indeed than the price the gypsies had first asked. tess lifted the cover. dot crowded nearer to look in. the shadows of the little girls' heads at first hid the bottom of the basket. then both saw something gleaming dully there. tess and dot cried out in unison; but it was the latter's brown hand that darted into the basket and brought forth the bracelet. "a silver bracelet!" tess gasped. "oh, look at it!" cried dot. "did you _ever_? do you s'pose it's real silver, tess?" "of course it is," replied her sister, taking the circlet in her own hand. "how pretty! it's all engraved with fret-work--" "hey!" ejaculated sammy coming closer. "what's that?" "oh, sammy! a silver bracelet--all fretted, too," exclaimed the highly excited dot. "huh! what's that? 'fretted'? when my mother's fretted she's--say! how can a silver bracelet be cross, i want to know?" "oh, sammy," tess suddenly ejaculated, "these gypsy women will be cross enough when they miss this bracelet!" "oh! oh!" wailed dot. "maybe they'll come back and want to take it and the pretty basket, tess. let's run and hide 'em!" chapter ii--a profound mystery tess kenway was positively shocked by her sister dot's suggestion. to think of trying to keep the silver bracelet which they knew must belong to the gypsy woman who had sold them the green and yellow basket, was quite a horrifying thought to tess. "how _can_ you say such a thing, dottie kenway?" she demanded sternly. "of course we cannot keep the bracelet. and that old gypsy lady said we were honest, too. she could _see_ we were. and, then, what would ruthie say?" their older sister's opinion was always the standard for the other corner house girls. and that might well be, for ruth kenway had been mentor and guide to her sisters ever since dot, at least, could remember. their mother had died so long ago that tess but faintly remembered her. the kenways had lived in a very moderately priced tenement in bloomsburg when mr. howbridge (now their guardian) had searched for and found them, bringing them with aunt sarah maltby to the old corner house in milton. in the first volume of this series, "the corner house girls," these matters are fully explained. the six succeeding volumes relate in detail the adventures of the four sisters and their friends--and some most remarkable adventures have they had at school, under canvas, at the seashore, as important characters in a school play, solving the mystery of a long-lost fortune, on an automobile tour through the country, and playing a winning part in the fortunes of luke and cecile shepard in the volume called "the corner house girls growing up." in "the corner house girls snowbound," the eighth book of the series, the kenways and a number of their young friends went into the north woods with their guardian to spend the christmas holidays. eventually they rescued the twin birdsall children, who likewise had come under the care of the elderly lawyer who had so long been the kenway sisters' good friend. during the early weeks of the summer, just previous to the opening of our present story, the corner house girls had enjoyed a delightful trip on a houseboat in the neighboring waters. the events of this trip are related in "the corner house girls on a houseboat." during this outing there was more than one exciting incident. but the most exciting of all was the unexpected appearance of neale o'neil's father, long believed lost in alaska. mr. o'neil's return to the states could only be for a brief period, for his mining interests called him back to nome. his son, however, no longer mourned him as lost, and naturally (though this desire he kept secret from agnes) the boy hoped, when his school days were over, to join his father in that far northland. there was really no thought in the mind of the littlest corner house girl to take that which did not belong to her. most children believe implicitly in "findings-keepings," and it seemed to dot kenway that as they had bought the green and yellow basket in good faith of the two gypsy women, everything it contained should belong to them. this, too, was sammy pinkney's idea of the matter. sammy considered himself very worldly wise. "say! what's the matter with you, tess kenway? of course that bracelet is yours--if you want it. who's going to stop you from keeping it, i want to know?" "but--but it must belong to one of those gypsy ladies," gasped tess. "the old lady asked us if we were honest. of course we are!" "pshaw! if they miss it, they'll be back after that silver thing fast enough." "but, sammy, suppose they don't know the bracelet fell into this basket?" "then you and dot are that much in," was the prompt rejoinder of their boy friend. "you bought the basket and all that was in it. they couldn't claim the _air_ in that basket, could they? well, then! how could they lay claim to anything else in the basket?" such logic seemed unanswerable to dot's mind. but tess shook a doubtful head. she had a feeling that they ought to run after the gypsies to return to them at once the bracelet. only, neither she nor dot was dressed properly to run through milton's best residential streets after the romany people. as for sammy-happily, so tess thought, she did not have to decide the matter. musically an automobile horn sounded its warning and the children ran out to welcome the two older corner house girls and neale o'neil, who acted as their chauffeur on this particular trip. they had been far out into the country for eggs and fresh vegetables, to the farm, in fact, of mr. bob buckham, the strawberry king and the corner house girls' very good friend. in these times of very high prices for food, ruth kenway considered it her duty to save money if she could by purchasing at first cost for the household's needs. "otherwise," this very capable young housewife asked, "how shall we excuse the keeping of an automobile when the up-keep and everything is so high?" "oh, _do_," begged agnes, the flyaway sister, "_do_ let us have something impractical, ruth. i just hate the man who wrote the first treatise on political economy." "i fancy it is 'household economy' you mean, aggie," returned her sister, smiling. "and i warrant the author of the first treatise on that theme was a woman." "mrs. eva adam, i bet!" chuckled neale o'neil, hearing this controversy from the driver's seat. "it has always been in my mind that the first lady of the garden of eden was tempted to swipe those apples more because the price of other fruit was so high than for any other reason." "then adam was stingy with the household money," declared agnes. "i really wish you would not use such words as 'swipe' before the children, neale," sighed ruth who, although she was no purist, did not wish the little folk to pick up (as they so easily did) slang phrases. she stepped out of the car when neale had halted it within the garage and agnes handed her the egg basket. tess and dot immediately began dancing about their elder sister, both shouting at once, the smallest girl with the green and yellow basket and tess with the silver bracelet in her hand. "oh, ruthie, what do you think?" "see how pretty it is! and they never missed it." "_can't_ we keep it, ruthie?" this from dot. "we paid those gypsy ladies for the basket and all that was in it. sammy says so." "then it must be true of course," scoffed agnes. "what is it?" "well, i guess i know some things," observed sammy, bridling. "if you buy a walnut you buy the kernel as well as the shell, don't you? and that bracelet was inside that covered basket, like the kernel in a nut." "listen!" exclaimed neale likewise getting out of the car. "sammy's a very solomon for judgment." "now don't you call me that, neale o'neil!" ejaculated sammy angrily. "i ain't a pig." "wha--what! who called you a pig, sammy?" "well, that's what mr. con murphy calls _his_ pig--'solomon.' you needn't call me by any pig-name, so there!" "i stand reproved," rejoined neale with mock seriousness. "but, see here: what's all this about the basket and the bracelet--a two-fold mystery?" "it sounds like a thriller in six reels," cried agnes, jumping out of the car herself to get a closer view of the bracelet and the basket. "my! where did you get that gorgeous bracelet, children?" the beauty of the family, who loved "gew-gaws" of all kinds, seized the silver circlet and tried it upon her own plump arm. ruth urged tess to explain and had to place a gentle palm upon dot's lips to keep them quiet so that she might get the straight of the story from the more sedate tess. "and so, that's how it was," concluded tess. "we bought the basket after borrowing sammy's twenty-five cent piece, and of course the basket belongs to us, doesn't it, ruthie?" "most certainly, my dear," agreed the elder sister. "and inside was that beautiful fretted silver bracelet. and that--" "just as certainly belongs to the gypsies," finished ruth. "at least, it does not belong to you and dot." "aw shu-u-cks!" drawled sammy in dissent. even agnes cast a wistful glance at the older girl. ruth was always so uncompromising in her decisions. there was never any middle ground in her view. either a thing was right, or it was wrong, and that was all there was to it! "well," sighed tess, "that gypsy lady _said_ she knew we were honest." "i think," ruth observed thoughtfully, "that neale had better run the car out again and look about town for those gypsy women. they can't have got far away." "say, ruth! it's most supper time," objected neale. "have a heart!" "anyway, i wouldn't trouble myself about a crowd of gypsies," said agnes. "they may have stolen the bracelet." "oh!" gasped tess and dot in unison. "you know what june wildwood told us about them. and she lived with gypsies for months." "gypsies are not all alike," the elder sister said confidently in answer to this last remark by agnes. "remember mira and king david stanley, and how nice they were to tess and dottie?" she asked, speaking of an incident related in "the corner house girls on a tour." "i don't care!" exclaimed agnes, pouting, and still viewing the bracelet on her arm with admiration. "i wouldn't run _my_ legs off chasing a band of gypsies." they were all, however, bound to be influenced by ruth's decision. "well, i'll hunt around after supper," neale said. "i'll take sammy with me. you'll know those women if you see them again, won't you, kid?" "sure," agreed sammy, forgiving neale for calling him "kid" with the prospect of an automobile ride in the offing. "but--but," breathed tess in ruth's ear, "if those gypsy ladies don't take back the bracelet, it belongs to dot and me, doesn't it, sister?" "of course. agnes! do give it back, now. i expect it will cause trouble enough if those women are not found. a bone of contention! both these children will want to wear the bracelet at the same time. don't _you_ add to the difficulty, agnes." "why," drawled agnes, slowly removing the curiously engraved silver ornament from her arm, "of course they will return for it. or neale will find them." this statement, however, was not borne out by the facts. neale and sammy drove all about town that evening without seeing the gypsy women. the next day the smaller corner house girls were taken into the suburbs all around milton; but nowhere did they find trace of the gypsies or of any encampment of those strange, nomadic people in the vicinity. the finding of the bracelet in the basket remained a mystery that the corner house girls could not soon forget. "it does seem," said tess, "as though those gypsy ladies couldn't have meant to give us the bracelet, dot. the old one said so much about our being honest. she didn't expect us to _steal_ it." "oh, no!" agreed dot. "but neale o'neil says maybe the gypsy ladies stole it, and were afraid to keep it. so they gave it to us." "m-mm," considered tess. "but that doesn't explain it at all. even if they wanted to get rid of the bracelet, they need not have given it to us in such a lovely basket. ruth says the basket is worth a whole lot more than the forty-five cents we paid for it." "it _is_ awful pretty," sighed dot in agreement. "some day they will surely come back for the bracelet." "oh, i hope not!" murmured the littlest corner house girl. "it makes such a be-_you_-tiful belt for my alice-doll, when it's my turn to wear it." chapter iii--sammy pinkney in trouble uncle rufus, who was general factotum about the old corner house and even acted as butler on "date and state occasions," was a very brown man with a shiny bald crown around three-quarters of the circumference of which was a hedge of white wool. aided by neale o'neil (who still insisted on earning a part of his own support in spite of the fact that mr. jim o'neil, his father, expected in time to be an alaskan millionaire gold-miner), uncle rufus did all of the chores about the place. and those chores were multitudinous. besides the lawns and the flower gardens to care for, there was a good-sized vegetable garden to weed and to hoe. uncle rufus suffered from what he called a "misery" in his back that made it difficult for him to stoop to weed the small plants in the garden. "i don't know, missy ruth," complained the old darkey to the eldest corner house girl, "how i's goin' to get that bed of winter beets weeded--i dunno, noways. my misery suah won't let me stoop down to them rows, and there's a big patch of 'em." "do they need weeding right now, uncle rufus?" "suah do, missy. dey is sufferin' fo' hit. i'd send wo'd for some o' mah daughter pechunia's young 'uns to come over yere, but i knows dat all o' them that's big enough to work is reg'larly employed by de farmers out dat a-way. picking crops for de canneries is now at de top-notch, missy; and even burnejones whistler and louise-annette is big enough to pick beans." "goodness me!" exclaimed agnes, who overheard the old man's complaint. "there ought to be kids enough around these corners to hire, without sending to foreign lands for any. they are always under foot if you _don't_ want them." "ain't it de truf?" chuckled the old man. "usual' i can't look over de hedge without spyin' dat sammy pinkney and a dozen of his crew. they's jest as plenty as bugs under a chip. but now--" "well, why not get sammy?" interrupted ruth. "he ought to be of some use, that is sure," added agnes. "can yo' put yo' hand on dat boy?" demanded uncle rufus. "'nless he's in mischief i don't know where to look for him." "i can find him all right," agnes declared. "but i cannot guarantee that he will take the job." "offer him fifty cents to weed those beet rows," ruth said briskly. "the bed i see is just a mat of weeds." they had walked down to the garden while the discussion was going on. "if sammy will do it i'll be glad to pay the half dollar." she bustled away about some other domestic matter; for despite the fact that mrs. mccall bore the greater burden of housekeeping affairs, ruth kenway did not shirk certain responsibilities that fell to her lot both outside and inside the corner house. after all was said and done, sammy pinkney looked upon agnes as his friend. she was more lenient with him than even dot was. ruth and tess looked upon most boys as merely "necessary evils." but agnes had always liked to play with boys and was willing to overlook their shortcomings. "i got a lot to do," ventured sammy, shying as usual at the idea of work. "but if you really want me to, aggie--" "and if you want to make a whole half dollar," suggested agnes, not much impressed by the idea that sammy would weed beets as a favor. "all right," agreed the boy, and shooing buster, his bulldog, out of the corner house premises, for buster and billy bumps, the goat, were sworn enemies, sammy proceeded to the vegetable garden. now, both uncle rufus and agnes particularly showed sammy which were the infant beets and which the weeds. it is a fact, however, that there are few garden plants grown for human consumption that do not have their counterpart among the noxious weeds. the young beets, growing in scattered clumps in the row (for each seed-burr contains a number of seeds), looked much like a certain weed of the lambs'-quarters variety; and this reddish-green weed pretty well covered the beet bed. tess and dot had gone to a girls' party at mrs. adams', just along on willow street, that afternoon, so they did not appear to disturb sammy at his task. in fact, the boy had it all his own way. neither uncle rufus nor any other older person came near him, and he certainly made a thorough job of that beet bed. mrs. mccall "set great store," as she said, by beets--both pickled and fresh--for winter consumption. when neale o'neil chanced to go into the garden toward supper time to see what sammy was doing there, it was too late to save much of the crop. "well, of all the dunces!" ejaculated neale, almost immediately seeing what sammy had been about. "say! you didn't do that on purpose, did you? or don't you know any better?" "know any better'n _what_?" demanded the bone-weary sammy, in no mood to endure scolding in any case. "ain't i done it all right? i bet you can't find a weed in that whole bed, so now." "great grief, kid!" gasped the older boy, seeing that sammy was quite in earnest, "i don't believe you've left anything _but_ weeds in those rows. it--it's a knock-out!" "aw--i never," gulped sammy. "i guess i know beets." "huh! it looks as though you don't even know _beans_," chortled neale, unable to keep his gravity. "what a mess! mrs. mccall will be as sore as she can be." "i don't care!" cried the tired boy wildly. "i saved just what aggie told me to, and threw away everything else. and see how the rows are." "why, sammy, those aren't where the rows of beets were at all. see! _these_ are beets. _those_ are weeds. oh, great grief!" and the older boy went off into another gale of laughter. "i--i do-o-on't care," wailed sammy. "i did just what aggie told me to. and i want my half dollar." "you want to be paid for wasting all mrs. mccall's beets?" "i don't care, i earned it." neale could not deny the statement. as far as the work went, sammy certainly had spent time and labor on the unfortunate task. "wait a minute," said neale, as sammy started away in anger. "maybe all those beet plants you pulled up aren't wilted. we can save some of them. beets grow very well when they are transplanted--especially if the ground is wet enough and the sun isn't too hot. it looks like rain for to-night, anyway." "aw--i--" "come on! we'll get some water and stick out what we can save. i'll help you and the girls needn't know you were such a dummy." "dummy, yourself!" snarled the tired and over-wrought boy. "i'll never weed another beet again--no, i won't!" sammy made a bee-line out of the garden and over the fence into willow street, leaving neale fairly shaking with laughter, yet fully realizing how dreadfully cut-up sammy must feel. the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune seem much greater to the mind of a youngster like sammy pinkney than to an adult person. the ridicule which he knew he must suffer because of his mistake about the beet bed, seemed something that he really could not bear. besides, he had worked all the afternoon for nothing (as he presumed) and only the satisfaction of having earned fifty cents would have counteracted the ache in his muscles. harried by his disappointment, sammy was met by his mother in a stern mood, her first question being: "where have you been wasting your time ever since dinner, sammy pinkney? i never did see such a lazy boy!" it was true that he had wasted his time. but his sore muscles cried out against the charge that he was lazy. he could not explain, however, without revealing his shame. to be ridiculed was the greatest punishment sammy pinkney knew. "aw, what do you want me to do, maw? work _all_ the time? ain't this my vacation?" "but your father says you are to work enough in the summer to keep from forgetting what work is. and look how grubby you are. faugh!" "what do you want me to do, maw?" "you might do a little weeding in our garden, you know, sammy." "weeding!" groaned the boy, fairly horrified by the suggestion after what he had been through that afternoon. "you know very well that our onions and carrots need cleaning out. and i don't believe you could even find our beets." "beets!" sammy's voice rose to a shriek. he never was really a bad boy; but this was too much. "beets!" cried sammy again. "i wouldn't weed a beet if nobody ever ate another of 'em. no, i wouldn't." he darted by his mother into the house and ran up to his room. her reiterated command that he return and explain his disgraceful speech and violent conduct did not recall sammy to the lower floor. "very well, young man. don't you come down to supper, either. and we'll see what your father has to say about your conduct when he comes home." this threat boded ill for sammy, lying sobbing and sore upon his bed. he was too desperate to care much what his father did to him. but to face the ridicule of the neighborhood--above all to face the prospect of weeding another bed of beets!--was more than the boy could contemplate. "i'll run away and be a pirate--that's just what i'll do," choked sammy, his old obsession enveloping his harassed thoughts. "i'll show 'em! they'll be sorry they treated me so--all of 'em." just who "'em" were was rather vague in sammy pinkney's mind. but the determination to get away from all these older people, whom he considered had abused him, was not vague at all. chapter iv--the gypsy trail mr. pinkney, sammy's father, heard all about it before he arrived home, for he always passed the side door of the old corner house on his return from business. he came at just that time when neale o'neil was telling the assembled family--including mrs. mccall, uncle rufus, and linda the maid-of-all-work--about the utter wreck of the beet bed. "i've saved what i could--set 'em out, you know, and soaked 'em well," said the laughing neale. "but make up your mind, mrs. mccall, that you'll have to buy a good share of your beets this winter." "well! what do you know about that, mr. pinkney?" demanded agnes of their neighbor, who had halted at the gate. "just like that boy," responded mr. pinkney, shaking his head over his son's transgressions. "just the same," neale added, chuckling, "sammy says you showed him which were weeds and which were beets, aggie." "of course i did," flung back the quick-tempered agnes. "and so did uncle rufus. but that boy is so heedless--" "i agree that sammy pays very little attention to what is told him," said sammy's father. here tess put in a soothing word, as usual: "of course he didn't mean to pull up all your beets, mrs. mccall." "and i don't like beets anyway," proclaimed dot. "he certainly must have worked hard," ruth said, producing a fifty-cent piece and running down the steps to press it into mr. pinkney's palm. "i am sure sammy had no intention of spoiling our beet bed. and i am not sure that it is not partly our fault. he should not have been left all the afternoon without some supervision." "he should be more observing," said mr. pinkney. "i never did see such a rattlebrain." "'the servant is worthy of his hire,'" quoted ruth. "and tell him, mr. pinkney, that we forgive him." "just the same," cried agnes after their neighbor, "although sammy may know beans, as neale says, he doesn't seem to know beets! oh, what a boy!" so mr. pinkney brought home the story of sammy's mistake and he and his wife laughed over it. but when mrs. pinkney called upstairs for the boy to come down to a late supper she got only a muffled response that he "didn't want no supper." "he must be sick," she observed to her husband, somewhat anxiously. "he's sick of the mess he's made--that's all," declared mr. pinkney cheerfully. "let him alone. he'll come around all right in the morning." meanwhile at the corner house the kenway sisters had something more important (at least, as they thought) to talk about than sammy pinkney and his errors of judgment. what dot had begun to call the "fretful silver bracelet" was a very live topic. the local jeweler had pronounced the bracelet of considerable value because of its workmanship. it did not seem possible that the gypsy women could have dropped the bracelet into the basket they had sold the smaller corner house girls and then forgotten all about it. "it is not reasonable," ruth kenway declared firmly, "that it could just be a mistake. that basket is worth two dollars at least; and they sold it to the children for forty-five cents. it is mysterious." "they seemed to like tess and me a whole lot," dot said complacently. "that is why they gave it to us so cheap." "and that is the very reason i am worried," ruth added. "why don't you report it to the police?" croaked aunt sarah maltby. "maybe they'll try to rob the house." "o-oh," gasped dot, round-eyed. "who? the police?" giggled agnes in ruth's ear. "maybe we ought to look again for those gypsy ladies," tess said. "but the bracelet is awful pretty." "i tell you! let's ask june wildwood. she knows all about gypsies," cried agnes. "she used to travel with them. don't you remember, ruth? they called her queen zaliska, and she made believe tell fortunes. of course, not being a real gypsy she could not tell them very well." "crickey!" ejaculated neale o'neil, who was present. "you don't believe in that stuff, do you, aggie?" "i don't know whether i do or not. but it's awfully thrilling to think of learning ahead what is going to happen." "huh!" snorted her boy friend. "like the weather man, eh? but he has some scientific data to go on." "probably the gypsy fortune tellers have reduced their business to a science, too," ruth calmly said. "anyhow," laughed neale, "queen zaliska now works in byburg's candy store. some queen, i'll tell the world!" "neale!" admonished ruth. "_such_ slang!" "come on, neale," said the excited agnes. "let you and me go down to byburg's and ask her about the bracelet." "i really don't see how june can tell us anything," observed ruth slowly. "anyway," agnes briskly said, putting on her hat, "we need some candy. come on, neale." the wildwoods were southerners who had not lived long in milton. their story is told in "the corner house girls under canvas." the kenways were very well acquainted with juniper wildwood and her sister, rosa. agnes felt privileged to question june about her life with the gypsies. "i saw big jim in town the other day," confessed the girl behind the candy counter the moment agnes broached the subject. "i am awfully afraid of him. i ran all the way home. and i told mr. budd, the policeman on this beat, and i think mr. budd warned big jim to get out of town. there is some talk about getting a law through the legislature putting a heavy tax on each gypsy family that does not keep moving. _that_ will drive them away from milton quicker than anything else. and that big jim is a bad, bad man. why! he's been in jail for stealing." "oh, my! he's a regular convict, then," gasped agnes, much impressed. "pshaw!" said neale. "they don't call a man a convict unless he has been sent to the state prison, or to the federal penitentiary. but that big jim looked to be tough enough, when we saw him down at pleasant cove, to belong in prison for life. remember him, aggie?" "the children did not say anything about a gypsy man," observed his friend. "there were two gypsy women." she went on to tell june wildwood all about the basket purchase and the finding of the silver bracelet. the older girl shook her head solemnly as she said: "i don't understand it at all. gypsies are always shrewd bargainers. they never sell things for less than they cost." "but they made that basket," agnes urged. "perhaps it didn't cost them so much as ruth thinks." june smiled in a superior way. "oh, no, they didn't make it. they don't waste their time nowadays making baskets when they can buy them from the factories so much cheaper and better. oh, no!" "crackey!" exclaimed neale. "then they are fakers, are they?" "that bracelet is no fake," declared agnes. "that is what puzzles me most," said june. "gypsies are very tricky. at least, all i ever knew. and if those two women you speak of belonged to big jim's tribe, i would not trust them at all." "but it seems they have done nothing at all bad in this case," agnes observed. "tess and dot are sure ahead of the game, so far," chuckled neale in agreement. "just the same," said june wildwood, "i would not be careless. don't let the children talk to the gypsies if they come back for the bracelet. be sure to have some older person see the women and find out what they want. oh, they are very sly." june had then to attend to other customers, and agnes and neale walked home. on the way they decided that there was no use in scaring the little ones about the gypsies. "i don't believe in bugaboos," agnes declared. "we'll just tell ruth." this she proceeded to do. but perhaps she did not repeat june wildwood's warning against the gypsy band with sufficient emphasis to impress ruth's mind. or just about this time the older corner house girl had something of much graver import to trouble her thought. by special delivery, on this evening just before they retired, arrived an almost incoherent letter from cecile shepard, part of which ruth read aloud to agnes: "... and just as aunt lorina is only beginning to get better! i feel as though this family is fated to have trouble this year. luke was doing so well at the hotel and the proprietor liked him. it isn't _his_ fault that that outside stairway was untrustworthy and fell with him. the doctor says it is only a strained back and a broken wrist. but luke is in bed. i am going by to-morrow's train to see for myself. i don't dare tell aunt lorina--nor even neighbor. neighbor--mr. northrup--is not well himself, and he would only worry about luke if he knew.... now, don't _you_ worry, and i will send you word how luke is just the minute i arrive." "but how can i help being anxious?" ruth demanded of her sister. "poor luke! and he was working so hard this summer so as not to be obliged to depend entirely on neighbor for his college expenses next year." ruth was deeply interested in luke shepard--had been, in fact, since the winter previous when all the corner house family were snowbound at the birdsall winter camp in the north woods. of course, ruth and luke were both very young, and luke had first to finish his college course and get into business. still and all, the fact that luke shepard had been hurt quite dwarfed the gypsy bracelet matter in ruth's mind. and in that of agnes, too, of course. in addition, the very next morning mrs. pinkney ran across the street and in at the side door of the corner house in a state of panic. "oh! have you seen him?" she cried. "seen whom, mrs. pinkney?" asked ruth with sympathy. "is buster lost again?" demanded tess, poising a spoonful of breakfast food carefully while she allowed her curiosity to take precedence over the business of eating. "that dog always _is_ getting lost." "it isn't sammy's dog," wailed mrs. pinkney. "it is sammy himself. i can't find him." "can't find sammy?" repeated agnes. "his bed hasn't been slept in! i thought he was just sulky last night. but he is _gone_!" "well," said tess, practically, "sammy is always running away, you know." "oh, this is serious," cried the distracted mother. "he has broken open his bank and taken all his money--almost four dollars." "my!" murmured dot, "it must cost lots more to run away and be pirates now than it used to." "everything is much higher," agreed tess. chapter v--sammy occasions much excitement "i do hope and pray," aunt sarah maltby declared, "that mrs. pinkney won't go quite distracted about that boy. boys make so much trouble usually that a body would near about believe that it must be an occasion for giving thanks to get rid of one like sammy pinkney." this was said of course after sammy's mother had gone home in tears--and agnes had accompanied her to give such comfort as she might. the whole neighborhood was roused about the missing sammy. all agreed that the boy never was of so much importance as when he was missing. "i do hope and pray that the little rascal will turn up soon," continued aunt sarah, "for mrs. pinkney's sake." "i wonder," murmured dot to tess, "why it is aunt sarah always says she 'hopes and prays'? wouldn't just praying be enough? you're sure to get what you pray for, aren't you?" "but what is the use of praying if you don't hope?" demanded tess, the hair-splitting theologian. "they must go together, dot. i should think you'd see that." mrs. pinkney had lost hope of finding sammy, however, right at the start. she knew him of course of old. he had been running away ever since he could toddle out of the gate; but she and mr. pinkney tried to convince themselves that each time would be the last--that he was "cured." for almost always sammy's runaway escapades ended disastrously for him and covered him with ridicule. particularly ignominious was the result of his recent attempt, which is narrated in the volume immediately preceding this, to accompany the corner house girls on their canal-boat cruise, when he appeared as a stowaway aboard the boat in the company of billy bumps, the goat. "and he hasn't even taken buster with him this time," proclaimed mrs. pinkney. "he chained buster down cellar and the dog began to howl. so mournful! it got on my nerves. i went down after mr. pinkney went to business early this morning and let buster out. then, because of the dog's actions, i began to suspect sammy had gone. i called him. no answer. and he hadn't had any supper last night either." "i am awfully sorry, mrs. pinkney," agnes said. "it was too bad about the beets. but he needn't have run away because of _that_. ruth sent him his fifty cents, you know." "that's just it!" exclaimed the distracted woman. "his father did not give sammy the half dollar. as long as the boy was so sulky last evening, and refused to come down to eat, mr. pinkney said let him wait for that money till he came down this morning. _he_ thought ruth was too good. sammy is always doing something." "oh, he's not so bad," said the comforting agnes. "i am sure there are lots worse boys. and are you sure, mrs. pinkney, that he has really run away this time?" "buster can't find him. the poor dog has been running around and snuffing for an hour. i've telephoned to his father." "who--_what_? buster's father?" "mr. pinkney," explained sammy's mother. "i suppose he'll tell the police. he says--mr. pinkney does--that the police must think it is a 'standing order' on their books to find sammy." "oh, my!" giggled agnes, who was sure to appreciate the comical side of the most serious situation. "i should think the policemen would be so used to looking for sammy that they would pick him up anywhere they chanced to see him with the idea that he was running away." "well," sighed mrs. pinkney, "buster can't find him. there he lies panting over by the currant bushes. the poor dog has run his legs off." "i don't believe bulldogs are very keen on a scent. our old tom jonah could do better. but of course sammy went right out into the street and the scent would be difficult for the best dog to follow. do you think sammy went early this morning?" "that dog began to howl soon after we went to bed. mr. pinkney sleeps so soundly that it did not annoy him. but i _knew_ something was wrong when buster howled so. "perhaps i'm superstitious. but we had an old dog that howled like that years ago when my grandmother died. she was ninety-six and had been bedridden for ten years, and the doctors said of course that she was likely to die almost any time. but that old towser _did_ howl the night grandma was taken." "so you think," agnes asked, without commenting upon mrs. pinkney's possible trend toward superstition, "that sammy has been gone practically all night?" "i fear so. he must have waited for his father and me to go to bed. then he slipped down the back stairs, tied buster, and went out by the cellar door. all night long he's been wandering somewhere. the poor, foolish boy!" she took agnes up to the boy's room--a museum of all kinds of "useless truck," as his mother said, but dear to the boyish heart. "oh, he's gone sure enough," she said, pointing to the bank which was supposed to be incapable of being opened until five dollars in dimes had been deposited within it. a screw-driver, however, had satisfied the burglarious intent of sammy. she pointed out the fact, too, that a certain extension bag that had figured before in her son's runaway escapades was missing. "the silly boy has taken his bathing suit and that cowboy play-suit his father bought him. i never did approve of that. such things only give boys crazy notions about catching dogs and little girls with a rope, or shooting stray cats with a popgun. "of course, he has taken his gun with him and a bag of shot that he had to shoot in it. the gun shoots with a spring, you know. it doesn't use real powder, of course. i have always believed such things are dangerous. but, you know, his father-"well, he wore his best shoes, and they will hurt him dreadfully, i am sure, if he walks far. and i can't find that new cap i bought him only last week." all the time she was searching in sammy's closet and in the bureau drawers. she stood up suddenly and began to peer at the conglomeration of articles on the top of the bureau. "oh!" she cried. "it's gone!" "what is it, mrs. pinkney?" asked agnes sympathetically, seeing that the woman's eyes were overflowing again. "what is it you miss?" "oh! he is determined i am sure to run away for good this time," sobbed mrs. pinkney. "the poor, foolish boy! i wish i had said nothing to him about the beets--i do. i wonder if both his father and i have not been too harsh with him. and i'm sure he loves us. just think of his taking _that_." "but what is it?" cried agnes again. "it stood right here on his bureau propped up against the glass. sammy must have thought a great deal of it," flowed on the verbal torrent. "who would have thought of that boy being so sentimental about it?" "mrs. pinkney!" begged the curious agnes, almost distracted herself now, "_do_ tell me what it is that is missing?" "that picture. we had it taken--his father and sammy and me in a group together--the last time we went to pleasure cove. sammy begged to keep it up here. and--now--the dear child--has--has carried--it--away with him!" mrs. pinkney broke down utterly at this point. she was finally convinced that at last sammy had fulfilled his oft-repeated threat to "run away for good and all"--whether to be a pirate or not, being a mooted question. agnes comforted her as well as she could. but the poor woman felt that she had not taken her son seriously enough, and that she could have averted this present disaster in some way. "she is quite distracted," agnes said, on arriving home, repeating aunt sarah's phrase. "quite distracted." "but if she is extracted," dot proposed, "why doesn't she have dr. forsyth come to see her?" "mercy, dot!" admonished tess. "_dis_tracted, not _ex_tracted. you do so mispronounce the commonest words." "i don't, either," the smaller girl denied vigorously. "i don't mispernounce any more than you do, tess kenway! you just make believe you know so much." "dot! mis_per_nounce! there you go again!" this was a sore subject, and ruth attempted to change the trend of the little girls' thoughts by suggesting that mrs. mccall needed some groceries from a certain store situated away across town. "if you can get uncle rufus to harness scalawag you girls can drive over to penny & marchant's for those things. and you can stop at mr. howbridge's house with this note. he must be told about poor luke's injury." "why, ruthie?" asked little miss inquisitive, otherwise dot kenway. "mr. howbridge isn't luke shepard's guardian, too, is he?" "now, don't be a chatterbox!" exclaimed the elder sister, who was somewhat harassed on this morning and did not care to explain to the little folk just what she had in her mind. ruth was not satisfied to know that cecile had gone to attend her brother. the oldest kenway girl longed to go herself to the resort in the mountains where luke shepard lay ill. but she did not wish to do this without first seeking their guardian's permission. tess and dot ran off in delight, forgetting their small bickerings, to find uncle rufus. the old colored man, as long as he could get about, would do anything for "his chillun," as he called the four kenway sisters. it needed no coaxing on the part of tess and dot to get their will of the old man on this occasion. scalawag was fat and lazy enough in any case. in the spring neale had plowed and harrowed the garden with him and on occasion he was harnessed to a light cart for work about the place. his main duty, however, was to draw the smaller girls about the quieter streets of milton in a basket phaeton. to this vehicle he was now harnessed by uncle rufus. "you want to be mought' car'ful 'bout them automobiles, chillun," the old man admonished them. "dat sammy pinkney boy was suah some good once in a while. he was a purt' car'ful driber." "but he's a good driver _now_--wherever he is," said dot. "you talk as though sammy would never get back home from being a pirate. of course he will. he always does!" secretly tess felt herself to be quite as able to drive the pony as ever sammy pinkney was. she was glad to show her prowess. scalawag shook his head, danced playfully on the old stable floor, and then proceeded to wheel the basket phaeton out of the barn and into willow street. by a quieter thoroughfare than main street, tess kenway headed him for the other side of town. "maybe we'll run across sammy," suggested dot, sitting sedately with her ever-present alice-doll. "then we can tell his mother where he is being a pirate. she won't be so extracted then." tess overlooked this mispronunciation, knowing it was useless to object, and turned the subject by saying: "or maybe we'll see those gypsies." "oh, i hope not!" cried the smaller girl. "i hope we'll never see those gypsy women again." for just at this time the alice-doll was wearing the fretted silver bracelet for a girdle. chapter vi--the gypsy's words that very forenoon after the two smallest girls had set out on their drive with scalawag a telegram came to the old corner house for ruth. as agnes said, a telegram was "an event in their young sweet lives." and this one did seem of great importance to ruth. it was from cecile shepard and read: "arrived oakhurst. they will not let me see luke." aside from the natural shock that the telegram itself furnished, cecile's declaration that she was not allowed to see her brother was bound to make ruth kenway fear the worst. "oh!" she cried, "he must be very badly hurt indeed. it is much worse than cecile thought when she wrote. oh, agnes! what shall i do?" "telegraph her for particulars," suggested agnes, quite practically. "a broken wrist can't be such an awful thing, ruthie." "but his back! suppose he has seriously hurt his back?" "goodness me! that would be awful, of course. he might grow a hump like poor fred littleburg. but i don't believe that anything like that has happened to luke, ruthie." her sister was not to be easily comforted. "think! there must be something very serious the matter or they would not keep his own sister from seeing him." ruth herself had had no word from luke since the accident. neither of the sisters knew that cecile shepard had never had occasion to send a telegram before and had never received one in all her life. but she learned that a message of ten words could be sent for thirty-two cents to milton, so she had divided what she wished to say in two equal parts! the second half of her message, however, because of the mistake of the filing clerk at the telegraph office in oakhurst, did not arrive at the corner house for several hours after the first half of the message. ruth kenway meanwhile grew almost frantic as she considered the possible misfortune that might have overtaken luke shepard. she grew quite as "extracted"--to quote dot--as mrs. pinkney was about the absence of sammy. "well," agnes finally declared, "if i felt as you do about it i would not wait to hear from mr. howbridge. i'd start right now. here's the time table. i've looked up the trains. there is one at ten minutes to one--twelve-fifty. i'll call neale and he'll drive you down to the station. you might have gone with the children if that telegram had come earlier." agnes was not only practical, she was helpful on this occasion. she packed ruth's bag--and managed to get into it a more sensible variety of articles than sammy pinkey had carried in his! "now, don't be worried about _us_," said agnes, when ruth, dressed for departure, began to speak with anxiety about domestic affairs, including the continued absence of the little girls. "haven't we got mrs. mccall--and linda? you _do_ take your duties so seriously, ruth kenway." "do you think so?" rejoined ruth, smiling rather wanly at the flyaway sister. "if anything should happen while i am gone--" "nothing will happen that wouldn't happen anyway, whether you are at home or not," declared the positive agnes. ruth made ready to go in such a hurry that nobody else in the corner house save agnes herself realized that the older sister was going until the moment that neale o'neil drove around to the front gate with the car. then ruth ran into aunt sarah's room to kiss her good-bye. but aunt sarah had always lived a life apart from the general existence of the corner house family and paid little attention to what her nieces did save to criticise. mrs. mccall was busy this day preserving--"up tae ma eyen in wark, ma lassie"--and ruth kissed her, called good-bye to linda, and ran to the front door before any of the three actually realized what was afoot. agnes ran with her to the street. at the gate stood a dark-faced, brilliantly dressed young woman, with huge gold rings in her ears, several other pieces of jewelry worn in sight, and a flashing smile as she halted the kenway sisters with outstretched hand. "will the young ladies let me read their palms?" she said suavely. "i can tell them the good fortune." "oh, dear me!" exclaimed agnes, pushing by the gypsy. "we can't stop to have our fortunes told now." ruth kept right on to the car. "do not neglect the opportunity of having the good fortune told, young ladies," said the gypsy girl shrewdly. "i can see that trouble is feared. the dark young lady goes on a journey because of the threat of _ill_ fortune. perhaps it is not so bad as it seems." agnes was really impressed. left to herself she actually would have heeded the gypsy's words. but ruth hurried into the car, neale reached back and slammed the tonneau door, and they were off for the station with only a few minutes to catch the twelve-fifty train. "there!" ejaculated agnes, standing at the curb to wave her hand and look after the car. "the blonde young lady does not believe the gypsy can tell her something that will happen--and in the near future?" "oh!" exclaimed agnes. "i don't know." and she dragged her gaze from the car and looked doubtfully upon the dark face of the gypsy girl which was now serious. the latter said: "something has sent the dark young lady from home in much haste and anxiety?" the question was answered of course before it was asked. any observant person could have seen as much. but agnes's interest was attracted and she nodded. "had your sister," the gypsy girl said, guessing easily enough at the relationship of the two corner house girls, "not been in such haste, she could have learned something that will change the aspect of the threatened trouble. more news is on the way." agnes was quite startled by this statement. without explaining further the gypsy girl glided away, disappearing into willow street. agnes failed to see, as the gypsy quite evidently did, the leisurely approach of the telegraph messenger boy with the yellow envelope in his hand and his eyes fixed upon the old corner house. agnes ran within quickly. she was more than a little impressed by the gypsy girl's words, and a few minutes later when the front doorbell rang and she took in the second telegram addressed to ruth, she was pretty well converted to fortune telling as an exact science. * * * * * sammy pinkney had marched out of the house late at night, as his mother suspected, lugging his heavy extension-bag, with a more vague idea of his immediate destination than was even usual when he set forth on such escapades. to "run away" seemed to sammy the only thing for a boy to do when home life and restrictions became in his opinion unbearable. it might be questioned by stern disciplinarians if mr. and mrs. pinkney had properly punished sammy after he had run away the first few times, the boy would not have been cured of his wanderlust. fortunately, although sammy's father was stern enough, he very well knew that this desire for wandering could not be beaten out of the boy. merely if he were beaten, when he grew big enough to fend for himself in the world, he would leave home and never return rather than face corporal punishment. "i was just such a kid when i was his age," admitted mr. pinkney. "my father licked me for running away, so finally i ran away when i was fourteen, and stayed away. sammy has less reason for leaving home than i had, and he'll get over his foolishness, get a better education than i obtained, and be a better man, i hope, in the end. it's in the pinkney blood to rove." this, of course, while perhaps being satisfactory to a man, did not at all calm sammy's mother. she expected the very worst to happen to her son every time he disappeared; and as has been shown on this occasion, the boy's absence stirred the community to its very dregs. had mrs. pinkney known that after tramping as far as the outskirts of the town, and almost dropping from exhaustion, sammy had gone to bed on a pile of straw in an empty cow stable, she would have been even more troubled than she was. sammy, however, came to no harm. he slept so soundly in fact on the rude couch that it was mid-forenoon before he awoke--stiff, sore in muscles, clamorously hungry, and in a frame of mind to go immediately home and beg for breakfast. he had more money tied up in his handkerchief, however, than he had ever possessed before when he had run away. there was a store in sight at the roadside not far ahead. he hid his bag in the bushes and bought crackers, ham, cheese, and a big bottle of sarsaparilla, and so made a hearty if not judicious breakfast and lunch. at least, this picnic meal cured the slight attack of homesickness which he suffered. he was no longer for turning back. the whole world was before him and he strode away into it--lugging that extension-bag. while his troubled mother was showing agnes kenway the unmistakable traces of his departure for parts unknown, sammy was trudging along pretty contentedly, the bag awkwardly knocking against his knees, and his sharp eyes alive to everything that went on along the road. sammy had little love for natural history or botany, or anything like that. he suffered preparatory lessons in those branches of enforced knowledge during the school year. he did not care a bit to know the difference between a gray squirrel and a striped chipmunk. they both chattered at him saucily, and he stopped to try a shot at each of them with his gun. to sammy's mind they were legitimate game. he visualized himself building a fire in a fence corner, skinning and cleaning his game and roasting it over the flames for supper. but the squirrel and the chipmunk visualized quite a different outcome to the adventure and they refused to be shot by the amateur sportsman. sammy struck into a road that led across the canal by a curved bridge and right out into a part of the country with which he was not at all familiar. the houses were few and far between, and most of them were set well back from the road. sometimes dogs barked at him, but he was not afraid of watch dogs. he did not venture into the yards or up the private lanes. he had bought enough crackers and cheese to make another meal when he should want it. and there were sweet springs beside the road, or in the pastures where the cattle grazed. few vehicles passed him in either direction. it was the time of the late hay harvest and everybody was at work in the fields--and usually when he saw the haymakers at all, they were far from the road. he met no pedestrians at all. being quite off the line of the railroad, there were no tramps on this road, and of course there was nothing else to harm the boy. his mother, in her anxiety, peopled the world with those that would do sammy harm. in truth, he was never safer in his life! but adventure? why, the world was full of it, and sammy pinkney expected to meet any number of exciting incidents as he went on. "sammy," dot kenway once said, "has just a _wunnerful_ 'magination. why! if he sees our old sandyface creeping through the grass after a poor little field mouse, sammy can think she's a whole herd of tigers. his 'magination is just wunnerful!" chapter vii--the bracelet again to the fore while sammy's sturdy, if short, legs were leaving home and milton steadily behind him, dot and tess were driving scalawag, the calico pony, to penny & marchant's store, and later to mr. howbridge's house to deliver the note ruth had entrusted to them. their guardian had always been fond of the kenway sisters--since he had been appointed their guardian by the court, of course--and tess and dot could not merely call at mr. howbridge's door and drive right away again. besides, there were ralph and rowena birdsall. the birdsall twins had of late likewise come under mr. howbridge's care, and circumstances were such that it was best for their guardian to take the twins into his own home. having two extremely active and rather willful children in his household had most certainly disturbed mr. howbridge out of the rut of his old existence. and ralph and rowena quite "turned the 'ouse hupside down," to quote hedden, mr. howbridge's butler. the moment the twins spied tess and dot in the pony phaeton they tore down the stairs from their quarters at the top of the howbridge house, and flew out of the door to greet the little corner house girls. "oh, tessie and dot!" cried rowena, who looked exactly like her brother, only her hair was now grown long again and she no longer wore boy's garments, as she had when the kenways first knew her. "how nice to see you!" "where's sammy?" ralph demanded. "why didn't he come along, too?" "we're glad to see you, rowena and rafe," tess said sedately. but dot replied eagerly to the boy twin: "oh, rafe! what do you think? sammy's run away again." "get out!" "i'm going to," said dot, considering ralph's ejaculation of amazement an invitation to alight, and she forthwith jumped down from the step of the phaeton. "you can't mean that sammy has run off?" cried ralph. "listen to this, rowdy." "what a silly boy!" criticised his sister. "i don't know," chuckled ralph birdsall. "'member how you and i ran away that time, rowdy?" "oh--well," said his sister. "we had reason for doing so. but you know sammy pinkney's got a father and a mother--and for pity's sake, rafe, stop calling me rowdy." "and he's got a real nice bulldog, too," added dot, reflectively considering any possibility why sammy should run away. "i can't understand why he does it. he only has to come back home again. i did it once, and i never mean to run away from home again." meanwhile tess left ralph to hitch scalawag while she marched up the stone steps of the howbridge house to deliver ruth's note into hedden's hand, who took it at once to mr. howbridge. dot interested the twins almost immediately in another topic. rowena naturally was first to spy the silver girdle around the alice-doll's waist. "what a splendid belt!" cried rowena birdsall. "is it real silver, dot?" "it--it's fretful silver," replied the littlest corner house girl. "isn't it pretty?" "why," declared ralph after an examination, "it's an old, old bracelet." "well, it is old, i s'pose," admitted dot. "but my alice-doll doesn't know that. _she_ thinks it is a brand new belt. but of course she can't wear it every day, for half the time the bracelet belongs to tess." this statement naturally aroused the twins' curiosity, and when tess ran back to join them in the front yard the story of the gypsy basket and the finding of the bracelet lost nothing of detail by being narrated by both of the corner house girls. "oh, my!" cried rowena. "maybe those gypsies are just waiting to grab you. gypsies steal children sometimes. don't they, rafe?" "course they do," agreed her twin. dot looked rather frightened at this suggestion, but tess scorned the possibility. "why, how foolish," she declared. "dot and i were lost once--all by ourselves. even tom jonah wasn't with us. weren't we, dot? and we slept out under a tree all night, and a nice gypsy woman found us in the morning and took us to her camp. didn't she, dot?" "oh, yes! and an owl howled at us," agreed the smaller girl. "and i'd much rather sleep in a gypsy tent than have owls howl at me." "the owl _hooted_, dot," corrected tess. "well, what's the difference between a hoot and a howl?" demanded dot, rather crossly. she did so hate to be corrected! "well, of course," said rowena birdsall thoughtfully, "if you are acquainted with gypsies maybe you wouldn't be scared. but i don't believe they gave you this bracelet for nothing." "no," agreed dot quickly. "for forty-five cents. and we still owe sammy pinkney twenty-five cents of it. and he's run away." so they got around again to the first exciting piece of news tess and dot had brought, and were discussing that when mr. howbridge came out to speak to the little visitors, giving them his written answer to ruth's note. he heard about sammy's escapade and some mention of the gypsies. "well," he chuckled, "if sammy pinkney has been carried off by the gypsies, i sympathize with the gypsies. i have a very vivid recollection of how much trouble sammy can make--and without half trying. "now, children, give my note to ruth. i am very sorry that luke shepard is ill. if he does not at once recover it may be well to bring him here to milton. with his aunt only just recovering from her illness, it would be unwise to take the boy home." this he said more to himself than to the little girls. because of their errand tess and dot could remain no longer. ralph unhitched the pony and tess drove away. around the very first corner they spied a dusty, rather battered touring-car just moving away. a big, dark man, with gold hoops in his ears, was driving it. there was a brilliantly dressed young woman in the tonneau, which was otherwise filled with boxes, baskets, a crate of fruit, and odd-shaped packages. "oh, tess!" squealed dot. "see there!" "oh, dot!" rejoined her sister quite as excitedly. "that is the young gypsy lady." "oh-oo!" moaned dot. "have we _got_ to give her back this fretful silver bracelet, tessie?" "we must _try_," declared tess firmly. "ruth says so. get up, scalawag! come on--hurry! we must catch them." the touring-car was going away from the pony-phaeton. scalawag objected very much to going faster than his usual easy jog trot--unless it were to dance behind a band! _he_ didn't care to overtake the gypsies' motor-car. and that car was going faster and faster. tess stopped talking to the aggravating scalawag and lifted up her voice to shout after the gypsies. "oh, stop! stop!" she called. "miss--miss gypsy! we've got something for you! why, dot, you are not hollering at all!" "i--i'm trying to," wailed the smaller girl. "but i do so hate to make alice give up her belt." the gypsy turned his car into a cross street ahead and disappeared. when scalawag brought the corner house girls to that corner the car was so far away that the girls' voices at their loudest pitch could not have reached the ears of the romany folk. "now, just see! we'll never be able to give that bracelet back if you don't do your share of the hollering, dot kenway," complained tess. "i--i will," promised dot. "anyway, i will when it's your turn to wear the bracelet." the little girls reached home again at a time when the whole corner house family seemed disrupted. to the amazement of tess and dot their sister ruth had departed for the mountains. neale had only just then returned from seeing her aboard the train. "and it's too late to stop her, never mind what mr. howbridge says in this note," cried agnes. "that foolish cecile! here is the second half of her telegraph message," and she read it aloud again: "until afternoon; will wire you then how he is." "crickey!" gasped neale, red in the face with laughter, and taking the two telegrams to read them in conjunction: "arrived oakhurst. they will not let me see luke until afternoon. will wire you then how he is." "isn't that just like a girl?" "no more like a girl than it is like a boy," snapped agnes. "i'm sure all the brains in the world are not of the masculine gender." "i stand corrected," meekly agreed her friend. "just the same, i don't think that even you, aggie, would award cecile shepard a medal for perspicuity." "why--_why_," gasped the listening dot, "has cecile got one of those things the matter with her? i thought it was luke who got hurt?" "you are perfectly right, dottie," said agnes, before neale could laugh at the little girl. "it _is_ luke who is hurt. but this neale o'neil is very likely to dislocate his jaw if he pronounces many such big words. he is only showing off." "squelched!" admitted neale good-naturedly. "well, what do you wish done with the car? shall i put it up? can't chase ruth's train in it, and bring her back." "you might chase the gypsies," suggested tess slowly. "we saw them again--dot and me." "oh! the gypsies? what do you think, neale? i do believe there is something in that fortune-telling business," agnes cried. "i bet there is," agreed neale. "money for the gypsies." but agnes repeated what the gypsy girl had said to ruth and herself just as the elder corner house girl was starting for the train. "i saw that gyp of course," agreed neale. "but, pshaw! she only just _guessed_. of course there isn't any truth in what those fortune tellers hand you. not much!" "there was something in that basket they handed tess and me," said dot, complacently eyeing the silver girdle on the alice-doll. "say! about that bracelet, aggie," broke in neale. "do you know what i believe?" "what, neale?" "i believe those gypsies must have stolen it. then they got scared, thinking that the police were after them, and the women dropped it into the basket the kids bought, believing they could get the bracelet back when it was safe for them to do so." "do you really suppose that is the explanation?" "i am afraid the bracelet is 'stolen goods.' perhaps the children had better not carry it away from the house any more. or until we are sure. the police--" "mercy me, neale! you surely would not tell the police about the bracelet?" "not yet. but i was going to suggest to ruth that she advertise the bracelet in the milton _morning post_. advertise it in the 'lost and found' column, just as though it had been picked up somewhere. then let us see if the gypsies--or somebody else--comes after it." "and if somebody does?" "well, we can always refuse to give it up until ownership is proved," declared neale. "all right. let's advertise it at once. we needn't wait for ruth to come back," said the energetic agnes. "how should such an advertisement be worded, neale?" they proceeded to evolve a reading notice advertising the finding of the silver bracelet, which when published added not a little to the complications of the matter. chapter viii--the misfortunes of a runaway in this present instance sammy pinkney was not obliged to exert his imagination to any very great degree to make himself believe that he was having real adventure. romance very soon took the embryo pirate by the hand and led him into most exciting and quite unlooked-for events. sammy's progress was slow because of the weight of the extension-bag. yet as he trudged on steadily he put a number of miles behind him that afternoon. had his parents known in which direction to look for him they might easily have overtaken the runaway. neale o'neil could have driven out this road in the kenway's car and brought sammy back before supper time. mr. pinkney, however, labored under the delusion that because sammy was piratically inclined, he would head toward the sea. so he got in touch with people all along the railroad line to pleasant cove, suspecting that the boy might have purchased a ticket in that direction with a part of the contents of his burglarized bank. the nearest thing to the sea that sammy came to after passing the canal on the edge of milton was a big pond which he sighted about mid-afternoon. its dancing blue waters looked very cool and refreshing, and the young traveler thought of his bathing suit right away. "i can hide this bag and take a swim," he thought eagerly. "i bet that pond is all right. hullo! there's some kids. i wonder if they would steal my things if i go in swimming?" he was not incautious. being mischievously inclined himself, he suspected other boys of having similar propensities. the boys he had observed were playing down by the water's edge where an ice-house had once stood. but the building had been destroyed by fire, all but its roof. the eaves of this shingled roof, which was quite intact, now rested on the ground. the boys were sliding from the ridge of the roof to the ground, and then climbing up again to repeat the performance. it looked to be a lot of fun. after sammy had hidden his extension-bag in a clump of bushes, he approached the slide. one boy, who was the largest and oldest of the group, called to sammy: "come on, kid. try it. the slide's free." it looked to be real sport, and sammy could not resist the invitation given so frankly. he saw that the bigger boy sat on a piece of board when he slid down the shingles; but the others slid on the seat of their trousers--and so did sammy. it proved to be an hilarious occasion. one might have heard those boys shouting and laughing a mile away. a series of races were held, and sammy pinkney managed to win his share of them. this so excited him that he failed for all of the time to notice what fatal effect the friction was having upon his trousers. he was suddenly reminded, however, by a startling happening. all the shingles on that roof were not worn smooth. some were "splintery." sammy emitted a sharp cry as he reached the ground after a particularly swift descent of the roof, and rising, he clapped his hand to that part of his anatomy upon which he had been tobogganing, with a most rueful expression on his countenance. "oh, my! oh, my!" cried sammy. "i've got two big holes worn right through my pants! my good pants, too. my maw will give me fits, so she will. i'll never _dare_ go home now." the big boy who had saved his own trousers from disaster by using the piece of board to slide on, shouted with laughter. but another of the party said to sammy: "don't tell your mother. i aren't going to tell _my_ mother, you bet. by and by she'll find the holes and think they just wore through naturally." "well," said sammy, with a sigh, "i guess i've slid down enough for to-day, anyway. good-bye, you fellers, i'll see you later." he did not feel at all as cheerful as he spoke. he was really smitten with remorse, for this was almost a new suit he had on. he wished heartily that he had put on that cowboy suit--even his bathing suit--before joining that coasting party. "that big feller," grumbled sammy, "is a foxy one, he is! he didn't wear through his pants, you bet. but _me_--" sammy was very much lowered in his own estimation over this mishap. he was by no means so smart as he had believed himself to be. he felt gingerly from time to time of the holes in his trousers. they were of such a nature that they could scarcely be hidden. "crickey!" he muttered, "she sure will give me fits." the boys he had been playing with disappeared. sammy secured his bag and suddenly found it very, very heavy. evening was approaching. the sun was so low now that its almost level rays shone into his eyes as he plodded along the road. a farmer going to milton market in an auto-truck, its load covered with a brown tarpaulin, passed sammy. if it had not been for the holes in his trousers, and what his mother would do and say about it, the boy surely would have asked the farmer for a ride back home! his hesitancy cost him the ride. and he met nobody else on this road he was traveling. he struggled on, his courage beginning to ebb. he had eaten the last crumbs of his lunch. after the pond was out of sight behind him the runaway saw no dwellings at all. the road had entered a wood, and that wood grew thicker and darker as he advanced. fireflies twinkled in the bushes. there was a hum of insect life and somewhere a big bullfrog tuned his bassoon--a most eerie sound. a bat flew low above his head and sammy dodged, uttering a startled squawk. "crickey! i don't like this a bit," he panted. but the runaway was no coward. he was quite sure that there was nothing in these woods that would really hurt him. he could still see some distance back from the road on either hand, and he selected a big chestnut tree at the foot of which, between two roots, there was a hollow filled with leaves and trash. this made not a bad couch, as he very soon found. he thrust the bag that had become so heavy farther into the hollow and lay down before it. but tired as he was, he could not at once go to sleep. somewhere near he heard a trickle of water. the sound made the boy thirsty. he finally got up and stumbled through the brush, along the roadside in the direction of the running water. he found it--a spring rising in the bank above the road. sammy carried a pocket-cup and soon satisfied his thirst by its aid. he had some difficulty in finding his former nest; but when he did come to the hollow between two huge roots, with the broadly spreading chestnut tree boughs overhead, he soon fell asleep. nothing disturbed sammy thereafter until it was broad daylight. he awoke as much refreshed as though he had slept in his own bed at home. young muscles recover quickly from strain. all he remembered, too, was the fun he had had the day before, while he was foot-loose. even the disaster to his trousers seemed of little moment now. he had always envied ragged urchins; they seemed to have so few cares and nobody to bother them. he ran with a whoop to the spring, drank his fill from it, and then doused his face and hands therein. the sun and air dried his head after his ablutions and there was nobody to ask if "he had washed behind his ears." he returned to the chestnut tree where he had lain all night, whistling. of course he was hungry; but he believed there must be some house along the road where he could buy breakfast. sammy pinkney was not at all troubled by his situation until, stooping to look into the cavity near which he had slept, he made the disconcerting discovery that his extension-bag was not there! "wha--wha--_what_?" stammered sammy. "it's gone! who took it?" that he had been robbed while he went to the spring was the only explanation there could be of this mysterious disappearance. at least, so thought sammy. he ran around the tree, staring all about--even up into the thickly leaved branches where the clusters of green burrs were already formed. then he plunged through the fringe of bushes into the road to see if he could spy the robber making away in either direction. all he saw was a rabbit hopping placidly across the highway. a jay flew overhead with raucous call, as though he laughed at the bereft boy. and sammy pinkney was in no mood to stand being laughed at! "you mean old thing!" he shouted at the flashing jay--which merely laughed at him again, just as though he did know who had stolen sammy's bag and hugely enjoyed the joke. in that bag were many things that sammy considered precious as well as necessary articles of clothing. there was his gun and the shot for it! how could he defend himself from attack or shoot game in the wilds, if either became necessary? "oh, dear!" sammy finally sniffed, not above crying a few tears as there was nobody by to see. "oh, dear! now i've _got_ to wear this good suit--although 'tain't so good anyway with holes in the pants. "but all my other things--crickey! ain't it just mean? whoever took my bag, i hope he'll have the baddest kind of luck. i--i hope he'll have to go to the dentist's and have all his teeth pulled, so i do!" which, from a recent experience of the runaway, seemed the most painful punishment that could be exacted from the thief. wishing any amount of ill-fortune for the robber would not bring back his bag. sammy quite realized this. he had his money safely tied into a very grubby handkerchief, so that was all right. but when he started off along the road at last, he was in no very cheerful frame of mind. chapter ix--things go wrong of course there was no real reason why life at the old corner house should not flow quite as placidly with ruth away as when the elder sister was at home. it was a fact, however, that things seemed to begin to go wrong almost at once. having written the notice advertising the silver bracelet as though it had been found by chance, agnes made neale run downtown again at once with it so as to be sure the advertisement would be inserted in the next morning's _post_. as the automobile had not been put into the garage after the return from taking ruth to the station, neale used it on this errand, and on his way back there was a blowout. of course if ruth had been at home she could scarcely have averted this misfortune. however, had she been at home the advertisement regarding the bracelet might not have been written at all. meanwhile, mrs. mccall's preserve jars did not seal well, and the next day the work had to be done all over again. linda cut her finger "to the bone," as she gloomily announced. and uncle rufus lost a silver dollar somewhere in the grass while he was mowing the lawn. "an' dollars is as scarce wid me as dem hen's teef dey talks about," said the old darkey. "an' i never yet did see a hen wid teef--an' ah reckon i've seen a million of 'em." "oh-oo!" murmured dot kenway. "a million hens, unc' rufus? _is_ there that many?" "he, he!" chuckled the old man. "ain't that the beatenes' chile dat ever was? always a-questionin' an' a-questionin'. yo' can't git by wid any sprodigious statement when she is around--no, suh!" nor could such an expression as "sprodigious" go unchallenged with dot on the scene--no, indeed! a big word in any case attracted miss dorothy. "what does that mean, unc' rufus?" she promptly demanded. "is--is 'sprodigious' a dictionary word, or just one of your made-up words?" "go 'long chile!" chuckled the old man. "can't uncle rufus make up words just as good as any dictionary-man? if i knows what ah wants to say, ah says it, ne'er mind de dictionary!" "that's all very well, unc' rufus," tess put in. "but ruthie only wants us to use language that you find in books. so i guess you'd better not take that one from uncle rufus, dottie." "howcome missy ruth so pertic'lar?" grumbled the old man. "yo' little gals is gettin' too much l'arnin'--suah is! but none of hit don't find de ol' man his dollar." at this complaint tess and dot went to work immediately to hunt for the missing dollar. it was while they were searching along the hedgerow next to the creamers' premises that the little girls got into their memorable argument with mabel creamer about the lobster--an argument, which, being overheard by agnes, was reported to the family with much hilarity. mabel, an energetic and sharp-tongued child, and bubby, her little brother, were playing in their yard. that is, bubby was playing while mabel nagged and thwarted him in almost everything he wanted to do. "now, don't stoop over like that, bubby. your face gets all red like a lobster does. maybe you'll turn into one." "i _ain't_ a lobs'er," shouted bubby. "you will be one if you get red like that," repeated his sister in a most aggravating way. "i won't be a lobs'er!" wailed bubby. "of course you won't be a lobster, bubby," spoke up tess from across the hedge. "you're just a boy." "course i's a boy," declared bubby stoutly, sensing that tess kenway's assurance was half a criticism. "i don't want to be a lobs'er--nor a dirl, so there!" "oh-oo!" gasped dot. "you will be a lobster and turn all red if you are a bad boy," declared mabel, who was always in a bad temper when she was made to mind bubby. "why, mabel," murmured dot, who knew a thing or two about lobsters herself, "you wouldn't boil bubby, would you?" "don't have to boil 'em to make 'em turn red," declared mabel, referring to the lobster, not the boy. "my father brought home live lobsters once and the big one got out of the basket on to the kitchen floor." "oh, my!" exclaimed the interested dot. "what happened?" with her imagination thus spurred by appreciation, mabel pursued the fancy: "and there were three little ones in the basket, and that old, big lobster tried to make them get out on the floor too. and when they wouldn't, what do you think?" "i don't know," breathed dot. "why, he got so mad at them that he turned red all over. i saw him--" "why, mabel creamer!" interrupted tess, unable to listen further to such a flight of fancy without registering a protest. "that can't be so--you know it can't." "i'd like to know why it can't be so?" demanded mabel. "'cause lobsters only turn red when they are boiled. they are all green when they are alive." "how do you know so much, tess kenway?" cried mabel. "these are my lobsters and i'll have them turn blue if i want to--so there!" there seemed to be no room for further argument. besides, mabel grabbed bubby by the hand and dragged him away from the hedge. "my!" murmured dot, "mabel has _such_ a 'magination. and maybe that lobster did get mad, tess. we don't know." "she never had a live lobster in her family," declared tess, quite emphatically. "you know very well, dot kenway, that mr. creamer wouldn't bring home such a thing as a live lobster, when there are little children in his house." "m--mm--i guess that's so," agreed dot. "a live lobster would be worse than sammy pinkney's bulldog." thus reminded of the absent sammy the two smaller corner house girls postponed any further search for uncle rufus's dollar and went across the street to learn if any news had been gained of their runaway playmate. mrs. pinkney was still despairing. she had imagined already a score of misfortunes that might have befallen her absent son, ranging from his eating of green apples to being run over by an automobile. "but, mrs. pinkney!" burst forth tess at last, "if sammy has run away to sea to be a pirate, there won't be any green apples for him to eat--and no automobiles." "oh, you can never tell what trouble sammy pinkney will manage to get into," moaned his mother. "i can only expect the very worst." "well," dot remarked with a sigh, as she and tess trudged home to supper, "i'm glad there is only one boy in _my_ family. my boy doll, nosmo king kenway, will probably be a source of great anxiety when he is older." "i wouldn't worry about that," tess told her placidly. "if he is very bad you can send him to the reform school." "oh--oo!" gasped dot, all her maternal instincts aroused at such a suggestion. "that would be awful." "i don't know. they do send boys to the reform school. jimmy mulligan, whose mother lives in that little house on willow wythe, is in the reform school because he wouldn't mind his mother." "but they don't send sammy there," urged dot. "no--o. of course," admitted the really tender-hearted tess, "we know sammy isn't really naughty. he is only silly to run away every once in a while." there was much bustle inside the old corner house that evening. because they really missed ruth so much, her sisters invented divers occupations to fill the hours until bedtime. tess and dot, for instance, had never cut out so many paper-dolls in all their lives. another telegram had arrived from cecile shepard (sent, of course, before ruth had reached oakhurst), stating that she had been allowed to see her brother and that, although he could not be immediately moved, he was improving and was absolutely in no danger. "if ruthie had only waited to get _this_ message," complained agnes, "she would not have gone up there to the mountains at all. and just see, neale, how right that gypsy girl was. there was news on the way that changed the whole aspect of affairs. she was quite wonderful, _i_ think." by this time neale saw that it was better not to try to ridicule agnes' budding belief in fortune telling. "less said, the soonest mended," was his wise opinion. "i like cecile shepard," agnes went on to say, "and always shall; but i don't think she has shown much sense about her brother's illness. scaring everybody to death, and sending telegrams like a patch-work quilt!" "maybe ruth will come right home again when she finds luke is all right," said tess hopefully. "dear, me! aren't boys a lot of trouble?" "sammy and luke are," agreed dot. "all but neale," said the loyal agnes, her boy chum having departed. "i don't see what this family would do without neale o'neil." in the morning the older sister's absence seemed to make quite as great a gap in the household of the old corner house as at night. but neale rushed in early with the morning paper to show agnes their advertisement in print. under the "lost and found" heading appeared the following: "found:--silver bracelet, antique design. owner can regain it by proving property and paying for this advertisement. apply kenway, willow and main streets." "it sounds quite dignified," decided agnes admiringly. "i guess ruth would approve." "crickey!" ejaculated neale o'neil, "this is _one_ thing ruth is not bossing. we did this off our own bat, aggie." "just the same," ruminated agnes, "i wonder what mr. howbridge will say if he reads it?" "i am glad," said neale with gratitude, "that my father doesn't interfere with what i do. and i haven't any guardian, unless it is dear old con murphy. folks let me pretty much alone." "if they didn't," said agnes saucily, "i suppose you would run away as you did from the circus." "no," laughed her chum. "one runaway in the neighborhood is enough. mr. pinkney has been up half the night, he tells me, telephoning and sending telegrams. he has about made up his mind that sammy hasn't gone in the direction of pleasant cove, after all." "we ought to help hunt for sammy," cried agnes eagerly. "let us take mrs. pinkney in the auto, neale, and search for that little rascal." "no. she will not leave the house. she wants to greet sammy when he comes back--no matter whether it is day or night," chuckled neale. "but mr. pinkney is going to get away from the office this afternoon, and we'll take him. he is afraid his wife will be really ill." "poor woman!" "she cannot be contented to sit down and wait for sammy to turn up--as he always does." "you mean, he always gets turned up," giggled agnes. "somebody is sure to find him." "well, then, it might as well be us," agreed neale. "i'll tune up the engine, and see that the car is all right. we should be able to go over a lot of these roads in an afternoon. sammy could not have got very far from milton in two days, or less." chapter x--all is not gold that glitters quite unsuspicious of the foregoing plans for his apprehension, sammy pinkney was journeying on, going steadily away from milton, and traveling much faster now that he did not have to carry the extension-bag. the boy had no idea who could have stolen his possessions; but he rubbed his knuckles in his eyes, forced back the tears, and pressed on, feeling that freedom even without a change of garments was preferable to the restrictions of home and all the comforts there to be found. he walked two miles or more and was very hungry before he came to the first house. it stood just at the edge of the big wood in which sammy had spent the night. it was scarcely more than a tumbled-down hut, with broken panes of glass more common than whole ones in the windows, these apertures stuffed with hats and discarded garments, while half the bricks had fallen from the chimney-top. there were half a dozen barefooted children running about, while a very wide and red-faced woman stood in the doorway. "hullo, me bye!" she called to sammy, as he lingered outside the broken fence with a longing eye upon her. "where be yez bound so airly in the marnin'?" "i'm just traveling, ma'am," sammy returned with much dignity. "could--could you sell me some breakfast?" "breakfast, is it?" repeated the smiling woman. "shure, i'd give yez it, if mate wasn't so high now. come in me kitchen and sit ye down. there's tay in the pot, and i'll fry yez up a spider full o' pork and taters, if that'll do yez?" the menu sounded tempting indeed to sammy. he accepted the woman's invitation instantly and entered the house, past the staring children. the two oldest of the group, a shrewd-faced boy and a sharp-featured girl, stood back and whispered together while they watched the visitor. sammy was so much interested in the bountiful breakfast with which the housewife supplied him that he thought very little about the children peering in at the door and open windows. when he had eaten the last crumb he asked his hostess how much he should pay her. "well, me bye, i'll not overcharge ye," she replied. "if yez have ten cents about ye we'll call it square--an' that's only for the mate, as i said before is so high, i dunno." sammy produced the knotted handkerchief, put it on the table and untied it, displaying the coins it held with something of a flourish. the jingle of so many dimes brought a sigh of wonder in unison from the young spectators at door and windows. the woman accepted her dime without comment. sammy thanked her politely, wiped his mouth on his sleeve (napery was conspicuous by its absence in this household) and started out the door. the smaller children scattered to give him passage; the older boy and girl had already gone out of the badly fenced yard and were loitering along the road in the direction sammy was traveling. "hullo! here's raggedy-pants," said the girl saucily, when sammy came along. "how did you get them holes in your breeches, kid?" added the boy. "never you mind," rejoined sammy gruffly. "they're _my_ pants." "stuck up, ain't you?" jeered the girl and stuck out her tongue at him. sammy thought these were two very impolite children, and although he was not rated at home for his own chivalrous conduct, he considered these specimens in the road before him quite unpleasant young people. "ne'er mind," said the boy, looking at sammy slyly, "he don't know everything. he ain't seen everything if he is traveling all by himself. i bet he's run away." "i ain't running away from you," was sammy's belligerent rejoinder. "you would if i said 'boo!' to you." "no, i wouldn't." "ya!" scoffed the girl, leering at sammy, "don't talk so much. do something to him, peter." peter glanced warily back at the house. perhaps he knew the large, red-faced woman might take a hand in proceedings if he pitched upon the strange boy. "i bet," he said, starting on another tack, "that he never saw a cherry-colored calf like our'n." "i bet he never did," crowed the girl in delight. "a cherry-colored calf," scoffed sammy. "get out! there ain't such a thing. a calf might be red; there _are_ red cows--" "this calf is cherry-colored," repeated the boy earnestly. "it's down there in our pasture." "don't believe it," said sammy flatly. "'tis so!" cried the girl. "i tell you," said the very shrewd-looking boy. "we'll show it to you for ten cents." "i don't believe it," repeated sammy, but more doubtfully. the girl laughed at him more scornfully than before. "he's afraid to spend a dime--an' him with so much money," she cried. "i don't believe you've got a cherry-colored calf to show me." "gimme the dime and i'll show you whether we have or not," said peter. "no," said the cautious sammy. "i'll give you a dime _if_ you show it to me. but no foolin'. i won't give you a cent if the calf is any other color." "all right," shouted the other boy. "come on and i'll show you. come on, liz." "all right, peter," said the girl, quite as eagerly. "hurry up, raggedy-pants. we can use that dime, peter and me can." the bare-legged youngsters got through a rail fence and darted down a path into a scrubby pasture, as wild as unbroken colts. sammy, feeling fine after the bountiful breakfast he had eaten, chased after them wishing that he had thought to remove his shoes and stockings too. peter and liz seemed so much more free and untrammeled than he! "hold on!" puffed sammy, coming finally to the bottom of the slope. "i ain't going to run my head off for any old calf--huh!" from behind a clump of brush appeared suddenly a cow--a black and white cow, probably of the holstein breed. there followed a scrambling in the bushes. liz jumped into them with a shriek and drove out a little, blatting, stiff-legged calf. it was all of a glossy black, from its nose to the tip of its tail. "that's him! that's him!" shrieked liz. "a cherry-colored calf." "what did i tell you?" demanded the boy, peter. "give us the dime." "you go on!" exclaimed sammy. "i knew all the time you were story-telling. that's no cherry-colored calf." "'tis too! it's just the color of a black-heart cherry," giggled liz. "you got to give up ten cents." "won't neither," sammy declared. "i'll take it off you," threatened peter, growing belligerent. "you won't," stubbornly declared sammy, who did not propose to be cheated. peter jumped for him and sammy could not run. one reason why he could not retreat was because liz grabbed him from the rear, holding him around the waist. she pulled him over backward, while her brother began to pummel sammy most heartily from above. it was a most unfair attack and a most uncomfortable situation for the runaway. although he managed to defend his face for the most part from peter's blows, he could do little else. "lemme up! lemme up!" bawled sammy. "gimme the dime," panted peter. "i won't! 'tain't fair!" gasped sammy, too plucky to give in. liz had now squirmed from under the struggling boys. she must have seen at the house in which pocket sammy kept the knotted handkerchief, for she thrust her hand into that pocket and snatched out the hoard of dimes before the owner realized what she was doing. "hey! stop! lemme up!" roared sammy again. "i got it, peter!" shrieked liz, and, springing up, she darted into the bushes and disappeared. "stop! she's stole my money," gasped sammy in horror and alarm. "she never! you didn't have no money!" declared peter, and with a final blow that stunned sammy for the moment, the other leaped up and followed his wild companion into the brush. sammy, weeping in good earnest now, bruised and scratched in body and sore in spirit, climbed slowly to his feet. never before in any of his runaway escapades had he suffered such ignominy and loss. why! he had actually fallen among thieves. first his bag and all his chattels therein had been stolen. now these two ragamuffins had robbed him of every penny he possessed. he dared not go back to the house where he had bought breakfast and complain. the other youngsters there might fall upon and beat him again! sammy pinkney at last was tasting the bitter fruits of wrong doing. even weeding another beet-bed could have been no more painful than these experiences which he was now suffering. chapter xi--mysteries accumulate "and if you go to the store, or anywhere else for mrs. mccall or linda, remember _don't_ take that bracelet with you," commanded agnes in a most imperative manner, fairly transfixing her two smaller sisters with an index finger. "remember!" "ruthie didn't say so," complained dot. "did she, tess?" "but i guess we'd better mind what agnes says when ruth isn't at home," confessed tess, more amenable to discipline. "you know, aggie has got to be responsible now." "well," muttered the rebellious dot, "never mind if she is 'sponserble, she needn't be so awful bossy about it!" agnes did, of course, feel her importance while ruth was away. it was not often that she was made responsible for the family welfare in any particular. and just now the matter of the silver bracelet loomed big on her horizon. she scarcely expected the advertisement in the _morning post_ to bring immediate results. yet, it might. the gypsies' gift to the little girls was a very queer matter indeed. the suggestion that the bracelet had been stolen by the romany folk did not seem at all improbable. and if this was so, whoever had lost the ornament would naturally be watching the "lost and found" column in the newspaper. "unless the owner doesn't know he has lost it," agnes suggested to neale. "how's that? he'd have to be more absent-minded than professor ware not to miss a bracelet like that," scoffed her boy chum. "oh, professor ware!" giggled agnes, suddenly. "_he_ would forget anything, i do believe. do you know what happened at his house the other evening when the millers and mr. and mrs. crandall went to call?" "the poor professor made a bad break i suppose," grinned neale. "what did he do?" "why, mrs. ware saw the callers coming just before they rang the bell and the professor had been digging in the garden. of course she straightened things up a little before she appeared in the parlor to welcome the visitors. but the professor did not appear. somebody asked for him at last and mrs. ware went to the foot of the stairs to call him. "'oh, professor!' she called up the stairs, and the company heard him answer back just as plain: "'maria, i can't remember whether you sent me up here to change my clothes or to go to bed.'" "i can believe it!" chortled neale o'neil. "he has made some awful breaks in school. but i don't believe _he_ ever owned that bracelet, aggie." * * * * * the first person who displayed interest in the advertisement in the _post_ about the bracelet, save the two young people who put it in the paper, proved to add much to the mystery of the affair and nothing at all to the peace of mind of agnes, at least. agnes was busy at some mending--actually hose-darning, for ruth insisted that the flyaway sister should mend her own stockings, which aunt sarah's keen eyes inspected--when she chanced to raise her head to glance out of the front window of the sewing room. a strange looking turnout had halted before the front gate. the vehicle itself was a decrepit express wagon on the side of which in straggling blue letters was painted the one word "junk," but the horse drawing the wagon was a surprisingly well-kept and good looking animal. the back of the wagon was piled high with bundles of newspapers, and bags, evidently stuffed with rags, were likewise in the wagon body. the man climbing down from the seat just as agnes looked did not seem at all like the usual junk dealer who passed through milton's streets heralded by a "chime" of tin-can bells. he was a small, swarthy man, and even at the distance of the front gate from agnes' window the girl could see that he wore gold hoops in his ears. he was quick but furtive in his motions. he glanced in a birdlike way down the street and across the parade ground, which was diagonally opposite the old corner house, before he entered the front gate. "he'd better go around to the side door," thought agnes aloud. "he must be a very fashionable junkman to come to the front of the house. and at that i don't believe mrs. mccall has any rags or papers to sell just now." the swarthy man came straight on to the porch and up the steps. agnes heard the bell, and knowing linda was busy and being likewise rather curious, she dropped her stocking darning and ran into the front hall. the moment she unlatched the big door the swarthy stranger inserted himself into the house. "why! who are you?" she demanded, fairly thrust aside by the man's eagerness. she saw then that he had a folded paper in one hand. he thrust it before her eyes, pointing to a place upon it with a very grimy finger. "you have found it!" he chattered with great excitement. "that ancient bracelet which has for so many generations been an heirloom--yes?--of the costello. queen alma herself wore it at a time long ago. you have found it?" agnes was made almost speechless by his vehemence as well as by the announcement itself. "i--i--what _do_ you mean?" she finally gasped. "you know!" he ejaculated, rapping on the newspaper with his finger like a woodpecker on a dead limb. "you put in the paper--_here_. it is lost. you find. _you_ are kenway, and you say the so-antique bracelet shall be give to who proves property." "we will return it to the owner. only to the owner," interrupted agnes, backing away from him again, for his vehemence half frightened her. "shall i bring queen alma here to say it was her property?" he cried. [illustration: "you have found it!" he chattered with great excitement.] "that would be better. if queen alma--whoever she is--owns the bracelet we will give it to her when she proves property." the little man uttered a staccato speech in a foreign tongue. agnes did not understand. he spread wide his arms in a gesture of seemingly utter despair. "and queen alma!" he sputtered. "she is dead these two--no! t'ree hundred year!" "mercy me!" gasped agnes, backing away from him and sitting suddenly down in one of the straight-backed hall chairs. "mercy me!" chapter xii--getting in deeper "you see, mees kenway," sputtered the swarthy man eagerly, "i catch the paper, here." he rapped the _post_ again with his finger. "i read the engleesh--yes. i see the notice you, the honest kenway, have put in the paper--" "let me tell you, sir," said agnes, starting up, "_all_ the kenways are honest. i am not the only honest person in our family i should hope!" agnes was much annoyed. the excitable little foreigner spread abroad his hands again and bowed low before her. "please! excuse!" he said. "i admire all your family, oh, so very much! but it is to you who put in the paper the words here, about the very ancient silver bracelet." again that woodpecker rapping on the lost and found column in the _post_. "no?" "yes. i put the advertisement in the paper," acknowledged agnes, but wishing very much that she had not, or that neale o'neil was present at this exciting moment to help her handle the situation. "so! i have come for it," cried the swarthy man, as though the matter were quite settled. but agnes' mind began to function pretty well again. she determined not to be "rushed." this strange foreigner might be perfectly honest. but there was not a thing to prove that the bracelet given to tess and dot by the gypsy women belonged to him. "how do you know," she asked, "that the bracelet we have in our possession is the one you have lost?" "i? oh, no, lady! i did not lose the ancient heirloom. oh, no." "but you say--" "i am only its rightful owner," he explained. "had queen alma's bracelet been in my possession it never would have been lost and so found by the so--gracious kenway. indeed, no!" "then, what have you come here for?" cried agnes, in some desperation. "i cannot give the bracelet to anybody but the one who lost it--" "you say here the owner!" cried the man, beginning again the woodpecker tapping on the paper. "but how do i know you own it?" she gasped. "show it me. in one moment's time can i tell--at the one glance," was the answer of assurance. "oh, yes, yes, yes!" these "yeses" were accompanied by the emphatic tapping on the paper. agnes wondered that the _post_ at that spot was not quite worn through. perhaps it was fortunate that at this moment neale o'neil came in. that he came direct from the garage and apparently from a struggle with oily machinery, both his hands and face betrayed. "hey!" he exploded. "if we are going to take mr. pinkney out on a cross-country chase after that missing pirate this afternoon, we've got to get a hustle on. you going to be ready, aggie? mr. pinkney gets home at a quarter to one." "oh, neale!" cried agnes, turning eagerly to greet the boy. "talk to this man--do! i don't know what to say to him." the boy's countenance broadened in a smile. "'say "hullo!" and "how-de-do!" "how's the world a-using you?"'" quoted neale, and chuckled outright. "what's his name? what does he want?" "costello--that me," interposed the strange junkman. he gazed curiously at neale with his snapping black eyes. "_you_ are not kenway--here in the pape'?" again the finger tapped upon the lost and found column in the _post_. neale shook his head. he glanced out of the open door and spied the wagon and its informative sign. "you are a junkman, are you, mr. costello?" "yes, yes, yes! i buy the pape', buy the rag and bot'--buy anytheeng i get cheap. but not to buy do i come this time to mees kenway. no, no! i come because of this in the paper." his tapping finger called attention again to the advertisement of the bracelet. neale expelled a surprised whistle. "oh, aggie!" he said, "is he after the gypsy bracelet?" the swarthy man's face was all eagerness again. "yes, yes, yes!" he sputtered. "i am gypsy. spanish gypsy. of the tribe of costello. i am--what you say?--direct descendent of queen alma who live three hunder'--maybe more--year ago, and she own that bracelet the honest kenway find!" "she--she's dead, then? this queen alma?" stammered neale. "_si, si!_ yes, yes! but the so-antique bracelet descend by right to our family. that beeg jeem--" he burst again into the language he had used before which was quite unintelligible to either of his listeners; but neale thought by the man's expression of countenance that his opinion of "beeg jeem" was scarcely to be told in polite english. "wait!" neale broke in. "let's get this straight. we--we find a bracelet which we advertise. you say the bracelet is yours. where and how did you lose it?" "i already tell the honest kenway, i do _not_ lose it." "it was stolen from you, then?" "yes, yes, yes! it was stole. a long ago it was stole. and now beeg jeem say he lose it. you find--yes?" "this seems to be complicated," neale declared, shaking his head and gazing wonderingly at agnes. "if you did not lose it yourself, mr. costello--" "but it is mine!" cried the man. "we don't know that," said neale, somewhat bruskly. "you must prove it." "prove it?" "yes. in the first place, describe the bracelet. tell us just how it is engraved, or ornamented, or whatever it is. how wide and thick is it? what kind of a bracelet is it, aside from its being made of silver?" "ah! queen alma's bracelet is so well known to the costello--how shall i say? yes, yes, yes!" cried the man, with rather graceful gestures. "and when beeg jeem tell me she is lost--" "all right. describe it," put in neale. agnes suddenly tugged at neale's sleeve. her pretty face was aflame with excitement. "oh, neale!" she interposed in a whisper. "even if he can describe it exactly we do not know that he is the real owner." "shucks! that's right," agreed the boy. he turned to costello again demanding: "how can you prove that this bracelet--if it is the one you think it is--belongs to you?" "she belong to the costello family. it is an heirloom. i tell it you." "that's all right. but you've got to prove it. even if you describe the thing that only proves that you have seen it, or heard it described yourself. it might be so, you know, mr. costello. you must give us some evidence of ownership." "queen alma's bracelet--" began costello. the junkman made a despairing gesture with wide-spread arms. "me? how can i tell you, sir, and the honest kenway? it has always belong to the costello. yes, yes, yes! that so-ancient bracelet, beeg jeem have no right to it." "but he was the one who lost it!" exclaimed neale, being quite confident now of the identity of "beeg jeem." "yes, yes, yes! so he say. i no believe. then i see the reading here in the pape', of the honest kenway"--tap, tap, tapping once more of the forefinger--"and i see it must be so. i--" "hold on!" exclaimed neale. "you did not lose the bracelet. this other fellow did. you bring him here and let him prove ownership." "no, no!" raved costello, shaking both clenched hands above his head. "he shall not have it. it is mine. i am _the_ costello. queen alma, she give it to the great, great, great gran'mudder of _my_ great, great, great--" "shucks!" ejaculated neale. "now you are going too deep into the family records for me. i can't follow you. it looks to me like a case for the courts to settle." "oh, neale!" gasped agnes. "why, aggie, we'd get into hot water if we let this fellow, or any of those other gypsies, have the bracelet offhand. if this chap wants it, he will have to see mr. howbridge." "oh, yes!" murmured the girl with sudden relief in her voice. "we can tell mr. howbridge." "guess we'll have to," agreed neale. "we certainly have bit off more than we can chew, aggie. i'll say we have. i guess maybe we'd have been wiser if we had told your guardian about the old bracelet before advertising it. and ruth has nothing on us, at that! she did not tell him. "we're likely," concluded neale, with a side glance at the swarthy man, "to have a dozen worse than this one come here to bother us. we surely did start something when we had that ad. printed, aggie." chapter xiii--over the hills and far away costello, the junkman, could not be further ignored, for at this point he began another excitable harangue. the queen alma bracelet, "beeg jeem," his own sorrows, and the fact that he saw no reason why agnes should not immediately give up to him the silver bracelet, were all mixed up together in a clamor that became almost deafening. "oh, what shall i do? what _shall_ i do?" exclaimed the corner house girl. but neale o'neil was quite level-headed. like agnes, at first he had for a little while been swept off his feet by the swarthy man's vehemence. he regained his balance now. "we're not going to do anything. we won't even show him the bracelet," said the boy firmly. "but it is mine! it is the heirloom of the costello! i, myself, tell you so," declared the junkman, beating his breast now instead of the newspaper. "all right. i believe you. don't yell so about it," said neale, but quite calmly. "that does not alter the fact that we cannot give the bracelet up. that is, miss kenway cannot." "but she say here--in the paper--" "oh, stop it!" exclaimed the exasperated boy. "it doesn't say in that paper that she will hand the thing out to anybody who comes and asks for it. if this other fellow you have been talking about should come here, do you suppose we would give it up to him, just on his say so?" "no, no! it is not his. it never should have been in the possession of his family, sir. i assure you _i_ am the costello to whose ancestors the great queen alma of our tribe delivered the bracelet." "all right. let it go at that," answered neale. "all the more reason why we must be careful who gets it now. if it is honestly your bracelet you will get it, mr. costello. but you will have to see miss kenway's guardian and let him decide." "her--what you call it--does he have the bracelet?" cried the man. "he will have it. you go there to-morrow. i will give you his address. to-morrow he will talk to you. he is not in his office to-day. he is a lawyer." "oh, la, la! the law! i no like the law," declared costello. "no, i presume you gypsies don't," muttered neale, pulling out an envelope and the stub of a pencil with which to write the address of mr. howbridge's office. "there it is. now, that is the best we can do for you. only, nobody shall be given the bracelet until you have talked with mr. howbridge." "but, i no like! the honest kenway say here, in the paper--" as he began to tap upon the newspaper again neale, who was a sturdy youth, crowded him out upon the veranda of the old corner house. "now, go!" advised neale, when he heard the click of the door latch behind him. "you'll make nothing by lingering here and talking. there's your horse starting off by himself. better get him." this roused the junk dealer's attention. the horse was tired of standing and was half a block away. costello uttered an excited yelp and darted after his junk wagon. agnes let neale inside the house again. she was much relieved. "there! isn't this a mess?" she said. "i am glad you thought of mr. howbridge. but i _do_ wish ruth had been at home. she would have known just what to say to that funny little man." "humph! maybe it would have been a good idea if she had been here," admitted neale slowly. "ruth is awfully bossy, but things do go about right when she is on the job." "we'll have to see mr. howbridge--" "but that can wait until to-morrow morning," neale declared. "we can't do so this afternoon in any case. i happen to know he is out of town. and we have promised mr. pinkney to take him on a hunt for sammy." "all right. it is almost noon. you'd better go and wash your face, neale," and she began to giggle at him. "don't i know that? i came in here just to remind you to begin to prink before dinner or you'd never be ready." she was already halfway up the stairs and she leaned over the balustrade to make a gamin's face at him. "just you tend to your own apple cart, neale o'neil!" she told him. "i will be ready as soon as you are." at dinner, which was eaten in the middle of the day at this time of year at the old corner house, agnes appeared ready all but her hat for the car. "oh, aggie! can we go too?" cried dot. "we want to ride in the automobile, don't we, tess?" "we maybe want to go riding," confessed the other sister slowly. "but i guess we can't, dot. you forget that margie and holly pease are coming over at three o'clock. they haven't seen the fretted silver bracelet." "that reminds me," said agnes firmly. "you must not take that bracelet out of the house. understand? not at all." "why, aggie!" murmured tess, while dot grew quite red with indignation. "if you wish to play with it indoors, all right," agnes said. "whose turn to have it, is it to-day?" "mine," admitted tess. "then i hold you responsible. not out of the house. we have got to get mr. howbridge's advice about it, in any case." "ruth didn't say we couldn't wear the bracelet out-of-doors," declared dot, pouting. "i am in ruth's place," responded the older sister promptly. "now, remember! you might lose it anyway. and _then_ what would we do if the owner really comes for it?" "but they won't!" cried dot, confidently. "those gypsy ladies gave it to us for keeps. i am sure." "you certainly would not wish to keep the bracelet if the person the gypsies stole it from came here to get it?" said agnes sternly. "oh--oo! no-o," murmured dot. "of course we would not, sister," tess declared briskly. "if we knew just where their camp is we would take it to them anyway. of course we would, dot!" "oh, of course," agreed dot, but very faintly. "you children are so seldom observant," went on agnes in her most grown-up manner. "you should have looked into that basket when you bought it of the gypsies. then you would have seen the bracelet before the women got away. you are almost _never_ observant." "why, aggie!" tess exclaimed, rather hurt by the accusation of her older sister. "that is what your mr. marks said when he came into our grade at school just before the end of term last june." mr. curtis g. marks was the principal of the high school which agnes attended. "what was mr. marks doing over in your room, tess?" agnes asked curiously. "visiting. our teacher asked him to 'take the class.' you know, visiting teachers always _are_ so nosey," added tess with more frankness than good taste. "better not let ruth hear you use that expression, child," laughed agnes. "but what about being observant--or _un_observant?" "he told us," tess went on to say, "to watch closely, and then asked for somebody to give him a number. so somebody said thirty-two." "yes?" "and mr. marks went to the board and wrote twenty-three on it. of course, none of us said anything. then mr. marks asked for another number and somebody gave him ninety-four. then he wrote forty-nine on the board, and nobody said a word." "why didn't you?" asked agnes in wonder. "did you think he was teaching you some new game?" "i--i guess we were too polite. you see, he was a visitor. and he said right out loud to our teacher: 'you see, they do not observe. is it dense stupidity, or just inattention?' that's _just_ what he said," added tess, her eyes flashing. "oh!" murmured dot. "didn't he know how to write the number right?" "so," continued tess, "i guess we all felt sort of hurt. and belle littleweed got so fidgety that she raised her hand. mr. marks says: 'very well, you give me a number.' "belle lisps a little, you know, aggie, and she said right out: 'theventy-theven; thee if you can turn that around!' he didn't think we noticed anything, and were stupid; but i guess he knows better now," added tess with satisfaction. "that is all right," said agnes with a sigh. "i heartily wish you and dot had been observant when those women gave you the basket and you had found the bracelet in it before they got away. it is going to make us trouble i am afraid." agnes told the little ones nothing about the strange junkman and his claim. nor did she mention the affair to any of the remainder of the corner house family. she only added: "so don't you take the bracelet out of the house or let anybody at all have it--if neale or i are not here." "why, it would not be right to give the bracelet to anybody but the gypsy ladies, would it?" said tess. "of course not," agreed dot. "and _they_ haven't come after it." agnes did not notice these final comments of the two smaller girls. she had given them instructions, and those instructions were sufficient, she thought, to avert any trouble regarding the mysterious bracelet--whether it was "queen alma's" or not. the junkman, costello, certainly had filled agnes' mind with most romantic imaginations! if the old silver bracelet was a gypsy heirloom and had been handed down through the costello tribe--as the junkman claimed--for three hundred years and more, of course it would not be considered stolen property. the mystery remained why the gypsy women had left the bracelet in the basket they had almost forced upon the kenway children. the explanation of this was quite beyond agnes, unless it had been done because the gypsy women feared that this very costello was about to claim the heirloom, and they considered it safer with tess and dot than in their own possession. true, this seemed a far-fetched explanation of the affair; yet what so probable? the gypsies might be quite familiar with milton, and probably knew a good deal about the old corner house and the family now occupying it. the little girls would of course be honest. the gypsies were shrewd people. they were quite sure, no doubt, that the kenways would not give the bracelet to any person but the women who sold the basket, unless the right to the property could be proved. "and even if that costello man does own the bracelet, how is he going to prove it?" agnes asked neale, as they ran the car out of the garage after dinner. "i guess we are going to hand dear old mr. howbridge a big handful of trouble." "crickey! isn't that a fact?" grumbled neale. "the more i think of it, the sorrier i am we put that advertisement in the paper, aggie." there was nothing more to be said about that at the time, for mr. pinkney was already waiting for them on his front steps. his wife was at the door and she looked so weary-eyed and pale of face that agnes at least felt much sympathy for her. "oh, don't worry, mrs. pinkney!" cried the girl from her seat beside neale. "i am sure sammy will turn up all right. neale says so--everybody says so! he is such a plucky boy, anyway. nothing would happen to him." "but this seems worse than any other time," said the poor woman. "he must have never meant to come back, or he would not have taken that picture with him." "nonsense!" exclaimed her husband cheerfully. "sammy sort of fancied himself in that picture, that is all. he is not without his share of vanity." "that is what _you_ say," complained sammy's mother. "but i just feel that something dreadful has happened to him this time." "never mind," called neale, starting the engine, "we'll go over the hills and far away, but we'll find some trace of him, mrs. pinkney. sammy can't have hidden himself so completely that we cannot discover where he has been and where he is going." that is exactly what they did. they flew about the environs of milton in a rapid search for the truant. wherever they stopped and made inquiries for the first hour or so, however, they gained no word of sammy. it was three o'clock, and they were down toward the canal on the road leading to hampton mills, when they gained the first possible clue of the missing one. and that clue was more than twenty-four hours old. a storekeeper remembered a boy who answered to sammy's description buying something to eat the day before, and sitting down on the store step to eat it. that boy carried a heavy extension-bag and went on after he had eaten along the hampton mills road. "we've struck his trail!" declared neale with satisfaction. "don't you think so, mr. pinkney?" "how did he pay you for the things he bought?" asked the father of the runaway, addressing the storekeeper again. "what kind of money did he have?" "he had ten cent pieces, i remember. and he had them tied in a handkerchief. nicked his bank before he started, did he?" and the man laughed. "that is exactly what he did," admitted mr. pinkney, returning hurriedly to the car. "drive on, neale. i guess we are on the right trail." chapter xiv--almost had him neale drove almost recklessly for the first few miles after passing the roadside store; but the eyes of all three people in the car were very wide open and their minds observant. anything or anybody that might give trace of the truant sammy were scrutinized. "he was at that store before noon," agnes shouted into neale's ear. "how long before he would be hungry again?" "no knowing. pretty soon, of course," admitted her chum. "but i heard that storekeeper tell mr. pinkney that the boy bought more than he could eat at once and he carried the rest away in a paper bag." "that is so," admitted mr. pinkney, leaning over the forward seat. "but he has an appetite like a boa constrictor." "a _boy_-constrictor," chuckled neale. "i'll say he has!" "he would not likely stop anywhere along here to buy more food, then," agnes said. "he could have gone off the road, however, for a dozen different things," said the missing boy's father. "that child has got more crotchets in his head than you can shake a stick at. there is no knowing--" "hold on!" ejaculated neale suddenly. "there are some kids down there by that pond. suppose i run down and interview them?" "i don't see anybody among them who looks like sammy," observed agnes, standing up in the car to look. "never mind. you go ahead, neale. they will talk to you more freely, perhaps, than they will to me. boys are that way." "i'll try," said neale, and jumped out of the car and ran down toward the roof of the old ice-house that the afternoon before had so attracted sammy pinkney--incidentally wrecking his best trousers. as it chanced, neale had seen and now interviewed the very party of boys with whom sammy had previously made friends. but neale said nothing at first to warn these boys that he was searching for one whom they all considered "a good kid." "say, fellows," neale began, "was this an ice-house before it got burned down?" "yep," replied the bigger boy of the group. "and only the roof left? crickey! what have you chaps been doing? sliding down it?" for he had observed as he came down from the car two of the smaller boys doing just that. "it's great fun," said the bigger boy, grinning, perhaps at the memory of what had happened to sammy pinkney's trousers the previous afternoon. "want to try?" neale grinned more broadly, and gave the shingled roof another glance. "i bet _you_ don't slide down it like those little fellows i just saw doing it. how do their pants stand it?" the boys giggled at that. "say!" the bigger one said, "there was a kid came along yesterday that didn't get on to that--_till afterward_." "oh, ho!" chuckled neale. "he wore 'em right through, did he?" "yes, he did. and then he was sore. said his mother would give him fits." "where does he live? around here?" asked neale carelessly. "i never saw him before," admitted the bigger boy. "he was a good fellow just the same. you looking for him?" he asked with sudden suspicion. "i don't know. if he's the boy i mean he needn't be afraid to go home because of his torn pants. you tell him so if you see him again." "sure. i didn't know he was running away. he didn't say anything." "didn't he have a bag with him--sort of a suitcase?" "didn't see it," replied the boy. "we all went home to supper and he went his way." "which way?" "could not tell you that," the other said reflectively, and was evidently honest about it. "he was coming from that way," and he pointed back toward milton, "when he joined us here at the slide." "then he probably kept on toward--what is in that direction?" and neale pointed at the nearest road, the very one into which sammy had turned. "oh, that goes up through the woods," said the boy. "hampton mills is over around the pond--you follow yonder road." "yes, i know. but you think this fellow you speak of might have gone into that by road?" "he was headed that way when we first saw him," said the boy. "wasn't he, jimmy?" "sure," agreed the smaller boy addressed. "and, tony, i bet he _did_ go that way. when i looked back afterward i remember i saw a boy lugging something heavy going up that road." "i didn't see that that fellow had a bag," argued the bigger boy. "but he might have hid it when he came down here." "likely he did," admitted neale. "anyway, we will go up that road through the woods and see." "_is_ his mother going to give him fits for those torn pants?" asked another of the group. "she'll be so glad to see him home again," confessed neale, "that he could tear every pair of pants he's got and she wouldn't say a word!" he made his way up the bank to the car and reported. "i don't know where that woods-road leads to. i neglected to bring a map. but it looks as though we could get through it with the car. we'll try, sha'n't we?" "oh, do, neale," urged agnes. "i guess it is as good a lead as any," observed mr. pinkney. "somehow, i begin to feel as though the boy had got a good way off this time. even this clue is almost twenty-four hours old." "he must have stayed somewhere last night," cried agnes suddenly. "if there is a house up there in the woods--or beyond--we can ask." "right you are, aggie," agreed neale, starting the car again. "sammy pinkney is an elusive youngster, sure enough," said the truant's father. "something has got to stop him from running away. it costs too much time and money to overtake him and bring him back." "and we haven't done that yet," murmured agnes. the car struck heavy going in the road through the woods before they had gone very far up the rise. in places the road was soft and had been cut up by the wheels of heavy trucks or wagons. and they did not pass a single house--not even a cleared spot in the wood--on either hand. "if he started up this way so near supper time last evening, as those boys say," mr. pinkney ruminated, "where was he at supper time?" "here, or hereabout, i should say!" exclaimed neale o'neil. "why, it must have been pretty dark when he got this far." "if he really came this far," added agnes. "well, let us run along and see if there is a house anywhere," mr. pinkney said. "of course, sammy might have slept out--" "it wouldn't be the first time, i bet!" chuckled neale. "and of course there would be nothing to hurt him in these woods?" suggested agnes. "nothing bigger than a rabbit, i guess," agreed their neighbor. "well--" neale increased the speed of the car again, turned a blind corner, and struck a soft place in the road before he could stop. having no skidding chains on the rear wheels of course, the car was out of control in an instant. it slued around. agnes screamed. mr. pinkney shouted his alarm. the car slid over the bank of the ditch beside the road and both right wheels sank in mud and water to the hubs. "some pretty mess--i'll tell the world!" groaned neale o'neil, shutting off the engine, while agnes clung to his arm grimly to keep from sliding out into the ditch, too. "now, you _have_ done it!" shrilled the girl. "thanks. many thanks. i expected you to say that, aggie," he replied. "m-mm! well, i don't suppose you meant to--" "no use worrying about how it was done or who did it," interposed mr. pinkney, briskly getting out of the tonneau on the left side. "the question is, how are we going to right the car and get under way again?" "a truer word was never spoken," agreed neale o'neil. "come on, agnes. we'll creep out on this side, too. that's it. looks to me, mr. pinkney, as though we should need a couple of good, strong levers to pry up the wheels. you and i can do that while agnes gets in under the wheel and manipulates the mechanism, as it were." "you are the boss, here, neale," said the older man, immediately entering the wood on the right side of the road. "i see a stick here that looks promising." he passed under the broadly spreading branches of a huge chestnut tree. there were several of these monsters along the edge of the wood. mr. pinkney suddenly shouted something, and dropped upon his knees between two outcropping roots of the tree. "what is it, mr. pinkney?" cried agnes, running across the road. their neighbor appeared, erect again. in his hand he bore the well-remembered extension-bag which sammy pinkney had so often borne away from home upon his truant escapades. "what do you know about this?" demanded sammy's father. "here's his bag--filled with his possessions, by the feel of it. but where is the boy?" "he--he's got away!" gasped agnes. "and we almost had him," was neale's addition to the amazed remarks of the trio of searchers. chapter xv--uncertainties the secret had now been revealed! but of course it did not do sammy pinkney the least bit of good. his extension-bag had not been stolen at all. merely, when that sleepy boy had stumbled away the night before to the spring for a drink of water, he had not returned to the right tree for the remainder of the night. in his excitement in the morning, after discovering his loss, sammy ran about a good deal (as uncle rufus would have said) "like a chicken wid de haid cut off." he did not manage to find the right tree at all. the extension-bag was now in his father's hands. mr. pinkney brought it to the mired car and opened it. there was no mistaking the contents of the bag for anything but sammy's possessions. "what do you know about that?" murmured the amazed father of the embryo pirate. he rummaged through the conglomeration of chattels in the bag. "no, it is not here." "what are you looking for, mr. pinkney?" demanded agnes, feeling rather serious herself. something might have happened to the truant. "that picture his mother spoke of," the father answered, with a sigh. "hoh!" exclaimed neale o'neil, "if the kid thinks as much of it as mrs. pinkney says, he's got it with him. of course." "it looks so," admitted mr. pinkney. "but why should he abandon his clothes--and all?" "oh, maybe he hasn't!" cried agnes eagerly. "maybe he is coming back here." "you think this old tree," said mr. pinkney in doubt, "is sammy's headquarters?" "i--don't--know--" "that wouldn't be like sammy," declared neale, with conviction. "he always keeps moving--even when he is stowaway on a canalboat," and he chuckled at the memory of that incident. "for some reason he was chased away from here. or," hitting the exact truth without knowing it, "he tucked the bag under that tree root and forgot where he put it." "does that sound reasonable?" gasped agnes. "quite reasonable--for sammy," grumbled mr. pinkney. "he is just so scatter-brained. but what shall i tell his mother when i take this bag home to her? she will feel worse than she has before." "maybe we will find him yet," agnes interposed. "that's what we are out for," neale added with confidence. "let's not give up hope. why, we're finding clues all the time." "and now you manage to get us stuck in the mud," put in agnes, giving her boy friend rather an unfair dig. "have a heart! how could i help it? anyway, we'll get out all right. we sha'n't have to camp here all night, if sammy did." "that is it," interposed sammy's father. "i wonder if he stayed here all night or if he abandoned the bag here and kept on. maybe the woods were too much for his nerves," and he laughed rather uncertainly. "i bet sammy was not scared," announced neale, with confidence. "he is a courageous chap. if he wasn't, he would not start out alone this way." "true enough," said mr. pinkney, not without some pride. "but nevertheless it would help some if we were sure he was here only twelve hours ago, instead of twenty-four." "let's get the car out of the ditch and see if we can go on," neale suggested. "i'll get that pole you saw, mr. pinkney. and i see another lever over there." while mr. pinkney buckled the straps of the extension-bag again and stowed the bag under the seat, neale brought the two sticks of small timber which he thought would be strong enough to lift the wheels of the stalled car out of the ditch. but first he used the butt of one of the sticks to knock down the edge of the bank in front of each wheel. "you see," he said to agnes, "when you get it started you want to turn the front wheels, if you can, to the left and climb right out on to the road. mr. pinkney and i will do the best we can for you; but it is the power of the engine that must get us out of the ditch." "i--i don't know that i can handle it right, neale," hesitated agnes. "sure you can. you've got to!" he told her. "come on, mr. pinkney! let's see if we can get these sticks under the wheels on this side." "wait a moment," urged the man, who was writing hastily on a page torn from his notebook. "i must leave a note for sammy--if perhaps he should come back here looking for his bag." "better not say anything about his torn trousers, mr. pinkney," giggled agnes. "he will shy at that." "he can tear all his clothes to pieces if he'll only come home and stop his mother's worrying. only, the little rascal ought to be soundly trounced just the same for all the trouble he is causing us." "if only i had stayed with him at that beet bed and made sure he knew what he was doing," sighed agnes, who felt somewhat condemned. "it would have been something else that sent him off in this way, if it hadn't been beets," grumbled mr. pinkney. "he was about due for a break-away. i should have paid more attention to him myself. but business was confining. "oh, well; we always see our mistakes when it is too late. but that boy needs somebody's oversight besides his mother's. she is always afraid i will be too harsh with him. but she doesn't manage him, that is sure." "we'd better catch the rabbit before we make the rabbit stew," chuckled neale o'neil. "sammy is a good kid, i tell you. only he has crazy notions." "pooh!" put in agnes. "you need not talk in so old-fashioned a way. you used to have somewhat similar 'crazy notions' yourself. you ran away a couple of times." "well, did i have a real home and a mother and father to run from?" demanded the boy. "guess not!" "you've got a father now," laughed agnes. "but he isn't like a real father," sighed neale. "he has run away from me! i know it is necessary for him to go back to alaska to attend to that mine. but i'll be glad when he comes home for good--or i can go to him." "oh, neale! you wouldn't?" gasped the girl. "wouldn't what?" he asked, surprised by her vehemence. "go away up to alaska?" "i'd like to," admitted the boy. "wouldn't you?" "oh--well--if you can take me along," rejoined agnes with satisfaction, "all right. but under no other circumstances can you go, neale o'neil." chapter xvi--the dead end of nowhere mr. pinkney and neale went to work to hoist the motor-car into the road again. no easy nor brief struggle was this. a dozen times agnes started the car and the wheels slipped off the poles or neale or mr. pinkney lost his grip. before long they were well bespattered with mud (for there was considerable water in the ditch) and so was the automobile. neale and their neighbor worked to the utmost of their muscular strength, and agnes was in tears. "pluck up your courage, aggie," panted her boy friend. "we'll get it yet." "i just feel that it is my fault," sobbed the girl. "all this slipping and sliding. if i could only just get it to start right--" "again!" cried neale cheerfully. and this time the forewheels really got on solid ground. mr. pinkney thrust his lever in behind the sloughed hind wheel and blocked it from sliding back. "great!" yelled neale. "once more, aggie!" she obeyed his order, and although the automobile engine rattled a good deal and the car itself plunged like a bucking broncho, they finally got all the wheels out of the mud and on the firm road. "crickey!" gasped neale. "it looks like a battlefield." "and we look as though we had been in the battle all right," said mr. pinkney. "guess mamma pinkney will have something to say about _my_ trousers when we get home, let alone sammy's." "do you suppose the car will run all right?" asked the anxious agnes. "i don't know what ruth would say if we broke down." "she'd say a-plenty," returned neale. "but wait till i get some of this mud off me and i'll try her out again. by the way she bucked that last time i should say there was nothing much the matter with her machinery." this proved to be true. if anything was strained about the mechanism it did not immediately show up. neale got the automobile under way without any difficulty and they drove ahead through the now fast darkening road. the belt of woods was not very wide, but the car ran slowly and when the searchers came out upon the far side, the old shack which housed the big, red-faced woman, who had been kind to sammy, and her brood of children, some of whom had been not at all kind, the place looked to be deserted. in truth, the family were berry pickers and had been gone all day (after sammy's adventure with the cherry-colored calf) up in the hills after berries. they had not yet returned for the evening meal, and although neale stopped the car in front of the shack mr. pinkney decided sammy would not have remained at the abandoned place. and, of course, sammy had not remained here. after his exciting fight with peter and liz, and fearing to return to the house to complain, he had gone right on. where he had gone was another matter. the automobile party drove to the town of crimbleton, which was the next hamlet, and there mr. pinkney made exhaustive inquiries regarding his lost boy, but to no good result. "we'll try again to-morrow, mr. pinkney, if you say so," urged neale. "of course we will," agreed agnes. "we'll go every day until you find him." their neighbor shook his head with some sadness. "i am afraid it will do no good. sammy has given us the slip this time. perhaps i would better put the matter in the hands of a detective agency. for myself, i should be contented to wait until he shows up of his own volition. but his mother--" agnes and neale saw, however, that the man was himself very desirous of getting hold of his boy again. they made a hasty supper at the crimbleton inn and then started homeward at a good rate of speed. when they came up the grade toward the old house beside the road, at the edge of the wood, the big woman and her family had returned, made their own supper, and gone to bed. the place looked just as deserted as before. "the dead-end of nowhere," neale called it, and the automobile gathered speed as it went by. so the searchers missed making inquiry at the very spot where inquiry might have done the most good. the trail of sammy pinkney was lost. neale o'neil wanted to satisfy himself about one thing. he said nothing to agnes about it, but after he had put up the car and locked the garage, he walked down main street to byburg's candy store. june wildwood was always there until half past nine, and saturday nights until later. she was at her post behind the sweets counter on this occasion when neale entered. "i am glad to see you, neale," she said. "i'm awfully curious." "about that bracelet?" "yes," she admitted. "what has come of it? anything?" "enough. tell me," began neale, before she could put in any further question, "while you were with the gypsies did you hear anything about queen alma?" "queen zaliska. i was queen zaliska. they dressed me up and stained my face to look the part." "oh, i know all about that," neale returned. "but this queen alma was some ancient lady. she lived three hundred years ago." "goodness! how you talk, neale o'neil. of course i don't know anything about such a person." "those gypsies you were with never talked of her?" "i didn't hear them. i never learned much of the language they use among themselves." "well, we got a tip," said the boy, "that the bracelet belonged to this queen alma, and that there is a row among the gypsies over the ownership of it." "you don't tell me!" "i am telling you. we heard so. say, is that big jim a spaniard? a spanish gypsy, i mean?" "i don't know. maybe. he looks like a spaniard, or a mexican, or an italian." "yes. i thought he did. he comes of some latin race, anyway. what is his last name?" "why--i--i am not sure that i know." "is it costello? did you hear that name while you were with the gypsies, june?" "some of them are named costello. it is a family name among them i guess. and about that jim. do you know that i saw him yesterday driving down main street in an automobile?" "you don't mean it? gypsies are going to become flivver traders instead of horse swappers, are they?" and neale laughed. "oh, it was a big, seven-passenger car," said june. "those gypsies have money, if they want to spend it." "did you ever hear of a gypsy junkman?" chuckled neale. "of course not. although i guess junkmen make good money nowadays," drawled june wildwood, laughing too. "you are a funny boy, neale o'neil. do you want to know anything else?" "lots of things. but i guess you cannot tell me much more about the gypsies that would be pertinent to the bracelet business. we hear that the costello gypsies are fighting over the possession of the heirloom--the bracelet, you know. that is why one bunch of them wanted to get it off their hands for a while--and so gave it into the keeping of tess and dot." "mercy!" "does that seem improbable to you, june?" "no-o. not much. they might. it makes me think that maybe the gypsies have been watching the old corner house and know all about the kenways." "they might easily do that. you know, they might know us all from that time away back when we brought you home from pleasant cove with us. this is some of the same tribe you were with--sure enough!" "i know it," sighed june wildwood. "i've been scared a little about them too. but for my own sake. i haven't dared tell rosa; but pap comes down here to the store for me every evening and beaus me home. i feel safer." "the bracelet business has nothing to do with you, of course?" "of course not. but those gypsies might have some evil intent about ruth and her sisters." "guess they are just trying to use them for a convenience. while that bracelet is in the corner house no other claimant but those gypsy women are likely to get hold of it. believe me, it is a puzzle," he concluded. "i guess we will have to put it up to mr. howbridge, sure enough." "oh! the kenways's lawyer?" cried june. "their guardian. sure enough. that is what we will have to do." but when neale and agnes kenway, after an early breakfast, hurried downtown to mr. howbridge's office the next morning to tell the lawyer all about the gypsies and queen alma's bracelet, they made a surprising discovery. mr. howbridge had left town the evening before on important business. he might not return for a week. chapter xvii--ruth begins to worry oakhurst, in the mountains, was a very lovely spot. besides the hotel where luke shepard had worked and where he had met with his accident, there were bungalows and several old-fashioned farmhouses where boarders were received. there was a lake, fine golf links, bridlepaths through the woods, and mountains to climb. it was a popular if quiet resort. ruth and cecile shepard had rooms in one of the farmhouses, for the hotel was expensive. besides, the farmer owned a beautifully shaded lawn overlooking the lake and the girls could sit there under the trees while the invalid, as they insisted upon calling luke, reclined on a swinging cot. "believe me!" cecile often insisted, "i will never send another telegram as long as i live. i cannot forgive myself for making such a mess of it. but then, if i hadn't done so, you would not be here now, ruthie." "isn't that a fact?" agreed her brother. "you are all right, sis! i am for you, strong." ruth laughed. yet there were worried lines between her eyes. "it is all right," she murmured. "i might have come in any case--for mr. howbridge advised it by this letter that they remailed to me. but i should not have left in such haste, and i should have left somebody besides mrs. mccall to look after the girls." "pooh!" ejaculated luke. "what is the matter with agnes?" "that is just it," laughed ruth again, but shaking her head too. "it is agnes, and what she may do, that troubles me more than anything else." "goodness me! she is a big girl," declared cecile. "and she has lots of sense." "she usually succeeds in hiding her good sense, then," rejoined ruth. "of course she can take care of herself. but will she give sufficient attention to the little ones. that is the doubt that troubles me." "well, you just can't go away now!" wailed cecile. "you have got to stay till the doctor says we can move luke. i can't take him back alone." "now, don't make me out so badly off. i am lying here like a poor log because that sawbones and you girls make me. but i know i could get up and play baseball." [illustration: the girls could sit under the tree while luke reclined on a swinging cot.] "don't you dare!" cried his sister. "you would not be so unwise," said ruth promptly. "all right. then you stop worrying, ruth," the young fellow said. "otherwise i shall 'take up my bed and walk'--you see! this lying around like an ossified man is a nuisance, and it's absurd, anyway." ruth had immediately written to mr. howbridge asking him to look closely after family affairs at the corner house. had she known the lawyer was not at home when her letter arrived in milton she certainly would have started back by the very next train. she wrote mrs. mccall, too, for exact news. and naturally she poured into her letter to agnes all the questions and advice of which she could think. agnes was too busy when that letter arrived to answer it at all. things were happening at the old corner house at that time of which ruth had never dreamed. ruth was really glad to be with cecile and luke in the mountains. and she tried to throw off her anxiety. luke insisted that his sister and ruth should go over to the hotel to dance in the evening when he had to go to bed, as the doctor ordered. he had become acquainted with most of the hotel guests before his injury, and the young people liked luke shepard. they welcomed his sister and ruth as one of themselves, and the two girls had the finest kind of a time. at least, cecile did, and she said that ruth might have had, had she not been thinking of the home-folk so much. several days passed, and although ruth heard nothing from home save a brief and hurried note from agnes, telling of their unsuccessful search for sammy--and nothing much else--the older kenway girl began to feel that her anxiety had been unnecessary. then came mrs. mccall's labored letter. the old scotchwoman was never an easy writer. and her thoughts did not run to the way of clothing facts in readable english. she was plain and blunt. at least a part of her letter immediately made ruth feel that she was needed at home, and that even her interest in luke shepard should not detain her longer at oakhurst. * * * * * "we have got to have another watchdog. old tom jonah is too old; it is my opinion. i mind he is getting deaf, or something, or he wouldn't have let that man come every night and stare in at the window. faith, he is a nuisance--the man, i mean, ruth, not the old dog. "i have spoke to the police officer on the beat; but mr. howbridge being out of town i don't know what else to do about that man. and such a foxy looking man as he is! "neale o'neil, who is a good lad, i'm saying, and no worse than other boys of his age for sure, offers to watch by night. but i have not allowed it. he and aggie talk of gypsies, and they show me that silver bracelet--a bit barbarous thing that you remember the children had to play with--and say the dark man who comes to the window nights is a gypsy. i think he is a plain tramp, that is all, my lass. "don't let these few lines worry you. linda goes to bed with the stove poker every night, and uncle rufus says he has oiled up your great uncle's old shotgun. but i know that gun has no hammer to it, so i am not afraid of the weapon at all. i just want to make that black-faced man go away from the house and mind his own business. it is a nuisance he is." * * * * * "i must go home--oh, i must!" ruth said to cecile as soon as she had read this effusion from the old housekeeper. "just think! a man spying on them--and a gypsy!" "pooh! it can't be anything of importance," scoffed cecile. "it must be. think! i told you about the gypsy bracelet. there must be more of importance connected with that than we thought." she had already told luke and cecile about the mystery of the silver ornament. "why, i thought you had told mr. howbridge about it," cecile said. "i did not. i really forgot to when the news of luke's illness came," and ruth blushed. "that quite drove everything else out of your head, did it?" laughed the other girl. "but now why let it bother you? of course mr. howbridge will attend to things--" "but he seems to be away," murmured ruth. "evidently mrs. mccall and agnes have not been able to reach him. oh, cecile! i must really go home." "then you will have to come back," declared cecile shepard. "i could not possibly travel with luke alone." the physician had confided more to the girls than to luke himself about the young man's physical condition. the medical man feared some spinal trouble if luke did not remain quiet and lie flat on his back for some time to come. but the day following ruth's receipt of mrs. mccall's anxiety-breeding letter, dr. moline agreed to the young man's removal. "but only in a compartment. you must take the afternoon train on which you can engage a compartment. he must lie at ease all the way. i will take him to the station in my car. and have a car to meet him when you get to the milton station." the first of these instructions ruth was able to follow faithfully. the cost of such a trip was not to be considered. she would not even allow luke and cecile to speak about it. ruth had her own private bank account, arranged for and supervised, it was true, by mr. howbridge, and she prided herself upon doing business in a businesslike way. just before they boarded the train at oakhurst station she telegraphed home that they were coming and for neale to meet them with the car, late though their arrival would be. if on time, the train would stop at milton just after midnight. when that telegram arrived at the old corner house it failed to make much of a disturbance in the pool of the household existence. and for a very good reason. so much had happened there during the previous few hours that the advent of the king and queen of england (and this mrs. mccall herself said) would have created a very small "hooroo." as for neale o'neil's getting out the car and going down to the station to meet ruth and her friends when they arrived, that seemed to be quite impossible. the coming of the telegram was at an hour when already the kenway automobile was far away from milton, and neale and agnes in it were having high adventure. chapter xviii--the junkman again when ruth started home with luke and cecile shepard several days had elapsed since neale o'neil and agnes had discovered that mr. howbridge was out of town. the chief clerk at the lawyer's office had little time to give to the youthful visitors, for just then he had his hands full with a caller whom neale and agnes had previously found was a person not easily to be pacified. "there is a crazy man in here," grumbled the clerk. "i don't know what he means. he says he 'comes from kenway,' and there is something about queen alma and her bracelet. what do you know about this, miss kenway?" "oh, my prophetic soul!" gasped neale o'neil. "costello, the junkman!" "dear, me! we thought we could see mr. howbridge before that man came." "tell me what it means," urged the clerk. "then i will know what to say to the lunatic." "i guess he's a nut all right," admitted neale. he told the lawyer's clerk swiftly all they knew about the junkman, and all they knew about the silver bracelet. "all right. it is something for mr. howbridge to attend to himself," declared the clerk. "you hang on to that bracelet and don't let anybody have it. i'll try to shoo off this fellow. anyway, it may not belong to his family at all. i'll hold him here till you two get away." neale and agnes were glad to escape contact with the junkman again. he was too vehement. "he'll walk right in and search the house for the thing," grumbled neale. "we can't have him frightening the children." "and i don't want to be frightened myself," added agnes. they hurried home, and all that day, every time the bell rang or she heard a voice at the side door, the girl felt a sudden qualm. "wish we had never advertised that bracelet at all," she confessed in secret. "dear, me! i wonder what ruth will say?" nevertheless she failed to take her older sister into her confidence regarding queen alma's bracelet when she wrote to her. she felt quite convinced that ruth would not approve of what she and neale had done, so why talk about it? this was the attitude agnes maintained. perhaps the whole affair would be straightened out before ruth came back. and otherwise, she considered, everything was going well at the corner house in milton. it was miss ann titus who evinced interest next in the "lost and found" advertisement. miss ann titus was the woman whom dot called "such a fluid speaker" and who said so many "and-so's" that "ain't-so's." in other words, miss titus, the dressmaker, was a very gossipy person, although she was not intentionally unkind. she came in this afternoon, "stopping by" as she termed it, from spending a short sewing day with mrs. pease, a willow street neighbor of the corner house girls. "and i must say that mrs. pease, for a woman of her age, has young idees about dress," miss titus confided to mrs. mccall and agnes, who were in the sewing room. aunt sarah "couldn't a-bear" miss ann titus, so they did not invite the seamstress to go upstairs. "yes, her idees is some young," repeated miss titus. "but then, nowadays if you foller the styles in the fashion papers nobody can tell you and your grandmother apart, back to! skirts are so skimpy--and _short_!" miss titus fanned herself rapidly, and allowed her emphasis to suggest her own opinion of modern taste in dress. "of course, mrs. pease is slim and ain't lost all her good looks; but it does seem to me if i was a married woman," she simpered here a little, for miss titus had by no means given up all hope of entering the wedded state, "i should consider my husband's feelings. i would not go on the street looking below my knees as though i was twelve year old instead of thirty-two." "maybe mr. pease likes her to look young," suggested agnes. "hech! hech!" clucked mrs. mccall placidly. "thirty-twa is not so very auld. not as we live these days, at any rate." "but think of the example she sets her children," sniffed miss titus, bridling. "tut, tut! how much d'you expect margie and holly pease is influenced by their mother's style o' dress?" exclaimed the housekeeper. "the twa bairns scarce know much about that." "i guess that is so," chimed in agnes. "and i think she is a pretty woman and dresses nicely. so there!" "ah, you young things cannot be expected to think as i do," smirked miss titus. "i take that as a compliment, my dear," said the housekeeper comfortably. "and i never expect tae be vairy old until i die. still and all, i am some older than agnes." "that reminds me," said miss titus, more briskly (though it did not remind her, for she had come into the corner house for the special purpose of broaching the subject that she now announced), "which of you kenways is it has found a silver bracelet?" "now, _that_ is agnes' affair," chuckled mrs. mccall. "oh! it is not ruth that advertised?" queried the curious miss titus. "na, na! tell it her, agnes," said the housekeeper. but agnes was not sure she wished to describe to this gossipy seamstress all the incidents connected with queen alma's bracelet. she only said: "of course, you do not know anybody who has lost such a bracelet?" "how can i tell till i have seen it?" demanded miss titus. "well, we have about decided that until somebody comes who describes the bracelet and can explain how and where it was lost that we had better not display it at all," agnes said, with more firmness than was usual with her. "oh!" sniffed miss titus. "i hope you do not think that _i_ have any interest--any personal interest--in inquiring about it?" "if i thought it was yours, miss titus, i would let you see it immediately," agnes hastened to assure her. "but of course--" "there was a bracelet lost right on this street," said miss titus earnestly, meaning willow street and pointing that way, "that never was recovered to my knowledge." "oh! you don't mean it?" cried the puzzled girl. "of course, we don't _know_ that this one belongs to any of those gypsies--" "i should say not!" clucked miss titus. "the bracelet i mean was worn by sarah turner. she and i went together regular when we were girls. and going to prayer meeting one night, walking along here by the old corner house, sarah dropped her bracelet." "but--but!" gasped agnes, "that must have been some time ago, miss titus." "it is according to how you compute time," the dressmaker said. "sarah and i were about of an age. and she isn't more than forty years old right now!" "i don't think this bracelet we have is the one your friend lost," agnes said faintly, but confidently. she wanted to laugh but did not dare. "how do you know?" demanded miss ann titus in her snappy way--like the biting off of a thread when she was at work. "i should know it, even so long after it was lost, i assure you." "why--how?" asked the corner house girl curiously. "by the scratches on it," declared miss titus. "sarah's brother john made them with his pocketknife--on the inside of the bracelet--to see if it was real silver. oh! he was a bad boy--as bad as sammy pinkney. and what do you think of _his_ running away again?" agnes was glad the seamstress changed the subject right here. it seemed to her as though she had noticed scratches on the bracelet the gypsies had placed in the basket the children bought. could it be possible-"no! that is ridiculous!" agnes told herself. "it could not be possible that a bracelet lost forty years ago on willow street should turn up at this late date. and, having found it, why should those gypsy women give it to tess and dot? there would be no sense in that." yet, when the talkative miss titus had gone agnes went to the room the little folks kept their playthings and doll families in, and picked up the alice-doll which chanced that day to be wearing the silver band. she removed it from the doll and took it to the window where the light was better. yes! it was true as she had thought. there were several crosswise scratches on the inside of the circlet. they might easily have been made by a boy's jackknife. "i declare! who really knows where this bracelet came from, and who actually owns it? maybe it is not queen alma's ornament after all. dear, me! this kenway family is forever getting mixed up in difficulties that positively have nothing to do with _us_. "the silly old bracelet! why couldn't those gypsy women have sold that basket to margaret and holly pease, or to some other little girls instead of to our tess and dot. mrs. mccall says that some people seem to attract trouble, just as lightning-rods attract lightning, and i guess the kenways are some of those people!" neale did not come over again that day, so she had nobody to discuss this new slant in the matter with. and if agnes could not "talk out loud" about her troubles, she was apt to grow irritable. at least, the little girls said after supper that she was cross. "ruth doesn't talk that way to us," declared tess, quite hurt, and gathering up her playthings from the various chairs in the sitting room where the family usually gathered in the evenings. "i don't think i should like her to be away all the time." this was tess's polite way of criticising agnes. but dot was not so hampered by politeness. "crosspatch!" she exclaimed. "that's just what you are, aggie kenway." and she started for bed in quite a huff. agnes was glad, a few minutes later, that the two smaller girls had gone upstairs, even if they had gone away in this unhappy state of mind. mrs. mccall had come in and sat down at some mending and the room was very quiet. suddenly a noise outside on the porch made agnes raise her head and look at the nearest window. "what is the matter wi' ye, lassie?" asked mrs. mccall, startled. "did you hear that?" whispered the girl, staring at the window. the shade was not drawn down to the sill, and the curtains were the very thinnest of scrim. at the space of four inches below the shade agnes saw a white splotch against the pane. "oh! see! a face!" gasped agnes in three smothered shrieks. "hech, mon! such a flibbertigibbet as the lass is." mrs. mccall adjusted her glasses and stared, first at the frightened girl, then at the window. but she, too, saw the face. "what can the matter be?" she demanded, half rising. "is that neale o'neil up tae some o' his jokes?" "oh, no, mrs. mac! it's not neale," half sobbed agnes. "i know who it is. it's that awful junkman!" "a junkman?" repeated mrs. mccall. "at this time o' night? we've naethin' tae sellit him. the impudence!" she rose, quite determined to drive the importunate junkman away. chapter xix--the house is haunted "why do ye fash yoursel' so?" demanded mrs. mccall in growing wonder and exasperation. "let me see the foolish man." she approached the window and raised the shade sharply. then she hoisted the sash itself. but costello, the junkman, was gone. "there is naebody here," she complained, looking out on the side porch. "but he _was_ there! you saw him," faintly declared agnes. "he was nae ghost, if that's what you mean," said the housekeeper dryly. "but what and who is he? a junkman? how do you come to know junkmen, lassie?" "i only know that junkman," explained agnes. "aye?" the housekeeper's eyes as well as her voice was sharp. "and when did you make his acquaintance? costello, d'you say?" "so he said his name was. he--he is one of the gypsies, i do believe!" "gypsies! the idea! is the house surrounded by gypsies?" "i don't know, mrs. mccall," said agnes faintly. "i only know they are giving us a lot of trouble." "who are?" "the gypsies." "hear the lass!" exclaimed the troubled housekeeper. "who ever heard the like? why should gypsies give us any trouble? is it that bit bracelet the bairns play wi'? then throw it out and let the gypsies have it." "but that would not be right, would it, mrs. mccall?" demanded the troubled girl. "if--if the bracelet belongs to them--" "hech! to this junkman?" "he claims it," confessed agnes. "tut, tut! what is going on here that i do not know about?" demanded the scotch woman with deeper interest. she closed the window, drew the shade again, and returned to her seat. she stared at agnes rather sternly over her glasses. "come now, my lass," said the housekeeper, "what has been going on so slyly here? i never heard of any costello, junkman or not. who is he? what does he want, peering in at a body's windows at night?" agnes told the whole story then--and managed to tell it clearly enough for the practical woman to gain a very good idea of the whole matter. "of course," was her comment, grimly said, "you and that neale could not let well enough alone. you never can. if you had not advertised the bit bracelet, this junkman would not have troubled you." "but we thought it ought to be advertised," murmured agnes in defense. "aye, aye! ye thought mooch i've nae doot. and to little good purpose. well, 'tis a matter for mr. howbridge now, sure enough. and what he'll say--" "but i hope that costello does not come to the house again," ventured the girl, in some lingering alarm. "you or neale go to mr. howbridge's clerk in the morning and tell him. he should tell the police of this crazy man. a gypsy, too, you say?" "i think he must be. the bracelet seems to be a bone of contention between two branches of the gypsy tribe. if it belonged to that old queen alma--" "fiddle-faddle!" exclaimed the housekeeper. "who ever heard of a queen among those dirty gypsies? 'tis foolishness." the fact that costello, the junkman, was lingering about the old corner house was not to be denied. they saw him again before bedtime. uncle rufus had gone to bed and linda was so easily frightened that mrs. mccall did not want to tell her. so the housekeeper grabbed a broom and started out on the side porch with the avowed intention of "breaking the besom over the chiel's head!" but the lurker refused to be caught and darted away into the shadows. and all without making a sound, or revealing in any way what his intention might be. mrs. mccall and the trembling agnes went all about the house, locking each lower window, and of course all the doors. tom jonah, the old newfoundland dog, slept out of doors these warm nights, and sometimes wandered away from the premises. "we ought to have buster, sammy pinkney's bulldog, over here. then that horrid man would not dare come into the yard," agnes said. "you might as well turn that old billy-goat loose," sniffed mrs. mccall. "he'd do little more harm than that bull pup--and nae more good, either." they went to bed--earlier than usual, perhaps. and that may be the reason why agnes could not sleep. she considered the possibility of costello's climbing up the porch posts to the roof, and so reaching the second story windows. "if he is going to haunt the house like this," agnes declared to the housekeeper in the morning, "let us make neale come here and stay at night." "that lad?" returned the housekeeper, who had no very exalted opinion of boys in any case--no more than had ruth. "haven't we all troubles enough, i want to know? this is a case for the police. you go tell mr. howbridge's clerk about the gypsy, that is what you do." but agnes would not do even that without taking neale into her confidence. neale at once was up in arms when he heard of the lurking junkman. he declared he would come over and hide in the closet on the kenways' back porch and try to catch the man if he appeared again at night. "he is a very strong man, neale," objected agnes. "and he might have a knife, too. you know, those gypsies are awfully fierce-tempered." "i don't know that he is," objected neale. "he looked to me like just plain crazy." "well, you come down to the office with me," commanded agnes. "i don't even want to meet that excitable costello man on the street when i am alone." "i suppose you are scared, aggie. but i don't think he would really hurt you. come on!" so they went down to mr. howbridge's office again and interviewed the clerk, telling him first of all of the appearance of the junkman the night before. "i had fairly to drive him out of these offices," said the clerk. "he is of a very excitable temperament, to say the least. but i did not think there was any real harm in him." "just the same," neale objected, "he wants to keep away from the house and not frighten folks at night." "oh, we will soon stop that," said mr. howbridge's representative. "i will report it to the police." "but perhaps he does not mean any harm," faltered agnes. "i do not think he does," said the man. "nevertheless, we will warn him." this promise relieved agnes a good deal. she was tender-hearted and she did not wish the junkman arrested. but when evening came and he once more stared in at the windows, and tapped on the panes, and wandered around and around the house-"well, this is too much!" cried the girl, when neale and mrs. mccall both ran out to try to apprehend the marauder. "i do wish we had a telephone. i am going to _beg_ ruth to have one put in just as soon as she comes back. we could call the police and they would catch that man." perhaps the police, had they been informed, might have caught costello. but mrs. mccall and neale did not. the latter remained until the family went to bed and then the boy did a little lurking in the bushes on his own account. but he did not spy the strange man again. in the morning, without saying anything to the kenway family about it, neale o'neil set out to find costello, the junkman. he certainly was not afraid of the man by daylight. he had had experience with him. from mr. howbridge's clerk he had already obtained the address the junkman had given when he was at the office. the place was down by the canal in the poorer section of the town, of course. there were several cellars and first-floors of old houses given up to ragpickers and dealers in junk of all kinds. after some inquiry among a people who quite evidently were used to dodging the answering of incriminating questions, neale learned that there had been a junkman living in a certain room up to within a day or two before, whose name was costello. but he had disappeared. oh, yes! neale's informant was quite sure that costello had gone away for good. "but he had a horse and wagon. he had a business of his own. where has he gone?" demanded the boy. he was gone. that was all these people would tell him. they pointed out the old shed where costello had kept his horse. was it a good horse? it was a good looking horse, with smiles which seemed to indicate that costello was a true gypsy and was not above "doctoring" a horse into a deceiving appearance of worthiness. "he drove away with that horse. he did not say where he was going. i guess he go to make a sale, eh? he will come back with some old plug that he make look fine, eh?" this was the nearest to real information that neale could obtain, and this from a youth who worked for one of the established junk dealers. so neale had to give up the inquiry as useless. when he came back to the old corner house he confessed to agnes: "he is hiding somewhere, and coming around here after dark. wish i had a shotgun--" "oh, neale! how wicked!" "loaded with rock-salt," grinned the boy. "a dose of that might do the gyp. a world of good." chapter xx--plotters at work the adventures of the corner house girls and their friends did not usually include anything very terrible. perhaps there was no particular peril threatened by costello, the gypsy junkman, who was lurking about the premises at night. just the same, agnes kenway was inclined to do what mrs. mccall suggested and throw the silver bracelet out upon the ash heap. of course they had no moral right to do that, and the housekeeper's irritable suggestion was not to be thought of for a serious moment. yet agnes would have been glad to get rid of the responsibility connected with possession of queen alma's ornament. "if it is that costello heirloom!" she said. "maybe after all it belongs to miss ann titus's friend, sarah whatshername. goodness! i wonder how many other people will come to claim the old thing. i do wish ruth would return." "just so you could hand the responsibility over to her," accused neale. "m-mm. well?" "we ought to hunt up those gypsies--'beeg jeem' and his crowd--and get their side of the story," declared neale. "no! i will not!" cried agnes. "i have met all the gypsies i ever want to meet." but within the hour she met another. she was in the kitchen, and linda and mrs. mccall were both in the front of the house, cleaning. there came a timid-sounding rap on the door. agnes unthinkingly threw it open. a slender girl stood there--a girl younger than agnes herself. this stranger was very ragged, not at all clean looking, and very brown. she had flashing white teeth and flashing black eyes. agnes actually started back when she saw her and suppressed a scream. for she instantly knew the stranger was one of the gypsy tribe. that she seemed to be alone was the only thing that kept agnes from slamming the door again right in the girl's face. "will the kind lady give me something to eat?" whined the beggar. "i am hungry. i eat nothing all the day." agnes was doubtful of the truth of this. the dark girl did not look ill-fed. but she had an appearance of need just the same; and it was a rule of the corner house household never to turn a hungry person away. "stay there on the mat," agnes finally said. "don't come in. i will see what i can find for you." "yes, ma'am," said the girl. "haven't you had any breakfast?" asked agnes, moving toward the pantry, and her sympathies becoming excited. "no, ma'am. and no supper last night. nobody give me nothing." "well," said agnes, with more warmth, expanding to this tale of woe, as was natural, "i will see what i can find." she found a plate heaped with bread and meat and a wedge of cake, which she brought to the screen door. the girl had stood there motionless, only her black eyes roved about the kitchen and seemed to mark everything in it. "sit down there on the steps and eat it," said agnes, passing the plate through a narrow opening, as she might have handed food into the cage of an animal at a menagerie. she really was half afraid of the girl just because she looked so much like a gypsy. the stranger ate as though she was quite as ravenously hungry as she had claimed to be. there could be no doubt that the food disappeared with remarkable celerity. she sat for a moment or two after she had eaten the last crumb with the plate in her lap. then she rose and brought it timidly to the door. "did you have enough?" asked agnes, feeling less afraid now. "oh, yes, lady! it was so nice," and the girl flashed her teeth in a beaming smile. she was quite a pretty girl--if she had only been clean and decently dressed. she handed the plate to agnes, and then turned and ran out of the yard and down the street as fast as she could run. agnes stared after her in increased amazement. why had she run away? "if she is a gypsy--well, they are queer people, that is sure. oh! what is this?" her fingers had found something on the under side of the plate. she turned it up and saw a soiled piece of paper sticking there. agnes, wondering, if no longer alarmed, drew the paper from the plate, turned it over, and saw that some words were scrawled in blue pencil on the paper. "goodness me! more mysteries!" gasped the corner house girl. briefly and plainly the message read: _do not_ _give the bracelet to miguel. he is a thief._ agnes sat down and stared almost breathlessly at the paper. that it was a threatening command from one crowd of gypsies or the other, she was sure. but whether it was from big jim's crowd or from costello, the junkman, she did not know. her first thought, after she had digested the matter for a few moments, was to run with the paper to mrs. mccall. but mrs. mccall was not at all sympathetic about this bracelet matter. she was only angry with the gypsies, and, perhaps, a little angry with agnes for having unwittingly added to the trouble by putting the advertisement in the paper. neale, after all, could be her only confident; and, making sure that no other dark-visaged person was in sight about the house, the girl ran down the long yard beyond the garden to the stable and billy bumps' quarters, and there climbed the board fence that separated the kenway yard from that of con murphy, the cobbler. "hoo, hoo! hoo, hoo!" agnes called, looking over the top rail of the fence. "hoo, hoo, yerself!" croaked a voice. "i'd have yez know we kape no owls on these premises." the bent figure of mr. murphy, always busy at his bench, was visible through the back window of his shop. "is it that young yahoo called neale o'neil that yez want, miss aggie?" added the smiling cobbler. "if so--" but neale o'neil appeared just then to answer to the summons of his girl friend. he had been to the store, and he tumbled all his packages on con's bench to run out into the yard to greet agnes. "what's happened now?" he cried, seeing in the girl's face that something out of the ordinary troubled her. "oh, neale! what do you think?" she gasped. "there's been another of them at the house." "not one of those gypsies?" "i believe she was." "oh! a _she_!" said the boy, much relieved. "well, she didn't bite you, of course?" "come here and look at this," commanded his friend. neale went to the fence, climbed up and took the paper that agnes had found stuck to the plate on which she had placed the food for the gypsy girl. when he had read the abrupt and unsigned message, neale began to grow excited, too. "where did you get this?" agnes told him about it. of course, the hungry girl had been a messenger from one party of gypsies or the other. which? was agnes' eager question. "guess i can answer that," neale said gravely. "it does look as though things were getting complicated. i bet this girl you fed is one of big jim's bunch." "how can you be so positive?" "there are probably only two parties of gypsies fighting over the possession of that old bracelet. now, i learned down there in that junk neighborhood that costello--the costello who is bothering us--is called miguel. they are all costellos--big jim's crowd and all. june wildwood says so. they distinguish our junkman from themselves by calling him by his first name. therefore--" "oh, of course i see," sighed agnes. "it is a terrible mess, neale! i do wish mr. howbridge would get back. or that the police would find that junkman and shut him up. or--or that ruthie would come home!" "oh, don't be a baby, aggie!" ejaculated neale. "who is the baby, i want to know?" flashed back the girl. "i'm not!" "then pluck up your spirits and don't turn on the sprinkler," said the slangy youth. "why, this is nothing to cry about. when it is all over we shall be looking back at the mystery as something great in our young lives." "you can try to laugh if you want to," snapped agnes. "but being haunted by a junkman, and getting notes from gypsies like that! huh! who wouldn't be scared? why, we don't know what those people might do to us if we give up the bracelet to the wrong person." "it doesn't belong to any of the gypsies, perhaps." "that is exactly it!" she cried. "maybe, after all, it is the property of miss ann titus' friend, sarah." "and was lost somewhere on willow street--about where your garage now stands--forty years ago!" scoffed neale. "well, you are pretty soft, agnes kenway." this naturally angered the girl, and she pouted and got down from the fence without replying. as she went back up the yard she saw mrs. pinkney, with her head tied up with a towel, shaking a dustcloth at one of her front windows. it at least changed the current of the girl's thought. "oh, mrs. pinkney!" she cried, running across the street to speak to sammy's mother, "have you heard anything?" "about sammy? not a word," answered the woman. "i have to keep working all the time, agnes kenway, or i should go insane. i know i should! i have cleaned this whole house, from attic to cellar, three times since sammy ran away." "why, mrs. pinkney! if you don't go insane--and i don't believe you will--i am sure you will overwork and be ill." "i must keep doing. i must keep going. if i sit down to think i imagine the most horrible things happening to the dear child. it is awful!" agnes knew that never before had the woman been so much disturbed by her boy's absences from home. it seemed as though she really had lost control of herself, and the corner house girl was quite worried over mrs. pinkney. "if we could only help you and mr. pinkney," said agnes doubtfully. "do you suppose it would do any good to go off in the car again--neale and me and your husband--to look for sammy?" "mr. pinkney is so tied down by his business that he cannot go just now," she sighed. "and he has put the search into the hands of an agency. i did not want the police to get after sammy. but what could we do? and they say there are gypsies around." "oh!" gasped agnes. "do you suppose--?" "you never can tell what those people will do. i am told they have stolen children." "isn't that more talk than anything else?" asked agnes, trying to speak quite casually. "i don't know. one of my neighbors tells me she hears that there is a big encampment of gypsies out on the buckshot road. you know, out beyond the poole farm. they have autovans instead of horses, so they say, and maybe could carry any children they stole out of the state in a very short time." "oh, dear me, mrs. pinkney! i would not think of such things," agnes urged. "it does not sound reasonable." "that the gypsies should travel by auto instead of behind horse?" rejoined sammy's mother. "why not? everybody else is using automobiles for transportation. i tell mr. pinkney that if we had a machine perhaps sammy might not have been so eager to leave home." "oh, dear, me!" thought agnes, as she made her way home again, "i am sorry for mr. pinkney. just now i guess he is having a hard time at home as well as at business!" but she treasured up what she had heard about the gypsy encampment on the buckshot road to tell neale--when she should not be so "put-out" with him. the buckshot road was in an entirely different direction from milton than that they had followed in their automobile on the memorable search for sammy. agnes did not suppose for a moment that the missing boy had gone with the gypsies. chapter xxi--tess and dot take a hand up to this time tess and dot kenway had heard nothing about the gypsy junkman haunting the house at night, or about other threatening things connected with the wonderful silver bracelet. their young minds were quite as excited about the ornament as in the beginning, however; for in the first place they had to keep run exactly of whose turn it was to "wear" the gypsies' gift. "i don't see what we'll do about it when alice grows up," dot said. she was always looking forward in imagination to the time when her favorite doll should become adult. "she will want to wear that belt, tess, for evening dress. you know, a lady's jewelry should belong to her." "i'm not going to give up my share to your alice-doll," announced tess, quite firmly for her. "and, anyway, you must not be so sure that it is going to be ours all the time. see! aggie says we can't take it out of the house to play with." "i don't care!" whined dot. "i don't want to give it back to those gypsy ladies." "neither do i. but we must of course, if we can find them. honest is honest." "it--it's awful uncomfortable to be so dreadful' honest," blurted out the smaller girl. "and i think they meant us to have the bracelet." "all right, then. it's only polite to offer it back to them. then if they don't want it we'll know that it is ours and even ruth won't say anything." "but--but when my alice-doll grows up--" "now, don't be a little piggie, dot kenway!" exclaimed tess, rather crossly. "when your wrist gets big enough so the bracelet won't slip over your hand so easy, you will want to wear it yourself--just as i do. and agnes wants it, too." "oh! but it's ours--if it isn't the gypsy ladies'," dot hastened to say. two claimants for the ornament were quite enough. she did not wish to hear of any other people desiring to wear it. as it chanced, tess and dot heard about the gypsy encampment on the buckshot road through the tongue of neighborhood gossip, quite as had sammy's mother. margaret and holly pease heard the store man tell their mother; and having enviously eyed the silver bracelet in the possession of the kenway girls, they ran to tell the latter about the gypsies. "they've come back," declared margaret decidedly, "to look for that bracelet you've got. you'll see them soon enough." "oh, margie! do you think so?" murmured tess, while dot was immediately so horror-stricken that tears came to her eyes. "maybe they will bring the police and have you locked up," continued the cheerful pease child. "you know they might accuse you of stealing the bracelet." "we never!" wailed dot. "we never! they gave it to us!" "well, they are going to take it back, so now!" margaret pease declared. "i don't think it is nice of you to say what you do, margie," said tess. "everybody knows we are honest. why! if dot and i knew how to find them, we would take the bracelet right to the gypsy ladies. wouldn't we, dot?" "but--but we don't know where to find them," blurted out the youngest corner house girl. "you can find them i guess--out on the buckshot road." "we don't know that _our_ gypsy ladies are there," said tess, with some defiance. "you don't dare go to see," said margaret pease. it was a question to trouble the minds of tess and dot. should they try to find the gypsies, and see if the very ladies who had given them the bracelet were in that encampment? at least it was a leading question in tess kenway's mind. it must be confessed that dot only hoped it would prove a false alarm. she was very grateful to the strange gypsy women for having put the silver ornament in the green and yellow basket; but she hoped never to see those two kind women again! the uncertainty was so great in both of the small girls' minds that they said nothing at all about it in the hearing of any other member of the family. had ruth been at home they might have confided in her. they had always confided everything to their eldest sister. but just now the two smaller corner house girls were living their own lives, very much shut away from the existence agnes, for instance, was leading. agnes had a secret--several of them, indeed. she did not take tess and dot into her confidence. so, if for no other reason, the smaller girls did not talk to agnes about the gypsies. the kenways owned some tenement property in a much poorer part of the town than that prominent corner on which the corner house stood. early in their coming to milton from bloomsburg, the corner house girls had become acquainted with the humble tenants whose rents helped swell the funds which mr. howbridge cared for and administered. some of these poorer people, especially the children near their own age, interested the kenway girls very much because they met these poorer children in school. so when news was brought to agnes one afternoon (it was soon after lunch) that maria maroni, whose father kept the coal, wood, ice and vegetable cellar in one of the stower houses and who possessed a wife and big family of children as well, had been taken ill, agnes was much disturbed. agnes liked maria maroni. maria was very bright and forward in her studies and was a pretty italian girl, as well. the maronis lived much better than they once had, too. they now occupied one of the upstairs tenements over mrs. kranz's delicatessen store, instead of all living in the basement. the boy who ran into the kenway yard and told agnes this while she was tying up the gladioli stems after a particularly hard night's rain, did not seem to be an italian. indeed, he was no boy that agnes ever remembered having seen before. but tenants were changing all the time over there where maria lived. this might be a new boy in that neighborhood. and, anyway, agnes was not bothered in her mind much about the boy. it was maria's illness that troubled her. "what is the matter with the poor girl?" agnes wanted to know. "what does the doctor say it is?" "they ain't got no doc," said the boy. "she's just sick, maria is. i don't know what she's got besides." this sounded bad enough to agnes. and the fact that the sick girl had no medical attention was the greater urge for the kenway girl to do something about it. of course, joe and his wife must have a doctor for maria at once. agnes went into the house and told mrs. mccall about it. she even borrowed the green and yellow basket from the little girls and packed some jelly and a bowl of broth and other nice things to take to maria maroni. the kenways seldom went to the tenements empty-handed. she would have taken neale with her, only she felt that after their incipient "quarrel" of the previous morning she did not care immediately to make up with the boy. sometimes she felt that neale o'neil took advantage of her easy disposition. so agnes went off alone with her basket. half an hour later a boy rang the front door bell of the corner house. he had a note for mrs. mccall. it was written in blue pencil, and while the housekeeper was finding her reading glasses the messenger ran away so that she could not question him. the note purported to be from hedden, mr. howbridge's butler. it said that the lawyer had been "brought home" and had asked for mrs. mccall to be sent for. it urged expedition in her answer to the request, and it threw mrs. mccall into "quite a flutter" as she told linda and aunt sarah maltby. "the puir mon!" wailed the scotch woman who before she came to the old corner house to care for the kenway household had been housekeeper for mr. howbridge himself for many years. "there is something sad happened to him, nae doot. i must go awa' wi' me at aince. see to the bairns, miss maltby, that's the good soul. even agnes is not in the hoose." "of course i will see to them--if it becomes necessary," said aunt sarah. her idea of attending to the younger children, however, was to remain in her own room knitting, only occasionally going to the head of the back stairs to ask linda if tess and dot were all right. the finnish girl's answer was always "shure, mum," and in her opinion tess and dot were all right as long as she did not see that they were in trouble. to tell the truth, linda saw the smaller girls very little after mrs. mccall hurried out of the house to take the street car for the lawyer's residence. once linda observed tess and dot in the side yard talking to a boy through the pickets. she had no idea that the sharp-featured boy was the same who had brought the news of maria maroni's illness to agnes, and the message from hedden to mrs. mccall! the boy in question had come slowly along the pavement on willow street, muttering to himself as he approached as though saying over several sentences that he had learned by rote. he was quite evidently a keen-minded boy, but he was not at all a trustworthy looking one. tess and dot both saw him, and that he was a stranger made the little girls eye him curiously. when he hailed them they were not quite sure whether they ought to reply or not. [illustration: "they want that silver thing back. it wasn't meant for you."] "i guess you don't know us," tess said doubtfully. "you don't belong in this neighborhood." "i know you all right," said the boy. "you're the two girls those women sold the basket to. i know you." "oh!" gasped tess. "the gypsy ladies!" murmured dot. "that's the one. they sold you the basket for forty-five cents. didn't they?" "yes," admitted tess. "and it's _ours_," cried dot. "we paid for it." "that's all right," said the boy slowly. "but you didn't buy what was in it. no, sir! they want it back." "oh! the basket?" cried tess. "what you found in it." the boy seemed very sure of what he was saying, but he spoke slowly. "they want that silver thing back. it wasn't meant for you. it was a mistake. you know very well it isn't yours. if you are honest--and you told them you were--you will bring it back to them." "oh! they did ask us if we were honest," tess said faintly. "and of course we are. aren't we, dot?" "why--why-do we have to be so dreadful' honest," whispered the smallest corner house girl, quite borne down with woe. "of course we have. just think of what ruthie would say," murmured tess. then to the boy: "where are those ladies?" "huh?" he asked. "what ladies?" "the gypsy ladies we bought the basket from?" "oh, _them_?" he rejoined hurriedly, glancing along the street with eagerness. "you go right out along this street," and he pointed in the direction from which he had come. "you keep on walking until you reach the brick-yard." "oh! are they camped there?" asked tess. "no. but a man with an automobile will meet you there. he is a man who will take you right to the gypsy camp and bring you back again. don't be afraid, kids. it's all right." he went away then, and the little girls could not call him back. they wanted to ask further questions; but it was evident that the boy had delivered his message and was not to be cross-examined. "what _shall_ we do?" tess exclaimed. "oh, let's wait. let's wait till ruth comes home," cried dot, saying something very sensible indeed. but responsibility weighed heavily on tess's mind. she considered that if the gypsy women wished their bracelet returned, it was her duty to take it to them without delay. besides, there was the man in the automobile waiting for them. why the man had not come to the house with the car, or why he had not brought the two gypsy women to the corner house, were queries that did not occur to the little girls. if tess kenway was nothing else, she was strictly honest. "no," she sighed, "we cannot wait. we must go and see the women now. i will go in and get the bracelet, dot. do you want your hat? mrs. mccall and agnes are both away. we will have to go right over and tend to this ourselves." chapter xxii--excitement galore when agnes kenway reached the tenement where maria maroni resided and found that brisk young person helping in the delicatessen store as she did almost every day during the busy hours and when there was no school, the corner house girl was surprised; but she was not suspicious. that is, she was not suspicious of any plot really aimed at the happiness of the corner house family. she merely believed that the strange boy had deliberately fooled her for an idle purpose. "maria maroni! what do you think?" agnes burst out. "who could that boy be? oh, i'd like to catch him! i'd make him sorry he told me such a story." "it is too bad you were troubled so, agnes," said maria, when she understood all about it. "i can't imagine who that boy could be. but i am glad you came over to see us, never mind what the reason is that brings you." "a sight you are for sore eyes yet," declared the ponderous mrs. kranz, who had kissed agnes warmly when she first appeared. "come the back room in and sit down. let ikey tend to the customers yet, maria. we will visit with agnes, and have some tea and sweet crackers." "and you must tell me of somebody in the row, mrs. kranz, who needs these delicacies. somebody who is ill," said agnes. "i must not take them home again. and maria looks altogether too healthy for jelly and chicken broth." mrs. kranz laughed at that. but she added with seriousness: "there is always somebody sick here in the tenements, miss agnes. they will not take care themselfs of--no! i tell them warm flannels and good food is better than doctors yet. but they will not mind me." she sighed. "who is ill now?" asked agnes, at once interested. she loved to play "lady bountiful"; and, really, the kenway sisters had done a great deal of good among their poor tenants and others in the row. "mrs. leary. you know, her new baby died and the poor woman," said maria quickly, "is sick of grief, i do believe." "ach, yes!" cried mrs. kranz. "she needs the cheerful word. you see her, miss agnes. then she be better--sure!" "thank you!" cried agnes, dimpling and blushing. "do you really think i can help her?" "and there is little susie marowsky," urged the delicatessen shopkeeper. "that child is fading away like a sick rose. she iss doing just that! if she could have country eggs and country milk--ach! if we were all rich!" and she sighed ponderously again. "i'll tell our ruth about her," said agnes eagerly. "and i'll see her, too, before i go home. i'll give her the broth, yes? and mrs. leary the jelly, bread, and fruit?" "no!" cried mrs. kranz. "the fruit to dominic nevin, the scissors grinder. he craves fruit. you know, he cut his hand and got blood poisoning, and it was so long yet that he could not work. you see him, too, miss agnes." so altogether, what with the tea and cakes and the visits to the sick, agnes was away from the corner house quite three hours. when she was on her way home she was delayed by an unforeseen incident too. at the corner of willow street not far from the brick-yard a figure suddenly darted into agnes' path. she was naturally startled by the sudden appearance of this figure, and doubly so when she saw it was the costello that she knew as the junkman, and whose first name she now believed to be miguel. "what do you want? go away!" cried the girl faintly, backing away from the vehement little man. "oh, do not be afraid! you are the honest kenway i am sure. you have queen alma's bracelet," urged the little man. "you will give her to me--yes?" "i--i haven't it," cried agnes, looking all about for help and seeing nobody near. "ha!" ejaculated the man. "you have not give it to beeg jeem?" "we have given it to nobody. and we will not let you or anybody have it until mr. howbridge tells us what to do. go away!" begged agnes. "i go to that man. he no have the queen alma bracelet. _you_ have it--" "just as sure as i get home," cried the frightened agnes, "i will send that bracelet down to the lawyer's office and they must keep it. it shall be in the house no longer! don't you dare come there for it!" she got past him then and ran as hard as she could along willow street. when she finally looked back she discovered that the man had not followed her, but had disappeared. "oh, dear me! i don't care what the children say. that bracelet goes into mr. howbridge's safe this very afternoon. neale must take it there for me," agnes kenway decided. she reached the side door of the corner house just as mrs. mccall entered the front door, having got off the car at the corner. the housekeeper came through the hall and into the rear premises a good deal like a whirlwind. she was so excited that agnes forgot her own fright and stared at the housekeeper breathlessly. "is it you home again, agnes kenway?" cried mrs. mccall. "well, thanks be for _that_. then you are all right." "why, of course! though he did scare me. but what is the matter with you, mrs. mccall?" "what is the matter wi' me? a plenty. a plenty, i tellit ye. if i had that jackanapes of a boy i'd shake him well, so i would!" "what has neale been doing now?" cried the girl. "not neale." "then is it sammy?" "nor sammy pinkney. 'tis that other lad that came here wi' a lying note tae get me clear across town for naething!" "why, mrs. mccall! what can you mean? did a boy fool you, too?" "hech!" the woman started and stared at the girl. "who brought you news of that little girl being sick?" "but she wasn't sick!" cried agnes. "that boy was an awful little story-teller." "ye was fooled then? that maria maroni--" "was not ill at all." "and," cried mrs. mccall, "that boy who brought a note to me from hedden never came from mr. howbridge's house at all. it nearly scar't me tae death! it said mr. howbridge was ill. he isn't even at home yet, and when mr. hedden heard from his master this morning he was all right--the gude mon!" "oh, mrs. mccall!" gasped agnes, gazing at the housekeeper with terrified visage. "what can it mean?" "somebody has foolit us weel," ejaculated the enraged housekeeper. "but why?" the woman turned swiftly. she had grown suddenly pale. she called up the back stairs for linda. a sleepy voice replied: "here i be, mum!" "where are the children? where are tess and dot?" demanded mrs. mccall, her voice husky. "they was in the yard, mum, the last i see of them." "that girl!" ejaculated the housekeeper angrily. "she neglects everything. if there's harm happened to those bairns--" she rushed to the porch. uncle rufus was coming slowly up from the garden, hoe and rake over his shoulder. it was evident that the old colored man had been working steadily, and for some time, among the vegetables. "oh, uncle rufus!" cried the excited woman. "ya-as'm! ya-as'm! i's a-comin'," said the old man rather querulously. "step here a minute," said mrs. mccall. "i's a-steppin', ma'am," grumbled the other. "does seem as though dey wants me for fust one t'ing an' den anudder. i don't no more'n git t'roo one chore den sumpin' else hops right out at me. lawsy me!" and he mopped his bald brown brow with a big bandanna. "i only want to ask you something," said the housekeeper, less raspingly. "are the little ones down there? have you seen them?" "them chillun? no'm. i ain't seen 'em fo' some time. they was playin' up this-a-way den." "how long ago?" "i done reckon it was nigh two hours ago." "hunt for them, agnes!" gasped the housekeeper. "i fear me something bad has happened. you, linda," for the finnish girl now appeared, "run to the neighbors--all of them! see if you can find those bairns." "tess and dottie, mum?" cried the finnish girl, already in tears. "oh! they ain't losted are they?" "for all _you_ know they are!" declared mrs. mccall. "look around the house for them, uncle rufus. i will look inside--" "they may be upstairs with aunt sarah," cried agnes, getting her breath at last. "i'll know that in a moment!" declared mrs. mccall, and darted within. agnes ran in the other direction. she felt such a lump in her throat that she could scarcely speak or breathe. the possibility of something having happened to the little girls--and with ruth away!--cost the second corner house girl every last bit of her self-control. "oh, neale! neale!" she murmured over and over again, as she ran to the lower end of the premises. she fairly threw herself at the fence and scrambled to her usual perch. there he was cleaning mr. con murphy's yard. "neale!" she gasped. at first he did not hear her, but she drubbed upon the fence with the toes of her shoes. "neale!" "why, hullo, aggie!" exclaimed the boy, turning around and seeing her. "oh, neale! come here!" he was already coming closer. he saw that again she was much overwrought. "what has happened now?" "have you seen tess and dot?" "not to-day." "i--i mean within a little while? two hours?" "i tell you i have not seen them at all to-day. i have been busy right here for con." "then they are gone! the gypsies have got them!" for agnes, without much logic of thought, had immediately jumped to this conclusion. neale stared. "what sort of talk is that, agnes?" he demanded. "you know that can't be so." "i tell you it is so! it must be so! they got mrs. mccall and me out of the house--" "who did?" interrupted neale, getting hastily over the fence and taking the girl's hand. "now, tell me all about it--everything!" as well as she could for her excitement and fear, the girl told the story of the boy who had brought her the false message about maria maroni, and then about the message mrs. mccall had received calling her across town. "it must be that they have kidnapped the children!" moaned agnes. "not likely," declared the boy. "the kids have just gone visiting without asking leave. in fact, there was nobody to ask. but i see that there is a game on just the same." he started hastily for the corner house and agnes trotted beside him. "but where _are_ tess and dot?" she demanded. "how do i know?" he returned. "i want to find out if there is something else missing." "what do you mean?" "that bracelet." "goodness, neale! is it that bracelet that has brought us trouble again?" "it looks like a plot all right to me. a plot to get you and mrs. mccall out of the house so that somebody could slip in and steal the bracelet. didn't that ever occur to you?" "goodness me, neale!" cried agnes again, but with sudden relief in her voice. "if that is all it is i'll be glad if the old bracelet is stolen. then it cannot make us any more trouble, that is one sure thing!" chapter xxiii--a surprising meeting tess and dot kenway, with no suspicion that anything was awaiting them save the possible loss of the silver bracelet, but otherwise quite enjoying the adventure, walked hurriedly along willow street as far as the brick-yard. that they were disobeying a strict injunction in taking the bracelet out of the house was a matter quite overlooked at the time. they came to the corner and there, sure enough, was a big, dusty automobile, with a big, dark man in the driver's seat. he smiled at the two little girls and tess remembered him instantly. "oh, dot!" she exclaimed, "it is the man we saw in this auto with the young gypsy lady when we were driving home with scalawag from mr. howbridge's the other day. don't you remember?" "yes," said dot, with a sigh. "i guess it is the same one. oh, dear, me!" for the nearer the time came to give up the silver bracelet, the worse dot felt about it. the big gypsy looked around at the two little girls and smiled broadly. "you leetle ladies tak' ride with beeg jeem?" he asked. "you go to see the poor gypsy women who let you have the fine bracelet to play with? yes?" "he knows all about it, tess," murmured dot. "yes, we will give them back the bracelet," tess said firmly to the gypsy man. "but we will not give it up to anybody else." "get right into my car," said big jim, reaching back to open the tonneau door. "you shall be taken to the camp and there find the ones who gave you the bracelet. sure!" there was something quite "grownupish" in thus getting into the big car all alone, and tess and dot were rather thrilled as they seated themselves on the back seat and the gypsy drove them away. fifteen minutes or so later agnes came to this very corner and had her unpleasant interview with miguel costello. but of course by that time the children were far away. the big gypsy drove them very rapidly and by lonely roads into a part of the country that tess and dot never remembered having seen before. whenever he saw anybody on the road, either afoot or in other cars, big jim increased his speed and flashed by them so that there was little likelihood of these other people seeing that the two little girls were other than gypsy girls. he did nothing to frighten tess and dot. indeed, he was so smiling and so pleasant that they enjoyed the drive immensely and came finally in a state of keen enjoyment to the camp which was made a little back from the highway. "well, if we have to give up the bracelet," sighed tess, as they got out of the car, "we can say that we have had a fine ride." "that is all right. but how will my alice-doll feel when she finds out she can't wear that pretty belt again?" said dot. there were many people in the camp, both men and women and children. the latter kept at a distance from tess and dot, but stared at them very curiously. they kept the dogs away from the visitors, too, and the little girls were glad of that. "where can we find the two ladies that--that sold us the basket?" asked tess politely, of big jim. "you look around, leetle ladies. you find," he assured them. there were four or five motor vans of good size in which the gypsies evidently lived while they were traveling. but there were several tents set up as well. it was a big camp. timidly at first the two sisters, hand in hand, the silver bracelet firmly clutched inside tess's dress against her side, began walking about. they tried to ask questions about the women they sought; but nobody seemed to understand. they all smiled and shook their heads. "dear me! it must be dreadful to be born a foreigner," dot finally said. "how can they make themselves understood _at all_?" "but they seem to be very pleasant persons," tess rejoined decidedly. the children ran away from them. perhaps they had been ordered to by the older gypsies. by and by tess, at least, grew somewhat worried when they did not find either of the women who had sold them the yellow and green basket. dot, secretly, hoped the two in question had gone away. suddenly, however, the two kenway girls came face to face with somebody they did know. but so astonished were they by this discovery that for a long minute neither could believe her eyes! "sammy pinkney!" gasped tess at last. "it--ain't--_never_!" murmured the smaller girl. the figure which had tried to dodge around the end of a motor van to escape observation looked nothing at all like the sammy pinkney the kenway girls had formerly known. never in their experience of sammy--not even when he had slipped down the chimney at the old corner house and landed on the hearth, a very sooty santa claus--had the boy looked so disgracefully ragged and dirty. "well, what's the matter with me?" he demanded defiantly. "why--why there looks to be most _every_thing the matter with you, sammy pinkney," declared tess, with disgust. "what _do_ you s'pose your mother would say to you?" "i ain't going home to find out," said sammy. "and--and your pants are all tored," gasped dot. "oh, that happened long ago," said sammy, quite as airy as the trousers. "and i'm having the time of my life here. nobody sends me errands, or makes me--er--weed beet beds! so there! i can do just as i please." "you look as though you had, sammy," was tess's critical speech. "i guess your mother wouldn't want you home looking the way you do." "i look well enough," he declared defiantly. "and don't you tell where i am. will you?" "but, sammy!" exclaimed dot, "you ran away to be a pirate." "what if i did?" "but you can't be a pirate here." "i can be a gypsy. and that's lots more fun. if i joined a pirate crew i couldn't get to be captain right away of course, so i would have to mind somebody. here i don't have to mind anybody at all." "well, i never!" ejaculated tess kenway. "well, i never!" repeated dot, with similar emphasis. "say, what are you kids here for?" demanded sammy, with an attempt to turn the conversation from his own evident failings. "oh, we were brought here on a visit," tess returned rather haughtily. "huh! you _was_? who you visiting? is aggie with you? or neale?" and he looked around suddenly as though choosing a way of escape. "we are here all alone," said dot reassuringly. "you needn't be afraid, sammy." "who's afraid?" he said gruffly. "you would be if neale was with us, for neale would make you go home," said the smallest kenway girl. "but who brought you? what you here for? oh! that old bracelet i bet!" "yes," sighed dot. "they want it back." "who want it back?" "those two ladies that sold us the basket," explained tess. "are they with this bunch of gypsies?" asked sammy in surprise. "i haven't seen them. and i've been here two whole days." "how did you come to be a gypsy, sammy?" asked dot with much curiosity. "why, i--er--well, i lost my clothes and my money and didn't have much to eat and that big gypsy saw me on the road and asked me if i wanted to ride. so i came here with him and he let me stay. and nobody does a thing to me. i licked one boy," added sammy with satisfaction, "so the others let me alone." "but haven't you seen either of those two ladies that sold us the basket?" demanded tess, beginning to be worried a little. "nope. i don't believe they are here." "but that man says they are here," cried tess. "let's go ask him. i--i won't give that bracelet to anybody else but one of those ladies." "crickey!" exclaimed sammy. "don't feel so bad about it. course there is a mistake somehow. these folks are real nice folks. they wouldn't fool you." the three, sammy looking very important, went to find big jim. he was just as smiling as ever. "oh, yes! the little ladies are not to be worried. the women they want will soon come." "you see?" said sammy, boldly. "it will be all right. why, these people treat you _right_. i tell you! you can do just as you please in a gypsy camp and nobody says anything to you." "see!" exclaimed tess suddenly. "are they packing up to leave? or do they stay here all the time?" it was now late afternoon. instead of the supper fires being revived, they were smothered. men and women had begun loading the heavier vans. the tents were coming down. clotheslines stretched between the trees were now being coiled by the children. all manner of rubbish was being thrown into the bushes. "i don't know if they are moving. i'll ask," said sammy, somewhat in doubt. he went to a boy bigger than himself, but who seemed to be friendly. the little girls waited, staring all about for the two women with whom they had business. "i don't care," whispered dot. "if they don't come pretty soon, and these gypsies are going away from here, we'll just go back home, tess. we _can't_ give them the bracelet if we don't see them." "but we do not want to walk home," her sister said slowly in return. "and we ought to make sammy go with us." "you try to _make_ sammy do anything!" exclaimed dot, with scorn. their boy friend returned, swaggering as usual. "well, they are going to move," he said. "but i'm going with them. that boy--he was the one i licked, but he's a good kid--says they are going to a pond where the fishing is great. wish i had my fishpole." "but you must come back home with us, sammy," began tess gravely. "not much i won't! don't you think it," cried sammy. "but you might get my fishing tackle and jointed pole and sneak 'em out to me. there's good kids!" "we will do nothing sneaky for you at all, sammy pinkney!" exclaimed tess indignantly. "aw, go on! you can just as easy." "we can, but we won't. so there! and if you don't go home with us when the man takes us back in his car we certainly will tell where you are." "be a telltale. _i_ don't care," cried sammy, roughly. "and i won't say just where we are going from here, so you needn't think my folks will find me." one of the closed vans--something like a moving van only with windows in the sides, a stove-pipe sticking out of the roof, and a door at the rear, with steps--seemed now to be ready to start. a man climbed into the front seat to drive it. several women and smaller children got in at the rear after the various bales and packages that had been tossed in. the big man suddenly shouted and beckoned to tess and dot. "here, little ladies," he said, still smiling his wide smile. "you come go wit' my mudder, eh? take you to find the gypsy women you want to see." "but--er--mr. gypsy," said tess, somewhat disturbed now, "we must go back home." "sure. tak' you home soon as you see those women and give them what you got for them." he strode across the camp to them. his smile was quite as wide, but did not seem to forecast as much good-nature as at first. "come now! get in!" he commanded. "hey!" cried sammy. "what you doing? those little girls are friends of mine. you want to let them ride in that open car--not in that box. what d'you think we are?" "get out the way, boy!" commanded big jim. he seized tess suddenly by the shoulders, swung her up bodily despite her screams and tossed her through the rear door of the gypsy van. dot followed so quickly that she could scarcely utter a frightened gasp. "hey! stop that! those are the kenway girls. why! mr. howbridge will come after them and he'll--he'll--" sammy's excited threat was stopped in his throat. big jim's huge hand caught the boy a heavy blow upon the side of his head. the next moment he was shot into the motor-van too and the door was shut. he heard tess and dot sobbing somewhere among the women and children already crowded into the van. it was a stuffy place, for none of the windows were open. although this nomadic people lived mostly out of doors, and never under a real roof if they could help it, they did not seem to mind the smothering atmosphere of the van which now, with a sudden lurch, started out of the place of encampment. "never you mind, tess and dot, they won't dare carry you far. maybe they are taking you home anyway," said sammy in a low voice. "the first time they stop and let us out we'll run away. i will get you home all right." "you--you can't get yourself home, sammy," sobbed dot. "maybe you like it being a gypsy, but we don't," added tess. "i'll fix it for you all right--" one of the old crones reached out in the semi-darkness and slapped sammy across the mouth. "shut up!" she commanded harshly. but when she tried to slap the boy again she screamed. it must be confessed that sammy bit her! "you lemme alone," snarled the boy captive. "and don't you hit those girls. if you do i--i'll bite the whole lot of you!" the women jabbered a good deal together in their own tongue; but nobody tried to interfere with sammy thereafter. he shoved his way into the van until he stood beside tess and dot. "let's not cry about it," he whispered. "that won't get us anywhere, that is sure. but the very first chance we get--" no chance for escape however was likely to arise while the gypsy troop were en route. the children could hear the rumble of the vans behind. soon big jim in his touring car passed this first van and shouted to the driver. then the procession settled into a steady rate of speed and the three little captives had not the least idea in which direction they were headed nor where they were bound. * * * * * back at the old corner house affairs were in a terrible state of confusion. linda had returned from her voyage among the neighbors with absolutely no news of the smaller girls. and agnes had discovered that the silver bracelet was missing. "it was tess's day for wearing it, but she did not have it on when she went out to play," the older sister explained. "do you suppose the house has been robbed, neale o'neil?" neale had been examining closely the piece of paper that agnes had found stuck to the plate on which she had fed the beggar girl the day before and also the note mrs. mccall had received purporting to come from mr. howbridge's butler. both were written in blue pencil, and by the same hand without any doubt. "it's a plot clear enough. and naturally we may believe that it was not hatched by that miguel costello, the junkman. it looks as though it was done by big jim's crowd." "but what have they done with the bairns?" demanded the housekeeper, in horror. "oh, neale! have they stolen tess and dot, as well as the silver bracelet?" was agnes' bitter cry. "got me. don't know," muttered the boy. "and what would they want the children for, anyway?" "let us find out if any gypsies have been seen about the house this afternoon," agnes proposed. "you see, neale. don't send linda." linda, indeed, was in a hopeless state. she didn't know, declared mrs. mccall, whether she was on her head or her heels! neale ran out and searched the neighborhood over. when he came back he had found nobody who had set eyes on any gypsies; but he had heard from mrs. pease that gypsies were camped out of town. the store man had told her so. "oh!" gasped agnes, suddenly remembering. "i heard about that. mrs. pinkney told me. they are on the buckshot road, out beyond where carrie poole lives. you know, neale." "sure i know where the poole place is," admitted neale. "we have all been there often enough. and i can get the car--" "do! do!" begged mrs. mccall. "you cannot go too quickly, neale o'neil. and take the police wi' ye, laddie!" "take me with you, neale!" commanded agnes. "we can find a constable out that way if we need one. i know mr. ben stryker who lives just beyond the pooles. and he is a constable, for he stopped the car once when i was driving and said he would have to arrest me if i did not drive slower." "sure!" said neale. "agnes knows all the traffic cops on the route, i bet. but we don't _know_ that the children have gone with the gypsies." "and we never will know if you stand here and argue. anyway, it looks as though the silver bracelet has been stolen by them." "or by somebody," granted the boy. "ne'er mind the bit bracelet," commanded the housekeeper. "find tess and dot. i am going to put on my bonnet and shawl and go to the police station mysel'. do you children hurry away in the car as you promised." it was already supper time, but nobody thought of that meal, unless it was aunt sarah. when she came down to see what the matter was--why the evening meal was so delayed--she found linda sobbing with her apron over her head in the kitchen and the tea kettle boiled completely dry. that was nothing, however, to the condition of affairs at one o'clock that night when ruth, with luke and cecile shepard, arrived at the old corner house. they had been delayed at the station half an hour while ruth telephoned for and obtained a comfortable touring car for her visitors and herself. agnes did not have to beg her older sister to put in a telephone. after this experience ruth was determined to do just that. the party arrived home to find the corner house lit up as though for a reception. but it was not in honor of their arrival. the telegram announcing ruth's coming had scarcely been noticed by mrs. mccall. mrs. mccall had recovered a measure of her composure and good sense; but she could scarcely welcome the guests properly. aunt sarah maltby had gone to bed, announcing that she was utterly prostrated and should never get up again unless tess and dot were found. linda and uncle rufus were equally distracted. "but where are agnes and neale?" ruth demanded, very white and determined. "what are they doing?" "they started out in the machine around eight o'clock," explained mrs. mccall. "they are searching high and low for the puir bairns." "all alone?" gasped ruth. "mr. pinkney has gone with them. and i believe they were to pick up a constable. that neale o'neil declares he will raid every gypsy camp and tramp's roost in the county. and sammy's father took a pistol with him." "and you let agnes go with them!" murmured ruth. "suppose she gets shot?" "my maircy!" cried the housekeeper, clasping her hands. "i never thought about that pistol being dangerous, any more than uncle rufus's gun with the broken hammer." chapter xxiv--the captives that ride, shut in the gypsy van, was one that neither tess nor dot nor sammy pinkney were likely soon to forget. the car plunged along the country road, and the distance the party traveled was considerable, although the direction was circuitous and did not, after two hours, take the gypsy clan much farther from milton than they had been at the previous camp. by eleven o'clock they pulled off the road into a little glade that had been well known to the leaders of the party. a new camp was established in a very short time. tents were again erected, fires kindled for the late supper, and the life of the gypsy town was re-begun. but sammy and the two little corner house girls were forbidden to leave the van in which they had been made to ride. big jim came over himself, banged sammy with his broad palm, and told him: "you keep-a them here--you see? if those kids get out, i knock you good. see?" sammy saw stars at least! he would not answer the man. there was something beside stubbornness to sammy pinkney. but stubbornness stood him in good stead just now. "don't you mind, tess and dot," he whispered, his own voice broken with half-stifled sobs. "i'll get you out of it. we'll run away first chance we get." "but it never does _you_ any good to run away, sammy," complained tess. "you only get into trouble. dot and i don't want to be beaten by that man. he is horrid." "i wish we could see those nice ladies who sold us the basket," wailed dot, quite desperate now. "i--i'd be _glad_ to give 'em back the bracelet." "sh!" hissed sammy. "we'll run away and we'll take the bracelet along. these gyps sha'n't ever get it again, so there!" "humph! i don't see what you have to say about _that_, sammy," scoffed tess. "if the women own it, of course they have got to have it. but i don't want that big jim to have it--not at all!" "he won't get it. you leave it to me," said sammy, with recovered assurance. the van door was neither locked nor barred. but if the children had stepped out of it the firelight would have revealed their figures instantly to the gypsies. either the women bending over the pots and pans at the fires or the children running about the encampment would have raised a hue and cry if the little captives had attempted to run away. and there were a dozen burly men sitting about, smoking and talking and awaiting the call to supper. this meal was finally prepared. the fumes from the pots reached the nostrils of tess, dot, and sammy, and they were all ravenously hungry. nor were they denied food. the gypsies evidently had no intention of maltreating the captives in any particular as long as they obeyed and did not try to escape. one young woman brought a great pan of stew and bread and three spoons to the van and set it on the upper step for the children. "you eat," said she, smiling, and the firelight shining on her gold earrings. "it do you goot--yes?" "oh, miss gypsy!" begged tess, "we want to go home." "that all right. beeg jeem tak-a you. to-morrow, maybe." she went away hurriedly. but she had left them a plentiful supper. the three were too ravenous to be delicate. they each seized a spoon and, as sammy advised, "dug in." "this is the way all gypsies eat," he said, proud of his knowledge. "sometimes the men use their pocket knives to cut up the meat. but they don't seem to have any forks. and i guess forks aren't necessary anyway." "but they are nicer than fingers," objected tess. "huh? are they?" observed the young barbarian. after they had completely cleared the pan of every scrap and eaten every crumb of bread and drunk the milk that had been brought to them in a quart cup, dot naturally gave way to sleepiness. she began to whimper a little too. "if that big, bad gypsy man doesn't take us home pretty soon i shall have to sleep here, sister," she complained. "you lie right down on this bench," said tess kindly, "and i will cover you up and you can sleep as long as you want to." so dot did this. but sammy was not at all sleepy. his mind was too active for that. he was prowling about the more or less littered van. "say!" he whispered to tess, "there is a little window here in the front overlooking the driver's seat. and it swings on a hinge like a door." "i don't care, sammy. i--i'm sleepy, too," confessed tess, with a yawn behind her hand. "say! don't _you_ go to sleep like a big kid," snapped the boy. "we've got to get away from these gyps." "i thought you were going to stay with them forever." "not to let that big jim bang me over the head. not much!" ejaculated sammy fiercely. "if my father saw him do that--" "but your father isn't here. if he was--" "if he was you can just bet," said sammy with confidence, "that big jim would not dare hit me." "i--i wish your father would come and take us all home then," went on tess, with another yawn. "well," admitted sammy, "i wish he would, too. crickey! but it's awful to have girls along, whether you are a pirate or a gypsy." "you needn't talk!" snapped tess, quite tart for her. "we did not ask to come. and you were here 'fore we got here. and now you can't get away any more than dot and i can." "sh!" advised sammy again, and earnestly. "i got an idea." "what is it?" asked tess, without much curiosity. "this here window in front!" whispered the boy. "we can open it. it is all dark at that end of the van. if we can slide out on to the seat we'll climb down in the dark and get into the woods. i know the way to the road. i can see a patch of it through the window. what say?" "but dot? she sleeps so hard," breathed tess. "we can poke her through the window on to the seat. then we will crawl through. if she doesn't wake up and holler--" "i'll stop her from hollering," agreed tess firmly. "we'll try it, sammy, before those awful women get back into the van." fortunately for the attempt of the captives their own supper had been dispatched with promptness. the gypsies were still sitting about over the meal when sammy opened that front window in the van. he and tess lifted dot, who complained but faintly and kept her eyes tightly closed, and pushed her feet first through the small window. the driver's seat was broad and roomy. the little girl lay there all right while first tess and then sammy crept through the window. it was dark here, and they could scarcely see the way to the ground. but sammy ventured down first, and after barking his shins a little found the step and whispered his directions to tess about passing dot down to him. they actually got to the ground themselves and brought the smallest corner house girl with them without any serious mishap. sammy tried to carry dot over his shoulder, but he could not stagger far with her. and, too, the sleepy child began to object. "sh! keep still!" hissed her sister in dot's ear. "do you want the gypsies to get you again?" she had to help sammy carry the child, however. dot was such a heavy sleeper--especially when she first went to sleep--that nothing could really bring her back to realities. the two stumbled along with her in the deep shadows and actually reached the woods that bordered the encampment. suddenly a dog barked. somebody shouted to the animal and it subsided with a sullen growl. but in a moment another dog began to yap. the guards of the camp realized that something was going wrong, although as yet none of the dogs had scented the escaping children exactly. "oh, hurry! hurry!" gasped tess. "the dogs will chase us." "i am afraid they will," admitted sammy. "we got to hide our trail." "how'll we do that, sammy?" gasped tess. "like the indians do," declared the boy. "we got to find a stream of water and wade in it." "but i've got shoes and stockings on. and mrs. mccall says we can't go wading without asking permission." "crickey! how you going to run away from these gypsies if you've got to mind what you're told all the time?" asked sammy desperately. "but won't the water be cold? and why wade in it, anyway?" "so the dogs can't follow our scent. they can't follow scent through water. come on. we got to find a brook or something." "there's the canal," ventured tess, in an awed whisper. "the canal, your granny!" exclaimed the exasperated boy. "that's over your head, tess kenway." "well! i don't know of any other water. oh! hear those dogs bark." "don't you s'pose i've got ears?" snapped sammy. "they sound awful savage." "yes. they've got some savage dogs," admitted the boy. "will they bite us? oh, sammy! will they bite us?" "not if they don't catch us," replied the boy, staggering on, bearing the heavier end of dot while tess carried her sister's feet. they suddenly burst through a fringe of bushes upon the open road. there was just starlight enough to show them the way. the dogs were still barking vociferously back at the gypsy camp. but there seemed to be no pursuit. "oh, my gracious! i've torn my frock," gasped tess. "do wait, sammy." the boy stopped. indeed he had to, for his own breath had given out. the three fell right down on the grass beside the road, and dot began to whimper. "you stop her, tess!" exclaimed sammy. "you said you could. she will bring those gypsies right here." "dot! dot!" whispered tess, shaking the smaller girl. "do you want to be a prisoner again? keep still!" "my--my knees are cold," whined dot. "je-ru-sa-lem!" gasped sammy explosively. "_now_ she's done it! we're caught again." he jumped to his feet, but not quickly enough to escape the outstretched hand of the figure that had suddenly appeared beside them. a dark face bent over the trio of frightened children. "he's a gyp!" cried sammy. "we're done for, tess!" chapter xxv--it must be all right as mrs mccall told ruth kenway when she arrived with luke and cecile at the old corner house, the other kenway sister and neale o'neil had not started out on their hunt for the gypsy encampment alone. mr. pinkney, hearing of the absence of the smaller girls, had volunteered to go with the searchers. "somehow, my wife feels that sammy may be with tess and dot," he explained to neale and agnes. "i never contradict her at such times. and perhaps he is. no knowing where that boy of mine is likely to turn up, anyway." "but you do not suppose for one instant, mr. pinkney, that sammy has come and coaxed my sisters to run away?" cried agnes from the tonneau, as the car started out through willow street. "i am not so sure about that. you know, he got dot to run away with him once," chuckled mr. pinkney. "this is nothing like that, i am sure!" declared agnes. "i am with you there, aggie," admitted neale. "i guess this is a serious affair. the gypsies are in it." between the two, the boy and the girl told mr. pinkney all about the silver bracelet and the events connected with it. the man listened with appreciation. "i don't know, of course, anything about the fight between the two factions of gypsies over what you call queen alma's bracelet--" "if it doesn't prove to be sarah turner's bracelet," interjected agnes. "yes. that is possible. they may have just found it--those gypsy women. and the story costello, the junkman, told us might be a fake," said neale. "however," broke in mr. pinkney again, "there is a chance that the bracelet was given to tess and dot for a different purpose from any you have suggested." "what do you mean by that?" asked neale and agnes in unison. "it is a fact that some gypsies do steal children. now, don't be startled! it isn't commonly done. they are often accused without good reason. but gypsies are always more or less mixed up with traveling show people. there are many small tent shows traveling about the country at this time of year." "like twomley & sorber's circus," burst out agnes. "smaller than that. just one-ring affairs. and the shows are regular 'fly-by-nights.' gypsies fraternize with them of course. and often children are trained in those shows to be acrobats who are doubtless picked up around the country--usually children who have no guardians. and the gypsies sometimes pick up such." "oh, but, mr. pinkney!" cried agnes, "we are so careful of tess and dot. usually, i mean. i don't know what ruth will say when she gets home to-night. it looks as though we had been very careless while she was gone." "i know what children have to go through in a circus," said neale soberly. "but why should the gypsies have selected tess and dot?" "because, you tell me, they were playing circus, and doing stunts at the very time the gypsy women sold them the basket." "oh! so they were," agreed agnes. "oh, neale!" "crickey! it might be, i suppose. i never thought of that," admitted the boy. he was carefully running the car while this talk was going on. he soon drove past the poole place and later stopped at a little house where the constable lived. mr. ben stryker was at home. it was not often that automobile parties called at his door. usually they did not want to see mr. stryker, who was a stickler for the "rules of the road." "what's the matter?" asked the constable, coming out to the car. "want to pay me your fine, so as not to have to wait to see the justice of the peace?" he said it jokingly. when he heard about the missing kenway children and of the reason to fear gypsies had something to do with it, he jumped into the car, taking mr. pinkney's place in the front seat beside neale. "i've had my eye on big jim costello ever since he has been back here," stryker declared. "i sent him away to jail once. he is a bad one. and if he is mixed up in any kidnapping, i'll put him into the penitentiary for a long term." "but of course we would not want to make them trouble if the children went to the camp alone," ventured agnes. "you know, they might have been hunting for the two women who sold them the basket." "those gypsies know what to do in such a case. they know where i live, and they should have brought the two little girls to me. i certainly have it in for big jim." but as we have seen, when the party arrived at the spot where the gypsies had been encamped, not a trace of them was left. that is, no trace that pointed to the time or the direction of their departure. "maybe these gypsies did not have a thing to do with the absence of tess and dot," whispered agnes. "and maybe they had everything to do with it," declared neale, aloud. "looks to me as though they had turned the trick and escaped." "and in those motor-vans they can cover a deal of ground," suggested mr. pinkney. agnes broke down at this point and wept. the constable had got out and with the aid of his pocket lamp searched the vicinity. he saw plainly where the vans had turned into the dusty road and the direction they had taken. "the best we can do is to follow them," he advised. "if i can catch them inside the county i'll be able to handle them. and if they go into the next county i'll get help. well search their vans, no matter where we catch them. all ready?" the party went on. to catch the moving gypsies was no easy matter. frequently mr. stryker got down to look at the tracks. this was at every cross road. fortunately the wheels of one of the gypsy vans had a peculiar tread. it was easy to see the marks of these wheels in the dust. therefore, although the pursuit was slow, they managed to be sure they were going right. from eleven o'clock until three in the morning the motor-car was driven over the circuitous route the nomad procession had taken earlier in the night. then they came to the new encampment. their approach was announced by the barking of the mongrel dogs that guarded the camp. half the tribe seemed to be awake when the car slowed down and stopped on the roadway. mr. stryker got out and shouted for big jim. "come out here!" said the constable threateningly. "i know you are here, and i want to talk with you, jim costello." "well, whose chicken roost has been raided now?" demanded big jim, approaching with his smile and his impudence both in evidence. "no chicken thievery," snapped stryker, flashing his electric light into the big gypsy's face. "where are those kids?" "what kids? i got my own--and there's a raft of them. i'll give you a couple if you want." big jim seemed perfectly calm and the other gypsies were like him. they routed out every family in the camp. the constable and neale searched the tents and the vans. no trace of tess and dot was to be found. "everything you lay to the poor gypsy," said big jim complainingly. "now it is not chickens--it is kids. bah!" he slouched away. stryker called after him: "never mind, jim. we'll get you yet! you watch your step." he came back to the kenway car shaking his head. "i guess they have not been here. i'll come back to-morrow when the gypsies don't expect me and look again if your little sisters do not turn up elsewhere. what shall we do now?" agnes was weeping so that she could not speak. neale shook his head gloomily. mr. pinkney sighed. "well," the latter said, "we might as well start for home. no good staying here." "i'll get you to milton in much shorter time than it took to get here," said the constable. "keep right ahead, mr. o'neil. we'll take the first turn to the right and run on till we come to hampton mills. it's pretty near a straight road from there to milton. and i can get a ride from the mills to my place with a fellow i know who passes my house every morning." neale started the car and they left the buzzing camp behind them. they had no idea that the moment the sound of the car died away the gypsies leaped to action, packed their goods and chattels again, and the tribe started swiftly for the state line. big jim did not mean to be caught if he could help it by constable stryker, who knew his record. the corner house car whirred over the rather good roads to hampton mills and there the constable parted from them. he promised to report any news he might get of the absent children, and they were to send him word if tess and dot were found. the car rounded the pond where sammy had had his adventure at the ice-house and had ruined his knickerbockers. it was a straight road from that point to milton. going up the hill beside the pond in the gray light of dawn, they saw ahead of them a man laboring on in the middle of the road with a child upon his shoulders, while two other small figures walked beside him, clinging to his coat. "there's somebody else moving," said mr. pinkney to agnes. "what do you know about little children being abroad at this time of the morning?" "shall we give them a lift?" asked neale. "only i don't want to stop on this hill." but he did. he stopped in another minute because agnes uttered a piercing scream. "oh, tessie! oh, dot! it's them! it's the children!" "great moses!" ejaculated mr. pinkney, forced likewise into excitement, "is that sammy pinkney?" the man carrying dot turned quickly. tess and sammy both uttered eager yelps of recognition. dot bobbed sleepily above the head of the man who carried her pickaback. "oh, agnes! isn't this my day for wearing that bracelet? say, isn't it?" she demanded. the dark man came forward, speaking very politely and swiftly. "it is the honest kenway--yes? you remember costello? i am he. i find your sisters with the bad gypsies--yes. then you will give me queen alma's bracelet--the great heirloom of our family? i am friend--i bring children back for you. you give me bracelet?" tess and dot were tumbled into their sister's arms. mr. pinkney jumped out of the car and grabbed sammy before he could run. costello, the junkman, repeated his request over and over while agnes was greeting the two little girls as they deserved to be greeted. finally he made some impression upon her mind. "oh, dear me!" agnes cried in exasperation, "how can i give it you? i don't know where it is. it's been stolen." "stolen? that beeg jeem!" again costello exploded in his native tongue. tess nestled close to agnes. she lifted her lips and whispered in her sister's ear: "don't tell him. he's a gypsy, too, though i guess he is a good one. i have got that bracelet inside my dress. it's safe." they did not tell costello, the junkman, that at this time. in fact, it was some months before mr. howbridge, by direction of the court, gave queen alma's bracelet into the hands of miguel costello, who really proved in the end that he had the better right to the bracelet that undoubtedly had once belonged to the queen of the spanish gypsies. it had not been merely by chance that the young gypsy woman who had sold the green and yellow basket to tess and dot had dropped that ornament into the basket. she had worn the bracelet, for she was big jim's daughter. without doubt it was the intention of the gypsies to engage the little girls' interest through this bracelet and get their confidence, to bring about the very situation which they finally consummated. one of the women confessed in court that they could sell tess and dot for acrobats. or they thought they could. the appearance of miguel costello in milton, claiming the rightful ownership of the silver bracelet, made the matter unexpectedly difficult for big jim and his clan. indeed, the kenways had much to thank miguel costello for. however, these mysteries were explained long after this particular morning on which the children were recovered. no such home-coming had ever been imagined, and the old corner house and vicinity staged a celebration that will long be remembered. luke shepard had been put to bed soon after his arrival. but he would not be content until he got up again and came downstairs in his bathrobe to greet the returned wanderers. agnes just threw herself into ruth's arms when she first saw her elder sister, crying: "oh! don't you _dare_ ever go away again, ruth kenway, without taking the rest of us with you. we're not fit to be left alone." "i am afraid some day, agnes, you will have to get along without me," said ruth placidly, but smiling into luke's eyes as she said it. "you know, we are growing up." "aggie isn't ever going to grow up," grumbled neale. "she is just a kid." "oh, is _that_ so, mr. smartie?" cried agnes, suddenly drying her eyes. "i'd have you know i am just as much grown up as you are." "oh, dear, me, i'm so sleepy," moaned dot. "i--i didn't sleep very well at all last night." "goodness! i should think sammy and i ought to be the ones to be sleepy. we didn't have any chance at all!" tess exclaimed. as for sammy, he was taken home by an apparently very stern father to meet a wildly grateful mother. mrs. pinkney drew the sting from all verbal punishment mr. pinkney might have given his son. "and the dear boy! i knew he had not forgotten us when i found he had taken that picture with him. did you, sammy?" "did i what, mom?" asked sammy, his mouth comfortably filled with cake. "that picture. you know, the one we all had taken down at pleasant cove that time. the one of your father and you and me that you kept on your bureau. when i saw that you had taken that with you to remember us by----" "oh, crickey, mom! buster, the bull pup, ate that old picture up a month ago," said the nonsentimental sammy. the end charming stories for girls the corner house girls series by grace brooks hill four girls from eight to fourteen years of age receive word that a rich bachelor uncle has died, leaving them the old corner house he occupied. they move into it and then the fun begins. what they find and do will provoke many a hearty laugh. later, they enter school and make many friends. one of these invites the girls to spend a few weeks at a bungalow owned by her parents, and the adventures they meet with make very interesting reading. clean, wholesome stories of humor and adventure, sure to appeal to all young girls. 1 corner house girls. 2 corner house girls at school. 3 corner house girls under canvas. 4 corner house girls in a play. 5 corner house girls' odd find. 6 corner house girls on a tour. 7 corner house girls growing up. 8 corner house girls snowbound. 9 corner house girls on a houseboat. 10 corner house girls among the gypsies. 11 corner house girls on palm island. 12 the corner house girls solve a mystery. barse & hopkins new york, n.y., newark, n.j. "the polly" series by dorothy whitehill polly pendleton is a resourceful, wide-awake american girl who goes to a boarding school on the hudson river some miles above new york. by her pluck and resourcefulness, she soon makes a place for herself and this she holds right through the course. the account of boarding school life is faithful and pleasing and will attract every girl in her teens. cloth, large 12 mo. illustrated 1 polly's first summer year at boarding school 2 polly's summer vacation 3 polly's senior year at boarding school 4 polly sees the world at war 5 polly and lois 6 polly and bob 7 polly's re-union 8 polly's polly barse & hopkins publishers new york, n.y., newark, n.j. [illustration: "_i plucked him off the duke and flung him on his back on the sands_,"] the indiscretion of the duchess _being a story concerning two ladies, a nobleman, and a necklace_ by anthony hope author of "the prisoner of zenda," etc. new york 1894 contents. i. a multitude of good reasons ii. the significance of a supper-table iii. the unexpected that always happened iv. the duchess defines her position v. a strategic retreat vi. a hint of something serious vii. heard through the door viii. i find that i care ix. an unparalleled insult x. left on my hands xi. a very clever scheme xii. as a man possessed xiii. a timely truce xiv. for an empty box xv. i choose my way xvi. the inn near pontorson xvii. a reluctant intrusion xviii. a strange good humor xix. unsummoned witnesses xx. the duke's epitaph xxi. a passing carriage xxii. from shadow to sunshine the indiscretion of the duchess. chapter i. a multitude of good reasons. in accordance with many most excellent precedents, i might begin by claiming the sympathy due to an orphan alone in the world. i might even summon my unguided childhood and the absence of parental training to excuse my faults and extenuate my indiscretions. but the sympathy which i should thus gain would be achieved, i fear, by something very like false pretenses. for my solitary state sat very lightly upon me--the sad events which caused it being softened by the influence of time and habit--and had the recommendation of leaving me, not only free to manage my own life as i pleased, but also possessed of a competence which added power to my freedom. and as to the indiscretions--well, to speak it in all modesty and with a becoming consciousness of human frailty, i think that the undoubted indiscretions--that i may use no harder term--which were committed in the course of a certain fortnight were not for the most part of my doing or contriving. for throughout the transactions which followed on my arrival in france, i was rather the sport of circumstances than the originator of any scheme; and the prominent part which i played was forced upon me, at first by whimsical chance, and later on by the imperious calls made upon me by the position into which i was thrust. the same reason that absolves me from the need of excuse deprives me of the claim to praise; and, looking back, i am content to find nothing of which i need seriously be ashamed, and glad to acknowledge that, although fate chose to put me through some queer paces, she was not in the end malevolent, and that, now the whole thing is finished, i have no cause to complain of the ultimate outcome of it. in saying that, i speak purely and solely for myself. there is one other for whom i might perhaps venture to say the same without undue presumption, but i will not; while for the rest, it must suffice for me to record their fortunes, without entering on the deep and grave questions which are apt to suggest themselves to anyone who considers with a thoughtful mind the characters and the lives of those with whom he is brought in contact on his way through the world. the good in wicked folk, the depths in shallow folk, the designs of haphazard minds, the impulsive follies of the cunning--all these exist, to be dimly discerned by any one of us, to be ignored by none save those who are content to label a man with the name of one quality and ignore all else in him, but to be traced, fully understood, and intelligently shown forth only by the few who are gifted to read and expound the secrets of human hearts. that is a gift beyond my endowment, and fitted for a task too difficult for my hand. frankly, i did not, always and throughout, discern as clearly as i could desire the springs on which the conduct of my fellow-actors turned; and the account i have given of their feelings and their motives must be accepted merely as my reading of them, and for what, as such, it is worth. the actual facts speak for themselves. let each man read them as he will; and if he does not indorse all my views, yet he will, i venture to think, be recompensed by a story which even the greatest familiarity and long pondering has not robbed of all its interest for me. but then i must admit that i have reasons which no one else can have for following with avidity every stage and every development in the drama, and for seeking to discern now what at the time was dark and puzzling to me. the thing began in the most ordinary way in the world--or perhaps that is too strongly put. the beginning was ordinary indeed, and tame, compared with the sequel. yet even the beginning had a flavor of the unusual about it, strong enough to startle a man so used to a humdrum life and so unversed in anything out of the common as i. here, then, is the beginning: one morning, as i sat smoking my after-breakfast cigar in my rooms in st. james' street, my friend gustave de berensac rushed in. his bright brown eyes were sparkling, his mustache seemed twisted up more gayly and triumphantly than ever, and his manner was redolent of high spirits. yet it was a dull, somber, misty morning, for all that the month was july and another day or two would bring august. but gustave was a merry fellow, though always (as i had occasion to remember later on) within the limits of becoming mirth--as to which, to be sure, there may be much difference of opinion. "shame!" he cried, pointing at me. "you are a man of leisure, nothing keeps you here; yet you stay in this _bouillon_ of an atmosphere, with france only twenty miles away over the sea!" "they have fogs in france too," said i. "but whither tends your impassioned speech, my good friend? have you got leave?" gustave was at this time an extra secretary at the french embassy in london. "leave? yes, i have leave--and, what is more, i have a charming invitation." "my congratulations," said i. "an invitation which includes a friend," he continued, sitting down. "ah, you smile! you mean that is less interesting?" "a man may smile and smile, and not be a villain," said i. "i meant nothing of the sort. i smiled at your exhilaration--nothing more, on the word of a moral englishman." gustave grimaced; then he waved his cigarette in the air, exclaiming: "she is charming, my dear gilbert!" "the exhilaration is explained." "there is not a word to be said against her," he added hastily. "that does not depress me," said i. "but why should she invite me?" "she doesn't invite you; she invites me to bring--anybody!" "then she is _ennuyée_, i presume?" "who would not be, placed as she is? he is inhuman!" "_m. le mari?_" "you are not so stupid, after all! he forbids her to see a single soul; we must steal our visit, if we go." "he is away, then?" "the kind government has sent him on a special mission of inquiry to algeria. three cheers for the government!" "by all means," said i. "when are you going to approach the subject of who these people are?" "you will not trust my discernment?" "alas, no! you are too charitable--to one half of humanity." "well, i will tell you. she is a great friend of my sister's--they were brought up in the same convent; she is also a good comrade of mine." "a good comrade?" "that is just it; for i, you know, suffer hopelessly elsewhere." "what, lady cynthia still?" "still!" echoed gustave with a tragic air. but he recovered in a moment. "lady cynthia being, however, in switzerland, there is no reason why i should not go to normandy." "oh, normandy?" "precisely. it is there that the duchess--" "oho! the duchess?" "is residing in retirement in a small _château_, alone save for my sister's society." "and a servant or two, i presume?" "you are just right, a servant or two; for he is most stingy to her (though not, they say, to everybody), and gives her nothing when he is away." "money is a temptation, you see." "_mon dieu_, to have none is a greater!" and gustave shook his head solemnly. "the duchess of what?" i asked patiently. "you will have heard of her," he said, with a proud smile. evidently he thought that the lady was a trump card. "the duchess of saint-maclou." i laid down my cigar, maintaining, however, a calm demeanor. "aha!" said gustave. "you will come, my friend?" i could not deny that gustave had a right to his little triumph; for a year ago, when the duchess had visited england with her husband, i had received an invitation to meet her at the embassy. unhappily, the death of a relative (whom i had never seen) occurring the day before, i had been obliged to post off to ireland, and pay proper respect by appearing at the funeral. when i returned the duchess had gone, and gustave had, half-ironically, consoled my evident annoyance by telling me that he had given such a description of me to his friend that she shared my sorrow, and had left a polite message to that effect. that i was not much consoled needs no saying. that i required consolation will appear not unnatural when i say that the duchess was one of the most brilliant and well-known persons in french society; yes, and outside france also. for she was a cosmopolitan. her father was french, her mother american; and she had passed two or three years in england before her marriage. she was very pretty, and, report said, as witty as a pretty woman need be. once she had been rich, but the money was swallowed up by speculation; she and her father (the mother was dead) were threatened with such reduction of means as seemed to them penury; and the marriage with the duke had speedily followed--the precise degree of unwillingness on the part of mlle. de beville being a disputed point. men said she was forced into the marriage, women very much doubted it; the lady herself gave no indication, and her father declared that the match was one of affection. all this i had heard from common friends; only a series of annoying accidents had prevented the more interesting means of knowledge which acquaintance with the duchess herself would have afforded. "you have always," said gustave, "wanted to know her." i relit my cigar and puffed thoughtfully. it was true that i had rather wished to know her. "my belief is," he continued, "that though she says 'anybody,' she means you. she knows what friends we are; she knows you are eager to be among her friends; she would guess that i should ask you first." i despise and hate a man who is not open to flattery: he is a hard, morose, distrustful, cynical being, doubting the honesty of his friends and the worth of his own self. i leant an ear to gustave's suggestion. "what she would not guess," he said, throwing his cigarette into the fireplace and rising to his feet, "is that you would refuse when i did ask you. what shall be the reason? shocked, are you? or afraid?" gustave spoke as though nothing could either shock or frighten him. "i'm merely considering whether it will amuse me," i returned. "how long are we asked for?" "that depends on diplomatic events." "the mission to algeria?" "why, precisely." i put my hands in my pockets. "i should certainly be glad, my dear gustave," said i, "to meet your sister again." "we take the boat for cherbourg to-morrow evening!" he cried triumphantly, slapping me on the back. "and, in my sister's name, many thanks! i will make it clear to the duchess why you come." "no need to make bad blood between them like that," i laughed. in fine, i was pleased to go; and, on reflection, there was no reason why i should not go. i said as much to gustave. "seeing that everybody is going out of town and the place will be a desert in a week, i'm certainly not wanted here just now." "and seeing that the duke is gone to algeria, we certainly are wanted there," said gustave. "and a man should go where he is wanted," said i. "and a man is wanted," said gustave, "where a lady bids him come." "it would," i cried, "be impolite not to go." "it would be dastardly. besides, think how you will enjoy the memory of it!" "the memory?" i repeated, pausing in my eager walk up and down. "it will be a sweet memory," he said. "ah!" "because, my friend, it is prodigiously unwise--for you." "and not for you?" "why, no. lady cynthia--" he broke off, content to indicate the shield that protected him. but it was too late to draw back. "let it be as unwise," said i, "as it will--" "or as the duke is," put in gustave, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. "yet it is a plan as delightful--" "as the duchess is," said gustave. and so, for all the excellent reasons which may be collected from the foregoing conversation,--and if carefully tabulated they would, i am persuaded, prove as numerous as weighty,--i went. chapter ii. the significance of a supper-table. the aycons of aycon knoll have always been a hard-headed, levelheaded race. we have had no enthusiasms, few ambitions, no illusions, and not many scandals. we keep our heads on our shoulders and our purses in our pockets. we do not rise very high, but we have never sunk. we abide at the knoll from generation to generation, deeming our continued existence in itself a service to the state and an honor to the house. we think more highly of ourselves than we admit, and allow ourselves to smile when we walk in to dinner behind the new nobility. we grow just a little richer with every decade, and add a field or two to our domains once in five years. the gaps made by falling rents we have filled by judicious purchases of land near rising towns; and we have no doubt that there lies before us a future as long and prosperous as our past has been. we are not universally popular, and we see in the fact a tribute to our valuable qualities. i venture to mention these family virtues and characteristics because it has been thought in some quarters that i displayed them but to a very slight degree in the course of the expedition on which i was now embarked. the impression is a mistaken one. as i have said before, i did nothing that was not forced upon me. any of my ancestors would, i am sure, have done the same, had they chanced to be thrown under similar circumstances into the society of mme. de saint-maclou and of the other persons whom i was privileged to meet; and had those other persons happened to act in the manner in which they did when i fell in with them. gustave maintained his gayety and good spirits unabated through the trials of our voyage to cherbourg. the mild mystery that attended our excursion was highly to his taste. he insisted on our coming without servants. he persuaded me to leave no address; obliged to keep himself within touch of the embassy, he directed letters to be sent to avranches, where, he explained, he could procure them; for, as he thought it safe to disclose when a dozen miles of sea separated us from the possibility of curious listeners, the house to which we were bound stood about ten miles distant from that town, in a retired and somewhat desolate bit of country lining the seashore. "my sister says it is the most _triste_ place in the world," said he; "but we shall change all that when we arrive." there was nothing to prevent our arriving very soon to relieve mlle. de berensac's depression, for the middle of the next day found us at avranches, and we spent the afternoon wandering about somewhat aimlessly and staring across the bay at the mass of mont st. michel. directly beneath us as we stood on the hill, and lying in a straight line with the mount, there was a large square white house, on the very edge of the stretching sand. we were told that it was a convent. "but the whole place is no livelier than one," said i, yawning. "my dear fellow, why don't we go on?" "it is right for you to see this interesting town," answered gustave gravely, but with a merry gleam in his eye. "however, i have ordered a carriage, so be patient." "for what time?" "nine o'clock, when we have dined." "we are to get there in the dark, then?" "what reason is there against that?" he asked, smiling. "none," said i; and i went to pack up my bag. in my room i chanced to find a _femme-de-chambre_. to her i put a question or two as to the gentry of the neighborhood. she rattled me off a few distinguished names, and ended: "the duke of saint-maclou has also a small _château_." "is he there now?" i asked. "the duchess only, sir," she answered. "ah, they tell wonderful stories of her!" "do they? pray, of what kind?" "oh, not to her harm, sir; or, at least, not exactly, though to simple country-folk--" the national shrug was an appropriate ending. "and the duke?" "he is a good man," she answered earnestly, "and a very clever man. he is very highly thought of at paris, sir." i had hoped, secretly, to hear that he was a villain; but he was a good man. it was a scurvy trick to play on a good man. well, there was no help for it. i packed my bag with some dawning misgivings; the chambermaid, undisturbed by my presence, went on rubbing the table with some strong-smelling furniture polish. "at least," she observed, as though there had been no pause, "he gives much to the church and to the poor." "it may be repentance," said i, looking up with a hopeful air. "it is possible, sir." "or," cried i, with a smile, "hypocrisy?" the chambermaid's shake of her head refused to accept this idea; but my conscience, fastening on it, found rest. i hesitated no longer. the man was a cunning hypocrite. i would go on cheerfully, secure that he deserved all the bamboozling which the duchess and my friend gustave might prepare for him. at nine o'clock, as gustave had arranged, we started in a heavy carriage drawn by two great white horses and driven by a stolid fat hostler. slowly we jogged along under the stars, st. michel being our continual companion on the right hand, as we followed the road round the bay. when we had gone five or six miles, we turned suddenly inland. there were banks on each side of the road now, and we were going uphill; for rising out of the plain there was a sudden low spur of higher ground. "is the house at the top?" i asked gustave. "just under the top," said he. "i shall walk," said i. the fact is, i had grown intolerably impatient of our slow jog, which had now sunk to a walk. we jumped out and strode on ahead, soon distancing our carriage, and waking echoes with our merry talk. "i rather wonder they have not come to meet us," said gustave. "see, there is the house." a sudden turn in the road had brought us in sight of it. it was a rather small modern gothic _château_. it nestled comfortably below the hill, which rose very steeply immediately behind it. the road along which we were approaching appeared to afford the only access, and no other house was visible. but, desolate as the spot certainly was, the house itself presented a gay appearance, for there were lights in every window from ground to roof. "she seems to have company," i observed. "it is that she expects us," answered gustave. "this illumination is in our honor." "come on," said i, quickening my pace; and gustave burst out laughing. "i knew you would catch fire when once i got you started!" he cried. suddenly a voice struck on my ear--a clear, pleasant voice: "was he slow to catch fire, my dear gustave?" i started. gustave looked round. "it is she," he said. "where is she?" "was he slow to catch fire?" asked the voice again. "well, he has but just come near the flame"--and a laugh followed the words. "slow to light is long to burn," said i, turning to the bank on the left side of the road, for it was thence that the voice came. a moment later a little figure in white darted down into the road, laughing and panting. she seized gustave's hand. "i ran so hard to meet you!" she cried. "and have you brought claire with you?" he asked. "present your friend to me," commanded the duchess, as though she had not heard his question. did i permit myself to guess at such things, i should have guessed the duchess to be about twenty-five years old. she was not tall; her hair was a dark brown, and the color in her cheeks rich but subdued. she moved with extraordinary grace and agility, and seemed never at rest. the one term of praise (if it be one, which i sometimes incline to doubt) that i have never heard applied to her is--dignified. "it is most charming of you to come, mr. aycon," said she. "i've heard so much of you, and you'll be so terribly dull!" "with yourself, madame, and mlle. de berensac--" "oh, of course you must say that!" she interrupted. "but come along, supper is ready. how delightful to have supper again! i'm never in good enough spirits to have supper when i'm alone. you'll be terribly uncomfortable, gentlemen. the whole household consists of an old man and five women--counting myself." "and are they all--?" began gustave. "discreet?" she asked, interrupting again. "oh, they will not tell the truth! never fear, my dear gustave!" "what news of the duke?" asked he, as we began to walk, the duchess stepping a little ahead of us. "oh, the best," said she, with a nod over her shoulder. "none, you know. that's one of your proverbs, mr. aycon?" "even a proverb is true sometimes," i ventured to remark. we reached the house and passed through the door, which stood wide open. crossing the hall, we found ourselves in a small square room, furnished with rose-colored hangings. here supper was spread. gustave walked up to the table. the duchess flung herself into an armchair. she had taken her handkerchief out of her pocket, and she held it in front of her lips and seemed to be biting it. her eyebrows were raised, and her face displayed a comical mixture of amusement and apprehension. a glance of her eyes at me invited me to share the perilous jest, in which gustave's demeanor appeared to bear the chief part. gustave stood by the table, regarding it with a puzzled air. "one--two--three!" he exclaimed aloud, counting the covers laid. the duchess said nothing, but her eyebrows mounted a little higher, till they almost reached her clustering hair. "one--two--three?" repeated gustave, in unmistakable questioning. "does claire remain upstairs?" appeal--amusement--fright--shame--triumph--chased one another across the eyes of mme. de saint-maclou: each made so swift an appearance, so swift an exit, that they seemed to blend in some peculiar personal emotion proper to the duchess and to no other woman born. and she bit the handkerchief harder than ever. for the life of me i couldn't help it; i began to laugh; the duchess' face disappeared altogether behind the handkerchief. "do you mean to say claire's not here?" cried gustave, turning on her swiftly and accusingly. the head behind the handkerchief was shaken, first timidly, then more emphatically, and a stifled voice vouchsafed the news: "she left three days ago." gustave and i looked at one another. there was a pause. at last i drew a chair back from the table, and said: "if madame is ready--" the duchess whisked her handkerchief away and sprang up. she gave one look at gustave's grave face, and then, bursting into a merry laugh, caught me by the arm, crying: "isn't it fun, mr. aycon? there's nobody but me! isn't it fun?" chapter iii. the unexpected that always happened. everything depends on the point of view and is rich in varying aspects. a picture is sublime from one corner of the room, a daub from another; a woman's full face may be perfect, her profile a disappointment; above all, what you admire in yourself becomes highly distasteful in your neighbor. the moral is, i suppose, tolerance; or if not that, something else which has escaped me. when the duchess said that "it"--by which she meant the whole position of affairs--was "fun," i laughed; on the other hand, gustave de berensac, after one astonished stare, walked to the hall door. "where is my carriage?" we heard him ask. "it has started on the way back three, minutes ago, sir." "fetch it back." "sir! the driver will gallop down the hill; he could not be overtaken." "how fortunate!" said i. "i do not see," observed mme. de saint-maclou, "that it makes all that difference." she seemed hurt at the serious way in which gustave took her joke. "if i had told the truth, you wouldn't have come," she said in justification. "not another word is necessary," said i, with a bow. "then let us sup," said the duchess, and she took the armchair at the head of the table. we began to eat and drink, serving ourselves. presently gustave entered, stood regarding us for a moment, and then flung himself into the third chair and poured out a glass of wine. the duchess took no notice of him. "mlle, de berensac was called away?" i suggested. "she was called away," answered the duchess. "suddenly?" "no," said the duchess, her eyes again full of complicated expressions. i laughed. then she broke out in a plaintive cry: "oh! were you ever dying--dying--dying of weariness?" gustave made no reply; the frown on his face persisted. "isn't it a pity," i asked, "to wreck a pleasant party for the sake of a fine distinction? the presence of mlle. de berensac would have infinitely increased our pleasure; but how would it have diminished our crime?" "i wish i had known you sooner, mr. aycon," said the duchess; "then i needn't have asked him at all." i bowed, but i was content with things as they were. the duchess sat with the air of a child who has been told that she is naughty, but declines to accept the statement. i was puzzled at the stern morality exhibited by my friend gustave. his next remark threw some light on his feelings. "heavens! if it became known, what would be thought?" he demanded suddenly. "if one thinks of what is thought," said the duchess with a shrug, "one is--" "a fool," said i, "or--a lover!" "ah!" cried the duchess, a smile coming on her lips. "if it is that, i'll forgive you, my dear gustave. whose good opinion do you fear to lose?" "i write," said gustave, with a rhetorical gesture, "to say that i am going to the house of some friends to meet my sister!" "oh, you write?" we murmured. "my sister writes to say she is not there!" "oh, she writes?" we murmured again. "and it is thought--" "by whom?" asked the duchess. "by lady cynthia chillingdon," said i. "that it is a trick--a device--a deceit!" continued poor gustave. "it was decidedly indiscreet of you to come," said the duchess reprovingly. "how was i to know about lady cynthia? if i had known about lady cynthia, i would not have asked you; i would have asked mr. aycon only. or perhaps you also, mr. aycon--" "madame," said i, "i am alone in the world." "where has claire gone to?" asked gustave. "paris," pouted the duchess. gustave rose, flinging his napkin on the table. "i shall follow her to-morrow," he said. "i suppose you'll go back to england, gilbert?" if gustave left us, it was my unhesitating resolve to return to england. "i suppose i shall," said i. "i suppose you must," said the duchess ruefully. "oh, isn't it exasperating? i had planned it all so delightfully!" "if you had told the truth--" began gustave. "i should not have had a preacher to supper," said the duchess sharply; then she fell to laughing again. "is mlle. de berensac irrecoverable?" i suggested. "why, yes. she has gone to take her turn of attendance on your rich old aunt, gustave." i think that there was a little malice in the duchess' way of saying this. there seemed nothing more to be done. the duchess herself did not propose to defy conventionality to the extent of inviting me to stay. to do her justice, as soon as the inevitable was put before her, she accepted it with good grace, and, after supper, busied herself in discovering the time and manner in which her guests might pursue their respective journeys. i may be flattering myself, but i thought that she displayed a melancholy satisfaction on discovering that gustave de berensac must leave at ten o'clock the next morning, whereas i should be left to kick my heels in idleness at cherbourg if i set out before five in the afternoon. "oh, you can spend the time _en route_," said gustave. "it will be better." the duchess looked at me; i looked at the duchess. "my dear gustave," said i, "you are very considerate. you could not do more if i also were in love with lady cynthia." "nor," said the duchess, "if i were quite unfit to be spoken to." "if my remaining till the afternoon will not weary the duchess--" said i. "the duchess will endure it," said she, with a nod and a smile. thus it was settled, a shake of the head conveying gustave's judgment. and soon after, mme. de saint-maclou bade us good-night. tired with my journey, and (to tell the truth) a little out of humor with my friend, i was not long in seeking my bed. at the top of the stairs a group of three girls were gossiping; one of them handed me a candle and flung open the door of my room with a roguish smile on her broad good-tempered face. "one of the greatest virtues of women," said i pausing on the threshold, "is fidelity." "we are devoted to mme. la duchesse," said the girl. "another, hardly behind it, is discretion," i continued. "madame inculcates it on us daily," said she. i took out a napoleon. "ladies," said i, placing the napoleon in the girl's hand, "i am obliged for your kind attentions. good-night!" and i shut the door on the sound of a pleased, excited giggling. i love to hear such sounds; they make me laugh myself, for joy that this old world, in spite of everything, holds so much merriment; and to their jovial lullaby i fell asleep, moreover--the duchess teaching discretion! there can have been nothing like it since baby charles and steenie conversed within the hearing of king james! but, then discretion has two meanings--whereof the one is "do it not," and the other "tell it not." considering of this ambiguity, i acquitted the duchess of hypocrisy. at ten o'clock the next morning we got rid of my dear friend gustave de berensac. candor compels me to put the statement in that form; for the gravity which had fallen upon him the night before endured till the morning, and he did not flinch from administering something very like a lecture to his hostess. his last words were an invitation to me to get into the carriage and start with him. when i suavely declined, he told me that i should regret it. it comforts me to think that his prophecy, though more than once within an ace of the most ample fulfillment, yet in the end was set at naught by the events which followed. gustave rolled down the hill, the duchess sighed relief. "now," said she, "we can enjoy ourselves fora few hours, mr. aycon. and after that--solitude!" i was really very sorry for the duchess. evidently society and gayety were necessary as food and air to her, and her churl of a husband denied them. my opportunity was short, but i laid myself out to make the most of it. i could give her nothing more than a pleasant memory, but i determined to do that. we spent the greater part of the day in a ramble through the woods that lined the slopes of the hill behind the house; and all through the hours the duchess chatted about herself, her life, her family--and then about the duke. if the hints she gave were to be trusted, her husband deserved little consideration at her hands, and, at the worst, the plea of reprisal might offer some excuse for her, if she had need of one. but she denied the need, and here i was inclined to credit her. for with me, as with gustave de berensac before the shadow of lady cynthia came between, she was, most distinctly, a "good comrade." sentiment made no appearance in our conversation, and, as the day ruthlessly wore on, i regretted honestly that i must go in deference to a conventionality which seemed, in this case at least--heaven forbid that i should indulge in general theories--to mask no reality. yet she was delightful by virtue of the vitality in her; and the woods echoed again and again with our laughter. at four o'clock we returned sadly to the house, where the merry girls busied themselves in preparing a repast for me. the duchess insisted on sharing my meal. "i shall go supperless to bed to-night," said she; and we sat down glum as two children going back to school. suddenly there was a commotion outside; the girls were talking to one another in rapid eager tones. the duchess raised her head, listening. then she turned to me, asking: "can you hear what they say?" "i can distinguish nothing except 'quick, quick!'" as i spoke the door was thrown open, and two rushed in, the foremost saying: "again, madame, again!" "impossible!" exclaimed the duchess, starting up. "no, it is true. jean was out, snaring a rabbit, and caught sight of the carriage." "what carriage? whose carriage?" i asked. "why, my husband's," said the duchess, quite calmly. "it is a favorite trick of his to surprise us. but algeria! we thought we were safe with algeria. he must travel underground like a mole, suzanne, or we should have heard." "oh, one hears nothing here!" "and what," said the duchess, "are we to do with mr. aycon?" "i can solve that," i observed. "i'm off." "but he'll see you!" cried the girl. "he is but a half-mile off." "mr. aycon could take the side-path," said the duchess. "the duke would see him before he reached it," said the girl. "he would be in sight for nearly fifty yards." "couldn't i hide in the bushes?" i asked. "i hate anything that looks suspicious," remarked the duchess, still quite calm; "and if he happened to see you, it would look rather suspicious! and he has got eyes like a cat's for anything of that sort." there was no denying that it would look suspicious if i were caught hiding in the bushes. i sat silent, having no other suggestion to make. suzanne, with a readiness not born, i hope, of practice, came to the rescue with a clever suggestion. "the english groom whom madame dismissed a week ago--" said she. "why should not the gentleman pass as the groom? the man would not take his old clothes away, for he had bought new ones, and they are still here. the gentleman would put them on and walk past--_voilà_." "can you look like a groom?" asked the duchess. "if he speaks to you, make your french just a _little_ worse"--and she smiled. they were all so calm and businesslike that it would have seemed disobliging and absurd to make difficulties. "we can send your luggage soon, you know," said the duchess. "you had better hide mr. aycon's luggage in your room, suzanne. really, i am afraid you ought to be getting ready, mr. aycon." the point of view again! by virtue of the duchess' calmness and suzanne's cool readiness, the proceeding seemed a most ordinary one. five minutes later i presented myself to the duchess, dressed in a villainous suit of clothes, rather too tight for me, and wearing a bad hat rakishly cocked over one eye. the duchess surveyed me with great curiosity. "fortunately the duke is not a very clever man," said she. "oh, by the way, your name's george sampson, and you come from newmarket; and you are leaving because you took more to drink than was good for you. good-by, mr. aycon. i do hope that we shall meet again under pleasanter circumstances." "they could not be pleasanter--but they might be more prolonged," said i. "it was so good of you to come," she said, pressing my hand. "the carriage is but a quarter of a mile off!" cried suzanne warningly. "how very annoying it is! i wish to heaven the algerians had eaten the duke!" "i shall not forget my day here," i assured her. "you won't? it's charming of you. oh, how dull it will be now! it only wanted the arrival of--well, good-by!" and with a final and long pressure of the duchess' hand, i, in the garb and personality of george sampson, dismissed for drunkenness, walked out of the gate of the _château_. "one thing," i observed to myself as i started, "would seem highly probable--and that is, that this sort of thing has happened before." the idea did not please me. i like to do things first. chapter iv. the duchess defines her position. i walked on at a leisurely pace; the heavy carriage was very near the top of the hill. in about three minutes' time we met. there sat alone in the carriage a tall dark man, with a puffy white face, a heavy mustache, and stern cold eyes. he was smoking a cigar. i plucked my hat from my head and made as if to pass by. "who's this?" he called out, stopping the carriage. i began to recite my lesson in stumbling french. "why, what are you? oh, you're english! then in heaven's name, speak english--not that gabble." and then he repeated his order, "speak english," in english, and continued in that language, which he spoke with stiff formal correctness. he heard my account of myself with unmoved face. "have you any writings--any testimonials?" he asked. "no, my lord," i stammered, addressing him in style i thought most natural to my assumed character. "that's a little curious, isn't it? you become intoxicated everywhere, perhaps?" "i've never been intoxicated in my life, my lord," said i, humbly but firmly. "then you dispute the justice of your dismissal?" "yes, my lord." i thought such protest due to my original. he looked at me closely, smoking his cigar the while. "you made love to the chambermaids?" he asked suddenly. "no, my lord. one evening, my lord, it was very hot, and--and the wine, my lord--" "then you were intoxicated?" i fumbled with my hat, praying that the fellow would move on. "what servants are there?" he asked, pointing to the house. "four maids, my lord, and old jean." again he meditated; then he said sharply: "have you ever waited at table?" we have all, i suppose, waited at table--in one sense. perhaps that may save my remark from untruth. "now and then, my lord," i answered, wondering what he would be at. "i have guests arriving to-morrow," he said. "my man comes with them, but the work will perhaps be too much for him. are you willing to stay and help? i will pay you the same wages." i could have laughed in his face; but duty seemed to point to seriousness. "i'm very sorry, my lord--" i began. "what, have you got another place?" "no, my lord; not exactly." "then get up on the front seat. or do you want your employers to say you are disobliging as well as drunken?" "but the lady sent me--" "you may leave that to me. come, jump up! don't keep me waiting!" doubtfully i stood in the road, the duke glaring at me with impatient anger. then he leaned forward and said: "you are curiously reluctant, sir, to earn your living. i don't understand it. i must make some inquiries about you." i detected suspicion dawning in his eyes. he was a great man; i did not know what hindrances he might not be able to put in the way of my disappearance. and what would happen if he made his inquiries? inquiries might mean searching, and i carried a passport in the name of gilbert aycon. such share had prudence; the rest must be put down to the sudden impulse of amusement which seized me. it was but for a day or two! then i could steal away. meanwhile what would not the face of the duchess say, when i rode up on the front seat! "i--i was afraid i should not give satisfaction," i muttered. "you probably won't," said he. "i take you from necessity, not choice, my friend. up with you!" and i got up beside the driver--not, luckily, the one who had brought gustave de berensac and myself the day before--and the carriage resumed its slow climb up the hill. we stopped at the door. i jumped down and assisted my new master. the door was shut. nobody was to be seen; evidently we were not expected. the duke smiled sardonically, opened the door and walked in, i just behind. suzanne was sweeping the floor. with one glance at the duke and myself, she sprang back, with a cry of most genuine surprise. "oh, you're mighty surprised, aren't you?" sneered the duke. "old jean didn't scuttle away to tell you then? you keep a good watch, young woman. your mistress' orders, eh?" still suzanne stared--and at me. the duke chuckled. "yes, he's back again," said he, "so you must make the best of it, my girl. where's the duchess?" "in--in--in her sitting-room, m. le duc." "'in--in--in,'" he echoed mockingly. then he stepped swiftly across the hall and flung the door suddenly open. i believe he thought that he really had surprised jean's slow aged scamper ahead of him. "silence for your life!" i had time to whisper to suzanne; and then i followed him. there might be more "fun" to come. the duchess was sitting with a book in her hand. i was half-hidden by the duke, and she did not see me. she looked up, smiled, yawned, and held out her hand. "i hardly expected you, armand," said she. "i thought you were in algeria." anybody would have been annoyed; there is no doubt that the duke of saint-maclou was very much annoyed. "you don't seem overjoyed at the surprise," said he gruffly. "you are always surprising me," she answered, lifting her eyebrows. suddenly he turned round, saying "sampson!" and then turned to her, adding: "here's another old friend for you." and he seized me by the shoulder and pulled me into the room. the duchess sprang to her feet, crying out in startled tones, "back?" i kept my eyes glued to the floor, wondering what would happen next, thinking that it would be, likely enough, a personal conflict with my master. "yes, back," said he. "i am sorry, madame, if it is not your pleasure, for it chances to be mine." his sneer gave the duchess a moment's time. i felt her regarding me, and i looked up cautiously. the duke still stood half a pace in front of me, and the message of my glance sped past him unperceived. then came what i had looked for--the gradual dawning of the position on the duchess, and the reflection of that dawning light in those wonderful eyes of hers. she clasped her hands, and drew in her breath in a long "oh!" it spoke utter amusement and delight. what would the duke make of it? he did not know what to make of it, and glared at her in angry bewilderment. her quick wit saw the blunder she had been betrayed into. she said "oh!" again, but this time it expressed nothing except a sense of insult and indignation. "what's that man here for?" she asked. "because i have engaged him to assist my household." "i had dismissed him," she said haughtily. "i must beg you to postpone the execution of your decree," said he. "i have need of a servant, and i have no time to find another." "what need is there of another? is not lafleur here?" (she was playing her part well now.) "lafleur comes to-morrow; but he will not be enough." "not enough--for you and me?" "our party will be larger to-morrow." "more surprises?" she asked, sinking back into her chair. "if it be a surprise that i should invite my friends to my house," he retorted. "and that you should not consult your wife," she said, with a smile. he turned to me, bethinking himself, i suppose, that the conversation was not best suited for the ears of the groom. "go and join your fellow-servants; and see that you behave yourself this time." i bowed and was about to withdraw, when the duchess motioned me to stop. for an instant her eyes rested on mine. then she said, in gentle tones: "i am glad, sampson, that the duke thinks it safe to give you an opportunity of retrieving your character." "that for his character!" said the duke, snapping his fingers. "i want him to help when mme. and mlle. delhasse are here." on the words the duchess went red in the face, and then white, and sprang up, declaring aloud in resolute, angry tones, that witnessed the depth of her feelings in the matter: "i will not receive mlle. delhasse!" i was glad i had not missed that: it was a new aspect of my little friend the duchess. alas, my pleasure was short-lived! for the duke, his face full of passion, pointed to the door, saying "go!" and, cursing his regard for the dignity of the family, i went. in the hall i paused. at first i saw nobody. presently a rosy, beaming face peered at me over the baluster halfway up the stairs, and suzanne stole cautiously down, her finger on her lips. "but what does it mean, sir?" she whispered. "it means," said i, "that the duke takes me for the dismissed groom--and has re-engaged me." "and you've come?" she cried softly, clasping her hands in amazement. "doesn't it appear so?" "and you're going to stay, sir?" "ah, that's another matter. but--for the moment, yes." "as a servant?" "why not--in such good company?" "does madame know?" "yes, she knows, suzanne. come, show me the way to my quarters; and no more 'sir' just now." we were standing by the stairs. i looked up and saw the other girls clustered on the landing above us. "go and tell them," i said. "warn them to show no surprise. then come back and show me the way." suzanne, her mirth half-startled out of her but yet asserting its existence in dimples round her mouth, went on her errand. i leaned against the lowest baluster and waited. suddenly the door of the duchess' room was flung open and she came out. she stood for an instant on the threshold. she turned toward the interior of the room and she stamped her foot on the parqueted floor. "no--no--no!" she said passionately, and flung the door close behind her, to the accompaniment of a harsh, scornful laugh. involuntarily i sprang forward to meet her. but she was better on her guard than i. "not now," she whispered, "but i must see you soon--this evening--after dinner. suzanne will arrange it. you must help me, mr. aycon; i'm in trouble." "with all my power!" i whispered, and with a glance of thanks she sped upstairs. i saw her stop and speak to the group of girls, talking to them in an eager whisper. then, followed by two of them, she pursued her way upstairs. suzanne came down and approached me, saying simply, "come," and led the way toward the servants' quarters. i followed her, smiling; i was about to make acquaintance with a new side of life. yet at the same time i was wondering who mlle. delhasse might chance to be: the name seemed familiar to me, and yet for the moment i could not trace it. and then i slapped my thigh in the impulse of my discovery. "by jove, marie delhasse the singer!" cried i, in english. "sir, sir, for heaven's sake be quiet!" whispered suzanne. "you are perfectly right," said i, with a nod of approbation. "and this is the pantry," said suzanne, for all the world as though nothing had happened. "and in that cupboard you will find sampson's livery." "is it a pretty one?" i asked. "you, sir, will look well in it," said she, with that delicate evasive flattery that i love. "would not you, sir, look well in anything?" she meant. and while i changed my traveling suit for the livery, i remembered more about marie delhasse, and, among other things, that the duke of saint-maclou was rumored to be her most persistent admirer. some said that she favored him; others denied it with more or less conviction and indignation. but, whatever might chance to be the truth about that, it was plain that the duchess had something to say for herself when she declined to receive the lady. her refusal was no idle freak, but a fixed determination, to which she would probably adhere. and, in fact, adhere to it she did, even under some considerable changes of circumstance. chapter v. a strategic retreat. the arrival of the duke, aided perhaps by his bearing toward his wife and toward me, had a somewhat curious effect on me. i will not say that i felt at liberty to fall in love with the duchess; but i felt the chain of honor, which had hitherto bound me from taking any advantage of her indiscretion, growing weaker; and i also perceived the possibility of my inclinations beginning to strain on the weakened chain. on this account, among others, i resolved, as i sat in the pantry drinking a glass of wine with which suzanne kindly provided me, that my sojourn in the duke's household should be of the shortest. moreover, i was not amused; i was not a real groom; the maids treated me with greater distance and deference than before; i lost the entertainment of upstairs, and did not gain the interest of downstairs. the absurd position must be ended. i would hear what the duchess wanted of me; then i would go, leaving lafleur to grapple with his increased labors as best he could. true, i should miss marie delhasse. well, young men are foolish. "perhaps," said i to myself with a sigh, "it's just as well." i did not wait at table that night; the duchess was shut up in her own apartment: the duke took nothing but an omelette and a cup of coffee; these finished, he summoned suzanne and her assistants to attend him on the bedroom floor, and i heard him giving directions for the lodging of the expected guests. apparently they were to be received, although the duchess would not receive them. not knowing what to make of that situation, i walked out into the garden and lit my pipe; i had clung to that in spite of my change of raiment. presently suzanne looked out. a call from the duke proclaimed that she had stolen a moment. she nodded, pointed to the narrow gravel path which led into the shrubbery, and hastily withdrew. i understood, and strolled carelessly along the path till i reached the shrubbery. there another little path, running nearly at right angles to that by which i had come, opened before me. i strolled some little way along, and finding myself entirely hidden from the house by the intervening trees, i sat down on a rude wooden bench to wait patiently till i should be wanted. for the duchess i should have had to wait some time, but for company i did not wait long; after about ten minutes i perceived a small, spare, dark-complexioned man coming along the path toward me and toward the house. he must have made a short cut from the road, escaping the winding of the carriage-way. he wore decent but rather shabby clothes, and carried a small valise in his hand. stopping opposite to me, he raised his hat and seemed to scan my neat blue brass-buttoned coat and white cords with interest. "you belong to the household of the duke, sir?" he asked, with a polite lift of his hat. i explained that i did--for the moment. "then you think of leaving, sir?" "i do," i said, "as soon as i can; i am only engaged for the time." "you do not happen to know, sir, if the duke requires a well-qualified indoor servant? i should be most grateful if you would present me to him. i heard in paris that a servant had left him; but he started so suddenly that i could not get access to him, and i have followed him here." "it's exactly what he does want, i believe, sir," said i. "if i were you, i would go to the house and obtain entrance. the duke expects guests to-morrow." "but yourself, sir? are not your services sufficient for the present?" "as you perceive," said i, indicating my attire, "i am not an indoor servant. i am but a makeshift in that capacity." he smiled a polite remonstrance at my modesty, adding: "you think, then, i might have a chance?" "an excellent one, i believe. turn to the left, there by the chestnut tree, and you will find yourself within a minute's walk of the front door." he bowed, raised his hat, and trotted off, moving with a quick, shuffling, short-stepping gait. i lit another pipe and yawned. i hoped the duke would engage this newcomer and let me go about my business; and i fancied that he would, for the fellow looked dapper, sharp, and handy. and the duchess? i was so disturbed to find myself disturbed at the thought of the duchess that i exclaimed: "by jove, i'd better go! by jove, i had!" a wishing-cap, or rather a hoping-cap--for if a man who is no philosopher may have an opinion, we do not always wish and hope for the same thing--could have done no more for me than the chance of fate; for at the moment the duke's voice called "sampson!" loudly from the house. i ran in obedience to his summons. he stood in the porch with the little stranger by him; and the stranger wore a deferential, but extremely well-satisfied smile. "here, you," said the duke to me, "you can make yourself scarce as soon as you like. i've got a better servant, aye, and a sober one. there's ten francs for you. now be off!" i felt it incumbent on me to appear a little aggrieved: "am i to go to-night?" i asked. "where can i get to to-night, my lord?" "what's that to me? i dare say if you stand old jean a franc, he'll give you a lift to the nearest inn. tell him he may take a farm-horse." really the duke was treating me with quite as much civility as i have seen many of my friends extend to their servants. i had nothing to complain of. i bowed, and was about to turn away, when the duchess appeared in the porch. "what is it, armand?" she asked. "you are sending sampson away after all?" "i could not deny your request," said he in mockery. "moreover, i have found a better servant." the stranger almost swept the ground in obeisance before the lady of the house. "you are very changeable," said the duchess. i saw vexation in her face. "my dearest, your sex cannot have a monopoly of change. i change a bad servant--as you yourself think him--for a good one. is that remarkable?" the duchess said not another word, but turned into the house and disappeared. the duke followed her. the stranger, with a bow to me, followed him. i was left alone. "certainly i am not wanted," said i to myself; and, having arrived at this conclusion, i sought out old jean. the old fellow was only too ready to drive me to avranches or anywhere else for five francs, and was soon busy putting his horse in the shafts. i sought out suzanne, got her to smuggle my luggage downstairs, gave her a parting present, took off my livery and put on the groom's old suit, and was ready to leave the house of m. de saint-maclou. at nine o'clock my short servitude ended. as soon as a bend in the road hid us from the house i opened my portmanteau, got out my own clothes, and, _sub æthere_, changed my raiment, putting on a quiet suit of blue, and presenting george sampson's rather obtrusive garments (which i took the liberty of regarding as a perquisite) to jean, who received them gladly. i felt at once a different being--so true it is that the tailor makes the man. "you are well out of that," grunted old jean. "if he'd discovered you, he'd have had you out and shot you!" "he is a good shot?" "_mon dieu_!" said jean with an expressiveness which was a little disquieting; for it was on the cards that the duke might still find me out. and i was not a practiced shot--not at my fellow-men, i mean. suddenly i leaped up. "good heavens!" i cried. "i forgot! the duchess wanted me. stop, stop!" with a jerk jean pulled up his horse, and gazed at me. "you can't go back like that," he said, with a grin. "you'll have to put on these clothes again," and he pointed to the discarded suit. "i very nearly forgot the duchess," said i. to tell the truth, i was at first rather proud of my forgetfulness; it argued a complete triumph over that unruly impulse at which i have hinted. but it also smote me with remorse. i leaped to the ground. "you must wait while i run back." "he will shoot you after all," grinned jean. "the devil take him!" said i, picturing the poor duchess utterly forsaken--at the mercy of delhasses, husband, and what not. i declare, as my deliberate opinion, that there is nothing more dangerous than for a man almost to forget a lady who has shown him favor. if he can quite forget her--and will be so unromantic--why, let him, and perhaps small harm done. but almost--that leaves him at the mercy of every generous self-reproach. he is ready to do anything to prove that she was every second in his memory. i began to retrace my steps toward the _château_. "i shall get the sack over this!" called jean. "you shall come to no harm by that, if you do," i assured him. but hardly had i--my virtuous pride now completely smothered by my tender remorse--started on my ill-considered return journey, when, just as had happened to gustave de berensac and myself the evening before, a slim figure ran down from the bank by the roadside. it was the duchess. the short cut had served her. she was hardly out of breath this time; and she appeared composed and in good spirits. "i thought for a moment you'd forgotten me, but i knew you wouldn't do that, mr. aycon." could i resist such trust? "forget you, madame?" i cried. "i would as soon forget--" "so i knew you'd wait for me." "here i am, waiting faithfully," said i. "that's right," said the duchess. "take this, please, mr. aycon." "this" was a small handbag. she gave it to me, and began to walk toward the cart, where jean was placidly smoking a long black cheroot. "you wished to speak to me?" i suggested, as i walked by her. "i can do it," said the duchess, reaching the cart, "as we go along." even jean took his cheroot from his lips. i jumped back two paces. "i beg your pardon!" i exclaimed, "as we go along, did you say?" "it will be better," said the duchess, getting into the cart (unassisted by me, i am sorry to say). "because he may find out i'm gone, and come after us, you know." nothing seemed more likely; i was bound to admit that. "get in, mr. aycon," continued the duchess. and then she suddenly began to talk english. "i told him i shouldn't stay in the house if mlle. delhasse came. he didn't believe me; well, he'll see now. i couldn't stay, could i? why don't you get in?" half dazed, i got in. i offered no opinion on the question of mlle. delhasse: to begin with, i knew very little about it; in the second place there seemed to me to be a more pressing question. "quick, jean!" said the duchess. and we lumbered on at a trot, jean twisting his cheroot round and round, and grunting now and again. the old man's face said, plain as words. "yes, i shall get the sack; and you'll be shot!" i found my tongue. "was this what you wanted me for?" i asked. "of course," said the duchess, speaking french again. "but you can't come with me!" i cried in unfeigned horror. the duchess looked up; she fixed her eyes on me for a moment; her eyes grew round, her brows lifted. then her lips curved: she blushed very red; and she burst into the merriest fit of laughter. "oh, dear!" laughed the duchess. "oh, what fun, mr. aycon!" "it seems to me rather a serious matter," i ventured to observe. "leaving out all question of--of what's correct, you know" (i became very apologetic at this point), "it's just a little risky, isn't it?" jean evidently thought so; he nodded solemnly over his cheroot. the duchess still laughed; indeed, she was wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. "what an opinion to have of me!" she gasped at last. "i'm not coming with you, mr. aycon." i dare say my face showed relief: i don't know that i need be ashamed of that. my change of expression, however, set the duchess a-laughing again. "i never saw a man look so glad," said she gayly. yet somewhere, lurking in the recesses of her tone--or was it of her eyes?--there was a little reproach, a little challenge. and suddenly i felt less glad: a change of feeling which i do not seek to defend. "then where are you going?" i asked in much curiosity. "i am going," said the duchess, assuming in a moment a most serious air, "into religious retirement for a few days." "religious retirement?" i echoed in surprise. "are you thinking it's not my _métier_?" she asked, her eyes gleaming again. "but where?" i cried. "why, there, to be sure." and she pointed to where the square white convent stood on the edge of the bay, under the hill of avranches. "there, at the convent. the mother superior is my friend, and will protect me." the duchess spoke as though the guillotine were being prepared for her. i sat silent. the situation was becoming rather too complicated for my understanding. unfortunately, however, it was to become more complicated still; for the duchess, turning to the english tongue again, laid a hand on my arm and said in her most coaxing tones: "and you, my dear mr. aycon, are going to stay a few days in avranches." "not an hour!" would have expressed the resolve of my intellect. but we are not all intellect; and what i actually said was: "what for?" "in case," said the duchess, "i want you, mr. aycon." "i will stay," said i, nodding, "just a few days at avranches." we were within half a mile of that town. the convent gleamed white in the moonlight about three hundred yards to the left. the duchess took her little bag, jumped lightly down, kissed her hand to me, and walked off. jean had made no comment at all--the duchess' household was hard to surprise. i could make none. and we drove in silence into avranches. when there before with gustave, i had put up at a small inn at the foot of the hill. now i drove up to the summit and stopped before the principal hotel. a waiter ran out, cast a curious glance at my conveyance, and lifted my luggage down. "let me know if you get into any trouble for being late," said i to jean, giving him another five francs. he nodded and drove off, still chewing the stump of his cheroot. "can i have a room?" i asked, turning to the waiter. "certainly, sir," said he, catching up my bag in his hand. "i am just come," said i, "from mont st. michel." a curious expression spread over the waiter's face. i fancy he knew old jean and the cart by sight; but he spread out his hands and smiled. "monsieur," said he with the incomparable courtesy of the french nation, "has come from wherever monsieur pleases." "that," said i, giving him a trifle, "is an excellent understanding." then i walked into the _salle-à-manger_, and almost into the arms of an extraordinarily handsome girl who was standing just inside the door. "this is really an eventful day," i thought to myself. chapter vi. a hint of something serious. occurrences such as this induce in a man of imagination a sense of sudden shy intimacy. the physical encounter seems to typify and foreshadow some intermingling of destiny. this occurs with peculiar force when the lady is as beautiful as was the girl i saw before me. "i beg your pardon, madame," said i, with a whirl of my hat. "i beg your pardon, sir," said the lady, with an inclination of her head. "one is so careless in entering rooms hurriedly," i observed. "oh, but it is stupid to stand just by the door!" insisted the lady. conscious that she was scanning my appearance, i could but return the compliment. she was very tall, almost as tall as i was myself; you would choose to call her stately, rather than slender. she was very fair, with large lazy blue eyes and a lazy smile to match. in all respects she was the greatest contrast to the duchess of saint-maclou. "you were about to pass out?" said i, holding the door. she bowed; but at the moment another lady--elderly, rather stout, and, to speak it plainly, of homely and unattractive aspect--whom i had not hitherto perceived, called from a table at the other end of the room where she was sitting: "we ought to start early to-morrow." the younger lady turned her head slowly toward the speaker. "my dear mother," said she, "i never start early. besides, this town is interesting--the landlord says so." "but he wishes us to arrive for _déjeuner_." "we will take it here. perhaps we will drive over in the afternoon--perhaps the next day." and the young lady gazed at her mother with an air of indifference--or rather it seemed to me strangely like one of aversion and defiance. "my dear!" cried the elder in consternation. "my dearest marie!" "it is just as i thought," said i to myself complacently. marie delhasse--for beyond doubt it was she--walked slowly across the room and sat down by her mother. i took a table nearer the door; the waiter appeared, and i ordered a light supper. marie poured out a glass of wine from a bottle on the table; apparently they had been supping. they began to converse together in low tones. my repast arriving, i fell to. a few moments later, i heard marie say, in her composed indolent tones: "i'm not sure i shall go at all. _entre nous_, he bores me." i stole a glance at mme. delhasse. consternation was writ large on her face, and suspicion besides. she gave her daughter a quick sidelong glance, and a frown gathered on her brow. so far as i heard, however, she attempted no remonstrance. she rose, wrapping a shawl round her, and made for the door. i sprang up and opened it; she walked out. marie drew a chair to the fire and sat down with her back to me, toasting her feet--for the summer night had turned chilly. i finished my supper. the clock struck half-past eleven. i stifled a yawn; one smoke and then to the bed was my programme. marie delhasse turned her head half-round. "you must not," said she, "let me prevent you having your cigarette. i should set you at ease by going to bed, but i can't sleep so early, and upstairs the fire is not lighted." i thanked her and approached the fire. she was gazing into it meditatively. presently she looked up. "smoke, sir," she said imperiously but languidly. i obeyed her, and stood looking down at her, admiring her stately beauty. "you have passed the day here?" she asked, gazing again into the fire. "in this neighborhood," said i, with discreet vagueness. "you have been able to pass the time?" "oh, certainly!" that had not been my difficulty. "there is, of course," she said wearily, "mont st. michel. but can you imagine anyone living in such a country?" "unless fate set one here--" i began. "i suppose that's it," she interrupted. "you are going to make a stay here?" "i am," she answered slowly, "on my way to--i don't know where." i was scrutinizing her closely now, for her manner seemed to witness more than indolence; irresolution, vacillation, discomfort, asserted their presence. i could not make her out, but her languid indifference appeared more assumed than real. with another upward glance, she said: "my name is marie delhasse." "it is a well-known name," said i with a bow. "you have heard of me?" "yes." "what?" she asked quickly, wheeling half-round and facing me. "that you are a great singer," i answered simply. "ah, i'm not all voice! what about me? a woman is more than an organ pipe. what about me?" her excitement contrasted with the langour she had displayed before. "nothing," said i, wondering that she should ask a stranger such a question. she glanced at me for an instant. i threw my eyes up to the ceiling. "it is false!" she said quietly; but the trembling of her hands belied her composure. the tawdry gilt clock on the mantelpiece by me ticked through a long silence. the last act of the day's comedy seemed set for a more serious scene. "why do you ask a stranger a question like that?" i said at last, giving utterance to the thought that puzzled me. "whom should i ask? and i like your face--no, not because it is handsome. you are english, sir?" "yes, i am english. my name is gilbert aycon." "aycon--aycon! it is a little difficult to say it as you say it." her thoughts claimed her again. i threw my cigarette into the fire, and stood waiting her pleasure. but she seemed to have no more to say, for she rose from the seat and held out her hand to me. "will you 'shake hands?'" she said, the last two words in english; and she smiled again. i hastened to do as she asked me, and she moved toward the door. "perhaps," she said, "i shall see you to-morrow morning." "i shall be here." then i added: "i could not help hearing you talk of moving elsewhere." she stood still in the middle of the room; she opened her lips to speak, shut them again, and ended by saying nothing more than: "yes, we talked of it. my mother wishes it. good-night, mr. aycon." i bade her good-night, and she passed slowly through the door, which i closed behind her. i turned again to the fire, saying: "what would the duchess think of that?" i did not even know what i thought of it myself; of one thing only i felt sure---that what i had heard of marie delhasse was not all that there was to learn about her. i was lodged in a large room on the third floor, and when i awoke the bright sun beamed on the convent where, as i presume, mme. de saint-maclou lay, and on the great mount beyond it in the distance. i have never risen with a more lively sense of unknown possibilities in the day before me. these two women who had suddenly crossed my path, and their relations to the pale puffy-cheeked man at the little _château_, might well produce results more startling than had seemed to be offered even by such a freak as the original expedition undertaken by gustave de berensac and me. and now gustave had fallen away and i was left to face the thing alone. for face it i must. my promise to the duchess bound me: had it not i doubt whether i should have gone; for my interest was not only in the duchess. i had my coffee upstairs, and then, putting on my hat, went down for a stroll. so long as the duke did not come to avranches, i could show my face boldly--and was not he busy preparing for his guests? i crossed the threshold of the hotel. just at the entrance stood marie delhasse; opposite her was a thickset fellow, neatly dressed and wearing mutton-chop whiskers. as i came out i raised my hat. the man appeared not to notice me, though his eyes fell on me for a moment. i passed quickly by--in fact, as quickly as i could--for it struck me at once that this man must be lafleur, and i did not want him to give the duke a description of the unknown gentleman who was staying at avranches. yet, as i went, i had time to hear marie's slow musical voice say: "i'm not coming at all to-day." i was very glad of it, and pursued my round of the town with a lighter heart. presently, after half an hour's walk, i found myself opposite the church, and thus nearly back at the hotel: and in front of the church stood marie delhasse, looking at _the façade_. raising my hat i went up to her, her friendliness of the evening before encouraging me. "i hope you are going to stay to-day?" said i. "i don't know." then she smiled, but not mirthfully. "i expect to be very much pressed to go this afternoon," she said. i made a shot--apparently at a venture. "someone will come and carry you off?" i asked jestingly. "it's very likely. my presence here will be known." "but need you go?" she looked on the ground and made no answer. "perhaps though," i continued, "he--or she--will not come. he may be too much occupied." "to come for me?" she said, with the first touch of coquetry which i had seen in her lighting up her eyes. "even for that, it is possible," i rejoined. we began to walk together toward the edge of the open _place_ in front of the church. the convent came in sight as we reached the fall of the hill. "how peaceful that looks!" she said; "i wonder if it would be pleasant there!" i was myself just wondering how the duchess of saint-maclou found it, when a loud cry of warning startled us. we had been standing on the edge of the road, and a horse, going at a quick trot, was within five yards of us. as it reached us, it was sharply reined in. to my amazement, old jean, the duchess' servant, sat upon it. when he saw me, a smile spread over his weather-beaten face. "i was nearly over you," said he. "you had no ears." and i am sorry to say that jean winked, insinuating that marie delhasse and i had been preoccupied. the diplomacy of non-recognition had failed to strike jean. i made the best of a bad job, and asked: "what brings you here?" marie stood a few paces off, regarding us. "i'm looking for mme. la duchesse," grinned jean. marie delhasse took a step forward when she heard his reference to the duchess. "her absence was discovered by suzanne at six o'clock this morning," the old fellow went on. "and the duke--ah, take care how you come near him, sir! oh, it's a kettle of fish! for as i came i met that coxcomb lafleur riding back with a message from the duke's guests that they would not come to-day! so the duchess is gone, and the ladies are not come; and the duke--he has nothing to do but curse that whippersnapper of a pierre who came last night." and jean ended in a rapturous hoarse chuckle. "you were riding so fast, then, because you were after the duchess?" i suggested. "i rode fast for fear," said jean, with a shrewd smile, "that i should stop somewhere on the road. well, i have looked in avranches. she is not in avranches. i'll go home again." marie delhasse came close to my side. "ask him," she said to me, "if he speaks of the duchess of saint-maclou." i put the question as i was directed. "you couldn't have guessed better if you'd known," said jean; and a swift glance from marie delhasse told me that her suspicion as to my knowledge was aroused. "and what will happen, jean?" said i. "the good god knows," shrugged jean. then, remembering perhaps my five-franc pieces, he said politely, "i hope you are well, sir?" "up to now, thank you, jean," said i. his glance traveled to marie. i saw his shriveled lips curl; his expression was ominous of an unfortunate remark. "good-by!" said i significantly. jean had some wits. he spared me the remark, but not the sly leer that had been made to accompany it. he clapped his heels to his horse's side and trotted off in the direction from which he had come. so that he could swear he had been to avranches, he was satisfied! marie delhasse turned to me, asking haughtily: "what is the meaning of this? what do you know of the duke or duchess of saint-maclou?" "i might return your question," said i, looking her in the face. "will you answer it?" she said, flushing red. "no, mlle. delhasse, i will not," said i. "what is the meaning of this 'absence' of the duchess of saint-maclou which that man talks about so meaningly?" then i said, speaking low and slow: "who are the friends whom you are on your way to visit?" "who are you?" she cried. "what do you know about it? what concern is it of yours?" there was no indolence or lack of animation in her manner now. she questioned me with imperious indignation. "i will answer not a single word," said i. "but--you asked me last night what i had heard of you." "well?" she said, and shut her lips tightly on the word. i held my peace; and in a moment she went on passionately: "who would have guessed that you would insult me? is it your habit to insult women?" "not mine only, it seems," said i, meeting her glance boldly. "what do you mean, sir?" "had you, then, an invitation from mme. de saint-maclou?" she drew back as if i had struck her. and i felt as though i had struck her. she looked at me for a moment with parted lips; then, without a word or a sign, she turned and walked slowly away in the direction of the hotel. and i, glad to have something else to occupy my thoughts, started at a brisk pace along the foot-path that runs down the hill and meets the road which would lead me to the convent, for i had a thing or two to say to the duchess. and yet it was not of the duchess only that i thought as i went. there were also in my mind the indignant pride with which marie delhasse had questioned me, and the shrinking shame in her eyes at that counter-question of mine. the duke of saint-maclou's invitation seemed to bring as much disquiet to one of his guests as it had to his wife herself. but one thing struck me, and i found a sort of comfort in it: she had thought, it seemed, that the duchess was to be at home. "pah!" i cried suddenly to myself. "if she weren't pretty, you'd say that made it worse!" and i went on in a bad temper. chapter vii. heard through the door. twenty minutes' walking brought me to the wood which lay between the road and the convent. i pressed on; soon the wood ceased and i found myself on the outskirts of a paddock of rough grass, where a couple of cows and half a dozen goats were pasturing; a row of stunted apple trees ran along one side of the paddock, and opposite me rose the white walls of the convent; while on my left was the burying-ground with its arched gateway, inscribed "_mors janua vitæ_." i crossed the grass and rang a bell, that clanged again and again in echo. nobody came. i pulled a second time and more violently. after some further delay the door was cautiously opened a little way, and a young woman looked out. she was a round-faced, red-cheeked, fresh creature, arrayed in a large close-fitting white cap, a big white collar over her shoulders, and a black gown. when she saw me, she uttered an exclamation of alarm, and pushed the door to again. just in time i inserted my foot between door and doorpost. "i beg your pardon," said i politely, "but you evidently misunderstand me. i wish to enter." she peered at me through the two-inch gap my timely foot had preserved. "but it is impossible," she objected. "our rules do not allow it. indeed, i may not talk to you. i beg of you to move your foot." "but then you would shut the door." she could not deny it. "i mean no harm," i protested. "'the guile of the wicked is infinite,'" remarked the little nun. "i want to see the mother superior," said i. "will you take my name to her?" i heard another step in the passage. the door was flung wide open, and a stout and stately old lady faced me, a frown on her brow. "madame," said i, "until you hear my errand you will think me an ill-mannered fellow." "what is your business, sir?" "it is for your ear alone, madame." "you can't come in here," said she decisively. for a moment i was at a loss. then the simplest solution in the world occurred to me. "but you can come out, madame," i suggested. she looked at me doubtfully for a minute. then she stepped out, shutting the door carefully behind her. i caught a glimpse of the little nun's face, and thought there was a look of disappointment on it. the old lady and i began to walk along the path that led to the burying-ground. "i do not know," said i, "whether you have heard of me. my name is aycon." "i thought so. mr. aycon, i must tell you that you are very much to blame. you have led this innocent, though thoughtless, child into most deplorable conduct." ("well done, little duchess!" said i to myself; but of course i was not going to betray her.) "i deeply regret my thoughtlessness," said i earnestly. "i would, however, observe that the present position of the duchess is not due to my--shall we say misconduct?--but to that of her husband. i did not invite--" "don't mention her name!" interrupted the mother superior in horror. we had reached the arched gateway; and there appeared standing within it a figure most charmingly inappropriate to a graveyard--the duchess herself, looking as fresh as a daisy, and as happy as a child with a new toy. she ran to me, holding out both hands and crying: "ah, my dear, dear mr. aycon, you are the most delightful man alive! you come at the very moment i want you." "be sober, my child, be sober!" murmured the old lady. "but i want to hear," expostulated the duchess. "do you know anything, mr. aycon? what has been happening up at the house? what has the duke done?" as the duchess poured out her questions, we passed through the gate; the ladies sat down on a stone bench just inside, and i, standing, told my story. the duchess was amused to hear of old jean's chase of her; but she showed no astonishment till i told her that marie delhasse was at the hotel in avranches, and had declined to go further on her journey to-day. "at the hotel? then you've seen her?" she burst out. "what is she like?" "she is most extremely handsome," said i. "moreover, i am inclined to like her." the mother superior opened her lips--to reprove me, no doubt; but the duchess was too quick. "oh, you like her? perhaps you're going to desert me and go over to her?" she cried in indignation, that was, i think, for the most part feigned. certainly the duchess did not look very alarmed. but in regard to what she said, the old lady was bound to have a word. "what is mr. aycon to you, my child?" said she solemnly. "he is nothing--nothing at all to you, my child." "well, i want him to be less than nothing to mlle. delhasse," said the duchess, with a pout for her protector and a glance for me. "mlle. delhasse is very angry with me just now," said i. "oh, why?" asked the duchess eagerly. "because she gathered that i thought she ought to wait for an invitation from you, before she went to your house." "she should wait till the day of judgment!" cried the duchess. "that would not matter," observed the mother superior dryly. suddenly, without pretext or excuse, the duchess turned and walked very quickly--nay, she almost ran--away along the path that encircled the group of graves. her eye had bidden me, and i followed no less briskly. i heard a despairing sigh from the poor old lady, but she had no chance of overtaking us. the audacious movement was successful. "now we can talk," said the duchess. and talk she did, for she threw at me the startling assertion: "i believe you're falling in love with mlle. delhasse. if you do, i'll never speak to you again!" "if i do," said i, "i shall probably accept that among the other disadvantages of the entanglement." "that's very rude," observed the duchess. "nothing with an 'if' in it is rude," said i speciously. "men must be always in love with somebody," said she resentfully. "it certainly approaches a necessity," i assented. the duchess glanced at me. perhaps i had glanced at her; i hope not. "oh, well," said she, "hadn't we better talk business?" "infinitely better," said i; and i meant it. "what am i to do?" she asked, with a return to her more friendly manner. "nothing," said i. it is generally the safest advice--to women at all events. "you are content with the position? you like being at the hotel perhaps?" "should i not be hard to please, if i didn't?" "i know you are trying to annoy me, but you shan't. mr. aycon, suppose my husband comes over to avranches, and sees you?" "i have thought of that." "well, what have you decided?" "not to think about it till it happens. but won't he be thinking more about you than me?" "he won't do anything about me," she said. "in the first place, he will want no scandal. in the second, he does not want me. but he will come over to see her." "her" was, of course, marie delhasse. the duchess assigned to her the sinister distinction of the simple pronoun. "surely he will take means to get you to go back?" i exclaimed. "if he could have caught me before i got here, he would have been glad. now he will wait; for if he came here and claimed me, what he proposed to do would become known." there seemed reason in this; the duchess calculated shrewdly. "in fact," said i, "i had better go back to the hotel." "that does not seem to vex you much." "well, i can't stay here, can i?" said i, looking round at the nunnery. "it would be irregular, you know." "you might go to another hotel," suggested she. "it is most important that i should watch what is going on at my present hotel," said i gravely; for i did not wish to move. "you are the most--" began the duchess. but this bit of character-reading was lost. slow but sure, the mother superior was at our elbows. "adieu, mr. aycon," said she. i felt sure that she must manage the nuns admirably. "adieu!" said i, as though there was nothing else to be said. "adieu!" said the duchess, as though she would have liked to say something else. and all in a moment i was through the gateway and crossing the paddock. but the duchess ran to the gate, crying: "mind you come again to-morrow!" my expedition consumed nearly two hours; and one o'clock struck from the tower of the church as i slowly climbed the hill, feeling (i must admit it) that the rest of the day would probably be rather dull. just as i reached the top, however, i came plump on mlle. delhasse, who appeared to be taking a walk. she bowed to me slightly and coldly. glad that she was so distant (for i did not like her looks), i returned her salute, and pursued my way to the hotel. in the porch of it stood the waiter--my friend who had taken such an obliging view of my movements the night before. directly he saw me, he came out into the road to meet me. "are you acquainted with the ladies who have rooms on the first floor?" he asked with an air of mystery. "i met them here for the first time," said i. i believe he doubted me; perhaps waiters are bred to suspicion by the things they see. "ah!" said he, "then it does not interest you to know that a gentleman has been to see the young lady?" i took out ten francs. "yes, it does," said i, handing him the money. "who was it?" "the duke of saint-maclou," he whispered mysteriously. "is he gone?" i asked in some alarm. i had no wish to encounter him. "this half-hour, sir." "did he see both the ladies?" "no; only the young lady. madame went out immediately on his arrival, and is not yet returned." "and mademoiselle?" "she is in her room." thinking i had not got much, save good will, for my ten francs--for he told me nothing but what i had expected to hear--i was about to pass on, when he added, in a tone which seemed more significant than the question demanded: "are you going up to your room, sir?" "i am," said i. "permit me to show you the way," he said--though his escort seemed to me very unnecessary. he mounted before me. we reached the first floor. opposite to us, not three yards away, was the door of the sitting-room which i knew to be occupied by the delhasses. "go on," said i. "in a moment, sir," he said. then he held up his hand in the attitude of a man who listens. "one should not listen," he whispered, apologetically; "but it is so strange. i thought that if you knew the lady--hark!" i knew that we ought not to listen. but the mystery of the fellow's manner and the concern of his air constrained me, and i too paused, listening. from behind the door there came to our strained attentive ears the sound of a woman sobbing. i sought the waiter's eyes; they were already bent on me. again the sad sounds came--low, swift, and convulsive. it went to my heart to hear them. i did not know what to do. to go on upstairs to my own room and mind my own business seemed the simple thing--simple, easy, and proper. but my feet were glued to the boards. i could not go, with that sound beating on my ears: i should hear it all the day. i glanced again at the waiter. he was a kind-looking fellow, and i saw the tears standing in his eyes. "and mademoiselle is so beautiful!" he whispered. "what the devil business is it of yours?" said i, in a low but fierce tone. "none," said he. "i am content to leave it to you, sir;" and without more he turned and went downstairs. it was all very well to leave it to me; but what--failing that simple, easy, proper, and impossible course of action which i have indicated--was i to do? well, what i did was this: i went to the door of the room and knocked softly. there was no answer. the sobs continued. i had been a brute to this girl in the morning; i thought of that as i stood outside. "my god! what's the matter with her?" i whispered. and then i opened the door softly. marie delhasse sat in a chair, her head resting in her hands and her hands on the table; and her body was shaken with her weeping. and on the table, hard by her bowed golden head, there lay a square leathern box. i stood on the threshold and looked at her. the rest of the day did not now seem likely to be dull; but it might prove to have in store for me more difficult tasks than the enduring of a little dullness. chapter viii. i find that i care. for a moment i stood stock still, wishing to heaven that i had not opened the door; for i could find now no excuse for my intrusion, and no reason why i should not have minded my own business. the impulse that had made the thing done was exhausted in the doing of it. retreat became my sole object; and, drawing back, i pulled the door after me. but i had given fortune a handle--very literally; for the handle of the door grated loud as i turned it. despairing of escape, i stood still. marie delhasse looked up with a start. "who's there?" she cried in frightened tones, hastily pressing her handkerchief to her eyes. there was no help for it. i stepped inside, saying: "i'm ashamed to say that i am." i deserved and expected an outburst of indignation. my surprise was great when she sank against the back of the chair with a sigh of relief. i lingered awkwardly just inside the threshold. "what do you want? why did you come in?" she asked, but rather in bewilderment than anger. "i was passing on my way upstairs, and--and you seemed to be in distress." "did i make such a noise as that?" said she. "i'm as bad as a child; but children cry because they mustn't do things, and i because i must." we appeared to be going to talk. i shut the door. "my intrusion is most impertinent," said i. "you have every right to resent it." "oh, have i the right to resent anything? did you think so this morning?" she asked impetuously. "the morning," i observed, "is a terribly righteous time with me. i must beg your pardon for what i said." "you think the same still?" she retorted quickly. "that is no excuse for having said it," i returned. "it was not my affair." "it is nobody's affair, i suppose, but mine." "unless you allow it to be," said i. i could not endure the desolation her words and tone implied. she looked at me curiously. "i don't understand," she said in a fretfully weary tone, "how you come to be mixed up in it at all." "it's a long story." then i went on abruptly: "you thought it was someone else that had entered." "well, if i did?" "someone returning," said i stepping up to the table opposite her. "what then?" she asked, but wearily and not in the defiant manner of the morning. "mme. delhasse perhaps, or perhaps the duke of saint-maclou?" marie delhasse made no answer. she sat with her elbows on the table, and her chin resting on the support of her clenched hands; her lids drooped over her eyes; and i could not see the expression of her glance, which was, nevertheless, upon me. "well, well," i continued, "we needn't talk about him. have you been doing some shopping?" and i pointed to the red leathern box. for full half a minute she sat, without speech or movement. then she said in answer to my question, which she could not take as an idle one: "yes, i have been doing some bargaining." "is that the result?" again she paused long before she answered. "that," said she, "is a trifle--thrown in." "to bind the bargain?" i suggested. "yes, mr. aycon--to bind the bargain." "is it allowed to look?" "i think everything must be allowed to you. you would be so surprised if it were not." i understood that she was aiming a satirical remark at me: i did not mind that; she had better flay me alive than sit and cry. "then i may open the box?" "the key is in it." i drew the box across, and i took a chair that stood by. i turned the key of the box. a glance showed me marie's drooped lids half raised and her eyes fixed on my face. i opened the box: there lay in it, in sparkling coil on the blue velvet, a magnificent diamond necklace; one great stone formed a pendent, and it was on this stone that i fixed my regard. i took it up and looked at it closely; then i examined the necklace itself. marie's eyes followed my every motion. "you like these trinkets?" i asked. "yes," said she, in that tone in which "yes" is stronger than a thousand words of rapture; and the depths of her eyes caught fire from the stones, and gleamed. "but you know nothing about them," i pursued composedly. "i suppose they are valuable," said she, making an effort after _nonchalance_. "they have some value," i conceded, smiling. "but i mean about their history." "they are bought, i suppose--bought and sold." "i happen to know just a little about such things. in fact, i have a book at home in which there is a picture of this necklace. it is known as the cardinal's necklace. the stones were collected by cardinal armand de saint-maclou, archbishop of caen, some thirty years ago. they were set by lebeau of paris, on the order of the cardinal, and were left by him to his nephew, our friend the duke. since his marriage, the duchess has of course worn them." all this i said in a most matter-of-fact tone. "do you mean that they belong to her?" asked marie, with a sudden lift of her eyes. "i don't know. strictly, i should think not," said i impassively. marie delhasse stretched out her hand and began to finger the stones. "she wore them, did she?" "certainly." "ah! i supposed they had just been bought." and she took her fingers off them. "it would take a large sum to do that--to buy them _en bloc_," i observed. "how much?" "oh, i don't know! the market varies so much: perhaps a million francs, perhaps more. you can't tell how much people will give for such things." "no, it is difficult," she assented, again fingering the necklace, "to say what people will give for them." i leaned back in my chair. there was a pause. then her eyes suddenly met mine again, and she exclaimed defiantly: "oh, you know very well what it means! what's the good of fencing about it?" "yes, i know what it means," said i. "when have you promised to go?" "to-morrow," she answered. "because of this thing?" and i pointed to the necklace. "because of--how dare you ask me such questions!" i rose from my seat and bowed. "you are going?" she asked, her fingers on the necklace, and her eyes avoiding mine. "i have the honor," said i, "to enjoy the friendship of the duchess of saint-maclou." "and that forbids you to enjoy mine?" i bowed assent to her inference. she sat still at the table, her chin on her hands. i was about to leave her, when it struck me all in a moment that leaving her was not exactly the best thing to do, although it might be much the easiest. i arrested my steps. "well," she asked, "is not our acquaintance ended?" and she suddenly opened her hands and hid her face in them. it was a strange conclusion to a speech so coldly and distantly begun. "for god's sake, don't go!" said i, bending a little across the table toward her. "what's it to you? what's it to anybody?" came from between her fingers. "your mother--" i began. she dropped her hands from her face, and laughed. it was a laugh the like of which i hope not to hear again. then she broke out: "why wouldn't she have me in the house? why did she run away? am i unfit to touch her?" "if she were wrong, you're doing your best to make her right." "if everybody thinks one wicked, one may as well be wicked, and--and live in peace." "and get diamonds?" i added, "weren't you wicked?" "no," she said, looking me straight in the face. "but what difference did that make?" "none at all, in one point of view," said i. but to myself i was swearing that she should not go. then she said in a very low tone: "he never leaves me. ah! he makes everyone think--" "let 'em think," said i. "if everyone thinks it--" "oh, come, nonsense!" said i. "you know what you thought. what honest woman would have anything to do with me--or what honest man either?" i had nothing to say about that; so i said again. "well, don't go, anyhow." she spoke in lower tones, as she answered this appeal of mine: "i daren't refuse. he'll be here again; and my mother--" "put it off a day or two," said i. "and don't take that thing." she looked at me, it seemed to me, in astonishment. "do you really care?" she asked, speaking very low. i nodded. i did care, somehow. "enough to stand by me, if i don't go?" i nodded again. "i daren't refuse right out. my mother and he--" she broke off. "have something the matter with you: flutters or something," i suggested. the ghost of a smile appeared on her face. "you'll stay?" she asked. i had to stay, anyhow. perhaps i ought to have said so, and not stolen credit; but all i did was to nod again. "and, if i ask you, you'll--you'll stand between me and him?" i hoped that my meeting with the duke would not be in a strong light; but i only said: "rather! i'll do anything i can, of course." she did not thank me; she looked at me again. then she observed. "my mother will be back soon." "and i had better not be here?" "no." i advanced to the table again, and laid my hand on the box containing the cardinal's necklace. "and this?" i asked in a careless tone. "ought i to send them back?" "you don't want to?" "what's the use of saying i do? i love them. besides, he'll see through it. he'll know that i mean i won't come. i daren't--i daren't show him that!" then i made a little venture; for, fingering the box idly, i said: "it would be uncommonly handsome of you to give 'em to the duchess." "to the duchess?" she gasped in wondering tones. "you see," i remarked, "either they are the duchess', in which case she ought to have them; or, if they were the duke's, they're yours now; and you can do what you like with them." "he gave them me on--on a condition." "a condition," said i, "no gentleman could mention, and no law enforce." she blushed scarlet, but sat silent. "revenge is sweet," said i. "she ran away rather than meet you. you send her her diamonds!" a sudden gleam shot into marie delhasse's eyes. "yes," she said, "yes." and stopped, thinking, with her hands clasped. "you send them by me," i pursued, delighted with the impression which my suggestion had made upon her. "by you? you see her, then?" she asked quickly. "occasionally," i answered. the duchess' secret was not mine, and i did not say where i saw her. "i'll give them to you," said marie--"to you, not to the duchess." "i won't have 'em at any price," said i. "come, your mother will be back soon. i believe you want to keep 'em." and i assumed a disgusted air. "i don't!" she flashed out passionately. "i don't want to touch them! i wouldn't keep them for the world!" i looked at my watch. with a swift motion, marie delhasse leaped from her chair, dashed down the lid of the box, hiding the glitter of the stones, seized the box in her two hands and with eyes averted held it out to me. "for the duchess?" i asked. "yes, for the duchess," said marie, with, averted eyes. i took the box, and stowed it in the capacious pocket of the shooting-jacket which i was wearing. "go!" said marie, pointing to the door. i held out my hand. she caught it in hers. upon my word, i thought she was going to kiss it. so strongly did i think it that, hating fuss of that sort, i made a half-motion to pull it away. however, i was wrong. she merely pressed it and let it drop. "cheer up! cheer up! i'll turn up again soon," said i, and i left the room. and left in the nick of time; for at the very moment when i, hugging the lump in my coat which marked the position of the cardinal's necklace, reached the foot of the stairs mme. delhasse appeared on her way up. "oh, you old viper!" i murmured thoughtlessly, in english. "pardon, monsieur?" said mme. delhasse. "forgive me: i spoke to myself--a foolish habit," i rejoined, with a low bow and, i'm afraid, a rather malicious smile. the old lady glared at me, bobbed her head the slightest bit in the world, and passed me by. i went out into the sunshine, whistling merrily. my good friend the waiter stood by the door. his eyes asked me a question. "she is much better," i said reassuringly. and i walked out, still whistling merrily. in truth i was very pleased with myself. every man likes to think that he understands women. i was under the impression that i had proved myself to possess a thorough and complete acquaintance with that intricate subject. i was soon to find that my knowledge had its limitations. in fact, i have been told more than once since that my plan was a most outrageous one. perhaps it was; but it had the effect of wresting those dangerous stones from poor marie's regretful hands. a man need not mind having made a fool of himself once or twice on his way through the world, so he has done some good by the process. at the moment, however, i felt no need for any such apology. chapter ix. an unparalleled insult. i was thoughtful as i walked across the _place_ in front of the church in the full glare of the afternoon sun. it was past four o'clock; the town was more lively, as folk, their day's work finished, came out to take their ease and filled the streets and the _cafés_. i felt that i also had done something like a day's work; but my task was not complete till i had lodged my precious trust safely in the keeping of the duchess. there was, however, still time to spare, and i sat down at a _café_ and ordered some coffee. while it was being brought my thoughts played round marie delhasse. i doubted whether i disliked her for being tempted, or liked her for resisting at the last; at any rate, i was glad to have helped her a little. if i could now persuade her to leave avranches, i should have done all that could reasonably be expected of me; if the duke pursued, she must fight the battle for herself. so i mused, sipping my coffee; and then i fell to wondering what the duchess would say on seeing me again so soon. would she see me? she must, whether she liked it or not; i could not keep the diamonds all night. perhaps she would like. "there you are again!" i said to myself sharply, and i roused myself from my meditations. as i looked up, i saw the man lafleur opposite to me. he had his back toward me, but i knew him, and he was just walking into a shop that faced the _café_ and displayed in its windows an assortment of offensive weapons--guns, pistols, and various sorts of knives. lafleur went in. i sat sipping my coffee. he was there nearly twenty minutes; then he came out and walked leisurely away. i paid my score and strolled over to the shop. i wondered what he had been buying. dueling pistols for the duke, perhaps! i entered and asked to be shown some penknives. the shopman served me with alacrity. i chose a cheap knife, and then i permitted my gaze to rest on a neat little pistol that lay on the counter. my simple _ruse_ was most effective. in a moment i was being acquainted with all the merits of the instrument, and the eulogy was backed by the information that a gentleman had bought two pistols of the same make not ten minutes before i entered the shop. "really!" said i. "what for?" "oh, i don't know, sir. it is a wise thing often to carry one of these little fellows. one never knows." "in case of a quarrel with another gentleman?" "oh, they are hardly such as we sell for dueling, sir." "aren't they?" "they are rather pocket pistols--to carry if you are out at night; and we sell many to gentlemen who have occasion in the way of their business to carry large sums of money or valuables about with them. they give a sense of security, sir, even if no occasion arises for their use." "and this gentleman bought two? who was he?" "i don't know, sir. he gave me no name." "and you didn't know him by sight?" "no, sir; perhaps he is a stranger. but indeed i'm almost that myself: i have but just set up business here." "is it brisk?" i asked, examining the pistol. "it is not a brisk place, sir," the man answered regretfully. "let me sell you one, sir!" it happened to be, for the moment, in the way of my business to carry valuables, but i hoped it would not be for long, so that i did not buy a pistol; but i allowed myself to wonder what my friend lafleur wanted with two--and they were not dueling pistols! if i had been going to keep the diamonds--but then i was not. and, reminded by this reflection, i set out at once for the convent. now the manner in which the duchess of saint-maclou saw fit to treat me--who was desirous only of serving her--on this occasion went far to make me disgusted with the whole affair into which i had been drawn. it might have been supposed that she would show gratitude; i think that even a little admiration and a little appreciation of my tact would not have been, under the circumstances, out of place. it is not every day that a lady has such a thing as the cardinal's necklace rescued from great peril and freely restored, with no claim (beyond that for ordinary civility) on the part of the rescuer. and the cause did not lie in her happening to be out of temper, for she greeted me at first with much graciousness, and sitting down on the corn bin (she was permitted on this occasion to meet me in the stable), she began to tell me that she had received a most polite--and indeed almost affectionate--letter from the duke, in which he expressed deep regret for her absence, but besought her to stay where she was as long as the health of her soul demanded. he would do himself the honor of waiting on her and escorting her home, when she made up her mind to return to him. "which means," observed the duchess, as she replaced the letter in her pocket, "that the delhasses are going, and that if i go (without notice anyhow) i shall find them there." "i read it in the same way; but i'm not so sure that the delhasses are going." "you are so charitable," said she, still quite sweetly. "you can't bring yourself to think evil of anybody." the duchess chanced to look so remarkably calm and composed as she sat on the corn bin that i could not deny myself the pleasure of surprising her with the sudden apparition of the cardinal's necklace. without a word, i took the case out of my pocket, opened it, and held it out toward her. for once the duchess sat stock-still, her eyes round and large. "have you been robbing and murdering my husband?" she gasped. with a very complacent smile i began my story. who does not know what it is to begin a story with a triumphant confidence in its favorable reception? who does not know that first terrible glimmer of doubt when the story seems not to be making the expected impression? who has not endured the dull dogged despair in which the story, damned by the stony faces of the auditors, has yet to drag on a hated weary life to a dishonored grave? these stages came and passed as i related to mme. de saint-maclou how i came to be in a position to hand back to her the cardinal's necklace. still, silent, pale, with her lips curled in a scornful smile, she sat and listened. my tone lost its triumphant ring, and i finished in cold, distant, embarrassed accents. "i have only," said i, "to execute my commission and hand the box and its contents over to you." and, thus speaking, i laid the necklace in its case on the corn bin beside the duchess. the duchess said nothing at all. she looked at me once--just once; and i wished then and there that i had listened to gustave de berensac's second thoughts and left with him at ten o'clock in the morning. then having delivered this barbed shaft of the eyes, the duchess sat looking straight in front of her, bereft of her quick-changing glances, robbed of her supple grace--like frozen quicksilver. and the necklace glittered away indifferently between us. at last the duchess, her eyes still fixed on the whitewashed wall opposite, said in a slow emphatic tone: "i wouldn't touch it, if it were the crown of france!" i plucked up my courage to answer her. for marie delhasse's sake i felt a sudden anger. "you are pharisaical," said i. "the poor girl has acted honorably. her touch has not defiled your necklace." "yes, you must defend what you persuaded," flashed out the duchess. "it's the greatest insult i was ever subjected to in my life!" here was the second lady i had insulted on that summer day! "i did but suggest it--it was her own wish." "your suggestion is her wish! how charming!" said the duchess. "you are unjust to her!" i said, a little warmly. the duchess rose from the corn bin, made the very most of her sixty-three inches, and remarked: "it's a new insult to mention her to me." i passed that by; it was too absurd to answer. "you must take it now i've brought it," i urged in angry puzzle. the duchess put out her hand, grasped the case delicately, shut it--and flung it to the other side of the stable, hard by where an old ass was placidly eating a bundle of hay. "that's the last time i shall touch it!" said she, turning and looking me in the face. "but what am i to do with it?" i cried. "whatever you please," returned mme. de saint-maclou; and without another word, without another glance, either at me or at the necklace, she walked out of the stable, and left me alone with the necklace and the ass. the ass had given one start as the necklace fell with a thud on the floor; but he was old and wise, and soon fell again to his meal. i sat drumming my heels against the corn bin. evening was falling fast, and everything was very still. no man ever had a more favorable hour for reflection and introspection. i employed it to the full. then i rose, and crossing the stable, pulled the long ears of my friend who was eating the hay. "i suppose you also were a young ass once," said i with a rueful smile. well, i couldn't leave the cardinal's necklace in the corner of the convent stable. i picked up the box. neddy thrust out his nose at it. i opened it and let him see the contents. he snuffed scornfully and turned back to the hay. "he won't take it either," said i to myself, and with a muttered curse i dropped the wretched thing back in the pocket of my coat, wishing much evil to everyone who had any hand in bringing me into connection with it, from his eminence the cardinal armand de saint-maclou down to the waiter at the hotel. slowly and in great gloom of mind i climbed the hill again. i supposed that i must take the troublesome ornament back to marie delhasse, confessing that my fine idea had ended in nothing save a direct and stinging insult for her and a scathing snub for me. my pride made this necessity hard to swallow, but i believe there was also a more worthy feeling that caused me to shrink from it. i feared that her good resolutions would not survive such treatment, and that the rebuff would drive her headlong into the ruin from which i had trusted that she would be saved. yet there was nothing else for it. back the necklace must go. i could but pray--and earnestly i did pray--that my fears might not be realized. i found myself opposite the gun-maker's shop; and it struck me that i might probably fail to see marie alone that evening. i had no means of defense--i had never thought any necessary. but now a sudden nervousness got hold of me: it seemed to me as if my manner must betray to everyone that i carried the necklace--as if the lump in my coat stood out conspicuous as mont st. michel itself. feeling that i was doing a half-absurd thing, still i stepped into the shop and announced that, on further reflection, i would buy the little pistol. the good man was delighted to sell it to me. "if you carry valuables, sir," he said, repeating his stock recommendation, "it will give you a feeling of perfect safety." "i don't carry valuables," said i abruptly, almost rudely, and with most unnecessary emphasis. "i did but suggest, sir," he apologized. "and at least, it may be that you will require to do so some day." "that," i was forced to admit, "is of course not impossible." and i slid the pistol and a supply of cartridges into the other pocket of my coat. "distribute the load, sir," advised the smiling nuisance. "one side of your coat will be weighed down. ah, pardon! i perceive that there is already something in the other pocket." "a sandwich-case," said i; and he bowed with exactly the smile the waiter had worn when i said that i came from mont st. michel. chapter x. left on my hands. "there is nothing else for it!" i exclaimed, as i set out for the hotel. "i'll go back to england." i could not resist the conclusion that my presence in avranches was no longer demanded. the duchess had, on the one hand, arrived at a sort of understanding with her husband; while she had, on the other, contrived to create a very considerable misunderstanding with me. she had shown no gratitude for my efforts, and made no allowance for the mistakes which, possibly, i had committed. she had behaved so unreasonably as to release me from any obligation. as to marie delhasse, i had had enough (so i declared in the hasty disgust my temper engendered) of quixotic endeavors to rescue people who, had they any moral resolution, could well rescue themselves. there was only one thing left which i might with dignity undertake--and that was to put as many miles as i could between the scene of my unappreciated labors and myself. this i determined to do the very next day, after handing back this abominable necklace with as little obvious appearance of absurdity as the action would permit. it was six o'clock when i reached the hotel and walked straight up to my room in sulky isolation, looking neither to right nor left, and exchanging a word with nobody. i tossed the red box down on the table, and flung myself into an armchair. i had half a mind to send the box down to marie delhasse by the waiter--with my compliments; but my ill-humor did not carry me so far as thus to risk betraying her to her mother, and i perceived that i must have one more interview with her--and the sooner the better. i rang the bell, meaning to see if i could elicit from the waiter any information as to the state of affairs on the first floor and the prospect of finding marie alone for ten minutes. i rang once--twice--thrice; the third was a mighty pull, and had at last the effect of bringing up my friend the waiter, breathless, hot, and disheveled. "why do you keep me waiting like this?" i asked sternly. his puffs and pants prevented him from answering for a full half-minute. "i was busy on the first floor, sir," he protested at last. "i came at the very earliest moment." "what's going on on the first floor?" "the lady is in a great hurry, sir. she is going away, sir. she has been taking a hasty meal, and her carriage is ordered to be round at the door this very minute. and all the luggage had to be carried down, and--" i walked to the window, and, putting my head out, saw a closed carriage, with four trunks and some smaller packages on the roof, standing at the door. "where are they going?" i asked, turning round. the waiter was gone! a bell ringing violently from below explained his disappearance, but did not soothe my annoyance. i rang my bell very forcibly again: the action was a welcome vent for my temper. turning back to the window, i found the carriage still there. a second or two later, mme. delhasse, attended by the waiter who ought to have been looking after me, came out of the hotel and got into the carriage. she spoke to the waiter, and appeared to give him money. he bowed and closed the door. the driver started his horses and made off at a rapid pace toward the carriage-road down the hill. i watched till the vehicle was out of sight and then drew my head in, giving a low puzzled whistle and forgetting the better part of my irritation in the interest of this new development. where was the old witch going--and why was she going alone? again i rang my bell; but the waiter was at the door before it ceased tinkling. "where's she going to?" i asked. "to the house of the duke of saint-maclou, sir," he answered, wiping his brow and sighing for relief that he had got rid of her. "and the young lady--where is she?" "she has already gone, sir." "already gone!" i cried. "gone where? gone when?" "about two hours ago, sir--very soon after i saw you go out, sir--a messenger brought a letter for the young lady. i took it upstairs; she was alone when i entered. when she looked at the address, sir, she made a little exclamation, and tore the note open in a manner that showed great agitation. she read it; and when she had read it stood still, holding it in her hand for a minute or two. she had turned pale and breathed quickly. then she signed to me with her hand to go. but she stopped me with another gesture, and--and then, sir--" "well, well, get on!" i cried. "then, sir, she asked if you were in the hotel, and i said no--you had gone out, i did not know where. upon that, she walked to the window, and stood looking out for a time. then she turned round to me, and said: 'my mother was fatigued by her walk, and is sleeping. i am going out, but i do not wish her disturbed. i will write a note of explanation. be so good as to cause it to be given to her when she wakes.' she was calm then, sir; she sat down and wrote, and sealed the note and gave it to me. then she caught up her hat, which lay on the table, and her gloves; and then, sir, she walked out of the hotel." "which way did she go?" "she went, sir, as if she were making for the footpath down the hill. an hour or more passed, and then madame's bell rang. i ran up and, finding her in the sitting room, i gave her the note." "and what did she say?" "she read it, and cried 'ah!' in great satisfaction, and immediately ordered a carriage and that the maid should pack all her luggage and the young lady's. oh! she was in a great hurry, and in the best of spirits; and she pressed us on so that i was not able to attend properly to you, sir. and finally, as you saw, she drove off to the house of the duke, still in high good humor." the waiter paused. i sat silent in thought. "is there anything else you wish to know, sir?" asked the waiter. then my much-tried temper gave way again. "i want to know what the devil it all means!" i roared. the waiter drew near, wearing a very sympathetic expression. i knew that he had always put me down as an admirer of marie delhasse. he saw in me now a beaten rival. curiously i had something of the feeling myself. "there is one thing, sir," said he. "the stable-boy told me. the message for mlle. delhasse was brought from a carriage which waited at the bottom of the hill, out of sight of the town. and--well, sir, the servants wore no livery; but the boy declares that the horses were those of the duke of saint-maclou." i muttered angrily to myself. the waiter, discreetly ignoring my words, continued: "and, indeed, sir, madame expected to meet her daughter. for i chanced to ask her if she would take with her a bouquet of roses which she had purchased in the town, and she answered: 'give them to me. my daughter will like to have them.'" the waiter's conclusion was obvious. and yet i did not accept it. for why, if marie were going to the duke's, should she not have aroused her mother and gone with her? that the duke had sent his carriage for her was likely enough; that he would cause it to wait outside the town was not impossible; that marie had told her mother that she had gone to the duke's was also clear from that lady's triumphant demeanor. but that she had in reality gone, i could not believe. a sudden thought struck me. "did mlle. delhasse," i asked, "send any answer to the note that came from the carriage?" "ah, sir, i forgot. certainly. she wrote an answer, and the messenger carried it away with him." "and did the boy you speak of see anything more of the carriage?" "he did not pass that way again, sir." my mind was now on the track of marie's device. the duke had sent his carriage to fetch her. she, left alone, unable to turn to me for guidance, determined not to go; afraid to defy him--more afraid, no doubt, because she could no longer produce the necklace--had played a neat trick. she must have sent a message to the duke that she would come with her mother immediately that the necessary preparations could be made; she had then written a note to her mother to tell her that she had gone in the duke's carriage and looked to her mother to follow her. and having thus thrown both parties on a false scent, she had put on her hat and walked quietly out of the hotel. but, then, where had she walked to? my chain of inference was broken by that missing link. i looked up at the waiter. and then i cursed my carelessness. for the waiter's eyes were no longer fixed on my face, but were fastened in eloquent curiosity on the red box which lay on my table. to my apprehensive fancy the cardinal's necklace seemed to glitter through the case. that did not of course happen; but a jewel case is easy to recognize, and i knew in a moment that the waiter discerned the presence of precious stones. our eyes met. in my puzzle i could do nothing but smile feebly and apologetically. the waiter smiled also--but his was a smile of compassion and condolence. he took a step nearer to me, and with infinite sympathy in his tone observed: "ah, well, sir, do not despair! a gentleman like you will soon find another lady to value the present more." in spite of my vanity--and i was certainly not presenting myself in a very triumphant guise to the waiter's imagination--i jumped at the mistake. "they are capricious creatures!" said i with a shrug. "i'll trouble myself no more about them." "you're right, sir, you're right. it's one one day, and another another. it's a pity, sir, to waste thought on them--much more, good money. you will dine to-night, sir?" and his tone took a consolatory inflection. "certainly i will dine," said i; and with a last nod of intelligence and commiseration, he withdrew. and then i leaped, like a wildcat, on the box that contained the cardinal's necklace, intent on stowing it away again in the seclusion of my coat-pocket. but again i stood with it in my hand--struck still with the thought that i could not now return it to marie delhasse, that she had vanished leaving it on my hands, and that, in all likelihood, in three or four hours' time the duke of saint-maclou would be scouring the country and setting every spring in motion in the effort to find the truant lady, and--what i thought he would be at least anxious about--the truant necklace. for to give your family heirlooms away without recompense is a vexatious thing; and ladies who accept them and vanish with them into space can claim but small consideration. and, moreover, if the missing property chance to be found in the possession of a gentleman who is reluctant to explain his presence, who has masqueraded as a groom with intent to deceive the owner of the said property, and has no visible business to bring or keep him on the spot at all--when all this happens, it is apt to look very awkward for that gentleman. "you will regret it if you don't start with me;" so said gustave de berensac. the present was one of the moments in which i heartily agreed with his prescient prophecy. human nature is a poor thing. to speak candidly, i cannot recollect that, amid my own selfish perplexities, i spared more than one brief moment to gladness that marie delhasse had eluded the pursuit of the duke of saint-maclou. but i spared another to wishing that she had thought of telling me to what haven she was bound. chapter xi. a very clever scheme. i must confess at once that i might easily have displayed more acumen, and that there would have been nothing wonderful in my discerning or guessing the truth about marie delhasse's movements. yet the truth never occurred to me, never so much as suggested itself in the shape of a possible explanation. i cannot quite tell why; perhaps it conflicted too strongly with the idea of her which possessed me; perhaps it was characteristic of a temperament so different from my own that i could not anticipate it. at any rate, be the reason what it may, i did not seriously doubt that marie delhasse had cut the cords which bound her by a hasty flight from avranches; and my conviction was deepened by my knowledge that an evening train left for paris just about half an hour after marie, having played her trick on her mother and on the duke of saint-maclou, had walked out of the hotel, no man and no woman hindering her. under these circumstances, my work--imposed and voluntary alike--was done; and the cheering influence of the dinner to which i sat down so awoke my mind to fresh agility that i found the task of disembarrassing myself of that old man of the sea--the cardinal's necklace--no longer so hopeless as it had appeared in the hungry disconsolate hour before my meal. nay, i saw my way to performing, incidentally, a final service to marie by creating in the mind of the duke such chagrin and anger as would, i hoped, disincline him from any pursuit of her. if i could, by one stroke, restore him his diamonds and convince him, not of marie's virtue, but of her faithlessness, i trusted to be humbly instrumental in freeing her from his importunity, and of restoring the jewels to the duchess--nay, of restoring to her also the undisturbed possession of her home and of the society of her husband. at this latter prospect i told myself that i ought to feel very satisfied, and rather to my surprise found myself feeling not very dissatisfied; for most unquestionably the duchess had treated me villainously and had entirely failed to appreciate me. my face still went hot to think of the glance she had given marie delhasse's maladroit ambassador. after these reflections and a bottle of burgundy (i will not apportion the credit) i rose from the table humming a tune and started to go upstairs, conning my scheme in a contented mind. as i passed through the hall the porter handed me a note, saying that a boy had left it and that there was no answer. i opened and read it; it was very short and it ran thus: i wish never to see you again. elsa. now "elsa" (and i believe that i have not mentioned the fact before--an evidence, if any were needed, of my discretion) was the christian name of the duchess of saint-maclou. picking up her dropped handkerchief as we rambled through the woods, i had seen the word delicately embroidered thereon, and i had not forgotten this chance information. but why--let those learned in the ways of women answer if they can--why, first, did she write at all? why, secondly, did she tell me what had been entirely obvious from her demeanor? why, thirdly, did she choose to affix to the document which put an end to our friendship a name which that friendship had never progressed far enough to justify me in employing? to none of these pertinent queries could i give a satisfactory reply. yet, somehow, that "elsa" standing alone, shorn of all aristocratic trappings, had a strange attraction for me, and carried with it a pleasure that the uncomplimentary tenor of the rest of the document did not entirely obliterate. "elsa" wished never to see me again: that was bad; but it was "elsa" who was so wicked as to wish that: that was good. and by a curious freak of the mind it occurred to me as a hardship that i had not received so much as a note of one line from--"marie." "nonsense!" said i aloud and peevishly; and i thrust the letter into my pocket, cheek by jowl with the cardinal's necklace. and being thus vividly reminded of the presence of that undesired treasure, i became clearly resolved that i must not be arrested for theft merely because the duchess of saint-maclou chose (from hurry, or carelessness, or what motive you will) to sign a disagreeable and unnecessary communication with her christian name and nothing more, nor because mlle. delhasse chose to vanish without a word of civil farewell. let them go their ways--i did not know which of them annoyed me more. notwithstanding the letter, notwithstanding the disappearance, my scheme must be carried out. and then--for home! but the conclusion came glum and displeasing. the scheme was very simple. i intended to spend the hours of the night in an excursion to the duke's house. i knew that old jean slept in a detached cottage about half a mile from the _château_. here i should find the old man. i would hand to him the necklace in its box, without telling him what the contents of the box were. jean would carry the parcel to his master, and deliver with it a message to the effect that a gentleman who had left avranches that afternoon had sent the parcel by a messenger to the duke, inasmuch as he had reason to believe that the article contained therein was the property of the duke and that the duke would probably be glad to have it restored to him. the significant reticence of this message was meant to inform the duke that marie delhasse was not so solitary in her flight but that she could find a cavalier to do her errands for her, and one who would not acquiesce in the retention of the diamonds. i imagined, with a great deal of pleasure, what the duke's feelings would be in face of the communication. thus, then, the diamonds were to be restored, the duke disgusted, and i myself freed from all my troubles. i have often thought since that the scheme was really very ingenious, and showed a talent for intrigue which has been notably wanting in the rest of my humble career. the scheme once prosperously carried through, i should, of course, take my departure at the earliest moment on the following day. i might, or i might not, write a line of dignified remonstrance to the duchess, but i should make no attempt to see her; and i should most certainly go. moreover, it would be a long while before i accepted any of her harum-scarum invitations again. "elsa" indeed! somehow i could not say it with quite the indignant scorn which i desired should be manifest in my tone. i have never been able to be indignant with the duchess; although i have laughed at her. now i could be, and was, indignant with marie delhasse; though, in truth, her difficult position pleaded excuses for her treatment of me which the duchess could not advance. as the clock of the church struck ten i walked downstairs from my room, wearing a light short overcoat tightly buttoned up. i informed the waiter that i was likely to be late, secured the loan of a latchkey, and left my good friend under the evident impression that i was about to range the shores of the bay in love-lorn solitude. then i took the footpath down the hill and, swinging along at a round pace, was fairly started on my journey. if the inference i drew from the next thing i saw were correct, it was just as well for me to be out of the way for a little while. for, when i was still about thirty yards from the main road, there dashed past the end of the lane leading up the hill a carriage and pair, traveling at full speed. i could not see who rode inside; but two men sat on the box, and there was luggage on the top. i could not be sure in the dim light, but i had a very strong impression that the carriage was the same as that which had conveyed mme. delhasse out of my sight earlier in the evening. if it were so, and if the presence of the luggage indicated that of its owner, the good lady, arriving alone, must have met with the scantest welcome from the duke. and she would return in a fury of anger and suspicion. i was glad not to meet her; for if she were searching for explanation, i fancied, from glances she had given me, that i was likely to come in for a share of her attention. in fact, she might reasonably have supposed that i was interested in her daughter; nor, indeed, would she have been wrong so far. briskly i pursued my way, and in something over an hour i reached the turn in the road and, setting my face inland, began to climb the hill. a mile further on i came on a bypath, and not doubting from my memory of the direction, that this must be a short cut to the house, i left the road and struck along the narrow wooded track. but, although shorter than the road, it was not very direct, and i found myself thinking it very creditable to the topographical instinct of my friend and successor, pierre, that he should have discovered on a first visit, and without having been to the house, that this was the best route to follow. with the knowledge of where the house lay, however, it was not difficult to keep right, and another forty minutes brought me, now creeping along very cautiously, alertly, and with open ears, to the door of old jean's little cottage. no doubt he was fast asleep in his bed, and i feared the need of a good deal of noisy knocking before he could be awakened from a peasant's heavy slumber. my delight was therefore great when i discovered that--either because he trusted his fellow-men, or because he possessed nothing in the least worth stealing--he had left his door simply on the latch. i lifted the latch and walked in. a dim lantern burned on a little table near the smoldering log-fire. yet the light was enough to tell me that my involuntary host was not in the room. i passed across its short breadth to a door in the opposite wall. the door yielded to a push; all was dark inside. i listened for a sleeper's breathing, but heard nothing. i returned, took up the lantern, and carried it with me into the inner room. i held it above my head, and it enabled me to see the low pallet-bed in the corner. but jean was not lying in the bed--nay, it was clear that he had not lain on the bed all that night. yet his bedtime was half-past eight or nine, and it was now hard on one o'clock. jean was "making a night of it," that seemed very clear. but what was the business or pleasure that engaged him? i admit that i was extremely annoyed. my darling scheme, on which i had prided myself so much, was tripped up by the trifling accident of jean's absence. what in the world, i asked again, kept the old man from his bed? it suddenly struck me that he might, by the duke's orders, have accompanied mme. delhasse back to avranches, in order to be able to report to his master any news that came to light there. he might well have been the second man on the box. this reflection removed my surprise at his absence, but not my vexation. i did not know what to do! should i wait? but he might not be back till morning. wearily, in high disgust, i recognized that the great scheme had, for tonight at least, gone awry, and that i must tramp back to avranches, carrying my old man of the sea, the cardinal's necklace. for jean could not read, and it was useless to leave the parcel with written directions. i went into the outer room, and set the lantern in its place; i took a pull at my flask, and smoked a pipe. then, with a last sigh of vexation, i grasped my stick in my hand, rose to my feet, and moved toward the door. ah! hark! there was a footstep outside. "thank heaven, here comes the old fool!" i murmured. the step came on, and, as it came, i listened to it; and as i listened to it, the sudden satisfaction that had filled me as suddenly died away; for, if that were the step of old jean, may i see no difference between the footfalls of an elephant and of a ballet-dancer! and then, before i had time to form any plan, or to do anything save stand staring in the middle of the floor, the latch was lifted again, the door opened, and in walked--the duke of saint-maclou! chapter xii. as a man possessed. the dim light served no further than to show that a man was there. "well, jean, what news?" asked the duke, drawing the door close behind him. "i am not jean," said i. "then who the devil are you, and what are you doing here?" he advanced and held up the lantern. "why, what are you hanging about for?" he exclaimed the next moment, with a start of surprise. "and i am not george sampson either," said i composedly. i had no mind to play any more tricks. as i must meet him, it should be in my own character. the duke studied me from top to toe. he twirled his mustache, and a slight smile appeared on his full lips. "yet i know you as george sampson, i think, sir," said he, but in an altered tone. he spoke now as though to an equal--to an enemy perhaps, but to an equal. i was in some perplexity; but a moment later he relieved me. "you need trouble yourself with no denials," he said. "lafleur's story of the gentleman at avranches, with the description of him, struck me as strange; and for the rest--there were two things." he seated himself on a stool. i leaned against the wall. "in the first place," he continued, "i know my wife pretty well; in the second, a secret known to four maidservants-really, sir, you were very confiding!" "i was doing no wrong," said i; though not, i confess, in a very convinced tone. "then why the masquerade?" he answered quickly, hitting my weak point. "because you were known to be unreasonable." his smile broadened a little. "it's the old crime of husbands, isn't it?" he asked. "well, sir, i'm no lawyer, and it's not my purpose to question you on that matter. i will put you to no denials." i bowed. the civility of his demeanor was a surprise to me. "if that were the only affair, i need not keep you ten minutes," he went on. "at least, i presume that my friend would find you when he wanted to deliver a message from me?" "certainly. but may i ask why, if that is your intention, you have delayed so long? you guessed i was at avranches. why not have sent to me?" the duke tugged his mustache. "i do not know your name, sir," he remarked. "my name is aycon." "i know the name," and he bowed slightly. "well, i didn't send to you at avranches because i was otherwise occupied." "i am glad, sir, that you take it so lightly," said i. "and by the way, mr. aycon, before you question me, isn't there a question i might ask you? how came you here to-night?" and, as he spoke, his smile vanished. "i have nothing to say, beyond that i hoped to see your servant jean." "for what purpose? come, sir, for what purpose? i have a right to ask for what purpose." and his tone rose in anger. i was going to give him a straightforward answer. my hand was actually on the way to the spot where i felt the red box pressing against my side, when he rose from his seat and strode toward me; and a sudden passion surged in his voice. "answer me! answer me!" he cried. "no, i'm not asking about my wife; i don't care a farthing for that empty little parrot. answer me, sir, as you value your life! what do you know of marie delhasse?" and he stood before me with uplifted hand, as though he meant to strike me. i did not move, and we looked keenly into one another's eyes. he controlled himself by a great effort, but his hands trembled, as he continued: "that old hag who came to-night and dared to show her filthy face here without her daughter--she told me of your talks and walks. the girl was ready to come. who stopped her? who turned her mind? who was there but you--you--you?" and again his passion overcame him, and he was within an ace of dashing his fist in my face. my hands hung at my side, and i leaned easily against the wall. "thank god," said i, "i believe i stopped her! i believe i turned her mind. i did my best, and except me, nobody was there." "you admit it?" "i admit the crime you charged me with. nothing more." "what have you done with her? where is she now?" "i don't know." "ah!" he cried, in angry incredulity. "you don't know, don't you?" "and if i knew, i wouldn't tell you." "i'm sure of that," he sneered. "it is knowledge a man keeps to himself, isn't it? but, by heaven, you shall tell me before you leave this place, or--" "we have already one good ground of quarrel," i interrupted. "what need is there of another?" "a good ground of quarrel?" he repeated, in a questioning tone. honestly i believe that he had for the moment forgotten. his passion for marie delhasse and fury at the loss of her filled his whole mind. "oh, yes," he went on. "about the duchess? true, mr. aycon. that will serve--as well as the truth." "if that is not a real ground, i know none," said i. "haven't you told me that you kept her from me?" "for no purposes of my own." he drew back a step, smiling scornfully. "a man is bound to protest that the lady is virtuous," said he; "but need he insist so much on his own virtue?" "as it so happens," i observed, "it's not a question of virtue." i suppose there was something in my tone that caught his attention, for his scornful air was superseded by an intent puzzled gaze, and his next question was put in lower tones: "what did you stay in avranches for?" "because your wife asked me," said i. the answer was true enough, but, as i wished to deal candidly with him, i added: "and, later on, mlle. delhasse expressed a similar desire." "my wife and mlle. delhasse! truly you are a favorite!" "honest men happen to be scarce in this neighborhood," said i. i was becoming rather angry. "if you are one, i hope to be able to make them scarcer by one more," said the duke. "well, we needn't wrangle over it any more," said i; and i sat down on the lid of a chest that stood by the hearth. but the duke sprang forward and seized me by the arm, crying again in ungovernable rage: "where is she?" "she is safe from you, i hope." "aye--and you'll keep her safe!" "as i say, i know nothing about her, except that she'd be an honest girl if you'd let her alone." he was still holding my arm, and i let him hold it: the man was hardly himself under the slavery of his passion. but again, at my words, the wonder which i had seen before stole into his eyes. "you must know where she is," he said, with a straining look at my face, "but--but--" he broke off, leaving his sentence unfinished. then he broke out again: "safe from me? i would make life a heaven for her!" "that's the old plea," said i. "is a thing a lie because it's old? there's nothing in the world i would not give her--nothing i have not offered her." then he looked at me, repeating again: "you must know where she is." and then he whispered: "why aren't you with her?" "i have no wish to be with her," said i. any other reason would not have appealed to him. he sank down on the stool again and sat in a heap, breathing heavily and quickly. he was wonderfully transfigured, and i hardly knew in him the cold harsh man who had been my temporary master and was the mocking husband of the duchess. say all that may be said about his passion, i could not doubt that it was life and death to him. justification he had none; excuse i found in my heart for him, for it struck me--coming over me in a strange sudden revelation as i sat and looked at him--that he had given such love to the duchess, the gay little lady would have been marvelously embarrassed. it was hers to dwell in a radiant mid-ether, neither to mount to heaver nor descend to hell. and in one of theses two must dwell such feelings as the dukes's. he roused himself, and leaning forward spoke to me again: "you've lived in the same house with her and talked to her. you swear you don't love her? what? has elsa's little figure come between?" his tone was full of scorn. he seemed angry with me, not for presuming to love his wife (nay, he would not believe that), but for being so blind as not to love marie. "i didn't love her!" i answered, with a frown on my face and slow words. "you have never felt attracted to her?" i did not answer that question. i sat frowning in silence till the duke spoke again, in a low hoarse whisper: "and she? what says she to you?" i looked up with a start, and met his searching wrathful gaze. i shook my head; his question was new to me--new and disturbing. "i don't know," said i; and on that we sat in silence for many moments. then he rose abruptly and stood beside me. "mr. aycon," he said, in the smoother tones in which he had begun our curious interview, "i came near a little while ago to doing a ruffianly thing, of a sort i am not wont to do. we must fight out our quarrel in the proper way. have you any friends in the neighborhood?" "i am quite unknown," i answered. he thought for an instant, and then continued: "there is a regiment quartered at pontorson, and i have acquaintances among the officers. if agreeable to you, we will drive over there; we shall find gentlemen ready to assist us." "you are determined to fight?" i asked. "yes," he said, with a snap of his lips. "have we not matters enough and to spare to fight about?" "i can't of course deny that you have a pretext." "and i, mr. aycon, know that i have also a cause. will this morning suit you?" "it is hard on two now." "precisely. we have time for a little rest; then i will order the carriage and we will drive together to pontorson." "you mean that i should stay in your house?" "if you will so far honor me. i wish to settle this affair at once, so as to be moving." "i can but accept." "indeed you could hardly get back to avranches, if, as i presume, you came on foot. ah! you've never told me why you wished to see jean;" and he turned a questioning look on me again, as he walked toward the door of the cottage. "it was--" i began. "stay; you shall tell me in the house. shall i lead the way? ah, but you know it!" and he smiled grimly. with a bow, i preceded him along the little path where i had once waited for the duchess, and where pierre, the new servant, had found me. no words passed between us as we went. the duke advanced to the door and unlocked it. we went in, nobody was about, and we crossed the dimly lighted hall into the small room where supper had been laid for three (three who should have been four) on the night of my arrival. meat, bread, and wine stood on the table now, and with a polite gesture the duke invited me to a repast. i was tired and hungry, and i took a hunch of bread and poured out some wine. "what keeps jean, i wonder?" mused the duke, as he sat down. "perhaps he has found her!" and a gleam of eager hope flashed from his eyes. i made no comment--where was the profit in more sparring of words? i munched my bread and drank my wine, thinking, by a whimsical turn of thought, of gustave de berensac and his horror at the table laid for three. soon i laid down my napkin, and the duke held out his cigarette case toward me: "and now, mr. aycon, if i'm not keeping you up--" "i do not feel sleepy," said i. "it is the same for both of us," he reminded me, shrugging his shoulders. "well, then, if you are willing--of course you can refuse if you choose--i should like to hear what brought you to jean's quarters on foot from avranches in the middle of the night." "you shall hear. i did not desire to meet you, if i could avoid it, and therefore i sought old jean, with the intention of making him a messenger to you." "for what purpose?" "to restore to you something which has been left on my hands and to which you have a better right than i." "pray, what is that?" he asked, evidently puzzled. the truth never crossed his mind. "this," said i; and i took the red leathern box out of my pocket, and set it down on the table in front of the duke. and i put my cigarette between my lips and leaned back in my chair. chapter xiii. a timely truce. i think that at first the duke of saint-maclou could not, as the old saying goes, believe his eyes. he sat looking from me to the red box, and from the red box back to my face. then he stretched out a slow, wavering hand and drew the box nearer to him till it rested in the circle of his spread-out arm and directly under his poring gaze. he seemed to shrink from opening it; but at last he pressed the spring with a covert timid movement of his finger, and the lid, springing open, revealed the cardinal's necklace. it seemed to be more brilliant than i had ever seen it, in the light of the lamp that stood on the table by us; and the duke looked at it as a magician might at the amulet which had failed him, or a warrior at the talisman that had proved impotent. and i, moved to a sudden anger with him for tempting the girl with such a bribe, said bitterly and scornfully, with fresh indignation rising in me: "it was a high bid! strange that you could not buy her with it!" he paid no visible heed to my taunt; and his tone was dull, bewildered, and heavy as, holding the box still in his curved arm, he asked slowly: "did she give it to you to give to me?" "she gave it to me to give to your wife." he looked up with a start. "but your wife would not take it of her. and when i returned from my errand she was gone--where i know not. so i decided to send it back to you." he did not follow, or took very little interest in my brief history. he did not even reiterate his belief that i knew marie's whereabouts. his mind was fixed on another point. "how did you know she had it?" he asked. "i found her with it on the table before her--" "you found her?" "yes; i went into her sitting room and found her as i say; and she was sobbing; and i got from her the story of it." "she told you that?" "yes; and she feared to send it back, lest you should come and overbear her resistance. i supposed you had frightened her. but neither would she keep it--" "you bade her not," he put in, in a quick low tone. "if you like, i prayed her not. did it need much cleverness to see what was meant by keeping it?" his mouth twitched. i saw the tempest rising again in him. but for a little longer he held it down. "do you take me for a fool?" he asked. "am i a boy--do i know nothing of women? and do i know nothing of men?" and he ended in a miserable laugh, and then fell again to tugging his mustache with his shaking hand. "you know," said i, "what's bad in both; and no doubt that's a good deal." in that very room the duchess had called gustave de berensac a preacher. her husband had much the same reproach for me. "sermons are fine from your mouth," he muttered. and then his self-control gave way. with a sweep of his arm he drove the necklace from him, so that the box whizzed across the table, balanced a moment on the edge, and fell crashing on the ground, while the duke cried: "god's curse on it and you! you've taken her from me!" there was danger--there was something like madness--in his aspect as he rose, and, facing me where i sat, went on in tones still low, but charged with a rage that twisted his features and lined his white cheeks: "are you a liar or a fool? have you taken the game for yourself, or are you fool enough not to see that she has despised me--and that miserable necklace--for you--because you've caught her fancy? my god! and i've given my life to it for two years past! and you step in. why didn't you keep to my wife? you were welcome to her--though i'd have shot you all the same for my name's sake. you must have marie too, must you?" he was mad, if ever man was mad, at that moment. but his words were strong with the force and clear with the insight of his passion; and the rush of them carried my mind along, and swept it with them to their own conclusion. nay, i will not say that--for i doubted still; but i doubted as a man who would deny, not as one who laughs away, a thought. i sat silent, looking, not at him, but at the cardinal's necklace on the floor. then, suddenly, while i was still busy with the thought and dazzled at the revelation, while i sat bemused, before i could move, his fingers were on my throat, and his face within a foot of mine, glaring and working as he sent his strength into his arms to throttle me. for his wife--and his name--he would fight a duel: for the sake of marie delhasse he would do murder on an invited stranger in his house. i struggled to my feet, his grip on my throat; and i stretched out my hands and caught him under the shoulders in the armpits, and flung him back against the table, and thence he reeled on to a large cabinet that was by the wall, and stood leaning against it. "i knew you were a villain," i said, "but i thought you were a gentleman." (i did not stop to consider the theory implied in that.) he leaned against the cabinet, red with his exertion and panting; but he did not come at me again. he dashed his hand across his forehead and then he said in hoarse breathless tones: "you shan't leave here alive!" then, with a start of recollection, he thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a key. he put it in the lock of a drawer of the cabinet, fumbling after the aperture and missing it more than once. then he opened the drawer, took out a pair of dueling pistols, and laid them on the table. "they're loaded," he said. "examine them for yourself." i did not move; but i took my little friend out of my pocket. "if i'm attacked," said i, "i shall defend myself; but i'm not going to fight a duel here, without witnesses, at the dead of night, in your house." "call it what you like then," said he; and he snatched up a pistol from the table. he was beyond remonstrance, influence, or control. i believe that in a moment he would have fired; and i must have fired also, or gone to my death as a sheep to the slaughter. but as he spoke there came a sound, just audible, which made him pause, with his right hand that held the pistol raised halfway to the level of his shoulder. faint as the sound was, slight as the interruption it would seem to offer to the full career of a madman's fury, it was yet enough to check him, to call him back to consciousness of something else in the world than his balked passion and the man whom he deemed to have thwarted it. "what's that?" he whispered. it was the lowest, softest knock at the door--a knock that even in asking attention almost shrank from being heard. it was repeated, louder, yet hardly audibly. the duke, striding on the tip of his toes, transferred the pistols from the table back to the drawer, and stood with his hand inside the open drawer: i slid my weapon into my pocket; and then he trod softly across the floor to the door. "one moment!" i whispered. and i stooped and picked up the cardinal's necklace and put it back where it had lain before, pushing its box under the table by a hasty movement of my foot--for the duke, after a nod of intelligence, was already opening the door. i drew back in the shadow behind it and waited. "what do you want?" asked the duke. and then a girl stepped hastily into the room and closed the door quickly and noiselessly behind her. i saw her face: she was my old friend suzanne. when her eyes fell on me, she started in surprise, as well she might; but the caution and fear, which had made her knock almost noiseless, her tread silent, and her face all astrain with alert alarm, held her back from any cry. "never mind him," said the duke. "that's nothing to do with you. what do you want?" "hush! speak low. i thought you would still be up, as you told me to refill the lamp and have it burning. there's--there's something going on." she spoke in a quick, urgent whisper, and in her agitation remembered no deference in her words of address. "going on? where? do you mean here?" "no, no! i heard nothing here. in the duchess's dressing-room: it is just under the room where i sleep. i awoke about half an hour ago, and i heard sounds from there. there was a sound as of muffled hammering, and then a noise, like the rasping of a file; and i thought i heard people moving about, but very cautiously." the duke and i were both listening attentively. "i was frightened, and lay still a little; but then i got up--for the sounds went on--and put on some clothes, and came down--" "why didn't you rouse the men? it must be thieves." "i did go to the men's room; but their door was locked, and i could not make them hear. i did not dare to knock loud; but i saw a light in the room, under the door; and if they'd been awake they would have heard." "perhaps they weren't there," i suggested. suzanne turned a sudden look on me. then she said: "the safe holding the jewels is fixed in the wall of the duchess' dressing room. and--and lafleur knows it." the duke had heard the story with a frowning face; but now a smile appeared on his lips, and he said: "ah, yes! the jewels are there!" "the--the cardinal's necklace," whispered suzanne. "true," said the duke; and his eyes met mine, and we both smiled. a few minutes ago it had not seemed likely that i should share a joke--even a rather grim joke--with him. "mr. aycon," said he, "are you inclined to help me to look into this matter? it may be only the girl's fancy--" "no, no; i heard plainly," suzanne protested eagerly. "but one can never trust these rascally men-servants." "i am quite ready," said i. "our business," said he, "will wait." "it will be the better for waiting." he hesitated a moment; then he assented gravely: "you're right--much better." he took a pistol out of the drawer, and shut and locked the drawer. then he turned to suzanne and said: "you had better go back to bed." "i daren't, i daren't!" "then stay here and keep quiet. mind, not a sound!" "give me a pistol." he unlocked the drawer again, and gave her what she asked. then signing to me to follow him, he opened the door, and we stepped together into the dark hall, the duke laying his hand on my arm and whispering: "they're after the necklace." we groped slowly, with careful noiselessness, across the hall to the foot of the great staircase. there we paused and listened. there was nothing to be heard. we climbed the first flight of stairs, and the duke turned sharp to the right. we were now in a short corridor which ran north and south; three yards ahead of us was another turn, leading to the west wing of the house. there was a window by us; the duke gently opened it; and over against us, across the base of the triangle formed by the building, was another window, four or five yards away. the window was heavily curtained; no light could be seen through it. but as we stood listening, the sounds began--first the gentle muffled hammering, then the sound of the file. the duke still held my arm, and we stood motionless. the sounds went on for a while. then they ceased. there was a pause of complete stillness. then a sharp, though not loud, click! and, upon this, the duke whispered to me: "they've got the safe open. now they'll find the small portable safe which holds the necklace." and i could make out an amused smile on his pale face. before i could speak, he turned and began to crawl away. i followed. we descended the stairs again to the hall. at the foot he turned sharply to the left, and came to a standstill in a recess under the staircase. "we'll wait here. is your pistol all right?" "yes, all right," said i. and, as i spoke, the faintest sound spread from the top of the stairs, and a board creaked under the steps of a man. i was close against the duke, and i felt him quiver with a stifled laugh. meanwhile the cardinal's necklace pressed hard against my ribs under my tightly buttoned coat. chapter xiv. for an empty box. when i look back on the series of events which i am narrating and try to recover the feelings with which i was affected in its passage, i am almost amazed and in some measure ashamed to find how faint is my abhorrence of the duke of saint-maclou. my indignation wants not the bridle but the whip, and i have to spur myself on to a becoming vehemence of disapproval. i attribute my sneaking kindness for him--for to that and not much less i must plead guilty--partly indeed to the revelation of a passion in him that seemed to leave him hardly responsible for the wrong he plotted, but far more to the incidents of this night, in which i was in a manner his comrade and the partner with him in an adventure. to have stood shoulder to shoulder with a man blinds his faults--and the duke bore himself, not merely with the coolness and courage which i made no doubt of his displaying, but with a readiness and zest remarkable at any time, but more striking when they followed on the paroxysm to which i had seen him helplessly subject. these indications of good in the man mollified my dislike and attached me to him by a bond which begot toleration and resists even the clearer and more piercing analysis of memory. therefore, when those who speak to me of what he did and sought to do say what i cannot help admitting to be true, i hold my peace, thinking that the duke and i have played as partners as well as on hostile sides, and that i, being no saint, may well hold my tongue about the faults of a fellow-sinner. moreover,--and this is the thing of all strongest to temper or to twist my judgment of him,--i feel often as though it were he who laid his finger on my blind eyes and bade me look up and see where lay my happiness. for it is strange how long a man can go without discovering his own undermost desire. yet, when seen, how swift it grows! quiet and still we stood in the bay of the staircase, and the steps over our heads creaked under the feet of the men who came down. the duke's hand was on my arm, restraining me, and he held it there till the feet had passed above us and the stealthy tread landed on the marble flagging of the hall. we thrust our heads out and peered through the darkness. i saw the figures of two men, one following the other toward the front door; this the first and taller unfastened and noiselessly opened; and he and his fellow, whom, by the added light which entered, i perceived to be carrying a box or case of moderate size, waited for a moment on the threshold. then they passed out, drawing the door close after them. still the duke held me back, and we rested where we were three or four minutes. then he whispered, "come," and we stole across the hall after them and found ourselves outside. it must have been about half-past two o'clock in the morning; there was no moon and it was rather dark. the duke turned sharp to the left and led me to the bypath, and there, a couple of hundred yards ahead of us, we saw a cube of light that came from a dark lantern. the duke's face was dimly visible, and an amused smile played on his lips as he said softly: "lafleur and pierre! they think they've got the necklace!" was this the meaning of pierre's appearance in the role of my successor? the idea suggested itself to me in a moment, and i strove to read my companion's face for a confirmation. "we'll see where they go," he whispered, and then laid his finger on his lips. amusement sounded in his voice; indeed it was impossible not to perceive the humor of the position, when i felt the cardinal's necklace against my own ribs. we were walking now under cover of the trees which lined the sides of the path, so that no backward glance could discover us to the thieves; and i was wondering how long we were thus to dog their steps, when suddenly they turned to the left about fifty yards short of the spot where old jean's cottage stood, and disappeared from our sight. we emerged into the path, the duke taking the lead. he was walking more briskly now, and i saw him examine his pistol. when we came where the fellows had turned, we followed in their track. the first distant hint of approaching morning caught the tops of the trees above us, turning them from black to a deep chill gray, as we paused to listen. our pursuit had brought us directly behind the cottage, which now stood about a hundred yards on the right; and then we came upon them--or rather suddenly stopped and crouched down to avoid coming upon them--where they were squatting on the ground with a black iron box between them, and the lantern's light thrown on the keyhole of the box. lafleur held the lantern; pierre's hand was near the lock, and i presumed--i could not see--that he held some instrument with which he meant to open it. a ring of trees framed the picture, and the men sat in a hollow, well hidden from the path even had it been high day. the duke of saint-maclou touched my arm, and i leaned forward to look in his face. he nodded, and, brushing aside the trees, we sprang out upon the astonished fellows. fora moment they did not move, struck motionless with surprise, while we stood over them, pistols in hand. we had caught them fair and square. expecting no interruption, they had guarded against none. their weapons were in their pockets, their hands busy with their job. they sprang up the next moment; but the duke's muzzle covered lafleur, and mine was leveled full at pierre. a second later lafleur fell on his knees with a cry for mercy; the little man stood quite still, his arms by his side and the iron box hard by his feet. lafleur's protestations and lamentations began to flow fast. pierre shrugged his shoulders. the duke advanced, and i kept pace with him. "keep your eye on that fellow, mr. aycon," said the duke; and then he put his left hand in his pocket, took out a key and flung it in lafleur's face. it struck him sharply between the eyes, and he whined again. "open the box," said the duke. "open it--do you hear? this instant!" with shaking hands the fellow dragged the box from where it lay by pierre's feet, and dropping on his knees began to fumble with the lock. at last he contrived to unlock it, and raised the lid. the duke sprang forward and, catching him by the nape of the neck, crammed his head down into the box, bidding him, "look--look--look!" and while he said it he laughed, and took advantage of lafleur's posture to give him four or five hearty kicks. "it's empty!" cried lafleur, surprise rescuing him for an instant from the other emotions to which his position gave occasion. and, as he spoke, for the first time pierre started, turning an eager gaze toward the box. "yes, it's empty," said the duke. "the necklace isn't there, is it? now, tell me all about it, or i'll put a bullet through your head!" then the story came: disentangled from the excuses and prayers, it was simply that pierre was no footman but a noted thief--that he had long meditated an attack on the cardinal's necklace; had made lafleur's acquaintance in paris, corrupted his facile virtue, and, with the aid of forged testimonials, presented himself in the character in which i had first made his acquaintance. the rascals had counted on the duke's preoccupation with marie delhasse for their opportunity. the duke smiled to hear it. pierre listened to the whole story without a word of protest or denial; his accomplice's cowardly attempt to present him as the only culprit gained no more notice than another shrug and a softly muttered oath. "destiny," the little man seemed to say in the eloquent movement of his shoulders; while the growing light showed his beady eyes fixed, full and unfaltering, on me. lafleur's prayers died away. the duke, still smiling, set his pistol against the wretch's head. "that's what you deserve," said he. and lafleur, groveling, caught him by the knees. "don't kill me! don't kill me!" he implored. "why not?" asked the duke, in the tone of a man willing to hear the other side, but certain that he would not be convinced by it. "why not? we find you stealing--and we shoot you as you try to escape. i see nothing unnatural or illegal in it, lafleur. nor do i see anything in favor of leaving you alive." and the pistol pressed still on lafleur's forehead. whether his master meant to shoot, i know not--although i believe he did. but lafleur had little doubt of his purpose; for he hastened to play his best card, and, clinging still to the duke's knees, cried desperately: "if you'll spare me, i'll tell you where she is!" the duke's arm fell to his side; and in a changed voice, from which the cruel bantering had fled, while eager excitement filled its place, he cried: "what? where who is?" "the lady--mlle. delhasse. a girl i know--there in avranches--saw her go. she is there now." "where, man, where?" roared the duke, stamping his foot, and menacing the wretch again with his pistol. i turned to listen, forgetful of quiet little pierre and his alert beady eyes; yet i kept the pistol on him. and lafleur cried: "at the convent--at the convent, on the shores of the bay!" "my god!" cried the duke, and his eyes suddenly turned and flashed on mine; and i saw that the necklace was forgotten, that our partnership was ended, and that i again, and no longer the cowering creature before him, was the enemy. and i also, hearing that marie delhasse was at the convent, was telling myself that i was a fool not to have thought of it before, and wondering what new impulse had seized the duke's wayward mind. thus neither the duke nor i was attending to the business of the moment. but there was a man of busy brain, whose life taught him to profit by the slips of other men and to let pass no opportunities. our carelessness gave one now--a chance of escape, and a chance of something else too. for, while my negligent hand dropped to my side and my eyes were seeking to read the duke's face, the figure opposite me must have been moving. softly must a deft hand have crept to a pocket; softly came forth the hidden weapon. there was a report loud and sudden; and then another. and with the first, lafleur, who was kneeling at the duke's feet and looking up to see how his shaft had sped, flung his arms wildly over his head, gave a shriek, and fell dead--his head, half-shattered, striking the iron box as he fell sideways in a heap on the ground. the duke sprang back with an oath, whose sound was engulfed in the second discharge of pierre's pistol: and i felt myself struck in the right arm; and my weapon fell to the ground, while i clutched the wounded limb with my left hand. the duke, after a moment's hesitation and bewilderment, raised his pistol and fired; but the active little scoundrel was safe among the trees, and we heard the twigs cracking and the leaves rustling as he pushed his way through the wood. he was gone--scot free for us, but with his score to lafleur well paid. i swayed where i stood, to and fro: the pain was considerable, and things seemed to go round before my eyes; yet i turned to my companion, crying: "after him! he'll get off! i'm hit; i can't run!" the duke stood still, frowning; then he slowly dropped his smoking pistol into his pocket. for a moment longer he stood, and a smile broadened on his face as he raised his eyes to me. "let him," he said briefly; and his glance rested on me for a moment in defiant significance. and then, without another word, he turned on his heel. he took no heed of lafleur's dead body, that seemed to fondle the box, huddling it in a ghastly embrace, nor of me, who swayed and tottered and sank on the ground by the corpse. with set lips and eager eyes he passed me, taking the road by which we had come. and i, hugging my wounded arm, with open eyes and parted lips, saw him dive in among the trees and disappear toward the house. and i looked round on the iron box and the dead body--two caskets robbed of all that made them more than empty lumber. minute followed minute; and then i heard the hoofs of a horse galloping at full speed along the road from the house toward avranches. lafleur was dead and done with; pierre might go his ways; i lay fainting in the wood; the cardinal's necklace was still against my side. what recked the duke of saint-maclou of all that? i knew, as i heard the thud of the hoofs on the road, that by the time the first reddening rays reached over the horizon he would be at the convent, seeking the woman who was all the world to him. and i sat there helpless, fearful of what would befall her. for what could a convent full of women avail against his mastering rage? and a sudden sharp pang ran through me, startling even myself in its intensity; so that i cried out aloud, raising my sound arm in the air toward heaven, like a man who swears a vow: "by god, no! by god, no--no!" chapter xv. i choose my way. the dead man lay there, embracing the empty box that had brought him to his death; and for many minutes i sat within a yard of him, detained by the fascination and grim mockery of the picture no less than by physical weakness and a numbness of my brain. my body refused to act, and my mind hardly urged its indolent servant. i was in sore distress for marie delhasse,--my vehement cry witnessed it,--yet i had not the will to move to her aid; will and power both seemed to fail me. i could fear, i could shrink with horror, but i could not act; nor did i move till the increasing pain of my wound drove me, as it might any unintelligent creature, to scramble to my feet and seek, half-blindly, for some place that should afford shelter and succor. leaving lafleur and the box where they lay, a pretty spectacle for a moralist, i stumbled through the wood back to the path, and stood there in helpless vacillation. at the house i should find better attendance, but old jean's cottage was nearer. the indolence of weakness gained the day, and i directed my steps toward the cottage, thinking now, so far as i can recollect, of none of the exciting events of the night nor even of what the future still held, but purely and wholly of the fact that in the cottage i should find a fire and a bed. the root-instincts of the natural man--the primeval elementary wants--asserted their supremacy and claimed a monopoly of my mind, driving out all rival emotions, and with a mighty sigh of relief and content i pushed open the door of the cottage, staggered across to the fire and sank down on the stool by it, thanking heaven for so much, and telling myself that soon, very soon, i should feel strong enough to make my way into the inner room and haul out jean's pallet and set it by the fire and stretch my weary limbs, and, if the pain of my wound allowed me, go to sleep. beyond that my desires did not reach, and i forgot all my fears save the one dread that i was too weak for the desired effort. certainly it is hard for a man to think himself a hero! i took no note of time, but i must have sat where i was for many minutes, before i heard someone moving in the inner room. i was very glad; of course it was jean, and jean, i told myself with luxurious self-congratulation, would bring the bed for me, and put something on my wound, and maybe give me a chink of some fine hot cognac that would spread life through my veins. thus i should be comfortable and able to sleep, and forget all the shadowy people--they seemed but shadows half-real--that i had been troubling my brain about: the duke, and marie, whose face danced for a moment before my eyes, and that dead fellow who hugged the box so ludicrously. so i tried to call to jean, but the trouble was too great, and, as he would be sure to come out soon, i waited; and i blinked at the smoldering wood-ashes in the fire till my eyes closed and the sleep was all but come, despite the smart of my arm and the ache in my unsupported back. but just before i had forgotten everything the door of the inner room creaked and opened. my side was toward it and i did not look round. i opened my eyes and feebly waved my left hand. then a voice came, clear and fresh: "jean, is it you? well, is the duke at the house?" i must be dreaming; that was my immediate conviction, for the voice that i heard was a voice i knew well, but one not likely to be heard here, in jean's cottage, at four o'clock in the morning. decidedly i was dreaming, and as in order to dream a man must be asleep, i was pleased at the idea and nodded happily, smiling and blinking in self-congratulation. but that pleasant minute of illusion was my last; for the voice cried in tones too full of animation, too void of dreamy vagueness, too real and actual to let me longer set them down as made of my own brain: "heaven! why, it's mr. aycon! how in the world do you come here?" to feel surprise at the duchess of saint-maclou doing anything which she might please to do or being anywhere that the laws of nature rendered it possible she should be, was perhaps a disposition of mind of which i should have been by this time cured; yet i was surprised to find her standing in the doorway that led from jean's little bedroom dressed in a neat walking gown and a very smart hat, her hands clasped in the surprise which she shared with me and her eyes gleaming with an amused delight which found, i fear, no answer in my heavy bewildered gaze. "i'm getting warm," said i at first, but then i made an effort to rouse myself. "i was a bit hurt, you know," i went on; "that little villain pierre--" "hurt!" cried the duchess, springing forward. "how? oh, my dear mr. aycon, how pale you are!" after that remark of the duchess', i remember nothing which occurred for a long while. in fact, just as i had apprehended that i was awake, that the duchess was real, and that it was most remarkable to find her in jean's cottage, i fainted, and the duchess, the cottage, and everything else vanished from sight and mind. when next i became part of the waking world i found myself on the sofa of the little room in the duke's house which i was beginning to know so well. i felt very comfortable: my arm was neatly bandaged, i wore a clean shirt. suzanne was spreading a meal on the table, and the duchess, in a charming morning gown, was smiling at me and humming a tune. the clock on the mantelpiece marked a quarter to eight. "now i know all about it," said the duchess, perceiving my revival. "i've heard it all from suzanne and jean--or anyhow i can guess the rest. and you mustn't tire yourself by talking. i had you brought here so that you might be well looked after; because we're so much indebted to you, you know." "is the duke here?" i asked. "oh, dear, no; it's all right," nodded the duchess. "i don't know--and i do not care--where the duke is. drink this milk, mr. aycon. your arm's not very bad, you know--jean says it isn't, i mean--but you'd better have milk first, and something to eat when you feel stronger." the duchess appeared to be in excellent spirits. she caught up a bit of toast from the table, poured out a cup of coffee, and, still moving about, began a light breakfast, with every sign of appetite and enjoyment. "you've come back?" said i, looking at her in persistent surprise. suzanne put the cushions behind my back in a more comfortable position, smiled kindly on us, and left us. "yes," said the duchess, "i have for the present, mr. aycon." "but--but the duke--" i stammered. "i don't mind the duke," said she. "besides, he may not come. it's rather nice that you're just a little hurt. don't you think so, mr. aycon? just a little, you know." "why?" was all i found to say. the reason was not clear to me. "why, in the first place, because you can't fight till your arm's well--oh, yes, of course armand was going to fight you--and, in the second place, you can and must stay here. there's no harm in it, while you're ill, you see; armand can't say there is. it's rather funny, isn't it, mr. aycon?" and she munched a morsel of toast, and leaned her elbows on the table and sent a sparkling glance across at me, for all the world as she had done on the first night i knew her. the cares of the world did not gall the shoulders of mme. de saint-maclou. "but why are you here?" said i, sticking to my point. the duchess set down the cup of coffee which she had been sipping. "i am not particular," said she. "but i told the mother superior exactly what i told the duke. she wouldn't listen any more than he would. however, i was resolved; so i came here. i don't see where else i could go, do you, mr. aycon?" "what did you tell the mother?" the duchess stretched one hand across the table, clenching her small fist and tapping gently with it on the cloth. "there is one thing that i will not do, mr. aycon," said she, a touch of red coming in her cheeks and her lips set in obstinate lines. "i don't care whether the house is my house or anybody else's house, or an inn--yes, or a convent either. but i will not be under the same roof with marie delhasse." and her declaration finished, the duchess nodded most emphatically, and turned to her cup again. the name of marie delhasse, shot forth from mme. de saint-maclou's pouting lips, pierced the cloud that had seemed to envelop my brain. i sat up on the sofa and looked eagerly at the duchess. "you saw her, then, at the convent?" i asked. "yes, i met her in the chapel. really, i should have expected to be safe from her there. and the mother would not turn her out!" and then the duchess, by a sudden transition, said to me, with a half-apologetic, half challenging smile: "you got my note, i suppose, mr. aycon?" for a minute i regarded the duchess. and i smiled, and my smile turned to a laugh as i answered: "oh, yes! i got the note." "i meant it," said she. "but i suppose i must forgive you now. you've been so brave, and you're so much hurt." and the duchess' eyes expressed a gratifying admiration of my powers. i fingered my arm, which lay comfortably enough in the bandages and the sling that suzanne's care had provided for it. and i rose to my feet. "oh, you mustn't move!" cried the duchess, rising also and coming to where i stood. "by jove, but i must!" said i, looking at the clock. "the duke's got four hours' start of me." "what do you want with my husband now?" she asked. "i don't see why you should fight him; anyhow, you can't fight him till your arm is well." the duchess' words struck on my ear and her dainty little figure was before my eyes, but my thoughts were absent from her. "don't go, mr. aycon," said she. "i must go," i said. "by this time he'll be at the convent." a frown gathered on the duchess' face. "what concern is it of yours?" she asked. "i--i mean, what good can you do?" "i can hardly talk to you about it--" i began awkwardly; but the duchess saved me the trouble of finishing my sentence, for she broke in angrily: "oh, as if i believe that! mr. aycon, why are you going?" "i'm going to see that the duke doesn't--" "oh, you are very anxious--and very good, aren't you? yes, and very chivalrous! mr. aycon, i don't care what he does;" and she looked at me defiantly. "but i do," said i, and seeing my hat on the cabinet by the wall, i walked across the room and stretched out my hand for it. the duchess darted after me and stood between my hat and me. "why do you care?" she asked, with a stamp of her small foot. there were, no doubt, many most sound and plausible reasons for caring--reasons independent of any private feelings of my own in regard to marie delhasse; but not one of them did i give to the duchess. i stood before her, looking, i fear, very embarrassed, and avoiding her accusing eyes. then the duchess flung her head back, and with passionate scorn said to me: "i believe you're in love with the woman yourself!" and to this accusation also i made no reply. "are you really going?" she asked, her voice suddenly passing to a note of entreaty. "i must go," said i obstinately, callously, curtly. "then go!" cried the duchess. "and never let me see you again!" she moved aside, and i sprang forward and seized my hat. i took no notice of the duchess, and, turning, i walked straight toward the door. but before i reached it the duchess flung herself on the sofa and buried her face in the cushions. i would not leave her like that, so i stood and waited; but my tongue still refused to find excuses, and still i was in a fever to be off. but the duchess rose again and stood upright. she was rather pale and her lips quivered, but she held out her hand to me with a smile. and suddenly i understood what i was doing, and that for the second time the proud little lady before me saw herself left and neglected for the sake of that woman whose presence made even a convent uninhabitable to her; and the bitter wound that her pride suffered was declared in her bearing and in the pathetic effort at dignity which she had summoned up to hide her pain. yet, although on this account i was sorry for her, i discerned nothing beyond hurt pride, and was angry at the pride for the sake of marie delhasse, and when i spoke it was in defense of marie delhasse, and not in comfort to the duchess. "she is not what you think," i said. the duchess drew herself up to her full height, making the most of her inches. "really, mr. aycon," said she, "you must forgive me if i do not discuss that." and she paused, and then added, with a curl of her lip: "you and my husband can settle that between you;" and with a motion of her hand she signed to me to leave her. looking back on the matter, i do not know that i had any reason to be ashamed or to feel myself in any sort a traitor to the duchess. yet some such feelings i had as i backed out of the room leaving her standing there in unwonted immobility, her eyes haughty and cold, her lips set, her grace congealed to stateliness, her gay agility frozen to proud stiffness. and i left her thus standing in obedience to the potent yet still but half-understood spell which drew me from her side and would not suffer me to rest, while the duke of saint-maclou was working his devices in the valley beneath the town of avranches. chapter xvi. the inn near pontorson. the moment i found myself outside the house--and i must confess that, for reasons which i have indicated, it was a relief to me to find myself there--i hastened to old jean's cottage. the old man was eating his breakfast; his stolidity was unshaken by the events of the night; he manifested nothing beyond a mild satisfaction that the two rascals had justified his opinion of them, and a resigned regret that pierre had not shared the fate of lafleur. he told me that his inquiries after marie delhasse had been fruitless, and added that he supposed there would be a police inquiry into the attempted robbery and the consequent death of lafleur; indeed he was of opinion that the duke had gone to avranches to arrange for it as much as to prosecute his search for marie. i seized the opportunity to suggest that i should be a material witness, and urged him to give me one of the duke's horses to carry me to avranches. he grumbled at my request, declaring that i should end by getting him into trouble; but a few francs overcame his scruples, and he provided me with a sturdy animal, which i promised to bring or send back in the course of the day. great as my impatience was, i was compelled to spend the first hour of my arrival at avranches under the doctor's hands. he discovered to my satisfaction that the bullet had not lodged in my arm and that my hurt was no more than a flesh-wound, which would, if all went well, heal in a few days. he enjoined perfect rest and freedom from worry and excitement. i thanked him, bowed myself out, mounted again, and rode to the hotel, where i left my horse with instructions for its return to its owner. then, at my best speed, i hastened down the hill again, reached the grounds of the convent, and approached the door. perfect rest and freedom from excitement were unattainable until i had learned whether marie delhasse was still safe within the old white walls which i saw before me; for, though i could not trace how the change in me had come, nor track its growth, i knew now that if she were there the walls held what was of the greatest moment to me in all the world, and that if she were not there the world was a hell to me until i found her. i was about to ring the bell, when from the gate of the burial-ground the mother superior came at a slow pace. the old woman was frowning as she walked, and her frown deepened at sight of me. but i, caring nothing for what she thought, ran up to her, crying before i had well reached her: "is marie delhasse still here?" the mother stopped dead, and regarded me with disapprobation. "what business is it of yours, sir, where the young woman is?" she asked. "i mean her no harm," i urged eagerly. "if she is safe here, i ask to know no more; i don't even ask to see her. is she here? the duchess of saint-maclou told me that you refused to send her away." "god forbid that i should send away any sinner who will find refuge here," she said solemnly. "you have seen the duchess?" "yes; she is at home. but mlle. delhasse?" but the old woman would not be hurried. she asked again: "what concern have you, sir, with marie delhasse?" i looked her in the face as i answered plainly: "to save her from the duke of saint-maclou." "and from her own mother, sir?" "yes, above all from her own mother." the old woman started at my words; but there was no change in the level calm of her voice as she asked: "and why would you rescue her?" "for the same reason that any gentleman would, if he could. if you want more--" she held up her hand to silence me; but her look was gentler and her voice softer, as she said: "you, sir, cannot save, and i cannot save, those who will not let god himself save them." "what do you mean?" i cried in a frenzy of fear and eagerness. "i had prayed for her, and talked with her. i thought i had seen grace in her. well, i know not. it is true that she acted as her mother bade her. but i fear all is not well." "i pray you to speak plainly. where is she?" "i do not know where she is. what i know, sir, you shall know, for i believe you come in honesty. this morning--some two hours ago--a carriage drove from the town here. mme. delhasse was in it, and with her the duke of saint-maclou. i could not refuse to let the woman see her daughter. they spoke together for a time; and then they called me, and marie--yes, marie herself--begged me to let her see the duke. so they came here where we stand, and i stood a few yards off. they talked earnestly in low tones. and at last marie came to me (the others remaining where they were), and took my hand and kissed it, thanking me and bidding me adieu. i was grieved, sir, for i trusted that the girl had found peace here; and she was in the way to make us love her. 'does your mother bid you go?' i asked, 'and will she save you from all harm?' and she answered: 'i go of my own will, mother; but i go hoping to return.' 'you swear that you go of your own will?' i asked. 'yes, of my own will,' she said firmly; but she was near to weeping as she spoke. yet what could i do? i could but tell her that our door--god's door--was never shut. that i told her; and with a heavy heart, being able to do nothing else, i let her go. i pray god no harm come of it. but i thought the man's face wore a look of triumph." "by heaven," i cried, "it shall not wear it for long! which way did they go?" she pointed to the road by the side of the bay, leading away from avranches. "that way. i watched the carriage and its dust till i saw it no more, because of the wood that lies between here and the road. you pursue them, sir?" "to the world's end, madame, if i must." she sighed and opened her lips to speak, but no words came; and without more, i turned and left her, and set my face to follow the carriage. i was, i think, half-mad with anger and bewilderment, for i did not think that it would be time well spent to ascend to the town and obtain a vehicle or a horse; but i pressed on afoot, weary and in pain as i was, along the hot white road. for now indeed my heart was on fire, and i knew that beside marie delhasse everything was nothing. so at first imperceptibly, slowly, and unobserved, but at the last with a swift resistless rush, the power of her beauty and of the soul that i had seemed to see in her won upon me; and that moment, when i thought that she had yielded to her enemy and mine, was the flowering and bloom of my love for her. where had they gone? not to the duke's house, or i should have met them as i rode down earlier in the morning. then where? france was wide, and the world wider: my steps were slow. where lay the use of the chase? in the middle of the road, when i had gone perhaps a mile, i stopped dead. i was beaten and sick at heart, and i searched for a nook of shade by the wayside, and flung myself on the ground; and the ache of my arm was the least of my pain. as i lay there, my eye caught sight of a cloud of dust on the road. for a moment i scanned it eagerly, and then fell back with a curse of disappointment. it was caused by a man on a horse--and the man was not the duke. but in an instant i was sitting up again--for as the rider drew nearer, trotting briskly along, his form and air was familiar to me; and when he came opposite to me, i sprang up and ran out to meet him, crying out to him: "gustave! gustave!" it was gustave de berensac, my friend. he reined in his horse and greeted me--and he greeted me without surprise, but not without apparent displeasure. "i thought i should find you here still," said he. "i rode over to seek you. surely you are not at the duchess'?" his tone was eloquent of remonstrance. "i've been staying at the inn." "at the inn?" he repeated, looking at me curiously. "and is the duchess at home?" "she's at home now. how come you here?" "ah, my friend, and how comes your arm in a sling? well, you shall have my story first. i expect it will prove shorter. i am staying at pontorson with a friend who is quartered there." "but you went to paris." gustave leaned clown to me, and spoke in a low impressive tone: "gilbert," said he, "i've had a blow. the day after i got to paris i heard from lady cynthia. she's going to be married to a countryman of yours." gustave looked very doleful. i murmured condolence, though in truth i cared, just then, not a straw about the matter. "so," he continued, "i seized the first opportunity for a little change." there was a pause. gustave's mournful eye ranged over the landscape. then he said, in a patient, sorrowful voice: "you said the duchess was at home?" "yes, she's at home now." "ah! i ask again, because as i passed the inn on the way between here and pontorson i saw in the courtyard--" "yes, yes, what?" cried i in sudden eagerness. "what's the matter, man? i saw a carriage with some luggage on it, and it looked like the duke's, and--hallo! gilbert, where are you going?" "i can't wait, i can't wait!" i called, already three or four yards away. "but i haven't heard how you got your arm--" "i can't tell you now. i can't wait!" my lethargy had vanished; i was hot to be on my way again. "is the man mad?" he cried; and he put his horse to a quick walk to keep up with me. i stopped short. "it would take all day to tell you the story," i said impatiently. "still i should like to know--" "i can't help it. look here, gustave, the duchess knows. go and see her. i must go on now." across the puzzled mournful eyes of the rejected lover and bewildered friend i thought i saw a little gleam. "the duchess?" said he. "yes, she's all alone. the duke's not there." "where is the duke?" he asked; but, as it struck me, now rather in precaution than in curiosity. "that's what i'm going to see," said i. and with hope and resolution born again in my heart i broke into a fair run, and, with a wave of my hand, left gustave in the middle of the road, staring after me and plainly convinced that i was mad. perhaps i was not far from that state. mad or not, in any case after three minutes i thought no more of my good friend gustave de berensac, nor of aught else, save the inn outside pontorson, just where the old road used to turn toward mont st. michel. to that goal i pressed on, forgetting my weariness and my pain. for it might be that the carriage would still stand in the yard, and that in the house i should come upon the object of my search. half an hour's walk brought me to the inn, and there, to my joy, i saw the carriage drawn up under a shed side by side with the inn-keeper's market cart. the horses had been taken out; there was no servant in sight. i walked up to the door of the inn and passed through it. and i called for wine. a big stout man, wearing a blouse, came out to meet me. the inn was a large one, and the inn-keeper was evidently a man of some consideration, although he wore a blouse. but i did not like the look of him, for he had shifty eyes and a bloated face. without a word he brought me what i ordered and set it down in a little room facing the stable yard. "whose carriage is that under your shed?" i asked, sipping my wine. "it is the carriage of the duke of saint-maclou, sir," he answered readily enough. "the duke is here, then?" "have you business with him, sir?" "i did but ask you a simple question," said i. "ah! what's that? who's that?" i had been looking out of the window, and my sudden exclamation was caused by this--that the door of a stable which faced me had opened very gently, and but just wide enough to allow a face to appear for an instant and then disappear. and it seemed to me that i knew the face, although the sight of it had been too short to make me sure. "what did you see, sir?" asked the inn-keeper. (the name on his signboard was jacques bontet.) i turned and faced him full. "i saw someone look out of the stable," said i. "doubtless the stable-boy," he answered; and his manner was so ordinary, unembarrassed, and free from alarm, that i doubted whether my eyes had not played me a trick, or my imagination played one upon my eyes. be that as it might, i had no time to press my host further at that moment; for i heard a step behind me and a voice i knew saying: "bontet, who is this gentleman?" i turned. in the doorway of the room stood the duke of saint-maclou. he was in the same dress as when he had parted from me; he was dusty, his face was pale, and the skin had made bags under his eyes. but he stood looking at me composedly, with a smile on his lips. "ah!" said he, "it is my friend mr. aycon. bontet, bring me some wine, too, that i may drink with my friend." and he added, addressing me: "you will find our good bontet most obliging. he is a tenant of mine, and he will do anything to oblige me and my friends. isn't it so, bontet?" the fellow grunted a surly and none too respectful assent, and left the room to fetch the duke his wine. silence followed on his departure for some seconds. then the duke came up to where i stood, folded his arms, and looked me full in the face. "it is difficult to lose the pleasure of your company, sir," he said. "if you will depart from here alone," i retorted, "you shall find it the easiest thing in the world. for, in truth, it is not desire for your society that brings me here." he lifted a hand and tugged at his mustache. "you have, perhaps, been to the convent?" he hazarded. "i have just come from there," i rejoined. "i am not an englishman," said he, curling the end of the mustache, "and i do not know how plain an intimation need be to discourage one of your resolute race. for my part, i should have thought that when a lady accepts the escort of one gentleman, it means that she does not desire that of another." he said this with a great air and an assumption of dignity that contrasted strongly with the unrestrained paroxysms of the night before. i take it that success--or what seems such--may transform a man as though it changed his very skin. but i was not skilled to cross swords with him in talk of that kind, so i put my hands in my pockets and leaned against the shutter and said bluntly: "god knows what lies you told her, you see." his white face suddenly flushed; but he held himself in and retorted with a sneer: "a disabled right arm gives a man fine courage." "nonsense!" said i. "i can aim as well with my left;" and that indeed was not very far from the truth. and i went on: "is she here?" "mme. and mlle. delhasse are both here, under my escort." "i should like to see mlle. delhasse," i observed. he answered me in low tones, but with the passion in him closer to the surface now and near on boiling up through the thin film of his self-restraint: "so long as i live, you shall never see her." but i cared not, for my heart leaped in joy at his words. they meant to me that he dared not let me see her; that, be the meaning of her consent to go with him what it might, yet he dared not match his power over her against mine. and whence came the power he feared? it could be mine only if i had touched her heart. "i presume she may see whom she will," said i still carelessly. "her mother will protect her from you with my help." there was silence for a minute. then i said: "i will not leave here without seeing her." and a pause followed my words till the duke, fixing his eyes on mine, answered significantly: "if you leave here alive to-night, you are welcome to take her with you." i understood, and i nodded my head. "my left arm is as sound as yours," he added; "and, maybe, better practiced." our eyes met again, and the agreement was sealed. the duke was about to speak again, when a sudden thought struck me. i put my hand in my pocket and drew out the cardinal's necklace. and i flung it on the table before me, saying: "let me return that to you, sir." the duke stood regarding the necklace for a moment, as it lay gleaming and glittering on the wooden table in the bare inn parlor. then he stepped up to the table, but at the moment i cried: "you won't steal her away before--before--" "before we fight? i will not, on my honor." he paused and added: "for there is one thing i want more even than her." i could guess what that was. and then he put out his hand, took up the necklace, and thrust it carelessly into the pocket of his coat. and looking across the room, i saw the inn-keeper, jacques bontet, standing in the doorway and staring with all his eyes at the spot on the table where the glittering thing had for a moment lain; and as the fellow set down the wine he had brought for the duke, i swear that he trembled as a man who has seen a ghost; for he spilled some of the wine and chinked the bottle against the glass. but while i stared at him, the duke lifted his glass and bowed to me, saying, with a smile and as though he jested in some phrase of extravagant friendship for me: "may nothing less than death part you and me?" and i drank the toast with him, saying "amen." chapter xvii. a reluctant intrusion. as bontet the inn-keeper set the wine on the table before the duke of saint-maclou, the big clock in the hall of the inn struck noon. it is strange to me, even now when the story has grown old in my memory, to recall all that happened before the hands of that clock pointed again to twelve. and last year when i revisited the neighborhood and found a neat new house standing on the site of the ramshackle inn, i could not pass by without a queer feeling in my throat; for it was there that the results of the duchess' indiscretion finally worked themselves out to their unexpected, fatal, and momentous ending. seldom, as i should suppose, has such a mixed skein of good and evil, of fatality and happiness, been spun from material no more substantial than a sportive lady's idle freak. "by the way, mr. aycon," said the duke, after we had drunk our toast, "i have had a message from the magistrate at avranches requesting our presence to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock. an inquiry has to be held into the death of that rascal lafleur, and our evidence must be taken. it is a mere formality, the magistrate is good enough to assure me, and i have assured him that we shall neither of us allow anything to interfere with our waiting on him, if we can possibly do so." "i could have sent no other message myself," said i. "i will also," continued the duke, "send word by bontet here to those two friends of mine at pontorson. it would be dull for you to dine alone with me, and, as the evening promises to be fine, i will ask them to be here by five o'clock, and we will have a stroll on the sands and a nearer look at the mount before our meal. they are officers who are quartered there." "their presence," said i, "will add greatly to the pleasure of the evening." "meanwhile, if you will excuse me, i shall take an hour or two's rest. we missed our sleep last night, and we should wish to be fresh when our guests arrive. if i might advise you--" "i am about to breakfast, after that i may follow your advice." "ah, you've not breakfasted? you can't do better, then. _au revoir_;" and with a bow he left me, calling to bontet to follow him upstairs and wait for the note which was to go to the officers at pontorson. it must be admitted that the duke conducted the necessary arrangements with much tact. in a quarter of an hour my breakfast was before me, and i seated myself with my back to the door and my face to the window. i had plenty to think about as i ate; but my chief anxiety was by some means to obtain an interview with marie delhasse, not with a view to persuading her to attempt escape with me before the evening--for i had made up my mind that the issue with the duke must be faced now, once for all--but in the hope of discovering why she had allowed herself to be persuaded into leaving the convent. until i knew that, i was a prey to wretched doubts and despondency, which even my deep-seated confidence in her could not overcome. fortunately i had a small sum of money in my pocket, and i felt sure that bontet's devotion to the duke would not be proof against an adequate bribe: perhaps he would be able to assist me in eluding the vigilance of madame delhasse and obtaining speech with her daughter. bontet, detained as i supposed by the duke, had left a kitchen-girl to attend on me; but i soon saw him come out into the yard, carrying a letter in his hand. he walked slowly across to the stable door, at which the face, suddenly presented and withdrawn, had caught my attention. he stopped before the door a moment, then the door opened. i could not see whether he opened it or whether it was unlocked from within, for his burly frame obstructed my view; but the pause was long enough to show that more than the lifting of a latch was necessary. and that i thought worth notice. the door closed after bontet. i rose, opened my window and listened; but the yard was broad and no sound reached me from the stable. i waited there five minutes perhaps. the inn-keeper did not reappear, so i returned to my place. i had finished my meal before he came out. this time i was tolerably sure that the door was closed behind him by another hand, and i fancied that i heard the click of a lock. also i noticed that the letter was no longer visible--of course, he might have put it in his pocket. jumping up suddenly as though i had just chanced to notice him, i asked him if he were off to pontorson, or, if not, had he a moment for conversation. "i am going in a few minutes, sir," he answered; "but i am at your service now." the words were civil enough, but his manner was surly and suspicious. lighting a cigarette, i sat down on the window-sill, while he stood just outside. "i want a bedroom," said i. "have you one for me?" "i have given you the room on the first floor, immediately opposite that of the duke." "good. and where are the ladies lodged?" he made no difficulty about giving me an answer. "they have a sitting room on the first floor," he answered, "but hitherto they have not used it. they have two bedrooms, connected by an interior door, on the second floor, and they have not left them since their arrival." "has the duke visited them there?" "i don't think he has seen them. they had a conversation on their arrival;" and the fellow grinned. now was my time. i took a hundred-franc note out of my pocket and held it in my hand so that he could see the figures on it. i hoped that he would not be exorbitant, for i had but one more and some loose napoleons in my pocket. "what was the conversation about?" i asked. he put out his hand for the note; but i kept my grasp on it. honesty was not written large--no, nor plain to read--on bontet's fat face. "i heard little of it; but the young lady said, as they hurried upstairs: 'where is he? where is he?'" "yes, yes!" and i held out the note to him. he had earned it. and greedily he clutched it, and stowed it in his breeches pocket under his blouse. "i heard no more; they hurried her up; the old lady had her by one arm and the duke by the other. she looked distressed--why, i know not; for i suppose"--here a sly grin spread over the fellow's face--"that the pretty present i saw is for her." "it's the property of the duke," i said. "but gentlemen sometimes make presents to ladies," he suggested. "it may be his purpose to do so. bontet, i want to see the young lady." he laughed insolently, kicking his toe against the wall. "what use, unless you have a better present, sir? but it's nothing to me. if you can manage it, you're welcome." "but how am i to manage it? come, earn your money, and perhaps you'll earn more." "you're liberal, sir;" and he stared at me as though he were trying to look into my pocket and see how much money was there. i was glad that his glance was not so penetrating. "but i can't help you. stay, though. the old lady has ordered coffee for two in the sitting-room, and bids me rouse the duke when it is ready: so perhaps the young lady will be left alone for a time. if you could steal up--" i was not in the mood to stand on a punctilio. my brain was kindled by marie's words, "where is he?" already i was searching for their meaning and finding what i wished. if i could see her, and learn the longed-for truth from her, i should go in good heart to my conflict with the duke. "go to your room," said bontet, whom my prospective _largesse_ had persuaded to civility and almost to eagerness, "and wait. if madame and the duke go there, i'll let you know. but you must risk meeting them." "i don't mind about that," said i; and, in truth, nothing could make my relations with the pair more hostile than they were already. my business with bontet was finished; but i indulged my curiosity for a moment. "you have a good stable over there, i see," i remarked. "how many horses have you there?" the fellow turned very red: all signs of good humor vanished from his face; my bribe evidently gave me no right to question him on that subject. "there are no horses there," he grunted. "the horses are in the new stable facing the road. this one is disused." "oh, i saw you come out from there, and i thought--" "i keep some stores there," he said sullenly. "and that's why it's kept locked?" i asked at a venture. "precisely, sir," he replied. but his uneasy air confirmed my suspicions as to the stable. it hid some secret, i was sure. nay, i began to be sure that my eyes had not played me false, and that i had indeed seen the face i seemed to see. if that were so, friend bontet was playing a double game and probably enjoying more than one paymaster. however, i had no leisure to follow that track, nor was i much concerned to attempt the task. the next day would be time--if i were alive the next day: and i cared little if the secret were never revealed. it was nothing to me--for it never crossed my mind that fresh designs might be hatched in the stable. dismissing the matter, i did as bontet advised, and walked upstairs to my room; and as luck would have it, i met mme. delhasse plump on the landing, she being on her way to the sitting room. i bowed low. madame gave me a look of hatred and passed by me. as she displayed no surprise, it was evident that the duke had carried or sent word of my arrival. i was not minded to let her go without a word or two. "madame--" i began; but she was too quick for me. she burst out in a torrent of angry abuse. her resentment, dammed so long for want of opportunity, carried her away. to speak soberly and by the card, the woman was a hideous thing to see and hear; for in her wrath at me, she spared not to set forth in unshamed plainness her designs, nor to declare of what rewards, promised by the duke, my interference had gone near to rob her and still rendered uncertain. her voice rose, for all her efforts to keep it low, and she mingled foul words of the duchess and of me with scornful curses on the virtue of her daughter. i could say nothing; i stood there wondering that such creatures lived, amazed that marie delhasse must call such an one her mother. then in the midst of her tirade, the duke, roused without bontet's help, came out of his room, and waited a moment listening to the flow of the torrent. and, strange as it seemed, he smiled at me and shrugged his shoulders, and i found myself smiling also; for disgusting as the woman was, she was amusing, too. and the duke went and caught her by the shoulder and said: "come, don't be silly, mother. we can settle our accounts with mr. aycon in another way than this." his touch and words seemed to sober her--or perhaps her passion had run its course. she turned to him, and her lips parted with a smile, a cunning and--if my opinion be asked--loathsome smile; and she caressed the lapel of his coat with her hand. and the duke, who was smoking, smoked on, so that the smoke blew in her face, and she coughed and choked: whereat the duke also smiled. he set the right value on his instrument, and took pleasure in showing how he despised her. "my dear, dear duke, i have such news for you--such news?" she said, ignoring, as perforce she must, his rudeness. "come in here, and leave that man." at this the duke suddenly bent forward, his scornful, insolent toleration giving place to interest. "news?" he cried, and he drew her toward the door to which she had been going, neither of them paying any more attention to me. and the door closed upon them. the duke had not needed bontet's rousing. i did not need bontet to tell me that the coast was clear. with a last alert glance at the door, i trod softly across the landing and reached the stairs by which mlle. delhasse had descended. gently i mounted, and on reaching the top of the flight found a door directly facing me. i turned the handle, but the door was locked. i rattled the handle cautiously--and then again, and again. and presently i heard a light, timid, hesitating step inside; and through the door came, in the voice of marie delhasse: "who's there?" and i answered at once, boldly, but in a low voice: "it is i. open the door." she, in her turn, knew my voice; for the door was opened, and marie delhasse stood before me, her face pale with weariness and sorrow, and her eyes wide with wonder. she drew back before me, and i stepped in and shut the door, finding myself in a rather large, sparely furnished room. a door opposite was half-open. on the bed lay a bonnet and a jacket which certainly did not belong to marie. most undoubtedly i had intruded into the bedchamber of that highly respectable lady, mme. delhasse. i can only plead that the circumstances were peculiar. chapter xviii. a strange good humor. for a moment marie delhasse stood looking at me; then she uttered a low cry, full of relief, of security, of joy; and coming to me stretched out her hands, saying: "you are here then, after all!" charmed to see how she greeted me, i had not the heart to tell her that her peril was not past; nor did she give me the opportunity, for went on directly: "and you are wounded? but not badly, not badly, mr. aycon?" "who told you i was wounded?" "why, the duke. he said that you had been shot by a thief, and were very badly hurt; and--and--" she stopped, blushing. ("where is he?" i remembered the words; my forecast of their meaning had been true.) "and did what he told you," i asked softly, "make you leave the convent and come to find me?" "yes," she answered, taking courage and meeting my eyes. "and then you were not here, and i thought it was a trap." "you were right; it was a trap. i came to find you at the convent, but you were gone: only by the chance of meeting with a friend who saw the duke's carriage standing here have i found you." "you were seeking for me?" "yes, i was seeking for you." i spoke slowly, as though hours were open for our talk; but suddenly i remembered that at any moment the old witch might return. and i had much to say before she came. "marie--" i began eagerly, never thinking that the name she had come to bear in my thoughts could be new and strange from my lips. but the moment i had uttered it i perceived what i had done, for she drew back further, gazing at me with inquiring eyes, and her breath seemed arrested. then, answering the question in her eyes, i said simply: "for what else am i here, marie?" and i caught her hand in my left hand. she stood motionless, still silently asking what i would. and i kissed her hand. and again the low cry, lower still--half a cry and half a sigh--came from her, and she drew timidly nearer to me; and i drew her yet nearer, whispering, in a broken word or two, that i loved her. but she, still dazed, looked up at me, whispering, "when, when?" and i could not tell her when i had come to love her, for i did not know then--nor can i recollect now; nor have i any opinion about it, save that it speaks ill for me that it was not when first i set my eyes upon her. but she doubted, remembering that i had seemed fancy-struck with the little duchess, and cold, maybe stern, to her; and because, i think, she knew that i had seen her tempted. and to silence her doubts, i kissed her lips. she did not return my kiss, but stood with wondering eyes. then in an instant a change came over her face. i felt her press my hand, and for an instant or two her lips moved, but i heard no words, nor do i think that the unheard words were for my ear; and i bowed my head. yet time pressed. again i collected my thoughts from this sweet reverie--wherein what gave me not least joy was the perfect trust she showed in me, for that is perhaps the one thing in this world that a man may be proud to win--and said to her: "marie, you must listen. i have something to tell you." "oh, you'll take me away from them?" she cried, clutching my hand in both of hers. "i can't now," i answered. "you must be brave. listen: if i try to take you away now, it may be that i should be killed and you left defenseless. but this evening you can be safe, whatever befalls me." "why, what should befall you?" she asked, with a swift movement that brought her closer to me. i had to tell her the truth, or my plan for her salvation would not be carried out. "to-night i fight the duke. hush! hush! yes, i must fight with the duke--yes, wounded arm, my darling, notwithstanding. we shall leave here about five and go down to the bay toward the mount, and there on the sands we shall fight. and--listen now--you must follow us, about half an hour after we have gone." "but they will not let me go." "go you must. marie, here is a pistol. take it; and if anyone stops you, use it. but i think none will; for the duke will be with me, and i do not think bontet will interfere." "but my mother?" "you are as strong as she." "yes, yes, i'll come. you'll be on the sands; i'll come!" the help she had found in me made her brave now. "you will get there as we are fighting or soon after. do not look for me or for the duke, but look for two gentlemen whom you do not know, they will be there--french officers--and to their honor you must trust." "but why not to you?" "if i am alive and well, i shall not fail you; but if i come not, go to them and demand their protection from the duke, telling them how he has snared you here. and they will not suffer him to carry you off against your will. do you see? do you understand?" "yes, i see. but must you fight?" "yes, dear, i must fight. the duke will not trouble you again, i think, before the evening; and if you remember what i have told you, all will be well." so i tried to comfort her, believing as i did that no two french gentlemen would desire or dare to refuse her their protection against the duke. but she was clinging to me now, in great distress that i must fight--and indeed i had rather have fought at another time myself--and in fresh terror of her mother's anger, seeing that i should not be there to bear it for her. "for," she said, "we have had a terrible quarrel just before you came. i told her that unless i saw you within an hour nothing but force should keep me here, and that if they kept me here by force, i would find means to kill myself; and that i would not see nor speak to the duke unless he brought me to you, according to his promise; and that if he sent his necklace again--for he sent it here half an hour ago--i would not send it back as i did then, but would fling it out of the window yonder into the cattle pond, where he could go and fetch it out himself." and my dearest marie, finding increased courage from reciting her courageous speech, and from my friendly hearing of it, raised her voice, and her eyes flashed, so that she looked yet more beautiful; and again did i forget inexorable time. but it struck me that there was small wonder that mme. delhasse's temper had not been of the best nor calculated to endure patiently such a vexatious encounter as befell her when she ran against me on the landing outside her door. yet marie's courage failed again; and i told her that before we fought i would tell my second of her state, so that if she came not and i were wounded (of worse i did not speak), he would come to the inn and bring her to me. and this comforted her more, so that she grew calmer, and, passing from our present difficulties, she gave herself to persuading me (nor would the poor girl believe that i needed no persuading) that in no case would she have yielded to the duke, and that her mother had left her in wrath born of an utter despair that marie's will in the matter could ever be broken down. "for i told her," marie repeated, "that i would sooner die!" she paused, and raising her eyes to mine, said to me (and here i think courage was not lacking in her): "yes, although once i had hesitated, now i had rather die. for when i hesitated, god sent you to my door, that in love i might find salvation." well, i do not know that a man does well to describe all that passes at times like this. there are things rather meet to be left dwelling in his own heart, sweetening all his life, and causing him to marvel that sinners have such joys conceded to them this side of heaven; so that in their recollection he may find, mingling with his delight, an occasion for humility such as it little harms any of us to light on now and then. enough then--for the telling of it; but enough in the passing of it there was not nor could be. yet at last, because needs must when the devil--or a son--aye, or an elderly daughter of his--drives, i found myself outside the door of mme. delhasse's room. with the turning of the lock marie whispered a last word to me, and full of hope i turned to descend the stairs. for i had upon me the feeling which, oftener perhaps than we think, gave to the righteous cause a victory against odds when ordeal of battle held sway. now, such a feeling is, i take it, of small use in a court of law. but fortune lost no time in checking my presumption by an accident which at first gave me great concern. for, even as i turned away from the door of the room, there was mme. delhasse coming up the stairs. i was fairly caught, there was no doubt about it; and for marie's sake i was deeply grieved, for i feared that my discovery would mean another stormy scene for her. nevertheless, to make the best of it, i assumed a jaunty air as i said to mlle. delhasse: "the duke will be witness that you were not in your room, madame. you will not be compromised." i fully expected that an outburst of anger would follow on this pleasantry of mine--which was, i confess, rather in the taste best suited to mme. delhasse than in the best as judged by an abstract standard--but to my surprise the old creature did nothing worse than bestow on me a sour grin. apparently, if i were well-pleased with the last half-hour, she had found time pass no less pleasantly. all traces of her exasperation and ill humor had gone, and she looked as pleased and contented as though she had been an exemplary mother, rewarded (as such deserve to be) by complete love and peace in her family circle. "you've been slinking in behind my back, have you?" she asked, but still with a grin. "it would have been rude to force an entrance to your face," i observed. "and i suppose you've been making love to the girl?" "at the proper time, madame," said i, with much courtesy, "i shall no doubt ask you for an interview with regard to that matter. i shall omit no respect that you deserve." as i spoke, i stood on one side to let her pass. i cannot make up my mind whether her recent fury or her present good humor repelled me more. "you'd have a fine fool for a wife," said she, with a jerk of her thumb toward the room where the daughter was. "i should be compensated by a very clever mother-in-law," said i. the old woman paused for an instant at the top of the stairs, and looked me up and down. "aye," said she, "you men think yourselves mighty clever, but a woman gets the better of you all now and then." i was utterly puzzled by her evident exultation. the duke could not have consented to accept her society in place of her daughter's; but i risked the impropriety and hazarded the suggestion to mme. delhasse. her face curled in cunning wrinkles. she seemed to be about to speak, but then she shut her lips with a snap, and suspicion betrayed itself again in her eyes. she had a secret--a fresh secret--i could have sworn, and in her triumph she had come near to saying something that might have cast light on it. "by the way," i said, "your daughter did not expect my coming." it was perhaps a vain hope, but i thought that i might save marie from a tirade. the old woman shrugged her shoulders, and observed carelessly: "the fool may do what she likes;" and with this she knocked at the door. i did not wait to see it opened--to confess the truth, i felt not sure of my temper were i forced to see her and marie together--but went downstairs and into my own room. there i sat down in a chair by the window close to a small table, for i meant to write a letter or two to friends at home, in case the duke's left hand should prove more skillful than mine when we met that evening. but, finding that i could hardly write with my right hand and couldn't write at all with the other, i contented myself with scrawling laboriously a short note to gustave de berensac, which i put in my pocket, having indorsed on it a direction for its delivery in case i should meet with an accident. then i lay back in my chair, regretting, i recollect, that, as my luggage was left at avranches, i had not a clean shirt to fight in; and then, becoming drowsy, i began to stare idly along the road in front of the window, rehearsing the events of the last few days in my mind, but coming back to marie delhasse. so an hour passed away. then i rose and stretched myself, and gave a glance out of the window to see if we were likely to have a fine evening for our sport, for clouds had been gathering up all day. and when i had made up my mind that the rain would hold off long enough for our purpose, i looked down at the road again, and there i saw two figures which i knew. from the direction of pontorson came jacques bontet the inn-keeper, slouching along and smoking a thin black cigar. "ah! he has been to deliver the note to our friends the officers," said i to myself. and then i looked at the other familiar figure, which was that of mme. delhasse. she wore the bonnet and cloak which had been lying on the bed in her room at the time of my intrusion. she was just leaving the premises of the inn strolling, nay dawdling, along. she met bontet and stopped for a moment in conversation with him. then she pursued her leisurely walk in the direction of pontorson, and i watched her till she was about three hundred yards off. but her form had no charms, and, growing tired of the prospect, i turned away remarking to myself: "i suppose the old lady wants just a little stroll before dinner." nor did i see any reason to be dissatisfied with either of my inferences--at the moment. so i disturbed myself no more, but rang the bell and ordered some coffee and a little glass of the least bad brandy in the inn. for it could not be long before i was presented with the duke of saint-maclou's compliments and an intimation that he would be glad to have my company on a walk in the cool of the evening. chapter xix. unsummoned witnesses. slowly the afternoon wore away. my content had given place to urgent impatience, and i longed every moment for the summons to action. none came; and a quarter to five i went downstairs, hoping to find some means of whiling away the interval of time. pushing open the door of the little _salle-à-manger_, i was presented with a back view of my host m. bontet, who was leaning out of the window. just as i entered, he shouted "ready at six!" then he turned swiftly round, having, i suppose, heard my entrance; at the same moment, the sound of a door violently slammed struck on my ear across the yard. i moved quickly up to the window. the stable door was shut; and bontet faced me with a surly frown on his brow. "what is to be ready at six?" i asked. "some refreshments for mme. delhasse," he answered readily. "you order refreshments from the stable?" "i was shouting to the scullery: the door is, as you will perceive, sir, there to the left." now i knew that this was a lie, and i might very likely have said as much, had not the duke of saint-maclou at this moment come into the room. he bowed to me, but addressed himself to bontet. "well, are the gentlemen to be here at five?" he asked. bontet, with an air of relief, began an explanation. one of the gentlemen--m. de vieuville, he believed--had read out the note in his presence, and had desired him to tell the duke that he and the other gentleman would meet the duke and his friend on the sands at a quarter to six. they would be where the road ceased and the sand began at that hour. "he seems to think," bontet explained, "that less attention would thus be directed to the affair." the precaution seemed wise enough; but why had m. de vieuville taken bontet so much into his confidence? the same thought struck the duke, for he asked sharply: "why did he read the note to you?" "oh, he thought nothing of that," said bontet easily. "the gentlemen at pontorson know me very well: several affairs have been arranged from this house." "you ought to keep a private cemetery," said the duke with a grim smile. "the sands are there," laughed the fellow, with a wave of his hand. nobody appeared to desire to continue this cheerful conversation, and silence fell upon us for some moments. then the duke observed: "bontet, i want you for a few minutes. mr. aycon, shall you be ready to start in half an hour? our friends will probably bring pistols: failing that, i can provide you, if you have no objection to using mine." i bowed, and they left me alone. and then, having nothing better to do, i lit a cigar, vaulted out of the window, and strolled toward the stable. my curiosity about the stable had been growing rapidly. i cast a glance round, and saw nobody in the yard. then, with a careless air, i turned the handle of the door. nothing occurred. i turned it more violently; still nothing happened. i bent down suddenly and looked through the keyhole. and i saw--not a key, but--an eye! and for ten seconds i looked at the eye. then the eye disappeared; and i heard that little unmistakable "click." the eye had a pistol--and had cocked it! was that because it saw through the keyhole strange garments, instead of the friendly bright blue of bontet's blouse? and why had the eye such a dislike to strangers? i straightened myself again and took a walk along the length of the stable, considering these questions and, incidentally, looking for a window; but the only window was a clear four feet above my head. i am puzzled even now to say whether i regret not having listened to the suspicion that was strong in my breast. had i forecast, in the least degree, the result of my neglecting to pay heed to its warning, i should not have hesitated for a moment. but in the absence of such a presage, i felt rather indifferent about the matter. my predominant desire was to avoid the necessity of postponing the settlement of the issue between the duke and myself; and a delay to that must needs follow, if i took action in regard to the stable. moreover, why should i stir in the matter? i had a right to waive any grievance of my own; for the rest, it seemed to me that justice was not much concerned in the matter; the merits or demerits of the parties were, in my view, pretty equal; and i questioned the obligation to incur, not only the delay which i detested, but, in all probability, a very risky adventure in a cause which i had very little at heart. if "the eye" could, by being "ready at six," get out of the stable while the duke and i were engaged otherwise and elsewhere, why--"let him," said i, "and go to the devil his own way. he's sure to get there at last!" so i reasoned--or perhaps, i should rather say, so i felt; and i must repeat that i find it difficult now to be very sorry that my mood was what it was. my half hour was passing. i crossed back to the window and got in again. the duke, whose impatience rivaled my own, was waiting for me. a case of pistols lay on the table and, having held them up for me to see, he slipped them inside his coat. "are you ready, sir?" he asked. "we may as well be starting." i bowed and motioned him to precede me. he also, in spite of his impatience, seemed to me to be in a better humor than earlier in the day. the interview with mme. delhasse must have been satisfactory to both parties. had not his face showed me the improvement in his temper, his first words after we left the premises of the inn (at a quarter past five exactly) would have declared it; for he turned to me and said: "look here, mr. aycon. you're running a great risk for nothing. be a sensible man. go back to avranches, thence to cherbourg, and thence to where you live--and leave me to settle my own affairs." "before i accept that proposal," said i, "i must know what 'your own affairs' include." "you're making a fool of yourself--or being made a fool of--which you please," he assured me; and his face wore for the moment an almost friendly look. i saw clearly that he believed he had won the day. the old lady had managed to make him think that--by what artifice i knew not. but what i did know was that i believed not a jot of the insinuation he was conveying to me, and had not a doubt of the truth, and sincerity of marie delhasse. "the best of us do that sometimes," i answered. "and when one has begun, it is best to go through." "as you please. have you ever practiced with your left hand?" "no," said i. "then," said he, "you've not long to live." to do him justice, he said it in no boasting way, but like a man who would warn me, and earnestly. "i have never practiced with my right either," i remarked. "i think i get rather a pull by the arrangement." he walked on in silence for a few yards. then he asked: "you're resolved on it?" "absolutely," i returned. for i understood that he did but offer the same terms as before--terms which included the abandonment of marie delhasse. on we went, our faces set toward the great mount, and with the sinking sun on our left hands. we met few people, and as we reached the sands yet fewer. when we came to a stand, just where the causeway now begins (it was not built then), nobody was in sight. the duke took out his watch. "we are punctual to the minute," said he. "i hope those fellows won't be very late, or the best of the light will be gone." there were some large flat blocks of stone lying by the roadside, and we sat down on them and waited. we were both smoking, and we found little to say to one another. for my part, i thought less of our coming encounter than of the success of the scheme which i had laid for marie's safety. and i believe that the duke, on his part, gave equally small heed to the fight; for the smile of triumph or satisfaction flitted now and again across his face, called forth, i made no doubt, by the pleasant conviction which mlle. delhasse had instilled into his mind, and which had caused him to dub me a fool for risking my life in the service of a woman who had promised all he asked of her. but the sun sank; the best of the light went; and the officers from pontorson did not come. it was hard on six. "if we fight to-night, we must fight now!" cried the duke suddenly. "what the plague has become of the fellows?" "it's not too dark for me," said i. "but it soon will be for me," he answered. "come, are we to wait till to-morrow?" "we'll wait till to-morrow," said i, "if you'll promise not to seek to see or speak to mlle. delhasse till to-morrow. otherwise we'll fight tonight, seconds or no seconds, light or no light!" i never understood perfectly the temper of the man, nor the sudden gusts of passion to which, at a word that chanced to touch him, he was subject. such a storm caught him now, and he bounded up from where he sat, cursing me for an insolent fellow who dared to put him under terms--for a fool who flattered himself that all women loved him--and for many other things which it is not well to repeat. so that at last i said: "lead the way, then: you know the best place, i suppose." still muttering in fury, cursing now me, now the neglectful seconds, he strode rapidly on to the sands and led the way at a quick pace, walking nearly toward the setting sun. the land trended the least bit outward here, and the direction kept us well under the lee of a rough stone wall that fringed the sands on the landward side. stunted bushes raised their heads above the wall, and the whole made a perfect screen. thus we walked for some ten minutes with the sun in our eyes and the murmur of the sea in our ears. then at a spot where the bushes rose highest the duke abruptly stopped, saying, "here," and took the case of pistols out of his pocket. he examined the loading, handing each in turn to me. while this was being done neither of us spoke. then he held them both out, the stocks towards me; and i took the one nearest to my hand. the duke laid the other down on the sands and motioned me to follow his example; and he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wound it round his right hand, confining the fingers closely. "tie the knot, if you can," said he, holding out his hand thus bound. "so far i am willing to trust you," said i; but he bowed ironically as he answered: "it will be awkward enough anyhow for the one of us that chances to kill the other, seeing that we have no seconds or witnesses; but it would look too black against me, if my right hand were free while yours is in a sling. so pray, mr. aycon, do not insist on trusting me too much, but tie the knot if your wounded arm will let you." engrossed with my thoughts and my schemes, i had not dwelt on the danger to which he called my attention, and i admit that i hesitated. "i have no wish to be called a murderer," said i. "shall we not wait again for m. de vieuville and his friend?" "curse them!" said he, fury in his eye again. "by heavens, if i live, i'll have a word with them for playing me such a trick! the light is all but gone now. come, take your place. there is little choice." "you mean to fight, then?" "not if you will leave me in peace: but if not--" "let us go back to the inn and fight to-morrow: and meanwhile things shall stand as they are," said i, repeating my offer, in the hope that he would now be more reasonable. he looked at me sullenly; then his rage came again upon him, and he cried: "take your place: stand where you like, and, in god's name, be quick!" and he paused, and then added: "i cannot live another night--" and he broke off again, and finished by crying: "quick! are you ready?" seeing there was no help for it, i took up a position. no more words passed between us, but with a gesture he signed to me to move a little: and thus he adjusted our places till we were opposite one another, about two yards between us, and each presenting his side direct to the sun, so that its slanting rays troubled each of us equally, and that but little. then he said: "i will step back five paces, and do you do the like. when we are at the distance, do you count slowly, 'one--two--three,' and at 'three' we will fire." i did not like having to count, but it was necessary that one of us should; and he, when i pressed him, would not. therefore it was arranged as he said. and i began to step back, but for an instant he stayed me. he was calm now, and he spoke in quiet tones. "even now, if you will go!" said he. "for the girl is mine; and i think that, and not my life or death, is what you care about." "the girl is not yours and never will be," said i. but then i remembered that, the seconds not having come, my scheme had gone astray, and that if he lived in strength, marie would be well-nigh at his mercy. and on that i grew stern, and the desire for his blood came on me; and he, i think, saw it in my face, for he smiled, and without more turned and walked to his place. and i did the like; and we turned round again and stood facing one another. all this time my pistol had hung in the fingers of my right hand. i took it now in my left, and looked to it, and cried to the duke: "are you ready?" and he answered easily: "yes, i'm ready." then i raised my arm and took my aim,--and if the aim were not true on his heart, my hand and not my will deserves the praise of mercy,--and i cried aloud: "one!" and paused; and cried "two!" and as the word left my lips--before the final fatal "three!" was so much as ready to my tongue--while i yet looked at the duke to see that i was not taking him unawares--loud and sharp two shots rang out at the same instant in the still air: i felt the whizz of a bullet, as it shaved my ear; and the duke, without a sound, fell forward on the sands, his pistol exploding as he fell. after all we had our witnesses! chapter xx. the duke's epitaph. for a moment i stood in amazement, gazing at my opponent where he lay prostrate on the sands. then, guided by the smoke which issued from the bushes, i darted across to the low stone wall and vaulted on to the top of it. i dived into the bushes, parting them with head and hand: i was conscious of a man's form rushing by me, but i could pay no heed to him, for right in front of me, in the act of re-loading his pistol, i saw the burly inn-keeper jacques bontet. when his eyes fell on me, as i leaped out almost at his very feet, he swore an oath and turned to run. i raised my hand and fired. alas! the duke of saint-maclou had been justified in his confidence; for, to speak honestly, i do not believe my bullet went within a yard of the fugitive. hearing the shot and knowing himself unhurt, he halted and faced me. there was no time for re-loading. i took my pistol by the muzzle and ran at him. my right arm was nearly useless; but i took it out of the sling and had it ready, for what it was worth. i saw that the fellow's face was pale and that he displayed no pleasure in the game. but he stood his ground; and i, made wary by the recollection of my maimed state, would not rush on him, but came to a stand about a yard from him, reconnoitering how i might best spring on him. thus we rested for a moment till remembering that the duke, if he were not already dead, lay at the mercy of the other scoundrel, i gathered myself together and threw myself at jacques bontet. he also had clubbed his weapon, and he struck wildly at me as i came on. my head he missed, and the blow fell on my right shoulder, settling once for all the question whether my right arm was to be of any use or not. yet its uselessness mattered not, for i countered his blow with a better, and the butt of my pistol fell full and square on his forehead. for a moment he stood looking at me, with hatred and fear in his eyes: then, as it seemed to me, quite slowly his knees gave way under him; his face dropped down from mine; he might have been sinking into the ground, till at last, his knees being bent right under him, uttering a low groan, he toppled over and lay on the ground. spending on him and his state no more thought that they deserved, i snatched his pistol from him (for mine was broken at the junction of barrel and stock), and, without waiting to load (and indeed with one hand helpless and in the agitation which i was suffering it would have taken me more than a moment), i hastened back to the wall, and, parting the bushes, looked over. it was a strange sight that i saw. the duke was no longer prone on his face, as he had fallen, but lay on his back, with his arms stretched out, crosswise; and by his side knelt a small spare man, who searched, hunted, and rummaged with hasty, yet cool and methodical, touch, every inch of his clothing. up and down, across and across, into every pocket, along every lining, aye, down to the boots, ran the nimble fingers; and in the still of the evening, which seemed not broken but rather emphasized by the rumble of the tide that had begun to come in over the sands from the mount, his passionate curses struck my ears. i recollect that i smiled--nay, i believe that i laughed--for the man was my old acquaintance pierre--and pierre was still on the track of the cardinal's necklace; and he had not doubted, any more than i had doubted, that the duke carried it upon his person. yet pierre found it not, for he was growing angry now; he seemed to worry the still body, pushing it and tossing the arms of it to and fro as a puppy tosses a slipper or a cushion. and all the while the unconscious face of the duke of saint-maclou was turned up to heaven, and a stiff smile seemed to mock the baffled plunderer. and i also wondered where the necklace was. then i let myself down on to the noiseless sands and stole across to the spot where the pair were. pierre's hands were searching desperately and wildly now; he no longer expected to find, but he could not yet believe that the search was in very truth in vain. absorbed in his task, he heard me not; and coming up i set my foot on the pistol that lay by him, and caught him, as the duke had caught lafleur his comrade, by the nape of the neck, and said to him, in a bantering tone: "well, is it not there, my friend?" he wriggled; but the strength of the little man in a struggle at close quarters was as nothing, and i held him easily with my one sound hand. and i mocked him, exhorting him to look again, telling him that everything was not to be seen from a stable, and bidding him call lafleur from hell to help him. and under my grip he grew quiet and ceased to search; and i heard nothing but his quick breathing. and i laughed at him as i plucked him off the duke and flung him on his back on the sands, and stood looking down on him. but he asked no mercy of me; his small eyes answered defiance back to me, and he glanced still wistfully at the quiet man beside us. yet he was to escape me--with small pain to me, i confess. for at the moment a cry rang loud in my ear: i knew the voice; and though i kept my foot on pierre's pistol, yet i turned my head. and on the instant the fellow sprang to his feet, and, with an agility that i could not have matched, started running across the sands toward the mount. before i had realized what he was about, he had thirty yards' start of me. i heard the water rushing in now; he must wade deep, nay, he must swim to win the mount. but from me he was safe, for i was no such runner as he. yet, had he and i been alone, i would have pursued him. but the cry rang out again, and, giving no more thought to him, i turned whither marie delhasse, come in pursuance of my directions, stood with a hand pointed in questioning at the duke, and the pistol that i had given her fallen from her fingers on the sand. and she swayed to and fro, till i set my arm round her and steadied her. "have you killed him?" she asked in a frightened whisper. "i did not so much as fire at him," i answered. "we were attacked by thieves." "by thieves?" "the inn-keeper and another. they thought that he carried the necklace, and tracked us here." "and did they take it?" "it was not on him," i answered, looking into her eyes. she raised them to mine and said simply: "i have it not;" and with that, asking no more, she drew near to the duke, and sat down by him on the sand, and lifted his head on to her lap, and wiped his brow with her handkerchief, saying in a low voice, "is he dead?" now, whether it be, as some say, that the voice a man loves will rouse him when none else will, or that the duke's swoon had merely come to its natural end, i know not; but, as she spoke, he, who had slept through pierre's rough handling, opened his eyes, and, seeing where he was, tried to raise his hand, groping after hers: and he spoke, with difficulty indeed, yet plainly enough, saying: "the rascals thought i had the necklace. they did not know how kind you had been, my darling." i started where i stood. marie grew red and then white, and looked down at him no longer with pity, but with scorn and anger on her face. "i have it not," she said again. "for all heaven, i would not touch it!" and she looked up to me as she said it, praying me with her eyes to believe. but her words roused and stung the duke to an effort and an activity that i thought impossible to him; for he rolled himself from her lap, and, raising himself on his hand, with half his body lifted from the ground, said in a loud voice: "you have it not? you haven't the necklace? why, your message told me that you would never part from it again?" "i sent no message," she answered in a hard voice, devoid of pity for him; how should she pity him? "i sent no message, save that i would sooner die than see you again." amazement spread over his face even in the hour of his agony. "you sent," said he, "to say that you would await me to-night, and to ask for the necklace to adorn yourself for my coming." though he was dying, i could hardly control myself to hear him speak such words. but marie, in the same calm scornful voice asked: "by whom did the message come?" "by your mother," said he, gazing at her eagerly. "and i sent mine--the one i told you--by her. marie, was it not true?" he cried, dragging himself nearer to her. "true!" she echoed--and no more. but it was enough. for an instant he glared at her; then he cried: "that old fiend has played a trick on me! she has got the necklace!" and i began to understand the smile that i had seen on mme. delhasse's face, and her marvelous good humor; and i began to have my opinion concerning her evening stroll to pontorson. bontet and pierre had been matched against more than they thought. the duke, painfully supported on his hand, drew nearer still to marie; but she rose to her feet and retreated a pace as he advanced. and he said: "but you love me, marie? you would have--" she interrupted him. "above all men i loathe you!" she said, looking on him with shrinking and horror in her face. his wound was heavy on him--he was shot in the stomach and was bleeding inwardly--and had drawn his features; his pain brought a sweat on his brow, and his arm, trembling, scarce held him. yet none of these things made the anguish in his eyes as he looked at her. "this is the man i love," said she in calm relentlessness. and she put out her hand and took mine, and drew me to her, passing her arm through mine. the duke of saint-maclou looked up at us; then he dropped his head, heavily and with a thud on the sand, and so lay till we thought he was dead. yet it might be that his life could be saved, and i said to marie: "stay by him, while i run for help." "i will not stay by him," she said. "then do you go," said i. "stop the first people you meet; or, if you see none, go to the inn. and bid them bring help to carry a wounded man and procure a doctor." she nodded her head, and, without a glance at him, started running along the sands toward the road. and i, left alone with him, sat down and raised him, as well as i could, turning his face upward again and resting it on my thigh. and i wiped his brow. and, after a time, he opened his eyes. "help will be here soon," i said. "she has gone to bring help." full ten minutes passed slowly; he lay breathing with difficulty, and from time to time i wiped his brow. at last he spoke. "there's some brandy in my pocket. give it me," he said. i found the flask and gave him some of its contents, which kept the life in him for a little longer. and i was glad to feel that he settled himself, as though more comfortably, against me. "what happened?" he asked very faintly. and i told him what had happened, as i conceived it--how that bontet must have given shelter to pierre, till such time as escape might be possible; but how that, when bontet discovered that the necklace was in the inn, the two scoundrels, thinking that they might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, had determined to make another attempt to secure the coveted spoil; how, in pursuance of this scheme, bontet had, as i believed, suppressed the duke's message to his friends at pontorson, with the intent to attack us, as they had done, on the sands; and i added that he himself knew, better than i, what was likely to have become of the necklace in the hands of mme. delhasse. "for my part," i concluded, "i doubt if madame will be at the inn to welcome us on our return." "she came to me and told me that marie would give all i asked, and i gave her the necklace to give to marie; and believing what she told me, i was anxious not to fight you, for i thought you had nothing to gain by fighting. yet you angered me, so i resolved to fight." he seemed to have strength for nothing more; yet at the end, before life left him, one strange last change came over him. both his rough passion and the terrible abasement of defeat seemed to leave him, and his face became again the face of a well-bred, self-controlled man. there was a helpless effort at a shrug of his shoulders, a scornful slight smile on his lips, and a look of recognition, almost of friendliness, almost of humor, in his eyes, as he said to me, who still held his head: "_mon dieu_, but i've made a mess of it, mr. aycon!" and i do not know that anyone could better this epitaph which the duke of saint-maclou composed for himself in the last words he spoke this side the grave. chapter xxi. a passing carriage. when i saw that the duke of saint-maclou was dead, i laid him down on the sands, straightening him into a seemly posture; and i closed his eyes and spread his handkerchief over his face. then i began to walk up and down with folded arms, pondering over the life and fate of the man and the strange link between us which the influence of two women had forged. and i recognized also that an hour ago the greater likelihood had been that i should be where he lay, and he be looking down on me. _dis aliter visum._ his own sin had stretched him there, and i lived to muse on the wreck--on the "mess" as he said in self-mockery--that he had made of his life. yet, as i had felt when i talked to him before, so i felt now, that his had been the hand to open my eyes, and from his mighty but base love i had learned a love as strong and, as i could in all honesty say, more pure. the sun was quite gone now, the roll of the tide was nearer, and water gleamed between us and the mount. but we were beyond its utmost rise, save at a spring tide, and i waited long, too engrossed in my thoughts to be impatient for marie's return. i did not even cross the wall to see how bontet fared under the blow i had given him--whether he were dead, or lay still stunned, or had found life enough to crawl away. in truth, i cared not then. presently across the sands, through the growing gloom, i saw a group approaching me. marie i knew by her figure and gait and saw more plainly, for she walked a little in front as though she were setting the example of haste. the rest followed together; and, looking past them, i could just discern a carriage which had been driven some way on to the sands. one of the strangers wore top-boots and the livery of a servant. as they approached, he fell back, and the remaining two--a man and a woman on his arm--came more clearly into view. marie reached me some twenty yards ahead of them. "i met no one till i was at the inn," she said, "and then this carriage was driving by; and i told them that a gentleman lay hurt on the sands, and they came to help you to carry him up." i nodded and walked forward to meet them; for by now i knew the man, yes, and the woman, though she wore a veil. and it was too late to stop their approach. uncovering my head, i stepped up to them, and they stopped in surprise at seeing me. for the pair were gustave de berensac and the duchess. he had gone, as he told me afterward, to see the duchess, and they had spent the afternoon in a drive, and she was going to set him down at his friend's quarters in pontorson, when marie met them, and not knowing them nor they her (though gustave had once, two years before, heard her sing) had brought them on this errand. the little duchess threw up her veil. her face was pale, her lips quivered, and her eyes asked a trembling question. at the sight of me i think she knew at once what the truth was: it needed but the sight of me to let light in on the seemingly obscure story which marie had told, of a duel planned, and then interrupted by a treacherous assault and attempted robbery. with my hand i signed to the duchess to stop; but she did not stop, but walked past me, merely asking: "is he badly hurt?" i caught her by the arm and held her. "yes," said i, "badly;" and i felt her eyes fixed on mine. then she said, gently and calmly: "then he is dead?" "yes, he is dead," i answered, and loosed her arm. gustave de berensac had not spoken: and he now came silently to my side, and he and i followed a pace or two behind the duchess. the servant had halted ten or fifteen yards away. marie had reached where the duke lay and stood now close by him, her arms at her side and her head bowed. the duchess walked up to her husband and, kneeling beside him, lifted the handkerchief from his face. the expression wherewith he had spoken his epitaph--the summary of his life--was set on his face, so that he seemed still to smile in bitter amusement. and the little duchess looked long on the face that smiled in contempt on life and death alike. no tears came in her eyes and the quiver had left her lips. she gazed at him calmly, trying perhaps to read the riddle of his smile. and all the while marie delhasse looked down from under drooping lids. i stepped up to the duchess' side. she saw me coming and turned her eyes to mine. "he looked just like that when he asked me to marry him," she said, with the simple gravity of a child whose usual merriment is sobered by something that it cannot understand. i doubted not that he had. life, marriage, death--so he had faced them all, with scorn and weariness and acquiescence--all, save that one passion which bore him beyond himself. the duchess spread the handkerchief again over the dead man's face, and rose to her feet. and she looked across the dead body of the duke at marie delhasse. i knew not what she would say, for she must have guessed by now who the girl was that had brought her to the place. suddenly the question came in a tone of curiosity, without resentment, yet tinctured with a delicate scorn, as though spoken across a gulf of difference: "did you really care for him at all?" marie started, but she met the duchess' eyes and answered in a low voice with a single word: "no." "ah, well!" said the little duchess with a sigh; and, if i read aright what she expressed, it was a pitying recognition of the reason in that answer: he could not have expected anyone to love him, she seemed to say. and if that were so, then indeed had the finger of truth guided the duke in the penning of his epitaph. we three, who were standing round the body, seemed sunk in our own thoughts, and it was gustave de berensac who went to the servant and bade him bring the carriage nearer to where we were; and when it was come, they two lifted the duke in and disposed his body as well as they could. the man mounted the box, and at a foot-pace we set out. the duchess had not spoken again, nor had marie delhasse; but when i took my place by marie the duchess suffered gustave to join her, and in this order we passed along. but before we had gone far, when indeed we had but just reached the road, we met four of the police hurrying along; and before they came to us or saw what was in the carriage, one cried: "have you seen a small spare man pass this way lately? he would be running perhaps, or walking fast." i stepped forward and drew them aside, signing the carriage to go on and to the others to follow it. "i can tell you all there is to be told about him, if you mean the man whom i think you mean," said i. "but i doubt if you will catch him now." and with that i told them the story briefly, and so far as it affected the matter they were engaged upon; and they heard it with much astonishment. for they had tracked pierre (or raymond pinceau as they called him, saying it was his true name) to bontet's stable, on the matter of the previous attempt on the necklace and the death of lafleur, and on no other, and did not think to hear such a sequel as i unfolded to them. "and if you will search," said i, "some six yards behind the wall, and maybe a quarter of a mile from the road, i fancy you will find bontet; he may have crawled a little way, but could not far, i think. as for the duke of saint-maclou, gentlemen, his body was in the carriage that passed you this moment. and i am at your service, although i would desire, if it be possible, to be allowed to follow my friends." there being but four of them and their anxiety being to achieve the capture of pierre, they made no difficulty of allowing me to go on my way, taking from me my promise to present myself before the magistrate at avranches next day; and leaving two to seek for bontet, the other two made on, in the hope of finding a boat to take them to the mount, whither they conceived the escaped man must have directed his steps. thus delayed, i was some time behind the others in reaching the inn, and i found gustave waiting for me in the entrance. the body of the duke had been carried to his own room and a messenger sent to procure a proper conveyance. marie delhasse was upstairs, and gustave's message to me was that the duchess desired to see me. "nay," said i, "there is one thing i want to do before that;" and i called to a servant girl who was hovering between terror and excitement at the events of the evening, and asked her whether mme. delhasse had returned. "no, sir," she answered. "the lady left word that she would be back in half an hour, but she has not yet returned." then i said to gustave de berensac, laying my hand on his shoulder: "when i am married, gustave, you will not meet my mother-in-law in my house;" and i left gustave staring in an amazement not unnatural to his ignorance. and i allowed myself to be directed by the servant girl to where the duchess sat. the duchess waited till the door was shut, and then turned to me as if about to speak, but i was beforehand with her; and i began: "forgive me for speaking of the necklace, but i fear it is still missing." the duchess looked at me scornfully. "he gave it to the girl again, i suppose?" she asked. "he gave it," i answered, "to the girl's mother, and she, i fear, has made off with it;" and i told the duchess how mme. delhasse had laid her plot. the duchess heard me in silence, but at the end she remarked: "it does not matter. i would never have worn the thing again; but it was a pretty plot between them." "the duke had no thought," i began, "but that--" "oh, i meant between mother and daughter," said the duchess. "the mother gets the diamonds from my husband; the daughter, it seems, mr. aycon, is likely to get respectability from you; and i suppose they will share the respective benefits when this trouble has blown over." it was no use to be angry with her; to confess the truth, i felt that anger would come ill from me. so i did but say very quietly: "i think you are wrong. mlle. delhasse knew nothing of her mother's device." "you do not deny all of what i say," observed the duchess. "mlle. delhasse," i returned, "is in no need of what you suggest; but i hope that she will be my wife." "and some day," said the duchess, "you will see the necklace--or perhaps that would not be safe. madame will send the money." "when it happens," said i, "on my honor, i will write and tell you." the duchess, with a toss of her head which meant "well, i'm right and you're wrong," rose from her seat. "i must take poor armand home," said she. "m. de berensac is going with me. will you accompany us?" "if you will give me a delay of one hour, i will most willingly." "what have you to do in that hour, mr. aycon?" "i purpose to escort mlle. delhasse back to the convent and leave her there. i suppose we shall all have to answer some questions in regard to this sad matter, and where can she stay near avranches save there?" "she certainly can't come to my house," said the duchess. "it would be impossible under the circumstances," i agreed. "under any circumstances," said the duchess haughtily. by this time a covered conveyance had been procured, and when the duchess, having fired her last scornful remark at me, walked to the door of the inn, the body of the duke was being placed in it. gustave de berensac assisted the servant, and their task was just accomplished when jacques bontet was carried by two of the police to the door. the man was alive and would recover, they said, and be able to stand his trial. but as yet no news had come of the fortune that attended the pursuit of raymond pinceau, otherwise known as pierre. it was conjectured that he must have had a boat waiting for him at or near the mount, and, gaining it, had for the moment at least made good his escape. "but we shall find about that from bontet," said one of them, with a complacent nod at the fellow who lay still in a sort of stupor, with blood-stained bandages round his head. i stood by the door of the duchess' carriage, in which she and gustave were to follow the body of the duke, and when she came to step in i offered her my hand. but she would have none of it. she got in unassisted, and gustave followed her. they were about to move off, when suddenly, running from the house in wild dismay, came marie delhasse, and caring for none of those who stood round, she seized my arm, crying: "my mother is neither in the sitting room nor in her bedroom! where is she?" now i saw no need to tell marie at that time what had become of mme. delhasse. the matter, however, was not left in my hands; no, nor in those of gustave de berensac, who called out hastily to the driver, "ready! go on, go on!" the duchess called "wait!" and then she turned to marie delhasse and said in calm cold tones: "you ask where your mother is. well, then, where is the necklace?" marie drew back as though she had been struck; yet her grip did not leave my arm, but tightened on it. "the necklace?" she gasped. and the duchess, using the most scornful words she knew and giving a short little laugh, said. "your mother has levanted with the necklace. of course you didn't know!" thus, if marie delhasse had been stern to the duke of saint-maclou when he lay dying, his wife avenged him to the full and more. for at the words, at the sight of the duchess' disdainful face and of my troubled look, marie uttered a cry and reeled and sank half-fainting in my arms. "oh, drive on!" said the duchess of saint-maclou in a wearied tone. and away they drove, leaving us two alone. nor did marie speak again, unless it were in distressed incoherent protests, till, an hour later, i delivered her into the charge of the mother superior at the convent by the side of the bay. and the old lady bade me wait till she saw marie comfortably bestowed, and then she returned to me and we walked side by side for a while in the little burying-ground, she listening to an outline of my story. perhaps i, in a lover's zeal, spoke harshly of the duchess; for the old lady put her hand upon my arm and said to me: "it was not for losing the diamonds that her heart was sore--poor silly child!" and, inasmuch as i doubted whether my venerable friend thought that it was for the loss of her husband either, i held my peace. chapter xxii. from shadow to sunshine. there remains yet one strange and terrible episode of which i must tell, though indeed, i thank god, i was in no way a witness of it. a week after the events which i have set down, while marie still lay prostrate at the convent, and i abode at my old hotel in avranches, assisting to the best of my power in the inquiry being held by the local magistrate, an officer of police arrived from havre; and when the magistrate had heard his story, he summoned me from the ante-room where i was waiting, and bade me also listen to the story. and this it was: at the office where tickets were taken for a ship on the point to make the voyage to america, among all the crowd about to cross, it chanced that two people met one another--an elderly woman whose face was covered by a thick veil, and a short spare man who wore a fair wig and large red whiskers. yet, notwithstanding these disguises, the pair knew one another. for at first sight of the woman, the man cowered away and tried to hide himself; while she, perceiving him, gave a sudden scream and clutched eagerly at the pocket of her dress. seeing himself feared, the ruffian took courage, his quick brain telling him that the woman also was seeking to avoid recognition. and when she had taken her ticket, he contrived to see the book and, finding a name which he did not know as hers, he tracked her to the inn where she was lodging till the vessel should start. when he walked into the inn, she shrank before him and turned pale--for he caught her with the veil off her face--and again she clutched at her pocket. he sat down near her: for a while she sat still; then she rose and walked out into the air, as though she went for a walk. but he, suspecting rightly that she would not return, tracked her again to another inn, meaner and more obscure than the first, and, walking in, he sat down by her. and again the third time this was done: and there were people who had been at each of the inns to speak to it: and those at the third inn said that the woman looked as though satan himself had taken his place by her--so full of helplessness and horror was she; while the man smiled under alert bright eyes that would not leave her face, except now and again for a swift watchful glance round the room. for he was now hunter and hunted both; yet, like a dog that will be slain rather than loose his hold, he chose to risk his own life, if by that he might not lose sight of the unhappy woman. two lives had been spent already in the quest: a third was nought to him; and the woman's air and clutching of her pocket had set an idea afloat in his brain. the vessel was to sail at six the next morning; and it was eight in the evening when the man sat down opposite the woman in the third inn they visited--it was no better than a drinking shop near the quays. for half an hour they sat, and there was that in their air that made them observed. suddenly the man crossed over to the woman and whispered in her ear. she started, crying low yet audibly, "you lie!" but he spoke to her again; and then she rose and paid her score and walked out of the inn on to the quays, followed by her unrelenting attendant. it was dark now, or quite dusk; and a loiterer at the door distinguished their figures among the passing crowd but for a few yards: then they disappeared; and none was found who had seen them again, either under cover or in the open air, that night. and for my part, i like not to think how the night passed for that wretched old woman; for at some hour and in some place, near by the water, the man found her alone, and ran his prey to the ground before the bloodhounds that were on his track could come up with them. indeed he almost won safety, or at least respite; for the ship was already moving when she was boarded by the police, who, searching high and low, came at last on the spare man with the red whiskers; these an officer rudely plucked off and the fair wig with them, and called the prisoner by the name of pinceau. the little man made one rush with a knife, and, foiled in that, another for the side of the vessel. but his efforts were useless. he was handcuffed and led on shore. and when he was searched, the stones which had gone to compose the great treasure of the family of saint-maclou--the cardinal's necklace--were found hidden here and there about him; but the setting was gone. and the woman? let me say it briefly. great were her sins, and not the greatest of them was the theft of the cardinal's necklace. yet the greater that she took in hand to do was happily thwarted; and i pray that she found mercy when the deep dark waters of the harbor swallowed her on that night, and gave back her body to a shameful burial. * * * * * in the quiet convent by the shores of the bay the wind of the world, with its burden of sin and sorrow, blows faintly and with tempered force: the talk of idle, eager tongues cannot break across the comforting of kind voices and the sweet strains of quiet worship. raymond pinceau was dead, and jacques bontet condemned to lifelong penal servitude; and the world had ceased to talk of the story that had been revealed at the trial of these men, and--what the world loved even more to discuss--of how much of the story had not been revealed. for although m. de vieuville, president of the court which tried bontet, and father of alfred de vieuville, that friend of the duke's who was to have acted at the duel, complimented me on the candor with which i gave my evidence, yet he did not press me beyond what was strictly necessary to bring home to the prisoners the crimes of murder and attempted robbery with which they were charged. not till i knew the judge, having been introduced to him by his son, did he ask me further of the matter; and then, sitting on the lawn of his country-house, i told him the whole story, as it has been set down in this narrative, saving only sundry matters which had passed between the duchess and myself on the one hand, and between marie delhasse and myself on the other. yet i do not think that my reticence availed me much against an acumen trained and developed by dialectic struggles with generations of criminals. for the first question which m. de vieuville put to me was this: "and what of the girl, mr. aycon? she has suffered indeed for the sins of others." but young alfred, who was standing by, laid a hand on his father's shoulder and said with a laugh: "father, when mr. aycon leaves us tomorrow, it is to visit the convent at avranches." and the old man held out his hand to me, saying: "you do well." to the convent at avranches then i went one bright morning in the spring of the next year; and again i walked with the stately old lady in the little burial ground. yet she was a little less stately, and i thought that there was what the profane might call a twinkle in her eye, as she deplored marie's disinclination to become a permanent inmate of the establishment over which she presided. and on her lips came an indubitable smile when i leaped back from her in horror at the thought. "there would be none here to throw her troubles in her teeth," pursued the mother superior, smiling still. "none to remind her of her mother's shame; none to lay snares for her; none to remind her of the beauty which has brought so much woe on her; no men to disturb her life with their angry conflicting passions. does not the picture attract you, mr. aycon?" "as a picture," said i, "it is almost perfect. there is but one blemish in it." "a blemish? i do not perceive it." "why, madame, i cannot find anywhere in your canvas the figure of myself." with a laugh she turned away and passed through the arched gateway. and i saw my friend, the little nun who had first opened the door to me when i came seeking the duchess, pass by and pause a moment to look at me. then i was left alone till marie came to me through the gateway: and i sprang up to meet her. i have been candid throughout, and i will be candid now--even though my plain speaking strikes not at myself, but at marie, who must forgive me as best she may. for i believe she meant to marry me from the very first; and i doubt whether if i had taken the dismissal she gave, i should have been allowed to go far on my solitary way. indeed i think she did but want to hear me say how that all she urged was lighter than a feather against my love for her, and, if that were her desire, she was gratified to the full; seeing that for a moment she frightened me, and i outdid every lover since the world began (it cannot be that i deceive myself in thinking that) in vehemence and insistence. so that she reproved me, adding: "you can hardly speak the truth in all that you say: for at first, you know, you were more than half in love with the duchess of saint-maclou." for a moment i was silenced. then i looked at marie: and i found in her words no more a rebuke, but a provocation--aye, a challenge to prove that by no possibility could i, who loved her so passionately, ever have been so much as half in love with any woman in the whole world, the duchess of saint-maclou not excepted. and prove it i did that morning in the burial ground of the convent, to my own complete satisfaction, and thereby overcame the last doubts which afflicted marie delhasse. and if, in spite of that most exhaustive and satisfactory proof, the thing proved remained not much more true than the thing disproved--why, it is not my fault. for love has a virtue of oblivion--yes, and a better still: that which is past he, exceeding in power all olympus besides, makes as though it had never been, never could have been, and was from the first entirely impossible, absurd, and inconceivable. and for an instance of what i say--if indeed a further example than my own be needed, which should not be the case--let us look at the duchess of saint-maclou herself. for, if i were half in love with the duchess, which i by no means admit, modesty shall not blind me from holding that the duchess was as good a half in love with me. yet, when i had been married to marie delhasse some six months, i received a letter from my good friend gustave de berensac, informing me of his approaching union with mme. de saint-maclou. and, if i might judge from gustave's letter, he repudiated utterly the idea which i have ventured to suggest concerning the duchess. two other facts gustave mentioned--both of them, i think, with a touch of apology. the first was that the duchess, being unable to endure the horrible associations now indissolubly connected with the cardinal's necklace, of which she had become owner for the term of her life-"what? won't she wear it?" asked my wife at this point: she was (as wives will) leaning over my shoulder as i read the letter. it was what i also had expected to read; but what i did read was that the duchess, ingeniously contriving to save both her feelings and her diamonds, had caused the stones to be set in a tiara--"which," continued gustave (i am sure he was much in love) "will not have any of the unpleasant associations connected with the necklace." and the second fact? it was this--just this, though it was wrapped up in all the roundabout phrases and softened by all the polite expressions of friendship of which gustave was master,--yet just this,--that he was not in a position to invite myself and my wife to the wedding! for the little duchess, consistent to the end, in spite of his entreaties and protests, had resolutely and entirely declined to receive mrs. aycon! i finished the letter and looked up at marie. and marie, looking thoughtfully down at the paper, observed: "i always told you that she was fond of you, you know." but, for my part, i hope that marie's explanation is not the true one. i prefer to attribute the duchess' refusal--in which, i may state, she steadily persists--to some mistaken and misplaced sense of propriety; or, if that fails me, then i will set it down to the fact that marie's presence would recall too many painful and distressing scenes, and be too full of unpleasant associations. thus understood, the duchess' refusal was quite natural and agreed completely with what she had done in respect of the necklace--for it was out of the question to turn the edge of the difficulty by converting marie into a tiara! so the duchess will not receive my wife. but i forgive her--for, beyond doubt, but for the little duchess and that indiscretion of hers, i should not have received my wife myself! * * * * * _ninth edition._ the prisoner of zenda. by anthony hope. 16mo, buckram, gilt top, with frontispiece, 75 cents. "the ingenious plot, the liveliness and spirit of the narrative, and its readable style."--_atlantic monthly_. "a glorious story, which cannot be too warmly recommended to all who love a tale that stirs the blood. perhaps not the least among its many good qualities is the fact that its chivalry is of the nineteenth, not of the sixteenth century; that it is a tale of brave men and true, and of a fair woman of to-day. the englishman who saves the king ... is as interesting a knight as was bayard.... the story holds the reader's attention from first to last."--_critic_. "the dash and galloping excitement of this rattling story."--_london punch_. "a more gallant, entrancing story has seldom been written."--_review of reviews_. "it is not often that such a delightful novel falls into the reviewer's hands."--_london athæneum_. "a rattling good romance."--_n.y. times_. "the plot is too original and audacious to be spoiled for the reader by outlining it. the author is a born story-teller, and has, moreover, a very pretty wit of his own."--_the outlook_. "a grand story ... it is dignified, quick in action, thrilling, terrible."--_chicago herald_. henry holt & co., new york. * * * * * fourth edition of a change of air. by anthony hope, _author of_ "_the prisoner of zenda_," "_the indiscretion of the duchess_," _etc_. with portrait and notice of the author. narrow 16mo, buckram. 75 cents. "a highly clever performance, with little touches that recall both balzac and meredith. mr. hope, being disinclined to follow any of the beaten tracks of romance writing, is endowed with exceeding originality."--_new york times_. "the tragic undercurrent but increases the charm of the pervading wit and humor of the tale, which embodies a study of character as skillful and true as anything we have lately had, but at the same time so simple and unpretentious as to be very welcome indeed amid the flood of inartistic analysis which we are compelled to accept in so many recent novels."--_philadelphia times_. second edition of quaker idyls. by mrs. s.m.h. gardner. narrow 16mo, buckram. 75 cents. "fiction, if this be altogether fiction, can hardly be better employed than when it makes such sweet, simple earnestness real to us."--_public opinion_. "her accounts of these (an anti-slavery fair and the trial of a fugitive slave) seem to be descriptions of actual happenings, and she describes men and incidents vividly, but with no straining after effect.... a book to be welcomed."--_new york times_. "no greater contrast could be imagined than that of these quiet but deep tales and the shallow passions of much contemporary fiction."--_literary world_. henry holt & co., 29 west 23d street, new york. * * * * * buckram series. small 16mo, buckram, with frontispieces. 75 cents each. the dolly dialogues. by anthony hope. pronounced by george meredith the best examples of modern dialogue. the indiscretion of the duchess. by anthony hope. a romance of adventure in modern france. jack o'doon. by maria beale. a dramatic story of the north carolina coast. _fourth edition._ a change of air. by anthony hope. the adventures of a young poet in market denborough. with a portrait and account of the author. _eighth edition._ the prisoner of zenda. by anthony hope. a stirring romance of to-day. _second edition._ quaker idyls. by mrs. s.m.h. gardner. sympathetic, often humorous, and sometimes exciting character sketches. _third edition._ a suburban pastoral. by henry a. beers. six modern american stories and two old english legends. _third edition._ john ingerfield. by jerome k. jerome. a love tragedy of old london (half the book) and four short tales. henry holt & co., 29 west 23d street, new york. * * * * * the honorable peter stirling. a novel. by paul leicester ford. 12mo. _this is pre-eminently a story of american character and american issues. the hero, though a new yorker engaged in sixth ward politics, keeps his friends true to him, and his record clean. gotham's irish politician is vividly characterized, though the "boss" is treated rather leniently. a "primary," which to most voters is utterly unknown from actual experience, is truthfully described. but the book is far from being all politics, for both self-sacrifice and love are prominent factors._ jack o'doon. an american novel by maria beale. 16mo, (uniform with the _prisoner of zenda_) gilt top, with frontispiece. 75 cents. _the story of a great sacrifice. quick in action, with stirring episodes on land and sea. the scene is laid on the coast of north carolina. the picture of the profane old sea captain's peculiar household is new in fiction. the tragic climax is original and impressive._ henry holt & co., 29 west 23d street, new york. * * * * * jewel mysteries [illustration: "he had turned the pistol to his head and blown his brains out." --_page 27_] jewel mysteries from a dealer's note book by max pemberton _author of "the garden of swords," "kronstadt," "the iron pirate," etc., etc._ r. f. fenno & company _9 & 11 east sixteenth street, new york city: 1904_ contents. page the opal of carmalovitch 9 the necklace of green diamonds 33 the comedy of the jeweled links 57 treasure of white creek 79 the accursed gems 109 the watch and the scimitar 133 the seven emeralds 157 the pursuit of the topaz 187 the ripening rubies 217 my lady of the sapphires 245 the opal of carmalovitch. the opal of carmalovitch. dark was falling from a dull and humid sky, and the lamps were beginning to struggle for brightness in piccadilly, when the opal of carmalovitch was first put into my hand. the day had been a sorry one for business: no light, no sun, no stay of the downpour of penetrating mist which had been swept through the city by the driving south wind from the late dawn to the mock of sunset. i had sat in my private office for six long hours, and had not seen a customer. the umbrella-bearing throng which trod the street before my window hurried quickly through the mud and the slush, as people who had no leisure even to gaze upon precious stones they could not buy. i was going home, in fact, as the one sensible proceeding on such an afternoon, and had my hand upon the great safe to shut it, when the mirror above my desk showed me the reflection of a curious-looking man who had entered the outer shop, and stood already at the counter. at the first glance i judged that this man was no ordinary customer. his dress was altogether singular. he had a black coat covering him from his neck to his heels--a coat half-smothered in astrachan, and one which could have been made by no english tailor. but his hands were ungloved, and he wore a low hat, which might have been the hat of an office boy. i could see from the little window of my private room, which gives my eye command of the shop, that he had come on foot, and for lack of any umbrella was pitiably wet. yet there was fine bearing about him, and he was clearly a man given to command, for my assistant mounted to my room with his name at the first bidding. "does he say what he wants?" i asked, reading the large card upon which were the words- "steniloff carmalovitch"; but the man replied,-"only that he must see you immediately. i don't like the look of him at all." "is abel in the shop?" "he's at the door." "very well; let him come to the foot of my stairs, and if i ring as usual, both of you come up." in this profession of jewel-selling--for every calling is a profession nowadays--we are so constantly cheek by jowl with swindlers that the coming of one more or less is of little moment in a day's work. at my own place of business the material and personal precautions are so organized that the cleverest scoundrel living would be troubled to get free of the shop with sixpenny-worth of booty on him. i have two armed men ready at the ring of my bell--abel is one of them--and a private wire to the nearest police-station. from an alcove well hidden on the right hand of the lower room, a man watches by day the large cases where the smaller gems are shown, and by night a couple of special guards have charge of the safe and the premises. i touch a bell twice in my room, and my own detective follows any visitor who gives birth in my mind to the slightest doubt. i ring three times, and any obvious impostor is held prisoner until the police come. these things are done by most jewelers in the west end; there is nothing in them either unusual or fearful. there are so many professed swindlers--so many would-be snappers up of unconsidered and considerable trifles--that precautions such as i have named are the least that common sense and common prudence will allow one to take. and they have saved me from loss, as they have saved others again and again. i had scarce given my instructions to michel, my assistant--a rare reader of intention, and a fine judge of faces--when the shabby-genteel man entered. michel placed a chair for him on the opposite side of my desk, and then left the room. there was no more greeting between the newcomer and myself than a mutual nodding of heads; and he on his part fell at once upon his business. he took a large paper parcel from the inside pocket of his coat and began to unpack it; but there was so much paper, both brown and tissue, that i had some moments of leisure in which to examine him more closely before we got to talk. i set him down in my mind as a man hovering on the boundary line of the middle age, a man with infinite distinction marked in a somewhat worn face, and with some of the oldest clothes under the shielding long coat that i have ever looked upon. these i saw when he unbuttoned the enveloping cape to get at his parcel in the inner pocket; and while he undid it, i could observe that his fingers were thin as the talons of a bird, and that he trembled all over with the mere effort of unloosing the string. the operation lasted some minutes. he spoke no word during that time, but when he had reduced the coil of brown paper to a tiny square of wash-leather, i asked him,-"have you something to show me?" he looked up at me with a pair of intensely, ridiculously blue eyes, and shrugged his shoulders. "should i undo all these papers if i had not?" he responded; and i saw at once that he was a man who, from a verbal point of view, stood objectionably upon the defensive. "what sort of a stone is it?" i went on in a somewhat uninterested tone of voice; "not a ruby, i hope. i have just bought a parcel of rubies." by way of answer he opened the little wash-leather bag, and taking up my jewel-tongs, which lay at his hand, he held up an opal of such prodigious size and quality that i restrained myself with difficulty from crying out at the sight of it. it was a cerwenitza stone, i saw at a glance, almost a perfect circle in shape, and at least four inches in diameter. there was a touch of the oxide in its color which gave it the faintest suspicion of black in the shade of its lights; but for wealth of hue and dazzling richness in its general quality, it surpassed any stone i have ever known, even that in the imperial cabinet at vienna. so brilliant was it, so fascinating in the ever-changing play of its amazing variegations, so perfect in every characteristic of the finest hungarian gem, that for some moments i let the man hold it out to me, and said no word. there was running through my mind the question which must have arisen under such circumstances: where had he got it from? he had stolen it, i concluded at the first thought; and again, at the second, how else could a man who wore rags under an astrachan coat have come to the possession of a gem upon which the most commercial instinct would have hesitated to set a price? i had fully determined that i was face to face with a swindler, when his exclamation reminded me that he expected me to speak. "well," he said, "are you frightened to look at it?" he had been holding out the tongs, in which he gripped the stone lightly, for some seconds, and i had not yet ventured to touch them, sitting, i do not doubt, with surprise written all over my face. but when he spoke, i took the opal from him, and turned my strong glass upon it. "you seem to have brought me a fine thing," i said as carelessly as i could. "is it a stone with a history?" "it has no history--at least, none that i should care to write." "and yet," i continued, "there cannot be three larger opals in europe; do you know the stone at vienna?" "perfectly; but it has not the black of this, and is coarser. this is an older stone, so far as the birth of its discovery goes, by a hundred years." i thought that he was glib with his tale for a man who had such a poor one; and certainly he looked me in the face with amazing readiness. he had not the eyes of a rogue, and his manner was not that of one criminally restless. "if you will allow me," i said, when i had looked at the stone for a few moments, "i will examine this under the brighter light there; perhaps you would like to amuse yourself with this parcel of rubies." this was a favorite little trick of mine. i had two or three parcels of stones to show to any man who came to me laboring under a sorry and palpably poor story; and one of these i then took from my desk and spread upon the table under the eyes of the russian. the stones were all imitation, and worth no more than sixpence apiece. if he were a judge, he would discover the cheat at the first sight of them; if he were a swindler, he would endeavor to steal them. in either case the test was useful. and i took care to turn my back upon him while i examined the opal, to give him every opportunity of filling his pockets should he choose. when i had the jewel under the powerful light of an unshaded incandescent lamp i could see that it merited all the appreciation i had bestowed upon it at first sight. it was flawless, wanting the demerit of a single mark which could be pointed to in depreciation of its price. for play of color and radiating generosity of hues, i have already said that no man has seen its equal. i put it in the scales, called michel to establish my own opinions, tried it by every test that can be applied to a gem so fragile and so readily harmed, and came to the only conclusion possible--that it was a stone which would make a sensation in any market, and call bids from all the courts in europe. it remained for me to learn the history of it, and with that i went back to my desk and resumed the conversation, first glancing at the sham parcel of rubies, to find that the man had not even looked at them. "it is a remarkable opal," i said; "the finest ever put before me. you have come here to sell it, i presume?" "exactly. i want five thousand pounds for it." "and if i make you a bid you are prepared to furnish me with the history both of it and of yourself?" he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "if you think that i have stolen it we had better close the discussion at once. i am not prepared to tell my history to every tradesman i deal with." "in that case," said i, "you have wasted your time. i buy no jewels that i do not know all about." his superciliousness was almost impertinent. it would have been quite so if it had not been dominated by an absurd and almost grotesque pride, which accounted for his temper. i was sure then that he was either an honest man or the best actor i had ever seen. "think the matter over," i added in a less indifferent tone; "i am certain that you will then acquit me of unreasonableness. call here again in a day or two, and we will have a chat about it." this softer speech availed me as little as the other. he made no sort of answer to it, but packing his opal carefully again, he rose abruptly and left the shop. as he went i touched my bell twice, and abel followed him quietly down piccadilly, while i sent a line to scotland yard informing the commissioners of the presence of such a man as the russian in london, and of the gargantuan jewel which he carried. then i went home through the fog and the humid night; but my way was lighted by a memory of the magnificent gem i had seen, and the hunger for the opal was already upon me. the inquiry at scotland yard proved quite futile. the police telegraphed to paris, to berlin, to st. petersburg, to new york, but got no tidings either of a robbery or of the man whom mere circumstances pointed at as a pretender. this seemed to me the more amazing since i could not conceive that a stone such as this was should not have made a sensation in some place. jewels above all material things do not hide their light under bushels. let there be a great find at kimberley or in the burmese mines; let a fine emerald or a perfect turquoise be brought to europe, and every dealer in the country knows its weight, its color, and its value before three days have passed. if this man, who hugged this small fortune to him, and without it was a beggar, had been a worker at cerwenitza, he would have told me the fact plainly. but he spoke of the opal being older even than the famous and commonly cited specimen at vienna. how came it that he alone had the history of such an ancient gem? there was only one answer to such a question--the history of his possession of it, at any rate, would not bear inquiry. such perplexity was not removed by abel's account of his journey after carmalovitch. he had followed the man from piccadilly to oxford circus; thence, after a long wait in regent's park, where the russian sat for at least an hour on a seat near the botanical gardens entrance, to a small house in boscobel place. this was evidently a lodging-house, offering that fare of shabbiness and dirt which must perforce be attractive to the needy. there was a light burning at the window of the pretentiously poor drawing-room when the man arrived, and a girl, apparently not more than twenty-five years of age, came down into the hall to greet him, the pair afterwards showing at the window for a moment before the blinds were drawn. an inquiry by my man for apartments in the house elicited only a shrill cackle and a negative from a shuffling hag who answered the knock. a tour of the little shops in the neighborhood provided the further clue "that they paid for nothing." this suburban estimation of personal worth was a confirmation of my conclusion drawn from the rags beneath the astrachan coat. the russian was a poor man; except for the possession of the jewel he was near to being a beggar. and yet he had not sought to borrow money of me, and he had put the price of £5,000 upon his property. all these things did not leave my mind for the next week. i was in daily communication with scotland yard, but absolutely to no purpose. their sharpest men handled the case, and confessed that they could make nothing of it. we had the house in boscobel place watched, but, so far as we could learn, carmalovitch, as he called himself, never left it. meanwhile, i began to think that i had betrayed exceedingly poor judgment in raising the question at all. as the days went by i suffered that stone hunger which a student of opals alone can know. i began to believe that i had lost by my folly one of the greatest possessions that could come to a man in my business. i knew that it would be an act of childishness to go to the house and re-open the negotiations, for i could not bid for that which the first telegram from the continent might prove to be feloniously gotten, and the embarkation of such a sum as was asked was a matter not for the spur of the moment, but for the closest deliberation, to say nothing of financial preparation. yet i would have given fifty pounds if the owner of it had walked into my office again; and i never heard a footstep in the outer shop during the week following his visit but i looked up in the hope of seeing him. a fortnight passed, and i thought that i had got to the beginning and the end of the opal mystery, when one morning, the moment after i had entered my office, michel told me that a lady wished to see me. i had scarce time to tell him that i could see no one for an hour when the visitor pushed past him into the den, and sat herself down in the chair before my writing-desk. as in all business, we appreciate, and listen to, impertinence in the jewel trade; and when i observed the magnificent impudence of the young lady, i asked michel to leave us, and waited for her to speak. she was a delicate-looking woman--an italian, i thought, from the dark hue of her skin and the lustrous beauty of her eyes--but she was exceedingly shabbily dressed, and her hands were ungloved. she was not a woman you would have marked in the stalls of a theater as the fit subject for an advertising photographer; but there was great sweetness in her face, and those signs of bodily weakness and want of strength which so often enhance a woman's beauty. when she spoke, although she had little english, her voice was well modulated and remarkably pleasing. "you are monsieur bernard sutton?" she asked, putting one hand upon my table, and the other between the buttons of her bodice. i bowed in answer to her. "you have met my husband--i am madame carmalovitch--he was here, it is fifteen days, to sell you an opal. i have brought it again to you now, for i am sure you wish to buy it." "you will pardon me," i said, "but i am waiting for the history of the jewel which your husband promised me. i rather expected that he would have sent it." "i know! oh, i know so well; and i have asked him many times," she answered; "but you can believe me, he will tell of his past to no one, not even to me. but he is honest and true; there is not such a man in all your city--and he has suffered. you may buy this beautiful thing now, and you will never regret it. i tell you so from all my heart." "but surely, madame," said i, "you must see that i cannot pay such a price as your husband is asking for his property if he will not even tell me who he is, or where he comes from." "yes, that is it--not even to me has he spoken of these things. i was married to him six years now at naples, and he has always had the opal which he offers to you. we were rich then, but we have known suffering, and this alone is left to us. you will buy it of my husband, for you in all this london are the man to buy it. it will give you fame and money; it must give you both, for we ask but four thousand pounds for it." i started at this. here was a drop of a thousand pounds upon the price asked but fifteen days ago. what did it mean? i took up the gem, which the woman had placed upon the table, and saw in a moment. the stone was dimming. it had lost color since i had seen it; it had lost, too, i judged, at least one-third of its value. i had heard the old woman's tales of the capricious changefulness of this remarkable gem, but it was the first time that i had ever witnessed for myself such an unmistakeable depreciation. the woman read the surprise in my eyes, and answered my thoughts, herself thoughtful, and her dark eyes touched with tears. "you see what i see," she said. "the jewel that you have in your hand is the index to my husband's life. he has told me so often. when he is well, it is well; when hope has come to him, the lights which shine there are as the light of his hope. when he is ill, the opal fades; when he dies, it will die too. that is what i believe and he believes; it is what his father told him when he gave him the treasure, nearly all that was left of a great fortune." this tale astounded me; it betrayed absurd superstition, but it was the first ray of coherent explanation which had been thrown upon the case. i took up the thread with avidity and pursued it. "your husband's father was a rich man?" i asked. "is he dead?" she looked up with a start, then dropped her eyes quickly, and mumbled something. her hesitation was so marked that i put her whole story from me as a clever fabrication, and returned again to the theory of robbery. "madame," i said, "unless your husband can add to that which you tell me, i shall be unable to purchase your jewel." "oh, for the love of god don't say that!" she cried; "we are so poor, we have hardly eaten for days! come and see monsieur carmalovitch and he shall tell you all; i implore you, and you will never regret this kindness! my husband is a good friend; he will reward your friendship. you will not refuse me this?" it is hard to deny a pretty woman; it is harder still when she pleads with tears in her voice. i told her that i would go and see her husband on the following evening at nine o'clock, and counseled her to persuade him in the between time to be frank with me, since frankness alone could avail him. she accepted my advice with gratitude, and left as she had come, her pretty face made handsomer by its look of gloom and pensiveness. then i fell to thinking upon the wisdom, or want of wisdom, in the promise i had given. stories of men drugged, or robbed, or murdered by jewel thieves crowded upon my mind, but always with the recollection that i should carry nothing to boscobel place. a man who had no more upon him than a well-worn suit of clothes and a swiss lever watch in a silver case, such as i carry invariably, would scarce be quarry for the most venturesome shop-hawk that the history of knavery has made known to us. i could risk nothing by going to the house, i was sure; but i might get the opal, and for that i longed still with a fever for possession which could only be accounted for by the beauty of the gem. being come to this determination, i left my own house in a hansom-cab on the following evening at half-past eight o'clock, taking abel with me, more after my usual custom than from any prophetic alarm. i had money upon me sufficient only for the payment of the cab; and i took the extreme precaution of putting aside the diamond ring that i had been wearing during the day. as i live in bayswater, it was but a short drive across paddington green and down the marylebone road to boscobel place; and when we reached the house we found it lighted up on the drawing-room floor as abel had seen it at his first going there. but the hall was quite in darkness, and i had to ring twice before the shrill-voiced dame i had heard of answered to my knock. she carried a frowsy candle in her hand; and was so uncanny-looking that i motioned to abel to keep a watch from the outside upon the house before i went upstairs to that which was a typical lodging-house room. there was a "tapestry" sofa against one wall; half a dozen chairs in evident decline stood in hilarious attitudes; some seaweed, protected for no obvious reason by shades of glass, decorated the mantelpiece, and a sampler displayed the obviously aggravating advice to a tenant of such a place, "waste not, want not." but the rickety writing-table was strewn with papers, and there was half a cigar lying upon the edge of it, and a cup of coffee there had grown cold in the dish. the aspect of the place amazed me. i began to regret that i had set out upon any such enterprise, but had no time to draw back before the russian entered. he wore an out-at-elbow velvet coat, and the rest of his dress was shabby enough to suit his surroundings. i noticed, however, that he offered me a seat with a gesture that was superb, and that his manner was less agitated than it had been at our first meeting. "i am glad to see you," he said. "you have come to buy my opal?" "under certain conditions, yes." "that is very good of you; but i am offering you a great bargain. my price for the stone now is £3,000, one thousand less than my wife offered it at yesterday." "it has lost more of its color, then?" "decidedly; or i should not have lowered my claim--but see for yourself." he took the stone from the wash-leather bag, and laid it upon the writing-table. i started with amazement and sorrow at the sight of it. the glorious lights i had admired not twenty days ago were half gone; a dull, salty-red tinge was creeping over the superb green and the scintillating black which had made me covet the jewel with such longing. yet it remained, even in its comparative poverty, the most remarkable gem i have ever put hand upon. "the stone is certainly going off," i said in answer to him. "what guarantee have i that it will not be worthless in a month's time?" "you have my word. it is a tradition of our family that he who owns that heirloom when it begins to fade must sell it or die--and sell it at its worth. if i continue to possess it, the tradition must prove itself, for i shall die of sheer starvation." "and if another has it?" "it will regain its lights, i have no doubt of it, for it has gone like this before when a death has happened amongst us. if you are content to take my word, i will return to you in six months' time and make good any loss you have suffered by it. but i should want some money now, to-night, before an hour--could you let me have it?" "if i bought your stone, you could have the money for it; my man, who is outside, would fetch my check-book." at the word "man," he went to the window, and saw abel standing beneath the gas-lamp. he looked fixedly at the fellow for a moment, and then drew down the blinds in a deliberate way which i did not like at all. "that servant of yours has been set to watch this house for ten days," he said. "was that by your order?" i was so completely taken aback by his discovery that i sat for a moment dumfounded, and gave him no answer. he, however, seemed trembling with passion. "was it by your orders?" he asked again, standing over me and almost hissing out his words. "it was," i answered after a pause; "but, you see, circumstances were suspicious." "suspicious! then you _did_ believe me to be a rogue. i have shot men for less." i attempted to explain, but he would not hear me. he had lost command of himself, stalking up and down the room with great strides until the temper tautened his veins, and his lean hands seemed nothing but wire and bones. at last, he took a revolver from the drawer in his table, and deliberately put cartridges into it. i stood up at the sight of it and made a step towards the window; but he pointed the pistol straight at me, crying,-"sit down, if you wish to live another minute--and say, do you still believe me to be a swindler?" the situation was so dangerous, for the man was obviously but half sane, that i do not know what i said in answer to him; yet he pursued my words fiercely, scarce hearing my reply before he continued,-"you have had my house watched, and, as i know now, you have branded my name before the police as that of a criminal; you shall make atonement here on the spot by buying that opal, or you do not leave the room alive!" it was a desperate trial, and i sat for some minutes as a man on the borderland of death. had i been sensible then and fenced with him in his words i should now possess the opal; but i let out the whole of my thoughts--and the jewel went with them. "i cannot buy your stone," i said, "until i have your history and your father's----" but i said no more, for at the mention of his father he cried out like a wounded beast, and fired the revolver straight at my head. the shot skinned my forehead and the powder behind it blackened my face; but i had no other injury, and i sprang upon him. for some moments the struggle was appalling. i had him gripped about the waist with my left arm, my right clutching the hand wherein he held the pistol. he, in turn, put his left hand upon my throat and threw his right leg round mine with a sinewy strength that amazed me. thus we were, rocking like two trees blown in a gale, now swaying towards the window, now to the door, now crashing against the table, or hurling the papers and the ink and the ornaments in a confused heap, as, fighting the ground foot by foot, we battled for the mastery. but i could not cry out, for his grip about my neck was the grip of a maniac; and as it tightened and tightened, the light grew dim before my eyes and i felt that i was choking. this he knew, and with overpowering fury pressed his fingers upon my throat until he cut me with his nails as with knives. then, at last, i reeled from the agony of it; and we fell with tremendous force under the window, he uppermost. of that lifelong minute that followed, i remember but little. i know only that he knelt upon my chest, still gripping my throat with his left hand, and began to reach out for his revolver, which had dropped beneath the table in our struggle. i had just seen him reach it with his finger-tips, and so draw it inch by inch towards him, when a fearful scream rang out in the room, and his hand was stayed. the scream was from the woman who had come to piccadilly the day before, and it was followed by a terrible paroxysm of weeping, and then by a heavy fall, as the terrified girl fainted. he let me go at this, and stood straight up; but at the first step towards his wife he put his foot upon the great opal, which we had thrown to the ground in our encounter, and he crushed it into a thousand fragments. when he saw what he had done, one cry, and one alone, escaped from him; but before i could raise a hand to stay him, he had turned the pistol to his head, and had blown his brains out. * * * * * the story of the opal of carmalovitch is almost told. a long inquiry after the man's death added these facts to the few i had already gleaned. he was the son of a banker in buda-pesth, a noble russian, who had emigrated to hungary and taken his wealth with him to embark it in his business. he himself had been educated partly in england, partly in france; but at the moment when he should have entered the great firm in buda-pesth, there came the argentine crash, and his father was one of those who succumbed. but he did more than succumb, he helped himself to the money of his partners, and being discovered, was sentenced as a common felon, and is at this moment in a hungarian prison. steniloff, the son, was left to clear up the estate, and got from it, when all was settled, a few thousand pounds, by the generosity of the father's partners. beyond these he had the opal, which the family had possessed for three hundred years, buying it originally in vienna. this possession, however, had been, for the sake of some absurd tradition, always kept a profound secret, and when the great crash came, the man whose death i had witnessed took it as his fortune. for some years he had lived freely at rome, at nice, at naples, where he married; but his money being almost spent, he brought his wife to england, and there attempted to sell the jewel. as he would tell nothing of his history, lest his father's name should suffer, he found no buyer, and dragged on from month to month, going deeper in the byways of poverty until he came to me. the rest i have told you. of the opal which i saw so wofully crushed in the lodging-house in boscobel place, but one large fragment remained. i have had that set in a ring, and have sold it to-day for fifty pounds. the money will go to madame carmalovitch, who has returned to her parents in naples. she has suffered much. the necklace of green diamonds. the necklace of green diamonds. i can remember perfectly well the day upon which i received the order from my eccentric old friend, francis brewer, to make him a necklace of green diamonds. it was the 2d of may in the year 1890, exactly three days after his marriage with the fascinating little singer, eugenie clarville, who had set paris aflame with the piquancy of her acting and her delightful command of a fifth-rate voice some six months after brewer had left london to take up the management of a great banking enterprise in the french capital. he was then well into the forties; but he had skipped through life with scarce a jostle against the venial sins, and was as ignorant as a babe where that mortal septette of vices which the clergy anathematize on the first wednesday in lent was concerned. i have never known a more childish man, or one who held your affection so readily with simplicity. he was large-hearted, trusting, boyish, by no means unintellectual, and in no sense a fool. indeed, his commercial knowledge was highly valuable; and his energy in working up a business was a reproach to those who, like myself, love to sit in arm-chairs and watch the ebb of life from a plate-glass window. when he was married he wrote to me, and i laid his letter upon my table with a whistle. not that he was in any way suited for the celibate state, for his instinct was wholly cast in the marrying mould. had i been called upon to paint him, i should have sat him in an arm-chair by the side of a roaring fire, with a glass of punch to toast a buxom goodwife, and a pipe as long as the stick of my umbrella to make rings of smoke for a new generation at his knee. such a man should, said common sense, have been yoked to an english dame, to one used to the odor of the lemon, and motherly by instinct and by training. i could not imagine him married to a lady from the vaudeville; the contrast between his iron-headed directness and the gauze and tinsel of opera bouffe seemed grotesque almost to incredulity. yet there was the letter, and there were his absurd ravings about a woman he had known distantly for six months, and intimately for three days. "i have married," he said in this memorable communication, "the dearest little soul that god ever brought into the world--fresh as the breeze, bright as the sky, eyes like the night, and temper like an angel. you must come and see her, old boy, the moment we set foot in our house at villemomble. i shan't let you lose an hour; you must learn for yourself what a magnificent benedick i make. why, the days go like flashes of the sun--and there never was a happier man in or out of this jolly city. oh, you slow-goers in london, you poor lame cab-horses, what do you know of life or of woman, or even of the sky above you? come to paris, old man; come, i say, and we'll put you through your paces, and you shall meet her, the very best little wife that ever fell to an old dray-horse in this fair of high-steppers." there was a good deal more of this sort of thing; but the kernel of the letter was in a postscriptum, as was the essence of most of his communications. he told me there that he desired to make some substantial present to the girl he had just married; and he enclosed a rough sketch of a necklace which he thought would be a pretty thing if rare stones were used to decorate it. i fell in with his whim at once; and as it chanced that i had just received from the jägersfontein mine a parcel of twenty very fine greenish diamonds, i determined to use them in the business. i may say that these stones were of a delicious pale green tint, almost the color of the great jewel in the vaults at dresden, and that their fire was amazing. i have known a gem of the hue to be worth nearly a hundred pounds a carat; and as the lot i had averaged two carats apiece, their worth was very considerable. i had not learnt what were brewer's instructions in the matter of expense; but i wrote to him by the next post congratulating him on his marriage and informing him that i would set the green diamonds in a necklace, and sell them for two thousand pounds. he accepted the offer by a cablegram, and on the following day sent a long letter of instruction, the pith of which was the order to engrave on the inner side of the pendant the words, _major lex amor est nobis_. i laughed at his latin, and the amatory exuberance which it betrayed; but fell upon the work, and finished it in the course of three weeks, during which time i had many and irritating requests from him for constant and detailed accounts of its progress. when the trinket reached him, his satisfaction was quite childish. he wrote of his delight, and of "eugy's," and spoilt three sheets of good note-paper telling me of her appearance at the english ball early in june; and of the sensation such an extraordinary bauble caused. then i heard from him no more until august, when i read in an evening paper that he had been returning from veulettes after a short holiday, and had been in a great train smash near rouen. a later telegram gave a list of the dead, in which was the name of his wife; and three days after i received from him the most pitiful letter that it has ever been my misfortune to read. the whole wounded soul of the man seemed laid bare upon the paper; the simplicity of his words was so touching and so expressive of his agony, that i could scarce trust myself to go through the long pages over which he let his sorrow flow. yet one paragraph remained long in my mind, for it was one that recalled the necklace of green diamonds, and it was so astonishing that i did not doubt that brewer was, for the time at any rate, on the high-road to madness. "i have put them round her dear neck," he said, "and they shall cling always to her in her long sleep." at the end of the month he wrote again, mentioning that, despite my sharp remonstrance, he had seen the jewels buried with her, and that his heart was broken. he said that he thought of coming to stay with me, and of retiring from business; but went on in the next paragraph to confess his inability to leave the city in which she was buried, and the places which kept her memory so sharply before him. i wrote an answer, advising him to plunge into work as an antidote to grief, and had posted it but an hour when the mystery of the green diamond necklace began. the circumstances were these. my clerk had left with the letters, and i was sitting at my table examining a few unusually large cat's-eyes which had been offered to me that morning. i heard the shop door open, and saw from the small window near my desk a man in a fur coat, who seemed in something of a hurry when he went to the counter. three minutes afterwards, michel came up to me breathlessly and stammering. he carried in his hand the identical necklace which i had made for my friend brewer, and which he had buried with his wife, as his letter said, not a month before. my amazement at the sight of it was so great that for many minutes i sat clasping and unclasping the snap of the trinket, and reading again that strange inscription, _major lex amor est nobis_, which had caused me so much amusement when i had first ordered it to be cut. then i asked michel,-"who brought this?" "a man in the shop below--the agent of green and sons, who have been offered it by a customer at dieppe." "have they put a price upon it?" "they ask one thousand five hundred pounds for it." "oh, five hundred less than we sold it for; that is curious. ask the man if he will leave it on approval for a week." "i have put the question already. his people are quite willing." "then write out a receipt." he went away to do so, still fumbling and amazed. the thing was so astounding to one who knew the whole of the circumstances, as i did, that i told him nothing more, but examined the necklace minutely at least half a dozen times. was it possible that there could be two sets of matching green diamonds, two infatuated lovers who had chosen the same pattern of ornament, the same strange inscription, and the same tint of stones? such a thing was out of the question. either brewer had made a mistake when he said that the necklace had been buried with his wife--a theory which presupposed his return to his normal common sense--or some scoundrel had stolen it from her coffin. i determined to wire to him at once, and had written out a message when the second mystery in the history of the trinket began to unfold itself. it came to me in the form of a cablegram from brewer himself, who asked me to go to him at paris without delay, as something which troubled him beyond description had happened since he wrote to me. i need not say that at the time when i received this telegram i had no idea that a second mystery had engendered it. i believed that brewer had discovered the loss of the necklace, and had sent for me to trace the thieves. this task i entered upon very willingly; and when i had instructed michel to ask green & co.--with whom we did a large business--to give me as a special and private favor the real name of the seller of the necklace, i took the eight o'clock train from victoria; and was in paris at dawn on the following morning. early as it was, brewer waited for me at the gare du nord, and greeted me with a welcome which was almost hysterical in its effusiveness. this i could not return, for the shock of the sight of him was enough to make any man voiceless. he had aged in look twenty years in as many months. his clothes hung in folds upon a figure that had once been the figure of a robust and finely built man; his face was wan and colorless; there were hollows above his temples, and furrows as of great age in the cheeks, which erstwhile shone with all the healthy coloring that physical vigor can give. his aspect, indeed, was pitiable; but i made a great effort to convince him that i had not noticed it, and said cheerily,-"well, and how is my old friend?" "i am a widower," he answered; and there was more pathos in the simple remark than in any lament i ever heard from him. it was quite evident that his one grief still reigned in his thoughts; and i made no other attempt to conquer it. "you have important news, or you would not have summoned me from london," i said, as we left the station in a fiacre. "won't you give me an idea of it now?" "when we reach my place i will tell you everything and show you everything. it's very kind of you to come, very kind indeed; but i'd sooner speak of such things at my own house." "you are still at villemomble?" "yes; but i have an apartment by the rue de morny, and am staying there now; the old home is not the same. she is dead, you know." i thought this remark very strange, and his manner of giving it no less curious. he nodded his head gravely, and continued to nod it, repeating the words and holding my hand like some great schoolboy who feared to be alone. he was scarcely better when we arrived at his lodging, and he took me to a luxurious apartment which was well worthy of his consummate taste; but the moment he had shut the outer door his manner changed, becoming quick, interested, and distinctly nervous. "bernard," he said, "i brought you to paris because the strangest thing possible has happened. you remember the necklace of green diamonds i gave my poor wife, and buried with her?" "am i likely to forget that folly?" i asked. "well," he continued, "it was stolen from her grave in the little cemetery near raincy----" "i know that," said i. "you know it!" he cried, looking up aghast. "how could you know it?" "because it was offered to me yesterday." "good god!" he exclaimed, "offered to you yesterday! but it could not have been, for my servant bought it in a shabby jeweler's near the rue st. lazarre! look for yourself, and say what do you call that?" he had unlocked a small safe as he spoke, and he threw a jewel case upon the table. i opened it quickly, and it was then my turn to call out as he had done a moment before. the case contained a second necklace of green diamonds exactly resembling the one i had made, and had then in my pocket; and it bore even the memorable inscription--_major lex amor est nobis_. when i made this discovery there seemed something so uncanny and terrible about it that the beads of perspiration stood on my forehead, and my hand shook until i nearly dropped the case. "frank," i said, "there's deeper work here than you think; this is the necklace which you believe you buried with your wife; well, what is this one, then, that i have in my pocket?" i opened the second case and laid the jewels side by side. you could not have told one bauble from the other unless you had possessed such an eye as mine, which will fidget over a sham diamond when it is yet a yard away. he had no doubt that they were identical; and when he saw them together, he began to cry like a frightened woman. "what does it mean?" he asked. "have they robbed my wife's grave? my god!--two necklaces alike down to the very engraving. who has done it? who could do such a thing with a woman who never harmed a living soul? bernard, if i spend every shilling i possess, i will get to the bottom of this thing! oh, my wife, my wife----" his distress would have moved an adamantine heart, and was not a thing to cavil at. the mystery, which had completely unnerved him, had fascinated me so strangely that i determined not to leave paris until the last line of its solution was written. the robbery of the grave i could quite understand, but that there should be two necklaces, one of them with real stones and the other with imitation, was a fact before which my imagination reeled. as for him, he continued to sit in his arm-chair, and to fret like a child; and there i left him while i went to consult the first detective i could run against. the difficulties in getting at the police of paris are proverbial. the officials there hold it such an impertinence for a mere civilian to inform them of anything at all, that the unfortunate pursuer of the criminal comes at last to believe himself guilty of some crime. i put up with some hours, badgering at the nearest bureau, and then having no french but that which is fit for publication, i returned to the rue de morny, getting on the way some glimmer of a plan into my head. i found brewer in the same wandering state as i had left him; and although he listened when i spoke, i felt sure that his mind was in that infantile condition which can neither beget a plan nor realize one. for himself, he had a single idea; and upon that he harped _usque ad nauseam_. "i must send for jules," he kept muttering; "jules knew her well; he was one of her oldest friends; he would help me in a case like this, i feel sure. he always told her that green diamonds were unlucky; i was insane to touch the things, positively insane. jules will come at once, and i will tell him everything, and he will explain things we do not understand. perhaps you will send a letter to him now; robert is in the kitchen and he will take it." "i will send a note with pleasure if you think this man can help us; but who is he, and why have i not heard of him before?" "you must have heard of him," he answered testily; "he was always with us when she lived--always." "do you see him often now?" "yes, often; he was here a week ago; that is his photograph on the cabinet there." the picture was that of a finely built but very typical frenchman, a man with a pointed, well-brushed beard, and a neatly curled mustache. the head was not striking, being cramped above the eyes and bulging behind the ears; but the smile was very pleasant, and the general effect one of geniality. i examined the photograph, and then asked casually: "what is this m. jules? you don't tell me the rest of his name." "jules galimard. i must have mentioned him to you. he is the editor, or something, of _paris et londres_. we will write for him now, and he will come over at once." i sent the letter to please him, asking the man to come across on important business, and then told him of my plan. "the first thing to do," said i, "is to go to raincy, and to ascertain if the grave of your wife has been tampered with--and when. if you will stay here and nurse yourself, i will do that at once?" he seemed to think over the proposition for some minutes; and when he answered me he was calmer. "i will come with you," he said; "if--if any one is to look upon her face again, it shall be me." i could see that a terrible love gave him strength even for such an ordeal as this. he began to be meaningly and even alarmingly calm; and when we set out for raincy he betrayed no emotion whatever. i will not describe anything but the result of that never-to-be-forgotten mission, although the scene haunts my memory to this day. suffice it to say that we found indisputable evidence of a raid upon the vault; and discovered that the necklace had been torn from the body of the woman. when nothing more was to be learnt, i took my friend back to paris. there i found a letter from the office of _paris et londres_ saying that galimard was at dieppe but would be with us in the evening. the mystery had now taken such hold of me that i could not rest. brewer, whose calm was rather dangerous than reassuring, seemed strangely lethargic when he reached his rooms, and began to doze in his arm-chair. this was the best thing he could have done; but i had no intention of dozing myself; and when i had wormed from him the address of the shop where the sham necklace had been purchased--it proved to be in the rue stockholm--i took a fiacre at once and left him to his dreaming. the place was a poor one, though the taste of a frenchman was apparent in the display and arrangement of the few jewels, bronzes, and pictures which were the stock-in-trade of the dealer. he himself was a lifeless creature, who listened to me with great patience, and appeared to be completely astounded when i told him that i desired to have an interview with the vendor of the necklace and the green diamonds. "you could not have come at a more fortunate moment," said he, "the stones were pretty, i confess and i fear to have sold them for much less than they were worth; but my client will be here in half an hour for his money, and if you come at that time you can meet him." this was positive and altogether unlooked-for luck. i spent the thirty minutes' interval in a neighboring _café_, and was back at his shop as the clocks were striking seven. his customer was already there; a man short and thick in figure, with a characteristic french low hat stuck on the side of his head; and an old black cutaway coat which was conspicuously english. he wore gaiters, too--a strange sight in paris; and carried under his arm a rattan cane which was quite ridiculously short. when he turned his head i saw that his hair was cropped quite close, and that he had a great scar down one side of his face, which gave him a hideous appearance. yet he could not have been twenty-five years of age; and he was one of the gayest customers i have ever met. "oh," he said, looking me up and down critically, and with a perky cock of his head, "you're the cove that wants to speak to me about the sparklers, are you? and a damned well-dressed cove, too. i thought you were one of these french hogs." "i wanted to have a chat about such wonderful imitations," i said, "and am english like yourself." at this he raked up the gold which the old dealer had placed upon the counter for him and went to the door rapidly, where he stood with his hands upon his hips, and a wondrous knowing smile in his bit of an eye. "you're a pretty nark, ain't you?" he said, "a fine slap-up piccadilly thick-un, s' help me blazes; and you ain't got no bracelets in your pockets, and there ain't no more of you round the corner. oh, hell! but this is funny!" "i am quite alone," i said quickly, seeing that the game was nearly lost, "and if you tell me what i want to know, i will give you as much money as you have in your hand there, and you have my word that you shall go quite free." "your word!" he replied, looking more knowing than ever; "that's a ripping fine bank of engraving to go on bail on, ain't it? who are you, and how's your family?" "let's stroll down the street, any way you like," said i, "and talk of it. choose your own course, and then you will be sure that i am alone." he looked at me for a minute, walking slowly. then suddenly he stopped abruptly, and put his hand upon a pocket at his waist. "guv'ner," he said, "lay your fingers on that; do you feel it? it's a colt, ain't it? well, if you want to get me in on the bow, i tell you i'll go the whole hog, so you know." "i assure you again that i have no intention of troubling you with anything but a few questions; and i give you my word that anything you tell me shall not be used against you afterwards. it's the other man we want to catch--the man who took the green diamonds which were not shams." this thought was quite an inspiration. he considered it for a moment, standing still under the lamp; but at last he stamped his foot and whistled, saying:-"you want him, do you? well, so do i; and if i could punch his head i'd walk a mile to do it. you come to my room, guv'ner, and i'll take my chance of the rest." the way lay past the chapel of the trinity, and so through many narrow streets to one which seemed the center of a particularly dark and uninviting neighborhood. the man, who told me in quite an affable mood that his name was bob williams, and that he hoped to run against me at auteuil, had a miserable apartment on the "third" of a house in this dingy street; and there he took me, offering me half-a-tumbler of neat whisky, which, he went on to explain, would "knock flies" out of me. for himself, he sat upon a low bed and smoked a clay pipe, while i had an arm-chair, lacking springs; and one of my cigars for obvious reasons. when we were thus accommodated he opened the ball, being no longer nervous or hesitating. "well, old chap,"--i was that already to him--"what can i tell you, and what do you know?" "i know this much," said i; "last month the grave of madame brewer at raincy was rifled. the man who did it stole a necklace of green diamonds, real or sham, but the latter, i am thinking." "as true as gospel--i was the man who took them, and they were sham, and be damned to them!" "well, you're a pretty ruffian," i said. "but what i want to know is, how did you come to find out that the stones were there, and who was the man who got the real necklace i made for madame brewer only a few months ago?" "oh, that's what you want to know, is it? well, it's worth something, that is; i don't know that he ain't a pard of mine; and about no other necklace i ain't heard nothing. you know a blarmed sight too much, it seems to me, guv'ner." "that may be," said i, "but you can add to what i know, and it might be worth fifty pounds to you." "on the cushion?" "i don't understand." "well, on that table then?" "scarcely. twenty-five now, and twenty-five when i find that you have told me the truth." "let's see the shiners." i counted out the money on to the bed--five english bank notes, which he eyed suspiciously. "may, his mark," he said, thumbing the paper. "well, as i'm shifting for newmarket to-morrow that's not much odds, if you're not shoving the queer on me." "do you think they're bad?" "i'll tell you in a moment; i broken, e broken, watermark right; guv'ner, i'll put up with 'em. now, what do you want to know?" "i want to know how you came to learn that the stones were in madame brewer's grave?" "a straight question. well, i was told by a pal." "is he here in paris?" "he ought to be; he told me his name was mougat, but i found out that it ain't. he is a chap that writes for the papers and runs that rag with the rum pictures in it; what do you call it, paris and something or other?" "_paris et londres_," i ventured at hazard. "ay, that's the thing; i don't read much of the lingo myself, but i gave him tips at longchamps last month, and we came back in a dog-cart together. it was then that he put me on to the stones and planted me with a false name." "what did he say?" "said that some mad cove at raincy had buried a necklace worth two thousand pounds with his wife, and that the dullest chap out could get into the vault and lift it. i'd had a bad day, and was almost stony. he kept harping on the thing so, suggesting that a man could get to america with five thousand in his pocket, and no one be a penny the wiser or a penny the worse, that i went off that night and did it, and got a fine heap for my pains. that's what i call a mouldy pal--a pal i wouldn't make a doormat of." "and you sold the booty to the old frenchman in the rue de stockholm?" "exactly! he gave me a tenner for it, and i'm crossing to england to-night. no place like the old shop, guv'ner, when the french hogs are sniffing about you. i guess there's a few of them will want me in parry in a day or two; and that reminds me, you can do the noble if you like, and send the other chips to the elephant hotel at cambridge last post to-morrow." i told him that i would, and left. you may ask why i had any truck with such a complete blackguard, but the answer is obvious: i had guessed from the first that there was something in the mystery of the green diamonds which would not bear exposure from brewer's point of view, and his tale confirmed the opinion. i had learnt from it two obvious facts: one that jules galimard was anything but the friend of my friend; the other, that this man knew perfectly well that a sham diamond necklace was buried with madame brewer. it came to me then, as in a flash, that he, and he alone, must have stolen, or at least have come into possession of, the real necklace which i had made. how to undeceive the good soul who had entrusted me with his case was the remaining difficulty. he had loved this woman so; and yet instinct suggested to me that she had been unworthy of his deep affection. that she had been untrue to him i did not know. galimard might have stolen the jewels from her, and have replaced them with a false set; on the other hand, she might have been a party to the fraud. what, then, should i say, or how much should i dare with the great responsibility before me of crushing a man whose heart was already broken? with such thoughts i re-entered the apartment in the rue de morny. as i did so, the servant put a telegram into my hand, and told me that m. jules galimard was with his master. fate, however, seemed to have given the man another chance, for the cipher said,-"green and co. in error, they should have sent the stones only; necklace not for sale; client's name unknown, acting for paris agents." i walked into the room with this message in my pocket; and when brewer saw me he jumped up with delight, and introduced me to a well-dressed frenchman who had the red rosette in the buttonhole of his faultless frock-coat, and who showed a row of admirable teeth when he smiled to greet me. "here is jules," said brewer, "my friend i have spoken of, m. jules galimard; he has come to help us, as i said he would; there is no one whose advice i would sooner take in this horrible matter." i bowed stiffly to the man, and seated myself on the opposite side of the table to him. as they seemed to wait for me to speak, i took up the question at once. "well," i said, speaking to brewer; but turning round to look at his friend, as i uttered the words, "i have found out who sold the sham necklace to the man in the rue de stockholm; the rogue is a racing tout named bob williams!" galimard turned right round in his chair at this, and put his elbows on the table. brewer said, "god bless me, what a scamp!" "and," i continued, "the extraordinary part of the affair is that this scoundrel was put to the business by a man he met at longchamps last month. it is obvious that this man stole the real necklace, and now desired all traces of his handiwork to be removed from madame brewer's coffin. i have his name," with which direct remark i looked hard at the fellow, and he rose straight up from his chair and clutched at the back of it with his hand. for a moment he seemed speechless; but when he found his tongue, he threw away, with dreadful maladroitness, the opening i had given him. "madame gave me the jewels," he blurted out, "that i will swear before any court." the situation was truly terrible, the man standing gripping his chair, brewer staring at both of us as at lunatics. "what do you say? what's that?" he cried; and the assertion was repeated. "i am no thief!" cried the man, drawing himself up in a way that was grotesquely proud, "she gave me the jewels, your wife, a week after you gave them to her. i had a false set made so that you should not miss them; here is her letter in which she acknowledges the receipt of them." the old man--for he was an old man then in speech, in look, and in the fearful convulsions of his face--sprung from his chair, and struck the rascal who told him the tale full in the mouth with his clenched fist. the fellow rolled backwards, striking his head against the iron of the fender; and lay insensible for many minutes. during that time i called a cab, and when he was capable of being moved, sent him away in it. i saw clearly that for brewer's sake the matter must be hushed at once, blocked out as a page in a life which had been false in its every line. nor did i pay any attention to galimard's raving threat that his friends should call upon me in half an hour; but went upstairs again to find the best soul that ever lived sitting over the fire which had been lighted for him, and chattering with the cackle of the insane. he had the letter, which galimard had thrown down, in his hands, and he read it aloud with hysterical laughter and awful emphasis. i tried to speak to him, to reason with him, to persuade him. he heard nothing i said, but continued to chuckle and to chatter in a way that made my blood run cold. then suddenly he became very calm, sitting bolt upright in his chair, with the letter clutched tightly in his right hand; and i saw that tears were rolling down his cheeks. an hour later the friends of m. jules galimard called. they entered the room noisily, but i hushed them, for the man was dead! the comedy of the jeweled links. the comedy of the jeweled links. i do not know if there be any drug in the pharmacopoeia, or any clearly defined medical treatment, which may ever hope to grapple effectively with the strange disease of jewel-hunger, but if there be not, i have much pleasure in recommending this most singular ill to the notice of a rising generation of physicians. that it is a branch of that mystery of mysteries, _la névrose_, i have no manner of doubt, for i have seen it in all its forms--a malignant growth which makes night of the lives it plays upon; and flourishes to exceeding profit down in the very heart of tragedies. for the matter of that, the flunkies, who study in the kitchen--as the great master has told us--the characters of their governing acquaintances in the boudoir above over a quart pot and the _police news_, get no little insight into the development of the social disaster which treads often upon the heels of jewel-hunger, as they read those extravagantly ornate reports of robbery and of mystery in which a highly moral people revels. these are but gleaners in the field--to them the inner life must remain hidden. no physician hoping to cope with the affection should turn either to gossips or to slanderers for his diagnosis. let him get down into the caves of the trade, give his ear to the truer narrative which the jewel dealer alone can write for him, and he may hope for material and for success. and if he be wise, he will study both the comedy and the tragedy which such an investigation will bring before him, and will by this means alone set himself up as a specialist. it is to such a one that i would recommend perusal of the following case which i record here as one of the comedies of my note-book--a story of meanness, cupidity, and stupid cunning; i doubt if there be any philosophy of medicine which could make pretense of solving it. there were but two principal actors mentioned in the argument, and, indeed, it might fairly be called a one-part play. the chief person concerned, lord harningham, i had known for many years. he was a man of whom a biographer wrote "that his long and unblemished career was a credit to his country," and to whom a book on the decalogue was inscribed as to one _sans peur et sans réproche_. yet they told you in the smoking-rooms that he had starved his first wife, and left his only son as the partner of a horse-coper in melbourne, on the princely allowance of one hundred and fifty pounds per annum. his wealth, said common report, was anything from fifty thousand to a hundred thousand pounds per annum; and in his second childhood, for he was a septuagenarian when this comedy was played, he was suckled on the nourishing food of expiring leases and forfeited improvements until he seemed to exude sovereigns from every pore in his enormous body. a meaner man never lived. all similes in converse were based upon his exploits. "as mean as old harningham" was a phrase you heard every day at the "bachelors." in the countless old stories they put upon him, telling how, at a tenants' lunch in bedfordshire, he had cried, "here's another quart of cider, and hang the expense!" how he had been seen in farringdon market buying his own fish; how he haggled with cabmen innumerable; how he had been stricken with a malignant fever on the day he gave away a sovereign for a shilling--there was but the echo of the general sentiment. the society prints were hilarious at the mere mention of his name. i recollect well his anger when a wag said in one of them, "it is rumored that lord harningham is shortly about to give something away." he was in my office next day--a week rarely passed but what i saw him--and he laid the journal upon my table, beating it flat with a stick, and pointing at it with his ample finger as though his very touch would wither the writer. "please to read that," he said with forced calm but considerable emphasis, "and tell me if the scoundrel doesn't deserve to be hanged. he dares to mention my name, d'ye see! to mention _me_, and speak about my concerns. ha! but i wish i had him under this stick!" "of course you don't know who wrote it," said i. "how should i know?" he gabbled testily. "do i go round to the taverns swilling gin-and-water with such gutter birds? do i hobnob with all the half-starved limners in fleet street? pshaw, you talk like a fool!" i suffered his temper, for he was worth a couple of thousand a year to me. presently he became calmer, and the humor of the thing dawned upon his dull mind. "ha!" he said, snuffing ferociously from the great diamond-studded box he always carried, "i shouldn't wonder if that's master bertie watts--you know my nephew, eh? he owes you something, eh?--well, that's like him, and his scoundrelly impudence--the vagabond!" "did not i read somewhere that he was going to be married?" i remarked at hazard; but the notion tickled him immensely, and he rolled about in his chair, shaking the snuff from his box over his fur coat, and even upon my papers. "yes, you read it," he gasped at last, "a fine tale too. why, what's he got?--four hundred a year in whitehall, and what he can draw out of me--not much, mr. sutton--not much." i had no doubt of that, but i kept my face while he went on to mutter and to chortle; and i showed him a bracelet of rubies, which he desired instantly to purchase. i had put a price of four hundred and twenty pounds upon it, meaning to accept three hundred, so that we haggled for two hours by the clock and had then done business. he took the rubies away with him, while i caused the further sum to be set against him in the ledger, where already there were so many unpaid items under the name. he owed me eight thousand pounds at the least, but i could not press the account, or should have lost him; and while i was often sore troubled for lack of the money, i knew that i should get it at his death, and so aided his jewel-hunger. this was prodigious. all the gems that i sold--watches, necklaces, tiaras, brooches, and breastpins, were conveyed at once to the great safe in his bedroom and there immured. no one ever saw them but himself. his wives, both of whom were dead, had scarce enjoyed the possession of a barmaid's jewelry. the passion of the collector, of the hungerer after stones, alone consumed him. of all his meanness, this was the most contemptible--this hiding of fair treasure from the light it lived upon--this gross hoarding of beautiful things for one man's selfish enjoyment. when he left bond street that day, crying at my door, "so i'm going to give something away, am i?--but i ain't, sutton, i ain't"--and walking off as though he had found satisfaction in the negative thus conveyed to me, i picked up the paper, and read again that young bertie watts was at last engaged to the hon. eva benley, and that the wedding was to be celebrated in a month's time. every one in town said that old harningham would do something for watts when the time for the marriage actually came; and it was gossip in the clubs that her people had given their consent--for they were historically poor--only upon the sincere assurance from their daughter's _fiancé_ that his uncle really was very fond of him, and would present him with a handsome check on the wedding day. but here was the announcement of the wedding, and the old curmudgeon had just said--being readier in speech with me, perhaps, than with any one of his few acquaintances--that he did not mean to give the young people a halfpenny. it did occur to me that possibly he might have bought the ruby bracelet for the exceedingly pretty girl to whom his nephew was engaged; but in this i was mistaken, as you shall presently see; and the interest of the whole problem deepened when i learnt later on in the smoking-room of my club that the marriage was likely to be postponed, and something of a scandal to ensue. bertie watts, they said, was going about like a ravenous beast, seeking what financier he could devour. his opinion of his uncle was expressed in phrases of which the chief ornament was appalling curses and maledictions. he declared he would have the whip-hand of him yet, would make him pay handsomely for all the trouble he had put people to--in short, behaved like a man who was absurdly in love, regardless of that financial prudence which is so dear to the sight of parents and of guardians. even he, however, could not foresee the strange thing about to happen to him, or the very curious opportunity which was shortly to be his. a week passed. there was no definite announcement of any postponement of the arrangements noted by _the hyde park gazette_, nor did such part of society as is represented by the tonguesters, hear that bertie had persuaded his uncle. the thing was a kind of deadlock in its financial aspect, until at last the world of belgravia knew that the young lady's father, lord varnley, had consented to let the wedding be, and to trust to harningham's better sense when the time of the accomplishment came. i saw watts one day driving with his _fiancée_ near the achilles statue, and thought that he looked glum enough; but he came to me on the following morning for a diamond aigrette, and although he couldn't pay for it i let him have it. "it'll be all right in a month, sutton," said he; "you know the old chap's hard enough, but he can't let me marry on nothing a year, can he now?" i said that the thing was possible; and for his own sake ventured to hint that it was even probable, an opinion which he took in no good part, sucking his stick silently for a while, and then laughing with a poor little chuckle that seemed to come from the very top of his head. "well," he exclaimed at last, "it's devilish rough on a fellow to have a relation of that sort, isn't it?--a positive disgrace to the family. i wonder what the old blackguard is going to give me for a wedding present. did he ask you to show him any american tickers, by the way? i shouldn't wonder if he presented me with a brass clock, and eva with a guinea set in jet--he's mean enough." "he bought a ruby bracelet here some days ago," i remarked, as in parenthesis. "did he now?" he exclaimed in a tone of pleasure. "i wonder if it's for the girlie! but, of course, it couldn't be. he'd die to give away anything that once went into his old safe. look here, sutton, couldn't you charge him an extra hundred, and go halves? i feel like something desperate." i told him that that was impossible, and he went away with the aigrette in his pocket, and a very thoughtful expression upon his face. before he did so, however, he had uttered the pious wish that his uncle might die of some tormenting visitation; and that he might be alive to dance on the day of the funeral. i must say that i sympathized with him, for he was a good-looking and kindly-hearted young fellow, who for many years had been led to believe that his relations would do something for him; and who was about to be grievously disappointed. nor could i forget that he was engaged to one of the prettiest girls in town--and for her sake enjoyed a kind of reflected sympathy which was sincere enough on the part of every man who knew him. the date of the wedding was now fixed, being the 21st of january, to be well ahead of lent. i saw watts very frequently during the following ten days, he coming with expectant persistency to ask me if his uncle had yet bought him anything; and remaining disappointed almost to the very eve of his marriage. in fact, the wedding was to take place on the wednesday, and it was only on the previous monday that lord harningham ascended my stairs puffing and blowing, and in a shocking temper, to make his purchase of a present. "sutton," he said, "this is the greatest tomfoolery on earth--that young rascal is going to get married after all, and i suppose i'll have to give him something." "you can scarce do less," i said with a smile. "of course i can do less," he replied garrulously. "i can give him nothing at all, d'ye see; not a brass halfpenny. look at the ass, maudling about the first pretty face he sees over a dinner table when he might marry money twenty times for the asking of it. did i make such a fool of myself when i was his age?" i assured him that he did nothing of the sort. "then what's he want to do it for? thinks he's going to get something out of me, perhaps--out of _me_, but he ain't--not sixpence; not if they hadn't enough to get to the station with. ha, ha! i'm not such a spendthrift as i look." he talked in this strain for some while, and then fell to haggling over a gift. he told me that the custom of giving wedding presents was the insane fashion of an insane age; that he consented to follow it only in view of the fuss that society would make if his card did not lie on lord varnley's table when the other presents were shown. in this bargaining he displayed a meanness which was triumphant even for him. i must have shown him quite a hundred rings, pins, and watches, of all values, from fifty pounds to five hundred, before he could in any way make up his mind, and he did not cease to rebuke me for that which he called my preposterously extravagant insinuation. "fifty sovereigns! a hundred sovereigns!" he kept exclaiming; "why, man alive, do you think i'm made of money? show me something cheap, something that five pounds will buy, d'ye see? any bit of stuff's good enough for a jackanapes like that." "but not for your card on lord varnley's table." "why, what do you mean?" "people who are uncharitable, you know, might say that it was a curiously insufficient present." "d'ye think they'd say that?" "i am sure they would." "pshaw!--so am i; that comes of being thought a rich man when you're as poor as a parson. i'm quite a poor man, you know, sutton." i listened to him patiently, and in the end persuaded him to buy watts an exquisite set of jeweled links. these had a fine diamond in each of them, but their greatest ornament was the superb enameling, worthy of jean toutin or petitot, with which all the gold was covered. i asked one hundred and fifty pounds for these remarkable ornaments; and the old man, struck, like the artist he was, with the perfection of the workmanship, fixed his greedy eyes upon them, and was persuaded. he protested that they were too good, far too good, for such a worthless ingrate as his nephew, and that he ought to keep them in his own collection; but at last he ordered me to send them, with his card, to lord varnley's town house, and went away chafing at his own generosity, and, as he avowed, at his stupidity. i saw no more of him for a week. the wedding had been celebrated, and master bertie watts had conveyed away quietly to folkestone as pretty an english girl as ever flourished in the glare of the west. lord and lady varnley shut up their house during the week after the marriage, having sent the very numerous wedding presents to their bankers; and society would have forgotten the whole business if it had not paused to discuss the important question--how were the young couple to exist in the future on the paltry income of four or five hundred pounds a year? one half of the world may not know how the other half lives, but that is not for lack of effort on its part to find out. it was a matter of club-room news that old lord harningham had not relented--and, beyond what his nephew called "those twopenny-half-penny sleeve links," had not given him a penny. how then, said this same charitable world, will these silly children keep up their position in town when they return from the second-rate hotel they are now staying in at folkestone? curiously enough, i was able myself to answer that question in three days' time--though at the moment i was as ignorant as any of them. the matter came about in this way. on the very morning that lord varnley went to paris, it was known through the daily papers that there had been a robbery at his house in cork street, of a green velvet case, containing a crescent of pearls, turquoises, and diamonds. this was a present from one of the embassies to his daughter, and must, said the reports, have been abstracted from the house during the press and the confusion of the reception. later in the afternoon i received an advice from scotland yard cautioning me against the purchase of such a gem, and inviting immediate communication if it were offered to me. the theft of wedding presents is so common that i gave little heed to the matter; and was already immersed in other business when lord harningham was announced. he seemed rather fidgety in his manner, i thought, and hummed and hawed considerably before he would explain his mission. "it's about those links i gave my nephew," he said at last. "they're far too good for him, sutton--and they're too pretty. i never saw better work in my life, and must have been a fool when i let them go out of my possession--d'ye see?" "well, but you can't get them back now?" i remarked with a smile. he took snuff vigorously at my reply, and then said,-"man, you're wrong, i've got them in my pocket." i must have expressed my astonishment in my look, for he went on quickly,-"yes, here in the green case as you sold them. do i surprise you, eh? well, i'm going to give master bertie a bit of a check and to keep these things; but one of the stones is off color--i noticed it at the wedding--and i must have a new one in, d'ye see?" "i thought that you had already handed them over," i interrupted, quite disregarding his last request. "so i did, so i did; but a man can take his own back again, can't he? well, when i saw them at the house, i concluded it was ridiculous to give a boy like that such treasures, and so----" "you spoke to him?" "hem--that is, of course, man. pshaw! you're too inquisitive for a jeweler: you ought to have been a lady's maid." "have you brought them with you now?" "what should i be here for if i hadn't?" he laid upon my table a green velvet case, of the exact size, color, and shape of that which had contained the links; but when i opened it i gave a start, and put it down quickly. the case held a crescent of pearls, turquoises, and diamonds, which answered exactly to the description of the one stolen from lord varnley's house on the day of his daughter's wedding. "there's some mistake here," said i, "you've evidently left the links at home," with which remark i put the jewels under his very nose for him to see. he looked at them for a moment, the whole of his flabby face wrinkling and reddening; then he seemed almost to choke, and the veins in his forehead swelled until they were as blue threads upon an ashen and colorless countenance. "good god!" he ejaculated, "i've taken the wrong case." "your nephew gave it you, no doubt, but he must have forgotten it, for he's advertised the loss of this crescent at scotland yard, and there are detectives now trying to find it. i am cautioned not to purchase it," i said with a laugh. the effect of these words upon him was so curious that for some moments i thought he had spasm of the heart. starting up in the chair, with wild eyes, and hands clutching at the arms to rest upon them, he made several attempts to speak, but not a word came from his lips. i endeavored to help him with his difficulty, but it was to little purpose. "it seems to me, lord harningham," i suggested, "that you have only to write a line of explanation to your nephew--and there's an end of the matter." "you think so?" he cried eagerly. "why not," said i, "since he returned the jewels to you?" "but he didn't," he interrupted, cringing in the chair at this confession of a lie; "he didn't; and he'd prosecute me; he hates me, and this is his opportunity, d'ye see?" "do you mean to say," i exclaimed, beginning to understand the situation, "that you took the case without his permission?" "yes, yes," he mumbled, "they were so beautiful, such work! you know what work they were. i saw them at the wedding, and was sure that i should not have parted with them. i meant to send him a check against them--and when no one was looking i put what i thought was the case into my pocket, but it was the wrong one. god help me, sutton what shall i do?" now it seemed to me that this was one of the most delightful comedies i had ever assisted at. technically, lord harningham was a thief, and undoubtedly bertie watts could have prosecuted him had he chosen, though the probability of his getting a conviction was small. but it was very evident to me that here was the boy's opportunity, and that in the interest of his pretty wife i should make the best of it. with this intent, i played my first card with necessary boldness. "undoubtedly the case is very serious for you," said i, apparently with sympathy, "and it is made the more serious from the strange relations existing between your nephew and yourself. you know the law, i doubt not, as well as i do; and that once a prosecution has been initiated at scotland yard it is impossible to withdraw without a trial. mr. watts might get into serious trouble for compounding a felony; and i might suffer with him as one in the conspiracy. but i tell you what i will do; i'll write to him to-night and sound him. meanwhile, let me advise you to keep out of the way, for i can't disguise the fact that you might be arrested." he gave a great scream at this, and the perspiration rolled from him, falling in great drops upon the carpet. "oh, lord!" he kept muttering, "oh, that i should have been such a consummate fool!--oh, heaven help me! to think of it--and what it will cost, i could cry, sutton--cry like a child." i calmed him with difficulty, and led him down the back stairs to a cab with a positive assurance that i would not communicate with scotland yard. then i wrote to folkestone a letter, the precise contents of which are immaterial, but the response to which was in the form of a telegram worded as follows:-"am inexpressibly shocked and pained, but the law must take its course." i put this into my pocket without any delay and went over to harningham's house in park lane. he had been up all night, they told me, and the doctor had just left him; but i found him suffering only from an enervating fear, and white as the cloth on the breakfast table before him. "well," he said, "what is it, what does he say? will he prosecute me?" i handed him the telegram for answer, and i thought he would have swooned. he did not know that i had in my pocket another letter from his nephew, in which master bertie informed me that i was the "best chap in the world," and i saw no reason to mention this. indeed, i listened with infinite gravity when the old man told me that he was irretrievably ruined, and that his name would stand in all the clubs as that of a common thief. jewel-hunger plainly accounted for everything he had done; but it was not to my end to console him, and i said in a severe and sufficiently melancholy voice,-"lord harningham, there is only one thing to do, and for your sake i will make myself a criminal participator in the conspiracy. you must go to folkestone with me this afternoon, and take your check book with you." the groan he gave at this would have moved a man of iron. i saw tears standing in his eyes, and his hand shook when i left him so that he could scarce put it into mine. yet he came to the station to meet me in the afternoon, and by six o'clock we were in folkestone at a shabby second-rate hotel, called "the cock and lobster," inquiring for the bride and bridegroom. mr. and mrs. watts, they said, were out on the parade; but we went to look for them, and surprised them coming from the lees, as handsome a couple as you could look upon. she, a pretty, brown-haired english girl, her tresses tossed over her large eyes by the sharp wind that swept in from the sea, was close under the arm of her husband, who, at that stage, fearing to lose her touch, seemed engaged in the impossible attempt to cover her entirely with one of his arms. and in this pursuit privacy came to his aid, for the breeze was fresh from the channel at the beginning of night, banishing all loiterers but those loitering in love; and the lamps flickered and went low in the gusts as though fearing to illumine the roses upon the cheeks of a bride. when master bertie saw us he became as sedate as a methodist minister, and, commanding a solemn tone acted the part to perfection. "uncle," he said, "i would never have believed it of you. but this is too serious a matter to mention here; let us go to the hotel." we returned in silence, but directly we were in the hall the young man called for his bill, and speaking almost in a boisterous tone, cried:-"we're going to change our quarters, uncle, and will begin by moving to the best hotel in the place. that poor girl is moped to death here, and now you're going to pay for our honeymoon--cost doesn't matter, does it, old man?" the old man concerned started at this, his mouth wide open with the surprise of it. "what's that?" he muttered. "what're you going to do?" but i whispered to him to be silent, and in an hour we were sitting down to a superb dinner--which he did not touch, by the bye--in the great saloon of the biggest hotel in the place. during the meal the bride, who scarce seemed able to do anything else than look at her husband, made few remarks, but watts and i talked freely, quite ignoring the old man; and it was not until we were in the private room that the negotiations began. there is no need to describe them. they lasted until midnight, at which hour the nephew of lord harningham had five hundred pounds in his pocket, and an allowance of five hundred a year. from the moment of assenting to these conditions until we entered the train next morning the old man never opened his lips, but he kissed the bride at the door of the hotel, and color came again to his cheeks at the warmth of her lips. when at last we were alone in the carriage he gave a great sigh of relief and said,---"sutton, thank god that's over!" "nearly over, my lord," i replied with emphasis. "what do you mean?" he cried. "do you think that any one will get to hear of it? why, man, what have i half-ruined myself for?" "to keep your nephew quiet," i suggested pleasantly. "and who else knows anything when he's settled with?" he asked angrily. "why," said i quite calmly, "you and i, perhaps." he looked at me as though his glance was all-consuming and would wither me, but i met him with a placid smile and continued,-"it seems to me that i want what mr. stevenson calls 'a good memory for forgetting.' do you know, lord harningham, that if you paid my bill--gave me, say, eight thousand pounds on account, i believe my mind would be quite oblivious to the events of last night." the shot struck home--in the very center of my target. he thought over it for some while, and spoke but once between sevenoaks and charing cross. his remark was more forcible than convincing, for he exclaimed suddenly, and _à propos_ of nothing in particular, "sutton to blazes with all jewels!" then he subsided, and came with me quietly to my rooms, where he wrote a check for eight thousand pounds and signed it with considerable firmness. the ink was hardly dry, however, before he dropped heavily upon the carpet, and lay prone in a fit. the shock of parting with so much money had been too much for him. he is now in madeira seeking a climate. treasure of white creek. treasure of white creek. she was the daughter of colonel kershaw klein, and he was worth a million, as the society papers said. i had danced with her for the first time in the ball-room of the magnificent house her father had rented in grosvenor crescent, on the occasion of her coming of age; and i agreed with the men that she was beyond criticism, an exquisite vision of dark and matured girlhood, so incomparably fascinating that you forget in her company some of her bluntness in speech, and set down the voluptuousness of her glance and mien to the southern luxuriance amidst which she had been reared, and to those "other" notions which prevail in chili, the land of fleeting republics. some part of this perhaps unnecessary adulation may have been due to the fact that i had helped in the production of her perfect picture on the night of which i am speaking. the commercial element will intrude at such times; and i could not help but see that she wore at least eight hundred pounds' worth of my jewels. had the value of them been double, it would have been the same to me, for of her father's stability i had then no doubt. he had been received and made much of in the highest places, accorded the chief seats at the feasts; entrusted--as the old ladies told you--with the most important missions by government; and a share in the western hill diamond mine at south africa was not the least substantial factor in the sum of his income. any and every gem to which he took a fancy i had let him have readily, being assured by an important personage at the embassy that his credit was unquestionable; and it was a pretty pleasure to me when i first met his daughter to observe how well my diamonds sat upon her, and how shapely were her arms clasped in the ruby bracelets which had been amongst the treasures of bond street but three months before. she was, indeed, a sunny child of the south, radiating a warming light about her, tempting you to wait long for a single press of her hand, luring you to follow the sparkle of her eyes even when she looked at you over the shoulder of a dancer who for the moment had the privilege of holding her in the entrancement of the _deux temps_. there was keen contention for her programme, but somehow i found her disposed to favor me, and danced no less than four with her, to the infinite annoyance of the many youths who eyed me angrily from their watching-ground by the door. they said that they had never seen her brighter; and i was ready to believe them, for she kept her tongue going merrily through the waltzes, and leant upon my arm in a languorous way that was completely entrancing. at the end of the dance--the next being some newfangled "barn dance" wherein men scarce put their hands upon their partners--she said that she would sit in the conservatory and eat ices; and for the first time during the long evening i found myself able to talk easily with her. "well," she said, when we had composed ourselves behind a huge fern, and had made a successful attack upon the _meringues glacés_, "well, this is about splendid; don't you think so?" i said that nothing could be more delightful. "and to think that i've never danced with you before; why, you're just perfect," she went on. "i haven't enjoyed myself right along like this since i was in valparaiso." "are the chilians such wonderful dancers then?" i asked, as she looked up at me bewitchingly. "they just make a profession of it between the shooting times," said she; and then changing the subject quickly, she asked, "what do you think of the crystals now i've got them on?" it is not particularly consoling to hear your rubies spoken of as crystals, but her description was accompanied by such a pretty laugh, and she opened her great black eyes so widely, that i smiled when i answered,-"why, they're to be envied in such a setting." "you're the fourth man that has said the same to-night," she exclaimed, putting her glass down and tugging at her glove. "i think that britishers learn their compliments out of copy-books; they're all presents for good girls. let's see if you're cleverer at getting a glove on than at making pretty speeches." the arm that she held out was gloriously white; and as every man knows, the operation of pulling on the glove of a pretty girl is apt to be prolonged. there are fingers to fit, and a little thumb to stroke daintily; while the grip upon the more substantial part of the forearm will bear repetition so long as time serves. i must have occupied myself at least five minutes with her buttons, she finding it necessary to press close to me when i did so; and the task was none the less pleasant when her rich brown hair touched my face, and her dress rustled with her long-drawn breathing. how long the process would have lasted, or what i should have said foolishly in the end, i do not know; but of a sudden she drew her arm away and exclaimed,-"oh, i'd quite forgotten; i wanted to ask you about the bull's-eye." [illustration: "i wanted to ask you about the bull's-eye." --_page 82_] this was her description, i may mention without anger, of the famous white creek diamond, which, as all london knows, i have had in my possession for the last two years. her father, who was reputed to have some commission to buy it for a persian, was then negotiating with me for its purchase for the sum of one hundred and thirty thousand pounds. he waited only, he said, for the coming of his partner from valparaiso, to complete the transaction; and it was owing to the intimacy which the _pour parlers_ brought about that i found myself then in his house. how much his daughter knew of the business, however, i could not tell, and i answered her question by another. "what do you know about the bull's-eye?" "that you're trying to sell it to my father," she replied, "and that he won't promise to give it to me." "have you asked him, then?" "have i asked him--why, look at him; isn't he ten years older since he met you in bond-street?" "he certainly seems to have something on his mind," said i. "that's me; he's got me on his mind," she remarked flippantly; "but i wish he'd buy the bull's-eye, and give it to me for a wedding present." "oh, you're engaged," i ventured dolefully; "you never told me that----" "didn't i?" she answered, "well, of course i am, and here's my partner." she went away on another man's arm; but she left to me a vision of dark eyes and ivory white flesh; and her breath still seemed to blow balmily upon my forehead. her partner was a young man just down from oxford, they told me; seemingly a simple youth, to whom the whole sentence in conversation was as much a mystery as the binomial theorem; but he danced rather well, and i doubt not that she suffered him for that. i watched her through the waltz, and then, after a few words with her father, who promised to call upon me the next day concerning white creek treasure, i said "good night" to her. she give me a glance which was more entrancing than any word; and although she had the habit of looking at a man as though she were dying for love of him, i carried it away with me foolishly into the street, when the dawn had broken with summer haze, and an exalting sweetness was in the air. the invigorating breath of morning somewhat sobered my thoughts; but none the less left the impression of her beauty fermenting in my mind. i turned into hyde park, where the trees were alive with song-birds, and the glowing flowers sparkled with the silver freshness of the dew, and set out to walk to bayswater. in these moments, i forgot the prosaic necessities of forms and customs; and bethought how pleasant it would be if some enchantment could place her at my side, a phyllis of mayfair, freed from the tie of conventionality, to look at me for all time with those eyes she had used so well but an hour ago. i forgot her manners of speech, her unpleasing idioms, even the discordant note that her usually melodious voice was sometimes guilty of; forgot all but her ripe beauty, the softness of her touch, the alluring fascination of her way, the insurpassable play of her mouth, the exquisite perfection of her figure. women's eyes make dreamers of us all; and though i have pride in the thought that i am not a susceptible man, i will confess without hesitation that i was as near to being in love on that summer morning in july as was ever a professor of the single state who has come within hail of his thirty-fifth year with the anti-feminine vow unweakened. at lancaster gate i paused a moment, leaning upon the iron rail of the drive to look back at the london veldt fresh to luxuriance in the dew showers which gave many colors in the play of sunlight. there was stillness under the trees, and the hum of the still sleeping city was hushed, though day was seeking to enter the blind-hid windows, and workmen slouched heavily to their labor. the scene was fresh enough, beautiful as many of the city's scenes are beautiful; but i had scarce time to enjoy when i saw the oxford youth who had last danced with margaret klein coming striding over the grass; a masterful pipe in his mouth; and a very rough ulster wrapped round his almost vanishing shoulders. he gave me a cheery nod for greeting, and to my surprise he seated himself upon the seat beside me; and having offered me a cigar, which i took, he found his tongue so readily that i, who had heard his "haw-hawing" in the ball-room, concluded at once that it was assumed and not natural to him. and in this i was right, as the first exchange of speech with him proved. "i've had a sharp run to catch you," said he, "for this infernal dancing takes it out of you when you're not used to it. i wanted a word with you particularly before this thing goes any further. do you know anything of these people?" "why," said i, "i might ask you that question, since you made yourself so much at home there; don't you know them?" "no, i'm hanged if i do," said he; "but, if i'm not mistaken, i shall be on very good terms with them before the season's out. you haven't sold them any jewels, have you?" this was such an extraordinary question that i turned upon him with an angry reply upon my lips; but the word changed to one of amazement when i saw his face closely in the full sunlight. it was no longer the face of an oxford boy, but of a man of my own age at the least. "whew!" i remarked, as i looked full at him, "you've made rather a quick change, haven't you?" "it's the running," he replied, mopping himself with a handkerchief, and leaving his countenance like a half-washed chess-board, "we're in for another six hours' stew, and my phiz is plastic--i'd better be moving on, lest i meet any of my partners; i might break some hearts, you know; but what i wanted to say was, don't go making a fool of yourself, mr. sutton, over that little witch with the black eyes, and don't, if you love your life, put yourself for a moment in the power of her long-tongued father." this utterly surprising rejoinder was given without a suspicion of concern or bombast. many people would have resented it as an impertinence, and a dishonorable slander upon one whose hospitality we had just enjoyed; but i had not been a dealer in jewels for ten years without learning to recognize instantly the "professional" tongue; and i knew that i was talking to a man from scotland yard. yet i must confess that i laughed inwardly at the absurdity of his fears. few men had come to london with stronger recommendation than kershaw klein, and even the banks had trusted him implicitly. "are you sure that you are making no mistake?" i asked, as he buttoned up his coat and looked about for a hansom. "you gentlemen have been woefully out lately; i can't forget that one of you cautioned me against count hevilick three months ago, and if i'd listened to him i should be worth five thousand less than i am at this moment. if this man is what you think, he's managed to blind a good many big people--and his own embassy into the bargain." he thought for some minutes before he answered me, standing with his hands in his pockets and his cigar pointing upwards from the extreme corner of his mouth. his reply was given with a pitying smile, and was patronizing--as are the replies of men convinced but unable to convince. "well," he said, exhaling tremendous clouds of smoke, "what i know i know; and what i don't know my wits will find out for me. i gave you the tip because you've done me--though you don't know it--a good many services; but whether you take it or leave it, that's your look out. only, and this is my last word, don't come complaining to me if the witch walks off with your goods--and don't write to the _times_ if her father cracks your skull." he had turned on his heel before i could utter another word; and he left me to walk slowly and thoughtfully to bayswater, divided in my musings between the vision of the chilian girl's beauty and the jewels of mine which she wore; but for which her father had not paid. i can only set it down to absurd infatuation; but i admit unhesitatingly that i did not very much care then whether the financial part of the business left me lacking the money or possessed of it. a rash disregard for expense is the surest sign that a woman has interested you; a longing to pay her milliner's bills is a necessary instinct to the disposition for marriage. i was at that time, and in the exhilaration of wish that came of the power of morning, quite ready to let so perfect a creature remain indebted to me for anything; and this was natural since the spice of a little suspicion is often the most attractive flavor in a woman's character. but the question of the treasure of white creek was another matter altogether. the great diamond was not my own, although it lay at that time in my safe in bond street. it was the property of a syndicate, in which i held a third of the shares; but the others looked to me for the safe disposal of the stone, and for the profit of ten thousand pounds which we hoped to get by its sale. my responsibility, then, was no usual one; and the barest suggestion that i was trafficking with a swindler was enough to set me itching with anxiety. i went home in this mood, but not to sleep. a feverish dreaming--chiefly of a seductive girl with black-brown wavy hair and black eyes that searched and fascinated with an inexplicable spell--served me for rest; and at eleven o'clock i was at my office, and the chilian was with me. he was a man of fine presence, a long black beard falling upon his ample chest, and a certain refinement of carriage and bearing giving him a dignity which is not usual in an american. the object of his visit was twofold, to pay the bill he owed me, and to tell me that his partner, hermann rudisic, would reach london from valparaiso in a week's time; when he would bring him to me to complete the purchase of the great stone. he said further that as the season was over he had taken a place near basingstoke, the woodfields it was named; and that he hoped his daughter, who did not do well in an english climate, would benefit by the wealth of pine-trees about the house. he finished by giving me a reference to his london bankers, and also another to one of the best known of the financiers in lombard street. in due course i communicated with both firms, and received answers which set every doubt about the financial position of kershaw klein at rest. the bankers declared that i might trust him unhesitatingly for such a sum as i named. the other replied that the colonel's brother was of great standing and position in chili, and that he himself carried letters which proved his undoubted probity. more complete vindication could not be had; and i went home to laugh consumedly at the gentleman who had found such a mare's nest, and to wonder if my friends would laugh very much if they heard--how little i thought at that time of the old pleasantries with which i had once greeted the tidings of a marriage. i did not hear more of klein for some fifteen days, at the end of which time he wrote saying that hermann rudisic was with him at basingstoke; and that they hoped to call upon me on the following friday. the march of events was from that time quick. on the thursday i read in a daily paper of an accident in berkshire to a chilian visitor, who had been thrown from his carriage and seriously hurt. the account said that his life was despaired of, and that he was then lying at the house of his host, the well-known colonel kershaw klein, who had taken lord aberly's place, the woodfields. on the friday morning i received a long letter from the colonel deploring the accident and the delay, more especially because his commission to purchase the stone extended only to the 10th of august, and it was then the third. he hoped, however, that matters would look brighter at the end of that time; and would bring his partner to london the moment he could travel. now, at the first thought, this intelligence set all the inherent suspicion, which is a part of me, at work once more. suggestions of doubt rose again and again, instantly to be suppressed. had i not satisfied myself completely as to the colonel's standing, his means, his reputation, and his personal character? was he not staying in lord aberly's house? had not he passed most brilliantly through a london season? were there not twenty members of the bachelors' club seeking to pay for the sake of his daughter the fine imposed upon amorous backsliders? if one were to suspect every man with such credentials as these, the sooner one shut one's door, and locked one's safe for good, the better for all hope of doing business. of all this i was certain; and had already come to the determination to put from my mind suspicion both of the count and his daughter, when there came to me by the afternoon delivery another letter concerning the matter; but this was anonymous, and in a hand i did not know. it was a curious scrawl written upon a slip of account paper, and its contents were but these words:-"you will be asked to kershaw klein's house in three days. i told you the other morning not to trust yourself with the man; i say now, accept the invitation." this was plainly from my friend of hyde park; and i confess that his pompous mysteriousness and pretence of knowledge amused me. even he no longer complained of colonel klein's reputation, nor advised me now to avoid him. his letter finally quieted my scruples, and from that moment i resolved to dally with them no longer; and to let no silly fears delay the negotiations for the sale of the treasure of white creek. in this resolution i waited rather anxiously for the coming of klein and his partner, but three days went, and i saw nothing of them; it being on the monday morning at eleven o'clock that the former drove up to bond street in a single brougham, and came with his daughter into my private office. he seemed in a great state of distress, saying that rudisic, although better, was still unable to set foot to the ground: and begging me as the time was so short to take the great jewel to berkshire--his house was just across the line dividing the county from hampshire--and there to settle the matter that very day. i heard him mechanically; my eyes glued on the exquisite picture which his daughter made; her gown of white delaine showing the mature contour of her figure admirably; and her deep brown hair rolling from the shelter of a great straw hat in silken waves upon her shoulders. if she had fascinated me at the dance, the fascination was intensified there. i would cheerfully have risked the best parcel of rubies in the place to have had the pleasure of keeping her in the office even for an hour; and i did not hesitate one moment in accepting klein's offer. "come down to-day," said he, "and bring your man with you in case we don't do business, and you have to return alone. i don't like mailing with big stuff on me; you never know who gets wind of it. i suppose you have somebody you could take." even with the girl's eyes upon me and her laughing threat to "make me tramp at tennis awhile," i had a measure of satisfaction in this request, and thought instantly of abel. "yes," said i, with a light laugh, "i will bring my own detective. he's down below now." "that's right," said klein, "and we'll catch the two-forty from waterloo. i've ordered the carriage to meet that, and there's just time for a snack between whiles. never forget your food, sir--i don't for all the business in europe. i once lost a commission for a railway in venezuela through a sandwich--but there, that's another story, and i'll tell it you over a chop at the criterion. i guess i've got an appetite on, and so's margaret, eh, little girl?" he slapped his chest to signify that a void was there; and we all went off down piccadilly, returning afterwards for the gem which i had placed in a flat-velvet case. i put it into my jewel pocket, cunningly contrived in my vest, and with no more delay we got to waterloo and to our saloon, abel traveling second class, by the bye, and in another compartment. there was a well-turned-out wagonette to meet us when we reached basingstoke; and after a drive of something under an hour through some of that glorious pine scenery of southern berkshire, we entered a short drive edged by thick laurels, and were shortly at the gate of the woodfields. of the exterior of the house i saw nothing, for, as i descended from the wagonette, i chanced to catch the eye of the footman, who had a finger to his lips; and an exclamation almost broke from my lips. notwithstanding his disguise i recognized the man in a moment. he was the "oxford youth" who had given me a cigar in the park on the morning after the dance in grosvenor crescent. the discovery was not a pleasant one. it made discord of all the music of margaret klein's voice--she was quickly babbling to me in the old georgian hall--and forbade my taking considerable notice of the massive oak of the double staircase, or of the exceedingly bright-nosed "ancestors" who smiled upon us from twenty gilt frames. abel had come up to my room with me, i pretending that he invariably acted as my valet; and once inside a very large but very ugly square bedchamber, whose windows overlooked the prim lawn and terrace of flowers, i shut the door and had a word with him. "abel," said i, "that footman who drove us from the station must be one of the scotland yard lot; what's he doing in this house?" abel whistled, and by instinct, i suppose, put his hand upon his pistol pocket. "have you got your revolver with you, sir?" he asked. "of course i have; and i'll take this opportunity to charge all the chambers, but i don't believe for a moment there will be occasion to use it. the man's on a false scent entirely. it's necessary at the same time to act like wise men, and not like fools; and i must count on you to be near me while we're in the place. if there's any knavery afoot, we shan't hear of it until the place is asleep; but come here when i am going to bed, and then we shall know what to do." i sent him off with this to the servants' quarters, and dressed, though an indescribable sense of nervousness had taken hold of me; and i found myself peering into every cupboard and cranny like an old woman looking for a burglar. the situation was either as dangerous as it could be, or i was the victim of farcical fears. yet the very shadows across the immense floor, and the aureola upon the carpet about the dressing table seemed to give gloom to the chamber. so thick were the walls of the old house that no sound reached me from the rooms below; and when the gong struck the hour for dinner its note reverberated as a wave of deadened sound through some curtained chapel or chill vault. what did it mean, i kept asking myself; the illness, was it sham? the man from london, was he on a fool's errand? my visit, was it foolhardy? had i walked into a trap at the bidding of a pretty woman? were all the guarantees i had received in the colonel's favor fraudulent or mistaken? i could not think so. again and again i told myself that the fellow from scotland yard was an absurd crank upon a false scent, and that ninety jewelers of a hundred would have done as i had done, and have brought the stone to berkshire. and with this thought i took a better courage and hastily finished my dressing. i need scarce say that i had the jewel in my pocket when i went to the drawing-room, and that i had already determined that it should not leave me for a moment. i got rid, however, of more of my fears when i entered the artistic and homely room where margaret klein was waiting; and in the brighter scene of light and laughter the absurdity of suspicion again occurred to me. the meal was an excellent one, admirably served; the wine was perfect. i sat at my host's right facing his daughter, who seemed to exert herself unusually to fascinate, making delicate play with her speaking eyes; and promising me all the possibilities of berkshire rest, if i cared to stay with them over the week. to this her father, the colonel, who had the ribbon of an order in his buttonhole, and looked exceedingly handsome, added: "and i hope you will, for you're not seeming as well as you were last week. you people in england live in too narrow a circle. a voyage across the pond makes an epoch in your lives; you are scarce prepared to admit yet that there is any other city but london. if you would enlarge the scope of your actions, you would grumble less--and perhaps, if i may say so, allow that other nations share some of your best boasted qualities. now i am truly cosmopolitan; i regard no city as my home; i would as soon set out on a voyage of three thousand miles as of five. i come to england, and i do it in ten days from land's end to john o' groat's; and when i think i'll rest awhile i ask, where is your pretty county? and i settle for three weeks to explore it." "i hope mr. sutton will do the same," said margaret, following up his invitation. "i want to learn all about the dames who won't know you unless you had a grandfather; and i should like to see a curate who is passing rich on forty pounds a year. i guess we mean to go right in now we're amongst your best folk." "i'll stay a day or two with pleasure if you will pilot me," said i, as she rose to go to the drawing-room; but i little knew that my visit was to terminate abruptly in three hours or less, or what was to happen in the between-time. a lean, lank-looking butler served the colonel and myself with coffee when she had gone; and after that my host took me to the drawing-room, where i found her engaged in the pursuit of trying over a "coster" song. the colonel suggested business at once, saying: "i'll leave you with margaret while i go up to hermann and learn if he's well enough to receive us; i dare say you can amuse yourselves. i shan't be gone five minutes." he was really away for twenty minutes; but i did not count the time. the whole situation seemed so curious--on the one hand a london detective playing footman in the house, on the other a delightful host, and a girl whose every word fascinated and whose every motion drew you instinctively to her--that i gave up any attempt to solve it; and beyond the knowledge that i had reason to be watchful, i put no restraint upon myself; but sat at her side while she played the lightest of music; or occasionally leant back to speak to me, so that her hair brushed my face and her eyes almost looked into mine. "it was good of you to come," she almost whispered in one of these pauses, glancing up timorously, and speaking altogether in the sympathetic tone. "do you miss the excitement of london?" i asked, letting my hand rest for a moment on hers. "i guess not," she replied; "but i miss some one who can talk to me as you talk; you're going to stop awhile, aren't you?" "i'll stop as long as you ask me to." when he was gone she went on playing for some minutes, turning away at last impatiently from the piano, and facing round with a serious, almost alarmed look. what she meant to say or do i cannot tell, for at that moment the colonel came back and told us that his partner was in the dressing-room upstairs, and would be glad to see me at once. "margaret may come too?" he asked me. "she would like to see the great stone." "of course," i replied; "it will be a pleasure to show it to her." i cannot tell you why it was, but as we rose together to leave the room i seemed in a moment to realize that the affair had come to a crisis. in that instant, notwithstanding guarantees, references, margaret klein's fascinations, and the hundred arguments i had so often used to convince myself of the folly of suspicion, there came to me as distinct and clear a warning as though some human voice had given speech to it. the very silence of the others--for they said no word, and a curious hesitation seemed to come upon them--impressed the conviction of the monition. once in the hall, my uneasiness became stronger, for there at a table was the footman i had recognized, and as he glanced at me when i passed him his face was knit up as the face of a man thinking; and he let a glass fall at the very moment we reached the stairs. what he wished to convey i do not know; but although i felt there was danger in leaving the ground floor, another force dragged me on behind the colonel, and kept me advancing unhesitatingly until i had reached the end of the long picture-gallery with him, and he had knocked upon a door in the eastern wing of the rambling mansion. what this force was i do not pretend to explain. it may have been merely the influence of the woman; it may have been my inherent obstinacy and belief in myself; or simple lack of conviction which forbade any public expression of the fears i had fomented. i know only that we waited for some seconds in the passage until a hospital nurse opened the door, and that i found myself at last in a very pretty boudoir, where a pale and sickly-looking man was lying upon a couch, but propped up to greet us. the formalities of introduction were accomplished by the colonel with great suavity and grace; and the nurse having set chairs at the side of the sick man's couch, and placed a table there, she withdrew, and we were ready for the business. that you should understand what happened in the next few minutes it is necessary for me to say a word upon the construction of the boudoir. it was a room hung in pink silk and white, and it had two doors in it, giving off to other rooms, whose size i could not see since they were in darkness. for light, we had a lamp with a white shade upon the invalid's table, and two others upon the mantelshelf; while we were seated in a fashion that allayed any fears i might have had of personal and sudden attack. the colonel lounged in an american rocking-chair, he being nearest to the head of the couch; his daughter leant back against a buhl-work cabinet, she being a little way from the sick man's feet; i had a library-chair, and was alone in an attitude which would allow me to spring to my defence--if that were necessary--without delay. i looked, too, at hermann rudisic, the colonel's partner, and i confess that contempt for his physical powers was my first thought. i was convinced that if it were a question of fight, i could hold the two men until abel, who was in the servants' hall, came to my assistance; and while the others were present i had no fear of any of those wild machinations which are chiefly the property of imaginative fiction-makers. this knowledge gave to me my nerve again, and without more ado i took the case from my pocket and showed the stone. the vision of the glorious gem, rippling on its surface with a myriad lights, white, and golden, and many-colored, in the play of radiating fire, was one that compelled the silence of amazed admiration for many minutes. margaret klein first spoke, her face bent to the diamond so that its waves of color seemed to float up to her ravished eyes; and with a little cry wrung from her satisfaction she said,-"oh, mr. sutton, it's too beautiful to look at!" "i am glad that it does not disappoint," said i. "it could disappoint no one," the invalid said, stretching out a hand which trembled to draw the treasure closer to his eyes. "it's the whitest stone i've seen for three years," the colonel remarked coolly, and then, as with a new thought, he added,-"i believe it's whiter than the brazilian stone in my old ring. i should like to compare them, if you'll let me? the other stuff is in my dressing-room there; margaret, will you get it?" he gave her his keys, and taking a lamp from the shelf, she passed into the chamber which was behind me. in the same moment rudisic asked his host to prop him up higher upon the couch, and the colonel had just begun to place the pillows when i heard margaret's voice crying,-"father, i can't open the drawer--it's stuck; do come and help." it was an act of consummate folly--that i concede you; but i was so completely unaware of any signs of trickery here, and had so forgotten my fears, that i found it the most natural thing in the world to step into the room, and to enjoy helping the girl in her difficulty. i discovered her before an open door--the door of a wardrobe i thought it was for a moment, but i saw at the second look that it gave access to a tiny chamber, whereof the walls were all drawers. margaret klein herself stood within this curiously fashioned safe, built as part of the house, and was still struggling with the refractory drawer; so that i had no hesitation--nor, indeed, thought suspiciously--in going to her side. she laughed slyly as we stood in the semi-dark together, and my hand falling by chance on hers, she pressed it, and put her face very close to mine--so close, that to have resisted kissing her would have been a crime for which a man would have repented until his last day. i cannot tell accurately how long i held her in a passionate embrace, feeling her lips glued upon my own; but suddenly and quickly she pushed me from her with a surprising strength of arm, and before i could regain my balance she had sprung into the room, and the door of the small chamber in which i was left swung to with a clang, striking me backwards as it pressed upon me, and coming nigh to stunning me. so thick was this door, so impenetrable, that its closing was succeeded by the stillness of vault or catacomb. i had scarce realized the whole trick, or the terrible predicament sheer folly had placed me in, when i was plunged into the abyss of utter darkness, shut as it were into the coffin that had been prepared for me. a frightful panic, a hideous terror, an indescribable anger, came upon me from the very first moment of that fearful trial. for some minutes--the first minutes of imprisonment in a room where i could stand my height with difficulty, but whose iron sides my elbows touched as i turned--i think my reason must have been paralyzed. rage, shame of my folly, yet, above all, unsurpassable fear, drove me to beat with my fists upon the door, which gave me back the touch of solid steel; to cry out aloud as a man in the throes of painful death; to grind my teeth until pain shot into my brain; to forget, in fact, that i was from that time helpless, and that others alone could give to me life. when the first great terror had passed, and a mental struggle had left me with some sense, i leant against the steel door, and thought again of my fate. i had little science, yet i knew that the hours of any man, shut in an air-tight chamber such as that room of steel was, could be few. i had heard that asphyxiation was a peaceful death, and think i could have had courage to face it if a little light had been given to me. but i was in utter weighty darkness; i could not even see that dull red light as of one's own soul shining, which may come in the gentler dark of night. there was only upon me that sense of impenetrable blackness, the grim feeling that i had come to my coffin, had slept in it, and arisen to this unspeakable terror. my whole being then seemed to cry aloud for sight, one moment in which living light should again shine upon me. a great craving for air; a sense of terrible effort in the lungs, a rushing of blood to the head--these things succeeded, and as i suffered them flashes of thought came and passed, hope extended a hand to me, processes of reasoning told me that i should be saved, only to convince me the more that i should die. if i could have reasoned sanely i should have seen that my hope was all bound up in abel and the detective in the house. klein, and the invalid, and the girl--they had been gone long since, unless others had put hands upon them. my own servant, i knew, would seek for me first; but even if he came to the safe, how would he open it, how cut through these inches of steel before death had ended it all? it was even possible that the door of the strong room was a concealed door--and so afterwards i proved it to be. in that case, how would they know even of my necessity? these torturing reflections threw at last a glimmer of necessary activity upon my despair. i raised my voice, though i had then the strangest sensation in my veins, and my heart was pumping audibly; and for many minutes i shouted with all my strength. once i thought that i heard, even through the door, some sound from the other room; yet when i cried louder, and beat again upon the steel, there was no signal. i remained unheeded; my voice gradually failed me; i could cry no longer, but began to sink almost into a coma. how long this coma lasted i cannot tell. i was roused from it, after a hideous dream of waiting, by sounds of knocking upon some wall near me; and with a new strength i shouted again, and beat again upon the door of steel. yet, i knew that i was not heard, for the sound of the blows grew fainter and were passing away and life, which had come near again, seemed to pass with them. then was my supreme moment of misery, yet one giving an inspiration which brought me here to write this record. recoiling from the door as the knocks without grew fainter, i struck my back against the iron wall, and my pistol, which i had forgotten, pressed into my flesh. regardless of all thought of consequences, of the path of the bullet, or the effect upon me of the stifling smoke, i fired three rounds from the revolver into the room--and instantly was breathing the densest smoke. then a sudden faintness took me; and i recollect only that i fell forward into a world of light, and there slept. [illustration: "i fired three rounds from the revolver into the door." --_page 104_] * * * * * "the joke, was, seeing you living, mr. sutton, that abel swallowed the wine that butler gave him, and was made as insensibly drunk as a man who takes stage chloroform. i knew all along that the butler was the one to watch; and while i never thought they'd do you mischief in the room--believing they meant to work after midnight--my men in the grounds clapped the bracelets on the lank chap up by the woods there, and he had the diamond on him." "and the colonel and his daughter and the invalid?" i asked, raising myself in the bed of an upper chamber of the woodfields, on the foot of which sat my old friend, the detective of hyde park. "got clear away by a back staircase we'd never heard of, through a cellar and a passage to the lower grounds! they knocked old jimmy, the local policeman, on the head by the spinney, and all they left him was a bump as big as an orange. that girl must have had a liking for you. one of my men nearly took her as she jumped into a dog-cart; but she threw the keys in his face, and he brought them here. i knew nothing about this room, and shouldn't have done except for the ring of your revolver; but the last lord aberly built it to take his famous collection of rubies and emeralds, and that lag klein evidently heard of it, and leased the place furnished on that account." "how do you know that he was a swindler?" "i heard of him in new york when i was there last winter. he was wanted for the great mail robbery near st. louis. a clever scoundrel, too; deceived a heap of folk by forged letters of introduction, and the banks by leaving big deposits with them. he must be worth a pretty pile; but i don't doubt he came over here from america on purpose to steal your diamonds. he was out at the cape nine months ago, and got to hear all about the white creek stone. then he must have known that herbert klein, his supposed brother, and a real rich man of valparaiso, was away yachting in the pacific; and so he claimed him, and traded on his undoubted couple of million. a clever forger, and the other two with him nearly as smart. it was lucky for you that one of the grooms here had heard of a mysterious place in that dressing-room, and led me, when i missed you, to tap the walls. you were nearly done for, and though you don't know, you've been in bed pretty well a week." "and the man's daughter?" i asked, a little anxiously. "his daughter," he replied; "pshaw, she's his wife!--and we'll take the pair of them yet." but he never did, although the lank butler is now our guest at dartmoor. the accursed gems. the accursed gems. the accursed gems lie sedately in the lowest drawer of my strong room, shining from a couple of dozen of prim leather cases, with a light which is full of strange memories. i call them accursed because i cannot sell them; yet there are those with other histories, stones about which the fancy of romance has sported, and the strong hand of tragedy has touched with an indelible brand. it may be that the impulse of sentiment, working deep down in the heart of the ostensibly commercial character, forbids me to cry some of these wares in the market-place with any vigor; it may be that the play of chance moves the mind of the jewel-buyer to a prejudice against them. in any case, they lie in my safe unhonored and unsung--and, lacking that which sewell called the "precious balsam" of reputation, are merely so much carbon or mineral matter giving light to iron walls which give no light again. for the stones which have no history i am not an apologist. some day, those excellent people who now decry them in every salon where jewels are discussed, will give up the hope of attempting to buy them cheaply; and i shall make my profit. everything comes to him who _can_ wait, and i am not in a hurry. as to the others, which have been the pivots of romance or serious story, they may well lie as they are while they serve my memory in the jotting down of some of these mysteries. and that they do serve it i have no measure of doubt. here, for instance, is a little bag of pearls and diamonds. it contains a black pearl from koepang, so rich in silvery lustre, and so perfect in shape, that it should be worth eight hundred pounds in any market in europe; a couple of pink pearls from the bahamas, of fine orient yet pear-shaped, and therefore less valuable as fashion dictates; five old brazilian diamonds averaging two carats each; a number of smaller diamonds for finish; and two great white pearls, which i find at the very bottom of the bag. those stones were bought by the late lord maclaren a month before the date announced for his marriage with the hon. christine king. he had intended them as his gift to her, a handsome and sufficient gift, it must be admitted, yet so did fickle fortune work that his very generosity was the indirect cause of a commotion in the week of the wedding, and of as pretty a social scandal as society has known for a decade. the matter was hushed up of course. for six weeks, as a wag said, it was a nine days' wonder. aged ladies discussed it from every point of view, but could make nothing of it. the society papers lacked enough information to lie about it. the principal actors held their tongues, and in due time the west forgot, for a new scandal arose, and the courts supplied the craving for the doubtful, which is a part of polite education nowadays. yet i do not think that i make a boastful claim, in asserting that i alone, beyond those immediately concerned, became possessed of full knowledge of the occurrence. it was to me first of all that lord maclaren related the history of it, and, despite my advice to the contrary, laid it upon me that i should tell none in his lifetime. he is dead now, and the publication of the story will throw a light upon much that is well worth investigating. it may also help me to sell the pearls, which is infinitely more important, as any unprejudiced person will admit. here then is the story. i had a visit from the chief actor in it towards the end of june in the year 1890. he came to tell me that he was to be married quietly in the middle of the following month to the hon. christine king, the very beautiful sister of lord cantiliffe. she was then staying at the old family place at st. peter's, in kent; and she wished to avoid a public wedding in view of the recent death of her sister, whose beauty was no less remarkable than her own. maclaren's visit was but the prelude to the purchase of a present, and the business was made the easier since he had the simplest notions as to his requirements. he had recently come from america--without a wife _mirabile dictu_--and there had seen a curious anchor bracelet. the wristband of this bauble was formed of a plain gold cable, the anchor itself of pearls and diamonds; the shackle consisted of a small circle of brilliants; the shaft had a pink pearl at either end; the shank had a black pearl at the foot of it, and the flukes were of white pearls with small diamonds round them. i found it to be rather a vulgar ornament; but his heart was set on having it, and it chanced that i had the very pearls necessary. i told him that i would make him a model, and send it down to his hotel at ramsgate within a week; and that, if he then thought the jewel to be over showy, we could refashion it. he left much pleased, returning by the granville express to kent; and within the week he had the model; and i received his instructions to proceed with the work. it is necessary, i think, to say a word here about this curious character. at the time i knew him, maclaren was a man in his fortieth year, though he looked older. he was once vulgarly described in a club smoking-room as being "all hair and teeth," like a buzzard; and his best friend could not have ranked him with the handsome. yet the women liked him--perhaps because it was a tradition that he made love to every pretty girl in town; and it was surprising beyond belief that he reached his fortieth year, and remained single. when he went to america in 1888 the whole of the prophets gave him six months of celibacy; but he cheated them, and returned without a wife. true, a copy of an american society paper was passed round the club, where the men learnt with surprise that new york had believed this elderly don juan to be engaged to evelyn lenox, "the lady of the unlimited dollars," as young barisbroke of the bachelors' called her; and had been very indignant when he took passage by the _teutonic_, and left her people to face the titters of a triumphant rivalry. but for all that he was not married, and could afford to laugh at the malignant scribes who made couplets of his supposed amatory adventures in boston; and dedicated sonnets of apology, "_pro amore mea_," to e---l---and the marrying mothers of new york generally. such a man cared little for the threats of this young lady's brother, or for the common rumor that she was the most dashing girl in new york city, and would make things unpleasant for him. he had twenty thousand a year, and for _fiancée_ one of the prettiest roses in the whole garden of kent. what harm then could a broker's daughter, three thousand miles away, do to him? or how mar his happiness? but i am anticipating, and must hark back to the anchor with the flukes of pearl. i sent the model down on wednesday; on the friday morning i received the order to proceed with the work. early on the following monday, as i read my paper in a cab on the way to bond street, i saw a tremendous headline which announced the "sudden and mysterious disappearance of lord maclaren." the report said that he had left his hotel on the saturday afternoon to walk, as the supposition went, to st. peters. but he had never reached lord cantiliffe's house; and although search had been made by the police and by special coastguard parties, no trace of him had been found. i need scarcely say that the murder theory was set up at once. clever men from town came down to wag their heads with stupid men from canterbury, and to discuss the "only possible theory," of which there were a dozen or more. the police arrested all the drunken men within a radius of ten miles, and looked for bloodstains on their coats. the hon. christine king was spoken of as "distracted," which was possible; and the family of the missing nobleman as "plunged into the most profound grief." nor, as an eloquent special reporter in his best mood explained, was this supposed tragedy made less painful by the knowledge that the unhappy victim of accident or of murder was to have been married within the month. for a whole week the press had no other topic; the police telegraphed to all the capitals; a reward of a thousand pounds was offered for knowledge of lord maclaren, "last seen upon the east cliff at ramsgate at three o'clock on the afternoon of saturday, the fifth of july." a hundred tongues gave you the exact details of an imagined assassination; ten times that number--and these tongues chiefly feminine--told you that he had shirked the marriage upon its very threshold. but the mystery remained unexplained--and as the day for the wedding drew near, the excitement amongst a section of society rose to fever heat. had the body been found? had the detectives a clue? were the strange hints--implying that the missing man had quarrelled with his _fiancée's_ brother, and thrown a glass of wine in his face; that he had a wife in algiers; that he was married a year ago at cyprus; that he was bankrupt--merely the fable of malicious tongues, or had they that germ of truth from which so vast a disease of scandal can grow? i made no pretence to answer the questions--but they interested me, and i watched for the development of the story with the keenness of a hardened novel reader. the day fixed for the wedding now drew near; and when the bridegroom did not appear, the vulgar, who do not believe scandals though they like to hear them, declared that the murder theory was true beyond question. the rest said that he was either bankrupt or bigamist--and having consoled themselves with the reflection, they let the matter go. it is likely that i should have done the same had i not enjoyed a solution of the mystery, which came to me unsought and accidentally. on a day near to that fixed for the wedding i was at victoria station about eight o'clock in the evening when i ran full upon the missing nobleman; and for some while stood speechless with astonishment at the sight of him. his beard was longer than ever, recalling the traditions of killingworthe or of johann mayo; his dundreary whiskers were shaggy and unkempt; he was very pale in the face, and wore a little yachting cap and a blue serge suit which begarbed him ridiculously. he had no luggage with him, not even a valise; and his first remark was given in the voice of a man afraid, and in a measure broken. "ah, sutton, that's you, is it?" he cried. "i'm glad to see you, by jove; have you such a thing as half-a-crown in your pocket?" i offered him half-a-sovereign, still saying nothing; but he continued rapidly,-"you've heard all about it, of course--what are they saying here now? do they think i'm a dead man, eh?--but i won't face them yet. upon my life, i dare not see a soul. come with me to an hotel; there's a good fellow--but let's have a cognac first; i'm shivering like a child with a fever." i gave him some brandy at a bar, and after that we took a four-wheeled cab--he insisting on the privacy--and drove to a private hotel in cecil-street, strand. they did not know him there, and i engaged a room for him and ordered dinner, taking these things upon myself, since he was as helpless as a babe. after the meal he seemed somewhat better, and i telegraphed to ramsgate for his man, though it was impossible that the fellow could be with him until the following morning. in the meantime i found myself doing valet's work for him--but i had his story; and although it was not until some months later that another supplied some of the missing links in it, he telling me the barest outline, i will set it down here plainly as a narrative, and without any of those "says i's" and "says he's," which were the particular abomination of defoe, as they have been of many since his day. the complete explanation of this mystery was one, i think, to astonish most people. it was so utterly unlooked for, that i was led at the first hearing to believe the narrator insane. he told me that at three o'clock on the afternoon of july 5th, he had left his hotel on the east cliff at ramsgate--the day being glorious, and a full sun playing upon the channel and many ships--and had determined to walk over to st. peters, where his _fiancée_ expected him to a tennis party. with this intention, he struck along the cliff towards broadstairs, but had gone only a few paces, when a seaman stopped him, and touching his hat respectfully, said that he had a message for him. "well, my man, what is it?" maclaren asked--i had the dialogue from the seaman himself--being in a hurry as those who walk the ways of love usually are. "my respects to your honor," replied the fellow, "but the ketch _bowery_, moored off the pier-head, 'ud be glad to see your honor if convenient, and if not, maybe to-morrow?" "what the devil does the man mean?" cried his lordship, but the seaman plucking up courage continued,-"an old friend of your honor's for sure he is, my guv'ner, abraham burrow, what you had the acquaintance of in new york city." "well, and why can't he come ashore? i remember the man perfectly--i have every cause to"--a true remark, since abraham burrow then owed the speaker some two thousand pounds; and had shown no unprincipled desire to pay it. "the fact is, my lordship," replied the seaman, whose vocabulary was american and strange, "the fact is he's tidy sick, on his beam ends, i guess with brounchitis; and he won't be detaining you not as long as a bosun's whistle if you go aboard, and be easin' of him." now, although this comparatively juvenile lover was in a mighty hurry to get to st. peter's, there was yet a powerful financial motive to send him to the ship. he had done business with this abraham burrow in america; the man had--we won't say swindled--but been smart enough there to relieve him of a couple of thousand pounds. to hope for the recovery of such a sum seemed as childish as a sigh for the moon. maclaren had not seen burrow for twelve months, and did not know a moment before this meeting whether he was alive or dead. yet here he was in a yacht off ramsgate harbor, desiring to see his creditor, and to see him immediately. the latter reflected that such a visit would not occupy half an hour of his time, that it might lead to the recovery of some part of his money, that he could make his excuses to the pretty girl awaiting him--in short, he went with the seaman; and in a quarter of an hour he stepped on board an exceeding well-kept yacht, which lay beyond the buoy over against the east pier; and all his trouble began. the craft, as i have said, was ketch rigged, and must have been of seventy tons or more. there was a good square saloon aft, and a couple of tiny cabins, the one amidships, the other at the poop. when lord maclaren went aboard, three seamen and a boy were the occupants of the deck; but a king charles spaniel barked at the top of the companion; and a steward came presently and asked the visitor to go below. he descended to the saloon at this; but the sick man, they told him, lay in the fore cabin; and thither he followed his very obsequious guide. i had the account of this episode and of much that follows from two sources, one a man i met in new york last summer, the other, the victim of the singularly american conspiracy. lord maclaren's account was simple--"as there's a heaven above me, sutton," said he, "i'd no sooner put my foot in the hole when the door was slammed behind me, and bolted like a prison gate." the american said, "i guess the old boy had hardly walked right in, before they'd hitched up the latch, and he was shouting glory. then the skipper let the foresail go--for the ketch was only lyin'-to, and in ten minutes he was standing out down the channel. but you never heard such a noise as there was below in all your days. talk about a sheet and pillow-case party in an insane asylum, that's no word for it." the fact that the "illustrious nobleman," as the penny society papers called him, was trapped admitted of no question. he realized it himself in a few moments, and sat down to wonder, "who and why the devil, etc.," in five languages. i need scarcely say that the thing was an utter and inexplicable mystery to him. he thought at first that robbery was the motive, for he had the model of the bracelet upon him; and as he sat alone in the cabin, he really feared personal violence. he told me that he waited to see the door open, and a villain enter, armed with colt or knuckleduster, after the traditional adelphian mood; but a couple of hours passed and no one came, and after that the only interruption to his meditation was the steward's knock upon the cabin door, and his polite desire to know "will my lord take tea?" "my lord" told him to carry his tea to a latitude where high temperatures prevail; and after that, continued to kick lustily at the door, and to make original observations upon the owner of the yacht, and upon her crew, until the light failed. yet no one heeded him; and when it was dark the roll of the yacht to the seas made him sure that they stood well out, and were beating with a stiff breeze. unto this point, temper had dominated him; but now a quiet yet very deep alarm took its place. he began to ask himself more seriously if his position were not one of great danger, if he had not to face some mysterious but very daring enemy--even if he were like to come out of the adventure with his life. yet his mind could not bring to his recollection any deed that had merited vindictive anger on the part of another; nor was he a blamable man as the world goes. he paid his debts--every three years; he was amongst the governors of five fashionable charities, and the only scandalous case which concerned him was arranged between the lawyers on the eve of its coming into court. the matrons told you that he was "a dear delightful rogue"; the men said that he was "a cunning old dog"; and between them agreed that he had read the commandments at least. possibly, however, those hours of solitude in the cabin compelled him to think rather of his vices than of his virtues--and it may be that the fear was so much the more real as his shortcomings were secret. be that as it may, he assured me that he had never suffered so much as he did during that strange imprisonment, and that he cried almost with delight when the door of the cabin opened, and he saw the table of the saloon set for dinner, and light falling upon it from a handsome lamp below the skylight. during one delicious moment he thought himself the victim of a well-meaning practical joker--the next his limbs were limp as cloth, and he sank upon a cushioned seat with a groan which must have been heard by the men above. this scene has been so faithfully described to me that i can see it as clearly as though i myself stood amongst the players. on the one hand, a pretty little american girl, with hands clasped and malicious laughter about her rosy mouth; on the other, a shrinking, craven, abject shadow of a man, cowering upon the cushions of a sofa, in blank astonishment, and hiding his view of her with bony fingers. at a glance you would have said that the girl was not twenty--but she was twenty-three, the picture of youth, with the color of the sea-health upon her cheeks, the spray of the sea-foam glistening in her rich brown hair. she had upon her head a little hat of straw poised daintily; her dress was of white serge with a scarf of yacht-club colors at the throat; but her feet were the tiniest in the world, and the brown shoes which hid them not unfit for an artist's model. and as she stood laughing at the man who had become her guest upon the yacht, her attitude would have made the fortune of half the painters in hampstead. the two faced each other thus silently for a few minutes, but she was the first to speak, her voice overflowing with rippling laughter. "well," she said, "i call this real good of you, my lord, to come on my yacht--when you were just off to the other girl--and your wedding's fixed for the eighteenth of july. my word, you're the kindest-hearted man in europe." he looked up at her, some shame marked in his eyes, and he said,-"evelyn, i--i--never thought it was you!" "then how pleased you must be. oh, i'm right glad, i tell you; i'm just as pleased as you are. to think that we've never met since you left n'york in such a flurry that you hadn't time even to send me a line--but of course you men are so busy and so smart that girls don't count, and i knew you were just dying to see me, and i sent the boat off saying it was old burrow--how you love burrow!--and here you are, my word!" she spoke laboring under a heavy excitement, so that her sentences flowed over one another. but he could scarce find a coherent word, and began to tremble as she went on,-"you'll stay awhile, of course, and--why, you're as pale as spectres, i guess. now if you look like that i shall begin to think that we're not the old friends we were in n'york a year ago, and walk right upstairs to arthur. you remember my brother arthur, of course you do. he was your particular friend, wasn't he?--but how you boys quarrel. they really told me two months ago in the city that arthur was going in the shooting business with you. fancy that now, and at your age." this sentence revealed what was lacking in the character of the girl; it showed that malicious, if rather low and vulgar, cunning which prompted the whole of this adventure; and it betrayed a revenge which was worthy of a frenchwoman. maclaren had but to hear the harsh ring of the voice to know that the girl who had threatened him months ago in new york had met her opportunity, and that she would use it to the last possibility. every word that she uttered with such meaning vehemence cut him like a knife; his hair glistened with the drops of perspiration upon it; his right hand was passed over his forehead as though some heat was tormenting his brain. and as her voice rose shrilly, only to be modulated to the pretence of suavity again, he blurted out,-"evelyn, what are you going to do?" "i--my dear lord maclaren--i am entirely in your hands; you are my guest, i reckon, and even in america we have some idea of what that means. now, would you like to play cards after dinner, or shall we have a little music?" the steward entered the cabin at this moment, and the conversation being interrupted, maclaren chanced to see that the companion was free. a wild idea of appealing to the captain of the yacht came to him, and he made a sudden move to mount the ladder. he had but taken a couple of steps, however, when a lusty young fellow, perhaps of twenty-five years of age, barred the passage, and pushed him with some roughness into the cabin again. the man closed the long, panelled door behind him; and then addressed the unwilling guest. "ah, maclaren, so that's you--devilish good of you to come aboard, i must say." the newcomer was evelyn lenox's brother, the owner of the ketch _bowery_. he acted his part in the comedy with more skill than his sister, having less personal interest in it; indeed, amusement seemed rather to hold him than earnestness. it was perfectly clear to maclaren, however, that he would stand no nonsense; and seeing that a further exhibition of feeling would not help him one jot, the unhappy prisoner succumbed. when the dinner was put upon the table, he found himself sitting down to it mechanically, and as one in a dream. it was an excellent meal to come from a galley; and it was made more appetizing by the wit and sparkle of the girl who presided, and who acted her _rôle_ to such perfection. she seemed to have forgotten her anger, and cloaked her malice with consummate art. she was a well-schooled flirt--and her victim consoled himself with the thought, "they will put me ashore in the morning, and i can make a tale." by ten o'clock he found himself laughing over a glass of whisky and soda. by eleven he was dreaming that he stood at the altar in the church of st. peter's and that two brides walked up the aisle together. * * * * * the next picture that i have to show you of maclaren is one which i am able to sketch from a full report of certain events happening on the evening of his wedding day. the yacht lay becalmed some way out in the bay of the somme; the sea had the luster of a mirror, golden with a flawless sheen of brilliant light which carried the dark shadows of smack-hulls and flapping lug-sails. there was hardly a capful of wind, scarce an intermittent breath of breeze from the land; and the crew of the _bowery_ lay about the deck smoking with righteous vigor, as they netted or stitched, or indulged in those seemingly useless occupations which are the delight of sailors. often however, they stayed their work to listen to the rise and fall of sounds in the saloon aft; and once, when maclaren's voice was heard almost in a scream, one of them, squirting his tobacco juice over the bulwarks, made the sapient remark, "well, the old cove's dander is riz now, anyway." the scene below was played vigorously. evelyn lenox sat upon the sofa, her arms resting upon the cabin table, her bright face positively alight with triumph. maclaren stood before her with clenched hands and gnashing teeth. arthur, the brother, was smoking a pipe and pretending to read a newspaper, leaving the conversation to his guest, who had no lack of words. "good god, evelyn," he said, "you cannot mean to keep me here any longer--to-morrow's my wedding day!" she answered him very slowly. "how interesting! i remember the time, not so long ago, when my wedding day was fixed--and postponed." he did not heed the rebuke, but continued cravenly,-"you do not seem to understand that your brother and yourself have perpetrated upon me an outrage which will make you detested in every country in europe. great heaven! the whole town will laugh at me. i shan't have a friend in the place; i shall be cut at every club, as i'm a living man." the girl listened to him, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of it. "did you never stop to think," said she, "when you left america, like the coward you were, that people would laugh at me, too, and i should never be able to look my friends in the face again? why, even in the newspapers they held me up to ridicule when my heart was breaking. you speak of suffering; well, i have suffered." her mood changed, as the mood of women does--suddenly. the feminine instinct warred against the actress, and prevailed. she began to weep hysterically, burying her head in her arms; and a painful silence fell on the man. he seemed to wait for her to speak; but when she did so, anger had succeeded, and she rose from her place and stamped her foot, while rage seemed to vibrate in her nerves. "why do i waste my time on you?" she cried; "you who are not worth an honest thought. pshaw! 'lord maclaren, illustrious nobleman and great sportsman'"--she was quoting from an american paper--"go and tell them that for ten days you have humbled yourself to me, and have begged my pity on your knees. go and tell them that my crew have held their sides when the parts have been changed, and you have been the woman. oh, they shall know, don't mistake that; your wife shall read it on her wedding tour. i will send it to her myself, i, who have brought the laugh to my side now, scion of a noble house. go, and take the recollection of your picnic here as the best present i can give to you." i was told that maclaren looked at her for some moments in profound astonishment when she pointed to the cabin door. then, without a word, he went on deck, to find the yacht's boat manned and waiting for him. he said himself that many emotions filled him as he stepped off the yacht--anger at the outrage, desire for revenge, but chiefly the emotions of the thought, was there time to reach st. peter's for the wedding ceremony? he did not doubt that lies would save him from the american woman, if things so happened that he could reach england by the morning of the next day. but could he? where was he? where was he to be put ashore? he asked the men at the oars these questions in a breath, standing up for one moment as the boat pushed off to shake his fist at the yacht, and cry, "d--n you all!" but the answer that he got did not reassure him. he was to be put ashore, the seaman said, at crotoy, the little town on a tongue of land in the bay of the somme. there was a steamer thence once a day to saint valery, from which point he could reach boulogne by rail. he realized in a moment that all his hope depended on catching the steamer. if she had not sailed, he would arrive at boulogne before sunset, and, if need were, could get across by the night mail and a special train from folkestone. but if she had sailed! this possibility he dared not contemplate. the men were now rowing rapidly towards the shore, whose sandy dunes and flat outlines were becoming marked above the sea-line. the yacht lay far out, drifting on a glassy mirror of water; the sun was sinking with great play of yellow and red fire in the arc of the west. maclaren had then, however, no thought for nature's pictures, or for seascapes. one burning anxiety alone troubled him--had the steamer sailed? he offered the men ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred pounds if they would catch her. the remark of one of them that she left on the top of the tide begot in him a mad eagerness to learn the hour of high-water; but none of those with him could remember it. he found himself swaying his body in rhythm with the oars as coxswains do; or standing up to look at the white houses shorewards. another half-hour's rowing brought him a sight of the pier; he shouted out with a laugh that might have come from a jackal when he saw that the steamer was moored against it, and that smoke was pouring heavily from her funnels. "men," he said, "if you catch that boat, i'll give you two hundred and fifty pounds!" and later on their lethargy moved him to such disjointed exclamations as "for the love of heaven, get on to it!" "now, then, a little stronger--fine fellows, all of you--a marriage depends upon this." "i'll give you a gold watch apiece, as i'm alive." "by----, she's moving--no, she isn't, there's time yet, if you'll put your backs on to it--time, time--oh, lord, what a crawl, what a cursed crawl!" if one had peered into the faces of the yachtsmen critically, one might have detected the ripples of smirks about their lips; but maclaren could not take his eyes away from the steamer, and the import of the suppressed amusement was lost upon him. the little town of crotoy, with the garish _établissement des bains_, the picturesque church, and the time-wrecked ramparts escarped by the ceaseless play of currents, was then not half a mile away; but a bell was ringing on the pier, and there was all the hurry and the press known in "one packet" or "one train" towns. those who had much to do did it slowly, that they might enjoy leisure to blow whistles or to shout; those who had little atoned by great displays of ineffective activity. some ran wildly to and fro near the steamer; others bawled incomprehensible ejaculations, and incited, both those who were to leave by the ship, and those who were not, to hurry, or they would be late. presently the little passenger steamer whistled with a hoarse and lowing shriek, and cast foam behind her wheels. maclaren observed the motion, and cried out as a man in pain, waving his arms wildly. those on shore mistook as much as they could see of his surprising signals for a parting salute to the vessel; and she left ten minutes after her time--without him. he was hot from the battle of excitement, rivulets of perspiration trickling upon his face; but he had breath to curse the crew of the yacht's boat for five minutes when he stepped ashore; and the request of the coxswain to drink his health stirred up uncounted gifts for oath-making within him. in a quarter of an hour he was raving about the town of crotoy, threatening to do himself injury if a boat were not forthcoming to carry him to st. valery, whence he could get train to boulogne. but the day was nigh gone, and the local seamen were at their homes. few cared for his commission, and the man who took it ultimately set him down just twenty minutes after the last train had left. * * * * * the accounts given in the society papers for the abandonment of the wedding between lord maclaren and the hon. christine king were many. the true one is found in the simple statement that his lordship did not reach england until the evening of the day which had been fixed for the ceremony. so the presents were returned--and i kept the pearls which were to have made the famous anchor bracelet. and when i think the matter over, i cannot wonder at maclaren's hatred of them, or of his wish that i should burn them. "sutton," he said, "i was more than a fool. i ought to have remembered that evelyn lenox was with me when i saw the piece of stuff similar to that i wanted you to make. why, i got the very notion of it from her, and it was only when one of your idiots let a society journalist know what you were doing for me that she heard of the marriage, and of my being at ramsgate." but the rest of his remarks were purely personal. the watch and the scimitar. the watch and the scimitar. the city of algiers, the beautiful el djzaïr, as the guide-book maker calls it, has long ceased to charm the true son of the east, _blasé_ with the nomadic fulness of the ultimate levant, or charged with those imaginary oriental splendors which are nowhere writ so large as in the catalogues and advertisements of the later day upholsterer. this is not the fault of the new icosium, as any student of the moorish town knows well; nor is it to be laid to the account of the french usurpation, and that strange juncture of frank and fatma, which has brought the boulevard to the city of the corsairs and banished mohammed to the shadow of the kasbah. rather, it is the outcome of coupons and of co-operative enthusiasm, which sends the roamer to many lands, of which he learns the names, and amongst many people with whose customs he claims familiarity. to know algiers, something more than a three days' _pension_ in the hôtel de la régence is necessary; though that is the temporal limit for many who return to kensington or mayfair to protest that "it is so french, you know." i can recollect well the monitions and advice which i received two years gone when i ventured a voyage to burmah--in the matter of the ruby interest--and determined to see cairo, tunis, and the city of mosques on my return westward. many told me that i would do better to reach jaffa and jerusalem, others advised the seven churches of asia; many spoke well of rhodes; all agreed, whether they had been there or whether they had not, that algiers was eaten up with chauvinism, and scarce worthy a passing call. barisbroke at the club, who is always vigorous in persuading other people not to do things, summed it up in one of his characteristically inane jokes. "it's had its dey," said he, and buried himself in his paper as though the project ended then and there upon his own _ipse dixit_. this marked and decided consensus of opinion could have had but one result--it sent me to the town of hercules at the first opportunity. if the truth is to be told, the visit was in some part one of pleasure, but in the more part a question of sequins. i had done well in the remoter east, and had sent some fine parcels of rubies, sapphires, and pearls to bond street; but a side-wind of curiosity casting me up upon the shores of tunis, i had bought there, in the house of a very remarkable jew, a bauble whose rival in strange workmanship and splendor of effect i have not yet met with. it was, to describe it simply, the model of a moorish scimitar perhaps four inches long, the sheath exquisitely formed of superb brilliants, the blade itself of platinum, and in the haft not only a strange medley of stones, but a little watch with a thin sheet of very fine pearl for a face, and a superb diamond as the cup of the hands. although the jewels in this were worth perhaps five hundred pounds, the workmanship was so fine, and the whole bauble had such an original look, that i paid eight hundred pounds for it cheerfully, and thought myself lucky to get it at that. what is more to the point, however, is the fact that the hazard which gave me the possession of the scimitar sent me also to algiers to hunt there for like curiosities--and in the end brought me a large knowledge of the moorish town, and nearly cost me my life. i had intended to stay in the town for three days, but on the very evening of my coming to the hôtel d'orleans in the boulevard de la republique, i met a french lieutenant of artillery, a man by name eugene chassaigne; an exceedingly pleasant fellow, and one who had some arabic, but small appreciation of anything beyond the "to-day" of life. he laughed at my notion of buying anything in the upper city, and urged me not to waste time plodding in dirty bazaars and amongst still dirtier dealers. for himself his one idea was to be _dans le mouvement_; but he brought me to know, on the second day of my visit, a singularly docile moor, sidi ben ahmed by name; and told me that if i still persisted in my intention, the fellow would serve well for courier, valet, or in any office i chose to place him. and in this he spoke no more than the truth, as i was very soon to prove. i have always thought when recalling this sheep-like moor to my recollection, that the prophet had done him a very poor turn in locating him so far away from the blessings of company-promotion and rickety building societies. his face would have been his fortune at any public meeting; and as for thoroughness, his love of detail was amazing. before i had been in his hands for twenty-four hours he knew me; being able to tell you precisely how much linen i carried, the number of gold pieces in my purse, my taste in fish and fruits, my object in coming to his country. and this was vexatious; for all the vendors of benares ware fashioned in birmingham, all the sellers of gaudy burnouses, the hucksters of the tawdriest carpets and the most flimsy scimitars, held concert on the steps of the hotel every time i showed my face within twenty paces of the door. sidi alone was immobile, stolid "_nom d'un chien_--they are _blagueurs_ all," said he; and i agreed with him. if these things troubled my man, the jewel i had purchased in tunis troubled him still more. how he learned that i had it heaven alone could tell; but he did not fail to come to me at _déjeuner_ each morning and to repeat with unfailing regularity the monition, "if allah wills, the jewel is stolen." i used to tolerate this at first; but in the end he exasperated me; and upon the seventh morning i showed him the model and said emphatically, "sidi, you will please to observe that allah does not will the loss of the jewel--let us change the subject." he gave me no answer, but on the next morning i had from him the customary greeting--and the laugh was all upon his side, for the scimitar was gone. i say that the laugh was with sidi, but in very truth i do not believe that this worthy fellow ever laughed in his life. he possessed a stolid immobility of countenance that would have remained in repose even at the sound of the last trumpet. the intelligence which i conveyed to him, i doubt not with pathetic anger, and much bad language, moved him no more than the soft south wind moved the statue of the first governor-general out by the mosque there. he examined my ravished bag with a provoking silence; muttered a few pessimistic sentences in arabic; and then fell back upon the koran and the platitudes of his prophet. if he had been an englishman, i should have suspected him without hesitation; but he bore such a character, he had been so long a servant of the hotel, he was by his very stolidity so much above doubt, that this course was impossible; and being unable to accuse him, i bade him take me to the nearest bureau of police, that i might satisfy my conscience with the necessary farce. this he did without a protest, but i saw that he looked upon me with a pitying gaze, as one looks upon a child that is talking nonsense. although i flatter myself that i concealed my annoyance under a placid exterior, this loss affected me more than i cared to tell. for one thing, the jewel was very valuable (i was certain that i could have obtained a thousand pounds for it in bond street); i was convinced, moreover, that i should hardly discover its fellow if i searched europe through. during my stay at the hôtel d'orleans i had kept it locked in a well-contrived leather pouch in my traveling trunk; and as this pouch had been opened with my own keys it was evident that the thief had access to my bedroom during the night--a conclusion which led me to think again of this stolid moor, and to declare that the case against him was singularly convincing. so strong, in fact, were my suspicions that i made it my first care to go to the _maître_ of the hotel and to demand satisfaction from him with all the justifiable indignation which fitted the case. when he heard my tale, his face would have given rembrandt a study. "how?" said he. "monsieur is robbed, and _chez-moi_?" i repeated that i was, and told him that if he did not recover the bauble in twenty-four hours, consequences would follow which would be disastrous to his establishment. then i asked him frankly about the moor sidi; but he protested with tears in his eyes that he would as soon accuse his own mother. he did not deny that some one in his house might know something about it; and presently he had marshaled the whole of his servants in the central court, addressing them with the fierce accusation of a _juge d'instruction_. it is superfluous to add that we made no headway, and that all his "desolation" left me as far from the jewels i had lost as i was at the beginning of it. from the hotel to the bureau of the police was an easy transition, but a very hopeless one. a number of extremely polite, and elaborately braided, officials heard me with interest and pity; and having covered some folios of paper with notes declared that nothing could be done. for themselves, their theory was that the moor sidi had been talking about my treasure, and that some other domestic in the hôtel de la régence had opened my door while i slept and got possession of the ornament with little risk. but that any one should recover the property was in their idea a preposterous assumption. "it is on its way to paris," said one of them as he closed his note-book with a snap, "and there's an end of it. we shall, without doubt, watch the servants of the hotel closely for some time, but that should not encourage you. it is possible that the man mohammed, the porter of the place, may know something of the affair. we shall have his house searched to-day, but, my friend, _ne vous montez pas la tête_, we are not in paris, and the upper town is worse than a beehive. i am afraid that your hope of seeing the thing again is small." i was afraid so, too; but being accustomed to strange losses and to strange recoveries, i determined to venture something in the hazard, and to remain in algiers for a few weeks, at any rate. the most difficult part of my work lay in my ignorance of the city, and in that matter sidi alone could help me. every day we went with measured and expectant tread through that labyrinth of fantastic and half-dark streets, where repulsive hags grin at the wickets below, and dark eyes coquette at the gratings above; every day we delved in booths and bazaars, we haggled with the jewel sellers, we bartered with the gold workers, but to no purpose. i had come to think at last that the loss was not worth further trouble; and had made up my mind to return to london, when i recollected with some self-reproach that i had as yet neglected one of the very simplest means to grapple with the occasion--that i had, in fact, offered no reward for the recovery of the jeweled scimitar, and to this omission owed, i did not doubt, the utter absence of clue or conviction. when i was yet angry with myself at this absurd oversight i had a second thought which was even more useful, and one to which i owed much before i had done with the matter. i remembered that the french police had set down my loss to the loud talk of sidi amongst the others at the hotel. why, then, i asked, should not this man also scatter the tidings that i would give so many hundreds of francs for the recovery of the scimitar? no sooner had i got the idea than i acted upon it. "sidi," said i, when he came to me on the next morning, "i have heard much of your cleverness, but you have not yet found my property; now i will give a thousand francs to the man who brings it here within a week." to my utter surprise he bowed his head with his old gravity, and answered, "if allah wills, the jewel is found." this was amazing, no doubt, and in its way a triumph of impudence. if he could find it with that ease, then he must have known by whom it was stolen. i turned upon him at once with the accusation, but he stood with the gravity of granite and responded to all my threats with the simple greeting, as of a father to a son,-"and upon you be peace." to have argued with such a rogue would have been as useful as a demonstration in theology before a mollah; to have accused him boldly of the theft would have been absurd, even had i not possessed such a wealth of testimony in his favor. i sent him about his business, therefore, and went in search of my friend chassaigne, who had been away since i lost the trinket, but was then at the arsenal again. the lieutenant took the news with edifying calmness, but assured me that i had at last taken the only course which was at all likely to result in success. "our friend the moor," said he, "is the most honorable of his kind in algiers, where all are rogues. i do not believe for a moment that he stole the jewels, although his father, his uncle, or his own brother may have done so. your reward may tempt him to return them if the police set up a hue and cry; but if he suggests that you go up in the old town to receive them, tell him you will do nothing of the sort. there are far too many dark eyes and sharp knives there for an englishman's taste, and a moor still has claims in paradise for every frank he sticks. if you took the other course, and sought your money from this hotel-keeper, he would bring a hundred to swear that you did not lose the stones in the hotel, and you would be where you are. it's annoying to adopt a _laissez aller_ policy, but i fear you can do nothing else." i thought that he was right, but my habitual obstinacy was all upon me, and i found myself as much determined to recover the jewels i had lost as if they had been worth ten thousand pounds. i was quite sure that the police would do nothing, and save that they informed me in a cumbrous document that they had searched the house of mohammed the porter, and of five others, my surmise proved a true one. it was left to sidi, and for sidi i waited on the morning of the ninth day with an expectancy which was unwarrantably large. he came to me at his usual hour, eight o'clock, and when he had salaamed, he said,-"if allah is willing, the jewel is found--but the money is not enough." "not enough!" said i, choking almost with anger, "the money is not enough! why, you brazen-faced blackguard, what do you mean?" he replied with an appeal to the beard of the prophet, and an evident word of contempt for my commercial understanding. the irony of the whole situation was so great, and his immobility so stupendous, that i quickly forbore my anger and said,-"very well, sidi, we will make it fifteen hundred francs." and with that he went off again, and i saw him no more until the next day, when he repeated the _incha alläh_ and the intimation that the price was too low. on this occasion my anger overcame me. i seized him by the throat, and shaking him roughly, said,-"you consummate rascal, i believe you have the jewels all the time; if you don't bring them in an hour, i will take you to the police myself." my anger availed me no more than my forbearance. it did but awaken that inherent dignity before which i cowed; and when i had done with him, he left me and came no more for three days. on the third morning when he returned he looked at me with reproach marked in his deep black eyes; and raising his hands to heaven he protested once more in the old words, and to the old conclusion. i was then so wearied of the very sound of his voice that i took him by the shoulders and held him down upon an ottoman until he would consent to bargain with me, shekel by shekel for the return of my gems; and in the end he consented to make me the longest speech that i had yet had from his lips. "by the beard of my father," said he, "i protest to milord that neither i nor my people have the precious thing he wots of; but the dog of a thief, upon whose head be desolation, is known to me. for money he took the jewel, for money he shall lay it again at milord's feet; yet not here, but in the house of his people, where none shall see and none shall know." a long argument, and some fine bargaining, enabled me to get to the bottom of the whole story; but only under a solemn oath that the keeping of the secret should be shared by no one. with much fine recital and many appeals to the holy marabouts to bear witness, sidi demonstrated that the thief was no other than mohammed the porter, who had the stone hidden with extraordinary cunning, and from whom it was to be got only at my own personal risk. "under the shadow of the kasbah it lies," said he; "under the shadow of the kasbah must you seek it with those i shall send to you, and no others. obey them in all things; be silent when they are silent, speak when they speak, fly and lose not haste when they bid you fly." this was all very vague, but a deeper acquaintance with his purpose made it the more clear. in answer to my question why he could not bring the jewel to the hotel, he said that it would never be surrendered except to a certain force; and with that force he would supply me. he himself seemed to be under an oath to bear no hand to the emprise; and he was emphatic in laying down the condition that i must go absolutely alone; or, said he, "the hand of fatma shall not be passed nor that which you seek come to you." now, the proper spirit in which to have received this suggestion would have been that of an uncompromising negative. chassaigne had cautioned me particularly against going into the old town, and here was i hearkening to a proposition to visit it not only by night, but in the company of those who possibly were honest, but more possibly were cut-throats. i knew well enough what he would say to the venture; and truly i was much disposed to refuse it at the beginning, and to go to london as i had at first intended. this i told sidi, and he gave me for answer a shrug of the shoulders, which implied that if i did, my property, for which i hoped to get a thousand pounds, would certainly remain behind me. nor did threats and entreaties move him one iota from his position, neither on that day nor on the next two; so that i saw in the end that i had better decide quickly, or take ship and fly a city of indolent frenchmen and rascally moors. it would prove tedious to recount to you the various processes of reasoning by which, finally, i found myself of a mind to court this hazard and agreed to sidi's terms. he on his part had vouched for my safety; and after all, the man who ever wraps his life in cotton-wool, as it were, must see little beyond the stuffy box on his own habitation. here was a chance to see the moors _chez-eux_, possibly to risk a broken head with them; in any case, a chance which an adventurous man might be thankful for, and which i took. having once agreed to sidi's terms, he set upon the realization of the project with unusual ardor. the very next evening was chosen for the undertaking, the hour being close upon ten, and the moor himself accompanying me some part of the way. he had advised me to equip myself _en arabe_ for the business; and this i did with some little discomfort, especially in the manipulation of the long burnouse, and in the carriage of appalling headgear which he would not allow me to dispense with. i had put these things on at the hotel; but as it is not unusual for a frank to ape the moor when wishing to explore the upper town at night, i escaped unpleasant curiosity, and arrived at the steep ascent of the rue de la lyre, feeling that i was like, at any rate, to get more excitement out of the old city than nine-tenths of the englishmen who visit her. almost at the top of the street the moor's friends met me. i could see little of their faces, for they covered them as much as possible with their somber-hued cloaks, but they salaamed profoundly on greeting me; and sidi took his leave when he had exchanged a few words in arabic with them. from that time onward they did not speak, but went straight forward into the old quarter, and soon we had entered a narrow way where flights of stairs, frequently recurring, led one up towards the kasbah. here the gables seemed to be exchanging whispered confidences as they craned forwards across the stone-paved ascent; you could see the zenith of the silver sky shot with starlight through the jutting angles of rickety roofs and bulging eaves; the hand of fatma protected the hidden doors of the pole-shored but singularly picturesque houses; the sound of tom-toms and _derboukas_ came from the courts of the kahouaji. the peace of the scene, deriving something from the distant and seductive harmonies, got color from the slanting flood of moonlight which streamed upon the pavement, from the swell of song floating upward from the hidden courts. here and there one imagined that black eyes looked down upon one from the gratings of the shadowed windows above; a biskri, strong of limb and bronzed, lurked now and then in the dark angles of the quaint labyrinth; a few moors passing down to the lower city inclined their heads gravely as we passed them. but for the most part the children of the prophet had gone to their recreations or their sleep; the narrow path of stairs was untenanted, the silence and softness of an african night held sway with all its potent beauty. we must have mounted for ten minutes or more before my guides stopped at a large house in a particularly uninviting looking _cul-de-sac_; and having spoken a few words with an old crone at the wicket, we gained admittance to a large court, and found it packed with a very curious company. it was a picturesque place, gloriously tiled, and surrounded by a gallery supported on slender columns of exquisite shape, terminating in moorish arches and fretwork balustrades. there the women, numbering some score, sat; but i, knowing the danger of betraying the faintest interest in a moor's household, averted my eyes at once, and examined more minutely the strange scene below. here was a dense throng surrounding a dervish who danced until he foamed; a throng of bronzed and bearded arabs sipping coffee and smoking hubble-bubble pipes with profound gravity; a throng which seemed incapable of expressing any sort of emotion, either of pleasure or of pain. at the further end of the court, where many luxuriant palms and jars of gorgeous flowers gave ornament to a raised daïs, musicians squatted upon their haunches, playing upon divers strange instruments, guitars, flutes, and the gourd-like _derbouka_, and sent up a hideous and unbroken wave of discordant harmony which made the teeth chatter and seemed to agitate one's very marrow. it was a strange scene, full of life and color, and above all of activity; and to what it owed its origin i have not learnt to this day. i know only that our coming with such a lack of ceremony did not disconcert either the host or his guests. they paused a moment to give us an "es-salaam âlikoum," to which we returned the expected "oua âlikoum es-salaam;" and with that we sat amongst the company, but in a very conspicuous place, and took coffee with the gravity of the others. i must confess that the surprise of finding myself in such a place was very great. i had gone with the moors to recover a thousand pounds' worth of property, but how the visit brought me nearer to that, or to any purpose whatever, i could not see. i knew that i was the only european in the company, and all tradition as well as common-sense told me of my danger. yet i had gone of my own will, and the moor sidi had encouraged me to the risk, which after all, i thought, was worth bartering for the sight of so strange an entertainment. indeed, it is not in accord with my fatalistic creed to conjure up terrors of the mind in moments of comparative tranquillity; and when i realized that the question of wisdom, or want of wisdom, was no longer under discussion, i fell in with the spirit of this singular festivity--and waited for enlightenment. the feast of performance was now going briskly. a conjurer trod upon the heels of the dervish, and performed a few palpable feats which deceived no one but himself; and after that we had the expected dancing girls, and the ouled-naïls. nor were the latter the central piece, as it were, of our host's program; for presently the moors about me ceased their babbling; there was a restless chatter in the gallery above, the old host whispered something to his attendant, and new musicians, who had relieved the others, struck up a hideous banging of tom-toms, flageolets, and guitars. at that very moment, when i had come to the conclusion that sidi ben ahmed had made a fool of me, and that my errand was to end idly, one of my guides spoke for the first time, putting his mouth close to my ear, and using very passable english. "now," said he, "be ready;" but whether he meant me to prepare for some saltatory display, or for action, he did not condescend to say; and before i could ask him a great applause greeted the advent of a dancing girl, who bounded into the arena with a conventional run, and at once began her amazing gyrations. she was a beautiful girl, not more than eighteen years of age, i should think, and probably a circassian. she had clear-cut features, a complexion bright with the freshness of youth, a figure of fine balance and maturity; but the most striking thing about her was her hair. more abundant or glossier tresses i have never seen. in color, a deep golden-red, this magnificent silky gift was bunched upon her head in a great coil at the back, and fell thence almost to her feet. it covered her when she chose as the burnouses covered the moors who watched her; and she used it in her dancing with a _chic_ and skill unimaginable. in one moment coiling it about her body so that she seemed wrapped in a sheen of gold; in the next cast like an outspread fan behind her, she presented a picture ravishing beyond description, and one which drew shouts of "zorah, zorah!" even from the women in the galleries above. i sat under the spell, enraptured like the rest; and as the girl floated with a dreamy lightness, or pirouetted with amazing agility, or swept past me with a motion that was the very essence of grace, i was ready to declare that the dance was unrivaled by anything i had seen in any of the capitals. now, the girl must have been dancing for a couple of minutes, and the audience was thoroughly held by her prodigious cleverness, when i, engrossed as the others, was suddenly interrupted in my contemplation of her by the action of the moors, my guides. to my utter surprise they all of a sudden stood up on either side of me, and one of them crying to me in english as before to be ready, the other seemed to wait for the girl zorah, who, with streaming hair and body thrown well back, was dancing down towards us. a few of the company near to us turned their heads, and cried out at the interruption; but the girl came on with quick steps, and when she was just upon us, the moor who waited seized her by her hair, and putting his hands in the great coil upon her head, he unrolled it with a strong grasp, and the missing scimitar, to my unutterable surprise, rolled out upon the pavement. i am willing to confess that for one moment the whole action dazed me so completely that i stood like a fool gaping at the jewel, and at the girl, who had begun to cling to the moor and to scream. the thing was so unlooked for, so strange, so incredible, that i could do nothing but ask myself if it were really my bauble that lay upon the floor, or was i the victim of an incomprehensible trick? yet there was the jewel, and there at my elbow were the two moors, now all ready for the action aftermath. scarce, in fact, had one of them picked up my property and crammed it into my hand before the uproar began, the whole roomful of erstwhile sedate-looking men springing to their feet and turning upon us. for an instant, the moor who had snatched the jewel for me kept them back with an harangue in arabic of which i did not understand one word; but his best and only card failed him at the first playing, and it remained to face the danger and to fight it. of the extraordinary scene that followed i remember but little. it seemed to me that i was surrounded in an instant by hungry, gleaming hawk-like eyes which glowed with mischief; that women screamed, that lamps were overturned; that i saw knives flashing on every side of me. had sidi's men then failed him or displayed any craven cunning, i take it that my body might have been hurled from the kasbah within a minute of the recovery of the jewel; but they showed quite an uncommon fidelity and courage. standing on either side of me so that my body was almost wedged between theirs, they suddenly flashed long knives in the air, and cut and parried with wondrous dexterity. for myself, i had only my fists, and these i used with a generous freedom, thinking even in the danger that a moor's face is a substantial one to hit; and that a little boxing goes a long way with him. yet i could not help but realize that the minute was a supreme one, and as the crowd of demoniacal and shouting figures pressed nearer and nearer, threatening to bear us down in the _mêlée_, i heard my heart thumping, and began to grow giddy. as the press became more furious, the two men who had done so well were gradually carried away from me. i found myself at last in the lower corner of the room, surrounded by four burly fellows (the main body of the company swarming round the moors, my guides); and of these but one had a knife in his hand. with this, taking the aggressive, he made a prodigious cut at me, which slit my left arm from the shoulder almost to the elbow; but i had no pain from the wound in the excitement of the moment; and i sent him howling like a dervish with a heavy blow low down upon the chest. of the others, one i hit on the chin, whereupon he cried like a woman; but the remaining two sprang upon me with altogether an unlooked-for activity; and bore me down with a heavy crash upon the pavement. i thought then that the end had come; for not only was i half stunned with the blow, but the man who knelt upon my chest gripped my throat with grim ferocity and threatened to squeeze the life out of me as i lay. in that supreme moment i recollect that the lights of the room danced before my eyes in surprising shapes; that i saw a vision of dark-eyed but screaming women in the gallery above; that the jewel in my vest cut my skin under the pressure of the moor's knee; and that i fell to wondering if i would live one minute or five. then, as a new and violent shouting reached me, even above the singing in my ears, the moor suddenly let go his hold, the light of the scene gave way to utter impenetrable darkness, and i fainted. [illustration: buying the scimitar. --_page 152_] * * * * * next day i took _déjeuner_ at the café apollon with my arm in a sling, and chassaigne's talk to whet my appetite. he had occupied himself during the morning in cross-examining sidi, from whom he had wormed the whole secret of the robbery. "it is as clear as the sun," said he, "the porter mohammed was advised to steal the jewel by the man i unfortunately recommended to you. mohammed, knowing that the police would search his house and watch him, hid the jewel in his wife's hair." "his wife!" said i. "was this dancing girl married to a scamp like that?" "certainly; these circassians don't make great matches, if they make a good many of them. their husbands are generally loafers about the cafés; and this girl was no more fortunate in that way than most of her sisters. you see, the fun of the business is that sidi got two thousand francs from this man for telling him how to steal your jewels, and another two thousand from you for stealing them back again. that's why he did not go with you himself last night. luckily, i went into your hotel at ten o'clock, and learning from the man where you had gone, i followed you with a dozen of my fellows." "you came at a happy time, my dear fellow," said i, "in another five minutes i should have needed only an executor." "that's true; you were nearly dead when i had the pleasure of kicking the man who sat on your head. but it was your own fault, you must admit." "any way," said i, "i got the stones, and that's something." he agreed to this, and when i had thanked him for the great service he had done me, we parted. that night i left algiers, carrying with me the pacific benediction of the admirable moor, sidi, who, despite the fact that i had kicked him down the steps of the hotel in the morning, came with me to the steamer, and patronized me to the end of it. i can hear to this day his last and final salutation:-"blessed be allah, the jewel is found!" the seven emeralds. the seven emeralds. the man stood upon the weir-bridge watching me, a conspicuous man with strange clothes for river-work upon him, and a haunting activity which drove him from the lock to the inn, and again from the inn to the lock with a crazy restlessness which was maddening. i had been for some hours whipping the mill-stream, which lies over against the lockhouse at pangbourne; but meeting with no success amongst the chub, which on this particular july evening were aggravatingly indifferent even to the succulent frog, i had punted to the bushes in the open river; and there lit my pipe and fell to speculation upon him who favored me with so close an attention. i have said that he was a conspicuous man, and to this i owed it that i had seen him. he wore the straw hat of jesus college, cambridge, and a velvet coat which shone brown and greasy in the falling sunlight; but his legs were encased in salmon-pink riding breeches, and he had brown boots reaching to his knees. beyond this, he was singularly handsome, so far as i could judge with the river's breadth between us; and his hair was fair with a ridiculous golden strain quite unlooked for in one who has grown to manhood. why he watched me so closely i could not even conjecture, but the fact was not to be disputed. i had lain by the mill since the forenoon, and since the forenoon he had hugged to the weir-bridge or to the lockhouse, giving no attention to the score of small boats and launches which passed up or down to goring or mapledurham; or even to the many pretty women who basked upon the cushions of punts or pair-oars. i alone was the object of his gaze, and for me he seemed to wait through the afternoon and until the twilight. now, had the man hailed me, i should have gone shorewards at once, for my curiosity had been petted by his attentions until it waxed warm and harassing, but this he did not do; keeping his eyes upon me even when i had rested from casting and sat idling in the punt. it would have been easy, i concede, to have gone up river toward goring and so to have avoided him; but this would have cut short the chance of explanation, and have left ungratified my desire to know who he was, and wherefrom came his embarrassing interest in my failure to ensnare the exasperating chub. so i sat there, in turn wondering if he were honest or a rogue, an adventurer or an idler, a river-man or a fop from piccadilly. and as the problem was beyond me, i left it at last; and taking up my punt-pole i gave three or four vigorous thrusts which sent me immediately to the landing-stage of the swan inn, and thence to my room. it may be urged that this was an indifferent way of dealing with the man in the velvet coat if i wished to know more of him; but i had taken that little parlor of the inn which juts out upon the hard of the boathouse; and i could see from my open windows both the panorama of the lock and that of the open reach away towards the islands. it was now close upon the hour of seven, and the most part of the river lay in cooling shadow. i could hear by no means inharmonious music floating out over the water from a girl's guitar; there were several launches waiting for the lock-gates; and i recall well the face of a very remarkable woman, who presently came to the landing-stage in a gig, the cushions of which were of an aggressive yellow, but one which was a striking contrast to her black hair and ivory-white skin. quite apart, however, from her indisputable beauty, i had reason to watch this conspicuous oarswoman, for no sooner had she come to the landing-stage than the man in the velvet coat went to her assistance, and taking a number of bags and baskets from the boat, accompanied her up the village high street, and so carried her from my view. here then, thought i, is the end of my mystery. the man had been waiting for the return of his wife, when i, with preposterous conceit, plumed myself that he had been looking to speak with me. what creatures of ideas we are! and when i reflected upon it, certainly it was monstrous absurd to think that one man should wish to watch another failing to catch fish through a long summer's afternoon. indeed, i laughed heartily at myself as the maid set my dinner, and i put my creel and rod upon the piano (one puts everything upon the piano in a thames village) before daring the very substantial, if rural, repast served to me. one dines up river, as most people know, in semi-public state. loafers, loiterers, fruit-sellers, boatmen--all these congregate near the open window, and discuss verbally the dishes which the diner discusses more substantially. custom so stales us that this publicity in no way interferes with our pleasure. i have so long learned to tolerate the presence before my casement of oarsman, pedlar, and even the less welcome bargee, that these now are almost as salt to my appetite. and for the matter of that, on the evening of which i am writing, the crowd was less than usual, being composed of one vendor of fruit, three men in obviously cheapside blazers, and an old woman who sold boot-laces and discussed the weather with me through the casement at one and the same time. she was such a merry old soul, and gave me so much of her history and of that of her son, who was "fightin' for his quane and counthry" in a place which she could not mind herself of, that i forgot the ridiculous romance of the velvet-coated man, and even his existence, until of a sudden he presented himself, no longer watching me upon the bridge, but standing at the casement, and asking to be admitted. "i'm most horribly sorry," said he, "to intrude upon you at your dinner, but my train leaves for town in ten minutes, and i particularly want your opinion upon something which they tell me you know more about than any man in england." "by all means," said i. "but your estimate of my opinion is hopelessly flattering; it concerns jewels, i suppose?" "exactly," said he; "and i shall be under very large obligations to you if you will tell me whether two emeralds i have in my pocket are of any value, and if so, where would be the best place to dispose of them?" he took a little paper box from his coat, and laid it near to my plate. i saw that it was a box which had contained tabloids of nitro-glycerine (a drug prescribed for diseases of the heart); and that it had been sold by a chemist of the name of benjamin wain, whose shop was in the high street at reading. these things i observed with my intuitive habit of grasping detail, learnt in long contention with rogues; and then forgot them as the man opened a screw of tissue paper, and i beheld two of the finest emeralds i have seen during my career. the stones were perfectly matched, of a rich velvety, but brilliant color, and came, i did not doubt after my first sight of them, from the upper orinoco or from columbia. their weight i judged to be about five carats each, and i knew that if they were without a flaw, which very few emeralds are, they would be worth fifteen hundred pounds at a very low estimate. all this passed through my mind like a flash; but with admiration of the gems, which brought covetousness in its path, there came at once the other thought--what is this man doing here with these stones, and how comes it that he can carry them and yet be unconscious of their value? but this i endeavored to conceal, and waited for him to speak. "well," said he, after a pause, "do you find much the matter with them?" "i should want my glass to see," said i with caution; "the light is failing, and my eyes are not as good as they were." "you mean a magnifying glass, i suppose?" said he, producing a lens from his pocket. "well, i happen to have one." why it was i cannot tell you, but this trifling circumstance i marked down in my mind as my first sound cause of suspicion against him. perhaps i coupled it with that spontaneous distrust which i felt when first he spoke, for the very softness of his voice was obviously assumed; and now that i saw him near to me, i did not fail to notice that the velvet coat was much worn, and the rowing club tie he wore frayed beyond respectability. but i took his lens, and, having examined the stones long and critically under it, i found them to be without flaw or blemish. then i gave him my opinion. "they are fine stuff," said i; "do you happen to know where they come from?" i looked him full in the face when i spoke, and observed a slight drawing of the lines above his mouth. when he answered me i was sure that he had thought out a lie--and with effort. "i believe they come from salzburg," he stammered; "at least i have heard so." "that could not possibly be," said i; "the worst emeralds we have are the best product of that mine. i fancy they are from venezuela." "ah, that's the place," said he, "i remember it now; but i've a wretched head for geography." while he said this the train to london steamed out of the railway station, which is not a stone's throw from the inn, and he, forgetful of his tale to me, sat watching it unconcernedly. i had discovered him in a second lie, and i waited to entrap him to a third with the practised pleasure of a cross-examiner. "do you sell these stones for yourself or as an agent?" i asked, assuming some authority as i felt surer of him. his hesitation in answering was merely momentary, but it was enough for my purpose. "for myself," said he; and then with clumsy maladroitness he added, "they were left to me by my father, and i have never had the heart to offer them to any one. i'll tell you what, though; if you'll give me a thousand pounds for the pair, you shall keep them." "that's a long price," said i; "and if you don't mind the suggestion, my dinner's getting cold." i had spoken thus with the design of putting him off; but he was undisguisedly an ill-bred man, and i saw that i could have bought the emeralds from him for five hundred pounds. my hint--if such you could call it--fell upon deaf ears; and he, seeming not to hear it, continued to argle-bargle, but betraying himself in every word he said. "come, now," he cried, "you don't want to be hard upon me; give me a check for five hundred, and send the balance to brighton in a week if you find them as good as you think. that's a fair offer, isn't it?" "the offer is fair enough," said i; "but you forget that i did not come here to buy emeralds. i am in pangbourne to catch chub, as you saw this afternoon." "i'm afraid i can't agree to that," he replied with a laugh; "i did not see you catch chub this afternoon--i saw you miss three." "the bait was poor," i said meaningly; "fish are as canny as men, and don't take pretty things if they think there's a hook in them." this i gave him with such a stare that he rose up suddenly from his chair, and, having made a bungling parcel of his jewels, went off by himself. he had to pass my window as he left the inn, and as he crossed the road i called after him, saying-"you'll be losing your train to london." "be d----d to that!" said he; and with such a salute he turned the angle of the road, and i lost sight of him. but i thought much of his emeralds through the night, both in my walk across the old wooden bridge to whitchurch, when the river lay dark and gloomy with the sough of the breeze in the reeds and sedge-grass; and again as i lay in the old wooden "best-bed" of the inn, and contemplated the "sampler" which bore witness to the energy of one jane atkins, whose work it was. by what chance had the man found me out? whence came his seedy clothes and his jewels? who was the pretty woman who had gone up from the hard with him? he had come by the stones fraudulently, of course; had the case been different he would have sent them to london to a house of substance, and there got his price for them. at one time i felt that it lay upon me to advise the police in reading of the offer i had received; at another, there came some regret for the stones, and at the manner of his departure. the season had been one of emeralds. i could have sold the pair he had for some profit, and, as my greed told me, i could have bought them cheap. at the end of it i fell asleep to dream that i rowed to mapledurham in an emerald boat, and that a man with emerald eyes steered me abominably. on the next day, quite early in the morning, i set out in a dog-cart for reading, having a _rendezvous_ with barisbroke at the kennet's mouth, whence we were to start for a day's sport upon that fish-breeding river. my drive took me by the old bath-road, turning to the left midway up the village street; but i had not gone very far upon the reading-road before i saw the handsome woman--the wife, as i assumed, of the velvet-coated man--now dressed with exceeding poorness, and carrying a heavy bag towards the biscuit town. at this point the sun beat early upon the sandy way with a shimmer of white and misty light, which promised great heat of the forenoon; there was scarce a quiver of wind in the woods to the left of me, and i did not doubt that walking was a great labor. yet, when i reined in the cob, and asked the woman, if at least i might not carry her bag to reading and leave it for her, she thanked me somewhat curtly, i thought, and evidently resented any notice of her difficulty. it occurred to me, as i drove on, that the man, who had been with her on the previous day, had really left by the last train for london; but when i came into reading, and was about to cross the high street, to reach earleigh, i saw the name benjamin wain superscribed above a little chemist's shop, and i stopped at once. i know that a country tradesman will gossip like a fishwife; and i asked the man for some preparation which he could not possibly find in the pharmacopoeia, and so began to feel my ground. "you're well ahead of the times here," said i, looking at his show-case, which was wofully destitute of drugs. "i shouldn't have thought that you'd be asked for tabloids in a place like reading." "oh, but we are," said he, readily; "it's a wonderfully advanced town is reading--you won't get much in regent street which is not here. i've lived in reading all my life--and seen changes, sir, indeed i have!" "you know most of the people then?" said i, with a purpose. "ay," said he, "i've born and buried a many, so to speak; seen children grow to men and women, and men and women grow to children--you wouldn't think it perhaps!" "no," said i, "you don't show it; but your reputation, if i may say so, goes beyond this place. i was in pangbourne yesterday, where a tall, yellow-haired man was speaking of you; who is he, i wonder?" "a tall, yellow-haired man!" he exclaimed, putting his finger in the center of his forehead as if in aid of memory; "i didn't know there were such in reading. a tall, yellow--let me see, now----" "you sold him some tabloids of nitro-glycerine; perhaps that will help to his identification?" said i. "ah, now i know you're wrong," said he; "there's only one man within five miles of here who uses that stuff, and he hasn't got yellow hair--ha, ha, he hasn't got any at all." "who is he?" i asked with growing curiosity. "why, old jabez ladd, the miser, out at yore park; he takes that stuff for his heart, sir. wonderful weak heart he has, too; but he hasn't got yellow hair--no, i may say with conviction that he has no hair at all." i had learnt all i needed, for the mere mention of the name jabez ladd was sufficient for me. at the man's words a whole freshet of ideas seemed to rush to my mind. i had known the miser for years as one of the hardest jewel buyers in the country; i had sold him thousands of pounds' worth of stuff; i had heard the strangest traditions of his astounding meanness and self-denial. they even said that he forbade himself a candle after dusk, and that his fare was oatmeal and brown bread; while he lived in a house which would not have been a poor retreat for a millionaire. this i knew, but the words of the apothecary had made other things clear to me--one, that the yellow-haired man had got his emeralds in a box which must have come from ladd's house, since he alone in the neighborhood took tabloids of nitro-glycerine; another, that the man's very shabbiness and obvious shuffling pointed very strongly to the conclusion that he should be watched. of these things was i sure as i met barisbroke, and i turned them over in my mind often during the moderate sport of the forenoon, and after. not that i had any troublesome friendship for ladd, who was no sort of a man to think about; yet i could not forget that he was a buyer, and it seemed both wise and likely to be profitable to warn him. possibly i had reared a fine superstructure of suspicion upon a mere flimsy basis of prejudice; but in any case i could do no harm, i thought, and might even sell the old scoundrel a parcel of jewels in the attempt. his house, as i then knew, lay over by the hills of caversham; and i remembered that i could take it by a circuitous route which would bring me to pangbourne, after i had passed through mapledurham and whitchurch. in the end, i resolved at least to see the old man; and when i had dined at a ridiculously early hour with barisbroke, i crossed the river by the white bridge, and in thirty minutes i was at the gate of yore hall. i am no archæologist, and have an exceedingly poor eye for a building; but my first impression of this hall was a pleasing one. it is true that the wooden gate of the drive was broken down, and the garden-land beyond it nothing but a tangle of swaying grass, thistle, and undergrowth, preparing one for poor things to come; but the house itself was a massive and even a grand attempt at a towered and battlemented structure, built in stout stone with norman windows, and the pretense of a keep, which gave strength to its air of antiquity. when i came near to it, i saw that many of the gargoyles had fallen from the roof of the left wing, which seemed to be unfinished, and the parapet was broken away and decaying above the porch; while--and this was even more singular--there did not seem a single curtain to the house. it was now upon the hour of seven, and a glimmer of sunlight shining redly upon the latticed casements lit up the façade with a greater brilliance than one looks to see out of italy. there were rooks circling and cawing in the great elms by the moat which ran round three sides of the house; i could hear the baying of a hound in the courtyard by the stables--but of man or woman i saw nothing, though i rang the great bell thrice, and birds fled from the eaves at the clatter, and the rabbits that had sported by the thicket disappeared in the warren. some minutes after the third ring, and when i was preparing to drive off and leave jabez ladd to his own affairs, the stable door opened, and a girl came out, dressed, it seemed to me, curiously in a smart white frock; but with untidy hair, though much of it; and an exceedingly pretty face, which had been the prettier for a little scouring. the creature had great dark eyes like a _grisette_ of bordeaux; and when she saw me, stood swaying upon her feet, and laughing as she bit at her apron-strings, as though my advent was an exceedingly humorous thing. then she said,-"is it mr. ladd you're wanting?" i told her that it was. "you'll not be a county man?" she asked. "i'm from london," said i, "and my name is bernard sutton. tell mr. ladd that i'll not keep him five minutes." "there's no need," said she, simpering again; "he's been a-bed since the milk." "in bed!" cried i amazed. "yes," said she, "it's over late for company; but if ye'll write something i'll run up with it; the housekeeper's away sick." she seemed to think that all this was a good joke, and wondered, i doubt not, that i did not simper at her again. i was on the very point of whipping up the nag, and leaving such a curious household, when one of the landing windows went up with a creak, and ladd himself, with a muffler round his throat, was visible. "what d'ye want in my grounds?" he roared. "here, you hussy, what are ye chattering there for?--thought i was asleep did ye--ha!" "good evening, mr. ladd," said i, quietly; "i'm sorry, but i appear to have disturbed you. i've a word for your ear if you'll come down." "hullo," cried he, in his cracked and piercing voice; "why it's you, is it? egad, i thought you were the butcher! what's your business?--i'm biding in bed, as you can see." "i can't shout," said i, "and my business is private." "won't it wait?" he snarled. "you haven't come to sell me anything?" "i don't sell stuff in the street," said i; "come down and i'll talk to you. but if you don't want to hear--well, go to bed." his curiosity got the better of him at this point, and he snapped out the words, "i'm coming down," and then disappeared from the window. but he had no intention of opening the front door, as i found presently when of a sudden he appeared at a casement upon the ground floor, and resumed the conversation. "you're not asking after my health," said he, "but i'll let you know that i'm eat up with cold; can ye have done with it straight off?" "yes," said i, leaning over from the dog-cart to spare my voice. "do you know a tall man with yellow hair who's got two emeralds to sell?" at these words his face whitened in the sunlight, and he opened his great mouth as though to speak, but no sound came. then quickly he drew a small box from his pocket, such as i had seen in the hands of the velvet-coated man, and took a tabloid from it. "i'll be about letting you in," said he, as he went to shut down the casement. but i said, "i think not, there's a drive of five miles to whitchurch before me, and this horse trips." "for the love of god," cried he, suddenly putting off all self-restraint, "don't go till i've heard you--man, my life may depend upon it!" "how's that?" said i. "i'm going to tell you," said he; "and if ye'll stay, we'll crack a bottle of port together." he had whetted my curiosity now, and presently i heard him nagging at the pretty girl who had first greeted me. after that he threw the stable door wide open, and dressed only, as i could see, in a loose dressing-gown and a pair of carpet slippers, he led the horse to a stall that had the half of a roof; crying to the maid to get her down to the house of a man he named, there to beg a feed of corn and the loan of a boy. but while he was doing it, he shivered incessantly, and seemed eaten up with fear. "you appear to think that i'm putting up with you," said i, when i heard his orders; "there's no need to look after the nag--i shan't be here ten minutes." "not ten minutes!" he exclaimed, still with quavering voice. "oh, but you will--when you've heard my talk. would you see me murdered?" i did not answer, being in the main amused at his attempts to get the horse out of the trap, and particularly to unbuckle the very stiff belly-band. the girl had gone tripping off with herself to the village as i thought; but though at that time i had no intention of staying beyond an hour with him, i unshafted the animal myself, and tethered the beast to the rickety manger, throwing my own rug across his loins; then i followed ladd through a black and smoke-washed kitchen to a dingy apartment near the hall, and, the place being shuttered, he kindled a common paraffin lamp, which might have cost a shilling but would have been dear at two. "i'll be getting the port," said he, casting a wistful look at me in the hope, perhaps, that i should decline his invitation to a glass, "you'll not mind refreshment after your drive?" "thanks; you may be sure i won't," said i; and while he was gone fumbling down the passage, i saw that his dining-room had once been a fine apartment, oak-panelled and spacious; and that ancestors, whose rubicund jowls spoke of "two-bottle" men, now seemed to survey the economy below with agony unspeakable. for the rest, there was little in the room but depressing victorian chairs in mahogany, and a piano with a high back, such as our grandmothers played upon. when ladd came back, he had a bottle in his hand. i smiled openly when i saw that it was a pint; but he decanted it with a fine show of generosity, and pushing a glass to me, took up the matter which interested him at once. "where did ye see my nephew?" he asked, while i sipped the wine with satisfaction; "it'll have been in london, perhaps?" "i saw him--if he was your nephew--at pangbourne last night," said i; "he had a pretty woman with him, and wanted to sell me two emeralds." "that must have been the wife he married in san francisco," cried he, "but she has no sinecure; you didn't hear that i paid his passage abroad last spring after he'd robbed me of a thousand----well and it was emeralds he wanted to sell you?" "two of the finest i have ever seen," said i, "and matching perfectly." the import of the emeralds had evidently been lost upon him until this time; but now of a sudden he realized that he might be concerned in the business, and his agitation was renewed. "i wonder what emeralds they were?" he asked as if of himself; then turning to me, he exclaimed, "will you come upstairs with me a minute?" he did not wait for me to answer, but led the way up bare stone steps to a landing off which there led two long passages; and in a big and not uncomfortable bedroom he showed me three safes, one a little one, which he opened, and took therefrom a case containing seven emeralds of a size and quality apparently similar to the two i had seen at pangbourne. but when he gave them to me to examine i saw at once that five of them were genuine and two were false. "well," said he, after i had looked at them long and closely, "how do you like them?" "i like them well enough," said i; "at least, i like five of them, but the other two are glass!" at this he cried, "oh, my god!" and clutched the stones from me with the trembling fingers of a madman. when he had seen them for himself--being judge enough to follow me in my conclusions--he began to roar out oaths and complaints most pitifully, cursing his nephew as i have never heard a man cursed before or since. in my endeavor to calm him, i asked how it could possibly be that this fellow he feared had got access to his safe; but he poured out only an incoherent tale, begging me to send for the police, then not to leave him, then falling to prophecy, and declaring that he would be murdered before the month was out. it was altogether the most moving sight i have ever seen--pointing strongly to the conclusion that the man was mad; and, in fact, where his jewels were concerned, sanity was not his strong point. by and by he got sufficient reason to tell me that he had the administration of some of his nephew's property, and that in his work he had first fallen foul of a man, headstrong, vindictive, by no means honest, and, in some moods, dangerous. yet, even knowing his relative's character and the threats he had urged against him, he could not tell how the safe was broken, or by what means the emeralds had gone. he was not even aware that his nephew was in england; and i had been the first to bring intelligence of his coming. i asked him, naturally, if these two stones represented the whole of his loss, and at that he fell off again to his raving, but took two keys of the larger safes from a secret drawer in the smaller as i could see; and began to pour upon the faded bed-cover a wealth of treasure which might have bought a city. here were rubies of infinite perfection, diamonds set in a hundred shapes, ropes of pearls, boxes of opals, bracelets of every known pattern, rings scarce to be numbered, aigrettes, necklaces--in short, such a stupendous show that the dark and dingy bedroom was lighted with wondrous light, a myriad rays flashing up from the bed, until the whole place seemed touched with a wand, and changed to a chamber of a thousand colors. before the bed of jewels the old man stood chattering and moaning; now bathing, as it were, in the gems, now letting them ripple over his hands, or addressing tender endearments to them; or clutching them with nervous avidity as though he feared even my companionship. in the midst of this strange scene, and while we were both held spellbound by the wondrous vision of wealth, a sudden exclamation drew the miser from his employment. it came from the girl who had been sent to the village, she now standing in the doorway of the bedroom, and crying, "oh, good lord!" as she saw the glitter of the gems. but ladd turned upon her at the words, and grasped her by the wrists, crying out as he had cried when first he knew that he was robbed. "you hussy," he hissed, bending her by the arms backward almost to the floor; "what do you watch me for? what do you mean by coming here? where are the emeralds you have stolen? tell me, wench; do you hear? tell me, or i shall hurt you!" he held her in so firm a grasp that i feared she would suffocate, and went to pull him off; at which action he turned to cry out against me; but the anger had played upon him so that he fainted suddenly all across the bed, and amongst the jewels. the girl, whom he had forced upon the floor, now rose impudently, and said,-"did ye ever see the like of him?--but i'll make him pay for it! oh, you needn't look, he's that way often. he'll come to in a minute; but he won't find me in the house to-morrow--wages or no wages." "do what you like," i cried to her angrily, "but don't chatter. have you got any brandy in the house?" "brandy! and for him!" said she, arranging her dress which he had torn. "is it me that should be running for it? not if i know it; brandy, i like that!" "then leave the room," i exclaimed imperatively; and with that she went off, banging the door behind her, and i was alone with the man and his jewels. i think it was the strangest situation i have ever known. some thousands of pounds' worth of gems lay scattered upon the coverlet, upon the sheets, and even upon the carpet. ladd himself lay like the figure upon a tomb, white and motionless; there was only the light of a common paraffin lamp; and three parts of the room lay in darkness. my first thought was for the man's life, and remembering that i had a flask in my pocket, i forced brandy between his clenched teeth, and laid him flat upon his back. in a few moments there was a perceptible, though very quick beat of his pulse, and after that, when he had taken more of the spirit, he opened his eyes, and endeavored to raise himself; but i forbade him roughly, and gathering up his gems i bundled them in the greater safe, and turned the key upon them. he however, watched me with glazing eyes, scarce being able, for lack of strength, to utter a word; but he motioned for me to give him the key, and this he placed under the pillow of his bed, and fell presently into a gentle sleep, which was of good omen. i should mention that it was now full dark outside, and, as i judged, about the hour of ten. i had got the man's jewels into his safe for him, and he was sleeping; but where the bewitching little hussy was i did not know; or what was the value of the old man's fears about his nephew. it was clear to me, however, that he had been robbed, probably by the immediate agency of the girl who acted as his servant; and it was equally obvious that i had no alternative but to stay by him, even if prospect of probable business in the future had not moved me to do so. an inspection of his room by the flickering light of the lamp disclosed to me a small dressing-room leading from it, this containing a sofa; and when i had quite assured myself that my patient, as i chose to regard him, slept easily, and that his pulse was no longer intermittent nor faint, i took my boots off and lay down upon the hard horsehair antiquity which was to serve me for bed. strange to say, in half an hour i fell into a dreamless sleep, for i was heavy with fatigue, and had walked many hours upon the kennett's bank; but when i awoke, the room was utterly dark, and the screams of a dying man rang in my ears. in moments of emergency one's individuality asserts itself in curious actions. i am somewhat stolid, and a poor subject for panics, and i remember on this particular occasion that my first act was to draw on my boots with deliberation, and even to turn in the tags carefully before i struck a match, and got a sight of the scene which i remember so well though many months have passed since its happening. when i had light, i found ladd standing by the door of his large safe, which was open, but there was a deep crimson stain upon his shirt, and he no longer had the voice to scream. in fact, he was dying then; and presently he fell prone with a deep gasp, and i knew that he was dead. in the same instant a black shadow, as of a man, passed between me and the flicker of the light; and as the match went out the door of the chamber swung upon its hinges, and the assassin passed from the room. now, ladd had scarce fallen before i was in the dark passage, listening with great tension of the ear for a sound of the hiding man's footstep. but the place was as still as the grave; and then there came upon me the horrid thought that the fellow lurked with me about the room's door, and presently would serve me as he had served the other. cold with fear at the possibility, i struck a match, and advanced along the passage, using half a box of lucifers in the attempt. at the corner i came suddenly upon a cranny; and as the light died away, two gleaming eyes shot up glances to mine, and a man sprang out flashing a blade in the air, but rushing past me, and fleeing like the wind towards the southern wing--the unfinished one. so swift did he go that i saw nothing of his face, and it seemed scarce a moment before i heard a door open, and another great cry, followed by a splashing of water and utter silence. [illustration: "two gleaming eyes shot up glances to mine." --_page 179_] this second cry took, i think, what little nerve i had left; and while the echo of it was still in the passages my last match went out. the place was now black with unbroken darkness; every step that i took appeared to reach mysterious stairs and to send me staggering; but at last a sudden patch of moonlight from a corner encouraged me to go on, and i reached the spot where the man had disappeared. at that point a door creaked and banged upon its hinges, but the white light coming through it saved me from the fate of him who had gone before. it showed me at a glance that the door was built in a side of the unfinished wall of the wing, and that the man, who evidently had mistaken it for the entrance to the back staircase, which i saw a few feet farther on, had crashed down fifty feet into the moat below, carrying, as i supposed, his plunder in his hands. then i knew the meaning of the gurgling cry and the horrid thud; and terror seemed to strike me to my very marrow. how i got out of the house i do not know to this day. thrice i made a circuit of winding corridors only to find myself again before the room where ladd's body lay in the circle of moonlight which the window focused upon the safe; thrice i reached doors which seemed to give access to the yard; but led only into gloomy shuttered chambers where curious shapes of the yellow rays came through the dusty crevices. at last, however, i reached the frowsy kitchen, and the yard, and stood a minute to breathe the chill night air, and to think what was to be done; whither first to go; to whom to appeal. the whine of a voice from the stable seemed to answer me. i entered the roofless shanty, and there found the dark-eyed girl sitting upon a rotting garden roller, and quivering in every limb. she too was dressed ready to accompany the man who then lay in the moat, i did not doubt; but at the first sight of me she started up with blanched face, and clinging to me she cried,--"take me away; oh, my god, take me away from it!" and rather incoherently she muttered that she was innocent, and protested it in a score of phrases. i saw a flush of dawn-light upon her babyish face as she spoke, and it occurred to me when i was putting the horse to the dog-cart that she was unmistakably pretty, and that her customary occupation was not that of a housemaid. but i only said to her,-"keep anything you have to say for the police. i am going to fetch them." and with that i drove off, and the last i saw of my lady showed her as she sat moaning on the straw, her hair tumbling upon her shoulders, and her face buried in her hands. * * * * * the trial of this woman, and her acquittal by the jury, are well remembered in caversham; nor is the mystery of jabez ladd's jewels and their disappearance by any means an infrequent topic for alehouses. what became of the precious stones which arthur vernon ladd, the old man's nephew, took from the safe on the night he murdered his uncle, one man alone knows--and that is myself. the people of the town will tell you that the moat was dragged and drained with no result. i myself saw the body of the murderer--the velvet-coated man of pangbourne; but although at least a couple of thousand pounds worth of jewels were missing from the safe, there was not one of them about him, or to be found upon the _concrete_ bottom of the moat into which he had dropped with the blood of ladd fresh upon his hands. in vain the police searched the girl--her name was rachel peters, she said--and her boxes; equally in vain the old house was ransacked from top to bottom. the thing was a black mystery; it was gossip not only for inns and beerhouses, but for the county. the report of it spread even to america, and to this moment it has remained unsolved. the jewels being undiscoverable, and ladd having been murdered to my knowledge by his nephew, the girl, rachel peters, was, as i have said, discharged. she returned to the old house for her boxes, and immediately disappeared from the knowledge of the county. ten months later i saw her dancing on the stage of an opera house in florida, and she was wearing _five of the seven emeralds_ which ladd had lost! the spectacle seemed so amazing to me that i sought her out between the acts, and found her as full of _chic_ and _verve_ as a parisian _soubrette_. nor did she disguise anything from me, telling me everything over a cigarette with a relish and a sparkle which was astounding to see. "yes," said she--but i give her story in plain words, for her way of telling it is not to be written down--"i had known vernon ladd for years. i doubt if there was a worse man in europe; but i was frightened of him, and i entered old ladd's service at his wish to help him to steal the jewels. we got at the emeralds first, because they were in the small safe; but we didn't know where the keys of the other safe were, and we put two sham emeralds in the case to keep the old boy quiet while we worked. that night you came to the house vernon ladd was already inside, concealed behind the old man's bed; and he watched you open the great safe and spread the jewels. the mischief of it was that ladd woke up five minutes too soon, and caught the boy by the throat--you know what he got for that, for you saw it and you know how vernon mistook the door, and went down in a hurry. well, when you'd gone for the police, i ran round to the back of the house, and what should i see but the bag of jewels stuck on a ledge just under the landing window. he'd dropped them as he fell, and there they were lying so plain that one could have seen them a mile off. i just ran up and reached them with my arm, but when i was in the stable again, and thinking of hiding them, i heard you driving up the road, and i slipped the bag in the first thing handy--it was your own fishing creel. "no, you never found them, did you? just because they were hanging up there plain for every one to see. when the judge discharged me at the court, i went again to the house to get my box, never thinking to see the stones; but you'd gone away without the creel, and it was the first thing i touched lying in the straw of the stable. you may be sure it didn't lie there long. i'd saved up enough money for a passage to the states, and when i got here i started as an actress, as i was before, and i sold the things one by one. these emeralds are all that's left--and if you're a brick, you'll buy them!" this was her story. she was a clever woman, and having been discharged on the accusation of robbing the dead miser ladd, could not be sent to her trial again. her invitation for me to buy the emeralds was tempting. i had already purchased two from the unhappy lady of pangbourne, who was married to the velvet-coated vernon ladd, and is now living in seclusion in devonshire. the other five would have made the set of great value. ladd had no heirs; it was altogether a nice point. i debated it. the pursuit of the topaz. the pursuit of the topaz. i was struggling heroically to force my arms through the sleeves of a well-starched shirt, when the man knocked upon the door of my bedroom for the second time. i had heard him faintly five minutes before, when my head was as far in a basin as the limitations of parisian toilet-ware would allow it to go; but now he knocked imperiously, and when i opened to him he stood hesitatingly with a foolish leer upon his face, and that which he meant for discretion upon his lips. "well," said i, "what the devil do you want? can't you see i'm dressing?" at this he looked with obvious pity for me towards the basin, but quickly recovered himself. "dame," said he, with a fine gascon accent, "there is a lady waiting for monsieur in the _salon_." "a lady!" cried i with surprise; "who is she?" "i am but three days in paris," replied he, "and she is a stranger to me. if monsieur prefers it, i will ask her some questions." "you will please do nothing of the sort; did she give her name?" "i seem to remember that she did, but it has escaped me. i shall say that you are engaged, and will see her to-morrow; monsieur leaves paris at nine o'clock _hein_?" he said this with another vulgar leer, but i turned round upon him fiercely, for i had begun to brush what is left of my hair. "you impudent poltroon!" exclaimed i; "leave the room instantly, and tell the lady that i will be with her in five minutes." "ah," said he, "it is like that then? very good; i shall safeguard your interests; trust in me. may i be permitted to light the candles?" he said this with a fine eye to the bill; but i sent him away after some display of temper, and finished my dressing quickly, wondering all the time who the woman was, and what she wanted of me. although i have lived in paris nigh as much as in london, i have cultivated few acquaintances there other than those arising in the path of business. the domestic side of parisian life has never appealed to me; i am equally callous to the vaunted attractions of the dismal halls of light and twaddle with which the foreigner usually boasts acquaintance. it was, therefore, not only with profound surprise, but also with a piquant curiosity, that i fell to speculating upon the identity of my visitor, and the mission which brought her to me. at the time of this occurrence i had been in the french capital for one week, being carried there by the announcement of the sale of the countess boccalini's jewels. after my usual custom, i had engaged rooms in the little hôtel de bard, which is almost the neighbor of the grand hotel, and had passed the week in the haggling and disputation which are the salt of life to a jeweler. the result was the purchase of a superb necklace of brilliants, which subsequently i sold here for nine thousand pounds, and of a quantity of smaller stones, and of chrysoprase, the gem which is now becoming exceedingly fashionable in london. but on the night of which i am writing, my trading was done, and a ridiculous promise to go to the opera ball alone kept me in paris. how the promise came to be given to my friend tussal i cannot remember; but he had assured me that the ball was the event of april, and that my education would remain imperfect until i had gazed upon the spectacle of _calicots_ and _flaneurs_ rioting in the great house which garnier designed and delaunay painted. and so pressing was he, and so largely did i trade with him, that i yielded at last to his solicitations, and agreed to accept a seat in his box. by the terms of his invitation i was to meet him at the grand café at midnight, and thence was to proceed to the opera house at half-past twelve. i had determined to dine quietly at my own hotel, and afterwards to spend the intervening hours at the théâtre de la porte st. martin; for which purpose i dressed at a comparatively early hour; and dressing, received the stiff-necked gascon's message that a lady wished to see me. yet for what purpose she came, or who she might be, i had not an idea; and i turned over a hundred theories in my mind as i descended to the little reception room of the hotel, and there found her sitting by the uncovered table with a railway guide before her, but obviously agitated, and as obviously pretty. when looking back upon the extraordinary mystery of which this childish girl was for me the center, i have often remembered that she was one of the few frenchwomen i have met who had a thoroughly english face. her skin was white and pink, untouched by that olive tint which is so prevalent in paris; her eyes were wondrously blue; she had rich brown hair shot with golden tresses, which gave to the whole a magnificent luster; she was entirely free of that restless gesture which is the despair of a man of nerves. as i first saw her, she wore a captivating apology for a bonnet, which seemed to consist of a spray of jet and a hairpin; but her hands were gloved as only a frenchwoman's hands are, and a long cloak of steel-gray cloth edged with fur, fell about her shoulders, yet permitted one to see an exquisite outline of figure beneath. indeed, she made a perfect little picture, and her exceeding prettiness lost nothing for the rush of color to her cheeks when i spoke to her. "i am bernard sutton," said i; "if it is possible that i can be of any service to you, the privilege is mine----" "thank you, a thousand times," said she, speaking with an accent which added to the charm of her english. "i have heard of you often from madame carmalovitch, whose husband owned the famous opal; you were very kind to her----" "i was exceedingly sorry for her," i replied; "are you a relation of hers?" "oh, no!" she exclaimed; "i am mademoiselle edile bernier, and i live with my mother at 32, rue boissière. you will laugh to hear why i come to you. it is about something you alone can advise me upon, and, of course, you will guess it at once." "i won't waste your time by being ambiguous," said i; "you have come to consult me about some jewels; pray let me see them." there was no one else in the _salon_ at that time, the few people in the hotel being at dinner. the girl had, therefore, no hesitation in opening a bracelet case, which she had carried under her cloak, and showing me a plain band of gold which served as a mount for a small circle of turquoise and an exceedingly large rose-pink topaz, which possessed all the lustre of a diamond. i saw at once that the gem was from brazil, and was large enough and rich enough to be worth a considerable sum, but i have never known hunger for the topaz myself, and when i had taken one look at the bracelet i handed it back to her. "it's exceedingly pretty," said i, "and your stones are very good. there is a little green at the base of the larger turquoises, but you will hardly match the topaz in paris. are you seeking to know the value of it?" "i would never ask that," she answered quickly; "it was a gift from my _fiancé_, monsieur georges barré, whom you may know by name." i vow it was very bewitching to watch the rosy blush which suffused her cheek when she made this confession. yet she spoke with the ring of pride in her voice, and i replied to her encouragingly while she put her treasure beneath her cloak, as though she feared that other eyes than hers should rest even upon the case of it. "monsieur barré is well known to me by name," said i; "his bust of victor hugo from last year's salon is at this moment the chief ornament of my library. i must now congratulate him for the second time." at this she laughed, but the ripples died away quickly upon her face, and the look of haunting fear again troubled her eyes. i observed that she was reticent in speaking plainly to me, and did my best to help her out with it. "you have not yet put to me," said i, "the precise question which brought you here. it concerns the bracelet, of course?" "ye--yes," said she; "but i am very much afraid you will laugh at me. i wanted to ask you if, in your judgment--that is, with your experience--there is any reason why i should not wear my present at the opera ball to-night?" her confusion, when thus she had unburdened herself, was overwhelming. she scarce dared to lift her eyes to mine as she spoke, and one of her hands played restlessly with the railway guide, while the other was closed firmly about her bracelet. nor did i, who know the potency of woman's superstition in the matter of their jewels, feel the touch of a desire to draw amusement from her dilemma. "come," said i, with all the gentleness of voice i could command; "you have been reading something silly. the topaz is the emblem of fidelity, it is also a traditional cure for indigestion. in other words, the ancients were wise enough to know that love and good cooking are not so far apart after all. wear your jewel at the opera by all means, and regard it as an antidote to the _confetti_ you will consume." she heard me thus far with a restrained smile upon her face, and indeed, she half rose as though to end the interview; but the evidence of fear was still about her eyes, and there was the note of unsatisfied questioning in her voice when she said,-"i was sure you would tell me that--but i am keeping you from your dinner, and have already troubled you too much i fear." my answer to this appeal was to close the door of the _salon_, which had been open during our interview, and to draw a chair close to hers. "mademoiselle bernier," said i, "the most important part of the intelligence you meant to bring to me remains unspoken. let me encourage you to tell me everything freely, and be assured that without your express permission nothing you may say will be remembered by me." "thank you, very much," she said quietly, evidently regaining complete confidence; "but i have nothing to conceal. a week ago, monsieur barré gave me this bracelet with the stipulation that i should wear it at the ball to-night. two days ago, i received this letter, which i hesitated to show even to you, lest it should be an injustice to the man i love." she passed, with her words, a dirty scrap of a note to me, the leaf of a sheet of the commonest lined scribbling paper; and i read upon it, written in very bad french, the warning-"mademoiselle. if you wear the topaz bracelet at the opera ball to-night you carry death upon your arm." thrice i read this; and as i repeated the words, the third time aloud, i saw, shaping about the simplicity of the girl, a mystery which seemed as deep, and at first sight as unfathomable, as any as i had known. as for the momentary victim of it she sat watching me while i, all amazed, held the paper still in my hand, and did not hide my surprise, or, indeed, attempt to. "mademoiselle," said i, "you speak to me of very deep matters, i fear. but, of course, you have shown this letter to your relatives?" "i have but one relative in the world," said she, "my mother, who is a paralytic. i dare not mention such a thing to her; she would die of fear." "and you yourself have no suspicion, no faint idea of the cause of such a letter as that?" "i cannot even attempt to guess at it." "there are none of your lady friends who would hazard a joke with you?" "oh, no; they could not think of such a joke as that, and my few friends love me, i believe." i had now begun to pace up and down the room, being in a very whirl of theory and conjecture. and, in truth, the problem presented so many possibilities that it might well have troubled a man whose whole occupation was the solution of mysteries. not that i lacked any clue, for my knowledge, such as it is, of the heartburnings, the jealousies, and the crimes which hover over the possession of precious stones at once compelled me to the conclusion, either that m. georges barré had been the victim of a previous _affaire du coeur_, or that his _fiancée_ had been won only over trampled hopes and vain rivalries. in either case (the case of the woman who resented the man's marriage, or the man who resented the woman's) was there ample warranty for such a letter as mademoiselle bernier had received. yet was i too slow to venture the question with her, and did so at last in sheer pity for her childishness. "tell me," said i, stopping of a sudden before her, "what led you to me?" "madame carmalovitch," said she. "i went to her first, but she knew you were in paris, and would not rest until i had consented to see you. she would have come with me, but is latterly almost always unable to face the night air." "you have no one else you would care to consult in such a case?" "no one," said she. "and if you go to the ball to-night without your bracelet----?" she looked up at me with tears in her eyes when she answered,-"georges would never forgive me." "could you make no excuse to remain at home?" "oh, don't ask me to do that," she exclaimed pitifully, "i have lived for the ball since the beginning of the year!" it was a woman's plea, and not to be resisted. i saw at once that she _would_ go to the dance whatever words fell from me, and i turned from the subject to one more important. "since you are determined to be there to night," said i, "perhaps you will give me monsieur georges barré's address?" "oh, for the love of god, don't tell him!" she cried; "he would never forgive me if i distrusted his present." "my dear lady, i quite understand that. really, you credit me with being a very poor diplomatist. when i see him i doubt if i shall even mention your name to him." "you promise me that?" "i promise you, at least, that he shall never know of your coming to me. but i must exact another promise from you--it is that you will not wear the topaz until you have my permission." "but georges expects me to wear it at the ball." "he would not expect you to risk your life. and there is no reason, so far as i can see, why i should not be able to give you permission, or to refuse it, by eleven o'clock. you do not go to the opera until midnight, i presume?" "monsieur barré has promised to call in the rue boissière at a quarter past twelve. he has an _appartement_ in the hôtel scribe. i can scarce go with him and leave his gift at home." "of course you can't, but i would suggest that, unless you hear from me by midnight, you carry it beneath your cloak as you do now. i shall meet you in the opera house, at any rate. meanwhile, i have one more question to put to you, forgive it from a man who is nearly old enough to be your father. before you became the _fiancée_ of monsieur barré was there--well, was there any other in your thoughts?" she looked at me with frankness shining clearly from her eyes, when she said,-"never for a moment. i was in a convent until last year, and i have not spoken to six men since i left." "that is all i want to know. we will both dine now; but first let me look at your bracelet once more." she handed me the case again; and i, leaving her for a moment to fetch my glass, put the jewel under the strong light of the chandelier, and examined every inch of it within and without. i discovered then that which had escaped me upon first acquaintance with it. in one of the crevices of the clasp there was a blood-stain, unmistakable, even fresh, yet so concealed by the embossment of the jewels that i did not wonder she had remained in ignorance of it. but when i gave it to her again i doubt not that i was very serious, and this she observed, and made comment upon. "you see something now which you did not see ten minutes ago," she cried; "you will surely tell me?" "i see a very pretty pink topaz," said i, forcing a smile, "and a young lady who is missing her dinner. come, have some confidence in me, and put all these thoughts out of your mind until i ask you to remember them again." "i will," said she, "and can never thank you enough; you do not know what a trouble you have taken from my mind." here was the end of our interview, for we had come to the door of the courtyard as we spoke, and i put her at once into the neat little brougham which was waiting for her. there were but two other men, the concierge, and a short, exceedingly dark man in evening dress, about the place at that time; and as the brougham drove away it occurred to me that the latter fellow was watching me rather closely, upon which i had a good look at him; but he turned away sharply to the coffee-room, while i went to my dinner in as fine a state of bewilderment as i have known. never in my long years' work had i come across such a case, or one to which a clue, save on the hypothesis of jealousy, was so completely wanting. yet if jealousy were the motive of the warning, how, i asked, came the bloodstains upon the bracelet? and if the gem had any connection with a previous affair of barré's why did he give it to his _fiancée_? the latter supposition seemed, in itself, sufficient to upset the whole suggestion; nor could i find another; but i determined to call upon the sculptor at once, and to use every device at my command in the interests of the helpless girl who had called upon me. it was now near to ten o'clock, and, having dined hastily, i passed through the courtyard on my way to the hôtel scribe. there i saw, to my surprise, that the ill-visaged italian--for so i judged he was--still loitered about the place; but again appeared to avoid scrutiny. this second appearance of his seemed to me--i knew not why--as the shaping of a story from the air; but i had no courage then to speak to him, and i walked on down the boulevard, perceiving as i went that flambeaus already lighted the great opera house, and that the _canaille_ were preparing for the riot. when at last i came to the hotel, and sent up my card, the answer was that monsieur barré had just left, and was not expected to return until the next morning. how completely this answer undid my purpose i could never set down. the man was my only possible hope. in the haste of my conclusions i had never found time to remember that i might not catch him; that every _flaneur_ was hither and thither like a will-o'-the-wisp on such a night. in vain i asked, nay, implored, for information--they could give me none; and when further importunity was plainly a farce, i had no alternative but to go to the rue boissière, in the ultimate hope that barré's destination was there, and that he had called upon his _fiancée_ before the hour of the appointment. but upon this i was determined, that until i had found him mademoiselle bernier should not wear the bracelet, though i stood at her side from that hour to midnight. my first attempt culminating unfruitfully, i quitted the passage of the hotel, being still bent upon the journey to the rue boissière, and was again upon the pavement before the café, when i saw the italian for the third time. he stood upon the very edge of the curbstone, undisguisedly waiting for me, so that upon a sudden impulse, which had wisdom in it, i walked over to him, and this time he did not turn away. "forgive the question," said i, in my miserable french, "but you are betraying an interest in my movements which is unusual; in fact, you have followed me from my hotel, i think?" "exactly," he replied, having even less of the tongue than i had, though i make no attempt to reproduce the vagaries of his idiom. "i followed you here, as you say----" "for what purpose, may i ask?" "to warn you!" "to warn me!" "certainly, since you carry in your pocket the topaz bracelet." "oh," said i, taken aback at his false conclusion, "it is that, is it? i am much obliged to you, but i don't happen to possess such a thing." "_mon dieu!_" said he; "then she did not sell it to you?" "she certainly did not!" "and she will wear it at the ball to-night?" "of course!" "mother of god! she is a dead woman then." it is often possible to tell from the chord of voice a man strikes in conversation whether he be friend or enemy. i knew from the sympathetic note in this earnest exclamation that i had to do with one who wished well to mademoiselle bernier; but the very sorrow of the words struck me chill with fear. it was plain that i must shape a bold course if i would learn the whole moment of the mystery, and observing that the stranger was a man of much shabbiness and undoubted poverty--if that might be judged by his dress--i played the only possible card at once. "look here," said i, "this is no time for words like this. come into the café with me, and i will pay you fifty pounds for what you know. it shall be worth a hundred if you convince me that you have done a substantial kindness to mademoiselle bernier." he looked at his watch before he made answer. then he said,-"the offer is a fair one, but i do not seek your money. we have two hours in which to save her, but before i go with you, you shall swear to me that anything i may tell you will never be used against me here or in any other country." "of course," said i; "you don't think i am a policeman, do you? i have no other interest but that of the lady." "nor i," said he; and he followed me into the café, but the place was so intolerably full that i bade him come with me to a little wine-shop in the rue lafayette, and there we found a vacant table, and i ordered his absinthe and a glass of coffee for myself. scarcely, however, had he lighted his cigarette before he began to talk of the matter we had come upon. "first," said he, "tell me, did mademoiselle speak of a letter she had received?" "she not only spoke of it, but she gave it to me to read," i replied. "well," said he, "i wrote it." "i gathered that from your words," said i next; "and of course you wrote it for very good reasons?" "you shall hear them," said he, sipping freely of his drink. "that bracelet was last worn at the _mi-carême_ ball in marseilles by a girl named berthe duval. she was carried from the ball-room stabbed horribly, at one o'clock in the morning. she died in my arms, for in one week she was to have been my wife." "and the assassin?" i asked. "was hunted for by the police in vain," he continued. "i myself offered every shilling that i had to find him, but, despite the activity of us all, he was never so much as named. let us go back another year--it is painful enough for me because such a retrogression recalls to me the one passion of my life--a passion beside which the affair at marseilles is not to be spoken of. god knows that the memory of the woman i refer to is at this moment eating out my heart. she was an italian girl, sixteen years old when she died, and i think--why should i not?--that the world has never held a more beautiful creature. well, she wore the bracelet, now about twenty-six months ago, at the _mardi gras_ ball in savona, and she fell dead before my very eyes ten minutes after she had entered the ball-room. she had drunk of poisoned coffee, and no man but one knew by whose hand the death had come to her." "you say no man but one; that one was----" "myself!" "then you knew who killed the other victim at marseilles?" "i knew, as you say; but to know and to arrest are different things." "have you any idea as to the man's whereabouts now?" "every idea; he was in paris three days ago--he was in paris to-day. i should judge it more than likely that he will be at the opera ball to-night." before he could say more i rose from my chair and summoned the head waiter of the place to me. then i wrote an urgent message upon a leaf of my note-book, and despatched it by a cab to 32, rue boissière. the message implored mademoiselle bernier, as she valued her life, to leave the bracelet at home for this night at any rate. "now," said i, "we can talk still at our leisure. you have taken me back to marseilles fourteen months ago; let us have the chapter in your life which precedes that one." he finished off his absinthe, and called for another glass before he would answer me. at last he said,-"you ask me to speak of things which i would well forget. i have sufficient confidence in you, however, to trust my safety in your hands. the story is not a long one. three years ago i was a struggling painter in savona, giving half my life to a study of the pictures in the cathedral--you may know the work of antonio semini there--and the other half to the worship of pauline di chigi, the daughter of a silversmith who lives over against the hotel royal. needless to tell you of my poverty, or of my belief in myself. i lived then in the day-dreams which come at the seed-time of art; they were broken only by the waywardness of the girl, by her womanly fickleness, by the riches of the men who sought her. it would weary you to hear of my long nights of agony following the momentary success of this man or that who wooed her, of my curses upon my own poverty, of my bitterness, and sometimes even of my hopelessness. there is something of this sort in the life of every poor man, but the romance will scarce bear the light of other eyes; it has a place in my story only in so far as it prompted me to steal the topaz, if stealing is the word for the act which gave me its possession. "but _arrivons_! in the end of the january of last year, i, struggling to embrace a career in which i have failed because i have genius and no talent, obtained a commission from the dominican monks to go to the valley of san bernardo, and to take up my residence there while i retouched some of the more modern and more faded pictures in the sanctuary of nostra signora di misericordia. the shrine and village lie in the mountains five miles above savona. the former is now regaining its splendor, though grievously pillaged by the french and by later vandals. the work would have been recreation to me had it not been for pauline, whom i left to the persecution of a fat and soulless trader, and to the solicitations of her father that she would marry him. the new lover loaded her with presents and with the follies of speech which a middle-aged man who is amorous can be guilty of. i could give her nothing but the promise of a future, and that being without market value did not convince her. while she would make pretence of affection for me when we were alone, she did nothing to repulse the other. thus i left savona with her kisses on my lips, and rage of her wantonness in my heart; and for three weeks i labored patiently in the mountain village; and my art lifted me even beyond the spell of the girl. "it was at the end of the third week that my thoughts were ardently recalled to her by a circumstance which cannot fail to appear remarkable to you. i was walking in the late afternoon of the sunday in the path which leads one high amongst the mountains, here rising green and purple, and afar with snowcaps above this lovely spot; and, chancing to turn aside from the road and to plunge into a shrubbery, i sat at last upon the log of a tree perched at the side of as wild a glen as i have seen in italy. below me were rocks of marble-black, yellow, red--all colors; aloe trees flourished abundantly, springing from every cranny of the dell; and though the reign of winter was not done, flowers blossomed everywhere, and multitudinous shrubs were rich in green and buds. here i sat for an hour buried in my musings, and when at last i left it was by an overgrown path across the dingle. i found then that the opposite side of the place was vastly steeper than the one by which i had descended; in fact, i mounted it with difficulty; and when near to the summit, i clung to the saplings and the branches for sheer foothold. this action brought all my trouble, for of a sudden, just as i had come to the top, a shrub to which i was holding gave at the roots, and giving, sent me rolling to the bottom again with a great quantity of soft earth all about me and my bones aching indescribably. "for some minutes i sat, being dizzy and shaken, on the soft grass. when i could look around me i saw a strange thing. in a mound of the mould which had fallen there was a crucifix of gold. thickly covered with the clammy earth as it was, dulled and tarnished with long burial, the value of the thing was unmistakable. rubies were set in the hands for blood, there was a crown of diamonds for thorns; the whole was ornamented with a sprinkling of jewels, whose fire was brilliant even through the pasty clay which clung upon the cross. i need scarce tell you that all the curiosity which is a part of me was whetted at this unexpected sight; and believing that i had come upon a very mine of treasure, i shook the mould off me, and went quickly by the easier path to the hill-top and the place of the landslip. [illustration: "when i could look around me, i saw a strange thing." --_page 206_] "twilight was now rushing through the mountains, and a steely light, soon to turn into darkness, fell upon the ravine; yet i was able still to see clearly enough for my purpose--and for my disappointment. it is true that the slip of the earth from the hillside disclosed a cavernous hole which had been dug, no doubt, many years ago; but of the kind of treasure whose image had leaped into my mind i saw little. the few bright things that lay about in the part of the trough which remained were entirely such vessels as serve priests in the mass. there was a pyx in silver, a paten in gold, and two smaller ones; a monstrance with some exceedingly fine diamonds and the topaz in it, and a gold chalice much indented. i judged at once that these things had been buried either when the french plunderers came to italy, or after the trouble of '70. it was equally clear that they were the property of the dominicans whose house was hard by; and either that their present hiding-place was unknown, or that they had been left in concealment for some reason of diplomacy. in any case, the value of the stones in the monstrance was unquestionable; but i am an italian, as you see, and i believed then, as now, in nothing but omens. for a long while no thought of touching these things, scarce even of handling them--so strong in human flesh is the grain of early superstition--came to me. i sat there gazing at them and watching the light of the topaz sparkling even above the radiance of the smaller diamonds--sat, in fact, until it was quite dark and the miasma rose from the valley. then, in one of those flashes of thought which often mean much to a man, i had it in my mind that both the diamonds and the topaz above them would sit well upon the arms of pauline; i even saw her in my fancy coquetting to me for the present. i began to laugh aloud at the other thoughts, to call them echoes of childish schooling, to handle the chalice and the ring of jewels, and to tell myself that there would be no bigger fool in europe if i did not take them. need i tell you that the reasoning convinced me? and quickly, as the cold of the mist grew more intense, i took the baubles in my hand, still lacking the courage to secure the chalice and the crucifix, and rose to leave the place. "now, for the first time, i think, you are beginning to see the point of my story. the strangest part of it yet remains. i have told you that dark had fallen upon the ravine as i rose up to quit it, and that mists rose thick from the valley with the early night. you will, therefore, easily understand my discomfiture when, reflected upon the white curtain of fog, i saw the dancing light of a lantern. in the next moment a man, young but ragged, with a full-bearded face, and the cape of a priest about his shoulders, stood swinging his lantern before me, and looking down at the tomb of the jewels by our feet. i know not why, but there was something of such power and command writ upon the monk's face that i have never called him by any other name than the christ. with what feelings he inspired me i cannot tell you. terror, human terror, is no word for my experience; my whole being seemed stricken with an apprehension which tortured me and made my brain burn. god! the memory shakes me even now, and i have seen him thrice since, and the fear is greater every time i look upon his face. "thus i stood facing the man when he opened his lips to curse me. i believe now, and shall always believe, that he is nothing but a madman, whose brain has failed from long fasting. be that as it may, his words ring yet in my ears. if you search the world through, read the curse upon barbarossa, and all the volumes of anathema, you will never find such a blasting accusation as the man spoke when he saw the monstrance in my hand. so dreadful was it that i reeled before him; and, losing all command, i struck him down with my stick and fled the place. the next day i quitted the valley of san bernardo, and in a week pauline was wearing the topaz, set by her father as a bracelet, and the diamonds sparkled upon her fingers. she covered me with kisses for the gift, and in her embraces i forgot the madman of the hills, and my melancholy passed. "the rest of my story you know. pauline wore the topaz at the _mardi gras_ ball, and died ten minutes after she had entered the room. a year later, having fled from italy, i became engaged _pour passer le temps_ to berthe duval, at marseilles. a man has many love affairs, but only one passion. i was not in love with her, but she was rich, and troubled herself to get a smattering of art-talk, which amused me. one day she found the topaz in my studio and begged it of me. she died as you have heard; and i, poor as always, and now pursued by the damning curse, came to paris, selling the topaz on my way here to m. georges barré. i have never ceased to regret that which i did; i have lamented it the most since i saw the exquisite creature who is to be his wife. and when, three days ago, i discovered the madman who had cursed me at san bernardo in the very rue boissière where mademoiselle bernier lives, i determined to save her though the deed cost me a confession and my liberty." * * * * * he had ceased to speak, and had drunk off the remainder of his absinthe, while his amazing story, which i could in no way believe, went whirling through my brain, and yet gave to me no shape of reality. at the first i was led to think that he was the madman, and i cracked for sitting there and hearing the extraordinary narration he had contrived; but there was something in his manner which forbade any long continuance of the assumption; and while i had no leisure to bring critical scrutiny upon his tale, it yet impressed me to immediate action. "come," said i, "presuming that your picture is not highly colored, it is quite time we were at the opera; it is striking half-past twelve now. you know what women are. mademoiselle bernier may wear the bracelet in the face of everything i have said; and i am inclined to think with you that it is not wise for her to do so." "god forbid that she should," said he; and with that we went out together. the weather at that time was cold and cheerless; a bleak wind swept round the corners of the streets; and the lights which illumined the peristyle of the great building swayed and flickered with lapping tongues of red and yellow. but once inside, the glow of light and color passed description. here, whirling, shouting, dancing, leaping, the maskers rioted, almost drowning with their clamor the blare of the band; the superb entrance hall was ablaze with the flash of tawdry jewels and shining raiment; kings and queens, knights and courtiers, _calicots_ and clowns, swarmed up the massive staircase, struggling, screaming, pushing, regardless of everything but the madness of the scene within. it was with the greatest difficulty that i reached tussal's box, and therefrom looking down upon the wild carnival, seeing at the first but a medley of form and color, a reckless horde of dancers, grisettes, shepherdesses, over whose heads _confetti_ hurtled, or the _spirales_ which the youths love. what with the dust and the scream of voices, and the chatter of the thousand tongues, and the heroic efforts of the fiddlers, it was almost impossible to locate anything or any one; but the italian, readier than i, pointed out to me at last the one we sought; and i observed her sitting in a box quite close to us, where she seemed to talk with all a girl's _esprit_ to the young sculptor at her side. a fairer spectacle never was than that of this childish creature, quaintly dressed in a simple gown of white and black, with a necklace of pearls about her throat, and a bouquet of roses in her hand; but the very sight of her turned me sick with fear, for she wore upon her arm the cursed topaz, and you could see the light of it half over the house. the italian and i perceived the thing at the one time; indeed, we rose from our seats together. "for the love of heaven go to her!" said he; "tell the whole story to both of them; she may not have ten minutes to live." he had need to say no more, for i was in the _foyer_ as he spoke; but scarce had i opened the door of barré's box--which was upon the ground floor, almost at the level of the dancers--when an appalling scream rose up even above the clamor of the throng. for one moment, as i stood quaking with my fears, and sore tempted to draw back, i saw nothing but a haze of white smoke, a vision of lurid faces and black forms, and sharper than them all, the figure of barré himself bending over the body of the insensible girl. then, amidst the babbling of voices, and the sobbing of women, and the cry of the man, which was the most bitter cry imaginable, i heard the words, "stop the student in the black cloak--he has shot mademoiselle!" but the girl lay dead, with a bullet through her heart. * * * * * the tragedy at the opera house was talk for many days in paris; but the assassin was never taken, nor indeed, heard of. the police inclined to the theory that some masquerader had discharged a pistol by accident in the heat of the riot; and to this theory most people inclined. but there was a large sympathy for m. georges barré, who lay near to death for many weeks after the shock, and who quitted the capital subsequently to take up his residence in london. i told him the story the italian had narrated to me so soon as he was well enough to hear it; but, like the police of paris who had it also, i could see that he did not believe a word of it. he sold me the topaz bracelet, however, and i have it to this day, for i want the courage to sell it. of the italian i never heard again. i saw him last immediately after the drama of the ball, when he lurched away from me, wringing his hands pitifully, begging me to tell his story to the police, and crying that a curse was upon him. but i take it, in conjunction with his confession, as a little curious that a madman, described as an ecclesiastic of savona, should have thrown himself before a train in the gare du nord two days after the death of mademoiselle bernier. the ripening rubies. the ripening rubies. "the plain fact is," said lady faber, "we are entertaining thieves. it positively makes me shudder to look at my own guests, and to think that some of them are criminals." we stood together in the conservatory of her house in portman square, looking down upon a brilliant ball-room, upon a glow of color, and the radiance of unnumbered gems. she had taken me aside after the fourth waltz to tell me that her famous belt of rubies had been shorn of one of its finest pendants; and she showed me beyond possibility of dispute that the loss was no accident, but another of those amazing thefts which startled london so frequently during the season of 1893. nor was hers the only case. though i had been in her house but an hour, complaints from other sources had reached me. the countess of dunholm had lost a crescent brooch of brilliants; mrs. kenningham-hardy had missed a spray of pearls and turquoise; lady hallingham made mention of an emerald locket which was gone, as she thought, from her necklace; though, as she confessed with a truly feminine doubt, she was not positive that her maid had given it to her. and these misfortunes, being capped by the abstraction of lady faber's pendant, compelled me to believe that of all the startling stories of thefts which the season had known the story of this dance would be the most remarkable. these things and many more came to my mind as i held the mutilated belt in my hand and examined the fracture, while my hostess stood, with an angry flush upon her face, waiting for my verdict. a moment's inspection of the bauble revealed to me at once its exceeding value, and the means whereby a pendant of it had been snatched. "if you will look closely," said i, "you will see that the gold chain here has been cut with a pair of scissors. as we don't know the name of the person who used them, we may describe them as pickpocket's scissors." "which means that i am entertaining a pickpocket," said she, flushing again at the thought. "or a person in possession of a pickpocket's implements," i suggested. "how dreadful," she cried, "not for myself, though the rubies are very valuable, but for the others. this is the third dance during the week at which people's jewels have been stolen. when will it end?" "the end of it will come," said i, "directly that you, and others with your power to lead, call in the police. it is very evident by this time that some person is socially engaged in a campaign of wholesale robbery. while a silly delicacy forbids us to permit our guests to be suspected or in any way watched, the person we mention may consider himself in a terrestrial paradise, which is very near the seventh heaven of delight. he will continue to rob with impunity, and to offer up his thanks for that generosity of conduct which refuses us a glimpse of his hat, or even an inspection of the boots in which he may place his plunder." "you speak very lightly of it," she interrupted, as i still held her belt in my hands. "do you know that my husband values the rubies in each of those pendants at eight hundred pounds?" "i can quite believe it," said i; "some of them are white as these are, i presume; but i want you to describe it for me, and as accurately as your memory will let you." "how will that help to its recovery?" she asked, looking at me questioningly. "possibly not at all," i replied; "but it might be offered for sale at my place, and i should be glad if i had the means of restoring it to you. stranger things have happened." "i believe," said she sharply, "you would like to find out the thief yourself." "i should not have the smallest objection," i exclaimed frankly; "if these robberies continue, no woman in london will wear real stones; and i shall be the loser." "i have thought of that," said she; "but, you know, you are not to make the slightest attempt to expose any guest in my house; what you do outside is no concern of mine." "exactly," said i, "and for the matter of that i am likely to do very little in either case; we are working against clever heads; and if my judgment be correct, there is a whole gang to cope with. but tell me about the rubies." "well," said she, "the stolen pendant is in the shape of a rose. the belt, as you know, was brought by lord faber from burmah. besides the ring of rubies, which each drop has, the missing star includes four yellow stones, which the natives declare are ripening rubies. it is only a superstition, of course; but the gems are full of fire, and as brilliant as diamonds." "i know the stones well," said i; "the burmese will sell you rubies of all colors if you will buy them, though the blue variety is nothing more than the sapphire. and how long is it since you missed the pendant?" "not ten minutes ago," she answered. "which means that your next partner might be the thief?" i suggested. "really, a dance is becoming a capital entertainment." "my next partner is my husband," said she, laughing for the first time, "and whatever you do, don't say a word to him. he would never forgive me for losing the rubies." when she was gone, i, who had come to her dance solely in the hope that a word or a face there would cast light upon the amazing mystery of the season's thefts, went down again where the press was and stood while the dancers were pursuing the dreary paths of a "square." there before me were the hundred types one sees in a london ball-room--types of character and of want of character, of age aping youth, and of youth aping age, of well-dressed women and ill-dressed women, of dandies and of the bored, of fresh girlhood and worn maturity. mixed in the dazzling _mêlée_, or swaying to the rhythm of a music-hall melody, you saw the lean forms of boys; the robust forms of men; the pretty figures of the girls just out; the figures, not so pretty of the matrons, who, for the sake of the picturesque, should long ago have been in. as the picture changed quickly, and fair faces succeeded to dark faces, and the coquetting eyes of pretty women passed by with a glance to give place to the uninteresting eyes of the dancing man, i asked myself what hope would the astutest spy have of getting a clue to the mysteries in such a room; how could he look for a moment to name one man or one woman who had part or lot in the astounding robberies which were the wonder of the town? yet i knew that if nothing were done, the sale of jewels in london would come to the lowest ebb the trade had known, and that i, personally, should suffer loss to an extent which i did not care to think about. i have said often, in jotting down from my book a few of the most interesting cases which have come to my notice, that i am no detective, nor do i pretend to the smallest gift of foresight above my fellow man. whenever i have busied myself about some trouble it has been from a personal motive which drove me on, or in the hope of serving some one who henceforth should serve me. and never have i brought to my aid other weapon than a certain measure of common sense. in many instances the purest good chance has given to me my only clue; the merest accident has set me straight when a hundred roads lay before me. i had come to lady faber's house hoping that the sight of some stranger, a chance word, or even an impulse might cast light upon the darkness in which we had walked for many weeks. yet the longer i stayed in the ball-room the more futile did the whole thing seem. though i knew that a nimble-fingered gentleman might be at my very elbow, that half-a-dozen others might be dancing cheerfully about me in that way of life to which their rascality had called them, i had not so much as a hand-breadth of suspicion; saw no face that was not the face of the dancing ass, or the smart man about town; did not observe a single creature who led me to hazard a question. and so profound at last was my disgust that i elbowed my way from the ball-room in despair; and went again to the conservatory where the palms waved seductively, and the flying corks of the champagne bottles made music harmonious to hear. there were few people in this room at the moment--old general sharard, who was never yet known to leave a refreshment table until the supper table was set; the rev. arthur mellbank, the curate of st. peter's, sipping tea; a lean youth who ate an ice with the relish of a schoolboy; and the ubiquitous sibyl kavanagh, who has been vulgarly described as a garrison hack. she was a woman of many partialties, whom every one saw at every dance, and then asked how she got there--a woman with sufficient personal attraction left to remind you that she was _passé_, and sufficient wit to make an interval tolerable. i, as a rule, had danced once with her, and then avoided both her program and her chatter; but now that i came suddenly upon her, she cried out with a delicious pretence of artlessness, and ostentatiously made room for me at her side. "_do_ get me another cup of tea," she said; "i've been talking for ten minutes to colonel harner, who has just come from the great thirst land, and i've caught it." "you'll ruin your nerves," said i, as i fetched her the cup, "and you'll miss the next dance." "i'll sit it out with you," she cried gushingly; "and as for nerves, i haven't got any. i must have shed them with my first teeth. but i want to talk to you--you've heard the news, of course! isn't it dreadful?" she said this with a beautiful look of sadness, and for a moment i did not know to what she referred. then it dawned upon my mind that she had heard of lady faber's loss. "yes," said i, "it's the profoundest mystery i have ever known." "and can't you think of any explanation at all?" she asked, as she drank her tea at a draught. "isn't it possible to suspect some one just to pass the time?" "if you can suggest any one," said i, "we will begin with pleasure." "well, there's no one in this room to think of, is there?" she asked with her limpid laugh; "of course you couldn't search the curate's pockets, unless sermons were missing instead of rubies?" "this is a case of 'sermons in stones,'" i replied, "and a very serious case. i wonder you have escaped with all those pretty brilliants on your sleeves." "but i haven't escaped," she cried; "why, you're not up to date. don't you know that i lost a marquise brooch at the hayes's dance the other evening? i have never heard the last of it from my husband, who will not believe for a minute that i did not lose it in the crowd." "and you yourself believe----" "that it was stolen, of course. i pin my brooches too well to lose them--some one took it in the same cruel way that lady faber's rubies have been taken. isn't it really awful to think that at every party we go to thieves go with us? it's enough to make one emigrate to the shires." she fell to the flippant mood again, for nothing could keep her from that; and as there was obviously nothing to be learnt from her, i listened to her chatter sufferingly. "but we were going to suspect people," she continued suddenly, "and we have not done it. as we can't begin with the curate, let's take the slim young man opposite. hasn't he what sheridan calls--but there, i mustn't say it; you know--a something disinheriting countenance?" "he eats too many jam tarts and drinks too much lemonade to be a criminal," i replied; "besides, he is not occupied, you'll have to look in the ball-room." "i can just see the top of the men's heads," said she, craning her neck forward in the effort. "have you noticed that when a man is dancing, either he star-gazes in ecstasy, as though he were in heaven, or looks down to his boots--well, as if it were the other thing?" "possibly," said i; "but you're not going to constitute yourself a _vehmgericht_ from seeing the top of people's heads." "indeed," she cried, "that shows how little you know; there is more character in the crown of an old man's head than is dreamt of in your philosophy, as what's-his-name says. look at that shining roof bobbing up there, for instance; that is the halo of port and honesty--and a difficulty in dancing the polka. oh! that mine enemy would dance the polka--especially if he were stout." "do you really possess an enemy?" i asked, as she fell into a vulgar burst of laughter at her own humor; but she said,-"do i possess one? go and discuss me with the other women--that's what i tell all my partners to do; and they come back and report to me. it's as good as a play!" "it must be," said i, "a complete extravaganza. but your enemy has finished his exercise, and they are going to play a waltz. shall i take you down?" "yes," she cried, "and don't forget to discuss me. oh, these crushes!" she said this as we came to the press upon the corner of the stairs leading to the ball-room, a corner where she was pushed desperately against the banisters. the vigor of the polka had sent an army of dancers to the conservatory, and for some minutes we could neither descend nor go back; but when the press was somewhat relieved, and she made an effort to progress, her dress caught in a spike of the iron-work, and the top of a panel of silk which went down one side of it was ripped open and left hanging. for a minute she did not notice the mishap; but as the torn panel of silk fell away slightly from the more substantial portion of her dress, i observed, pinned to the inner side of it, a large crescent brooch of diamonds. in the same instant she turned with indescribable quickness, and made good the damage. but her face was scarlet in the flush of its color; and she looked at me with questioning eyes. "what a miserable accident," she said. "i have spoilt my gown." "have you?" said i sympathetically, "i hope it was not my clumsiness--but really there doesn't seem much damage done. did you tear it in front?" there was need of very great restraint in saying this. though i stood simply palpitating with amazement, and had to make some show of examining her gown, i knew that even an ill-judged word might undo the whole good of the amazing discovery, and deprive me of that which appeared to be one of the most astounding stories of the year. to put an end to the interview, i asked her laughingly if she would not care to see one of the maids upstairs; and she jumped at the excuse, leaving me upon the landing to watch her hurriedly mounting to the bedroom story above. when she was gone, i went back to the conservatory and drank a cup of tea, always the best promoter of clear thought; and for some ten minutes i turned the thing over in my mind. who was mrs. sibyl kavanagh, and why had she sewn a brooch of brilliants to the inside of a panel of her gown--sewn it in a place where it was as safely hid from sight as though buried in the thames? a child could have given the answer--but a child would have overlooked many things which were vital to the development of the unavoidable conclusion of the discovery. the brooch that i had seen corresponded perfectly with the crescent of which lady dunholme was robbed--yet it was a brooch which a hundred women might have possessed; and if i had simply stepped down and told lady faber, "the thief you are entertaining is mrs. sibyl kavanagh," a slander action with damages had trodden upon the heels of the folly. yet i would have given a hundred pounds to have been allowed full inspection of the whole panel of the woman's dress--and i would have staked an equal sum that there had been found in it the pendant of the ripening rubies; a pendant which seemed to me the one certain clue that would end the series of jewel robberies, and the colossal mystery of the year. now, however, the woman had gone upstairs to hide in another place whatever she had to hide; and for the time it was unlikely that a sudden searching of her dress would add to my knowledge. a second cup of tea helped me still further on my path. it made quite clear to me the fact that the woman was the recipient of the stolen jewels, rather than the actual taker of them. she, clearly, could not use the scissors which had severed lady faber's pendant from the ruby belt. a skilful man had in all probability done that--but which man, or perhaps men? i had long felt that the season's robberies were the work of many hands. chance had now marked for me one pair; but it was vastly more important to know the others. the punishment of the woman would scarce stop the widespread conspiracy; the arrest of her for the possession of a crescent brooch, hid suspiciously it is true, but a brooch of a pattern which abounded in every jeweler's shop from kensington to temple bar, would have been consummate lunacy. of course, i could have taken cab to scotland yard, and have told my tale; but with no other support, how far would that have availed me? if the history of the surpassingly strange case were to be written, i knew that i must write it, and lose no moment in the work. i had now got a sufficient grip upon the whole situation to act decisively, and my first step was to re-enter the ball-room, and to take a partner for the next waltz. we had made some turns before i discovered that mrs. kavanagh was again in the room, dancing with her usual dash, and seemingly in no way moved by the mishap. as we passed in the press, she even smiled at me, saying, "i've set full sail again;" and her whole bearing convinced me of her belief that i had seen nothing. at the end of my dance my own partner, a pretty little girl in pink, left me with the remark, "you're awfully stupid to-night! i ask you if you've seen _manon lescaut_, and the only thing you say is, 'the panel buttons up, i thought so.'" this convinced me that it was dangerous to dance again, and i waited in the room only until the supper was ready, and mrs. kavanagh passed me, making for the dining-room, on the arm of general sharard. i had loitered to see what jewels she wore upon her dress; and when i had made a note of them, i slipped from the front door of the house unobserved, and took a hansom to my place in bond street. at the second ring of the bell my watchman opened the door to me; and while he stood staring with profound surprise, i walked straight to one of the jewel cases in which our cheaper jewels are kept, and took therefrom a spray of diamonds, and hooked it to the inside of my coat. then i sent the man upstairs to awaken abel, and in five minutes my servant was with me, though he wore only his trousers and his shirt. "abel," said i, "there's good news for you. i'm on the path of the gang we're wanting." "good god, sir!" cried he, "you don't mean that!" "yes," said i, "there's a woman named sibyl kavanagh in it to begin with, and she's helped herself to a couple of diamond sprays, and a pendant of rubies at lady faber's to-night. one of the sprays i know she's got; if i could trace the pendant to her, the case would begin to look complete." "whew!" he ejaculated, brightening up at the prospect of business. "i knew there was a woman in it all along--but this one, why, she's a regular flier, ain't she, sir?" "we'll find out her history presently. i'm going straight back to portman square now. follow me in a hansom, and when you get to the house, wait inside my brougham until i come. but before you do that, run round to marlborough street police-station and ask them if we can have ten or a dozen men ready to mark a house in bayswater some time between this and six o'clock to-morrow morning." "you're going to follow her home then?" "exactly, and if my wits can find a way i'm going to be her guest for ten minutes after she quits lady faber's. they're sure to let you have the men either at marlborough street or at the harrow road station. this business has been a disgrace to them quite long enough." "that's so, sir; king told me yesterday that he'd bury his head in the sand if something didn't turn up soon. you haven't given me the exact address though." "because i haven't got it. i only know that the woman lives somewhere near st. stephen's church--she sits under, or on, one of the curates there. if you can get her address from her coachman, do so. but go and dress and be in portman square at the earliest possible moment." it was now very near one o'clock, indeed the hour struck as i passed the chapel in orchard street; and when i came into the square i found my own coachman waiting with the brougham at the corner by baker street. i told him, before i entered the house, to expect abel; and not by any chance to draw up at lady faber's. then i made my way quietly to the ball-room and observed mrs. kavanagh--i will not say dancing, but hurling herself through the last figure of the lancers. it was evident that she did not intend to quit yet awhile; and i left her to get some supper, choosing a seat near to the door of the dining-room, so that any one passing must be seen by me. to my surprise, i had not been in the room ten minutes when she suddenly appeared in the hall, unattended, and her cloak wrapped round her; but she passed without perceiving me; and i, waiting until i heard the hall door close, went out instantly and got my wraps. many of the guests had left already, but a few carriages and cabs were in the square, and a linkman seemed busy in the distribution of unlimited potations. it occurred to me that if abel had not got the woman's address, this man might give it to me, and i put the plain question to him. "that lady who just left," said i, "did she have a carriage or a cab?" "oh, you mean mrs. kevenner," he answered thickly, "she's a keb, she is, allus takes a hansom, sir; 192, westbourne park; i don't want to ask when i see her, sir." "thank you," said i, "she has dropped a piece of jewelry in the hall, and i thought i would drive round and return it to her." he looked surprised, at the notion, perhaps, of any one returning anything found in a london ball-room but i left him with his astonishment and entered my carriage. there i found abel crouching down under the front seat, and he met me with a piteous plea that the woman had no coachman, and that he had failed to obtain her address. "never mind that," said i, as we drove off sharply, "what did they say at the station?" "they wanted to bring a force of police round, and arrest every one in the house, sir. i had trouble enough to hold them in, i'm sure. but i said that we'd sit down and watch if they made any fuss, and then they gave in. it's agreed now that a dozen men will be at the harrow road station at your call till morning. they've a wonderful confidence in you, sir." "it's a pity they haven't more confidence in themselves--but, anyway, we are in luck. the woman's address is 192, westbourne park, and i seem to remember that it is a square." "i'm sure of it," said he; "it's a round square in the shape of an oblong, and one hundred and ninety two is at the side near durham something or other; we can watch it easily from the palings." after this, ten minutes' drive brought us to the place, and i found it as he had said, the "square" being really a triangle. number one hundred and ninety two was a big house, its outer points gone much to decay, but lighted on its second and third floors; though so far as i could see, for the blinds of the drawing-room were up, no one was moving. this did not deter me, however, and, taking my stand with abel at the corner where two great trees gave us perfect shelter, we waited silently for many minutes, to the astonishment of the constable upon the beat, with whom i soon settled; and to his satisfaction. "ah," said he, "i knew they was rum 'uns all along; they owe fourteen pounds for milk, and their butcher ain't paid; young men going in all night, too--why, there's one of them there now." i looked through the trees at his words, and saw that he was right. a youth in an opera hat and a black coat was upon the doorstep of the house; and as the light of a street lamp fell upon his face, i recognized him. he was the boy who had eaten of the jam-tarts so plentifully at lady faber's--the youth with whom sibyl kavanagh had pretended to have no acquaintance when she talked to me in the conservatory. and at the sight of him, i knew that the moment had come. "abel," i said, "it's time you went. tell the men to bring a short ladder with them. they'll have to come in by the balcony--but only when i make a sign. the signal will be the cracking of the glass of that lamp you can see upon the table there. did you bring my pistol?" "would i forget that?" he asked; "i brought you two, and look out! for you may want them." "i know that," said i, "but i depend upon you. get back at the earliest possible moment, and don't act until i give the signal. it will mean that the clue is complete." he nodded his head, and disappeared quickly in the direction where the carriage was; but i went straight up to the house, and knocked loudly upon the door. to my surprise, it was opened at once by a thick-set man in livery, who did not appear at all astonished to see me. "they're upstairs, sir, will you go up?" said he. "certainly," said i, taking him at his word. "lead the way." this request made him hesitate. "i beg your pardon," said he, "i think i have made a mistake--i'll speak to mrs. kavanagh." before i could answer he had run up the stairs nimbly; but i was quick after him; and when i came upon the landing, i could see into the front drawing, room, where there sat the woman herself, a small and oldish man with long black whiskers, and the youth who had just come into the room, but the back room which gave off from the other with folding-doors, was empty; and there was no light in it. all this i perceived in a momentary glance, for no sooner had the servingman spoken to the woman, than she pushed the youth out upon the balcony, and came hurriedly to the landing, closing the door behind her. "why, mr. sutton," she cried, when she saw me, "this is a surprise; i was just going to bed." "i was afraid you would have been already gone," said i with the simplest smile possible, "but i found a diamond spray in lady faber's hall just after you had left. the footman said it must be yours, and as i am going out of town to-morrow, i thought i would risk leaving it to-night." i handed to her as i spoke the spray of diamonds i had taken from my own show-case in bond street; but while she examined it she shot up at me a quick searching glance from her bright eyes, and her thick sensual lips were closed hard upon each other. yet, in the next instant, she laughed again, and handed me back the jewel. "i'm indeed very grateful to you," she exclaimed, "but i've just put my spray in its case; you want to give me some one else's property." "then it isn't yours?" said i, affecting disappointment. "i'm really very sorry for having troubled you." "it is i that should be sorry for having brought you here," she cried. "won't you have a brandy and seltzer or something before you go?" "nothing whatever, thanks," said i. "let me apologize again for having disturbed you--and wish you 'good-night.'" she held out her hand to me, seemingly much reassured; and as i began to descend the stairs, she re-entered the drawing-room for the purpose, i did not doubt, of getting the man off the balcony. the substantial lackey was then waiting in the hall to open the door for me; but i went down very slowly, for in the truth the whole of my plan appeared to have failed; and at that moment i was without the veriest rag of an idea. my object in coming to the house had been to trace, and if possible to lay hands upon the woman's associates, taking her, as i hoped, somewhat by surprise; yet though i had made my chain more complete, vital links were missing; and i stood no nearer to the forging of them. that which i had to ask myself, and to answer in the space of ten seconds, was the question, "now, or to-morrow?"--whether i should leave the house without effort, and wait until the gang betrayed itself again; or make some bold stroke which would end the matter there and then. the latter course was the one i chose. the morrow, said i, may find these people in paris or in belgium; there never may be such a clue again as that of the ruby pendant--there never may be a similar opportunity of taking at least three of those for whom we had so long hunted. and with this thought a whole plan of action suddenly leaped up in my mind; and i acted upon it, silently and swiftly and with a readiness which to this day i wonder at. i now stood at the hall-door, which the lackey held open. one searching look at the man convinced me that my design was a sound one. he was obtuse, patronizing,--but probably honest. as we faced each other i suddenly took the door-handle from him, and banged the door loudly, remaining in the hall. then i clapped my pistol to his head (though for this offence i surmise that a judge might have given me a month), and i whispered fiercely to him:-"this house is surrounded by police; if you say a word i'll give you seven years as an accomplice of the woman upstairs, whom we are going to arrest. when she calls out, answer that i'm gone, and then come back to me for instructions. if you do as i tell you, you shall not be charged--otherwise, you go to jail." at this speech the poor wretch paled before me, and shook so that i could feel the tremor all down the arm of his which i held. "i--i won't speak, sir," he gasped. "i won't, i do assure you--to think as i should have served such folk." "then hide me, and be quick about it--in this room here, it seems dark. now run upstairs and say i'm gone." i had stepped into a little breakfast-room at the back of the dining-room, and there had gone unhesitatingly under a round table. the place was absolutely dark, and was a vantage ground, since i could see therefrom the whole of the staircase; but before the footman could mount the stairs, the woman came half-way down them, and, looking over the hall, she asked him,-"is that gentleman gone?" "just left, mum," he replied. "then go to bed, and never let me see you admit a stranger like that again." she went up again at this, and he turned to me, asking,-"what shall i do now, sir? i'll do anything if you'll speak for me, sir; i've got twenty years' kerecter from lord walley; to think as she's a bad 'un--it's hardly creditable." "i shall speak for you," said i, "if you do exactly what i tell you. are any more men expected now?" "yes, there's two more; the capting and the clergymin, pretty clergymin he must be, too." "never mind that; wait and let them in. then go upstairs and turn the light out on the staircase as if by accident. after that you can go to bed." "did you say the police was 'ere?" he asked in his hoarse whisper; and i said,-"yes, they're everywhere, on the roof, and in the street, and on the balcony. if there's the least resistance, the house will swarm with them." what he would have said to this i cannot tell, for at that moment there was another knock upon the front door, and he opened it instantly. two men, one in clerical dress, and one, a very powerful man, in a newmarket coat, went quickly upstairs, and the butler followed them. a moment later the gas went out on the stairs; and there was no sound but the echo of the talk in the front drawing-room. the critical moment in my night's work had now come. taking off my boots, and putting my revolver at the half-cock, i crawled up the stairs with the step of a cat, and entered the back drawing-room. one of the folding doors of this was ajar, so that a false step would probably have cost me my life--and i could not possibly tell if the police were really in the street, or only upon their way. but it was my good luck that the men talked loudly, and seemed actually to be disputing. the first thing i observed on looking through the open door was that the woman had left the four to themselves. three of them stood about the table whereon the lamp was; the dumpy man with the black whiskers sat in his arm-chair. but the most pleasing sight of all was that of a large piece of cotton-wool spread upon the table, and almost covered with brooches, lockets, and sprays of diamonds; and to my infinite satisfaction i saw lady faber's pendant of rubies lying conspicuous even amongst the wealth of jewels which the light showed. there then was the clue; but how was it to be used? it came to me suddenly that four consummate rogues such as these were would not be unarmed. did i step into the room, they might shoot me at the first sound: and if the police had not come, that would be the end of it. had opportunity been permitted to me, i would, undoubtedly, have waited five or ten minutes to assure myself that abel was in the street without. but this was not to be. even as i debated the point, a candle's light shone upon the staircase; and in another moment mrs. kavanagh herself stood in the doorway watching me. for one instant she stood, but it served my purpose; and as a scream rose upon her lips, and i felt my heart thudding against my ribs, i threw open the folding doors, and deliberately shot down the glass of the lamp which had cast the aureola of light upon the stolen jewels. as the glass flew, for my reputation as a pistol shot was not belied in this critical moment, mrs. kavanagh ran in a wild fit of hysterical screaming to her bedroom above--but the four men turned with loud cries to the door where they had seen me; and as i saw them coming, i prayed that abel might be there. this thought need not have occurred to me. scarce had the men taken two steps when the glass of the balcony windows was burst in with a crash, and the whole room seemed to fill with police. * * * * * i cannot now remember precisely the sentences which were passed upon the great gang (known to police history as the westbourne park gang) of jewel thieves; but the history of that case is curious enough to be worthy of mention. the husband of the woman kavanagh--he of the black whiskers--was a man of the name of whyte, formerly a manager in the house of james thorndike, the universal provider near the tottenham court road. whyte's business had been to provide all things needful for dances; and, though it astonishes me to write it, he had even found dancing men for many ladies whose range of acquaintance was narrow. in the course of business, he set up for himself eventually; and as he worked, the bright idea came to him, why not find as guests men who may snap up, in the heat and the security of the dance, such unconsidered trifles as sprays, pendants, and lockets. to this end he married, and his wife being a clever woman who fell in with his idea, she--under the name of kavanagh--made the acquaintance of a number of youths whose business it was to dance; and eventually wormed herself into many good houses. the trial brought to light the extraordinary fact that no less than twenty-three men and eight women were bound in this amazing conspiracy, and that kavanagh acted as the buyer of the property they stole, giving them a third of the profits, and swindling them outrageously. he, i believe, is now taking the air at portland; and the other young men are finding in the exemplary exercise of picking oakum, work for idle hands to do. as for mrs. kavanagh, she was dramatic to the end of it; and, as i learnt from king, she insisted on being arrested in bed. my lady of the sapphires. my lady of the sapphires. a photograph of my lady of the sapphires is hung immediately opposite to the writing-table in my private office. it is there much on the principle which compels a monk to set a skull upon his praying-stool, or a son of mohammed to ejaculate pious phrases at the call of the muezzin. "_nemo solus sapit_," wrote plautus. had fate cast him in the mould of a jeweler, rather than that of a playwright, he would have set down a stronger phrase. i first saw my lady two years ago, though it was only upon the day of my introduction that i learnt her name. she had then, though i knew it not, been before the town for many weeks as a physiognomist, a mistress of the stars, a reader of faces, and in many other capacities interesting to the idle and the credulous. society, which laughed at her predictions, paid innumerable guineas for the possession of them; great dames sat in her boudoir and discussed amatory possibilities; even the youth of the city, drawn by the prettiness of her manner and her unquestionable good looks, came cheerfully to hear that they would have money "from two sources," or had passed through the uninteresting complaints of infancy without harm. in her way, she was the event of the season. dowagers scolded her, but came again and again to probe family secrets, and learn the hidden things about their husbands; men flocked to her to know what possibility there was of an early return to the bliss of single life; mere boys ventured upon the hazard of a little mild flirtation--and were at once shown the door by a formidable lackey. throughout her career scandal never lifted its voice against her. she was engaged ultimately to jack lucas, and her marriage was as brilliant as her career had been fortunate. when a curious chance and combination of events first brought me to acquaintance with her she was in the very height of her practice. carriages crowded daily in dover street where, with her mother, she had rooms--and it was the thing to consult her. yet, until i dined casually one night with colonel oldfield, the collector of cat's-eyes, and bracebridge, at the bohemian club, hard by her house, i had never heard of her. the conversation turned during the soup--when talk is always watery--upon the press of broughams in the street without, and oldfield mentioned her history to me, and the surprising nature of many things she had told him. "it is easy enough," said he, "to look at a man's hand and deduce scarlet-fever and measles somewhere between two and twelve years of age; but when a woman tells you calmly that you were ready to die for two other women at the age of one-and-twenty, it's a thing to make you pause." "which i hope you did," exclaimed bracebridge. "love is distinctly a matter for specialization." "i did pause, sir," said the colonel severely, "and that's where her cleverness comes in. she told me that neither of the women cared the snap of a finger for me, and i have really come to the conclusion that she was right. years put a glamour upon most things, but it is hard, even at fifty, to recall a woman's 'no' of thirty years ago." "memory is a dangerous vice which should be controlled," said bracebridge; "if you want peace, you must learn to forget. there should be no yesterday for the man of the world. but i know the morbid kind of recollection you speak about. there was a fellow here only the other night who kept a proposal book. he put the 'noes' on one side, and the 'ayes' on the other, and balanced the columns every christmas. one day he left the book in a cab, and has spent his time since going to scotland yard for it. that comes of reminiscences!" "i agree with you in the main," said the colonel! "there is very little in any man's private life which is of concern to any one but himself. the lady we are speaking of knows this, and makes her fortune by her knowledge. the truth is that we all love a little plain-spokenness. there is far too much praise about. tell a fool that he is not a clever man discreetly, and you flatter him; inform him that he is a brainless ass, and he will kick you. but when you put a black cap on your head, and take a wand in your hand, and charge a guinea for the spectacle, the fool will hear of his folly cheerfully." "then the girl you mention is a mere vulgar fortune-teller," said i, intervening for the first time. "it's astonishing how little difference there is, when you come to reckon it up, between the tastes of a grand dame and the tastes of her cook. the one goes in at the front door to get her hand read for a guinea; the other goes out of the back to have an equally plausible delineation for sixpence. credulity does not know any distinction of class; in the case i mention rank is represented by one pound odd. those of us who have no particular objection to spill salt, shiver to see the new moon through glass. that man alone who tells you frankly that he believes in all superstitions is free from the blemish. but common fortune-telling, i confess, leaves me unmoved." "if it began and ended in the mere vulgar allotment of tragedy and of marriage, i should agree with you," said bracebridge, speaking with unusual seriousness; "but i am inclined to think that this is a case of noteworthy cleverness, or at least of uncommon wit. the girl, possibly, is a charlatan: but if one half said of her be true, she is the _best_ at the profession we have known. and after all, it's an achievement to be _the_ best at some occupation, if it's only that of picking pockets." "speaking of that," said oldfield, "i once knew a man in the '60th' who was proud because a society paper described him as the finest idler in europe. that was a negative distinction of surpassing beauty, you must admit. in the lady's case, however, there is something substantial to praise. she can talk of things of which i would not attempt to spell the name, with a fluency which is charming, if it is not accurate; she has a room full of unreadable books; and i believe there are a dozen men in town who will swear that she has made diamonds before their very eyes. that should interest you, sutton. a woman who is the possessor of what she calls the 'alkahest' or universal solvent, is not to be interviewed for a guinea every day. besides, she might give you some useful hints." "and who knows," said bracebridge, "what might come of it. i presume you pay three pounds odd an ounce for the genuine metal to-day. under certain contingencies, you might get it for threepence, and a wife into the bargain." i listened to their banter with amusement for some minutes, and then cut in a little seriously. "i did not know," said i, "that physiognomy and alchemy usually ran well in double harness, but i must take your word for it. anything of this sort is always amusing to a jeweler, though he is apt to get a little too much of it. the last gold maker who came to me began by promising to make a million in six months, and ended by wanting to borrow half-a-crown. i've seen scores of that sort." "you may laugh at her as much as you please," said oldfield; "but of one thing be assured. if i am any judge of precious stones at all, she can make rubies, and good ones too. she cast one for me when i was last at her place, and i offered her fifty pounds upon the spot for it. a quack would have taken the money, but she refused it; you couldn't want any better proof of her _bona fides_ than that." "pardon me," i interrupted, "but i can't accept the conclusion. probably the ruby you thought she made was the only one in the place. it was like the stock knife of the cheap jack. you couldn't expect her to part with it." "certainly i did. if she had made only one stone, i should have jumped to your opinion; but she turned them out by the dozen. most of them were small; some were altogether too insignificant to notice. one only, as i say, was substantial; and in explanation of that, she admitted her want of control over the action of the crystals in the crucible. sometimes they will prove worth money; more often they are quite without value. but she has hopes that the day will come when she will complete a discovery which will astonish the universe." "they all hope that," said i; "but the universe remains unmoved." "and, of course, you don't believe a word of it," cried bracebridge, as he helped himself to salad. "well, it's part of your business, i suppose, to believe only in what you see, and not altogether in that. but the colonel's right about the girl, and i can second every word he says. she made a piece of gold as big as your thumbnail before my very eyes. there was no pretense or humbug about it; and i may tell you that she'll only do this sort of thing for those she knows well. if you went to her to-morrow, and said, 'i want to see your experiments,' she'd laugh at you, and send you away feeling like a fool." "and seriously," said i, beginning to experience a glimmer of interest, "you believe that she has discovered something of importance?" "seriously i do; and if you went to her house you would swear by her for the next month, possibly for two." "you don't convince me at all," i replied, trying to look utterly unconcerned. "i have known too many gold-makers for that. some of them are now in workhouses; others are in prison. one of the last got three months for stealing an overcoat, which was ridiculously unromantic." "not at all," said the colonel; "theft is a complex subject capable of analysis. a thief is a man who buys in the cheapest market. we all try to do that in our way. there is no earthly reason why a _savant_, who is near to possessing the philosopher's stone, should not be charged before a magistrate with stealing a red herring. life is all contrast, and the contrast we speak of is a very pretty one. go and see her at your earliest opportunity." "that's my advice too," said bracebridge; "and if you've a fancy to watch her at the crucible, i'll speak for you. what's more, i'll bet you an even hundred pounds that you admit my conclusions." "which are?" i asked. "that she has come nearer to the solution of the diamond problem than any man or woman living or dead." "i don't bet on certainties," said i; "but if you care to trouble the lady to burn her doubtlessly pretty hands on my account, well, let's have the interview by all means. if she convinces me that she can make any sort of precious stone worth selling in the market, i'll give a hundred pounds to a children's hospital--the colonel can name it." "is it a serious offer?" asked the colonel, looking, as i thought, a little meaningly at bracebridge, but i said,-"i was never more serious, and town will be quite dismal enough after this week" (it was the week of goodwood). "fix it up as early as you can; and conjure the lady, whose name i have not yet had the pleasure of hearing, to take care of your reputation. if she can cast me a ruby or a sapphire worth looking at, i will set it in diamonds and make her a present of it. you may tell her so from me." "i'll give her your message undiluted," said bracebridge, with a great deal of content, "but i'll warrant that she'll have the laugh of you, and so shall we." they said no more upon the matter until the end of the dinner, and it was not referred to in the smoking room after. we quitted the club at an early hour to hear a song at a music-hall which the colonel raved about; and after that i left them and returned to bayswater, with the recollection of my rash promise gone clean out of my head. i did not even recall it on the following morning, and it was some three days after that i received a note from the colonel saying that he had, during bracebridge's absence from town, made an appointment for me with miss jessie fleming--for such was the fair alchemist's name--and that she would be glad to tell me anything she could about her work on the following afternoon at half-past two o'clock. the letter at once brought to my mind the whole of the conversation, at the club. i remembered with a smile of contempt that the lady was to show me, during a short interview, how the whole of a jeweler's occupation was soon to be done with; how diamonds and sapphires and even the precious metal itself, were presently to be as common as pebbles in a brook; and i concluded with easy assurance that if any children's hospital depended upon my being convinced, it would have to close its doors at an early date. i had seen so much of this sort of thing; so many stories of fortunes lying in a metal pot had been whispered into my ear; this could be but an addition to the list; it remained to see if it would be an amusing addition. i will confess readily that if the pretender had been a man, i would have declined curtly to see him. the whole of those who had come to me hitherto with a pretended insight into the arcana of metals were men--mostly half-pay officers--whose wits were half gone with their money. here, however, was, by all accounts, a charming professor of the lost art. the season was beginning to be dull; there were no more "at homes"; possibly she would amuse me. i had given my promise to the men--and to put it briefly i found myself at miss jessie fleming's door on the following day, not a little expectant, disdainfully incredulous, and exceedingly anxious to prove for myself if the physiognomist's personal attractions were even a tithe of those which had been claimed for her by so many long headed and usually sensible men. my knock at the modest-looking portal was answered by a formidable flunky, who did not wait to hear my name, but conducted me up a staircase draped almost to darkness with heavy curtains, and so to a well-furnished waiting-room on the first floor. here three women, all well known in society, were engaged in an heroic effort to appear absorbed in the illustrated papers; but they were obviously uncomfortable at my presence, and cast furtive looks over the pages as though in appeal to me to make no mention of anything i had seen. i had no opportunity, however, to abate their fear of publicity; for scarce was i come into the room when the flunky appeared again at the folding-doors which cut it off from the sanctum of my lady, and beckoned me to follow him. i had come out on this expedition purely, as i have said, to be amused. when i found myself at last before the new pythia of london, enthroned as she was for the immediate interpretation of the oracle, i confess that i did not foresee any disappointment of the venture. the room was half in darkness, but there was light enough by which to observe many fine pieces of china and delicate sketches upon its gold and green walls; and to note the quaint conceits of the whole scheme of decoration. a lamp of eastern shape spread a soft red glow upon sofas and seductive lounges; a conservatory, heaped up with shade-suggesting palms, gave off at one end of it through doors of exquisitely colored glass; there was a strange tripod of brass before the fireplace; and flowers everywhere, seeming to grow from the very grate, to flourish in all the crannies, to cover tables and bookcases, and even to decorate the dress of the young girl who now stood to receive me, and welcomed me with cordiality. my first impression of the physiognomist--an impression which remains with me--was the outcome of her extremely youthful appearance. i am certain that whatever age she might have been she did not look it. youth in rich generosity was stamped upon her slightest action and her most serious word. it flashed from her eyes, was seen in the unsurpassable freshness of her complexion, in the golden sheen of her hair, in the rotundity of her arms, and the development of her slight but well-formed figure. if she had any serious mood, it was not apparent when first i spoke to her; nor did a rapid analysis of her face tell me of any uncommon mental power. her chin was a firm one, it is true; but i noticed that she had little height of head above her ears, and that there was even something of weakness in her forehead. at the same time there could not be two opinions of the general charm of her manner; and she possessed in a very large degree that magnetic power of attracting sympathy and admiration which is peculiarly the attribute of women. directly i had come into the pretentious chamber of audience, and the flunky had closed the folding-doors behind me, this fascinating little prophetess began to talk, her words rippling over one another like the waves of a river; her natural excitement betraying itself in the obvious restraint of her gestures. "i'm so glad it's you!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together, as though in ecstasy. "those old women bother me to death, and there have been twelve of them here this morning. colonel oldfield told me all about you yesterday, and i was interested at once. we must have a good long talk. oh, do listen to that dreadful creature; she talks in scales beginning at the lower c and going up to no possible note in the music of heaven or earth. i suppose she won't go away." her remark, and the clapping of her little hands to equally little ears, followed upon the sound of altercation between one of the ladies in the waiting-room and the flunky of formidable mien. apparently the lady would not depart without a _séance_, and the footman was compelling her. in the end she went, declaring the whole thing a cheat, and "that chit of a girl" a particular imposture. when the sound of her voice had died away upon the stairs, my lady took up the thread of her remarks. "now," said she, "i want to have a good look at you, and you must have a good look at me. people like ourselves should know each other to begin with. don't think i'm going to bore you with the nonsense i trade in--you are far too clever for that, and would find me out in a minute. you see, i'm like a man with a good cellar: i keep the old wine for the old birds who are not caught with chaff. that's a delightfully mixed metaphor, isn't it? and not very polite, when i think of it. but come and sit down near the light, where i can see you." she spoke so quickly that i did not pretend to hear half of that which she said, or to answer her; but i seated myself upon the ottoman near the entrance to the conservatory; and when she had thrown open the glass doors, she herself took the low arm-chair facing me. i saw then that she wore a strange dress in the egyptian fashion, and that her breast was all covered with jingling gold medals, while her hair was similarly ornamented. "come," she said, resting her head upon her hand, "i want to know from you _why_ you are here. it is not for me to tell you about your life, is it?" "i will be frank," i replied; "it is not. my life has already spoken a good deal for itself. what i did come here to see was the making of diamonds. they tell me you possess the philosopher's stone, or something near to it." she looked at me with a penetrating gaze, and then laughed a little hardly. "and you believed it?" she asked presently. "not for a moment," said i; "but i thought it was not unlikely that you had some amusing trick which you would not mind showing me. i am very much interested in jewels, you know." "so am i," she exclaimed, but with the air of one whose mind is away from the words--"there is nothing more beautiful or more mysterious on earth than a diamond. it just seems to be a prison for lovely things of which it gives us the lights when we treat it well. and you thought i might amuse you with a trick? that was a poor compliment, wasn't it?" the thing was said with a swift reversion of her mind to the subject, as i could see; and there was a world of humor in her eyes when she turned them on me. "it was no poor compliment," said i, "since you have convinced such a man as colonel oldfield that you can make rubies. he is a judge of jewels, too." "and a very good one," she replied; "but really there was nothing in my experiment. what i do has been done by french chemists for twenty years past. the colonel came here with an open mind--but you, you closed the doors of yours as you came upstairs." i protested feebly, but she did not listen to my answer. "yes," she exclaimed, speaking very rapidly, "i have been thinking about you as you sat there, and i am sure that i know you now. you are a man so well accustomed to steer in the shallows of your business that you never look beyond them. you make a gospel of distrust, and you consider confidence the sign of a weak intellect. you have been often deceived, for your breadth of view is not large; and you will be often deceived again. it is impossible for you to conceive beauty which is not saleable; and for romance you have no place in your heart. you have come here, saying all the way, 'i am going to interview an impostor; she will not amuse me--most possibly she will bore me. it is ten thousand to one that her experiments are all rubbish, but i will take the ten thousandth chance, in the hope that she might have found out something which i can sell--sell--sell.' yet you are honest in a measure, since you ask me for a trick, knowing well that a trick is all you can reasonably expect from me. you are, in short, not very far removed from that dreadful person 'the pure man of business'; and you feel wofully strange already in the presence of one whose occupation is romance, and whose profession is undisguisedly practised in the offices of mystery. do i speak the truth?" she bent forward so that i could look straight into her eyes as she finished the excited sketch of character; and while with any other speaker my vanity had been sore wounded, i listened to her with no other feeling than those of growing admiration. the potency of her personality was beyond description; i have never met a woman who could communicate her own magnetism so quickly when she chose to talk seriously. and beyond this, i had already corrected my assumption that she was not clever. she had, indeed, one of the quickest brains i have ever dealt with. "you are very hard on me," said i, as she waited for me to speak, "but i cannot say that you do not get to the bottom of the affair. you do me an injustice, however, when you say that my visit is purely commercial. no one in london would be more unselfishly interested than myself if any progress were made with the thousand attempts to manufacture jewels. if you have succeeded, even in a small degree, your fortune is made." "do you think that?" she cried. "well, a word from mr. bernard sutton is a word indeed; but we shall see. meanwhile, we are going to have some fruit and wine. don't you find it fearfully close in here?--that's the heat from my furnace in the conservatory there. i've had a little one put up especially for my experiments. as you were coming, we had to get the metal melted; and we've had a fire there since last night." "you will experiment for me, then?" said i, with considerable interest. "if you are very good," she replied, "i may show you something; but first you must taste my sherbet, and tell me all about the diamonds which i have bought and not made. you've heard, perhaps, that i waste all my money on jewelry." i told her that i had not, but the flunky appearing at that moment, she did not pursue the subject, occupying herself in mixing me an effervescing draught in a great crystal goblet. the drink was gratifying on the hot day; and when i had taken it there was a warm coursing of blood through my veins as though i had drunk of rich burgundy. "now," said she, when the man had gone, but had left the little table piled up with fruit--"now we can talk seriously. let us carry the liquid with us--that's what jack lucas always calls it; he gets me that sherbet from some place in the east with an unpronounceable name. i am going to put you into an arm-chair, and you are not to ask a single question until i have finished. have you got any cigarettes with you?--you may smoke if you are very good." we went into the conservatory, which was ridiculously small, and close almost to suffocation, and there i saw many evidences of her attempt to fathom the unfathomable mysteries. there were racks with bottles round three sides of the apartment, and in the corner of the other side there stood a common little furnace such as smiths use. these, with a number of brass plates covered with hieroglyphics, some presses in steel, a basket containing strips of metal and a quantity of crystals, were her whole equipment for the business before her; but there was a low arm-chair in the shape of those used for dental horrors; and there she asked me to sit while she herself prepared for the undertaking. "the first thing for you to do," said she, "is to make yourself comfortable. a man who is ill at ease is in the worst possible mental state, for he cannot concentrate himself. just at present i want you to concentrate yourself on that cigarette and the fizzing stuff. when everything is ready i shall call out." with this said, she set the fruit and the cup at the side of my chair, and then rolled up the sleeves of her dress quickly, putting on an apron which covered her finery; and she looked for all the world like an unusually pretty housemaid. i watched her with even a larger interest than i had done; and i remember thinking, as i settled in the great lounge, that whatever her mental claims might be upon the admiration of the city, her personal qualities were undeniable. these were especially to be observed when she began to busy herself with the furnace and the tiny crucibles upon it, the glow of soft light seeming to emphasize the youthfulness of her perfect face, and to converge upon it as light focussed upon a picture. she had now fallen into a very serious mood, and after she had used the bellows vigorously at her fire, and placed the smallest of the crucibles upon it again, she sat herself upon a stool at the side of my chair, and resting her head upon her open hand--her favorite attitude--she spoke with evident earnestness. "the mysteries of jewels," she exclaimed, "and the mysteries of gold have eaten the heart out of many a clever man, from gebir to sir isaac newton. if you will read the history of the philosophers, even of some in the story of that which we call the modern ages, you will find amongst the greatest the names of those who sought for an 'alkahest' or universal solvent. even the wisest of men have hoped for a full knowledge of the arcana of metals. paracelsus himself believed in the fifth, or the quintessence of creation. roger bacon, to whom death came out of neglect, prescribed as the elixir of life gold dissolved in nitro-hydrochloric acid. why should i tell you how science now laughs at these old philosophers, and lumps them together as little better than maniacs? yet does she laugh at them with good reason? is it not just possible that she will be ultimately the means of turning the laugh upon herself? in our day she has come very near to knowing of the transmutability of metals. allotropy has turned the eyes of many back to the remoter past. the chemist is beginning to ask himself, were these men such fools? the near future may cast a light upon long centuries of darkness. but those only will reap who come to the work with open minds, with the certain conviction that in all pertaining to this vast science we are still children. do you follow me in this?" "perfectly," i replied; and assuredly a prettier lecture was never given. the girl's eyes seemed to flash lights as she warmed to her subject; her enthusiasm was so contagious that i found myself softening before it. she was earnest, at any rate; and most of her kind were quacks. "if you grant this long premiss, and do not consider that all inquiry is necessarily useless," she continued, "you solve the greater difficulties which surround my conceptions. it remains to ask, what steps must the chemist follow who would seek to turn from his crucible the perfect jewel? let us take the sapphire as an instance. it is my favorite stone, one compelling, as the ancients declare, the wearer to all good works. well, the sapphire in all its beautiful tints is only a variety of corundum, colored by metallic oxide. it is a common crystal, a six-sided prism terminated in a six-sided pyramid. it is taken from gneiss, and we know to-day that alumina is the basis of it, as it is the basis of so many precious stones. granted this, what is the work before the chemist? is it not simply to cast in his crucible the crystals of the base, to color them with the metallic oxide, if he can and to harden them so that they will bear the test? the process is a long one--it needs days to bring it to perfection: the annealing, the polishing, the setting--these are not work for an hour. what i have to show you now are but the stages of it. these you shall see and judge for yourself; but i ask you very sincerely to weigh up this great question for yourself, not to be led by the incredulity of the fanatic, and to believe with me that we are on the brink of a discovery which shall pour jewels on the world as the sea casts pebbles upon a beach." i said nothing in answer to this remarkable delivery, for the truth was that i watched the girl rather than heard her words. her earnestness, nay, her enthusiasm, was so pretty to see that all my interest seemed absorbed in her; and now, when she rose swiftly and drew the curtains over the windows, leaving the place illuminated only by one rose-colored lamp, i followed all her actions as one follows the change of a picture. "let us keep away the daylight," said she, "and then we can see the crystals forming. by-and-by i will show you the perfect jewel. now look." what she did in the next few minutes i am quite unable to say, so swift were her movements and so hurried her talk. but i remember that she opened the furnace door, allowing soft rays of deep yellow light to flood the room; and then quickly she cast a dozen crystals upon the table from the glowing crucible; and from a press near to her hand she took three more and laid them on the plate. the largest of the crystals, which was blue as a sapphire, and possessed little light at a distance, she presently picked up with tiny tongs, and coming over to me, she knelt at my side, holding the jewel before my eyes, and clasping my left hand in hers. and then she cried with the wildest excitement in her voice, and her breast heaving with her emotion,-"oh, look at it! is there anything more beautiful on earth than a perfect sapphire? and i made it, it is all my work, all my own!" while she cried thus she held my hand firmly, and the pressure of her own was hot as fire, but this i only remembered afterwards, for gradually, as i looked at the jewel critically, it took the color and the shape of a perfect gem. it was not a large stone, perhaps one of three carats, but the longer i looked upon it the more brilliant and beautiful did it appear to be. never had i seen more perfect shape or promise of light when set; and with the realization of the discovery my head reeled as the possibility that this mere girl had succeeded where so many had failed loomed at last before me. it was true, then, as oldfield said, that she could manufacture a perfect jewel before his eyes. here was one which, if well cut, i could sell for a hundred pounds. she had made that, as i could swear: why should she not make a hundred, a thousand? my heart leaped at the conclusion. "tell me," said i, "you had no help in this work?" "you saw that i had none," she cried. "look at the other crystals; there are five of them. you have seen them come straight from the crucible--and you know that i have succeeded. will you buy my sapphire? buy it in proof that i have conquered you. when you return to-morrow i will tell you everything. i am exhausted now. the work always excites me terribly. my nerves are all unstrung; i can do no more to-day." "if you will sell me the stone you hold in those tongs, i will give you fifty pounds for it," i said, concluding that, even had i been tricked, a real jewel, and a very good one, was before my eyes. but at this promise she cried out with joy, and putting the stone in a little box with lightning speed, she handed it to me. "pay me to-morrow, any time," she said. "it was good of you to come here, and to listen to me. i am very grateful. when you come again you shall know all my secret. only think well of me and be my friend." with this she led the way quickly into her own room, and the lackey appeared in answer to her ring. the interview was at an end, abruptly as it seemed to me, and i left her with a strange feeling of dizziness, and my head burning with excitement--but her sapphire was in my pocket. * * * * * when i met bracebridge, who was waiting in my room for me, he had an ugly leer upon his face. "well," said he, "i fancy my hundred's all right?" "what hundred?" "with oldfield," said he. "i bet him a hundred she'd sell you a piece of glass for a sapphire; and i don't suppose you'll deny that she did it?" "i'm not going to deny anything of the sort," said i; "she did sell me glass, and of the commonest kind. i am now seeking an undiscovered superlative. the biggest fool in london is no designation for me." "ah," said he, "you should take it quietly. she's done a complete dozen of us at the game. that paraphernalia which jack lucas rigged up in her conservatory for her is the medium, i fancy. lucas, you know, is a professor or something at emmanuel, cambridge. he taught her all that jargon about crystals." "but," said i, as i pitched her glass into the fireplace, "what i want to know is, how did i come to think that the stuff was real? i could have sworn to it." "so could we all," he replied, with a great burst of laughter; "but i'll tell you in a word--she hypnotized you. i always said you were a grand subject." i looked him in the face for a minute, during which he made an heroic attempt to be serious. but it was too much for him. presently he gave one great shout of hilarity which you could have heard half-way down the street, and then rolled about in his chair uncontrollably. "you seem to find it amusing," said i, "but i fail to catch the point." "you'll be seeing it by-and-by," said he, and at that he went off to the club to be first with it. the end. * * * * * _shortest route._ _beautiful scenery._ via lookout mountain between cincinnati asheville chattanooga columbia birmingham savannah new orleans jacksonville shreveport miami texas and california points _beautiful illustrated battlefield folder sent on application._ for rates, etc., address w. c. rinearson general passenger agent cincinnati, o. "down where the living waters flow." hot springs, arkansas. the best patronized winter resort in the united states. all the hotels now open. golf, lawn tennis, cricket, base ball, the best of saddle and driving horses, and other outdoor sports. the iron mountain route is the old reliable and most direct line. less than twelve hours from st. louis and twenty-one hours from chicago, with through compartment and standard sleeping cars and free reclining chair cars. pamphlets telling all about it from any agent of the company. w. e. hoyt g. e. p. agent, 335 broadway new york, n. y. h. c. townsend, general passenger and ticket agent st. louis, mo. * * * * * [transcriber's notes: italic typeface in the original book is indicated with _underscores_. minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent. page 38, changed "a" to "at" ("a customer at dieppe"). page 140, changed "absense" to "absence" ("the utter absence of clue"). page 150, added the word "all" ("they all of a sudden"). page 217, changed "colour" to "color" ("upon a glow of color"). page 267, changed "conversatory" to "conservatory" ("rigged up in her conservatory"). the following spelling variants have been retained as printed: "dunholm" and "dunholme" "kennet" and "kennett"] file was produced from images available at the posner memorial collection (http://posner.library.cmu.edu/posner/)) transcriber's note: 1) page 91 contains a footnote, however there is no associated marker. the footnote has been left in place, with a note to this effect. 2) a letter following ^ is superscripted. where more than one letter is superscripted, each is preceded by the ^ symbol. 3) [.a] = dot above a [h.] = dot below h [=a] = macron above a 4) [symbol: cross pattée] (also known as a "cross pattee", "cross patty", "cross formée" or "cross formy" or in german "tatzenkreuz") is a type of cross that has arms which are narrow at the center, and broader at the perimeter. the name comes from the fact that the shape of each arm of the cross was thought to resemble a paw (french patte). * * * * * jewellery by h. clifford smith, m.a. [illustration: the connoisseur's library] new york: g. p. putnam's sons london: methuen & co. 1908 [illustration: _plate i_ sixteenth-century pendent jewels of enamelled gold] contents page list of illustrations, ix preface, xxxiii introduction, xxxvii early jewellery chapter i. egyptian jewellery, 1 phoenician jewellery, 7 " ii. greek jewellery, 11 " iii. etruscan jewellery, 20 " iv. roman jewellery, 27 " v. byzantine jewellery, 33 " vi. prehistoric (celtic) jewellery, 39 romano-british jewellery, 44 " vii. the barbaric jewellery of europe (the great migrations), 49 " viii. anglo-saxon jewellery (fifth to seventh centuries), merovingian jewellery, 56 " ix. late anglo-saxon jewellery (seventh to ninth centuries), 65 " x. the celtic brooch, 75 the jewellery of the middle ages (tenth to fifteenth centuries) chapter xi. mediæval jewellery (introduction), 80 " xii. mediæval england, 91 " xiii. the mystery of precious stones, 99 " xiv. head-ornaments, 105 necklaces, 113 " xv. pendants, rosaries, and pomanders, 118 " xvi. brooches--the ring-brooch, 127 " xvii. brooches (_contd._)--pectorals, 135 " xviii. rings and bracelets, 147 " xix. belts and girdles, 159 renaissance jewellery chapter xx. italy, fifteenth century, 166 " xxi. sixteenth-century jewellery (general), 177 " italy, sixteenth century, 183 " xxii. germany, the low countries, hungary, 187 " xxiii. france--spain, 199 " xxiv. england (henry viii--elizabeth), 206 " xxv. head-ornaments, enseignes, aigrettes, hair-pins, earrings, 222 " xxvi. necklaces, neck-chains, and collars, 236 " xxvii. neck-pendants, 242 " xxix. girdles and girdle pendants (mirrors, books, watches, scent-cases, and pomanders), 270 later and modern jewellery chapter xxx. seventeenth-century jewellery (general), 276 " xxxi. seventeenth-century jewellery (_contd._), 290 england, seventeenth century, 299 " xxxii. eighteenth-century jewellery, 307 " xxxiii. nineteenth-century jewellery --the modern revival, 325 " xxxiv. peasant jewellery, 341 " xxxv. jewellery in pictures, 348 " xxxvi. frauds and forgeries, 355 " xxxvii. memento mori, 363 bibliography, 371 index, 381 list of illustrations b. m. = british museum. v. and a. m. = victoria and albert museum. _a page-number appended to a description indicates place of reference in the text._ i. sixteenth-century pendent jewels of enamelled gold _frontispiece_ 1. pendant in the form of a triton. italian. (marquess of clanricarde.) _p. 249._ 2. pendant in form of a winged dragon. spanish. _p. 249._ (louvre.) ii. phoenician jewellery _p. 8._ 1-8. from cyprus and sardinia. (b. m.) 1-4. four gold earrings. _p. 9._ 1. chrysalis form. 2-3. a pair: birds perched above a bushel of grain. 4. long oval ring terminating with a cross. 5-6. two necklaces with pendent heads in the egyptian style, from tharros in sardinia. _p. 10._ 5. beads of glass and gold. 6. carnelian bugles. 7-8. two seal pendants of silver, set with sard scarabs. 9. ibero-phoenician stone bust, known as the "lady of elché." _p. 9._ (louvre.) (_photo, giraudon._) iii. early greek jewellery _p. 12._ 1. three gold plates or discs from mycenæ. _p. 11._ (national museum, athens.) 2-7. gold ornaments of the mycenæan period. _p. 12._ (b. m.) 2. pendant from ægina: figure in egyptian costume grasping geese. 3. plaque from kameiros: winged goddess, with two lions in the round, and owls at the top. 4. diadem of spiral ornament, from enkomi (salamis), cyprus. 5-6. pair of leech-shaped earrings, from enkomi. 7. pendent pomegranate of granulated gold, from enkomi. iv. greek jewellery (earrings, necklace and hair-pin). (b. m.) _p. 16._ 1-3. three earrings. _p. 15._ 1. head of a goat with garnet eye. 2. pendent cupids and victories (kyme, in æolis). 3. eros with a jug (crete). 4. gold necklace with pendent tassels in form of pomegranates (kyme). 5. pair of gold earrings set with garnets and emeralds, connected by a plaited chain. (tyszkiewicz collection.) 6. gold pin from paphos, cyprus. _p. 17._ v. greek jewellery (crown, necklaces, bracelet, rings). (b. m.) _p. 18._ 1. gold crown from magna græcia, second century b.c. (tyszkiewicz collection.) _p. 17._ 2. necklace with enamelled rosettes and filigree. (blacas collection.) 3. enamelled gold necklace from melos. _p. 17._ 4. gold bracelet with bulls' heads. (blacas collection.) 5. four rings. 1. gold, demon with sphynx and panther (early ionic). 2. silver, surmounted by gold fly (cyprus). _p. 10._ 3. gold, engraved with figures of aphrodite and eros. 4. gold, with busts of serapis and isis (græco-roman). vi. etruscan jewellery (pins, necklaces, earrings). (b. m.) _p. 22._ 1. hair pins and balls of granulated gold, from etruria. 2. primitive necklace of amber, gold, and electrum, from præneste. _p. 24._ 3. necklace hung with pendent vases and heads of io. 4. necklace with pendent head of a faun. _p. 24._ 5. chain with pendent head of a negro. _p. 24._ 6. necklace of plasma and gold beads, with basalt amulet pendant. _p. 25._ 7-8. earrings. _p. 23._ 7. saddle-shaped, with fine granulation. 8. pendent cock in white enamel. vii. etruscan jewellery (brooches, diadem, bracelet, rings). (b. m.) _p. 24._ 1. early fibula from cervetri, surmounted with figures of lions. _p. 25._ 2. gold diadem of ivy leaves and berries. _p. 23._ 3. fibula from tuscana, with meander pattern in fine granulation. 4. early bracelet from cervetri, with minute granular work. _p. 25._ 5-8. four rings. 1. bezel mounted with intaglio, gold border with tendril pattern (chiusi). 2. cartouche with figures of shepherd and dog (chiusi). 3. intaglio bezel supported by lions. _p. 25._ 4. large oval bezel bordered with dolphins and waves (bolsena). _p. 26._ viii. roman jewellery _p. 30._ 1-6. (b. m.) 1. gold necklace set with garnets, and a pendant in form of a butterfly. 2. gold necklace, with a pendent aureus of domitian. _p. 30._ 3. gold hair-pin from tarentum surmounted by a figure of aphrodite. _p. 28._ 4-6. three gold rings. _pp. 31-32._ 4. serpent form. 5. open-worked, set with a nicolo intaglio--a mask of a satyr. 6. eye-shaped, with open-work shoulders, set with a nicolo. 7-15. (v. and a. m.) 7-10. earrings. _pp. 28-29._ 7. porphyry drop. 8. two pearls (_crotalia_) suspended from yoke. 9. basket of fruit set with garnet, a carnelian bead, and an emerald pendant. 10. large hook set with sapphire, an emerald below, and three pearl drops. 11. gold bracelet in form of a serpent. _p. 30._ 12-15. four rings. 12. gold: tragic mask in high relief. 13. gold: quintuple, set with two sapphires and three garnets. 14. gold: raised open-work bezel set with a sapphire and a chrysoprase. 15. gilt bronze: bust of serapis in relief. _p. 32._ ix. byzantine jewellery, and enamelled jewellery in the byzantine style _p. 36._ 1-7 and 9-11. (b. m.) 8. (v. and a. m.) 1-2. pair of gold loop earrings: a cross patée between two peacocks confronted. about seventh century. _p. 35._ 3. gold pectoral cross with a text from galatians vi. 14. eleventh century. _p. 36._ 4-5. pair of gold and enamelled loop earrings. twelfth century. _p. 35._ 6. nielloed gold wedding ring: christ and the virgin blessing a bride and bridegroom. about tenth century. 7. engraved gold signet ring. about fifth century. 8. beresford-hope cross: cloisonné enamel. about eighth century. _p. 36._ 9. the castellani brooch: portrait in cloisonné enamel. north italian, seventh century. _p. 70._ 10. gold inscribed key ring. fourth century. _p. 37._ 11. townley brooch. probably rhenish work, with byzantine cloisonné enamels. tenth or eleventh century. _p. 70._ x. prehistoric gold ornaments of the british isles (b. m.) _p. 40._ 1. ring, found at bormer, near falmer, sussex. 2. plaited ring, found near waterford, ireland. 3. "ring money" of gold and silver, found at rustington, sussex. 4. torque fastened by a ring, found at boyton, suffolk. 5. disc, found at castle treasure, near douglas, co. cork. 6. dress fastener, found at crif keran castle, co. armagh. 7. bracelet, found at bexley, kent. xi. anglo-saxon and romano-british brooches, etc. (b. m.) _p. 60._ 1-5. anglo-saxon inlaid jewellery. 1. gold brooch, from sarre, kent. _p. 61._ 2. silver brooch, from faversham, kent. _p. 60._ 3. gold pendant, from faversham. _p. 58._ 4. bronze brooch, from wingham, kent. _p. 60._ 5. gold brooch, from abingdon, berks. _p. 61_, note. 6-7. romano-british brooches. 6. bronze brooch set with slices of roman millefiori glass, from pont-y-saison, near chepstow, mon. _p. 46._ 7. enamelled bronze brooch, found in london. (hastings collection.) _p. 46._ xii. anglo-saxon and frankish jewellery (fifth to seventh centuries) _p. 62._ 1-6. (b. m.) 1. gold necklace with garnets, from desborough, northants. _p. 74._ 2. gold bracteate, from ash, near sandwich, kent. _p. 59._ 3. saucer-shaped brooch, bronze gilt, from east shefford, berks. _p. 61._ 4. square-headed brooch, from chessell down, isle of wight. _p. 62._ 5. cruciform brooch, bronze gilt, from sleaford, lincs. _p. 61._ 6. inlaid and jewelled gold buckle, from taplow, bucks. _p. 63._ 7. "radiated" brooch of silver, enriched with gold and inlay of garnets. the back inscribed with the name uffila. seventh century. from wittislingen on the danube. 6½ inches long. _p. 62._ (bavarian national museum, munich.) xiii. late anglo-saxon jewellery (seventh to ninth centuries) _p. 68._ 1-2. the alfred jewel. _pp. 68-69._ (ashmolean museum, oxford.) 3. st. cuthbert's cross. _p. 68._ (durham cathedral.) 4. dowgate hill brooch: cloisonné enamel and pearls. _p. 69._ (b. m.) 5. ethelwulf's ring. _p. 72._ (b. m.) 6. nielloed gold ring with two bezels, found in the nene, near peterborough. _p. 72._ (b. m.) 7. ethelswith's ring. _p. 72._ (b. m.) 8. gold ring, found in garrick street, london. (b. m.) 9. alhstan's ring. _p. 71._ (v. and a. m.) 10. nielloed gold ring. _p. 73._ (lord fitzhardinge.) 11. silver ring found in the thames at chelsea. _p. 73._ (v. and a. m.) xiv. the tara brooch. _p. 78._ (collection of the royal irish academy, national museum, dublin.) xv. the jewels of william of wykeham. new college, oxford. _p. 96._ 1. monogram of the virgin: gold, enamelled, and set with rubies, emeralds and pearls. 2. silver-gilt decorations of the mitre: comprising two quatrefoils set with turquoises, two rosettes set with pastes, and hinged bands of brasse-taille enamel set with pearls and crystals. english, late fourteenth century. _pp. 96-98._ xvi. antique cameos in mediæval settings. _p. 102._ 1. the jewel of st. hilary. _p. 103._ (bibliothèque nationale, paris.) 2. the schaffhausen onyx. _p. 104._ 3. the cameo of charles v of france. _p. 103._ (bibliothèque nationale, paris.) (_photo, giraudon._) xvii. mediæval head-ornaments. _p. 110._ 1-4. pilgrims' signs of lead. _p. 110._ (b. m.) 1. head of st. thomas with swords, within a cusped border. 2. ampulla for blood of st. thomas. 3. st. george within a border. 4. head of st. john the baptist. 5-8. retainers' badges of lead. _p. 110._ (b. m.) 5. hart lodged (richard ii). 6. crowned ostrich feather (duke of norfolk). 7. rose and fetterlock (edward iv). 8. collared hound (talbot, earl of shrewsbury). 9. silver-gilt crown or circlet, set with pearls and coloured pastes. french, fourteenth century. _p. 106._ (musée du cinquantenaire, brussels.) 10-12. three fifteenth-century gold enseignes. 10. antique onyx cameo, outer frame set with rubies. spanish. _p. 111._ (v. and a. m.) 11. "pelican in her piety," set with a ruby and diamond. flemish (found in the meuse). _p. 111._ (b. m.) 12. figure of a dromedary in white enamel in frame set with pearls. flemish. _p. 146._ (museo nazionale, florence.) (_photo, alinari._) xviii. mediæval pendants (reliquaries, etc.) _p. 120._ 1. silver reliquary set with crystal. german, fifteenth century. _p. 121._ (bavarian national museum, munich.) 2. silver-gilt reliquary, from the treasury of enger, near herford, in westphalia. fifteenth century. (kunstgewerbe museum, berlin.) 3. silver-gilt pomander opening into four sections. german, about 1480. _p. 126._ (bavarian national museum, munich.) 4. gold reliquary of charlemagne, containing a fragment of the true cross. german, ninth (?) century _p. 118._ 5. "reliquary of st. louis," gold, enriched with translucent enamels, containing a thorn from the crown of thorns. french, fourteenth century. _p. 119._ (b. m.) 6. gold bracelet. german, twelfth century. _p. 157._ (bavarian national museum, munich.) xix. mediæval pendants _p. 124._ 1. silver-gilt pendant containing figures of saints and angels, surmounted by the virgin and child. german, fifteenth century. _p. 120._ (bavarian national museum, munich). 2-3, 5-8, and 10. german fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. (v. and a. m.) 2. coronation of the virgin, silver gilt. 3. _agnus dei_, silver gilt. inscribed: iecuc (jesus) maria johannes annus (agnus). on the back: jesus maira (maria) johannes maria hilf. _p. 122._ 4. nielloed pendant, silver gilt: with the annunciation on one side, and the sacred monogram on the other. italian, fifteenth century. _p. 173._ (v. and a. m.) 5. st. sebastian, silver gilt. 6. the crucifixion, silver gilt. 7. figures of four saints, silver gilt. 8. gold cross, set with rubies and pearls. fifteenth century. 9. the devil of temptation, silver gilt. flemish or german, fifteenth century. _p. 120._ (mrs. percy macquoid.) 10. rosary of boxwood, with emblems of the passion in silver. _p. 124._ xx. mediæval brooches (ring-brooches, etc.) _p. 130._ 1-6. gold ring-brooches (_fermails_). 1. set with pearls and precious stones, and with four bosses of animals. fourteenth century. _p. 129._ (b. m.) 2. enamelled blue and white, and inscribed with a text from st. luke iv. 30. french, fourteenth century. _p. 130._ (museo nazionale, florence.) (_photo, alinari._) 3. set with rubies and sapphires, the back nielloed. french, thirteenth century. _p. 130._ (v. and a. m.) 4. heart-shaped, inscribed. french, fifteenth century. _p. 139._ (v. and a. m.) 5. circular: inscribed, and set with two rubies and four small emeralds. english (from enniscorthy abbey), fourteenth century. (b. m.) 6. set with rubies and emeralds. french, thirteenth century. _p. 130._ (museo nazionale, florence.) (_photo, alinari._) 7. silver-gilt brooch in form of st. christopher. english (from kingston-on-thames), fifteenth century. _p. 142._ (b. m.) 8-12. flemish-burgundian gold brooches (_nouches_). fifteenth century. 8. two standing figures, enamelled, and set with a ruby, diamond, and pearls. _p. 146._ (imperial art collections, vienna.) 9. seated female figure with golden rays behind: enamelled and set with pearls. _p. 144._ (essen treasury.) 10-12. brooches found in the meuse. _p. 143._ (b. m.) 10. enamelled and set with a ruby and diamond. 11. a female figure, set with a sapphire, diamond, and three rubies. 12. set with a ruby amidst foliage, with traces of enamel. xxi. mediæval scottish brooches. the glenlyon and loch buy brooches. (b. m.) _p. 132._ 1. the glenlyon brooch. silver gilt, set with amethysts, pearls, and rock crystal: the back inscribed. fifteenth century. _p. 132._ 2. the loch buy brooch. silver, set with rock crystal and pearls. about 1500. _p. 133._ xxii. mediæval brooches (pectorals and morse) _p. 136._ 1. the "eagle fibula"; gold and cloisonné enamel. early twelfth century. _p. 135._ (mainz museum.) 2. gold brooch in form of an eagle, set with emeralds, lapis-lazuli, a sapphire, and a ruby. thirteenth century. _p. 136._ (baron von heyl.) from an etching in _kunstgewerbe-blatt_, iii. (by permission of the artist, prof. p. halm, of munich.) 3. silver-gilt morse, made in 1484 for albert von letelin, canon of minden, by the goldsmith reinecke van dressche of minden. _p. 139._ (kunstgewerbe museum, berlin.) xxiii. mediæval and later rings _p. 148._ 1-2. episcopal rings of william of wykeham. fourteenth century. (new college, oxford.) 1. gold set with a ruby. _p. 149._ 2. silver gilt, with representation of the crucifixion, set with a crystal. 3. gold, episcopal, set with a sapphire. english, fourteenth century. (v. and a. m.) 4-5. the coventry ring (two views). gold, engraved with the five wounds of christ and their names. english, about 1457. _p. 150._ (b. m.) 6. the godstow priory ring: a gold love-ring, with legends and forget-me-nots. english, fifteenth century. _p. 150._ 7. gold, episcopal, projecting bezel set with a sapphire. french, fourteenth century. (v. and a. m.) 8. gold, episcopal, of complex design, set with a sapphire. italian, fifteenth century. (v. and a. m.) 9. silver, set with a toadstone. german, sixteenth century. _p. 151._ (v. and a. m.) 10. "papal" ring. gilt metal with cardinal's hat and crossed keys. on shoulders virgin and child and saint. inscription on hoop: episc. lugdun--cardinal de bourbon (?), archbishop of lyons, 1466-1488. italian, fifteenth century. _p. 148._ (v. and a. m.) 11. antique gem in red jasper, set in gold italian mount of the fourteenth century, inscribed: s. fr. de columpna. _p. 154._ (v. and a. m.) 12. gold, set with a wolf's tooth, and inscribed with the charm motto: +buro+berto+berneto+consummatum est. english, fourteenth century. _p. 152._ (v. and a. m.) 13. gold ornamental ring, chased, enamelled, and set with emeralds. italian, sixteenth century. (b. m.) 14. gold signet ring with the arms of mortimer. english, seventeenth century. (v. and a. m.) 15. silver-gilt wedding ring, set with two teeth. north german, seventeenth century. _p. 262._ (v. and a. m.) 16. fede ring, nielloed silver. italian, fifteenth century. _p. 173_ (v. and a. m.) 17. ornamental ring of silver gilt, set with a foiled crystal. german, sixteenth century. _p. 356._ (v. and a. m.) 18. the percy signet. gold. inscribed: "now ys thus." from towton field, w. r., yorks. english, fifteenth century. _p. 153._ (b. m.) 19. ornamental ring of silver gilt, with stag and foliage in open-work. german, late fifteenth century. (v. and a. m.) 20. gimmel rings, enamelled gold. german, sixteenth century. _p. 261._ (b. m.) xxiv. picture, known as the "legend of st. eloy and st. godeberta," representing the interior of a goldsmith's shop in the fifteenth century. by petrus christus, of bruges. _p. 155._ (baron a. oppenheim, of cologne) _p. 156._ xxv. fifteenth-century pendants, etc. (italian and flemish) _p. 170._ 1. the "felicini" jewel, by francia. reproduced from a picture in the bologna gallery. _p. 170._ 2. enamelled gold pendant, figured with the annunciation. italian, fifteenth century. _p. 173._ (mr. j. pierpont morgan.) 3. pendent jewel of charles the bold, duke of burgundy, set with three rubies ("the brethren"), a diamond, and four pearls. _p. 209._ 4. two silver-gilt girdle-plates, with figures of samson and st. michael. flemish, fifteenth century. _p. 163._ (herr james simon, of berlin.) xxvi. designs for jewellery by dürer and holbein. (b. m.) _p. 190._ 1. drawings for two ring-shaped pendent whistles by dürer. _p. 190._ 2-3. etchings for (2) a buckle and buckle-plate and (3) a girdle-end, by hollar, from lost originals by dürer. _p. 191._ 4-9. drawings by holbein. _p. 212._ 4. jewelled pendant: a monogram of the letters r and e. 5. a pendant of open goldwork with ribbon ornament; a diamond in the centre, surrounded by six pearls, and a pearl below. 6. pendant formed in a monogram of the letters h and i. 7-8. two pendants each formed of two stones, one above the other, set in goldwork, with three pearls below. 9. pendant: a bust of a woman holding before her a large stone, on which are the words _well laydi well_. xxvii. designs for jewellery by solis, woeiriot, hornic, and brosamer _p. 194._ 1-2. engravings for pendants by virgil solis. _p. 194._ (b. m.) 3. engraving for a pendant by pierre woeiriot, dated 1555. _p. 201_ (b. m.) 4-6. engravings for pendants by erasmus hornick: neptune and amphitrite, and st. george and the dragon. _p. 194._ (b. m.) 7. drawing for pendent whistle by han brosamer, fitted with toothpick, etc. _pp. 193, 250._ (mr. max rosenheim.) xxviii. renaissance jewellery of enamelled gold. (his majesty the king) _p. 218._ 1. painted enamel back of a "lesser george" of the garter, belonging to charles ii. english, seventeenth century. _p. 292._ 2. enamelled gold enseigne, with figures of st. george and the dragon. venetian, sixteenth century. _p. 224._ 3. enamelled gold pendant, with figures of apollo and daphne: inscribed: daphnem phebvs amat, etc. italian, sixteenth century. 4. the lennox or darnley jewel. scottish, sixteenth century. _pp. 217 and 257._ 5. miniature case of enamelled gold, open-worked and set with diamonds and rubies. english, late sixteenth or early seventeenth century. it contains a lock of hair of charles i taken from his coffin. _p. 257._ from the _connoisseur_ (1903). by permission of mr. j. t. herbert baily. xxix. renaissance enseignes of enamelled gold _p. 226._ 1. head of john the baptist on a charger. italian, sixteenth century. _p. 226._ (v. and a. m.) 2. bust of helen. italian, sixteenth century. (poldi-pezzoli museum, milan.) 3. battle scene. italian, sixteenth century. _p. 225._ (bibliothèque nationale, paris.) 4. head of a negro in agate. german, sixteenth century. _p. 228._ (bibliothèque nationale, paris.) 5. leda and the swan. by cellini. _p. 228._ (antiken kabinet, vienna.) 6. cameo bust of nero on sardonyx, in enamelled mount set with diamonds and rubies. french, sixteenth century. (bibliothèque nationale, paris.) (photo, giraudon.) 7. cameo of diana on sardonyx in enamelled setting. french, sixteenth century. (b. m.) 8. onyx cameo, winged female head in enamelled setting. french, sixteenth century. (b. m.) xxx. hat-ornaments (aigrettes, etc.). late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries _p. 230._ 1. two coloured drawings for jewelled aigrettes. by arnold lulls, jeweller to james i. _pp. 231 and 302-3._ (v. and a. m.) 2. gold enseigne of sir francis drake: enamelled and set with diamonds, rubies, and opals. _p. 230._ see also plate xxxiv, 3. (sir f. fuller-eliott-drake.) 3. socket for an aigrette, enamelled gold set with rubies: initials d. m.--dorothea maria, wife of otto henry, count palatine of neuburg. _pp. 230-1._ (bavarian national museum, munich.) 4. enamelled gold aigrette set with emeralds, pearls, etc. s. german, early seventeenth century. (formerly the property of sir t. d. gibson carmichael.) xxxi. german and french renaissance pendents _p. 244._ 1. necklace and pendant of enamelled gold set with diamonds, rubies, and pearls. german, late sixteenth century. (lady rothschild.) 2. pendant of enamelled gold. in the centre a table-cut emerald with a triangular emerald above. french, sixteenth century. (bibliothèque nationale, paris.) 3. gold pendant: on the front two raised shields of arms; on the back the initials d. a. german, about 1530. _p. 248._ (v. and a. m.) 4. cameo bust of a woman, the head carnelian, with amethyst drapery, jewelled gold crown; gold background and black enamelled frame. german, sixteenth century. (his majesty the king.) 5. pendant in the shape of a sphynx. the body formed of a large baroque pearl. head, breast, and arms are flesh-coloured enamel; the claw opaque white with gold scales; the tail green, set with diamonds. on the breast is a ruby. the base mounted with a row of diamonds on white enamel, the creatures at each end being green. the chains, of white enamel set with diamonds, hang from a ruby, from which is suspended a heart-shaped pearl. german, late sixteenth century. (lady rothschild.) 6. portrait cameo in agate. gold mount enamelled black and white and set with four rubies and two diamonds, with a pendent pearl. the portrait (unidentified) is represented on a contemporary medal by a north italian artist. the mount, french, sixteenth century. (bibliothèque nationale paris.) 7. gold pomander case: enriched with brilliant blue, red, and translucent green enamel, and opaque white. set with rubies and pendent pearls, german, late sixteenth century. (lady rothschild.) xxxii. three pendent jewels _p. 246._ gold, enriched with polychrome enamels, set with precious stones and hung with pearls. german, about 1600. (lady rothschild.) xxxiii. pendent jewels by hans collaert, etc. _p. 248._ 1. enamelled gold pendant: in centre a figure of charity with three children, on each side a pilaster set with diamonds and rubies alternately, with a cupid above, and beyond each pilaster a figure of faith on one side and fortitude on the other. german, sixteenth century. (b. m., waddesdon bequest.) 2. design for a pendant by hans collaert (1581). _p. 196._ (mr. max rosenheim.) 3. pendant in the style of collaert: enamelled gold, in the form of a ship, with figures of antony and cleopatra. _pp. 197, 247._ (mr. charles wertheimer.) xxxiv. renaissance pendants, etc., of gold, enamelled and jewelled. spanish (1-2) and english (3-6). _p. 254._ 1-2. spanish pendants, late sixteenth century. from the treasury of the virgen del pilar, saragossa. 1. jewel in form of a parrot: translucent green enamel, the breast set with a hyacinth. _p. 249._ 2. jewel of enamelled gold: a dog standing on a scroll, set with diamonds, rubies, and an emerald. (v. and a. m.) 3-4. the drake jewels: presented to sir francis drake by queen elizabeth. 3. enseigne of enamelled gold set with diamonds, rubies, and opals; the centre ruby engraved with the queen's orb and cross. _p. 230._ 4. enamelled gold pendant, containing a miniature of elizabeth by hilliard. _p. 253._ (sir f. fuller-eliott-drake.) 5-6. the armada jewel. believed to have been presented by queen elizabeth to sir francis walsingham. possibly the work of nicholas hilliard. 5. front: gold bust of the queen. 6. back: ark resting peacefully on troubled waves. inside: miniature of elizabeth by hilliard. _p. 255._ (mr. j. pierpont morgan.) xxxv. elizabethan jewellery _p. 256._ 1. the phoenix jewel. _p. 255._ (b. m.) 2. drake pendant in the form of a ship. _p. 253._ (lord fitzhardinge.) 3. pendent miniature case, with carved medallion in mother-of-pearl. _p. 256._ (poldi-pezzoli museum, milan.) 4. the barbor jewel. _p. 254._ (v. and a. m.) 5. the hunsdon armlet. _p. 265-6._ (lord fitzhardinge.) 6. onyx cameo in gold mount, presented to queen elizabeth by archbishop parker. (described in _arch. journ._ vol. xix.) (mr. g. e. lloyd baker.) 7. edward vi's prayer book. _p. 274._ (lord fitzhardinge.) xxxvi. renaissance and later rings. (v. and a. m.) _p. 262._ 1. gold wedding ring: open-work hands (_fede_), inscribed within: qvod devs conivnvit homo non separet. florentine, sixteenth century. _p. 262._ 2. jewish wedding ring of enamelled gold. italian, sixteenth century. _p. 262._ 3. gold wedding ring, set with rose diamond between enamelled hands. english, dated 1706. _p. 321._ 4. gold, set with a pointed diamond. english, seventeenth century. _p. 260._ 5. jewish wedding ring of enamelled gold in form of a temple. german, sixteenth century. _p. 262._ 6. enamelled gold, set with a diamond. italian, sixteenth century. 7. enamelled gold, figure of cupid with a garnet on the breast. seventeenth century. 8. gold, set with a miniature portrait of james stuart, the old chevalier. 9. giardinetti ring: a basket of flowers composed of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. english, eighteenth century. _p. 295._ 10. giardinetti: set with diamonds and rubies in the form of a vase of flowers. english, late seventeenth century. _p. 295._ 11. memorial: chased with death's head in white enamel, and having diamond eyes. english, seventeenth century. _p. 367._ 12. memorial: with enamelled skull. inscribed: behold the ende. (said to have belonged to charles i.) _p. 366._ 13. memorial: bezel enclosing painted female figure, bearing inscription: not lost but gone before. english, dated 1788. _p. 369._ 14. memorial: bezel enclosing funereal urn in hair and gold. english, dated 1781. _p. 369._ xxxvii. renaissance bracelets _p. 266._ 1. gold bracelet of circular fluted links with enamelled clasp. german, late sixteenth century. _p. 266._ (v. and a. m.) 2. bracelet of enamelled gold. french, seventeenth century. _p. 294._ (v. and a. m.) 3-4. bracelet of diana of poitiers, enamelled gold, set with cameos. _p. 266._ (bibliothèque nationale, paris.) (photo, giraudon.) 5. gold bracelet of otto henry, count palatine of neuburg (d. 1604), with his wife's initials- d m p b r g h z w v t (dorothea maria pfalzgräfin bei rhein geborne herzogin zu wirtemberg und tek.) compare _p. 230._ (bavarian national museum, munich.) xxxviii. renaissance girdles _p. 272._ 1. italian, fifteenth-century girdle of gold tissue with gilt metal mounts. _p. 163._ (v. and a. m.) 2. silver gilt chain girdle. german, late sixteenth century. (mrs. percy macquoid.) 3. nuremberg girdle of leather, with silver-gilt mounts. seventeenth century. _p. 272._ (v. and a. m.) xxxix. engraved designs for jewellery by daniel mignot. _p. 280._ (mr. max rosenheim.) _p. 280._ xl. engraved designs for jewellery by gilles légaré and paul birckenhultz _p. 282._ 1-2. designs for pendants, seals, and rings; from gilles légaré's _livre des ouvrages d'orfévrerie_. _p. 282._ (b. m.) 3. seal in the style of légaré. the upper part gold with painted enamel; below, engraved on steel, the royal arms of the stuarts, with bâton sinister, of anne fitz roy (b. 1661, d. 1721, married 1674, lord dacre, created earl of sussex), daughter of barbara villiers, duchess of cleveland, and charles ii. (col. croft lyons.) 4. design for a pendant by paul birckenhultz. _pp. 280-1._ (mr. max rosenheim.) xli. engraved patterns for jewellery, and enamelled jewels executed from similar designs. late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries _p. 284._ 1. design for enamelled jewellery by hans hensel, of sagan (1599). _p. 284._ (mr. max rosenheim.) 2. gold ring set with flat heart-shaped garnet: design on shoulders reserved in gold on white enamel. early seventeenth century. _p. 295._ (b. m.) 3. design for jewellery in champlevé enamel, by guillaume de la quewellerie, of amsterdam (1611). _p. 284._ (v. and a. m.) 4. gold ring: the shoulders enamelled in the champlevé manner with design in black and white. late sixteenth century. (v. and a. m.) 5. design for an enamelled ring by hans van ghemert (1585). _p. 284._ (v. and a. m.) 6. design for enamel-work by jean toutin (1619). _p. 285._ (mr. max rosenheim.) 7. the lyte jewel, containing a portrait of james i by isaac oliver. reverse side, with "silhouette" pattern in gold and ruby champlevé enamel on white ground. english, about 1610. _pp. 303-4._ (b. m., waddesdon bequest.) (enamel-work of identical design occurs on the back of a miniature-case, containing a portrait of charles i by peter oliver, dated 1626, in the collection of mr. j. pierpont morgan.) 8. design for enamel-work in the "niello" or "silhouette" manner, by stephanus carteron (1615). _p. 285._ (mr. max rosenheim.) xlii. seventeenth-century enamelled pendants, etc. _p. 290._ 1. gold pendant, containing an onyx cameo surrounded by ribbon-work and flowers of coloured enamel, set with rose diamonds. french. (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 2-3. pair of earrings _en suite_ formed of a hand holding a bow and bunch of flowers. 4. pendant: an interlaced monogram of turquoise enamel suspended from a crown-shaped ornament, enamelled and set with diamonds. french. (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 5. gold pendant of variegated enamel (translucent and opaque) in form of a basket filled with fruit, with flowers above, and a bird on the top. (h. c. s.) 6. small aigrette of silver in form of a bunch of flowers springing from a vase, set with rose diamonds, and bearing traces of enamel. (h. c. s.) xliii. seventeenth-century enamelled miniature-cases, lockets, etc. _p. 292._ [a]1. gold miniature-case by jean toutin: the design reserved in gold on a ground of black enamel. _p. 293._ (mr. j. pierpont morgan.) 2. gold miniature-case, translucent green enamel, with pattern in white, from a design by pierre firens. _p. 293._ (v. and a. m., dyce collection.) [a]3. gold miniature-case of translucent green enamel (_émail en résille_) with "pea-pod" design in green and red; enclosing miniature of charles ii by samuel cooper. _p. 293._ (mr. j. pierpont morgan.) [a]4. crystal reliquary mounted in enamelled gold and set with a plaque of _verre églomisé_. spanish, about 1600. _p. 203._ (mr. j. pierpont morgan.) [a]5. gold locket of purple enamel with floral design in white, yellow, and green on gold (_émail en résille_). french. (mr. j. pierpont morgan.) 6. pendant, set with a cameo of lucrezia de' medici in open-work floral border of painted enamel. french. _p. 292._ (bibliothèque nationale, paris.) [a]7. gold miniature-case of open-work design enamelled in green, blue, and white; containing a miniature of james i. english. (mr. j. pierpont morgan.) 8. gold locket with painted ("louis-treize") enamel of various colours in relief on blue ground. english. _p. 293._ (mrs. b. spring-rice.) [a] reproduced by permission of dr. williamson, acting on behalf of mr. j. pierpoint morgan. copyright reserved. xliv. rings, slides, and pendants (chiefly memorial). seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries _p. 294._ 1. memorial ring, black enamel: set with crystal over a skull and cross-bones; dated 1740. 2. gold memorial locket with faceted crystal enclosing hair; inscribed behind: "_of such is the kingdom of god_." english, late seventeenth century. _p. 368._ 3. memorial ring, black enamel; dated 1777. 4. memorial ring, white enamel; dated 1739. 5. memorial ring, white enamel; dated 1793. 6. memorial ring, black enamel; set with faceted crystal enclosing minute pattern in gold wire. english, early eighteenth century. (1--6--h. c. s.) 7. back of a gold slide: painted enamel with initials e. j. beneath a coronet. (viscount falkland.) 8. gold ring: open-work floral pattern in painted enamel; inscribed with a posy. _p. 295._ (viscount falkland.) 9. silver locket surrounded by pearls, with faceted crystal enclosing monogram in gold wire. english, late seventeenth century. _p. 368._ (mrs. stewart king.) 10-14. memorial slides, with various devices and initials in gold wire over hair or ribbed silk beneath faceted crystal. english, late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. _p. 368._ (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 15. gold pendant set with an antique roman cameo in open-work floral border of painted enamel. english, seventeenth century. _p. 292._ (his majesty the king.) 16. "memento mori" jewel of enamelled gold; inscribed round the sides: "_through the resurrection of christe we be all sanctified_." english, about 1600. _p. 365._ (v. and a. m.) 17. gold pendant set with a cameo of lucius verus, in border of "pea-pod" ornament. from a design by pierre marchant. french, early seventeenth century. _p. 292._ (b. m.) xlv. page from the ledger of sir francis child, jeweller to william iii. about 1674. preserved at child's bank, no. 1 fleet street, london, e. c. _p. 306._ (by permission of mr. f. g. hilton price.) _p. 304._ xlvi. eighteenth-century jewellery, french and english _p. 316._ 1-3. pendant, and two earrings _en suite_ containing paintings _en grisaille_ on mother-of-pearl, in gold frames set with rubies, diamonds, and strings of pearls. french, louis xvi. (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 4. rosette-shaped brooch pavé with white paste of fine quality. english, early eighteenth century. (col. croft lyons.) 5-6. pair of _girandole_ earrings with paste sapphires. formerly the property of madame du barry. french, louis xv. _p. 217._ (lady monckton.) 7. necklet and pendant of pink paste and marcasite. english, about 1760. (col. croft lyons.) xlvii. eighteenth-century necklaces, etc. (mr. jeffery whitehead) _p. 320._ 1. necklet and pendant of paste in silver setting. english. 2-3. pair of oval memorial clasps containing _grisaille_ paintings within pearl borders. english. _p. 369._ 4. necklace of cut steel with wedgwood cameos in white on blue. english. lxviii. eighteenth-century chatelaines (mr. jeffery whitehead) _p. 322._ 1. chatelaine (equipage) of cut steel mounted with wedgwood ware in white cameo on blue jasper ground, hung with a watch and two watch keys. english, about 1780. 2. chatelaine (equipage) of gold formed of a hook with five pendants--a scissor-case, two thimble or scent cases, and two needle or bodkin cases. french, louis xv. _p. 323._ 3. oval memorial clasp of blue enamel with minute design in carved ivory and pearl work, mounted in paste frame. english. _p. 369._ xlix. empire head-ornaments _p. 326._ 1. empire tiara of rose diamonds set in silver, on gold mounts. (mrs. kirby.) 2. empire head-ornament (_bandeau_) of gold, enriched with blue enamel, and set with twenty-five carnelian intaglios. formerly the property of the empress josephine. (mr. m. g. lloyd baker.) 3. empire comb _en suite_ set with four carnelian intaglios. (mr. m. g. lloyd baker.) l. early nineteenth-century jewellery _p. 328._ 1-2. pair of earrings in form of baskets of flowers, enamelled, and set with turquoises and pearls. (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 3-4. pair of bracelet clasps of beaded goldwork set with various coloured stones, with crown and royal cypher in enamel. formerly the property of queen charlotte. (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 5. necklace and pendent cross, with brooch and earrings _en suite_: of beaded gold and filigree, set with pink topazes and pearls. english. (lady ramsay.) 6. necklace, with brooch and earring _en suite_, of coloured gold set with amethysts and pearls. english. (lady ramsay.) li. buckles and necklaces. late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries _p. 330._ 1-2. pair of steel buckles partly plated with silver. signed w. hipkins. _p. 315._ (h. c. s.) 3. girdle-clasp of faceted steel. english (birmingham), late eighteenth century. _p. 315._ (v. and a. m.) 4. gold shoe-buckle. english, eighteenth century. _p. 322._ (v. and a. m.) 5. silver girdle-buckle. english, eighteenth century. (h. c. s.) 6. silver shoe-buckle. english, eighteenth century. (h. c. s.) 7. necklace of delicate gold filigree enriched with blue enamel and set with sapphire pastes. early nineteenth century. (mrs. holman hunt.) 8. necklace of cast iron mounted with gold: the oval plaques, in open-work, alternately a spray of flowers and a figure subject in the style of an antique gem. prussia (berlin), early nineteenth century. _p. 330._ (v. and a. m.) lii. modern french jewellery. (v. and a. m.) _p. 338._ 1. enamelled gold brooch. by georges fouquet. 2. neck-ornament (_plaque de collier_): carved horn, set with pink baroque pearls. by rené lalique. 3. pin for the hair, gold, set with opals and diamonds. by gaston laffitte. 4. gold pendant set with diamonds and an opal, and enriched with open-work translucent enamel in high relief. by comte du suau de la croix. 5. enamelled gold pendant, set with diamonds, opals, and emeralds. by g. gautrain. liii. spanish, portuguese, flemish, and french peasant jewellery, etc. _p. 342._ 1. bow-shaped breast-ornament of gold set with emeralds, and having large emerald pendant. spanish, seventeenth century. _p. 204._ (mrs. close.) 2. earring of gold filigree hung with pendants. portuguese. _p. 347._ (lady cook, viscondessa de monserrate.) 3. gold pendant set with rose diamonds mounted on silver rosettes. flemish, eighteenth century. _p. 345._ (h. c. s.) 4. silver cross set with crystals. french (normandy). _p. 342._ (h. c. s.) 5. pendent badge of brass, enamelled black, white, and blue, containing a crowned monogram of the virgin. spanish (barcelona), seventeenth century. _p. 204._ (h. c. s.) liv. "adriatic" jewellery. _p. 346._ 1. pendant in form of a ship, enriched with coloured enamels and hung with clusters of pearls. (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 2. ship pendant of gold filigree hung with pearls. (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 3-4. pair of enamelled earrings hung with clusters of pearls. (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 5. long earring of gold filigree mounted and hung with pearls. (mr. jeffery whitehead.) 6-8. pendant and pair of earrings, of gold filigree enriched with coloured enamels. from the island of patmos. (mr. cecil h. smith.) illustrations in the text safety-pin xli romano-british brooch or fibula with bilateral spring xlii brooch formed of double spiral discs of concentric wire ("spectacle" fibula) xlii celtic brooch xliii ring-brooch (tomb of queen berengaria of navarre, wife of richard coeur de lion, at le mans) xliii buckle, with buckle-plate and tag. german, about 1490. (victoria and albert museum) xlvi bronze fibula. (ireland) xlvii collar of the order of the golden fleece, made in 1432 by john peutin, of bruges, jeweller to philip the good, duke of burgundy. (from the portrait of baldwin de lannoy by john van eyck at berlin) 90 interior of a jeweller's shop. from _kreuterbuch_. (frankfort, 1536) 98 gold ring engraved and enamelled with figures of the virgin and child and st. john the evangelist. scottish, fifteenth century. (nat. museum of antiquities, edinburgh) 104 necklace worn by the daughter of tommaso portinari in van der goes' triptych in the uffizi gallery, florence 117 pomander. from _kreuterbuch_. (frankfort, 1569) 126 a mediæval lapidary. from _ortus sanitatis_. (strasburg, about 1497) 134 mantle clasp (portion) on effigy of henry iv. (canterbury cathedral) 140 brooch of the virgin in lochner's "dombild." (cologne cathedral) 145 english gold ring, fifteenth century. engraved with the "annunciation," and the words _en bon an_. (mr. e. richardson-cox) 150 french gold ring, fourteenth century. (louvre) 154 a goldsmith in his workshop. from _hortus sanitatis_. (strasburg, 1536) 158 "luckenbooth" brooch of silver. (nat. museum of antiquities, edinburgh) 165 pendant worn by one of the three graces in botticelli's "primavera." 169 jewel, in ghirlandaio's portrait of giovanna tornabuoni 170 brooch worn by the virgin on fifteenth-century florentine picture (no. 296, national gallery, london) 174 a fifteenth-century jeweller. from _ortus sanitatis_. (strasburg, about 1497) 176 design for a pendent whistle by hans brosamer 198 design for a pendant by hans brosamer 205 earring, from portrait of a lady by sodoma. (frankfort gallery) 233 design for a pendant by jacques androuet ducerceau 241 the penruddock jewel 252 triple rings set with pointed diamonds. device of cosimo de' medici. from paolo giovio's _dialogo dell' imprese_. (figured in botticelli's "pallas" in the pitti gallery) 260 rings on a roll of parchment. from _kreuterbuch_. (frankfort, 1536) 263 design for a bracelet by jacques androuet ducerceau 269 jean toutin in his workshop, firing an enamelled jewel 289 design for a pendent miniature-frame by pierre marchant 306 preface the term jewellery is used generally in a very wide sense, and it has been necessary to impose certain limitations upon its meaning for the purpose of the present work. jewellery may be defined as comprising various objects adapted to personal ornament, precious in themselves or rendered precious by their workmanship. the jewel worn as a personal ornament may be merely decorative, such as the aigrette or the pendant, or it may be useful as well as ornamental, such as the brooch or the girdle. gems and precious stones are not jewels, in the present sense, until the jeweller's skill has wrought and set them. this definition will be found to correspond with the term _minuteria_ adopted by italian writers on the goldsmith's art for objects in precious materials employed for the adornment of the person, as distinct from _grosseria_--those fashioned for household use or ornament. with the exception of a chapter dealing with egyptian jewellery, i have confined myself solely to europe. the work falls into four main divisions. the first deals with the jewellery worn during classical times, and until the ninth century of our era. the second treats of the jewels of the middle ages. the third is devoted to the jewels of the renaissance, and the fourth includes those of subsequent times. in the chapters dealing with renaissance and later jewellery i have endeavoured to utilise the valuable evidence, hitherto generally overlooked or neglected, which may be derived from the engraved designs and working drawings of jewellers, from personal inventories, and from pictures by the old masters. perhaps too generous a share of attention has been bestowed on english work; but this may be pardoned when it is remembered that the previous literature of jewellery has been almost entirely from the pens of french and german writers. while fully appreciating the importance and interest of the recent revival of artistic jewellery, i have not thought it necessary, in a book intended mainly for the connoisseur, to give more than a rapid review of the main features of the modern movement, with a brief mention of some prominent craftsmen therein employed. for similar reasons no general account is given of the processes of manufacturing articles of jewellery, though references are made to technical methods when they serve to explain points of artistic importance. assistance has been supplied by numerous works. the largest debt is due to the learned art historian ferdinand luthmer, whose standard work _gold und silber_ has afforded most important aid. from rücklin's _schmuckbuch_ i have constantly derived instruction; and fontenay's _bijoux anciens et modernes_ has been a storehouse of information. other books which have been of service are included in the bibliography. it is now my duty and pleasure to express my obligations to all those whose unvarying kindness has facilitated my researches. special thanks are due: to lady rothschild, who has presented me with photographs, specially taken for the purpose, of some of her choicest jewels; to lady fuller-eliott-drake, who at considerable personal inconvenience brought the drake jewels to london; to mr. jeffery whitehead, who despatched for my use a number of jewels from his collection; to mr. max rosenheim, who, besides placing at my disposal his unrivalled series of engraved designs for jewellery, has read through and corrected the portion of the subject dealing with engraved ornament; to sir john evans, k.c.b., who has guided me personally through his splendid collections of early jewellery; and to dr. williamson, for assisting me in many ways, and for the loan, on behalf of mr. j. pierpont morgan, of copyright photographs of the finest enamelled miniature-cases from his catalogue of mr. morgan's collection, with leave to describe and reproduce such of them as i might select for this volume. among those who have favoured me with permission to publish the treasures in their possession i must gratefully mention lady cook (viscondessa de monserrate), lady ramsay, lady monckton, mrs. holman hunt, mrs. percy macquoid, the marquess of clanricarde, viscount falkland, and lord fitzhardinge; also herr james simon, of berlin, and lieut.-col. g. b. croft lyons, who have presented me with photographs of their jewels. thanks are also due to dr. kitchin, dean of durham, for the photograph of st. cuthbert's cross; to dr. spooner, warden of new college, for permission and aid in photographing the new college jewels; to dr. j. anderson, director of the national museum of antiquities of scotland, for the loan of blocks of two jewels in the edinburgh museum; to mr. f. g. hilton price, who enabled me to photograph the old ledgers in child's bank; and to mr. j. t. herbert baily, for leave to reproduce illustrations to my articles on the king's gems and jewels at windsor castle in the "connoisseur" (1902-3). the names of many others, who have kindly lent me jewels or photographs, will be found, attached to the individual objects, in the list of illustrations. i would especially thank, amongst others, the following officers of the continental museums who have generously presented me with photographs of articles of jewellery in the collections under their charge, or have aided me with their advice:--sir henry angst, k.c.m.g., british consul-general for switzerland, late director of the zurich museum; m. e. van overloop, conservator of the royal museums, brussels; dr. lindenschmidt, director of the mainz museum; dr. hermann j. hermann, keeper of the imperial art collections, vienna; dr. wilhelm behncke, late of the kunstgewerbe museum, berlin; dr. h. graf, director of the bavarian national museum, munich; dr. l. curtius, of the antiquarium, munich; and m. j. de foville, of the cabinet des médailles, bibliothèque nationale, paris. grateful acknowledgment is also due to the officers of the british museum for the help they have given me, particularly to mr. cyril davenport for numerous valuable suggestions. to my colleagues in the victoria and albert museum i owe cordial thanks for much encouragement and help, particularly to mr. a. van de put for his aid in reading through the proofs of this volume; and above all to mr. martin hardie, a.r.e., who, besides executing the pen-drawings which illustrate the text, has assisted me in various ways, and throughout the whole course of the present work has favoured me with constant advice and suggestions. h. clifford smith introduction the love of ornament prompted by vanity is inherent in the human race. a most primitive instinct of human beings is to make their persons more beautiful, more imposing, or more striking by ornamentation. this inclination is as old as dress itself, nay, perhaps, dates even further back. for there are tribes to whom climate and civilisation have not yet suggested the necessity of clothing the body, but who nevertheless possess ornaments of some degree of development. from the rudest of beginnings up to the last refinements of art, jewelled ornaments have ever the same purpose in view--to give prominence to individual parts of the body by means of glittering, beautiful objects which involuntarily draw the eye of the spectator in the desired direction. jewellery is not only worn with the purpose of attracting attention and setting off the beauty of the person, but satisfies the desire, not less deep-rooted in humanity, of establishing a distinctive mark of rank and dignity. in fact the wearing of certain kinds of ornaments has at times been fixed by legislation. among savages, and races not far removed from barbarism, it may be observed that the love of ornament is chiefly characteristic of men. as civilisation advances it is displayed more and more by women alone. yet even a century ago, among the most civilised nations of europe, the "beaux" and "macaronis" adorned themselves with jewellery of all kinds. to-day, however, it is confined, and with greater propriety, almost entirely to women. desirous always of pleasing, the gentle sex has ever sought to add to its charms by adorning itself with jewels. two methods of dealing with the history of the present subject present themselves. one method consists in taking individual classes of jewellery, tracing their complete development, and following the changes they undergo during the various periods of civilisation. by the other--the historical method--all types of jewellery in existence at a particular time are examined side by side within the historical period to which they belong. the general changes that take place at one epoch find an echo in every piece of jewellery that belongs to that epoch. the different classes of jewellery during every period all bear a distinct relationship of style. for instance, the changes which take place in the aspect of the necklace at a particular epoch will be found to occur at the same time in that of the bracelet and girdle. but there may exist the widest divergence in style and idea between a particular piece of jewellery and its successor of a subsequent period. for these reasons an historical and chronological mode of treatment has been adopted, which will allow more completeness of observation, and fuller and more scientific investigation of style and craftmanship. certain difficulties are nevertheless encountered, because periods and fashions naturally overlap. this is particularly the case in times when communication was not easy; since some people would cling to an old form of jewellery, while others, more travelled or more fashionably minded, would prefer a new. in proceeding towards a systematic classification of personal ornaments it may be advisable, instead of dealing with the separate ornaments of each period according to their relative importance or prominence, to follow a simpler and more natural plan. thus, the ornaments dealt with in each succeeding epoch will in every case be those worn: (1) on the head--diadems, tiaras, aigrettes, hair-pins, jewels for the hat and cap, and earrings; (2) on the neck--necklaces and neck-chains hung with numerous varieties of pendants; (3) on the breast--brooches, clasps, buttons; (4) on the limbs--armlets, anklets, bracelets, rings; and (5) on the body and waist--girdles and their various attachments, chatelaines, and miscellaneous pendent ornaments, such as pomanders, scent-cases, rosaries, etc. a few preliminary words may be said respecting the evolution of some of the various ornaments employed on the different parts of the body. the custom of decorating the head with jewelled ornaments was probably suggested by the natural idea of encircling it with flowers in token of joy or triumph. the use of diadems was in early times generally reserved for those of noble birth. from the fillets employed for binding the hair, developed circlets, which with the addition of precious stones assumed the dignity of crowns. the use of earrings as personal ornaments seems to have originated in the east, where they have always been in favour. earrings formed an important article of jewellery during the classical ages, but they were not commonly worn again in europe until the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. at the present moment fashion does not decree their general use. the necklace--one of the most primitive of ornaments--is worn either close round the throat, loosely round the neck, or low down upon the breast. occasionally, as among savage peoples, it takes the form of a ring; but as a rule it is formed either of a simple cord, or a chain formed by the appropriate linking together of rings, perforated discs, or pierced balls. artistic effects are produced by a regular alternation of these details, as well as by the tapering of the chain from the middle towards the ends. neck-chains with symbolic elements are those worn as orders and as signs of dignity. the necklace may be further ornamented by a row of pendants, or more generally a single pendent ornament. the pendant thus employed has become, perhaps, the most beautiful of all articles of adornment. it occupies a conspicuous position upon the person, and possibly for this reason has evoked the greatest skill and refinement of the jeweller's art. its varieties are manifold--from the primitive charm, and the symbolic ornaments of the middle ages, to the elaborate pendant, for the most part purely decorative, dating from renaissance times. next comes the important group of ornaments worn chiefly on the breast, comprising brooches, clasps and pins, employed for fastening the dress. all have their origin in the simple pin. to this class belongs the hair-pin, of which the most handsome and varied examples are to be found in ancient work. unlike modern hair-pins which are provided with two points, they have a single cylindrical or slightly conical stem, pointed at one end, and terminated at the other with a knob or some other finial. a simple pin for the dress was uncommon in antiquity, and its general use for this purpose belongs to comparatively recent times. its place was always taken, especially in early periods, by a brooch--an outcome of the pin--which supplied the want of buttons. the brooch, an ornament of very considerable importance, can be traced down from the earliest civilisation, and is a valuable criterion in questions of ethnic movements. the story, however, of the growth of each of the different classes into which primitive brooches may be divided, the periods at which these ornaments made their appearance, and the deductions of ethnographical interest that may be drawn therefrom, must of necessity lie outside the scope of the present work. [illustration: safety pin.] all brooches, as has been said, originated from the simple pin, which itself was preceded by and probably derived from a thorn. at an early period this pin, after having been passed through the garment, was for greater security bent up, and its point caught behind the head. later, in order that the point might be held more securely in the catch, the pin was given a complete turn, which produced the spring, as seen in the common form of our modern safety-pin. thus constructed, the brooch, though in one piece, may be said to consist of four parts; (_a_) the acus or pin; (_b_) the spring or hinge; (_c_) the catch or locking apparatus, which forms the sheath of the pin; and (_d_) the bow or back--the framework uniting the spring with the catch. [illustration: romano-british brooch or fibula with bilateral spring.] from this primitive safety-pin, which is the foundation form of all brooches with a catch, developed the numerous varieties and patterns of the brooch or fibula of succeeding ages. amongst these is the roman fibula, which instead of being made of one piece of metal, is of two pieces--the bow and the acus. the pin here works on a hinge--the result of gradually extending the coils of the spring symmetrically on each side of the pin into what is known as the double-twisted or bilateral spring, and placing a bar through the coils thus made. from the brooch hinged in this manner originated the roman provincial fibula of the #t#-shaped type common in france and britain, and later the cruciform brooch of anglo-saxon times. the brooch with with a hinge was exclusively used until the revival of the "safety pin" with a spring, patented as a new invention in the nineteenth century. [illustration: brooch formed of double spiral discs of concentric wire ("spectacle" fibula.)] in addition to the above brooches or fibulæ (group 1)--all developments of the safety-pin type--there are three other large groups of brooches: (2) the circular disc type; (3) the penannular or celtic brooch; and (4) the ring-brooch. the first of these--the type generally worn at the present day--may be described as a flat disc fitted with a hinged pin. in cemeteries belonging to the early iron age in southern europe circular plates have been found fitted with a pin. these plates appear[1] to have been developed by the conversion of a primitive disc of spiral concentric wire into a circular plate. from the brooch of this type sprang the circular brooch of the roman period, often inlaid with enamel, as well as the splendid circular brooches of anglo-saxon times, and all other disc-shaped brooches. in all early periods, and even in roman times, the bow or safety-pin type of brooch was commoner than the disc and also more practical, as it offered room for the gathered folds of the garment. in modern times the disc-shaped brooch fitted with a hinged or sometimes with a spring pin has been principally used. [1] ridgeway (w.), _early age of greece_, p. 437. [illustration: celtic brooch.] [illustration: ring-brooch (tomb of queen berengaria of navarre, wife of richard coeur de lion, at le mans).] the two remaining groups of brooches--(3) the celtic brooch and (4) the ring-brooch--are both developments of the simple pin in combination with a ring--in the former case penannular and in the latter annular. the celtic brooch, with penannular ring and long pin, is apparently the result of fitting a pin to a prehistoric form of fastening for the dress--a penannular ring terminating with knobs, known as a mammillary fibula. the ring-brooch with complete ring, and pin of the same length as the diameter of the ring, which was popular in mediæval times, is the outcome of fitting a complete ring of wire to a pin to prevent the head of the pin from slipping through the material--which ring in course of time became the more important member. it is improbable that the celtic brooch originated in the same way, from the union of a long pin with a small ring. nor is it likely that these two forms of brooches were evolved the one out of the other by the shortening or lengthening of the pins. as a matter of fact the two appear to have arisen independently side by side. bracelets and armlets may be considered together, for though the bracelet is properly only a decoration for the wrist, the term has become descriptive of any ornament worn upon the arm. the bracelet, together with the necklace, were the earliest ornaments used for the decoration of mankind. amongst savage tribes both were worn in some form or another--the necklace as an ornament pure and simple, but the bracelet serving frequently a practical purpose, sometimes as a shield for the arm in combat, sometimes covered with spikes, and used for offensive purposes. while used universally by women in the form of a band, closed, or open on one side, or else in the shape of a spiral, or fashioned like a chain, the bracelet has been worn from the earliest times in the east by men also, especially by princes as one of the insignia of royalty, and by distinguished persons in general. of all jewels the simplest and at the same time perhaps the most interesting and important is the finger ring. it is universally employed as an article of personal ornament, and has been worn by both sexes at almost all times, and in nearly every country. sometimes it is an object of use as the signet ring, or a token of dignity as the bishop's ring. sometimes it has a symbolical significance, as the wedding-ring. sometimes it is purely ornamental. most finger rings may be said to be formed of two parts--the circular portion which surrounds the finger, known as the hoop or shank, and the enlarged or upper portion which is called the bezel. this latter term, applied to the upper side of the ring, which is broadened to receive an ornament of some kind, generally a stone, seems to have originally designated the basil or projecting flange, that retained the stone in its setting. the term _collet_, also used for the whole top including the stone or seal, is similarly derived from the flange or collet in which the stone is set. from its box-like shape this part of the ring is also called the _chaton_. [illustration: buckle, with buckle-plate and tag. german, about 1490. (victoria and albert museum.)] the belt or girdle was worn round the waist by men as a means of suspending weapons, by women sometimes merely as an ornament, and generally by both sexes for the practical purpose of confining the clothing. it is commonly formed of a band of leather or textile material. the part as a rule which receives particular attention is the fastening. this is either in the form of a clasp, or more often a buckle. the clasp consists of two parts, generally symmetrical, one of which can be hooked into the other. the buckle, another combination of a ring with a pin, is similar to the mediæval ring-brooch, but differs from it in that while the pin of the brooch pierces the material twice, that of the buckle pierces it only once. it may be described as a rectangular or curved rim having one or more hinged pins or spikes attached on one side of it or on a bar across its centre, and long enough to rest upon the opposite side. the buckle is made fast to one end of the girdle; whilst the other end, drawn through on the principle of a slip knot, is kept fast by pushing the point of the pin or tongue through a hole made in the material of the girdle. the girdle is attached by means of sewing a fold of it round the bar or round one side of the rim of the buckle. as a great strain was put upon the doubling of the leather or stuff, this soonest gave way. consequently a plate of metal was passed round the bar or edge of the buckle, and the two portions of it received the end of the strap between them. the whole was then made fast with rivets. the plate is known as the buckle-plate. one end of the girdle being thus furnished, the other was frequently made to terminate with a metal chape to enable it to pass easily through the ring of the buckle in the process of buckling and unbuckling. this chape is known also as the _mordant_. the chief point of the girdle to be decorated was the buckle-plate, which was often in one piece with the buckle, or hinged to it. the _mordant_ or tag was commonly decorated too, while ornaments of metal of similar design, sometimes jewelled, were applied at regular intervals to the strap or band of the girdle. in later years the girdle often took the form of a chain, on which, as in the case of chains for the neck and wrists, artistic effects were produced by a regular sequence of links. fastened by a clasp, it was worn by women chiefly as an ornament, or to carry small objects for personal use. for the latter purpose it was subsequently supplanted by the chatelaine. [illustration: bronze fibula (ireland).] jewellery early jewellery chapter i egyptian and phoenician jewellery most of the forms met with among the jewellery of the civilised nations of later times are found represented in the ornaments of the egyptians. it is fortunate that important specimens of all descriptions of these have come down to our days. this we owe to the elaborate care which the egyptians bestowed on the preservation of the dead, and to the strict observance of funeral rites, which induced them to dress and ornament their mummies with a view to future comfort both in the grave and in the after life. the ornaments, however, buried with the dead were frequently mere models of what were worn in life, and the pains taken in making these depended on the sums expended by the friends of the deceased after his death. while those who were possessed of means and were scrupulous in their last duties to the dead purchased ornaments of the best workmanship and of the most costly materials, others who were unable or unwilling to incur expense in providing such objects were contented with glass pastes instead of precious stones, and glazed pottery instead of gold. with the exception of many finger rings worn by both sexes and some female ornaments, the greater number of jewels discovered in the tombs are of inferior quality and value to those which the deceased had worn when living. a peculiarity of the jewellery of the egyptians is that, in addition to its actual purpose, it generally possesses something of the allegorical and emblematic signification, for which their mythology offered plentiful material. among the emblems or figures of objects which symbolise or suggest the qualities of deities, the most favourite is the _scarab_ or beetle, type of the god _khepera_. the use of scarabs in burial had reference to the resurrection of the dead and immortality. other important emblems include the _uza_ or _utchat_, the symbolic eye--the eye of _horus_, the hawk-god; the cobra snake, the _uræus_--emblem of divine and royal sovereignty; the _tet_, the four-barred emblem of stability, endurance, and lastingness; the human-headed hawk, emblem of the soul. these and many others, as well as figures from the animal world, were worn as ornaments, and especially as amulets to bring good fortune or to ward off evil. colour plays an important part in egyptian jewellery. this love of colour was displayed in the use of glazed ware, incorrectly termed porcelain, but properly a faience, much employed for all articles, as necklaces, scarabs, and rings, and particularly for the various kinds of amulets which were largely worn as personal ornaments. the most usual and beautiful was the cupreous glaze of a blue or apple-green colour; yellow, violet, red, and white are also met with, but less frequently, and chiefly at later periods. but colour showed itself above all in the surface decoration of jewellery, produced by the application of coloured stones and the imitation of these inserted in cells of gold prepared for them. the chief materials employed for the purpose were lapis-lazuli, turquoise, root of emerald or green felspar, jasper, and obsidian, besides various opaque glasses imitating them. with the exception of enamel upon metal, which is only found in egypt in quite late periods, the egyptians appear to have been acquainted with all the processes of jewellery now in use. chasing and engraving they preferred to all other modes of ornamenting metal-work, as these methods enhanced the beauty of their jewels while retaining a level surface. they were also highly skilled in soldering and in the art of repoussé work. the great malleability of gold enabled them to overlay ornaments of silver, bronze, and even stone with thin leaves of this metal; while ornaments were also composed entirely of plates of gold of extreme thinness. in articles where frequent repetition occurs, for instance, in necklaces, patterns were produced by pressure in moulds, and then soldered together. examples of jewellery furnished by the egyptian tombs are to be found in the museums of almost every country. undoubtedly the finest collection is in the viceregal museum of egyptian antiquities at cairo. it contains jewels of the earliest dynasties, very few of which are to be found outside it. dating from the great theban dynasties, the eighteenth and nineteenth, when the jeweller's art reached its highest level, are many beautiful examples, notably the famous set of jewels discovered in the tomb of queen [.a][=a]h-[h.]etep (1600 b.c.). fine collections are also preserved in the british museum, in berlin, munich, and in the louvre. following the sequence of ornaments from the head downwards, mention must first be made of diadems or frontlets. these were composed either of ring ornaments, set with precious stones and strung in a variety of ways, which hung down over the temples, or of gold bands ornamented in cloisonné inlay with the favourite allegorical representations of animals in various arrangements. in the case of royal personages there is a uræus in front. among all oriental nations of antiquity of whom we have any accurate knowledge, earrings have always been in general use by both sexes; but as far as can be judged from monuments, these ornaments appear in egypt to have been worn by women alone. m. fontenay[2] claims that the holes visible in the ears of statues of rameses ii--such as the colossal head in the british museum, cast from the original in the temple of ipsamboul--have been pierced for earrings. but even so, earrings had probably only a sacerdotal or sacred significance, and were worn by the sovereign only, and on very exceptional occasions. earrings, however, found very little favour even among women until what in egyptian chronology are comparatively late times. those that do occur are of the simplest kind, formed of a ring-shaped hook for piercing the lobe of the ear, hung with a blossom-shaped or symbolical pendant. large penannular rings of various materials were occasionally employed as ear ornaments; the opening in them enabling them to be fitted on to the upper part of the ear. [2] fontenay (e.), _les bijoux anciens et modernes_, p. 98. necklaces appear to have played a very prominent part in egyptian ornaments. no tomb seems to be without them, and the wall paintings also prove their very general use. most frequent is a chain consisting of various materials strung together, generally with a large drop or figure in the centre, and pendent motives introduced at definite intervals. the latter, of every imaginable variety of design, occur in rhythmical alternation, and are occasionally introduced between two rows of beads. the peculiarly severe and regular decorations of the egyptians--more particularly the various charming adaptations of open and closed lotus flowers--are here found in the finest forms of application. especially is this shown on the ornament called the _usekh_ collar, which figures on every mummy and mummy case. formed of rows, generally of cylinder-shaped beads with pendants, strung together and gathered up at either end to the head of a lion or hawk or to a lotus flower, this collar or breast decoration covered the shoulders and chest, and is found in that position on the mummy, attached frequently to the winding-sheet. one of the most important egyptian ornaments is the _pectoral_, which, as its name implies, was worn on the breast, suspended by a ribbon or chain. in all probability it formed a portion of the everyday costume of men and women, but its symbolism points to its chief use as a mortuary ornament, and it is found on almost every mummy. pectorals are usually in the form of a _pylon_ or shrine, in the middle of which is often a scarab, the emblem of transformation and immortality, adored by the goddesses _isis_ or _nephthys_. these ornaments were made of metal--rarely gold, more often gilded bronze--and very frequently of alabaster, steatite, and basalt sometimes glazed, and of earthenware always glazed. in the cairo museum is a pectoral of pure gold inlaid with carnelian, lapis-lazuli and turquoises, which was found at dashûr in 1894 in the tomb of the princess set-hathor (twelfth dynasty). discovered at the same time was a pectoral having at the top a vulture with outspread wings and below the name of usertsen iii supported on either side by hawk-headed sphinxes. the open-work pectoral of queen [.a][=a]h-[h.]etep, of solid gold, also at cairo, is one of the most beautiful of all specimens of egyptian jewellery. another golden pectoral, found in the tomb of kh[=a]-em-uas, son of rameses ii, is in the louvre. somewhat similar to the pectorals are jewels in the shape of conventional hawks. as emblems of the soul, they are found placed upon the breast of the mummy. the finest are made of pure gold decorated with cloisons shaped according to the natural formations of the body and wings of the bird. the talons grasp a pair of signet rings. allied to these are ornaments known as _ægides_, which were occasionally also worn on the breast. a very beautiful specimen, the _ægis of bast_, is in the louvre. sculptures and paintings represent bracelets by bands of red or blue colour on the arms, and show that the egyptians wore four--one on the wrist and one above the elbow of each arm. some of the earliest are composed of glass and gold beads threaded so as to form various patterns. the more solid forms of bracelet are ornamented with inlaid work. rings for the arms, as well as the ankles, are generally of plain gold--both solid and hollow--sometimes bordered with plaited chain-work. bracelets of thick and occasionally twisted wire, found as early as the twelfth dynasty, usually have the ends beaten out into a thin wire, which is lapped round the opposite shank so as to slip easily over the wrist. bracelets in the form of serpents belong to the ptolemaic and early roman periods. the commonest ornament is the finger ring. the ring was not only an ornament, but an actual necessity, since it served as a signet, the owner's emblem or badge being engraved either on the metal of the ring or on a scarab or other stone set in it. there are three main types of egyptian rings. the first and simplest, composed of a seal stone with a ring attached, is formed of a hoop with flattened ends, each pierced, which grasp the scarab. through a hole made in the scarab was run a wire, the ends of which, passing through the extremities of the ring, were wound several times round it. the revolving scarab exhibited its back when worn on the finger and the engraved side when necessary to use it as a seal. the general outline of the ring is like a stirrup, a form which of course varied in accordance with the size of the scarab. in a second type of ring the swivel disappears, and the ring is in one piece. its outline retains the stirrup form, but the inside of the hoop is round and fits closely to the finger. of this type are rings, dating from the eighteenth to the twentieth dynasty, formed of two hoops united at the top and having the names and titles of the owner deeply sunk in hieroglyphics on oblong gold bezels. a third type, almost circular in outline, is of similar form to the signet-ring of the present day. in addition to those which were actually worn in life, are models of real rings employed solely for funeral purposes to ornament the fingers of the wooden model hands which were placed on the coffins of mummies of the eighteenth and nineteenth dynasties. the model rings are made of faience with fine glazes of blue, green, and other colours, with various devices, incuse or in intaglio, upon the bezels, which are generally of oval form. phoenician jewellery as the inventors of methods and the creators of models which exercised a widespread influence in the development of subsequent types of ornaments, egypt, and in a lesser degree assyria also, occupies a position of considerable importance. the chief agents in the spreading of these methods and models were the phoenicians, the first and foremost navigators of the ancient world, who imported jewels among other articles of trade, into italy and into the islands and mainland of greece. not by nature creative, but always copying those nations with whom in their wanderings they came in touch, the phoenicians produced a native jewellery of composite type in which there is a perpetual mixture of egyptian and assyrian forms. as they had imitated egypt and assyria, so they began to imitate greece as soon as they came into contact with her. the greeks in return made great use at first of this composite style, but subsequently shook off its influence and incorporated it only after many modifications into their own developed art. the amphora--a form of ornament in goldsmith's work which can be traced to assyria--is one among many motives borrowed by the phoenicians, and transmitted by them to greece. from egypt the phoenicians acquired a high degree of technical skill and mastery over materials. this finish was transmitted to the finest greek jewellery, and to the personal ornaments of the early etruscans. the art of soldering gold to gold, which was known in egypt at an early period, was greatly perfected and developed by the phoenicians; and it is generally believed that they were the inventors of the process of decorating jewellery by granulation, that is by affixing to the surface minute globules of gold--a process which attained its perfection in the skilful hands of the etruscan goldsmiths. the jewellery of the phoenicians must be sought for from one end of the mediterranean to the other, rather than in phoenicia itself. it occurs chiefly in their settlements on the shores and islands of the eastern mediterranean, at sardinia, crete, and rhodes, and on the southern coasts of asia minor, but the best and most numerous specimens have been found in cyprus. in addition to the actual ornaments, special value attaches also to phoenician sculptures, principally busts, both from phoenicia itself and from its colonies, owing to the care with which personal ornaments and details of dress are represented. several striking examples of these are preserved in the galleries set apart for cyprian and phoenician antiquities in the british museum. the most famous of similar works, which include the sculptures from the "cerro de los santos," near yecla in the province of albacete in spain, now in the museum at madrid, is the remarkable stone bust of a woman in the louvre, known as the "lady of elché," from a town of that name in the province of alicante, where it was discovered in 1897 (pl. ii, 9). the majestic character of this figure, its sumptuous coiffure with clusters of tassels suspended by ten chains, the wheel-like discs cover the ears, the triple row of necklaces with their urn-shaped pendants--all unite to produce an effect unequalled by any known statue of antiquity. especially noticeable among these ornaments is the diadem which encircles the forehead and hangs down from each side in long pendants upon the shoulders. with this may be compared the chains hung at the ends of the golden fillet at berlin, discovered by schliemann at the pre-mycenæan city of hissarlik in the troad, the ornate tasselled appendages at st. petersburg, found with the famous greek diadems in the tombs of the crimea, and the elaborate head ornaments with pendent ends worn by algerian women at the present day. the phoenicians, as seen also by their sculptures, were addicted to the barbaric practice of piercing the upper parts of the ears, as well as the lobes, and attaching to them rings bearing drop-shaped pendants. rings were also attached to the hair on each side of the face. they consist of a double twist which could be run through a curl of the hair, and are ornamented at one end with a lion's or gryphon's head. of ordinary earrings worn by the phoenicians the simplest is a plain ring. in the majority of cases the simple ring was converted into a hook and served to suspend various ornaments, of which baskets or bushels with grain in them afforded favourite motives. examples of earrings of this kind, from tharros in sardinia, are in the british museum. [illustration: _plate ii_ phoenician jewellery] statues, like the lady of elché, show that phoenician women wore three or four necklaces at the same time, one above the other; these vary in the size of their elements, from the small beads about the throat, to the large acorn-shaped pendants which hang low upon the breast. they display a striking admixture of greek and egyptian motives. gold beads are often intermixed with small carnelian and onyx bugles, to which hang amphoræ formed alternately of gold or crystal. the phoenicians were particularly skilled in the manufacture of glass: occasionally the sole materials of their necklaces are beads of glass. a necklace from tharros in sardinia, now in the british museum, is formed of beads of glass and gold; of its three pendants, the centre one is the head of a woman with egyptian coiffure, and the two others lotus flowers. finger rings are of all materials--gold, silver, bronze, and even glass. they are usually set with a scarab or scaraboid, fixed or revolving on a pivot. silver is less common than gold; but in the british museum is a ring of almost pure greek workmanship from cyprus which is entirely of silver, save for an exquisitely modelled golden fly that rests on the bezel. chapter ii greek jewellery before dealing with greek jewellery of the classic period some reference must be made to the primitive and archaic ornaments that preceded it. the period and phase of greek culture to which the primitive ornaments belong is known widely as "mycenæan"--a title it owes to the discoveries made at mycenæ, where in 1876 schliemann brought to light the famous gold treasure now preserved in the national museum at athens. a characteristic motive of the decoration of these objects is the use of spiral patterns almost identical with those employed on celtic ornaments. besides these and other primitive exhibitions of decorative skill, we find representations of naturalistic animal forms, such as cuttlefish, starfish, butterflies, and other creatures. these are displayed in repoussé patterns worked in low relief. among the most notable objects are a number of gold crowns usually in the form of elongated oval plates ornamented with fine work chiefly in the shape of rosettes and spirals. most numerous are the gold plates intended to be fastened to the dress. they are ornamented with spirals and radiating lines, with the above-mentioned animal forms, or with leaves showing the veins clearly marked (pl. iii, 1). specially worthy of note also are the finger rings with the designs sunk into the oval surface of the bezel. ornaments of this same epoch, like those in the british museum from ialysos in rhodes, and enkomi in cyprus, have been discovered throughout the whole ægean district. they are likewise mainly in the form of gold plates used for sepulchral purposes, ornamented with embossed patterns impressed from stone moulds. some of them are enriched with fine granulation. this particular process, however, which abounds in etruscan work, is more frequent on greek ornaments of the archaic epoch, which dates roughly from about the seventh or eighth century b.c. the types of these, generally semi-oriental in character, show the influence of phoenician art, with its traces of egyptian and assyrian feeling. lions and winged bulls on some objects betray the assyrian style; the treatment of the human figure displays on others the influence of egypt. among the best examples of this græco-phoenician jewellery are those found at kameiros in rhodes, and now in the louvre and the british museum. between these and the fourth-century jewels from the crimea to be described next, the only known greek jewels are the quasi-oriental ones from the tombs of cyprus, which belong to about the fifth century. the jewellery of ancient greece, which requires more detailed consideration, is that worn from the close of the fifth century onwards. the jewellery of the greeks at this epoch was, like all their other works of art, of surpassing excellence. gold was wrought with a skill which showed how well the artist appreciated the beauty of its colour and its distinctive qualities of ductility and malleability. the greek craftsman was ever careful to keep the material in strict subordination to the workmanship, and not to allow its intrinsic worth so to dominate his productions as to obscure his artistic intention. the greek goldsmiths excelled in the processes of repoussé, chasing, engraving, and of intaglio cutting on metal, and brought to great perfection the art of soldering small objects on to thin surfaces and joining together the thinnest metal plates. [illustration: _plate iii_ early greek jewellery] granulated work, in which they were rivalled by the etruscans alone, the greeks practised with success, but preferred filigree ornamentation, that is the use of fine threads of gold twisted upon the surface with very delicate effect. precious stones were very rarely used in the finest work, though on many of the post-alexandrine jewels, stones such as garnets were frequently employed. colour was obtained by a sparing use of enamel. the value of greek jewellery lies in the use of gold and the artistic development of this single material. the minuteness of jewellery did not lead the greeks to despise it as a field of labour. whatever designs they borrowed from others the greeks made their own and reproduced in a form peculiar to themselves. in other respects they went straight to nature, choosing simple motives of fruit, flowers, and foliage, united with a careful imitation of animal forms and of the human body. the objects we have to consider fall into two classes, according as they are either substantial articles for use or ornament in daily life, or mere flimsy imitations of them made only to be buried with the dead. as in the case of other nations of antiquity, the demands of greek piety were satisfied if the dead were adorned with jewels made cheaply of leaves of stamped or bracteate gold. this course was followed mainly for the purpose of lessening expense; but it served also to obviate the chance of tombs being rifled by tomb-robbers or _tymborychoi_, who practised a profession which was common in ancient times and offered large and certain profits. jewels simply and entirely funereal occupy a prominent position in every public and private collection of greek jewellery. the rarity of jewels for actual use may be further explained by the fact that articles of that kind would only be associated with the grave of a person of wealth and distinction, and that the more important graves were the first prey of robbers. the almost complete absence of specimens of jewellery from the mainland of greece is due to those acts of pillage which continually took place at localities well known as cemeteries. only in tombs concealed by their environment, or lost to sight in semi-barbarous countries, have sufficient ornaments been found for us to form an estimate of the perfection which this branch of the industrial arts then attained. the chief sources of these discoveries have been the crimea, the greek islands, the west coast of asia minor, and southern italy--known in ancient times as magna græcia. of these districts by far the most important was that on the northern shore of the black sea, called formerly the tauric chersonese and now the crimea, where in close proximity to the warlike scythian tribes a greek colony had settled as early as the sixth century before our era. excavations made also in the adjacent peninsula of taman have revealed numerous articles of gold, all belonging to the latter half of the century. the wealth of gold on the shores of the black sea, which is the basis of the early greek legends of the golden fleece, had attracted merchant adventurers at an early date. and the greek goldsmiths who settled there forwarded their productions both to their mother-country and to the neighbouring lands of the barbarians. excavations undertaken by the russian government near kertch, the ancient pantikapaion, gave rise to an important discovery in 1831, when the opening of the celebrated tumulus koul-oba revealed a magnificent display of greek jewellery. these treasures, and others which the enterprise of the russian government has brought to light, are preserved at st. petersburg in the museum of the hermitage. italy, less systematically ravaged than greece, has proved exceedingly rich in finds of antique jewellery. except for a few scattered fragments from greece proper and the other sources mentioned above, public and private cabinets, outside russia, are made up almost exclusively of the results of excavations in the burial-places of magna græcia. in no ornament did the greek jeweller exhibit his fertility of invention to a greater degree than in the variety and beauty of the forms given to earrings. they divide naturally into two classes. the first, the earlier, are ring-shaped, of two halves formed in a mould and united together. they terminate at one end with a human head--like that of a mænad in a specimen in the british museum--or more usually with the head of a lion, bull, or some other animal. to the second class belong those attached to the ear by a hook masked by a rosette or disc. from this hang one or more pendants of a variety of designs. in rare instances these consist of beads hung to little chains; but the logical sense of the ancients preferred for the purpose things that might be imagined as floating, such as a little figure of eros, or a tiny victory bearing a wreath. the place on the ring where the pendant is attached is almost invariably made prominent by a saucer-shaped rosette, a mask, or similar object ornamented with fine threads of gold. opaque enamel, of white, blue, or green, is sometimes found applied thinly to the surface of the metal. many earrings are of the most complicated design. when the ear-pendant was confined to a ring with a crescent-shaped lower part, this ornament would produce no effect except when the wearer was seen in profile. in order to make the ornament visible from the front, the idea suggested itself to hang the crescent ring on to a smaller one. wonderfully well executed are some of the later greek earrings in which small figures are attached directly to the hook which is inserted into the ear. among these are figures of eros playing a musical instrument or holding a jug as if pouring a libation. by the amplification of the appendages we find the simpler earrings assume such an immense increase in dimension as to make it impossible that they were attached to the lobe of the ear. it may be assumed that they were fastened to the diadem or frontlet, or to a plaited tress of hair, and hung over the ear, or more to the front over the temples. naturally this species of ornament, owing to its weight and the many separate pieces of which it was made, would prevent the wearer from making any rapid movements, but was adapted to a slow and dignified pace in walking. it would also have the additional motive of increasing the commanding appearance of the individual. a splendid pair of head appendages of this character discovered at kertch are now at st. petersburg. they are composed of two large medallions representing the head of athene, whose helmet is adorned with sphinxes and gryphons. from these are suspended several rows of amphora-shaped ornaments covered with fine filigree decoration. the decorating of the head with wreaths was a very common practice among the ancients on festive occasions of every description. the wreaths with which the dead were adorned for burial, made in imitation of natural leaves, form a large portion of funereal jewellery. one of the most famous of this species, found in 1813 at armento (s. italy), and purchased about 1826 by ludwig i, king of bavaria, from countess lipona (formerly queen of naples and wife of joachim murat) is now in the antiquarium at munich. here the wreath, formed of roses, narcissus, myrtle and oak leaves, is enlivened by small figures of genii, while on the top is placed a statue with an inscription underneath it. this splendid specimen was probably employed for votive purposes. dating from the third century b.c., and also from magna græcia, is the gold crown in the british museum which was acquired from the collection of count tyszkiewicz in 1898 (pl. v, 1). being of more solid construction, though excessively light and elegant, this, and similarly elaborate crowns in the louvre, were probably worn by ladies of high rank. [illustration: _plate iv_ greek jewellery (earrings, necklace and hair-pin)] in addition to these diadems composed of many minute parts, the simplest and probably the most usual form is that of a flat band increasing in breadth towards the middle, and ending there sometimes in a blunt point marked by a palmette. pins that served the purpose of fastening up and decorating the hair vary in style, their heads being formed sometimes of flowers, and sometimes of animals or human figures, resembling those employed as pendants to earrings. probably the most important is the handsome pin in the british museum from paphos in cyprus (pl. iv, 6). the head, surmounted with a bead of egyptian porcelain with a pearl above, is in the form of a capital of a column. at the four corners are projecting heads of bulls, and between these are open cups or flowers, towards which four doves with outstretched wings bend as if to drink. typical necklaces of the best period consist of a chain about three-eighths of an inch in width, of closely plaited gold wire. from this are suspended numerous smaller chains, masked at the top by small rosettes and hung below with vases, spindle-shaped pieces, or a rhythmical combination of other ornaments covered with fine filigree. the british museum possesses several superb necklaces. to the finest one, found in the island of melos, colour is added by means of green and blue enamel (pl. v, 3). bracelets and armlets, which are rarer than necklaces, are of three forms: a fine plaited chain, like that of the necklaces, united by a clasp in the form of a knot; repoussé plaques hinged together; and a circlet of beaten gold of more solid construction. the primary object of the finger ring was its use as a convenient method of carrying the engraved stone which was to serve as a signet. hence in early times more attention was paid to the engraving of the gem set in the ring than to its mounting. many early rings are entirely of gold and made generally of one piece, with a large flat bezel engraved like a gem. a great number of them, though apparently solid, are hollow, and formed of gold leaf punched into shape and then filled up with mastic to preserve the form. the ornamental rings of the later greeks have been found chiefly in the luxurious colonies of magna græcia. one of the most charming designs is in the shape of a serpent which coils itself many times round the finger, with its head and tail lying along the finger. it is worthy of remark that though a number of greek rings are in existence, never in greek art, as in etruscan and roman, do we find any representation of the human figure with rings on the fingers. in earlier times simple pins formed of gold wire appear to have been often employed to fasten the dress. bow-shaped brooches were also worn, but few gold brooches are met with except those belonging to the later greek ornaments. these are characterised by a small arched bow and a long sheath for the point of the pin decorated with designs in fine filigree. the goldsmith's art is much more limited in its application to girdles than to head or neck ornaments; and yet, as is well known, girdles formed an important item in the dress of men and women. the girdle over which the long tunic hung in deep folds was often of simple cords with tassels affixed to the ends: thus homer speaks of hera as wearing a "zone from which a hundred tassels hang." girdles appear to have been mainly of soft ligaments, which probably, with the increase of luxury, were adorned with gold ornamentations. it is remarkable, at all events, that those species of gold ornament that can certainly be recognised as girdles are obvious imitations of textile fabrics. [illustration: _plate v_ greek jewellery (crown, necklaces, bracelet, rings)] corresponding to the ornaments found at mycenæ which were employed by the primitive greeks for decorating their garments are thin plates of gold, termed _bracteæ_, pierced with small holes, which served the later greeks for similar purpose. they are repoussé, and have clearly been stamped with dies, for the designs on them show constant repetition. they are of various sizes and shapes, and it is evident that some were meant to be worn as single ornaments, while others, sewn on in lines, formed regular borders or designs on the robes. it is possible that, like the ball-shaped buttons met with in many fanciful formations, some of more solid construction served the purpose of clasps that drew together the dress at intervals along the arm, and acted as fastenings at the neck or on the shoulder. some attachments of this kind in the form of round discs, with their gold surface richly ornamented with filigree and also with enamel, may have been actual brooches and have had hinged pins affixed below. chapter iii etruscan jewellery the etruscans appear to have had a peculiar passion for jewellery. even in early times, when the excessive use of personal ornament was considered a mark of effeminacy, they were famed for their jewels. dionysius of halicarnassus, speaking of the sabines, says that "they wore bracelets on their left arms, and rings, for they were a gold-wearing nation, and not less effeminate than the etruscans." like most other nations of antiquity, the etruscans dedicated to the service of the dead costly articles of adornment which they had worn when living; though the greater number of these jewels are flimsy objects made for mortuary purposes. on etruscan sarcophagi the men have torques about their necks, while the women have sometimes torques, sometimes necklaces, long earrings, and bracelets, and both sexes have many rings on their fingers. though systematically rifled in former times, etruscan tombs have yet preserved to the present day a large number of jewels, sufficient to prove that the possibilities of gold were never more thoroughly grasped than by the etruscans. their earlier jewellery--for the later is much coarser--shows extraordinary fineness and elaboration of workmanship. they possessed a peculiar art of fusing and joining metals by the use of solvents unknown to us, which rendered invisible the traces of solder. surface decoration was produced by the interweaving of extremely delicate threads of gold, by a sparing use of enamel, and particularly by the soldering together of particles or globules of gold of such minuteness and equality as to be scarcely perceptible to the naked eye. animal or human forms were skilfully executed in relief by repoussé, or produced in the round with the assistance of solder. but the chief characteristic of their jewellery, and that which mainly distinguishes it from the greek, is its ornamentation with grains of gold of microscopic size. the method of decorating the surface of gold with fine granules, which is usually termed granulation, is one which was in favour among all ancient gold workers in the countries bordering on the mediterranean. the "pulvisculus aureus," as it was called in italy, came into common use towards the close of the mycenæan age, at a time when the phoenicians were making their influence felt in cyprus, sardinia, and etruria, where examples of this method of gold working particularly abound. we are probably right in assuming that this granulated work was indigenous to the eastern mediterranean, and that, as it has been found upon jewels of undoubted phoenician origin, the phoenicians were not uninstrumental in disseminating it along their trade routes. cellini, in his description of the process of granulation in his _trattato dell' oreficeria_, speaks of each grain being made separately and soldered on, a technique probably practised by the ancient jewellers. but in the case of the minutest etruscan work, it is not improbable that the grains--at first natural, though subsequently artificial--were sprinkled like dust over the parts of the surface which had to be covered. this fine granulation belongs only to the early and best etruscan jewels. larger grains were used for later work. it is remarkable that the secrets of the old etruscan goldsmiths have never been wholly recovered in europe. that the art of granulation, though mentioned by cellini, was not generally practised by the goldsmiths of the renaissance is evident from the examples of their work that have survived. in recent years attempts have been made to revive the art; but as the well-known productions of castellani the elder, with his alessandro the connoisseur and augusto, and of carlo giuliano, are connected with the later history of jewellery, further reference will be made to them subsequently. as might be expected, important collections of etruscan jewellery are preserved in museums close to the sites where the objects themselves have been discovered. one of the most extensive of such collections is that in the museum of the vatican, which was brought together by pope gregory xvi from the districts which till 1870 formed part of the papal domain. the british museum, the louvre, and the museums of berlin and munich all contain a large number of ornaments from the old cemeteries of the etruscan races. the earliest etruscan jewellery coincides roughly with greek work of the late mycenæan period, and betrays, from the religious symbols expressed on it, a marked oriental or egyptian influence. at a somewhat later date, that is from about 500 to 300 b.c., it is evident that the etruscans largely followed greek models, or imported from greece, especially from ionia, some of the finest artists in the precious metals. etruscan jewellery can then be divided into three distinct styles: the primitive, somewhat oriental in character, and of fine but not artistically attractive work; the later, when the primitive art had been subjected to hellenic influence and produced work of the highest artistic and technical excellence; and the latest style, in which greek art, still followed, but in a vulgarised form, results in ornaments noticeable for their size and coarseness of execution. [illustration: _plate vi_ etruscan jewellery (pins, necklaces, earrings)] the etruscans appear to have paid particular attention to the decoration of the head. following a custom in vogue throughout greece, men as well as women adorned themselves with fillets; while women also wore highly ornate hair-pins, with heads shaped like balls, acorns, and pomegranates, decorated in granulation. many of these pins must have served to fix the diadems and fillets for which the etruscans appear to have had an especial liking. the latter are composed for the most part of the foliage of myrtle, ivy, and oak, in accordance with the symbolical ideas attached to these leaves. the greater number are of plate of gold, so thin and fragile that they can only have been employed as sepulchral ornaments--like the wreath of ivy leaves and berries of thin gold still encircling the bronze helmet from vulci in the room of greek and roman life in the british museum, and a similar wreath of bracteate gold around a conical bronze helmet in the salle des bijoux antiques of the louvre. earrings of the finest period bear a striking similarity to greek ornaments of the same date. the first type is penannular in shape, one end terminating in the head of a bull or lion, and the other in a point which pierces the ear. to this ring is next attached a pendant. in the third type the hook which pierces the ear is hidden by a rosette or disc from which hang tassel-shaped appendages, and in the middle between them small animals enamelled white, such as the geese, swans, and cocks in the british museum, and the peacocks and doves in the campana collection in the louvre. earrings of another class are saddle-shaped, formed like an imperfect cylinder, one end of which is closed by an open-work rose cap, which completely enclosed the lobe of the wearer's ear. the latest etruscan earrings, of pendant form, are mostly of great size and in the shape of convex bosses. in examining the very primitive necklaces and other ornaments that have been discovered in various tombs in italy, especially in etruria and latium, the extraordinary abundance of amber at once attracts attention. the amber of this ancient jewellery of italy has accessories, sometimes of gold, and more frequently of silver, or else of an alloy of gold and silver termed _electrum_. a noteworthy early necklace of these materials found at præneste, and now in the british museum, is composed of amber cylinders, and pendent vases alternately of amber and electrum (pl. vi, 2). though the majority of etruscan necklaces aim at largeness of display, some are as delicate and refined as the best greek ornaments. from a round plaited chain in the british museum hangs a single ornament--the mask of a faun whose hair, eyebrows, and wavy beard are worked with fine granulation; another pendant is a negro's head on which the granules are disposed with exquisite skill to represent the short woolly hair (pl. vi, 5). finer even than either of these--and a remarkable example of the combination of the two processes of filigree and granulation--is a neck pendant in the form of a mask of dionysos (bacchus) in the campana collection in the louvre. on this the curls of hair over the forehead are represented by filigree spirals, while the beard is worked entirely in the granulated method. a large number of necklaces have evidently been produced simply for sepulchral purposes, for they are composed, like the majority of crowns, of the thinnest bracteate gold in the shape of rosettes and studs strung together. the chief characteristic of etruscan necklaces is their ornamentation with pendent _bullæ_. the bulla, from the latin word meaning a bubble, was usually made of two concave plates of gold fastened together so as to form a globe--lentoid or vase-shaped-within which an amulet was contained. in etruscan art both men and women are represented wearing necklaces and even bracelets formed of bullæ. occasionally, instead of a bulla, is some such object as the tooth or claw of an animal or a small primitive flint arrow-head, which served as an amulet. [illustration: _plate vii_ etruscan jewellery (brooches, diadem, bracelet, rings)] of bracelets of primitive work are a famous pair in the british museum, which were discovered in a tomb at cervetri (cære). they are composed of thin plates of gold measuring 8 inches in length by 2¼ inches in width, divided into six sections, ornamented with scenes thoroughly assyrian in character, indicated by lines of microscopic granulations (pl. vii, 4). etruscan fibulæ of gold are generally formed of a short arc-shaped bow and a long sheath for the pin decorated with minute granular work. upon the upper surface are often rows of small models of animals. upon the sheath of a large early fibula found at cervetri (cære), and now in the british museum, is a double row of twenty-four standing lions (pl. vii, 1). the bow of the later fibulæ is sometimes in the form of a single figure, as that of a crouching lion. a considerable number of small fibulæ of this type appear to have been worn in rows down the seam of the dress. two series of these, the one numbering twenty-one and the other thirty-nine, both found in a tomb at vulci, are in the louvre. the etruscans appear to have had a special love for rings; every finger, including the thumb, was covered with them, and a considerable number have been discovered in the tombs. the majority are composed of scarabs mounted much in the same style as those of the egyptians. one of the finest etruscan rings in the british museum is formed by two lions, whose bodies make up the shank, their heads and fore-paws and supporting a bezel in filigree which holds the signet stone--a small scarabæus charged with a lion regardant. another remarkable class of etruscan rings has large oval bezels measuring upwards of an inch and a half across. these are set with an engraved gem, and have wide borders ornamented with various designs. an example in the british museum shows a pattern formed of dolphins and waves. chapter iv roman jewellery the foundation of the designs of roman jewellery is to be found among the ornaments of the ancient latin and etruscan races which rome subdued. that there is considerable resemblance also between roman and greek jewellery is natural, for the romans, having plundered first sicily and southern italy, and then greece itself, induced greek workmen with more refined instincts than their own to eke out a precarious living as providers of luxurious ornaments. it is worthy of remark that, owing to various causes, greek and etruscan jewellery has survived in considerably greater quantity than has that from the much more luxurious times of the roman empire. it is customary to associate roman jewellery with a degree of luxury which has not been surpassed in ancient or modern times. roman moralists, satirists, and comic poets refer again and again to the extravagance of their own day. the first named, from a sombre point of view, condemn the present to the advantage of the past; and the others, with a distorted view, study exceptional cases, and take social monstrosities as being faithful representations of the whole of society. under the republic nearly all ornaments were worn for official purposes, and the wearing of precious stones was prohibited except in rings; but in imperial times they were worn in lavish profusion, and successive emperors, by a series of sumptuary laws, attempted to check the progress of this extravagance. many instances might be quoted of excessive luxury in the use of precious stones, like that of the lady described by pliny, who at a simple betrothal ceremony was covered with pearls and emeralds from head to foot. yet roman luxury was not without its parallel in later ages. for in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries we read how at court the women carried their whole fortunes in a single dress. further, as far as can be judged, the personal ornaments of the ancients were for the most part subject to much less frequent change of fashion than is inevitable under the social conditions of more modern times. with regard to ornaments of the head, diadems and fillets were much worn. ladies of the roman empire dressed their hair in the most elaborate manner, and adorned it with pearls, precious stones, and other ornaments. for fixing their head-dresses, and for arranging the hair, they made use of long hair-pins. a gold specimen preserved in the british museum is upwards of eight inches in length; it has an octagonal shaft crowned with a corinthian capital, on which stands a figure of aphrodite (pl. viii, 3). pearls were in particular favour as ornaments for the ears. introduced into rome about the time of sulla, pearls were imported in large quantities during the roman domination of egypt. in vespasian's time pliny, referring to earrings, says: "they seek for pearls at the bottom of the red sea, and search the bowels of the earth for emeralds to decorate their ears." perfect spherical pearls of delicate whiteness were termed _uniones_ (i.e. unique), since no two were found exactly alike. pear-shaped pearls, called _elenchi_, were prized as suitable for terminating the pendant, and were sometimes placed two or three together for this purpose. thus worn, they were entitled _crotalia_ (rattles), from the sound produced as they clashed together. "two pearls beside each other," seneca complains, "with a third on the top now go to a single pendant. the extravagant fools probably think their husbands are not sufficiently plagued without their having two or three heritages hanging down from their ears." earrings with single pendants were called _stalagmia_. it is especially to be noticed that the shapes of all ancient jewellery and ornaments, particularly those of the romans, were in a great measure decided by a belief in their magical efficiency. the wearing of amulets was most frequent among the romans of all classes. they were generally enclosed in a _bulla_, and suspended from the neck. a remarkable specimen of a _bulla_, found at herculaneum, and presented by the court of naples to the empress josephine, is now in the ashmolean museum at oxford. the lentoid-shaped _bulla_ was worn almost entirely by children, but other pendants, shaped like pendent vases, or in the form of a square or cylindrical box, were a not unusual ornament of the necklace of roman ladies. they probably always possessed a symbolical meaning. the simple neck-chain, whether supplied with the appendage or not, was called a _monile_; the luxury of latter times doubled or trebled the rows of chains. these were often of finely plaited gold or else of links. other necklaces were composed of mounted precious stones, the fashion for which appears to date from the oriental conquests of pompey in the first century b.c. vast quantities of precious stones were brought into rome at that date; for the treasury of mithridates, captured at talaura, contained, besides many other precious objects, "jewels for the breast and neck all set with gems." the romans also wore necklaces (_monilia baccata_) composed of beads of various materials, both precious stones and glass, of many colours and various shapes. amber was largely employed for the purpose, and held in high estimation by roman ladies, who regarded it not only as an ornament, but as a talisman for protection against danger, especially witchcraft. amber in which small insects were enclosed was particularly prized: "the price," says pliny, "of a small figure in it, however diminutive, exceeds that of a living healthy slave." both cameos and large intaglios were in frequent use as pendent ornaments, and in the most recent pieces of roman jewellery imperial gold coins were employed for rings, bracelets, and especially for pendants to necklaces. for the latter purpose they are not infrequently found set in _opus interrasile_--the open-work characteristic of late roman jewellery. the best example of cameos and coins mounted thus is a necklace in the cabinet des médailles at paris.[3] [3] babelon (e. c. f.), _catalogue des camées antiques de la bib. nat._ (no. 367), p. 199. in the case of bracelets (_armillæ_) which were favourite ornaments among the romans, two kinds have to be noticed. the first, termed _dextrocherium_, was meant to be worn round the right wrist, and follows the same rules of formation as the necklace, but no pendent motives are introduced. other bracelets are formed of two rounded halves of solid character, hinged, and closed by a snap. the second kind of bracelet or armlet, worn on the upper arm, was the _brachiale_ or _torques brachialis_; another was the _spinther_, which kept its place on the arm by its own elasticity. the difference, however, between the different latin terms for the armlet is somewhat obscure. originally of pure gold, bracelets were subsequently set with precious stones and engraved gems, and, like the specimen in the imperial cabinet at vienna, with coins dating from the third century a.d. the serpent form appears to have been a favourite one among roman ladies, and a fine pair of armlets of this design are in the victoria and albert museum (pl. viii, 11). [illustration: _plate viii_ roman jewellery] the romans appear to have been more extravagant in their rings than any other people. very few ornamental rings are earlier in date than the time of the empire, when the passion for gold rings adorned with precious stones and engraved gems seems to have pervaded all classes; and it reached such extravagance that martial speaks of a man who wore six on every finger, and recommends another who had one of monstrous size to wear it on his leg instead of his hand. some individuals, we learn, had different sets of rings for summer and winter, those for the latter season being too heavy for hot weather. their weight was sometimes very great, and it is not to be wondered that complaint was made of their liability to slip off when the finger was greasy at a meal. even until the latest times the ring retained its original purpose as a means of distinction or of recognition, and was used by its wearer to impress his seal on documents and private property. it continued also to be associated with the idea of power and privilege especially bestowed upon the individual. thus the roman paterfamilias wore on his finger a ring with a small key attached. every roman appears to have chosen at pleasure the subject or device for his signet--a portrait of a friend or an ancestor, or some subject from poetry or mythology. each of these devices became associated with a particular person, and served, like the coat-of-arms of later centuries, as a mark of identification. the commonest variety of ring is formed of a plain band of gold which widens and thickens towards the bezel, and is set with a small stone. the latter is generally engraved, but is often quite plain. the similarity of the convex sardonyx to an eye often struck the ancients, and may account for this stone being frequently found unengraved in rings, and set in a collet, itself shaped into the form of a human eye. such rings were no doubt worn as amulets. rings containing stones set in this manner have sometimes a flattened hoop and open-work shoulders. other distinctly ornamental rings, known by the romans as _polypsephi_, are formed of two or more rings united together. a large number of roman rings are of bronze, and the key rings referred to are, with a very few exceptions, of this material. iron and bronze rings were not infrequently gilded. such rings, according to pliny, were called samothracian. rings in the form of snakes were very popular, as were those shaped like a herculean knot. like other articles of jewellery, rings are sometimes set with gold coins of the late empire. a few ornamental rings have high pyramidal bezels which were sometimes hollow, and were made to contain poison. hannibal killed himself with a dose of poison which he carried about with him in his ring; so did the officer in charge of the temple of jupiter capitolinus. "being arrested," says pliny, "he broke the stone of his ring between his teeth and expired on the spot." chapter v byzantine jewellery the peculiar interest of byzantine jewellery lies, not only in its own composite nature, but in the great influence it exercised on european ornaments during the greater part of the middle ages. byzantine jewellery is the result of a compromise between oriental and western influences. it retains the craftsmanship of ancient rome and the dignity of classical traditions modified by christian ideas, and to these it unites the skill in patient and exuberant decoration in which the oriental workman excels. the new era, inaugurated in 330 a.d. by the transfer by constantine of the seat of empire to the old colony of byzantium, was marked at first by a retention of the greek and latin influences; but the quantities of pearls and precious stones that passed through constantinople, the highway of commerce between europe and the east, soon rendered the workmen of the empire susceptible to the magnificence of oriental decoration. owing to the irruption of oriental ideas in the sixth century consequent on the sack of antioch by the persians and the conquests of belisarius, splendour of material began to supersede the refinement of classical times. this tendency is admirably displayed on the rich mosaics of the period, especially those in the church of san vitale at ravenna in italy, which represent the emperor justinian and his wife theodora. the empress and her attendants are clothed in robes stiffened with gold and set with precious stones; pearls, rubies, and emeralds encircle her neck and shoulders, and, entirely covering her head, hang down from the temples in rich festoons upon the breast. justinian also has a diadem upon his head, and a purple and gold embroidered mantle fastened with a monstrous fibula hung with triple pendants. the outbreak of iconoclasm in the eighth century had its influence on jewellery in causing the banishment of forms ornamented with the proscribed figures. but the iconoclastic movement was also of very great importance, since many goldsmiths driven from their country by the decrees of leo iii established themselves in italy, germany, and gaul, carrying with them the processes and designs of byzantine art. the restoration of images by basil the macedonian in the ninth century opened an important period of revival of industry and art, which lasted until the sack of constantinople by the crusaders in 1204. the active overland trade with india which had been kept up for many years, with no small influence on the ornaments of the west, was much augmented; while the commercial relations with persia were maintained. it was during the period from the tenth century onwards that the influence of byzantine art was most strongly felt in the west, owing to the connection which was established between the german court and constantinople, through the marriage of the emperor otho ii with the byzantine princess theophano, daughter of romanus, in 972. a considerable proportion of byzantine ornaments, as shown by the mosaics, consisted of gems sewn upon the dress. actual specimens of jewellery are naturally of considerable rarity. the british museum contains a small but representative collection.[4] they show a difference from the jewels of classical times chiefly in the substitution of coarse repoussé and open-work--the _opus interrasile_ of later roman work--for fine filigree and granulation; yet filigree was employed with skill, and exercised a considerable influence on the work of european craftsmen. in general form the ornaments of the lower empire retained the character of ancient work, but added to it fresh designs to suit the change of religion with its accompanying symbolism. enamel and coloured stones, employed with a reserve in antique ornaments, now formed the chief artistic aspect of jewellery. cloisonné inlay, that is to say the incrustation of glass or garnet in cells, was made use of, but cloisonné enamel was preferred. in the majority of ornaments, however, precious stones appear to have predominated.[5] [4] dalton (o. m.), _catalogue of early christian antiquities in the british museum_. 1901. [5] cunynghame (h. h.), _european enamels,_ p. 40. as ornaments for the head, wreaths were worn, especially upon festal occasions. from the earliest christian times the bride and bridegroom at their wedding wore, as in some countries at the present day, crowns of gold, silver, green leaves, or flowers, which were afterwards returned to the church. early byzantine earrings naturally follow the roman patterns. some take the form of a penannular wire loop holding a thimble-shaped cage of filigree, the flat end of which is closed, and has in the centre a setting for a precious stone. the majority of byzantine earrings are, however, of a peculiar design. the most usual type, from the sixth century onwards, is crescent-shaped, formed of gold repoussé and open-worked in the form of a cross patée within a circle, supported on either side by peacocks confronted. dating from the finest period, i.e. about the twelfth century, is a pair of earrings in the british museum, in the shape of a segment of a circle, ornamented on both sides with figures of birds in blue, green, and white cloisonné enamel. upon the outer border of each segment are pearls fixed upon radiating pins, alternating with pyramids of pellets; on the inner is a disc decorated with similar enamels. the cross is naturally the most favourite of pendants; yet this symbol does not appear to have been commonly worn on the person till about the fifth century. among the most interesting pectoral crosses in the british museum is one inscribed with a text from galatians vi. 14; upon its arms and lower part are rings for pendent gems, and in the centre the setting for a stone. another cross, ornamented with nielloed[6] figures of our lord, the virgin, and two angels or military saints, has the name of its owner inscribed at the back. both date from about the tenth or eleventh century. one of the finest and the best known of such ornaments is the gold and enamelled pectoral cross in the victoria and albert museum, known as the beresford-hope cross. this remarkable specimen of byzantine jewellery, dating from about the eighth century, is formed of two cruciform plates of gold, hinged so as to form a reliquary, and set in a silver-gilt frame of later workmanship than the cross itself. the figures upon it, executed in translucent cloisonné enamel, represent on one part the saviour on the cross, with busts of the virgin and st. john on either side, and on the other a full-length figure of the virgin and the heads of four saints (pl. ix, 8). jewellery ornamented in this manner is of great rarity; being executed nearly always upon pure gold, it has seldom escaped the crucible. [6] niello: a composition of lead, silver, sulphur, and borax. judging from the mosaics, as, for example, the portraits of justinian in the churches of san vitale and sant' apollinare nuovo at ravenna, brooches of the circular type appear to have been generally worn. their chief characteristic was the presence of three chains set with jewels attached to them by loops. coins, as in roman times, were frequently mounted as brooches in a beaded or open-work edging. bow-shaped brooches were worn, but not after the sixth century. three inscribed examples of the fourth century, one of them of gold, are in the british museum. [illustration: _plate ix_ byzantine jewellery, and enamelled jewellery in the byzantine style] similar in workmanship to the crescent-shaped earrings described above, and of about the same date, is a remarkable gold bracelet in the franks bequest. it is formed of an open-work hoop decorated with swans and peacocks enclosed in scrolls issuing from a vase. a circular medallion with a repoussé bust of the virgin forms the clasp. finger rings have survived in greater numbers than other byzantine ornaments. the majority are figured with the beautiful symbolism of the christian belief. some are set with engraved gems, but on most the design is produced by the more simple process of engraving the metal of which the ring is composed. in early christian times rings were often offered as presents, and were engraved with expressions of good-will towards the recipient, whose name is sometimes mentioned. the british museum contains a somewhat extensive collection of these rare objects in gold. bronze, often gilded, is naturally the commoner material. silver appears to have been scarcely ever employed. the interest of the majority of byzantine rings arises rather from the subjects with which they are associated, than from the quality of their workmanship. there is, however, in the british museum a very beautiful example of pierced gold work in the form of a key ring with projecting tongue, of a kind much used in roman times, which opened the lock by lifting a latch. upon the front of a wide hoop are the words _accipe dulcis_, in letters reserved in metal in a pierced ground. the remainder of the hoop is divided into compartments, each containing one letter of the inscription _multis annis_. above the inscription, in front, is a rectangular projection, perhaps for insertion into a lock. it is finely pierced with a design in the form of greek crosses (pl. ix, 10). the sack of constantinople by the french and venetians dealt the death-blow to byzantine art. until well into the thirteenth century the byzantine goldsmiths continued to exercise an important influence on their contemporaries, and transmitted to the artists of mediæval europe such of the processes and designs of antique art as they had preserved. their intercourse was closest with russia, whose jewellery for centuries, even up to the present day, has followed the designs of the old byzantine workmen. chapter vi prehistoric (celtic) jewellery romano-british jewellery the early ornaments of the greater part of europe remained until late times entirely untouched by the culture prevalent in italy and greece. though of great archæological importance, as revealing successive stages of culture, they do not at the present demand very detailed consideration. the decoration of the earliest jewellery of europe--that of the bronze age, which dates roughly from about a thousand years before the christian era--is by means of spiral and zigzag patterns. ornaments have free endings, bent in spiral, snail-shell coils. the earliest were cast, though the hammer was used towards the close of the period; solder was unknown, and rivets alone employed. gold and bronze were the only metals employed, the latter being sometimes gilt by means of thin gold plates, while amber is often found used as a jewel. some idea of these early ornaments can be formed from the discoveries of objects worn by the ancient inhabitants of the british isles. they are, however, not very numerous or important until after the bronze age, and until the early iron age--known in england as the late celtic period--is reached. the ornaments of the britons--that is to say the brythons or iron-using celts--before they became subject to rome are somewhat rare, for few objects of value were buried in graves. such as have been found comprise bronze pins, brooches, torques, and bracelets; beads of amber, jet, bone, and glass, and bracelets also of jet. golden ornaments, like those laid bare by schliemann at mycenæ, concealed either as votive offerings or for the sake of security, have been brought to light from time to time, occasionally in england and more frequently in ireland. celtic literature and legend are full of references to these golden ornaments, and classical writers often make mention of them. the simplest types of gold ornaments discovered in england are rings formed of a rounded bar of equal thickness throughout, bent into a circular form, and the extremities left disunited. their material is gold, so pure and flexible that the rings can be easily opened to be linked into a chain or strung upon a thin gold wire. they were very probably employed for barter, and are generally known as "ring-money." other rings, crescent-shaped, with ends tapering towards their extremities, may have served both as ornaments and substitutes for money. others, again, are of gold wire shaped into a sort of rope, or else formed of a simple bar twisted in an ornamental manner. it has been suggested that the simple penannular rings were nose-ornaments, and when linked or strung together were worn as necklaces; also that the more decorative rings were earrings. but it is quite impossible to determine their actual use as personal ornaments. massive torques employed by the celts for the purpose of adorning the neck are occasionally found of pure gold. they consist of a long piece of metal twisted and turned into the form of a circle, with its ends either terminating in a knob, or doubled back in the form of a short hook, or swelling out into cup-like terminations. some are formed of a square bar of gold twisted spirally, others of a flat bar twisted in a lighter manner, or of more than one bar twisted together. [illustration: _plate x_ prehistoric gold ornaments of the british isles] gold ornaments for the arms, known by the term _armillæ_, are sometimes of the same thickness throughout. it is more usual to find them plain, though twisted work was also applied to them. the majority have dilated ends, or ends slightly concave. with others, again, these cavities assume the form of a cup so expanded as to present the appearance of a trumpet or the calyx of a large flower. on ornaments somewhat resembling the latter the dilated extremities are flat plates, while the connecting part, diminutive in proportion to their exaggerated size, is striated longitudinally. these objects are usually described as dress-fasteners, but the exact purpose for which they were employed is still a matter of doubt. advanced skill in the art of enamelling is one of the most notable features of the late celtic period, which itself extended from the prehistoric age of iron and over the period of the roman occupation. this enamel, executed by the champlevé process on copper and bronze, served for the decoration of massive bronze penannular bracelets, and for bronze pins with wheel-shaped heads. in addition to brooches--all of the safety-pin type--of an immense variety of design, other primitive bronze ornaments, usually of the spiral form characteristic of celtic work, include torques, armlets, and anklets. the torques are mostly penannular and have enlarged terminals; the armlets are often complete rings. for the most extensive representation of the prehistoric gold ornaments of the british isles one must look, not to england whose inhabitants generally assumed the types of ornament in use among their roman conquerors, but to ireland, where the celtic traditions were continued, and which has revealed vast hoards of golden treasure. in celtic england during the bronze and early iron ages the majority of personal ornaments are of bronze; in ireland, however, at the same periods the greater number are of gold. the objects belonging to the royal irish academy in the dublin museum--perhaps the largest collection in europe of prehistoric gold ornaments--represent merely a fraction of what, during the last few hundred years, has been discovered and consigned to the crucible. usually described as head-ornaments are certain crescent or moon-shaped plates of thin gold, generally decorated with engraved designs in parallel lines, with angular lines between them, and having their extremities formed into small flat circular discs. these gold _lunettes_ or _lunulæ_ are considered to have been worn upright on the head and held in position by the terminal plates set behind the ears,[7] but they were very probably worn round the neck. the finest at dublin is of pure gold, weighing upwards of sixteen ounces, and is richly ornamented with rows of conical studs. [7] wilde (w. r.), _cat. of antiquities of gold_, p. 12. torques are the most frequent of ancient irish ornaments. the largest known, over 5 feet long and upwards of 27 ounces in weight, is supposed to have been worn over the shoulder and across the breast. it is the property of the royal irish academy. in addition to torques and gorgets, neck-ornaments were also formed of beads of gold, and some of these have been found accompanied by beads of amber. besides torque-shaped armlets, are bracelets composed of perfect rings; but the penannular type, terminating mostly with bulbous or cup-like ends, is commonest. a considerable number of the prehistoric dress-fasteners, known as _mammillary fibulæ_, have been discovered in ireland. a slight enlargement of the ends of the penannular ring develops into a cup-like expansion, which increases to such a size that the ring becomes simply the connecting link between the terminations. the latter when flat are generally plain, and when cup-shaped are often highly ornamented. the finest of these fibulæ at dublin is 8-3/8 inches long, and is of the extraordinary weight of 33 ounces. among other gold ornaments are certain circular flat plates of thin gold, usually about 2¼ inches in diameter, somewhat similar to the plates discovered at mycenæ, in that they were evidently employed for sewing upon the dress. in the middle of the plates are small holes as if for attachment. as regards "ring-money," and similar rings employed possibly as ornaments for the ears or fingers, nothing more need be said, as they usually follow the designs of those in use among the celts of britain. in a country like ireland, which is famed for its golden treasures, many strange stories of discoveries have been recorded, yet few have excited greater interest than the now famous limavady treasure, which in the year 1896 was ploughed up at broighter, near limavady, in the county of londonderry, in a field not far from the shores of lough foyle. this hoard--probably the most important which has ever been unearthed of objects of this period--has been fully described by dr. a. j. evans in vol. lv of _archæologia_. it includes the following personal ornaments: two gold chains, a torque formed of thick twisted wires, and collar of very remarkable workmanship. this collar consists of a hollow cylinder formed of two plates soldered together, and fastened at the end by a #t#-shaped projection and slot. the ornament is repoussé work, in the trumpet pattern of the late celtic period. the style of work upon these ornaments, particularly that of the collar, associates them with an artistic period which probably dates from the first century a.d. the year following its discovery the whole find was purchased by the british museum, where its presence at once figured as "another injustice to ireland"; while through the press and in parliament numerous attempts were made to obtain its removal to dublin. the irish claimed it as treasure-trove and maintained that its legal home was the national museum at dublin. the british museum authorities replied that dublin had missed an opportunity of obtaining it in open market, while they themselves, having acquired it in the ordinary course of business, were precluded by statute from parting with it. they further contended that the ornaments were not necessarily of irish workmanship, but might with equal likelihood have been produced in britain. thus for several years the dispute dragged on, until in the summer of 1903 the case came up in the chancery division of the courts of law (attorney-general _v._ trustees of british museum. _the times law reports_, xix, p. 555.) notwithstanding the ingenious defence of the british museum, judgment was given that the ornaments were treasure-trove, and by virtue of the prerogative royal must be surrendered to the king. they were accordingly delivered to the crown authorities and presented to the irish national museum by his majesty. romano-british whatever races settled under the banner of rome, they accepted unreservedly its ornaments, dress and manners, as well as its language and its laws. hence the jewellery which dates from the roman occupation of britain (i.e. from about 43 a.d. to about 410 a.d.) follows for the most part the italian designs, and at the same time differs but little from that brought to light among the remains of roman colonisation elsewhere. the majority of romano-british personal ornaments are of bronze--in most cases probably once gilt. comparatively few objects of gold have been found. among the articles of female adornment that occur in the greatest abundance are pins, which were used for fixing the hair in a knot behind the head, though some may have been employed as dress-pins. they range from 3 to 9 inches in length, and have heads of various designs, terminating in some instances in a bust or in a figure. the majority are of bone, many are of bronze, and a few are composed of coloured glass or jet. a few necklaces of gold and bronze have been found, but by far the greater number appear to have been composed of beads of glass--in the manufacture of which the romans displayed remarkable skill. these necklaces differ considerably in form and colour. the commonest beads are spherical and pierced with a large hole. they are usually of one colour, generally blue, but some are of compound colours exquisitely blended, and a few have a serpentine ornament fused into the glass. beads of amber, pearls, and glazed earthenware have also been found. a characteristic of roman jewels executed in britain is their ornamentation with enamels. the metal employed is generally bronze, the surface of which is ornamented by the champlevé process; that is to say, it is incised or grooved out (though sometimes stamped or cast) in such a manner as to leave floral or geometrical patterns in relief, and into the sunk spaces thus formed are fused opaque enamels, principally red, yellow, green, blue, and white. this enamelling is generally found upon brooches both of the circular and of the bow-shaped type. the fronts of the circular brooches are flat, or raised like a shield into several compartments of different colours. the pin, which is hidden, moves freely on a pivot, and its point is held by a catch. the finest specimen, discovered in london, was formerly in the collection of lord hastings, from whom it was acquired by the british museum. it is a circular flat plaque, the pattern on which consists of four quatrefoils with blue centres on a red ground, and four small circles of yellow enamel between them. in the centre is the revolving figure of a dolphin (pl. xi, 7). brooches enamelled in a somewhat similar manner have been found in france at mont beuvray, near autun, and are preserved in the musée des antiquités nationales at st. germain.[8] [8] bulliot (j. g.), _fouilles de mont beuvray (ancienne bibracte) de 1867 à 1895_. 1899. quite different are certain ornaments set with slices cut from rods of millefiori glass, which were executed for the most part during the decline of the roman power. one of the most elaborate is a brooch found at pont-y-saison, near chepstow, monmouthshire, in 1861, and preserved among other romano-british antiquities in the british museum. it has an elaborate pattern of chequered squares of red, white, and blue (pl. xi, 6). brooches of the gallo-roman and early merovingian period appear to have been also decorated in this manner. of bow-shaped brooches, or fibulæ, there exists a considerable number of varieties. among these we may distinguish the #t#-shaped fibula with long cylindrical head, and a wide flat bow with sunk designs filled with enamel. in another variety the bow passes through a horizontal disc in its centre and assumes a form resembling a tassel. another common variety is the crossbow form, either with a spiral or hinged head. in many roman fibulæ the pin works on a hinge, but in the variety known as the harp-shaped, the sheath of the pin is filled in with a triangular plate, pierced or solid, and the head is slightly expanded to suit the coils of a spring. in addition to the more formal types of brooches, many fancy devices, probably of celtic origin, appear to have been in vogue among the roman colonists of great britain. these are in the shape of birds, fish, and all kinds of animals, brilliant with various coloured enamels, which are often so disposed as to indicate the spots or markings of the animals. a remarkable series of brooches of this kind is in the possession of sir john evans. bracelets and armlets, usually of bronze, have survived in large numbers. they consist generally of a simple narrow ring, such as could be slipped over the wrist. some are pennanular with tapering ends, others are closed with a hook and eye, while a few have their ends so twisted together that they can slide over one another and so be taken on and off. armlets of glass, chiefly of a deep transparent blue, have also been found. most of the varieties of finger rings already recorded appear to have been worn in britain. the extent of the roman civilisation can be measured by the number of engraved stones enclosed in their settings or found apart, the majority of which must have been executed by lapidaries on the spot. many articles, such as rings, armlets, beads, buttons, and amulets, were formed of jet or kimmeridge shale, turned on a lathe. in the island of purbeck round flat pieces of jet have been found pierced with holes, which are clearly refuse pieces of the turner--the nuclei of rings and other articles. this material appears to be the same as that termed by pliny _gigates_. according to him, it was supposed to possess the virtue of driving away serpents; and personal ornaments made of it were particularly prized. there seems little doubt that the use of ornaments of kimmeridge coal or shale by the romano-britons was nothing more than a survival of the neolithic or stone age. "great britain," writes m. fontenay in 1887, with reference to the ancient practice of wearing ornaments of jet, "remains faithful to its early customs; for at the present day english ladies delight in adorning themselves with jet jewellery." fashion changes rapidly, but it will be long, one hopes, before it again decrees the general use of ornaments of this unattractive material. chapter vii barbaric jewellery of europe (the great migrations) during the period of the great migrations, when hordes of barbarians swept like waves across europe over the tracks of roman civilisation, all traces of classical art rapidly vanished, save in constantinople, which remained, as it were, a corner of the antique world. the forms of classical jewellery in natural course either totally disappeared or underwent a complete transformation, and there appeared instead a new process for the decoration of personal ornament, which in earlier times was practically unknown, save to the goldsmiths of ancient egypt. just as the desire to imitate precious stones led to the introduction of enamel, so the gothic nations who hailed from the south-east corner of europe brought into jewellery the oriental love for colour. coloured stones, usually garnets, or red glass, cut in slices, were inlaid on a metal surface, or were placed side by side, separated only by intervening strips of metal. this process of inlay or incrustation is of great importance, since almost every species of jewellery in europe from the third till about the eighth century is thus decorated. the goths invented no new jewellery, but adapted a style which had long been in existence. and though the forms of their jewellery may be due to the growth of local traditions, its decoration is clearly the result of influences connected in some way with the east. originating, as it doubtless did, in persia or in the further east, this process of inlay was adopted by the gothic nations during the earlier centuries of the christian era, and made its first appearance among them in the districts of the caucasus and in the crimea. from thence it passed to the lombards in italy, to the burgundians in austria and switzerland, the visigoths in spain, the merovingians in gaul, the earlier scandinavians in denmark; and by the saxon tribes in northern germany it was carried to england, where it attained its highest perfection in the superb circular brooches that have been brought to light in kent. by the discovery of specimens of asiatic and germanic jewellery ornamented in this manner, the path of the migratory tribes can thus be traced right across the continent. yet for the reason that conditions of property and nationality became altered from one generation to another, the question to which of the nations numerous pieces of jewellery are to be ascribed, is difficult to solve. they are often connected with misunderstood hellenistic and asiatic traditions, while at the same time showing workmanship with barbaric ideas of form. there are, as has been pointed out,[9] two very distinct forms of inlay, one of which is possibly the outcome of the other. one has been termed _plate inlaying_, the other _cloisonné inlaying_. the first is represented in the east of europe by the fibulæ and gorget in the celebrated treasure of petrossa, and in the west by the crown of svinthila in the equally famous treasure of guarrazar. in these objects a gold plate is pierced, and into the holes thus formed stones are fixed by mastic, and supported from behind by a second plate of gold. this form of inlaying seems to merge naturally into the other, for at a certain point it may have occurred to the goldsmith to abandon the continuous upper sheet of metal and to cut it into strips to be placed edgewise between the stones. thus appeared the second form of inlaying, in the cloisonné manner. it is represented in its journey from the east by the "oxus treasure." in europe it is illustrated by numerous specimens of teutonic jewellery from southern europe, by the ornaments discovered in the tomb of childeric i, and finally by the splendid anglo-saxon jewellery from the kentish cemeteries. numbers of articles of jewellery dating from the fifth century until the general introduction of christianity have been discovered in various localities in europe. but the above-mentioned hoards of treasure demand special consideration, as being, not only the most characteristic examples of the methods of inlay, but also types of the utmost luxury of the period in the way of personal ornaments. beyond these no general account of european jewellery need here be given, since excavations in the anglo-saxon graves have revealed examples of jewellery which may be taken as fairly representative of the articles then in use upon the continent as well. [9] _archæologia_, lviii, p. 240, 1902. a description may now be given of some of the principal and most typical of these european treasure-hoards, dating from what are known as the "dark ages." but attention must first be drawn to the important asiatic treasure found near the river oxus, in bactria, in 1877. this "oxus treasure,"[10] belonging for the most part to the fourth century b.c., seems to supply the missing link in the chain of evidence which unites the ornamentation of european jewellery with clearly defined oriental methods. the chief articles of jewellery in the hoard are two massive penannular bracelets of gold, one in the british museum, the other at south kensington. they are ornamented at each end with a winged monster or gryphon in full relief. the surface of the wings and necks of the figures is covered with gold cloisons, once set with coloured stones or pastes. the form and decoration of these and the other articles of the treasure in the franks bequest in the british museum seem to indicate the persian origin of this inlaid work. [10] dalton (o. m.), _the treasure of the oxus, 1905._ the "treasure of petrossa," dating from the fourth century a.d., contains some of the earliest examples of inlaid jewellery in europe. few treasures of which record has been preserved are equal to it in archæological interest. it was discovered in 1837 by peasants on the banks of a tributary of the danube, near the village of petrossa, about sixty miles from bucharest. much of it was broken up shortly after its discovery. what remained was seized by the government and conveyed to the museum of antiquities at bucharest, where it is now preserved. the treasure includes a gold torque with hooked ends, like the celtic torques from the british isles; a crescent-shaped collar or gorget of gold with its surface pierced in the manner of plate inlay, and set with garnets and other stones; three bird-shaped fibulæ; and a larger ornament, also in the shape of a bird, intended probably as a breast-plate. the heads and necks of the birds are inlaid in the cloisonné manner; their lower parts are ornamented with plate inlay.[11] [11] a remarkable book descriptive of this treasure has been published by professor odobesco, of the university of bucharest, in which the whole process of inlaying is discussed at considerable length. the same subject has been treated with the most minute care by the well-known art historian, m. charles de linas. dating from the merovingian period are the treasures of king childeric i in the bibliothèque nationale at paris. the founder of the merovingian dynasty died in 481, and was buried at tournai, in languedoc, surrounded by his treasures and robes of state. in the year 1653, when all memory of the place of his interment had perished, a labourer accidentally uncovered the royal grave and brought to light the treasure it contained. the regalia consisted of a sword, a bracelet, fibulæ, buckles, about three hundred gold bees--the decoration of a mantle--and a signet-ring of gold. this ring was not set with a gem, but had its oval gold bezel engraved with a full-faced bust holding a spear. it bore the legend childirici regis. on the night of november 5, 1831, the bibliothèque was broken into by burglars. an alarm being given, they fled, and threw their spoil, which included, amongst other objects, childeric's regalia, into the seine. the river was dredged, and a great part of the treasure was recovered. the ring, however, was never found; but its design is preserved in chiflet's _anastasis childerici i_, while the signet itself has been reconstructed from an impression of the seal in wax, found in the bodleian library in a copy of chiflet's work, once the property of the great antiquary, francis douce. except on this jewel, the traditional surface decoration of teutonic jewellery is admirably represented. every item of the treasure is inlaid with thin slices of garnet or red glass, arranged in the cloisonné manner between gold partitions.[12] [12] abbé cochet, _le tombeau de childéric i^e^r_, 1859. the most wonderful, probably, of all treasures-trove is the famous "treasure of guarrazar," discovered in 1858 at a place called la fuente de guarrazar, near toledo.[13] it included eleven crowns of pure gold set with precious stones. the peasants who unearthed the treasure broke up the crowns and divided the spoil. but the story of the discovery became known; and having been pieced together, most of the crowns were conveyed to the musée cluny at paris, and the remainder placed in the real armería at madrid. the most important of those at madrid is the crown of king svinthila (621-631). its surface is pierced with holes arranged in rose-shaped patterns, and set with large pearls and cabochon sapphires. from the lower rim hangs a fringe of letters set in the cloisonné manner with red glass paste, suspended by chains. the letters form the inscription svintilanus rex offeret. the chief crown in the treasure at paris is that of king reccesvinthus (649-672). it consists of a broad circle of gold, 8 inches in diameter, mounted with thirty huge oriental pearls and thirty large sapphires, all set in high collets and separated by pierced open-work. the margins are bands of cloisonné work with inlays of red glass. suspended below by twenty-four chains are letters of gold inlaid like the borders forming the words [symbol: cross pattée] reccesvinthus rex offeret. attached to each letter is a square collet hung with a pear-shaped sapphire. the crown is suspended by four chains from a foliated ornament encircled with pendent pearls and sapphires, and surmounted by a capital of rock crystal. a massive cross 4¼ inches long and 2½ inches wide hangs below the crown. it is set with eight enormous pearls and six large and brilliant sapphires, the latter mounted in high open bezels. from its foot and limbs hang three paste imitations of emeralds, with pear-shaped sapphires below. the combination of the pure gold with the violet sapphires and the somewhat faded lustre of the pearls produces an exceedingly harmonious effect of colour. [13] lasteyrie (f. de), _description du trésor de guarrazar_, 1860. the majority of these crowns were votive offerings to a church, to be hung above the altar; the larger ones may have been actually used at coronations, and afterwards suspended in some consecrated building and the dedicatory inscriptions attached in remembrance of the ceremony. they certainly appear to be native work of the spanish visigoths, executed under the influence of the style prevailing in the eastern empire. at a date not long after their production, the use of this particular species of decoration of jewellery, owing probably to the revival of the art of enamelling, rapidly declined in western europe; and though it continued to be practised in the east, it had virtually disappeared at the close of the merovingian period--by about the year 800, when charlemagne was crowned emperor of the west. chapter viii anglo-saxon jewellery (fifth to seventh century)--merovingian jewellery upon the invasion of britain by the teutonic races in the fifth century personal ornaments lost their roman character, and assumed a peculiar type which betrays the impress of a fresh nationality on design and workmanship. a near alliance by origin and geographical position existed between the jutes, angles, and other kindred tribes commonly known as the saxons, who settled in britain, and the franks, who stationed themselves in gaul. the ornaments of all these tribes bear on this account a close similarity. hence anglo-saxon jewels may for the most part be taken as representative of all the rest; and the only contemporary merovingian ornaments to be noticed will be those that differ from the anglo-saxon types. in england as well as in france this remarkable group of jewellery belongs to the period which immediately followed the extinction of the roman power in both countries, and extends from the fifth to the middle of the seventh century. personal ornaments in england were the last in europe to receive a characteristic species of surface decoration: for kent and the isle of wight form the extreme limit of the geographical area in which jewellery ornamented with cloisonné inlay has been found. the process attained here the highest point of excellence. anglo-saxon jewellery occupies an exceedingly important position in the history of the goldsmith's art. its beauty lies in its delicate goldwork and peculiarly harmonious blending of colours. so remarkable is the fertility of fancy with which each jewel is adorned, that scarcely any two are exactly identical in ornamentation. however complicated the system of knotwork, and however frequently the same form might require filling in, each workman appears to have been eager to express his own individuality, and to originate some fresh method of treatment or new variety of design. in common with other teutonic nations, the anglo-saxons were peculiarly fond of personal ornaments. they held in high esteem both the smith--the producer of weapons--and the goldsmith who manufactured the rings and bracelets employed as rewards of valour. a passage in the "exeter book," which dilates on the various stations in life and the capacities required for them, refers thus to the goldsmith: "for one a wondrous skill in goldsmith's art is provided: full oft he decorates and well adorns a powerful king's nobles, and he to him gives broad land in recompense." the graves or barrows of our anglo-saxon ancestors have proved singularly prolific in personal ornaments. extensive cemeteries have been discovered in the midland, eastern and southern counties, and particularly upon the downs of kent, sussex, and the isle of wight. the barrows of kent have revealed personal ornaments of greater wealth and refinement than those of any other parts. the majority of anglo-saxon pins were no doubt employed for fastening up the hair. they often have as a head the figure of a bird or grotesque animal, ornamented with garnets, like similar pins from the continent. one of the best, which comes from the faversham graves in kent, is in the gibbs bequest, now in the british museum. it is of silver, formerly gilt; its upper part is flat and in the form of a bird set with cut garnets. gothic tribes had a great predilection for the bird as a decorative subject.[14] [14] de baye (j.), _the industrial arts of the anglo-saxons_, p. 45. a certain number of earrings have been found, but they are not common. they are generally a ring of silver wire, plain, or twisted into a spiral form, and hung sometimes with beads of coloured glass or clay. the earrings worn by the franks during the contemporary merovingian period are of a type unrepresented in anglo-saxon jewellery. they differ in size, but are nearly all of the same pattern, and have a plain hoop. one end is pointed to pierce the ear, and on the other end is a polygonal metal cube, each side of which is set with a slice of garnet or red glass. anglo-saxon necklaces are composed of beads of many varieties. the commonest, of glass, of numerous colours and shapes, are very similar to the roman beads. beads of amethystine quartz, probably of transylvanian or german origin, and particularly beads of amber from the baltic, are found strung on necklaces, or were hung singly from the neck. when one remembers the superstitious respect which was universally paid to precious stones, and especially to amber, in early times, it is probable that these were regarded as amulets. the more sumptuous necklaces, which must have been worn by ladies of rank, are composed of gold beads or of precious stones in delicate settings of twisted or beaded gold. the pendent ornaments hung to the necklaces are very beautiful. some are formed of large, finely coloured garnets cut into triangle or pear shapes and mounted in gold. others, generally circular, are of pure gold worked in interlaced or vermiculated patterns and set with precious stones. a striking group of pendants is formed of coins of foreign origin, roman or byzantine, or rude copies of them made in england by anglo-saxon goldsmiths. in the british museum is an elaborate necklace of glass and terra-cotta beads with pendent gold coins of the seventh century, which was found, together with a splendid brooch, at sarre, in kent. three of the pendants are coins of emperors of the east--mauricius and heraclius--and the fourth is a coin of chlotaire ii of france. the central pendant, also circular, is ornamented with a section from a rod of roman millefiori glass set in gold. besides coins--the frequent use of which in late roman jewellery has already been noticed--there exists a well-known class of personal ornaments known as _nummi bracteati_, bracteate coins, and sometimes as "spangle money." they are thin discs of metal stamped in a die, so that the design appears in relief on the face and incuse on the back. they are generally of gold, have a beaded edging, and are supplied with loops, also of gold, for suspension. fibulæ or brooches are the most numerous of all anglo-saxon ornaments. they are remarkable both for their beauty and their excellence of workmanship. probably more than one was usually worn; and four or five have been found in the same grave on different parts of the body. the different types of brooches from various districts of england are sufficiently clearly marked to permit their classification as the ornaments of distinct peoples. for the present purpose it is convenient to divide them into three main classes, each class consisting, naturally, of many varieties. (1) circular jewelled brooches found among the remains of the kentish saxons, and of the jutes of the isle of wight. (2) brooches of the sunk or concave circular type worn by the saxons of berks, oxford, and gloucestershire. (3) cruciform brooches--a type of the elongated form of brooch. they are peculiar to the angles who formed the population of mercia, east anglia, and northumbria. (1) the circular jewelled brooches found in the cemeteries of kent and sometimes in the isle of wight, but scarcely ever in other parts of england, may be subdivided again into three classes. the first of these, and the most numerous, is composed of a single piece of metal decorated with chased work and set with jewels. the second group comprises those formed of a disc of bronze or silver, decorated with a disc of gold foil covered with inlaid cells forming triangles and circles, with three bosses grouped round a central boss. this type is rarer than the first, and is often of great beauty. the third group, the finest and rarest, is distinguished by being formed of two plates of metal joined by a band round the edges, the upper part being prepared in the cloisonné manner for the reception of stones or pastes, while the pin or _acus_ is fixed to the lower. brooches of this type, in which the stones, mostly garnets, are set upon hatched gold foil between delicate gold cloisons, represent at its utmost perfection the process of inlaying already described. three of the finest circular jewelled brooches are: the kingston brooch in the mayer collection at liverpool, the abingdon brooch in the ashmolean museum, and the sarre brooch in the british museum. the first, which is certainly the most beautiful, is 3-3/16 inches in diameter. the front is divided into compartments subdivided into cells of various forms, enriched with vermicular gold, with turquoises and with garnets laid upon gold foil. concentric circles which surround a central boss are treated alternately in coloured stones and worked gold.[15] the abingdon brooch is divided into four compartments, each decorated with interlaced gold wire, and mounted with a boss of ivory, horn or shell, with a fifth boss in the centre of the brooch. the rest of the ground is decorated with garnets upon hatched gold foil.[16] the sarre brooch, 2-5/8 inches in width, is ornamented in a similar manner, and has a large central and four smaller bosses composed of a substance resembling ivory, set with carbuncles[17] (pl. xi, 1). [15] faussett (b.), _inventorium sepulchrale_, p. 78, pl. 1. [16] _arch. journal_, iv, p. 253. another similar brooch from abingdon is in the british museum. see akerman (j. y.), _remains of pagan saxondom_, pl. iii. [17] _archæologia cantiana_, ii, pl. iii. [illustration: _plate xi_ anglo-saxon and romano-british brooches, etc.] (2) the next main class of brooches comprises the concave circular, known also as the cupelliform or saucer-shaped, found in the west saxon cemeteries. they are of bronze or copper, thickly gilt, and very rarely decorated with jewels. they have a plain edge, and a centre covered with interlaced and other ornamental patterns. (3) cruciform brooches form the last and most widely distributed group. they have trefoil or cruciform tops; but must not be held to have any connection with christianity because they approach the form of a cross, for they are found in purely pagan graves. some varieties are found in other parts of england besides mercia, east anglia, and northumbria, but they are rare in kent. these cruciform anglian brooches are of cast bronze, generally gilt, but sometimes plated with silver. they are often of enormous size, and covered with rude and elaborate patterns such as are found upon early scandinavian objects. since the patterns were added after the brooches were cast, it happens that, though forms are frequently identical, decorations differ on nearly every specimen. with the rarest exception, they are never garnished with precious stones. this kind of brooch appears to have been evolved about the fourth century. there are other brooches somewhat of the same form, but not usually found in england. amongst these is a type which, instead of having a trefoil ornament at the top, is square-headed. though not unknown in france and germany, brooches of this design are chiefly scandinavian. an important series of both of the types last mentioned is preserved in the british museum; while the fine collection belonging to sir john evans contains many splendid specimens. another variety is known as the "radiated" brooch, from the fact that its upper part, which is rectangular or semicircular, is ornamented with obtuse rays. the finest example of this type, and the largest known (it measures 6¼ inches), is in the bavarian national museum at munich. it dates from about the sixth century; and was found in a rock tomb near wittislingen on the danube in 1881. it is silver, gilt upon the upper side, enriched with a cloisonné inlay of garnets in a variety of patterns, and further ornamented with interlaced gold filigree (pl. xii, 7). a latin inscription on the under side contains the name uffila. radiated brooches, which mr. roach smith[18] considers to be prior in point of date to all other anglo-saxon types, extend over the greater part of europe. but they are rare in england, though a few have been found in kent and are preserved among the gibbs bequest. [18] _catalogue of anglo-saxon antiquities_, p. xv. there is yet another type of anglo-saxon brooch, annular in shape. it consists of a plain ring, with a pin travelling round it attached to a small cylinder. this annular brooch is comparatively rare in saxon times. its interest lies in the fact that it is the parent of a much more important brooch worn throughout the middle ages. in common with all primitive peoples, the saxons held rings in less esteem than other ornaments. the few that have been found are simple bronze hoops. rings were more frequent, however, among the merovingians. the chief feature in merovingian rings, which are often of gold, is that the bezel is for the most part large and circular. it is either roughly engraved in the manner of childeric's signet, or else is ornamented with cloisonné inlay. other rings have a high projecting bezel. [illustration: _plate xii_ anglo-saxon and frankish jewellery (5th-7th centuries)] buckles of gold, silver, and bronze, used to fasten the belt or girdle, or employed on some other part of the dress, are particularly abundant in kentish graves. they vary considerably, many being of particularly good design, set with garnets and ornamented with gold filigree. the largest examples can be assigned to the girdles of men, the smallest and richest to those of women. some of the best are in the gibbs bequest. one of the finest examples of anglo-saxon jewellery is the magnificent gold buckle discovered in a grave near taplow, bucks, and now in the british museum. the base of the tongue and the oval ring are inlaid with glass pastes upon gold foil; while the buckle plate, enriched with three garnets, is bordered with many graduated rows of finely twisted gold wire, and has its centre filled with a sort of vermiculated pattern upon repoussé ground (pl. xii, 6). women's graves have generally yielded a number of objects of personal use as well as of adornment. articles of toilet, such as tweezers, etc., are found by the side of the skeleton, and resemble the modern chatelaine. there exist, in addition, curious bronze pendants sometimes shaped like a pot-hook, which, found in pairs near the waists of female skeletons, are known generally as girdle-hangers. their exact purpose was for a long time a mystery, but archæologists are now mostly of the opinion that they were fastenings for bags or purses suspended from the girdle. with the exception of the brooch-pin, which is always made of iron, anglo-saxon jewellery is almost invariably composed of gold, silver, or of some alloy, and is very rarely of iron like the buckles found in the frankish cemeteries. these iron buckles, owing to the perishable nature of their material are often much disfigured by rust, but many are sufficiently well preserved to exhibit a beautiful and elaborate inlay of silver, sometimes accompanied by gold. many examples of them are preserved in the museums of france and germany. some are of extraordinary size. the buckle and plate alone of one in the museum at berne measures no less than 8-5/8 by 4½ inches and half an inch in thickness. buckles of this kind have never been found in england. chapter ix late anglo-saxon jewellery (seventh to ninth century) after the landing of st. augustine in 597 and the baptism of ethelbert, king of kent, the conversion of the upper classes in england appears to have been rapid, and by the third decade of the seventh century the greater part of the country had accepted christianity. old customs, however, with regard to burial and the adornment of the corpse, were slow in disappearing, and even as late as the time of charlemagne (742-814) we hear of orders being issued that the saxons were no longer to follow the pagan mode of burial, but to inter their dead in consecrated ground. the general abandonment of the custom of burying ornaments with the dead is responsible for the small number of the later anglo-saxon jewels now extant. but the few examples surviving from the period which terminated at the norman conquest are of exceptional merit. there can be no doubt that the introduction of christianity produced a profound change in the character of personal ornaments. new forms and methods, due to closer association with the continent, were introduced into the goldsmith's productions by the church, which at the same time fostered the splendid traditions of the older english jewellers. the characteristic of the finest pieces of saxon jewellery of the christian period is their ornamentation by means of cloisonné enamel. it has already been noticed that anglo-saxon jewels were decorated with gold wires, some twisted or beaded, or rolled up and plaited together, and soldered on to a thin gold plate; while others were flattened into strips forming compartments, which were filled with pieces of garnet or coloured glass cut to shape. when the spaces between strips, so disposed as to make up the outlines of figures or ornament, were filled with enamel paste and fired, the result was enamel of the cloisonné type. this cloisonné enamel naturally resulted as soon as the saxon jeweller had mastered the art of fusing vitreous colours upon metal. from whom did he learn this art? was enamelling introduced by the followers of augustine from rome or byzantium, or did the irish missionaries bring afresh into england an art of which the celts were past masters? the question is one that cannot be answered; but it is not without interest to note the great influence of the irish craftsmen on the art productions of the time. a remarkable development of goldsmiths' work in ireland succeeded the introduction of christianity. enamel was largely employed in the decoration of early objects of ecclesiastical metal-work, and attained perfection in the translucent cloisonné enamel of the tara brooch and the ardagh chalice. the far-reaching influence and extraordinary activity of the irish missionaries, many of them no doubt skilled goldsmiths, are well known. "irish missionaries laboured among the picts of the highlands and among the frisians of the northern seas. an irish missionary, columban, founded monasteries in burgundy and the apennines. the canton of st. gall still commemorates in its name another irish missionary."[19] the processes of their artistic metal-work must have made themselves felt wherever these irish missionaries penetrated. the wandering scholars and artists of ireland left both their books and their art-apprentices in england, as they had left them along the rhine and the danube. at glastonbury, st. dunstan, the patron saint of english smiths, lingered as a youth among the books with which the irish missionaries had endowed the monastery, and associated doubtless with the monastic craftsmen who had learned the arts of their celtic predecessors. [19] green (j. r.), _short history of the english people_ (1875 ed.), p. 21. every priest was trained in some handicraft, and many monks became excellent goldsmiths. st. dunstan (924-988), like st. eloi of france (588-659), at once a goldsmith and a royal minister, himself worked in the precious metals; and he appears to have been a jeweller as well, for we find in old inventories, entries of finger rings described as the productions of the great prelate. in the wardrobe account of edward i, in 1299 (_liber quotidianus_, p. 348), is "unus anulus auri cum saphiro qui fuit de fabrica sancti dunstani ut credebatur"; and in the inventory of that mediæval fop, piers gaveston, 1313 (rymer, _foedera_, ii, i. p. 203), is: "un anel d'or, à un saphir, lequel seint dunstan forga de ses mayns." the artistic traditions of the old saxon jewellers became almost the sole property of the clergy; and the venerable bede, writing at the commencement of the eighth century, alluding to the monastic jewellers of his day, describes how "a skilled gold-worker, wishing to do some admirable work, collects, wherever he can, remarkable and precious stones to be placed among the gold and silver, as well to show his skill as for the beauty of the work." the description of these stones as "chiefly of a ruddy or aerial colour" would seem to indicate that garnets and turquoises had not even then been entirely supplanted by enamels. certain it is that the earlier christian jewels retained for a time the technique of those of pagan saxondom. for example, the gold cross of st. cuthbert (d. 687), discovered in his tomb in durham cathedral in 1827 and now preserved in the cathedral library, is inlaid with garnets in the cloisonné manner (pl. xiii, 3). the internecine wars of the saxons and the early ravages of the norsemen, from which england was delivered by alfred during the ninth century, can have left the country little repose for the cultivation of the jeweller's art. yet, in spite of the unhappy condition of england, the art, judging from inscribed jewels noticed hereafter, was still practised, and needed only some presiding genius to awaken it to new life. there is little reason to doubt that jewellery was among the foremost of the arts which alfred is known to have encouraged; indeed, his interest in such work is asserted by a well-sustained tradition. and if the world-famed jewel to be described is, as seems probable, to be associated with alfred of wessex, he must then have personally supervised the production of other contemporary jewels. the alfred jewel, the finest example left of anglo-saxon craftsmanship, and the most famous of all english jewels, is preserved in the ashmolean museum at oxford. it was found in 1693 at newton (or petherton) park, three miles from the isle of athelney, somerset, whither alfred had fled from the danes in the year 878, and was presented to the museum in 1718 by thomas palmer, grandson of colonel nathaniel palmer, near whose estate it was found. the jewel is 2 inches long, 1-1/5 wide, and half an inch in thickness. it somewhat resembles a battledore in shape; it is flat front and back, while the other parts of its surface are rounded. the obverse is of rock crystal, beneath which is a plaque of semi-transparent cloisonné enamel of blue, white, green, and brown, representing the figure of a man. upon the reverse is an engraved gold plate. the smaller end of the oval is prolonged into the form of a boar's head, from the snout of which projects a hollow socket. around the sloping sides of the jewel, from left to right, runs the legend aelfred mec heht gewyrcan (_alfred ordered me to be made_), in gold letters, exquisitely chiselled in open-work upon the band which encircles the enamel and its crystal covering. the whole of the goldwork is beautifully executed in filigree and granulation (pl. xiii, 1, 2). [illustration: _plate xiii_ late anglo-saxon jewellery (7th-9th centuries)] there is considerable doubt as to the actual use of this precious jewel. professor earle has placed it among the category of personal ornaments, and holds that it was executed under the personal supervision of alfred the great, and formed the central ornament of his helmet or crown.[20] the enamelled figure is probably intended for that of christ, represented, as is frequently done in early ecclesiastical art, holding two sceptres. the gold setting of the jewel, it is generally agreed, was made in england, and in the opinion of many the enamel is of native origin.[21] [20] _the alfred jewel_, p. 45. 1901. others consider that the jewel was the head of a book-marker or pointer. [21] m. molinier (_histoire générale des arts appliqués à l'industrie_, iv, p. 93) is of the opinion that the enamel is english, and not, as some hold, of byzantine origin. see also _victoria county history of somerset_, i, p. 376. 1906. somewhat similar in shape to the alfred jewel, and probably employed for the same purpose, is a jewel known as the minster lovel jewel, which was found half a century ago in a village of that name near oxford, and is now preserved in the ashmolean museum. it is 1¼ inches in length, circular above, with a projecting socket below. the upper part is ornamented with a cross-shaped design in cloisonné enamel. another remarkable jewel, preserved in the british museum, is termed the dowgate brooch, or the roach smith nouche (or brooch), in memory of the learned and energetic antiquary whose property it once was. the brooch was found near dowgate hill in thames street, london, in 1839. it is composed of a circular enamel representing a full-faced head and bust, enclosed in a border of rich gold filigree covered with beaded ornament and set at equal distances with four pearls. the fine cloisons of the enamel work are arranged so as to mark the outlines of the face, a crown upon the head, and the folds of the drapery of a mantle or tunic. the dress is classical in appearance, and seems to be fastened on the right shoulder[22] (pl. xiii, 4). [22] _archæologia_, xxix, p. 70, pl. x. two other enamelled brooches of the same kind of workmanship, also in the british museum, are the townley brooch, also known as the hamilton brooch, which is said to have been found in scotland, and the castellani brooch, formerly in the collection of signor castellani, and stated to have been found at canosa, italy (pl. ix, 9, 11). the latter brooch is set with a circular enamel representing the bust of a royal personage wearing large earrings, and upon the front of the dress a circular brooch with three pendants hanging below it. at the lower part of the gold and enamel frame of the castellani brooch itself are three loops, which must have held pendants exactly similar to those attached to the brooch worn by the enamelled figure. pendants of this kind are represented, as has been seen, on the ravenna mosaics, and appear to be characteristic of byzantine brooches. and it is probable that this, as well as the townley brooch, as explained in the _proceedings of the society of antiquaries_ (2nd series, vol. xx, p. 64), is of continental origin. though similar in some respects to the other enamelled jewels, these two brooches differ considerably from them. "these differences," says a recent writer, "seem to accentuate the difficulty of tracing the origin of this enamelled work. it may well be that some of it was executed in this country by the craftsmen in the employ of king alfred; but it may fairly be assumed that on the journeys to rome and elsewhere, undertaken by ethelwulf, alfred, and ethelswitha, they and their suites would acquire jewellery of this class, which must have been comparatively common in rome, and in other important centres at that time."[23] [23] _catalogue of the alfred the great millenary exhibition in the british museum. 1901._ the rings dating from the time of pagan saxondom are few and unimportant; those, on the other hand, that belong to this later period, though rare, are more numerous, and are of considerable historical and artistic interest. it is somewhat curious that the finest date almost exclusively from the ninth century, and that most of them are inscribed. it is to this fact, doubtless, that they owe their preservation. no anglo-saxon rings, as far as we are aware, are ornamented with enamel. many are enriched with inlays of niello. gold rings thus inlaid sometimes have the appearance of having been enamelled, for the niello seems to have a bluish tinge, but this may be due, as mr. davenport suggests (_anglo-saxon review_, vol. v), to some optical effect caused by the yellow gold. the most important inscribed saxon rings, three in number, are historical relics of the highest order. they belonged respectively to alhstan, bishop of sherborne (824-867); ethelwulf, king of wessex (836-858), father of alfred the great; and ethelswith, queen of mercia, and sister to king alfred. the ring of alhstan, at once the earliest episcopal finger ring and the first in chronological order of these inscribed gold rings, was found in 1753 at llys-fæn, in the county of carnarvonshire. it was one of the chief treasures of the famous collection of finger rings formed by the late edmund waterton, and is now in the victoria and albert museum. the initials of its owner are inscribed in niello upon four circular compartments, separated by four lozenge-shaped compartments also inlaid with niello (pl. xiii, 9). the most famous of all english rings--"une pièce excessivement précieuse," says m. fontenay, "par son originalité et son caractère"--is that of ethelwulf, king of wessex. it is in the form of a bishop's mitre with only one peak, and bears the inscription ethelvvlf rx, above which are two peacocks pecking at a tree. the legend and subject are reserved in gold upon a nielloed ground. the ring was picked up in its present bent condition in 1780 by a labourer in a field at laverstoke, near salisbury, where it had been pressed out of a cart-rut. it is now in the british museum (pl. xiii, 5). the third of this remarkable series of inscribed rings is that of ethelswith, queen of mercia, daughter of ethelwulf. it has a circular bezel, in the middle of which is a rude representation of an _agnus dei_ engraved in relief with a background of niello. the inner side of the bezel is incised with the inscription [symbol: cross pattée] eathelsvith regna. this beautiful ring was found near aberford, in yorkshire, about the year 1870, and came into the possession of sir a. w. franks, who bequeathed it to the british museum (pl. xiii, 7). several other saxon rings are preserved in the british museum. among them is one with a plain hoop and beaded edges, bearing around it in gold letters on a nielloed ground an inscription recording the name of the owner, ethred, and the maker eanred. it was found in lancashire, and bequeathed to the museum by sir hans sloane in 1753. another ring (found near peterborough in the river nene) is peculiar for having two bezels opposite each other. both sides of the hoop and each bezel are engraved with interlaced designs inlaid with niello. the bezels are each flanked by three small beads of gold--a characteristic ornamentation of a certain class of teutonic and merovingian rings, termed by the french _bagues à trois grains_. in the victoria and albert museum is a silver ring of unusual form. it has an oval bezel 1¼ inches in length, engraved with convoluted ornament in five divisions, the centre being filled with a serpent-headed monster. it was found in the thames at chelsea in 1856. a type of ring which occurs more than once is formed of a hoop, which widens gradually into a large oval bezel ornamented with bands of rich plaited goldwork. one of these rings, found at bossington, near stockbridge, is in the ashmolean museum. it has in the centre a male portrait surrounded by the inscription, nomen ehlla fid in xpo (my name is ella; my faith is in christ). more remarkable, perhaps, than any of the above, on account of the peculiar beauty of its workmanship, is a gold ring in the possession of lord fitzhardinge, and preserved, together with the hunsdon jewels, at berkeley castle. it has a large bezel of quatrefoil form. in the centre is a raised circular boss ornamented with a cross or wheel-shaped design in beaded gold. radiating from this centre are four heads of monsters, inlaid with thin lines of niello, and having projecting eyes formed of dots of dark blue and dark brown glass or enamel. the hoop of the ring, of considerable girth, is hexagonal in section. at the junction of its ends at the back of the bezel, immediately behind the monsters' ears, it is finished with a graduated wire of filigree, terminating with three small balls. the ring dates from about the tenth century. nothing is known concerning its discovery. it is probably saxon, but may be of irish origin (pl. xiii, 10). beyond these finger rings and the enamelled jewellery, we possess few other examples of later saxon ornaments; yet there exist a small number, which, though executed somewhat after the manner of the older jewels, probably belong to this later period of saxon art. among such ornaments is a necklace from desborough, northants, and now in the british museum. it is formed of beads of spirally coiled gold wire. circular pendants, having one side convex and the other flat, alternate with gold pendants of various shapes and sizes, set with garnets. from the centre of the necklace hangs a cross (pl. xii, 1). one other ornament in the british museum, particularly worthy of attention, is a beautiful set of three ornamental pins of silver gilt, which were found in the river witham, near lincoln. the three pins have heads in the shape of circular discs, and are connected together by two oblong pieces of metal with a ring at each end. the pins average four inches in length. the interlaced ornament on their circular heads (described in detail in the _reliquary_, 2nd series, vol. x, p. 52), is arranged in four panels separated by radial divisions. the penannular brooch, known as the celtic brooch, so common in other parts of the british isles about this period, has rarely been found in england. a few examples occur in close proximity to undoubted anglo-saxon remains, but they are confined mostly to the north of england. its extreme rarity leads one naturally to the conclusion that it found but little favour in england. in scotland and ireland, however, where it was almost universally worn, this type of brooch attained, as will shortly be shown, the highest degree of excellence both in design and workmanship. chapter x the celtic brooch in order to understand the condition of the arts in the more remote parts of the british isles, subsequent to the introduction of christianity towards the middle of the fifth century, one must remember the situation created by the invasions of the teutonic tribes, whereby nearly the whole of northern and western europe relapsed into paganism, while ireland and the western highlands of scotland alone remained faithful to the christian church. during the earlier centuries of this period, the designs and processes of the celtic crafts, nurtured in these parts of the british isles by the church, undisturbed by invaders, and free from outside influences, were brought to a state of high perfection. the introduction of christianity into ireland by st. patrick, who doubtless brought with him european craftsmen, had greatly encouraged the production of metal-work; and though changes in design resulted, the spiral patterns characteristic of celtic art were retained for a considerable length of time--longer in fact than in any other quarters. it is unfortunate, however, that while a number of objects of early christian art from ireland and the scottish highlands have survived, there is scarcely a single article of jewellery which is prior in date to about the ninth century a.d. the chief personal ornaments belonging to this later period, i.e. the ninth century onwards, are a number of remarkable objects known as celtic brooches. the celtic brooch, as far as its origin and development are concerned, shows no kinship with the bow or disc-shaped brooches already described, though, like them, it probably originated among the primitive celts of the danubian region. one theory derives its evolution from what is known as a ring-pin, that is a simple pin, the head of which, primarily solid, was afterwards pierced and fitted with a ring, which in course of time increased in size and became highly ornamented. another theory traces the celtic brooch from a combination of a long pin with the ancient dress fasteners--penannular rings furnished with knobs--such as are found in prehistoric graves, and are even now worn by the natives of west africa. this penannular brooch has been found not only in scotland and ireland, but as far east as livonia, and is actually still in use in algeria at the present day. its peculiarity consists in the great size of its pin--one in the british museum measures 22½ inches--the length of the pin being supposed to have corresponded to the rank of its owner.[24] in some of the earlier forms the ring is of the same breadth all round, and merely cut across in one place for the passage of the pin. but as a rule this penannular ring terminates in knobs, and when the pin which travels round the ring has pierced the portions of the garments it is intended to unite, the ring is pushed a little to one side and prevented by the terminal knobs from becoming unloosened.[25] [24] _proc. soc. antiq._, 2nd series, xix, p. 304. such long stout pins could only have served to fasten coarse, loosely woven fabrics. [25] j. r. allen (_celtic art_, p. 219) describes the exact function of this brooch, and illustrates its use in ancient and modern times. (see also _reliquary_, 2nd series, i, p. 162. 1894.) the developments in the form of this brooch show its evolution from a penannular to an annular ring. in some--probably the earliest--examples, the ring and the head of the pin terminate in bulbous knobs, or in spherical ends ornamented with celtic designs and animals' heads. in others the ends of the rings and the pin-heads are broadened, in order to provide space for an elaborate surface decoration of interlaced work and zoomorphic and anthropomorphic designs similar to those upon the irish manuscripts. finally, the opening is closed and the ring becomes annular. the finest examples of these brooches are preserved in the museum of the royal irish academy in dublin, the national museum of antiquities of scotland in edinburgh, and the british museum. among the earliest--which are not, however, prior to the later anglo-saxon period, and make their appearance about the ninth century--are those with a plain penannular ring, formed of a solid cylindrical rod of silver, terminating with bulbous knobs furnished with expansions, and often covered with a peculiar prickly ornamentation like thistle-heads. specimens of this style of brooch have been found in ireland, scotland, and in the north of england. the simplest of the silver penannular brooches with discoidal terminations in the museum at edinburgh is one from croy in inverness-shire. it has ends expanding into circular discs with amber settings. the most elaborate, one of two known as the cadboll brooches, found at rogart in sutherlandshire, has four raised heads of birds, two upon the circumference of each disc, and two upon the ring. the collection in the royal irish academy contains several splendid brooches of a similar type, notably the kilmainham brooch from kilmainham, co. dublin, the surface of which is ornamented with compartments of thin plates of gold tooled with interlaced patterns. the terminations of the penannular ring soon become so expanded that they fill up exactly half the ring. upon these flattened plaques, which have just space enough between them for the pin to pass, a serpent or dragon form is a frequent ornament, as well as the intertwined triple ornament, or _triquetra_, while the surface is set at intervals with bosses of amber. the most remarkable examples of this type are the university brooch in the collection of trinity college, dublin, and the clarendon brooch found in co. kilkenny, and now in the museum of the royal irish academy. the main characteristic of the celtic brooch is that it is penannular, that is, its ring has an opening, if not real, at least apparent, between its two ends. for even when the narrow opening left between the enlarged ends is closed by a bar, or is finally closed altogether, the flattened plaques are ornamentally treated as if they were still disunited. of this class of brooches with continuous rings there have survived two world-famed examples, one from ireland and the other from scotland. the first of these, known as the tara brooch, was found in 1850 on the seashore near bettystown, co. louth, and received the title of "tara" on account of its beauty, and after the celebrated hill of that name. it is composed of white bronze thickly gilded. the ring and expanded head of the pin are divided into a number of panels ornamented with examples of nearly every technical process, being enriched with enamel-work, niello, and inlaid stones; while the metal is hammered, chased, and engraved, and filigreed with extraordinary delicacy. the enamels, of the cloisonné kind, have been made separately and mounted like gems. attached to the brooch on one side is a finely plaited chain; a similar chain upon the other side has been lost. the reverse of the brooch is unadorned with settings, but decorated with a divergent spiral ornament known as the celtic trumpet pattern, executed with very great perfection. the probable date of this extraordinary jewel is the tenth century. it is now the chief treasure of the museum of the royal irish academy, for which it was bought in 1867 for the sum of £200. [illustration: _plate xiv_ the tara brooch (national museum, dublin)] the finest after the tara brooch, and the most famous of scottish brooches, is known as the hunterston brooch. it was found in 1826 on the estate of mr. robert hunter, of west kilbride, ayrshire, and is now in the national museum of antiquities of scotland. it is somewhat similar to the tara brooch, and of the same gilt metal, but rather less ornate, and unprovided with enamels, glass pastes, or chain. its main ornamentation consists of varieties of interlaced work in fine gold filigree, of singularly beautiful design and of remarkable execution. the back is decorated with the trumpet pattern, and engraved with runic characters. the presence of the trumpet pattern upon the backs of these two famous brooches determines their date as prior to the eleventh century; for the old celtic pattern disappears from brooches and from most irish and all scottish metal-work after the year 1000 a.d., and is succeeded by varieties of interlaced work and zoomorphic designs.[26] the later celtic brooches differ besides in form, for the pin is longer in proportion to the size of the ring, and its head is hinged upon a constriction of the ring, which itself becomes partly filled up. [26] anderson (j.), _scotland in early christian times_, 2nd series. 1881. the celtic brooch is distinct in itself, and does not merge into any other form. it disappears entirely about the thirteenth century, and is succeeded by a totally different type of brooch, which belongs to the ornaments of the later middle ages. the jewellery of the middle ages (tenth to fifteenth centuries) chapter xi mediæval jewellery introduction to the student of jewellery the middle ages offer far greater problems than the periods of classic antiquity. the main reason for this is to be found in the fact that throughout mediæval and later periods ornaments were more closely associated with dress, and dress itself became subject to the most marked changes and constant divergences of fashion. in the days of antiquity, so far as our knowledge goes, the idea of fashion, in the present sense of the term, did not exist. but in the middle ages, as luthmer points out, it becomes an important factor in the history of civilisation. the duration of each prevalent fashion tended to become shorter and shorter, and the new mode was usually an absolute contrast to the preceding one. though ornaments, owing to their higher material value, did not alter with each successive change in dress, nevertheless they underwent rapid variations of style. the custom of burying objects in graves, which continued for a considerable time after the introduction of christianity, affords a tolerably clear idea of the various ornaments worn during the earlier periods of the middle ages. coming to a later period, from the time of the first crusade onwards, discoveries in the graves are extremely rare, and one has to look in many directions for information respecting the articles then in use. though there seems to have been an immense production of personal ornaments throughout the whole of europe, their intrinsic value has been too great to allow of their preservation; and the artistic qualities of those that have survived cause one to regret all the more the wholesale destruction that must have occurred. the jewels of the period are, in fact, so few in number, and furnish such striking varieties, that it is impossible to give an exhaustive synopsis of the different changes that took place in their form. the utmost that can be attempted is to take single characteristic pieces and allow them to stand as types of the whole epoch. personal ornaments at this time began to have a wider significance than that of being merely decorations pleasant to the eye. their material value comes more in the foreground. they began to form the nucleus of family and household treasures. the uncertain conditions of life made it desirable for the individual to have his most precious possessions in a portable form. an unfortunate war or royal displeasure might cost a prince or baron his land or his castles; but his movable goods, consisting of precious stones and gold and silver ornaments, were not so easily exposed to the vagaries of his superiors. thus the numerous inventories of household goods that have come down from those times show an astounding increase in the matter of jewels and treasures among the great and lesser grandees, both secular and ecclesiastical; while there is a corresponding advance at the same time in craftsmanship. to this change in the significance of ornaments is to be attributed their rarity in graves. jewellery had, in fact, assumed the character of money passed from hand to hand, and was constantly, so to speak, recoined; for even if held in steadfast possession it had to submit to changes of fashion and undergo frequent resetting.[27] particularly was this the case at the period of the renaissance, when almost everything gothic was remodelled. [27] luthmer (f.), _gold und silber_, p. 50. tombs, then, supply little or no information; and for the present purpose one may make shift to use the chance descriptions of romancers, and such pictorial representations of jewellery as are presented by effigies on brasses, tombstones, and other monumental sculpture, and also by illuminated manuscripts. monumental effigies show a number of accurately executed personal ornaments, which, belonging as they do mainly to sovereigns and individuals of wealth and distinction, may be taken as the highest types of those then worn. the miniatures and decorations of manuscripts executed towards the end of the period under review also afford considerable assistance; for illuminators were intensely fond of introducing jewels among the plants, flowers, birds, and butterflies minutely depicted on ornamental borders. the inventories of personal effects made for various purposes, and often full of graphic details, throughout the whole of the period supply absolutely trustworthy evidence as to contemporary ornaments. pictures, which are among the chief sources of information, are not at one's disposal until towards the termination of this epoch, but such as were produced during the later gothic style, particularly in italy, germany, and the low countries, furnish numerous examples of jewellery painted with loving care and minute detail. even from these sources of information, however, one could form but an inadequate idea of the precise character of mediæval jewellery. but, while the various reasons mentioned have resulted in the general destruction of articles made for secular use, among precious objects consecrated to religious uses a small number of personal ornaments have been preserved. this may be due, perhaps, to the sanctity of the places containing them, or perhaps to the precautions of their guardians, who have hidden them in time of trouble. they have survived many and strange vicissitudes, and their safety is now secured by a new-created archæological value, in place of the religious devotion which was their former guardian. in the treasury--an edifice attached to the church--there was kept in early times, among the vestments and plate used in its services, a vast collection of reliquaries and jewels gradually brought together, and preserved as memorials of the piety of the faithful. in numerous cases the treasury must have constituted a veritable museum, exhibiting examples of jewellery of each successive style. some idea can be formed of the immense scope, as well as of the magnificence of its contents, from the early inventories which archæologists of recent years have taken pains to gather together and publish. the relative abundance of jewellery of merovingian and frankish times, and the great rarity of jewellery from the ninth century onwards, are phenomena observable in every museum. the reason for this lies in the fact that until the time of charlemagne (742-814) the dead were buried with their weapons and with every article of jewellery. the emperor forbade this mainly as a heathen practice, but largely because he saw the disadvantage of so many costly objects being withdrawn from circulation, with consequent loss to the national resources. this almost complete absence of examples renders it difficult to estimate precisely the style of ornaments then in use. but as far as can be judged, byzantine influence seems to have affected all forms of jewellery. it is known, at all events, that until about the twelfth century active commercial transactions between france and germany on the one hand, and byzantium on the other, were carried on by way of venice. not only did byzantine workmen settle in the great seaport of the adriatic, but imitations of work from the eastern roman provinces were probably made there at an early date by native artists. such traffic appears to have been particularly active during the carlovingian period; while the close friendship of charlemagne with haroun al-raschid, the celebrated caliph of the saracens, renders it further probable that models of oriental art abounded in the west in the ninth century. these were not merely confined to articles of jewellery and other goldsmith's productions, but included also sumptuous dress materials interwoven with threads of gold, embroideries studded with gems and pearls, and other objects which the splendour of the rulers of the west and the princes of the church borrowed from the magnificence prevalent in the east and at the byzantine court.[28] [28] luthmer, _op. cit._, p. 72. the eastern influence which during the fourth and fifth centuries had come westwards by way of byzantium, and had acquired new power owing to the sovereignty of the arabs in spain and sicily during the eighth and ninth centuries, increased considerably at the time of the crusades. the knights and princes of the west brought back not only impressions of culture from syria and palestine, but also actual specimens of gold ornaments and precious stones. there then began an invasion of skilled workmen from the towns of asia minor, and a regular importation of such treasures by the merchants of the italian republics, to wit, venice, genoa, and pisa, who, under the banner of the cross, re-established their trade with the east.[29] [29] _ibid._, p. 50. until about the twelfth century ornaments followed for the most part the style of those in use in the eastern roman provinces. some were adorned with cloisonné enamel introduced from byzantium, and first executed by continental workmen about the eighth century. cloisonné, however, was, in turn, abandoned for champlevé enamel, the manufacture of which upon the lower rhine had been encouraged by the church, through the instrumentality of the greek monks. by the beginning of the twelfth century, the west seems to have become lastingly independent of the east, even with regard to its ornaments, as may be inferred from various remarkable productions in gold and silver, and particularly in gilded copper adorned with champlevé enamel, such as shrines and other sacred objects. many of these are still preserved in the ecclesiastical treasuries of germany, while museums at home and abroad all possess beautiful examples. though the personal ornaments of this period are now almost entirely lost to us in the original, there has yet been preserved a treasure of inestimable value in the form of a technological manual handed down from the middle ages. the work referred to is the famous treatise of theophilus entitled _schedula diversarum artium_, which describes the technical processes of almost all the industrial arts cultivated eight centuries ago--the treatise being written shortly before the year 1100.[30] after describing his workshop, theophilus mentions his tools, and proceeds to describe minutely the various processes necessary for the metal-worker to understand; and shows how the goldsmith was required to be at the same time a modeller, sculptor, smelter, enameller, jewel-mounter, and inlay-worker. altogether, to judge from the directions there given, more especially those relating to the technical work of the goldsmiths, these _schedulæ_ would seem to reflect the ancient knowledge and practices of byzantine workmen, of which, however, the goldsmiths of the twelfth century appear to have become completely independent. [30] ilg (a.), _theophilus presbyter_, p. xliii. the perfection of artistic work attained by the monasteries led to the production of sumptuous objects to meet the requirements of the church in connection with its services, while costly shrines were made to contain the numerous relics brought home by pilgrims from the holy land. during the period of the romanesque and early gothic styles personal ornaments became objects of lesser importance than articles for ecclesiastical use.[31] the enamel-work for the decoration of ornaments was mostly executed at limoges, which was then rising to importance as the chief centre for the production of enamels. the process employed was champlevé, generally upon copper. such ornaments as buckles, and brooches or morses, for the belts of knights or the vestments of ecclesiastics, were produced in considerable numbers at limoges, and found their way all over the north-west of europe. the trade-guilds of limoges were probably more active in this kind of enamel than those situated upon the banks of the rhine, whose work seems to have been devoted principally to shrines and objects for the use of the church. ornaments of the above types were executed during the greater part of the twelfth century and throughout the thirteenth, but their manufacture ceased in the century following, when limoges was sacked by the black prince. [31] cunynghame (h. h.), _european enamels_, p. 69. from the beginning of the thirteenth century a change takes place with the appearance of the gothic style. forms become slighter and more elegant, and exhibit greater delicacy and detail in their workmanship. hitherto goldsmith's work, however beautiful from the cumulative effect of precious stones and enamels, was little more than conventional, nay, almost barbaric, in its representations of the human figure; but the revival in the art of figure sculpture led to a considerable use being made of the human figure executed in full relief. just as in the romanesque period, so during the time when gothic art reigned supreme, architecture left its impress on every work of art; and jewellery and other goldsmith's work, as well as ivories, seals, and even shoes, were ornamented with the designs of gothic architecture and with pierced open-work patterns, like the window tracery of the great cathedrals--termed "paul's windows" by the masses. improved skill in design and workmanship became incompatible with the retention of the older and coarser enamel-work, and without relinquishing a medium which by the brilliancy of its colouring was eminently suited to the works of the goldsmith, the thirteenth-century craftsman obtained the desired result by the use of translucent enamel upon metal, usually silver, chased and modelled in low relief. the beauty of this _basse-taille_ enamel, producing, as it were, transparent pictures, enabled the artist frequently to dispense with coloured gems, and retain only pearls, whose delicate hues harmonised better with his work. occasionally, however, pearls, precious stones, and translucent enamels were employed together with brilliant effect. gothic ornaments of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries show a peculiar love for figurative and architectural motives which exhibit astonishing technique and beauty of form. towards the middle of the fourteenth century there came into use enamel on full relief (_émail en ronde bosse_). in the inventories of the time, where it is frequently mentioned, this enamel, usually opaque white, is termed _émail en blanc_. so charming was the contrast of white, marble-like figures by the side of gold, bright coloured stones, and polychrome enamels, that for upwards of three centuries goldsmiths continued to apply this species of enamel to jewels. it was particularly characteristic of the fifteenth century. several brooches ornamented with it will be referred to later (p. 143); but the most remarkable example of its use is the wonderful votive jewel of french workmanship termed "das goldene rössel," in the treasury of the abbey church of altoetting, in bavaria, which dates from about 1400.[32] the minute repoussé figures on sixteenth-century jewels were usually coated with white enamel; and jewellery _émaillée de blanc_ is often alluded to in inventories. this species of enamel was discarded in the seventeenth century, when figures in relief went out of fashion for jewellery. [32] _kunstdenkmale des königreiches bayern_, i, iii, p. 2364. 1903. though towards the close of the middle ages the art of cutting precious stones and even diamonds was certainly practised, yet it is to be observed that throughout the whole period jewellery is set as a rule with stones _en cabochon_, i.e. with their surfaces rounded and polished in a convex shape, but not faceted. the stone treated thus preserves its own character and individuality; and much of the charm of early jewellery is due to this very fact. from the middle of the thirteenth century enamel in general, though applied to jewels of commoner kinds, is chiefly limited to the more sumptuous ornaments of the clergy. but with the beginning of the fourteenth century the delight in jewellery enriched with enamels and precious stones is again revealed in the costumes of the laity. at the french court of john ii (_le bon_, d. 1364) and charles v (d. 1380), where the princes of the royal blood strove to outrival one another in luxurious display, personal adornments attained an extraordinary degree of splendour, and were worn to an excess of ostentation.[33] [33] some estimate of their magnificence and extent may be obtained by means of contemporary inventories. the most remarkable inventory is perhaps that of john's eldest son, charles v--"the wise"--drawn up in 1379 and published by j. labarte. scarcely less remarkable are the jewel inventories of his three other sons, louis duke of anjou, john duke of berry, and philip (le hardi) duke of burgundy, which have been published respectively by l. de laborde, j. guiffrey, and b. prost. this extravagance of fashion declined for a time owing to the wars with england, but attained its full development in the dress of the burgundian court. the splendour of the burgundian dukes, outshining that of their feudal lieges the kings of france, and casting into the shade the rude grandeur of the german emperors, gave a new impetus to the use of articles for personal decoration, and for a time set the fashion for every country of northern europe in all matters of style as well as of ornament. outside of italy, which perhaps excelled in point of culture, the court of the dukes of burgundy during the fifteenth century was the richest and most luxurious in all europe. the sway of this powerful house extended over the low countries, whose ports after venice were the centres of oriental commerce and whose inland towns, such as arras, brussels, and ghent, vied with one another in weaving the products of the east into all manner of rich stuffs. not only silks, but pearls and precious stones of all descriptions, found an entrance through the great port of bruges; and hardly a garment is depicted by the flemish masters which, particularly in the case of the ecclesiastics, is not thick-sewn with oriental pearls and stones. a survey of records containing descriptions of personal property,[34] and an examination of contemporary pictures--always the most fascinating document in regard to personal ornament--reveal a widespread luxury. not only at court, but in the everyday life of street and mart, costumes formed of magnificent stuffs were habitually worn, which required to be set off by jewels of an equally rich description. the warmth of the italian climate demanded no such wealth of apparel as was essential to comfort in the more northerly countries; hence profusion of personal ornament was less generally indulged in throughout italy during the same period. this special love of jewellery and consequent taste and skill acquired by the goldsmiths was shared by the painters of the day. with a high degree of finish and brilliancy, they introduced into their pictures faithful representations of all the rich ornaments then in vogue. unfortunately actual examples of the splendid jewels of this time are now of the utmost rarity, but such as have survived, chiefly in the form of rich enamelled brooches, reflect in their execution the technical perfection and in their design the whole-hearted realism which display themselves to the full in the paintings of the early flemish school. [34] several inventories of the contents of the burgundian treasury have been preserved. lists of the magnificent jewels of two of the most powerful and wealthy, those of philip the good (1396-1467) and his son charles the bold (1433-1477) have been published by laborde in his _ducs de bourgogne_, pt. 2, vol. ii. [illustration: collar of the order of the golden fleece, made in 1432 by john peutin of bruges, jeweller to philip the good, duke of burgundy. (from the portrait of baldwin de lannoy by john van eyck at berlin.)] chapter xii mediæval england a few brooches and finger rings are almost the only surviving examples of english jewellery of the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries. yet there is evidence from existing records of an abundance of the most beautiful objects as accumulated in the ecclesiastical treasuries, and the great shrines, like that of st. thomas of canterbury, or of our lady of walsingham priory, which not even the santa casa at loreto, or the shrine of st. james at compostella, could surpass in renown, or equal in the reception of rich and costly gifts. vast quantities of jewelled objects, which must have been in great part native productions, have also been tabulated in the inventories of our monarchs, princes, guilds, and corporations. judging from extant examples of english painted glass, sculpture, and particularly embroidery, some estimate can be formed of the high quality of the goldsmiths' work, which was scarcely excelled in the middle ages by that of any other country in europe. the english goldsmiths, in fact, after the norman conquest seem to have lost none of the skill which is displayed on their earlier productions. [tn: no footnote marker in the text for this footnote] de mély and bishop, _bibliographie générale des inventaires imprimés_, 1892-95. a love of finery seems to have characterised the court of william the conqueror and his successors. the jewellery of the ladies became exceedingly extravagant, and is bitterly inveighed against by the religious satirists. neckam, an anglo-latin poet, towards the close of the twelfth century, accuses them of covering themselves with gold and gems and of perforating their ears in order to hang them with jewels. henry i had the tastes of a collector. that he collected gems is known from a letter written by a prior of worcester to edmer, anselm's biographer, in which he suggests that for money henry might be persuaded to part with some pearls.[35] king john was greatly attached to his jewels, and their loss in the wash is commonly supposed to have hastened his death. the record is preserved concerning the loss on an earlier occasion of certain of his precious stones "which we are wont to wear round our neck." the stones must have been credited with miraculous powers, for their finder was very liberally rewarded.[36] henry iii, one of the most indigent of monarchs, made such extravagant presents of jewellery to his wife, that he was afterwards obliged to pawn not only his regalia, but a considerable portion of the jewels and precious stones accumulated at the shrine of edward the confessor at westminster abbey. [35] bateson (m.), _mediæval england_, p. 13. [36] _ibid._, p. 148. dating first from about this period are a number of inventories of personal ornaments; and it is by a perusal of the inventories of the most wealthy, and particularly those of sovereign princes, that an estimate can be obtained of the nature of every type of ornament in use at the period, in its most elaborate form. among the earliest and most important royal inventories that have been published are those preserved in the wardrobe account (_liber quotidianus_) of edward i, for the year 1299.[37] the jewels (_jocalia_) include a large number of morses or clasps (_firmacula_) given by the king to bishops, and restored after their deaths, and similar objects offered by the king or queen to various shrines; while among other jewels are brooches or nouches (noucheæ), many rings (_anuli_), a pendant (_pendulum_), belt (_zona_), bracelet (_braccale_), and baldrick (_baudre_). about this time masses of precious stones, the spoils of the crusades, began to find their way into this country, and to be employed for "broidering" or sewing upon the garments. edward ii and his extravagant favourites, such as the worthless piers gaveston, loaded themselves with precious stones. lists of jewels belonging to gaveston on his attainder in 1313,[38] and to the king in 1324, show the magnificence of their ornaments, and the vast sums at which they were valued. the king's jewels,[39] described in considerable detail, are inventoried under the following headings: (_a_) stones and other objects, (_b_) crowns of gold and silver, including _cercles_ and _chapeletz_, (_c_) brooches (_fermails_) of gold, (_d_) _fleures de liz_, (_e_) rings (_anelx_) of gold, (_f_) girdles (_ceintres_) and diadems (_tressoures_). from this time onward there is an increase of such documents and of wills, and also of sumptuary laws specially connected with personal ornaments. [37] published by the society of antiquaries in 1789. pp. 332-353. [38] rymer, _foedera_, ii, 1, pp. 203-205. [39] _kalendars and inventories of the exchequer_, iii, p. 137. the brilliant reign of edward iii[40] was favourable to the full display of jewellery. new luxuries were imported in great abundance, and there was hardly a lady of position who had not in her possession some portion of the spoils of plate and jewels from cities beyond the sea; while those who, like the knight of chaucer, had been at alexandra "when it was won," returned with cloth of gold, velvets, and precious stones. in the thirty-seventh year of this reign (1363) the parliament held at westminster enacted several sumptuary laws against the extravagant use of personal adornment. these state what costume is suited to the various degrees of rank and income, and are of value for the information they supply on the prevailing fashions in jewellery. restrictions of this kind, re-enacted from time to time, and apparently of little effect, seem to have been intended not so much to prevent the gratification of an instinctive desire for bravery and splendour, as to make different classes proclaim their rank and station by their dress. [40] see list of his jewels in _inventories of the exchequer_, iii, p. 166, and his great wardrobe accounts (_archæologia_, xxxi, p. 55). chaucer in the prologue of his _canterbury tales_ affords in a charming manner additional information about the personal ornaments of the different grades of english society of his time. he gives detailed description of the brooch of the yeoman and the nun, and pictures the merchant with his richly clasped shoes, the squire with short knife and gypcière (purse) at his girdle, the carpenter's wife with her collar fastened by a brooch as "broad as the boss of a buckler," and various tradesmen who, in spite of sumptuary laws, wore pouches, girdles, and knives of silver:- hir knives were ychaped not with bras but all with silver wrought ful clene and wel hir girdeles and hir pouches every del. the passion for personal ornaments, or "bravouries" as they were termed, reached its zenith in england during the reign of the elegant and unfortunate richard ii, whose courtiers outvied one another in such extravagances. an anonymous writer of the period quoted by camden in his _remaines concerning britain_ speaks of hoods, even those worn by men of moderate means, as commonly set with gold and precious stones, while "their girdles are of gold and silver, some of them worth twenty marks." the king, in constant want of money, was obliged on several occasions to deposit the royal jewels with the corporation of london as security for loans, and detailed lists of the objects selected for the purpose are preserved in the inventories of the exchequer, and among the city archives. in spite of attempted restrictions, and notwithstanding the disastrous wars of the roses, immense demands appear to have been made upon the productive powers of the jewellers throughout the whole of the fifteenth century. the remarkable list of henry iv's jewels in the inventories of the exchequer, and the most important of royal english inventories of the middle ages, that taken after the death of henry v in 1422 (_rotuli parliamentorum_, iv, pp. 214-241), serve to show that until the end of the century, which may serve as the termination of the period, extraordinary extravagance in the style and nature of ornaments as well as of costume was the order of the day. every one who had acquired wealth, or even a modest competence only, displayed a magnificence far beyond his means. it was a time when wealth was required in a compact and tangible form. owners did not hesitate to melt down their jewels when desirous of employing them for other purposes. the change of taste which shortly came about tended towards similar destruction; while the wars of the roses involved the breaking up of much that was most sumptuous in material and beautiful in workmanship. * * * throughout the whole of the christian middle ages the highest efforts of the goldsmith were directed to the enrichment of the church and the adornment of its ministers, and the magnificence which the ritual of the church fostered found expression in the jewelled ornaments of ecclesiastic vestments. in norman times ecclesiastical jewellery was extremely luxurious and costly, and the illuminations of the period show the cope and chasuble richly bordered with precious stones. st. thomas à becket wore an extraordinary profusion of jewels, and descriptions are preserved of the magnificence of his own person and of his attendants during a progress he once made through the streets of paris. innocent iii, memorable in this country as the pope to whom the pusillanimous john surrendered his crown, is recorded to have commented on the richness of the costumes and ornaments of the english clergy, with a hint at the possibility of extracting further sums for the increase of the papal revenue. the early inventories all record the splendour of the vestments used in public worship, and show how pearls, precious stones, and even ancient cameos, all rendered more beautiful by exquisite settings, were employed for their enrichment. no bishop, indeed, was suitably equipped without a precious mitre with delicate goldsmith's work and inlaid gems, without a splendid morse or brooch to fasten his cope, and without a ring, set with an antique gem or a stone _en cabochon_, to wear over his embroidered glove. of all these rich ornaments scarcely any examples have survived save a number of rings recovered from the graves of ecclesiastics. all the more precious, therefore, are the jewelled ornaments bequeathed in 1404 by william of wykeham, bishop of winchester, to new college, oxford, where they are still preserved as relics of its munificent founder. these unique examples of mediæval jewellery date from the closing years of the fourteenth century--the period of transition from decorated to perpendicular architecture: a time when gothic art had reached its climax; and not only the architect, but the painter and the goldsmith were still devoting their utmost efforts on behalf of the church, the centre of the whole mediæval system. [illustration: _plate xv_ william of wykeham's jewels new college, oxford] the new college jewels originally decorated william of wykeham's precious mitre (_mitra pretiosa_). portions of the groundwork of the mitre sewn with seed pearls, and its original case of _cuir bouilli_ or boiled leather, stamped with fleurs-de-lis and bound with iron straps, are still preserved in the college. among the jewelled fragments are hinged bands of silver gilt, formed of plates of basse-taille enamel representing animals and grotesques, which alternate with settings of dark blue pastes and white crystals surrounded by radiating pearls. these bands probably went round the lower part of the mitre, and also perhaps ran up the middle of it, before and behind. the crests of the mitre were edged with strips of exquisitely chased crocketing in gold. the other fragments include two rosettes of beautifully executed gothic foliation set with white crystals, together with two quatrefoils in silver gilt and a cruciform gold ornament set with turquoises. the chief treasure of the new college collection is an exquisite gold jewel, a monogram of the blessed virgin, the patron saint of the "college of st. mary of winton in oxford." it is a crowned lombardic m; and might be the rich capital of some mediæval manuscript, with its gorgeous colouring faithfully translated into gold, enamel, pearls, and precious stones. in the open parts of the letter are figures of the virgin and the angel of the annunciation in full relief, the angel's wings being covered with enamel of translucent green. the space above the head of each figure is occupied with delicate architectural work of open cuspings. in the centre of the jewel is a large ruby in the form of a vase, from which spring three lilies with white enamelled blossoms. on each side of the vase are three small emeralds. remarkable taste is shown in the arrangement of the precious stones: fine emeralds and rubies, _en cabochon_, mounted alternately in raised settings round the jewel. two stones, a ruby on the left and an emerald on the right, are missing. the rest of the mountings are oriental pearls somewhat discoloured by age (pl. xv, 1). it is generally considered that the jewel adorned and occupied a central place on the mitre, and its dimensions (2 by 2¼ inches) render its employment in that position probable. as, however, there are no indications of such an ornament on contemporary representations of mitres, and above all on the mitre figured on the founder's own tomb at winchester, there remains the possibility of the jewel having been employed as a brooch or nouche on some other part of the vestment. this remarkable jewel stands quite alone in point of excellence. it goes far to justify the contention that english jewellers at this period, as well as in saxon times, equalled, if they did not outstrip, the craftsmen of other nations in the successful cultivation of the goldsmith's art. [illustration: interior of a jeweller's shop. from _kreuterbuch_ (frankfort, 1536).] chapter xiii the mystery of precious stones one of the most curious and interesting facts in connection with the jewellery of the middle ages is the peculiar respect which seems to have been paid to precious stones. "in a scientific age," says mr. paton, "it is difficult to apprehend and sympathise with the state of mind which endowed natural objects with the properties of charms and fetiches. before it was the habit to trace phenomena to natural causes, faith in occult powers was strong, and credulity exercised a marked influence on the habits and actions of the people."[41] precious stones, on account of the mystery and romance attaching to most things of eastern origin, had long attracted to themselves a superstitious reverence; so that their choice and arrangement, which appear to us merely arbitrary nowadays, had in the middle ages a distinct meaning consecrated by traditions dating back from very ancient times. every stone, like those which enriched the breast-plate of the high priest, and those which in st. john's vision formed the foundations of the heavenly jerusalem, was supposed to possess special powers and virtues. abundant proof of this is exhibited in the mediæval inventories, where the beauty or rarity of a stone counted for infinitely less in the estimation of its value than the reputed talismanic virtue, such as the toadstone, for example, was supposed to possess. the mediæval literature of precious stones,[42] wherein is expounded their medicinal virtues or their supernatural powers in baffling evil spirits, is based on a classical poem of about the fourth century a.d., entitled _lithica_, which claims to be a statement of their magic properties made by the seer theodamas to the poet orpheus. similar belief in the virtues of precious stones was still in existence in the sixteenth century, and finds an exponent in camillus leonardus, physician to cæsar borgia, in his work entitled _speculum lapidum_, published at venice in 1502. even as late as the following century the use of precious stones as charms was more than half sanctioned by the learned, and in his _natural history_ bacon lays it down as credible that "precious stones may work by consent upon the spirits of men to comfort and exhilarate them." the learned lawyer and philosopher, indeed, was not in this much superior to the plain and simple folk who still imagined that every precious stone had some mystic value communicable to the wearer. about the same time de boot, or boethius, the learned physician to the emperor rudolf ii, published his famous lapidary, which mr. c. w. king recommends as a work worthy of especial study for the properties of stones, and mentions how it "draws a distinction that curiously illustrates the struggle then going on between traditional superstition and common sense."[43] [41] paton (j.), _scottish national memorials_, p. 337. [42] the foremost interpreter of their mysteries in the middle ages was marbode, bishop of rennes (1095-1123), in his _de lapidibus pretiosis enchiridion_. [43] king, _precious stones_, p. 12. treatises on precious stones frequently find a place in sixteenth-century herbals, and are often accompanied by very spirited woodcuts representing the working of precious stones and the process of adapting them to personal ornaments, together with designs of actual articles of jewellery in which they are set. two of the finest books of the kind are--an _ortus sanitatis_ (strasburg, _circa_ 1497), and a _kreuterbuch_ printed at frankfort in 1536. with the advance of christianity the representation of the subjects of pagan mythology was forbidden by law; but the old ideas were retained for many years, and small objects like cameos or intaglios were carried about concealed upon the person. later on, when all knowledge of classical art had sunk into oblivion, such stones became prized not only for the subjects engraved on them, which their mediæval owner seldom understood, but also for the fact that they were supposed to possess special talismanic virtues. the majority of these gems were mounted as rings or as seals of secular and ecclesiastical personages of rank. preserved among the harleian mss. in the british museum is a thirteenth-century ms. (quoted by mr. wright in _archæologia_, vol. xxx), which contains instructions for the wearing of various stones, and for the composition of the different metals of the rings in which they were to be set. a proof of the firm establishment of the romans in britain is afforded by the number of their gems brought to light in mediæval times; while the decay of the art of gem-engraving in the middle ages is shown by the fact that the harleian ms. always refers to these gems as objects "to be found and not made.... a stone engraved in one manner you should suspend about the neck, as it enables you to find treasures, the impression in wax of another stone will cause men to speak well of you." the engraving of a dove with a branch of olive in its mouth should be mounted in a silver ring, and another gem should be placed in a ring of lead. from these and similar writings it is clear that one of the objects aimed at by the mediæval authors was to define the different virtues of the sigils engraved upon precious stones. such ideas, not previously unknown, as, for example among the gnostics, were no doubt stimulated by the crusades, whereby the study of alchemy and the interest in oriental mysteries became spread throughout europe. leonardus, as late as the sixteenth century, observes that stones "if engraved by a skilful person or under some particular influence, will receive a certain virtue.... but if the effect intended by the figure engraved be the same as that produced by the natural quality of the stone, its virtue will be doubled, and its efficacy augmented." we see thus that the talismanic ideas respecting precious stones were attached as much to their engraving as to the stones themselves. owing to the complete decline of the glyptic art in the middle ages, antique cameos and intaglios, on account of some fancied assimilation in subject or idea to christian symbolism, were occasionally used for devout subjects. together with the general ignorance of classical art, and the consequent attempts that were made to give the pagan representation upon antique gems a christian signification--frequently in a very forced and curious manner--there appears to have been a certain appreciation of their beauty. when small relics, such as particles of the wood of the cross, or larger relics, as bones of the saints, were enclosed either in portable reliquaries or in costly shrines, such receptacles were not infrequently encrusted with ancient cameos and intaglios, as representing the very choicest objects which the fervent devotion of the age could select for this sacred purpose. the shrine of the three kings at cologne[44] and the treasure of conques[45] are still enriched with many fine examples of the gem-engraver's art, and the magnificent gold shrine of edward the confessor in westminster abbey, long since despoiled, was formerly mounted with numerous cameos, all probably antique.[46] [44] bock (f.), _das heilige köln._ _schatzkammer des kölner domes_, p. 27. [45] the abbey of conques, near rodez, in the department of aveyron. see darcel (a.) _trésor de conques_, p. 66. [46] rock (d.), _church of our fathers_, iii. 1, p. 393. [illustration: _plate xvi_ antique cameos in mediæval settings] the history of the glyptic art has been sufficiently encroached upon here to demonstrate the prominent place occupied by antique gems in the personal ornaments of the middle ages. their use for signet rings will be referred to again; but attention must be drawn to the three most remarkable examples of their application to other articles of jewellery--the jewel of st. hilary and the cameo of charles v in the bibliothèque nationale at paris, and the schaffhausen onyx, preserved among the archives of the town of schaffhausen in switzerland (pl. xvi). the jewel of st. hilary contains a fine cameo head in profile of the emperor augustus on a sardonyx. it is enclosed in a frame of silver gilt set with large rubies, sapphires, and pearls. the jewel was formerly employed as a pectoral or breast-ornament upon a silver reliquary bust of st. hilary preserved in the treasury of st. denis. on the dispersal of the treasury in 1791, the jewel was removed to the bibliothèque nationale. the framework dates from the twelfth century. it measures 3½ by 2½ inches.[47] the cameo of charles v of france, a sardonyx of three layers, dating from imperial roman times, represents a full length figure of jupiter. it is mounted in the gold frame in which it was presented to the treasury at chartres by the king. such prophylactic verses[48] as are found frequently side by side upon amulets and in cabalistic formulæ of the middle ages, are inscribed round its edge on a ground of blue and red enamel, together with the opening words of st. john's gospel, which were supposed to serve as a protection, particularly against demons and thunder. the figure of jupiter with the eagle probably passed for a representation of the evangelist. at the lower part is a crowned escutcheon bearing the arms of france, and on the crown is an inscription recording the presentation of the jewel by charles v in the year 1367.[49] this beautiful example of french jewellery of the fourteenth century is 6 inches in length and 3 in width. [47] babelon (e. c. f.), _catalogue des camées de la bib. nat._, p. 107. [48] _st. luke,_ iv. 30; and _st. john_, viii. 2. [49] babelon, _op. cit._, p. 1. of slightly later date than the jewel of st. hilary, and of far more elaborate workmanship, though perhaps less well known on account of its somewhat remote situation, is the schaffhausen onyx. the stone, a fine sardonyx, is a roman cameo of a female figure carrying a cornucopia and caduceus, and intended to represent peace. its setting, a superb specimen of mediæval goldwork, is mounted with figures of eagles and lions, chased in full relief and arranged in regular order between high bezels set with garnets, sapphires, pearls, and turquoises. the outside measurement of the jewel is 6 by 5 inches, and that of the stone 3½ by 3.[50] [50] for a full description of this jewel, see a monograph by j. j. oeri, entitled _der onyx von schaffhausen._ the large part played by superstition in the ornaments of the middle ages need not be further enlarged on. the virtues of charms were not only associated with gems and precious stones; for mystic letters, cabalistic inscriptions, and other devices were among the chief features of mediæval jewellery. such devices lingered long after the renaissance of learning had partially dispelled the mysticism of the middle ages; while similar superstitions in respect to precious stones are even now not entirely extinct, in spite of the assurances of modern science. [illustration: gold ring engraved and enamelled with figures of the virgin and child and st. john the evangelist. scottish, fifteenth century (nat. mus. of antiq., edinburgh).] chapter xiv mediæval head-ornaments and necklaces head-ornaments from the tenth to the sixteenth century belong for the most part rather to the general history of costume than to that of jewellery proper; and it will be unnecessary to follow those extravagances of fashion which, especially during the fifteenth century, were presented by the head-dress of women. more germane to the subject are the fillets, bands, and chaplets worn throughout the middle ages by women when their heads were uncovered, and during a more limited period by men also. the original form of these was a ribbon, which encircled the brow, held back the hair from the face, and adjusted the veil; while wreaths, either of natural flowers or of plain gold, were a frequent decoration for young women. hence the bands or chaplets, which took their motives from those more simple ornaments, were made either wholly of metal (_cercles_), or of gold flowers sewn upon an embroidered band (described in inventories as _chapeletz_), both forms being enriched with pearls and precious stones. the fillet later on became a heavy band composed of separate pieces of metal joined by hinges, and showed such close resemblance to the broad belts of the knights, that in the inventory of edward ii, quoted above, _tressoures_ and _ceintures_ are entered together under one heading. the wearing of such head-ornaments was not confined exclusively to the nobility, for the receipt of a sale of jewels by agnes chalke, spicer of london, to a certain john of cambridge in 1363, includes a "coronal of gold, wrought with stones, that is to say, with rubyes, saphirs, emeralds, and pearls."[51] exquisite circlets set with these gems are worn by the choir of singing and music-making angels on the wings of the van eycks' famous "ghent altar-piece" in the berlin museum. the fillet, whether a complete circle or hinged, received about the fourteenth century additional enrichments in the form of trefoils, fleurs-de-lis, crosses, and foliations, erected on cuspings upon its upper edge. a simple but charming example of a circlet, dating from the fourteenth century, is preserved in the musée du cinquantenaire at brussels. it is of silver gilt, formed of hinged plaques, each mounted with from three to four collets set with pearls, and with pastes in imitation of precious stones, while additional ornaments in the form of fleurs-de-lis are fixed erect upon it (pl. xvii, 9). [51] riley (h. t.), _memorials of london_, p. 313. from the diadem of this character originated the coronets worn by those of high or noble rank; the use of these, amid the ceremonies of later courts, crystallised into a system of class privilege. such diadems or coronets approach the form of the regal crown, which in england, as early as the eleventh century, was enriched with rays and floriations. the regal crown, with which we are not immediately concerned,[52] by the addition of arches, was converted about the fifteenth century into what is technically known as the "close" crown. [52] no attempt will here be made to enumerate the various forms of crowns and coronets. a general outline of the subject is set forth in chapter xxvi of mr. fox-davies' _art of heraldry_. round the helmets of knights in the fifteenth century ornamental wreaths called _orles_ were worn; these, originally composed of two bands of silk twisted together were afterwards richly jewelled. one of the most famous of jewelled hats was that of charles the bold, thickly encrusted with huge pearls and precious stones, which was captured by the swiss after his death at the battle of nancy in 1477.[53] [53] lambecius, _bib. caes. vindobon._, ii, p. 516; laborde, _ducs de bourgogne_, pt. 2, ii, p. 113, no. 3100. of female ornaments of the same period it need only be stated that the elaborate head-dresses, such as the _cornette_, _escoffion_, and _henin_--it is sometimes difficult to imagine how women had sufficient strength to keep them balanced on their heads--were profusely adorned with pearls, gold spangles, and precious stones, and in some cases with crowns or crown-shaped combs of elaborate goldwork enriched with gems. the italians, with more refined taste, seem, as will be observed (p. 171), to have escaped from such extravagances sooner than the rest of europe, and to have been content for the most part with a simple _bandeau_ encircling the forehead. among the most interesting varieties of personal ornaments in the middle ages are certain jewels or brooches worn in the hat and known as _enseignes_. from the lead signs or ornaments worn by pilgrims there was gradually evolved a special class of jewels on which the great artists of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries exercised their utmost skill, and which at the present day are among the most highly prized of all early articles of personal jewellery. rivers near large cities have supplied us with much of the knowledge we possess of the manners and habits of those who in former times dwelt upon their banks. whenever dredging or digging disturbs the beds of such rivers, objects of antiquity, which seem to have gravitated there, are sure to be discovered. the municipal museum of many a city of ancient foundation preserves choice works of antiquity recovered from its river's bed. among the most remarkable objects brought to light in this manner are certain curious mediæval ornaments, which belong to the age that has bequeathed exceedingly few examples of articles for personal use. the ornaments referred to are the small badges or signs of lead, given or sold, as tokens, to mediæval pilgrims to the shrines of saints or martyrs, and known as "pilgrims' signs." they were obtained from the attendants at shrines and exhibitions of relics, who kept ready a large variety bearing the effigy or device of some particular saint, or the symbol that had reference to his acts of worship. each sign or token was pierced with holes, or more frequently had a pin cast in one piece with it, making it available as a brooch. it was thus fastened to the hat or other portion of the pilgrim's dress as a testimony of his having visited the particular shrine indicated by the token. these badges, which date from about the thirteenth to the fifteenth century, were manufactured at the churches or monasteries to which pilgrimages were made. moulds for casting them are preserved in the british museum and the guildhall museum; and a forge was found at walsingham priory where the sacristan melted the metals employed for their manufacture.[54] [54] several writers on pilgrims' signs state that a furnace destined for the same purpose may still be seen in an upper chamber in canterbury cathedral. inquiry on the spot has failed to confirm the truth of this statement. the furnace in question has been used solely for the purpose of casting leadwork for repairing the roof. the badges were probably made somewhere in the cathedral precints. it will be outside the present purpose to enumerate all the varieties of form assumed by these interesting and historically most valuable objects. important collections of them are preserved in the british museum and guildhall museum in london, and in the musée cluny, paris (pl. xvii, 1-4). in england the most popular relics were those of our lady of walsingham priory, and particularly those of st. thomas of canterbury, whose signs, according to a statement of giraldus cambrensis, were worn as early as the twelfth century. the anonymous author of the supplement to chaucer's _canterbury tales_ speaks of the purchase of signs by chaucer's party on the occasion of their pilgrimage to canterbury, and remarks that on their departure from the cathedral "they sett their signys upon their hedes, and som upon their capp." and erasmus, in his _colloquy of the pilgrimage for religion's sake_, notes that pilgrims were "covered on every side with images of tin and lead." judging from the number and variety of the badges relating to the murdered archbishop, becket, his shrine must have enjoyed a widespread popularity, though the scallop-shell of st. james of compostella was perhaps more universally recognised as a pilgrim's sign than any other. these signs or _signacula_ were worn not only on a pilgrimage, but also formed a customary decoration for the hat. some, even in early times, perhaps as early as the thirteenth century, though partaking of a religious character, do not seem to have had reference to any particular shrine, and referred simply to incidents in popular religious legends. others were merely symbols or emblems; yet, like the majority of mediæval trinkets, they nearly all displayed religious motives and were supposed to possess talismanic powers. louis xi, the cruel and superstitious king of france, commonly wore such signs, particularly those of the celebrated notre-dame d'embrun, stuck round his hat; and on a visit to henry, king of castile, he wore, so philip de comines informs us, a very old hat with leaden images upon it. it is very evident that we have here the origin of the hat-ornaments or _enseignes_ of gold and silver, and enriched with precious stones and enamels, which, coming first into use in the fifteenth century, became extremely popular in the sixteenth, and were worn on almost every man's hat, and sometimes on those of women, until the middle of the seventeenth century. like those obtained at the shrines, they bore at first the figure of a saint--generally a patron saint--or a figure of the virgin. of signs such as these, some came to represent the actual badge of the wearer or of some one to whom he was affectionately attached, while others took the form of badges of livery, and were worn in the hats of the retainers of great families. philip de comines records that lord bourchier, governor of calais, 1470, wore a ragged staff of gold upon his bonnet. this was the badge of the earl of warwick, and all his attendants had ragged staves likewise. a leaden enseigne of a bear and ragged staff (the house of warwick), a crowned ostrich feather (duke of norfolk), a hound (talbot, earl of shrewsbury), and a dolphin (badge of the dauphin--afterwards louis xi--and his faction, the armagnacs), together with others of a similar nature, are in the british museum (pl. xvii, 5-8). the badges of the kings of england were employed in the same manner: and among the british museum collection is a hart lodged--the badge of richard ii, and in the guildhall a broom-pod (_genista_) of the plantagenets, and a crown of fleurs-de-lis--the badge of henry v. a considerable number of small shield-shaped bronze and copper pendants, enamelled with coats of arms, and having a ring above for suspension, seem also to have served as badges. there is the possibility that some were worn by the servants of nobility as enseignes upon the hat, or perhaps on the left arm or breast. but the majority appear to have been employed for the decoration of horse-harness.[55] [55] compare, an "esmail d'arragon," by a. van de put (_burlington magazine_, viii, p. 421, 1906; x, p. 261, 1907). [illustration: _plate xvii_ mediæval head-ornaments] mediæval hat-badges of gold are of extreme rarity. the franks bequest in the british museum contains a choice example. it is a fifteenth-century flemish jewel of gold, representing a "pelican in her piety" standing upon a scroll, and set with a ruby and a small pointed diamond (pl. xvii, 11). in the victoria and albert museum is a circular gold enseigne of open-work enriched with gothic foliations. the outer rim is set with seven small rubies. in the centre is an antique onyx cameo representing a lion. it is spanish work of the second half of the fifteenth century (pl. xvii, 10). these two jewels are clearly hat-ornaments; but it is often difficult to distinguish between a brooch or _nouche_ intended to be worn upon the dress and a hat-brooch, though the latter can, as a rule, be distinguished by its form or by its subject. the enseigne was sometimes employed like a brooch for fastening a plume decoration, but as a rule served as an independent ornament, and appears on the paintings, sculpture, and tapestry of the fifteenth century attached to the side of the head-gear. it became a jewel of still greater importance in the sixteenth century, and will be further dealt with among the jewellery of the renaissance. the talismanic properties associated with the _signacula_ procured at the shrines were extended to many objects of base metal, as brooches and finger-rings, which had been placed in contact with relics of saints, or blessed at their shrines. brooches and rings also of gold and silver bear talismanic inscriptions. a common inscription is the names of the three kings--as on the glenlyon brooch--which originated in pilgrimages to the shrine of the kings of the east in the church of sant' eustorgio at milan, or more probably to that in cologne cathedral. the names of the "three kings of collein" were considered to be a charm against epilepsy or the "falling sickness." many personal ornaments of base metal, however, are quite unconnected with any religious practice or with pilgrims' signs; for objects of pewter are often merely replicas of more precious jewels in gold and silver, and must have been worn by the poorer classes. the fact that several are plated or washed with silver shows that they were intended to pass for the real objects. yet they are of considerable importance, since we find among them types of ornaments which do not exist in the precious metals. it may be suggested that some were made as models for real articles of jewellery; but we are, unfortunately, not in possession of evidence (such as can be produced in connection with the jewellery of the renaissance) which can offer any likelihood that this is actually the case with these mediæval ornaments. earrings though common in the merovingian and carlovingian epoch, earrings appear to have been worn only to a limited extent, and that at the commencement of the period at present under discussion. pendants formed of quadrilateral prisms set on each side with cabochon garnets and hung with small strings of garnet beads are attached to the ears of the tenth-century figure of st. foy in the treasury at conques; though it is not impossible that these, like many of the gems that adorn the statue, may be of earlier workmanship. that the byzantine style of earring, of crescent form, was worn during the eleventh and twelfth centuries is evident from a twelfth-century bronze ewer, in the shape of a head of a woman, of flemish work, in the museum of budapest.[56] earrings, however, enjoyed no great popularity during the middle ages, and the cause of this must be traced to the fashion which prescribed for women a style of coiffure by which the hair fell down at the sides, or was covered by a veil, which would have effectively hidden any ornaments for the ear. it was only at the end of the fourteenth century that fashion again allowed the hair to be worn high. pendent rings of gold for ladies' ears are mentioned in the _roman de la rose_, and statues occasionally exhibit short earrings, pearls attached to the lobe of the ear, or stones in the form of drops. earrings, indeed, did not come into very common use until the close of the fifteenth or the beginning of the sixteenth century. [56] figured in _exposition de budapest, 1884, chefs-d'oeuvre d'orfévrerie_, i, pl. i. there is a reproduction of this remarkable specimen of _dinanderie_ in the victoria and albert museum. necklaces and collars the custom of wearing necklaces and neck-chains was much more limited during the middle ages than it had been in antiquity and at the time of the great migrations. women's necklaces can hardly be proved to have been in general use before the end of the fourteenth century, and during the middle ages seldom attained the exaggerated style they exhibited at the period of the renaissance. they consisted mostly of plaited cords of gold wire, and probably of single or double chains of pearls. these originally encircled the throat, but at a later date were worn more upon the breast. though many forms of personal ornament are mentioned in early wills and inventories, we rarely meet with a reference to the necklace until the fourteenth century; nor is it pictured on monumental effigies or brasses until the beginning of the century following. if worn at all prior to this date, it must simply have served the purpose of supporting pendants of various forms known as _pentacols_. these neck-chains, or collars as they were termed, soon began to receive additional enrichment, and the inventories of the fifteenth century contain frequent descriptions of necklets adorned with enamels and precious stones. eleanor, countess of arundel (1455), bequeathed to her daughter "a golden collar for the neck, with a jewel set with precious stones hanging thereat." the fashion for rich necklaces was especially in vogue at the luxurious court of the dukes of burgundy; nor had the court of richard ii been behindhand in the display of this species of ornament, for the magnificent wedding presents of his wife, isabella of france, included a collar of gold set with precious stones of immense value. the word _carcanet_ seems to have come into use about this time for rich necklaces of precious stones, and to have been applied a little later to the bands of jewels commonly entwined in ladies' hair. though never so generally worn as in the sixteenth century, a considerable number of these jewelled ornaments are represented in the exquisite paintings of the fifteenth century. one of the most elaborate of all is the superb gold necklet, brilliantly enamelled with small and many-coloured flowers, shown on the portrait of maria, wife of pierantonio baroncelli, in the uffizi gallery at florence, by an unknown flemish painter of the latter part of the fifteenth century. close by, in the same gallery, is van der goes' celebrated triptych, presented to the spedale di santa maria nuova by tommaso portinari, agent of the medici in bruges. upon the right wing is maria, wife of the donor, with her daughter. the former wears a magnificent necklace of exquisite design, its interlacing goldwork shaped into the form of roses enamelled red, white, and blue, each set respectively with a sapphire, a ruby, and a large pearl. the latter is adorned with a necklace composed of a double row of pearls connected by oval jewelled ornaments; beneath is hung a trefoil-shaped pendant set with rubies, to which is attached a large drop-pearl (p. 117). a precisely similar ornament is seen in another work by van der goes, painted about 1473--the well-known portrait of margaret, queen of james iii of scotland, now at holyrood.[57] this picture was probably executed in flanders from material supplied by the donor, and the artist appears to have adorned queen margaret with the same beautiful necklace, probably of florentine workmanship, which he had seen round the neck of signorina portinari. [57] shaw (h.), _dresses and decorations_, pl. 60. jane shore, the beautiful and unfortunate mistress of edward iv, and wife of the rich jeweller of lombard street, is represented in her two portraits, one at king's college, cambridge, and the other at eton, wearing elaborate necklaces. around her throat are two strings of pearls, with a necklet below of circular pieces of gothic pattern, supporting a lozenge-shaped pendant of similar design adorned with pearls. among sculptured representations of the necklet the most interesting is that on the monument of sir john crosby (d. 1475) and his wife in st. helen's church, bishopsgate, where the latter wears a very handsome necklace of roses, to which is attached a cluster of three roses with three pendants below. sir john's collar is somewhat similarly formed of rosette-shaped ornaments. an early instance of a heavy neck-chain of gold, worn upon the breast, is to be seen upon the famous tapestry, considered to represent henry vi and his queen, in st. mary's hall, coventry. collars of extraordinary richness seem to have been worn by henry iv; for among the miscellaneous documents preserved at st. paul's cathedral[58] is a list of various jewels set with diamonds both large and small, with balas rubies, sapphires, and clusters of pearls, which were to be employed for making collars for the king and queen. the inventories of the exchequer contain frequent reference to what is termed the _iklyngton coler_. this magnificent collar, which was frequently pawned by henry vi, was enriched with four rubies, four large sapphires, thirty-two great pearls, and fifty-three pearls of a lesser sort.[59] [58] _hist. mss. comm._, ix, p. 56. [59] _kalendars and inventories_, ii, p. 165, etc. in addition to the purely ornamental necklaces, collars or chains of "livery"--bearing the heraldic devices of the day--were assumed by various royal and noble families, and were bestowed as marks of favour or friendship on persons of various ranks, and both sexes, who wore them as badges of adherence to those families. an instance of the bestowal of a chain of this kind occurred in 1477 after the siege of quesnoy by louis xi, who, witnessing a great feat of gallantry on the part of raoul de lannoy, is reported to have placed on his neck a chain of great value, and to have thus wittily addressed him: "mon ami, vous êtes trop furieux en un combat; il faut vous _enchaîner_, car je ne veux point vous perdre, désirant me servir encore de vous plusieurs fois." richard ii, as shown by the earl of pembroke's remarkable picture of that monarch at wilton, wore, in addition to his device the white hart, a collar of broom-pods. henry iv employed the well-known collar of ss, derived from his father john of gaunt. the collar of edward iv was composed of two of his badges, the sun in its splendour, and the white rose; while a third, the white lion of march, was added as a pendant. richard iii retained the yorkist collar, substituting for the lion pendant a boar.[60] private family collars were also worn, and an early instance of one occurs in the brass of thomas lord berkeley (1417) in the church of wootton-under-edge, gloucestershire; the band round the neck being charged with mermaids, the badge of the berkeleys. [60] _archæologia_, xxxix, p. 264. the ss collar is the best known of all. it is composed of the letter s in gold repeated indefinitely, either fixed on velvet or some material, or forming the links of a chain. the letters are generally united by knots; they sometimes terminate with portcullises and have a pendent rose. the collar is still worn by the lord chief justice, the lord mayor of london, and the chief heralds--that belonging to the lord mayor being an original and beautiful example of english jewellery of the sixteenth century. despite all that has been written upon the ss collar no conclusive explanation has been offered as to its origin and meaning.[61] several representations of livery collars appear upon monumental effigies of the latter half of the fifteenth century, and there is frequent mention of them in the inventories of the same period, but, with the exception of the ss collar, they are not met with at all in the sixteenth century. [61] mr. hartshorne (_arch. journ._, xxxix, p. 366) considers the origin of the letters ss--_par excellence_ the "crux antiquariorum," he terms it--to lie between the words seneschallus, souverayne, and sanctus, and of these he appears to be in favour of the first. [illustration: necklace worn by the daughter of tommaso portinari in van der goes' triptych in the uffizi gallery, florence.] chapter xv mediæval pendants, rosaries, and pomanders the wearing of religious emblems in the form of pendants by the christians of the middle ages was possibly, in the first place, the unconscious perpetuation of pagan superstition. the demand for a convenient mode of carrying a reliquary may account in some degree for the use of necklaces in early times. relics of the saints and of the passion of our lord were most eagerly sought after by mediæval christendom, and whenever a relic of unusual importance was obtained, all the resources of the art of the time were employed to give it a worthy setting. the most famous of early pendent reliquaries was that worn by the emperor charlemagne, which contained relics from the crown of thorns and the true cross, presented to him by haroun al-raschid. the reliquary was buried with him in 814, and found at the opening of his tomb at aix-la-chapelle in 1169. in 1804 it was given to the emperor napoleon by the clergy of aix, and was afterwards the property of napoleon iii; but it disappeared during the troublous times that terminated the second empire. the relics were enclosed under a large sapphire magnificently set in gold and precious stones[62] (pl. xviii, 4). another historical relic of the early middle ages was the enamelled gold cross suspended from a chain, which was stolen from the tomb of edward the confessor in westminster abbey in 1685 and given to james ii. it was only lost sight of in the early part of the nineteenth century.[63] [62] see _jahrbücher des vereins von alterthumsfreunden in rheinlande_, xxxix, p. 272. bonn, 1866. [63] wall (j. c.), _tombs of the kings of england_, p. 197. _evelyn's diary_, sept. 16, 1685. portable reliquaries in former times were often made of two plates of rock crystal or other transparent stones hinged together so as to form a box. an exquisite example of this style of ornament, and one of the most remarkable mediæval jewels, is the so-called reliquary of st. louis in the british museum. it is of gold, set with two large bean-shaped amethysts which act as covers to an inner case with a lid, enclosing what purports to be a spike from the crown of thorns. the back of this receptacle, as well as the insides of the covers, is enriched with minute translucent enamels representing the crucifixion and other scenes from the passion and the life of christ (pl. xviii, 5). the jewel is said to have been given by st. louis (who bought the crown of thorns from baldwin, king of jerusalem) to a king of aragon, but the style of the work is somewhat later than the time of st. louis, and dates from about the year 1310. it was formerly in the collection of baron pichon, and was presented to the british museum by mr. george salting in 1902. the pendent ornaments of the middle ages not only served as receptacles for relics but also took the form of crosses, medallions, votive tablets, and monograms. though these do not attain the same importance as the pendants of the renaissance, their extraordinary variety is proved by the inventories of the thirteenth to the fifteenth century, while their beauty is attested by the few examples that have fortunately been preserved. small votive tablets, that is to say diptychs or triptychs with hinged wings, were exceedingly popular as personal ornaments, judging by their frequent occurrence in the inventories under the title of _tableau_ or _tabulet_. they were suspended from the girdle or neck-chain. some are painted with delicate translucent enamels, others contain figures in high relief wrought in metal, or carvings in boxwood of minute dimensions. the last are generally flemish, while the others of which there are several splendid examples in the victoria and albert museum, are mostly of french or of english workmanship. a very remarkable silver-gilt pendant in the form of the devil of temptation, with the forbidden fruit in one hand and a crozier, signifying power, in the other, is shown on plate xix, 9. it is burgundian work of the second half of the fifteenth century, and is the property of mrs. percy macquoid. an interesting class of pendants is formed by a somewhat extensive series of silver and silver-gilt ornaments produced by german craftsmen of the fifteenth century. the national museum at munich, where several fine examples of this kind are preserved, possesses one of more than ordinary interest. it is of silver-gilt, about five inches in length, composed of elaborate gothic tracery, in shape not unlike the tall gothic tabernacles of south germany, of which that by adam kraft in st. lawrence's church at nuremberg is perhaps the finest example. a niche on each of its four sides contains the figure of a saint and above, half hidden among the tracery, are four female figures. the jewel is surmounted by the virgin and child, and has three rings above for suspension and one below (pl. xix, 1). other examples of south german goldsmith's work of the fifteenth and early sixteenth century take the form of small pendent charms picturing some religious theme. the figure of a saint was naturally a favourite subject, since it was supposed to possess special prophylactic powers. the variety of the subjects thus represented can be admirably judged from an important series of such pendants at south kensington. in addition to these, which are mostly of cast silver, other pendants of the same period include silver plaques, nielloed, engraved, or in relief; and likewise fine cameos or reliefs of mother-of-pearl, and carvings in ivory and wood, set in coronets of silver-gilt. [illustration: _plate xviii_ mediæval pendants (reliquaries, etc.)] mediæval neck-pendants were, as has been observed, known as _pentacols_. in the inventory of edward iii in 1339[64] we find a pentacol composed of a large scotch pearl (_perle d'escoce_) and an image of our lady in enamel; and "_un pentacol dor od. iiij. petites ameraldes et iiij. petites rubies environ, et une camahue en mylieu_." in mediæval inventories and wills the latin word _monile_ signified not only a necklace, but jewels hung at the neck. the same term was also employed for the morse, particularly when the latter had a ring for suspension. many pendants generally provided with quatrefoil rings, come from south germany (like one shown on plate xviii, 1) and especially from bohemia--there is a good collection of them in the cathedral treasury of prague.[65] the majority are silver-gilt, and set with a plaque of mother-of-pearl or crystal, and are usually hollow, to contain relics. the term _monile_ was further applied to brooches or _nouches_; and the nouches described in such detail in the english inventories of the fifteenth century, which will be mentioned later when the subject of brooches is dealt with, may in part have been employed as ornaments for the necklace. [64] _kalendars_ etc., iii, pp. 185, 188. [65] podlaha (a.), and sittler (e.), _der domschatz in prag_, pp. 113-132. 1903. various _monilia_ or pendants, containing small relics, verses from the bible, the names of christ or the virgin written upon vellum or upon metal, and perhaps also ancient magic spells--all possessing the virtues of talismans, were worn by chains or cords round the neck, and in some instances very likely hidden under the upper garment. the early church, in many an edict, declared itself against this form of superstition, yet such pendants or phylacteries--a term applied to any amulet worn about the person against evil of all kinds--appear to have been extensively used. another and popular pendant from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century, which is frequently cited in inventories, but now rarely met with, takes the form of a small circular box or capsule bearing in front an _agnus dei_ in niello or repoussé, surrounded by a corded edging. such boxes were intended for the preservation of a roundel of wax moulded from the remains of the paschal candle at rome with an impression of the sacred lamb, and blessed by the pope for distribution to the faithful. the cases, of silver-gilt, have occasionally a covering of transparent horn on the back and front. an example of this kind, of fifteenth-century german workmanship, is in the victoria and albert museum (pl. xix, 3). the wax it contains bears the name of pope urban vi (1378-1389). an original stamp of bronze, of italian origin, dating from the fourteenth century, which was used for making these wax impressions, is preserved in the british museum along with other moulds for casting medals and small articles of jewellery. in addition to the precious and semi-precious stones already mentioned, other objects, accounted specially efficacious for certain purposes, were worn. the _peres de eagle_, also called _ætites_, supposed to be found in the nest of the eagle, were particularly valuable during childbirth. _glossopetræ_, the fossilised teeth of certain kinds of shark, which passed as serpents' teeth, were much used, as well as primitive arrowheads. they were hung round the neck of infants in the belief that they assisted dentition and kept off frights. of great value also was the bezoar stone, which, like glossopetræ, at one time occupied a prominent place in pharmacopoeia. coral, which has always been popular, is first mentioned in english wills and inventories in the fourteenth century. it was used for rosaries, and, above all, as a charm--a ring of gold or silver being attached to its stalk. the romans tied little branches of it round their children's necks to ward off the evil eye; and the infant saviour in many an early italian picture is represented wearing a piece of coral in a similar manner.[66] [66] a relic of this superstition still exists in the coral baubles hung with bells, with which infants are aided in cutting their teeth. a fear of poison, common for centuries in royal courts, was responsible for the custom of testing meats and drinks by methods founded upon certain ancient and groundless beliefs. in order to neutralise or detect the presence of poison, certain objects were placed in contact with food or were dipped into liquids. the touching-pieces (_tousches_) or proofs (_espreuves_) employed for the purpose, and considered especially efficacious against poison, were toadstones, glossopetræ, serpentine, jasper, agate and particularly the unicorn's horn. what was foisted upon the credulous public as the horn of the fabled animal was in reality the horn or tusk of a fish--the narwhal or sea-unicorn of the northern seas. being an object of very great value, the horn was only occasionally kept entire, like the one preserved to this day at new college, oxford. it was more usually cut into pieces and used as "proofs." an angry unicorne in his full career charge with too swift foot a jeweller that watched him for the treasure of his brow, and ere he could get shelter of a tree, nail him with his rich antler to the earth.[67] [67] quoted from bussy d'amboise (1607) by malone, commenting on the passage, "unicorns may be betray'd with trees" (_julius cæsar_, ii, i). these and other objects, when worn upon the person, as was generally the practice, were mounted at one end, or surrounded by a claw-like band of silver. another object which occupied an important position in the middle ages and often received special attention at the hands of the goldsmith was the rosary. it was suspended occasionally from the neck, but was more often worn upon the wrist, at the girdle, or attached to a finger ring, and was formed of a string of beads of various sizes and materials representing aves, paternosters, and glorias: each bead receiving the name of the prayer it represented. the rosary, as at the present day, was divided into decades of aves, each decade being preceded by a paternoster and followed by a gloria. the materials of which they were composed are well illustrated in the inventory[68] of the jewels belonging to adam ledyard, a london jeweller in 1381. it includes: "4 sets of paternosters of white amber; 16 sets of paternosters of amber; 5 sets of paternosters of coral and geet [jet]; 6 sets of aves of geet, and paternosters of silver-gilt; 38 sets of aves of geet, with gaudees of silver-gilt; 14 sets of aves of blue glass, with paternosters of silver-gilt; 28 sets of paternosters of geet; 15 sets of paternosters of mazer; and 5 sets of paternosters of white bone for children." [68] riley (h. t.), _memorials of london and london life_, p. 455. the makers of these beads were termed paternosterers; and paternoster row and ave maria lane were so called from the "turners of beads" who resided there. in paris, as early as the thirteenth century, the commerce in rosaries was a most flourishing one, and it was customary there to divide the makers or dealers in these articles into three categories--paternosterers of bone and horn, of coral and mother-of-pearl, and of amber and jet. in england the rosary makers do not seem to have been so specialised. [illustration: _plate xix_ mediæval pendants] the larger beads were sometimes of gold, silver, and silver-gilt, of open-work, beautifully chased and engraved, and of boxwood and ivory exquisitely carved. the "gaudees" or "gauds" in the above quotation, the ornaments or trinkets attached to the rosary, were commonly in the form of a crucifix, while the small german charms mentioned above (p. 120) were mostly employed for the same purpose. of the spherical-shaped gauds or nuts pendent to the rosary, called in french _grains de chapelet_ and known in germany as _betnüsse_, many fine examples exist in boxwood. they have often an open-work case which opens with a hinge, and displays two hemispheres filled with a number of carved figures of minute proportions. among the many forms assumed by mediæval pendants were those of fruits--generally apples or pears. these fruit-shaped pendants, containing either figures or relics, were exceedingly popular. they were carried in the purse or attached to the rosary or to the girdle, or in the case of men, were hung from the neck by a cord or chain; and were constructed so as to be opened during devotions. one of the most remarkable examples is in the waddesdon bequest at the british museum.[69] [69] read (c. h.), _catalogue of the waddesdon bequest_, no. 231. the use of perfumes prevailed at all periods of the middle ages. they were enclosed in various receptacles, and especially in those shaped like a pear or apple. these pendent scent cases or _pomanders_, worn like other pendants of the same form, were in general use throughout the whole of the period extending from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century. pomander in early inventories is often spelt _pomeambre_, indicating its derivation from _pomme d'ambre_, a perfume apple or ball; the word _pomme_ being used for any object resembling an apple in shape, and _ambre_[70] for perfume in general. primarily the pomander seems often to have designated a ball composed of various highly scented substances which served the purpose both of counteracting the smells which must have been particularly general and offensive in olden days, and also of protecting against infection. it was enclosed in a rich metal case, opening across the centre, and perforated so as to allow the scent to escape. the title "pomander"--originally meaning simply a scent or perfume ball--was given to the case which contained it. in many instances, the perfumes, instead of being mixed together into a ball, were placed in the pomander case each in a separate compartment, the lids of which are found inscribed with the names of the contents. these compartments, varying in number from four to as many as sixteen, are formed like segments of an orange. they are hinged below, and united at the top by a screw or pin, which being removed, allows the segments to open out (pl. xviii, 3). [70] probably abbreviated from ambregis (ambergris), the well-known odoriferous substance, so called from its resemblance to grey amber. it was the most highly prized of all perfumes in mediæval times; and though its use is now almost entirely confined to perfumery, it formerly also occupied no inconsiderable place in pharmacy. [illustration: pomander. from _kreuterbuch_ (frankfort, 1569).] chapter xvi mediæval brooches--the ring-brooch the brooches or fibulæ hitherto considered have been constructed either with a spring pin or _acus_, which was held in its place by a hook or catch, or with a hinged acus, which, having pierced the material, was fixed similarly by a catch, and prevented by the weight of the garment from becoming unloosened. the term _fibula_, generally employed by archæologists to denote all early brooches, has so far been applied only to the dress-fasteners of classical times; and though the word brooch (from the french _broche_, meaning a spit) was not introduced into england until after the norman conquest, it is for the sake of clearness used here to describe what are generally known among anglo-saxon ornaments as fibulæ. in later roman times, and among the irish and anglo-saxons, the ring-brooch was sometimes formed with an opening on one side, and the pin or acus, which was not hinged, but moved freely to any part of the ring, having been passed through the tissue, was brought through this opening. the ring was then turned till the pin rested upon its rim. at the time of the norman conquest the opening of the brooch is closed, the ring becomes flat and has a pin of the same length as its diameter. instead of running loosely, the pin is hinged upon a constriction of the ring and it either traverses the tissue which has been brought through the latter, or a band is passed over it from beneath the sides of the ring. when the portions of the garment thus connected are drawn back, the pin falls across the front of the ring and is held securely in its place. this ring-brooch was known as the _fermail_ (latin _firmaculum_, signifying a clasp)--a term employed both in old french and old english inventories. the ring-brooch was worn by both sexes. it appears on the monumental effigy of richard coeur de lion at rouen, on that of berengaria his queen at le mans, and on several of the thirteenth-century sculptures on the west front of wells cathedral. it served to gather up the fulness of the surcoat on the breast of the knight, as shown by the effigy, known as that of william mareschel the elder, earl of pembroke, in the temple church; but was generally used to close the opening in the robes at the throat of either sex and is seen thus on many effigies of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.[71] [71] _arch. journ._, iii, p. 76. among the few examples of mediæval jewellery that have survived, brooches and finger rings predominate. brooches differ slightly according to the nationality to which they belong: those of english origin forming of themselves a class of considerable variety and extent. the earliest were circles of small diameter and narrow frame, either plain, or decorated with simple designs. mystic words and letters were subsequently added; but as the brooch became larger, amatory mottoes took their place. religious formulæ were also employed, particularly in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, when the brooch reached its full development. the various inscriptions and designs engraved on mediæval brooches are of great interest. the majority of inscriptions are mottoes in french, such as were frequently employed as posies upon rings and other love-gifts. an inscription which occurs more than once is io . svi . ici . en . liev . dami. another _chanson_, reading thus in modern french--_je suis ici, à toi voici_, is found on several brooches in the british museum. the dainty prioress, madame eglentine, in the prologue of chaucer's _canterbury tales_ wore- ... a broche of gold ful shene, on whiche was first y-written a crouned a, and after, _amor vincit omnia_. the popularity of this last motto on the personal ornaments of the middle ages may be attributed to its supposed influence as a love-charm. a considerable number of legends are of a religious character, with allusions to the virgin and saviour while a few are talismanic, and contain inscriptions such as the names of the kings of the east. ring-brooches, though generally circular, show a variety of other shapes, such as hearts, trefoils, lozenges, etc. a heart-shaped brooch of fine workmanship in chased and engraved gold is in the victoria and albert museum. it appears to be french and of the fifteenth century. upon its back is the inscription--_nostre et tout ditz a vostre [d]esir._ the brooches worn by the wealthy are often magnificent examples of jewellery, enriched with gems set in delicate goldwork. a number of the existing brooches are of such diminutive size--less than half an inch in diameter--that they could only have been employed for fastening the very thinnest tissue. the larger gold ring-brooches, of fine workmanship and set with precious stones, are of great rarity. in the british museum are several choice specimens: the finest, formerly in the londesborough collection, dates from the fourteenth century. it is mounted with pearls, cabochon sapphires and emeralds, arranged in a variety of settings, and further enriched with four bosses carved and pierced in the forms of dragons and cockatrices. a remarkable brooch of the thirteenth century, also from a well-known collection, that of baron pichon, is preserved in the victoria and albert museum. it is a circular gold ring two inches in diameter, enriched with four sapphires and six rubies in high cone-like settings formed of simple sheets of metal wrapped round the stones. the bases of these collets are hidden on the inner side by an encircling wreath of vine leaves delicately cut and stamped in gold. the back is ornamented with a leaf design in niello. there is a somewhat similar brooch, though only a fragment, in the gem room of the british museum. a gold brooch also dating from the thirteenth century, and, like the majority, of french workmanship, is in the carrand collection in the museo nazionale (bargello), florence. this fine example, formerly in the debruge collection, is decorated with exquisite gothic foliage in naturalistic style, and with figures of two lions in full relief. it is set with two large rubies and four small emeralds. in the same collection is an extremely interesting brooch, likewise french, and of the fourteenth century. a flat ring of gold 1¼ inches in diameter is ornamented with concentric rings of enamel, the two outer being blue and the inner white. upon the latter, in letters reserved in the gold, is the inscription iesus autem traisiens per med.,[72] which occurs also on the cameo of charles v at paris, and was held by those who bore it to possess a prophylactic virtue. the brooch is further ornamented with four vernicles[73] engraved with exquisite feeling at equal distances upon its surface (pl. xx, 2). [72] st. luke, iv. 30. [73] a veronica, or face of our lord, frequently figured on hat-ornaments. thus: "a vernicle hadde he sewed upon his cappe" (chaucer, _canterbury tales_, l. 688). this jewel may perhaps have been a hat-brooch. [illustration: _plate xx_ mediæval brooches (ring-brooches, etc.)] though comparatively many existing brooches are of gold, a great quantity were formerly produced not only in silver, but in baser metals, such as iron, copper, and lead or pewter. how large was the demand for brooches of these materials can be gauged from a french writer of the thirteenth century, jean de garlande, a poet and grammarian, who in his latin vocabulary refers to brooch-makers as a special class of craftsmen, who, apart from goldsmiths, were sufficiently numerous to bear the title of _fermailleurs_[74]--makers of fermails. to about the end of the fifteenth century belongs a satirical poem printed in london with the title _cocke lorelles bote_, where "latten workers and broche makers" are specially mentioned among the london crafts or trades. the manufacture of the finest brooches, however, was always reserved for the goldsmiths--a fact indicated by the quartering of brooches on the arms of the goldsmiths' company. [74] sometimes called (by metathesis) _fremailleurs_. there would be no justification for any general reference to mediæval ring-brooches that omitted to give some account of those worn in scotland. brooches formed an indispensable accessory to the highland dress of both sexes, in that they served to fix upon the shoulder an invariable article of clothing of the highlanders--the scottish plaid. in the latest development of the scottish brooch of the celtic type, the pin, as has been observed, is hinged upon the ring, and after piercing the garment is held in its place by a catch at the back of the brooch. upon the introduction of the ring-brooch with a pin equal to the diameter of the ring, this mode of fastening was only in very few cases retained, and preference in general was given to the english manner of adjustment. the earliest form of the scottish ring-brooch, which dates from about the thirteenth century, is a flattened circular ring, upon which talismanic inscriptions in latin, generally of a religious character, almost invariably appear. these, together with some traces of gothic design, last throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. after this period the knowledge of latin seems to decrease, for it is rendered so barbarously on the sixteenth-century brooches as to be almost unintelligible. on the later brooches the decoration is purely ornamental, with interlaced work and foliaceous scrolls, and brooches of this type, on which the character of an earlier period is retained, were made as late as the eighteenth century. the designs of the silver brooches were produced by engraving accompanied by niello work; those of the brass brooches usually by engraving alone. the national museum of antiquities at edinburgh possesses a large and important collection of scottish brooches, while a few highland families have preserved for many generations massive silver brooches of elaborate workmanship. formerly in the possession of the campbells of glenlyon, and now in the british museum, is a brooch known as the glenlyon brooch. it dates from about the fifteenth century. it is about 3½ inches in width, and is formed of a flat ring set with pearls on tall cone-shaped turrets, alternating with crystals and pieces of amethyst. across the centre is a richly decorated bar, upon which rest the points of two pins attached to the edge of the ring. on the back of the brooch, in black-letter, is the favourite inscription of mediæval amulets: caspar . melchior . baltazar . consumatum . the last word, the declaration of the dying saviour, "it is finished," was often inscribed upon brooches and other ornaments of the middle ages, as were likewise the angelic salutation, the _titulus_ i.n.r.i., and other so-called _caracts_, all of which were considered to possess some talismanic efficacy. [illustration: _plate xxi_ mediæval scottish brooches (the glenlyon and loch buy brooches)] in many cases the open space in the middle of the ring, as in modern brooches, was filled up, and in the early examples was sometimes occupied by a turret-like ornamentation set with a crystal, while obelisks rising from the ring of the brooch were set with polished stones such as cairngorms (still popular on scottish jewellery), or with scottish pearls. the finest examples of this type of brooch are known as the "brooch of lorn," the "ugadale brooch," and the "loch buy brooch." the brooch of lorn, still in the possession of the lineal descendants of the macdougals of lorn, dates from the fifteenth century. it consists of a disc of silver 4½ inches in diameter, enriched with filigree. in the centre is a raised capsule crowned with a large rock crystal, and round the ring of the brooch a circle of eight obelisks. the ugadale brooch, the property of the macneals of firfergus, is of somewhat similar nature, save that the turrets, eight in number, are towards the centre of the brooch and arranged close round the raised crystal. the loch buy brooch, of more elaborate workmanship, is likewise surmounted by a cabochon crystal on a raised dais. on the ring, within a low border, are ten tall turrets, each surmounted with a scottish pearl. this famous brooch, long in the possession of the macleans of loch buy in the isle of mull, came later into the collection of ralph bernal, one of the first and most eminent of latter-day connoisseurs, at whose sale in 1855 it was purchased by the british museum. in addition to the highland circular brooches, a considerable number in the shape of hearts have been found in scotland, sometimes surmounted with a crown, and in a few instances set with jewels (p. 165). they were mostly love-tokens and betrothal gifts, and many of them bear on the reverse the word love. brooches of this form are known as "luckenbooth" brooches, from their having been commonly sold in the luckenbooths, the street stalls around st. giles' church on the high street, edinburgh. the use of the word luckenbooth calls to mind the fact that the goldsmiths of paris also worked and dwelt in booths, which as late as the fourteenth century were situated on the pont du change and the pont nôtre dame. in this connection it is worth noticing that in england, as well as in france and scotland, the working goldsmiths, like the followers of other trades, occupied distinct quarters by themselves, and they had in london one part of the chepe set apart for them to dwell and trade in. the custom of the various crafts thus confining themselves to particular quarters, which is of remote antiquity, greatly facilitated the formation and government of trade guilds. [illustration: a mediæval lapidary. from _ortus sanitatis_ (strasburg, about 1497).] chapter xvii mediæval brooches (_continued_)--pectorals another species of brooch peculiar to the middle ages is the pectoral, an article for fastening on to the middle of the breast. it is similar to our modern brooch, but differs in that it did not always serve to hold the dress together. in earlier centuries it was often sewn on the garment, and was only occasionally supplied with a pin. it was worn by both sexes, as well as by ecclesiastics, who appear to have borne in mind the chief ornament worn by the jewish high priest. the earliest and most remarkable example of this class is the great gold pectoral--the eagle fibula it is termed--found in 1880 at mainz--that ancient and historical rhenish city, known in former times from its commercial prosperity as "goldene mainz," which has proved extraordinarily rich in discoveries dating from classical and early mediæval periods. this famous jewel, both on account of its size (4 by 3-5/8 inches) and good state of preservation, probably deserves to rank first among all golden ornaments that have come down to us from the early middle ages. "its composition," says herr luthmer, "is extremely clear and conscious. an eagle, of heraldic form, it is true, but not with any of that unnatural emaciation peculiar to the later style of heraldry, fills the inner circle of a flat ring of stamped gold enriched with beaded filigree, which at its upper end--in order to give space for the head of the bird--is not closed, but connected by a curve in the circle of wire. the eight flowers inserted in the open-work of the ring, as well as the whole form of the eagle with the exception of the claws, are filled with cloisonné enamel which unfortunately has disappeared from the body of the eagle, where only the punctured outlines of the feathers are perceptible upon the plate of gold. otherwise the enamel, made of translucent green and blue, turquoise-blue, white and yellow, has been preserved in all its freshness."[75] this pectoral dates from the commencement of the twelfth century, and is one of the chief treasures in the rich collection of antiquities preserved in the mainz museum. [75] luthmer, _op. cit._, p. 74. jewels of this species and of this period are of the utmost rarity. another very beautiful example was discovered at mainz just five years after the eagle fibula, and is now in the collection of baron von heyl zu herrnsheim at worms. it is formed of repoussé gold, and represents an eagle standing upon a branch rolled up at both ends. a fine sapphire occupies the middle of the breast, in the centre of the wings are emeralds, the tail is set with lapis-lazuli, and the eye of the bird with a small ruby. this exquisite jewel dates from the early part of the thirteenth century. it measures 2-1/8 inches in height and 1-5/8 inches in width.[76] the most remarkable among jewels of about the same date (the twelfth century) are the splendid antique cameos already described--the cameo of st. hilary in the bibliothèque nationale, paris, and the schaffhausen onyx--both of which were originally employed as pectorals or brooches. [76] _kunstgewerbe-blatt_, iii, p. 21, 1887. [illustration: _plate xxii_ mediæval brooches (pectorals and morse)] a few brooches are attached, as was once the jewel of st. hilary, as _ex voto_ on the breast of reliquary figures, like that of st. foy at conques, which still exhibits an ornament of this kind. a brooch or fermail (for this latter term is not confined to the ring-brooch), 1¾ inches in diameter, which once formed part of the ancient jewels of the french crown, is in the galerie d'apollon of the louvre.[77] two exceedingly fine brooches of about the end of the twelfth century, found at mainz in 1896 and now in the treasury of the cathedral, are described by dr. schneider in the _jahrbuch der königlich preussischen kunstsammlungen_ (vol. xviii); and a pectoral or brooch of a similar form, a large stone in the centre, surrounded by smaller ones--to take only one among many examples--is represented on the twelfth-century statue of a queen, probably intended for the queen of sheba, from the west portal of the church of our lady of corbeil, and now at saint-denis. [77] barbet de jouy, _gemmes et joyaux de la couronne_, pl. xi. in the case of original jewels of this kind, it is not always easy to determine whether they were articles of adornment for the clergy or the laity, and though those for ecclesiastical use probably predominate, it is only when they contain the figured representation of some religious subject that they can with certainty be identified as cope-clasps or _morses_, the french equivalent for which is _mors de chape_. morses were frequently of extraordinary size. monumental brasses and tombstones, especially in germany, exhibit many examples. adalbert of saxony, who was administrator of the archbishopric of mainz, and died in 1484, is represented on his tombstone in the cathedral with one measuring more than 7 inches across. existing examples vary from 5 to 7 inches in breadth. the jewellers of the middle ages delighted in lavishing their utmost taste and skill on morses, which were of a variety of shapes, and were composed of every material. some were enriched with precious stones, including ancient cameos, and others rendered attractive with coloured enamels. several lists of english morses are preserved. in the inventory of sarum,[78] of the year 1222, gold, silver, and jewelled morses, _firmacula_, _pectoralia_, or _monilia_ (as they were variously termed in the middle ages) are described at length; in that of st. paul's,[79] drawn up in 1295, there are no less than twenty-eight; while the inventory of jewels (_jocalia_) preserved in york minster[80] in 1500 includes an extraordinarily rich collection of these ornaments. [78] rock, _op. cit._, iii, iii, p. 101. [79] dugdale, _history of st. paul's cathedral_ (1818 ed.), p. 310. [80] _fabric rolls of york minster_ (surtees society), p. 222. though some were clearly made fast to one side of the garment, and were hitched to the other by hooks, or by a pin, like a brooch, they were not always employed to unite the two sides, but were sometimes used simply as a decoration upon the front of the vestment, and perhaps hung there by a chain round the neck.[81] examples to be found in many museums are pierced with holes, or have loops behind them, showing that they were sewn to the vestment with purely decorative purpose. [81] compare p. 121. from the close of the twelfth century champlevé enamel upon copper was much employed for the decoration of morses. in the fourteenth century champlevé was largely superseded by transparent enamel on silver relief (_basse-taille_), many of the finest specimens of which were produced in italy. two fine morses displaying this species of work are preserved; the one in the british museum[82] and the other at south kensington. [82] shaw, _decorative arts of the middle ages_, pl. 7. the use of ancient cameos as personal ornaments has already been mentioned; and there is in the british museum a mediæval intaglio, the finest of its kind, which was used as a morse. it is known as the crystal of lothair, since it was made, in all probability, for lothair ii, king of the franks from 855 to 869. it is a lenticular plaque of rock crystal, 4½ inches in diameter, engraved in intaglio,[83] with the history of susanna.[84] [83] it is intended, however, to be looked at from the reverse side through the crystal--when the device appears like a cameo. [84] _archæologia_, lix, p. 25. public collections at home and abroad possess a variety of examples of gothic morses of exquisite design. one of the most remarkable of german workmanship of the fourteenth century is in the musée cluny at paris;[85] while among the finest german jewels of the fifteenth century must be ranked a morse of beautiful execution in the victoria and albert museum.[86] other noteworthy examples are, three in the treasury of the cathedral of aix-la-chapelle, one of them[87] containing a representation of the annunciation--a subject which, judging from the inventories, appears to have been a very favourite one for the purpose, particularly in england. three more are in paris: one--the beautiful morse of st. louis--in the galerie d'apollon,[88] a second in the rothschild bequest[89] in the louvre, and a third in the dutuit bequest.[90] in the kunstgewerbe museum at berlin is a silver-gilt morse which was made in the year 1484 for albert von letelen, canon of minden, by the goldsmith reinecke van dressche of minden. it is a circular disc 5½ inches in diameter, filled with three elaborate gothic tabernacles, each containing a figure. entirely symmetrical in composition, it follows a design commonly found on the seals of the same date (pl. xxii, 3). [85] figured by shaw, _dresses and decorations_, pl. 88, where it is erroneously described as the clasp of the emperor charles v. [86] pollen, _gold and silversmith's work in the s. kensington museum_, p. 98. [87] beissel, _kunstschätze des aachener kaiserdomes_, pl. xiii. [88] barbet de jouy, _op. cit._, pl. x. [89] molinier, _donation de adolphe de rothschild_, pl. xix. [90] giraud, _les arts du métal_, pl. vii. an excellent idea of the extraordinary beauty of the morses in use at the close of the middle ages can be obtained from fifteenth-century paintings, particularly of the flemish school. few of the latter can surpass what is one of its finest examples in the national gallery--gerard david's beautiful picture of the "canon and his patron saints," in which are displayed, in almost all their pristine freshness, some of the most magnificent representations of the jeweller's art. besides these pectorals, which sometimes served a practical, but often a purely decorative purpose, there were various other ornaments that acted as clasps (_agrafes_). these _agrafes_ are similar to those still made use of in our day, working on a system of a hook fitting into a loop. clasps for mantles were sometimes made of massive loops fastened on either side of the border of the mantle, like parts of a hinge, which could be clasped by a pin being thrust through them, or by a cord or strap. [illustration: mantle clasp (portion) on effigy of henry iv (canterbury cathedral).] a heavy ornamental mantle was often worn by both sexes over the dress. it was open in front, and displayed the dress underneath. upon its opposite edges were fixed two ornamental rosettes or lozenges, connected by cords terminating in tassels, or by a band across the breast. in the case of ceremonious attire this band was of metal, profusely jewelled, while the ornamental pieces or clasps at each end were of elaborate goldwork set with precious stones. on the monumental effigy of henry iv in the chapel of st. thomas à becket, at canterbury cathedral, the cloak is secured by a rich band fastened at each end by diamond-shaped clasps of fine design. henry's queen, joanna of navarre, who lies beside him, has clasps of almost the same form, fixed near the shoulders, and united by a simple band. somewhat similar ornaments, rosette-shaped, can be seen on the effigy of anne of bohemia, first wife of richard ii, in westminster abbey. since the pectoral is sometimes worn together with these clasps, it is evident that it often had nothing to do with closing the mantle; but when a pin is attached behind, and it is employed for secular purposes, it assumes the ordinary type of the modern brooch. the english word for this smaller and secular variety of morse, which is distinct from the fermail or ring-brooch, was _nouch_.[91] it was also called _ouch_, by misdivision of _a_ nouch as _an_ ouch, and was variously spelt _nuche_, _nowche_, _owche_, etc. that the nouch is the actual english equivalent to the morse or pectoral is proved by a will dated 1400,[92] in which among the jewels bequeathed to the shrine of the head of st. william of york was "unum monile, anglicè nouche auri, cum uno saphire in medio, et j. dyamand desuper, et circumpositum cum pereles et emeraudes." nouches were attached to the front of the garment, but were occasionally worn upon the shoulder. on the effigy of henry ii, at fontevraud, and on that of henry iii[93] in the chapel of edward the confessor at westminster abbey, the mantle in each case is fastened upon the right shoulder with a brooch of this kind. [91] probably a corruption of the latin words _nusca_, _nuxa_, a brooch or _fibula_ (_prompt. parv._, p. 359). [92] _testamenta eboracensia_ (surtees society), i, p. 267. [93] this effigy, and that of anne of bohemia, and of henry iv and his queen, may be studied from reproductions in the national portrait gallery. it would be an almost impossible task to describe all the motives selected for the english brooches of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, their numerous compositions of human figures and animals of all sorts, and the various stones with which they were set. the old inventories give endless descriptions, but hardly any actual examples, apart from the ring-brooches and william of wykeham's magnificent nouch at new college, have survived. in the british museum is a silver-gilt brooch in form of st. christopher leaning on his staff and bearing the infant saviour on his shoulder. it is of fifteenth-century workmanship, 2¾ inches long, and was found at kingston-on-thames (pl. xx, 7). this brooch is of peculiar interest, since in the _canterbury tales_ that worn by the "yeman" is described as "a crystofre on his brest of silvyr shene." brooches and nouches, mentioned frequently in the english inventories of the fourteenth century, became even more numerous and elaborate in the century following. foreign influence, strong at this period, left its imprint upon all works of art; and the most extensive commerce was carried on with flanders, which was then the workshop of the world. yet though the following descriptions of brooches drawn from the inventory of henry iv in the inventories of the exchequer[94] show a striking similarity to the continental jewels of the same date, there is no reason to suppose that these were not actually produced in england by english workmen. five nouches, probably very similar in form to the splendid jewel at new college, oxford, and dating approximately from the same period, are thus recorded: "item v. nouches de letres m apparellez de perles et diverses peres de petit value." other brooches exhibit a variety of forms: "item i. g^ant nouche dun griffon seisant un deyme ove i. saphir en my lieu iij. baleys et vi. grosses perles"; "item i. nouche [dor] ove i. damoysell es blancz flours portant i. papingey en la mayn apparellez ove i. baleys iij. saphis iij. troches de perles ove trois diamantz contrifaitz." similarly enriched jewels have for their subjects: "i. enfant dor et i. blanc deime enaymellez"; "i. damoisell et i. unicorn [dor]"; and "un damoisell seant en un solaill." finally we meet with the following entry: "item i. nouche d'un aungell blanc tenant en sa mayn un saphir feble garnisez de vi. perles enterfoiles." [94] _kalendars and inventories of the exchequer_, iii. p. 344, etc. of all the immense wealth of jewellery of the dukes of burgundy in the fifteenth century almost every vestige has disappeared, and the public museums of the continent are practically destitute of flemish-burgundian jewellery of this date. yet the british museum, through the generosity of the late sir a. w. franks, is in fortunate possession of several exquisite examples, which were dredged a few years ago from the bed of the river meuse. the most remarkable is a gold brooch of delicate workmanship, the centre of which is occupied by a female figure: a garland encircles her head, a flower set with a small triangular diamond adorns her breast, while her hands hold in front a large faceted sapphire. around, in the midst of foliage, are three cabochon rubies, and the settings of other stones and pearls which have disappeared (pl. xx, 11). the form of this jewel is peculiarly interesting in comparison with the above-quoted _aungell tenant en sa mayn un saphir_ of the inventory of henry iv. a smaller circular brooch of similar _fabrique_ has a diamond above and a pale ruby below, and is encircled by radiating buds of flowers, the centre of each bud being formed of a ball of white enamel. of the few examples of jewels of similar character that exist at the present day upon the continent, there is in the treasury of the collegiate church of essen in rhenish prussia, amongst several fine objects of the goldsmith's art, a remarkable and comparatively unknown collection of enamelled jewels of the fifteenth century.[95] each of the sixteen objects of the series possesses what appears to be a characteristic of most jewels of this date--that is to say, it is enclosed by an encircling wreath-like ornament of the naturalistic late gothic style formed of a circular tube of gold to which are affixed leaves of stamped gold, enamelled and enriched with pearls. the centres of the jewels are occupied by a variety of motives. seven are of a purely formal composition, enriched with small white flowers, the stalks of which, covered with green enamel, resemble with their interlacing design the necklace worn by maria portinari in the van der goes triptych at florence. the remaining and more elaborate jewels contain enamelled figures of men and animals executed with extraordinary minuteness and vivacity. the finest, and on the whole the best preserved, has in the centre a female figure in full relief clothed in a white robe and long green cloak and a head-dress in the form of leaves. she is seated in a field sewn with flowers in the manner of the pictures of the period, and behind are golden rays[96] (pl. xx, 9). the figure upon another jewel has a somewhat similar background. her robe is white, and her head-dress and the edges of her wing-like sleeves red. in front of both figures is a small cluster of precious stones. though all the objects in this remarkable collection are of about the same date, they differ sufficiently to make it clear that, like the treasures from saragossa, they owe their presence here to the devotion of perhaps more than one wealthy person to a highly revered shrine. in spite of the fact that the majority are considerably damaged, they are yet eloquent proofs of the magnificent style of living at the period of their production, and valuable examples of the ornaments of the middle ages of which no other collection possesses so large and choice a variety. [95] _revue de l'art chrétien_, 1887, p. 276; and humann (g.), _die kunstwerke der münster-kirche zu essen_, pl. 62. [96] compare this jewel with "_un damoisell seant en un solaill_" in henry iv's inventory. in date one is disposed to place these brooches (or nouches, as they would be termed in old english inventories) in the first half of the fifteenth century--at least as far as the figured pieces are concerned, for jewellery in pictures of the second half of the century is mostly formed of pearls and precious stones alone. jewelled brooches of this kind ornamented with figures in relief are particularly well represented in the works of the older german painters and above all those of stephan lochner (d. 1451), in whose masterpiece in cologne cathedral, known as the "dombild," the virgin is seen wearing on her breast a brooch ornamented with clusters of pearls and the figure of a seated maiden, with a unicorn resting one foot on her lap.[97] in another celebrated picture by master stephan--the "virgin of the rose-arbour," in the cologne museum--the same subject is represented on the _mandorla_, or almond-shaped, brooch which closes the virgin's robe; while in a third picture by him in the episcopal museum of the same city--a picture which, like the rest, bears traces of flemish influence--the virgin's brooch or morse is ornamented with a female figure seated, full face, after the manner of the british museum and essen brooches.[98] [97] compare henry iv's "_i. damoisell et i. unicorn_." [98] the same motive is figured on a morse shown on the left wing of a picture in the cologne museum known as the "sippenaltar" (by the _meister der heiligen sippe_), dating from the end of the fifteenth century. the jewel is worn by s. nicasius. it is trefoil in shape, and decorated with the figure of an angel, full face, holding a large stone in front. [illustration: brooch of the virgin in lochner's "dombild" (cologne cathedral).] such is the extraordinary quality and extreme rarity of jewels of this type that attention must be drawn to yet two more examples: one in the imperial collections at vienna, and the other in the carrand collection in the bargello at florence. the former is a jewel of quite remarkable character. within the usual circle of gold wire is a pair of lovers standing side by side each holding the end of a wreath. the figures, dressed in burgundian costume of the fifteenth century and enamelled with various colours, breathe the spirit of the mediæval _amourette_ as represented upon ivory mirror-cases and jewel-caskets and in miniatures of the twelfth to the sixteenth century. between them is a triangular diamond set like the example in the british museum, and below it a pale cabochon ruby. around are five pearls (pl. xx, 8).[99] the jewel at florence (2 inches in diameter) has a border of green enamelled leaves set with pearls, and in the centre a finely modelled figure of a dromedary in white enamel. this brooch, which is in splendid condition, was perhaps intended to be worn, as were some other of these pieces, as an _enseigne_ on the hat or cap (pl. xvii, 12). [99] this jewel once formed part of the treasure of the house of burgundy, and came into the imperial collections through the marriage of mary of burgundy with the emperor maximilian i. whatever may have been their nationality, a glance at each, from those in the british museum to the one last described, is sufficient to determine the identity of their source of inspiration. all bear the stamp of the flemish-burgundian art, which throughout the fifteenth century dominated the creations of the goldsmiths, as well as the sculptors, miniaturists, and tapestry workers, of the entire west of europe. every one of these brooches is worthy of the most careful examination, particularly by the craftsman of the present day, for unlike the ornaments of more ancient times, they possess qualities which render them peculiarly appropriate to the circumstances of our later civilisation. in the refinement and simplicity of their arrangement and design these mediæval examples of the jeweller's art transcend many of the greatly admired and more famous jewels of the renaissance. chapter xviii mediæval rings and bracelets of all classes of mediæval jewellery finger rings have been preserved in the greatest number. among the various causes that have contributed to this result must be reckoned their very general use in former times, their comparatively small value, which often saved them from the melting-pot and the fact that they were almost the only articles of value usually buried with the dead. as regards the use and form of the finger ring during the middle ages, we find that it retains in the main its primitive symbolical character, being employed as an emblem rather than an ornament, to signify the investiture of office, the binding of the nuptial bond, and especially as a signet. though the occurrence of numerous rings without a seal or other mark proves their general acceptance as purely ornamental articles, so deeply was the spirit of the age imbued with leanings towards the mysterious and the occult, that nearly every ring is an _annulus vertuosus_, supposed to be endowed with some talismanic or sanative efficacy. for convenience sake mediæval rings may be separated into four main divisions: (1) ecclesiastical and devotional rings; (2) charm rings; (3) love and marriage rings; and (4) ornamental rings, including signets. rings have always been looked upon with favour by the church; they were worn regularly by the higher clergy, and formed part of their ecclesiastical insignia. the british museum, by the bequest of mr. octavius morgan, possesses an important collection of gilt bronze finger rings of enormous size, each set with a foiled glass or crystal. most of them bear on the hoop symbols of the four evangelists, the ox, lion, angel, and eagle, as well as the triple crown and crossed keys with the arms of various popes, and sometimes those of contemporary rulers, mostly of the fifteenth century. these so-called papal rings, of which other examples, and duplicates, exist, are believed to have been presented or sent by popes or cardinals as emblems of investiture when conferring an office or dignity (pl. xxiii, 10). a jewelled ring was always worn by a bishop, and was an essential part of his costume when pontificating. it was specially made for him, and usually went with him to the grave. hence it happens that many of these rings have survived, and are preserved both in museums--the collection in the franks bequest in the british museum being the most extensive--and in the cathedrals where they have been found.[100] in the earliest times bishops usually wore engraved rings for use as signets, but they seem to have had a large jewelled one as well for ceremonial use. according to the instructions of pope innocent iii in 1194, the episcopal ring was to be of solid gold set with a precious stone on which nothing was to be cut; hence the thirteenth-century rings are at times somewhat rudely fashioned, with the shape of the bezel adapted to the gem just as it was found, its surface merely being polished. among the stones usually chosen for the purpose were the ruby indicating glory, the sapphire purity, the emerald tranquillity and happiness, and crystal simplicity. antique gems in earlier times were also worn, and on some rings an inscription is added to give a christian name to the pagan figure; but others were merely regarded as ornaments without meaning, like one dating from the twelfth century in the waterton collection, which bears a roman cameo in plasma of a female head in high relief; or like the curious example found in the coffin of seffrid, bishop of chichester (d. 1151), in which is mounted a gnostic intaglio. the most usual form of ring, and one which seems to have been reserved chiefly for bishops, is of a pointed or stirrup shape. it is commonly found set with a small sapphire, more rarely with an emerald, and sometimes, as in william of wykeham's ring at new college, with a ruby (pl. xxiii, 1). the fashion for this type appears to have lasted from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century. [100] amongst others there are three in each of the cathedrals of chichester, york, winchester, and durham, and two at hereford (_archæologia_, xlv, p. 404). [illustration: _plate xxiii_ mediæval and later rings] the episcopal ring was formerly worn on the right hand, but is placed at the present day upon the annular finger--the third finger of the left hand. not more than one episcopal ring is now worn, but on sepulchral effigies and early pictures bishops are represented with three or four rings on the right hand, not infrequently upon the second joint of the fingers, and also upon the thumb. they were generally worn over the gloves, the backs of which were ornamented in addition with a large jewel. these rings were often, therefore, of considerable size, so that when worn without a glove a guard-ring was necessary to prevent their falling off.[101] mitred abbots were allowed to wear the ring; by others it might be worn, but not during the celebration of the mass. the use of a ring was forbidden to the lower clergy. [101] waterton (e.), "episcopal rings" (_arch. journ._, xx, p. 224), 1863. among the rings to be classed under the heading of religious or devotional rings, the most important are the so-called iconographic rings, that is, those which have on the bezels, or on the shoulders, which are generally grooved or fluted, figures of the virgin and child, or of patron saints. they are nearly all of the same style of workmanship and date almost exclusively from the fifteenth century. they are peculiar to england and scotland. several examples are preserved in the national museum of antiquities at edinburgh (p. 104), and others in the three great english ring collections. [illustration: english gold ring, fifteenth century. engraved with the "annunciation," and the words _en bon an_.] devotional rings of the same date, and mostly of english workmanship, have broad hoops, some engraved with sacred monograms, some with holy names such as jesus and maria, and others with the names of the three kings, spelt in all manner of ways. two exquisite english gold rings of this kind, dating from the first half of the fifteenth century, are in the british museum. one, found at coventry in 1802, is engraved with the five wounds of christ, together with the legends describing them, and on the inside an inscription containing the names of the three kings of cologne (pl. xxiii, 4, 5).[102] the other ring was dug up at godstow priory, near oxford, and is of small diameter, suited for a lady's finger, but has a broad hoop engraved with sacred figures. it appears to have been employed as a love ring, for within the hoop is an inscription which runs thus: "_most in mynd and yn myn herrt. lothest from you fer to departt_"[103] (pl. xxiii, 6). [102] _archæologia_, xviii, p. 306. [103] _arch. journ._, xx, p. 195. another form of religious or devotional ring which was sometimes used in place of the ordinary rosary of beads was the decade ring. this was so called from its usually having at intervals round the hoop ten knobs which were used for repeating ten aves, and a head or bezel for the paternoster. finger rings, to an even greater extent than any other species of mediæval jewellery, were designed to act as talismans or amulets; and they served, more than any other purpose, that of charms. their virtue was imparted sometimes by the stone, and sometimes by the device, inscription, or magical letters engraved upon them. the mystic virtues attributed to stones as well as to engraved gems during the middle ages has been frequently alluded to. among the different stones (like the sapphire, for instance, the very word for which implies protection against drunkenness) carried in the bezel of the ring, which were supposed to make the wearer proof against evil influences, the most valued was the toadstone (pl. xxiii, 9). it was supposed to be found in the head of a toad, but is in reality the fossil palatal tooth of a species of fish--the ray. a toadstone--also known as crapaudine and batrachites--in a ring was said to indicate the presence of poison by perspiring and changing colour. toadstones were much sought after, and were highly prized, even in shakespeare's day. sweet are the uses of adversity; which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head. (_as you like it_, ii, 1.) ben jonson alludes to the custom of wearing the stone in rings:- were you enamour'd on his copper rings, his saffron jewel, with the toad-stone in't? (_volpone_, ii, 5.) in addition to the stones already mentioned, greatly valued was the turkey-stone or turquoise, as the "compassionate turcoyse, which doth tell, by looking pale, the wearer is not well." (donne, _anatomie of the world_.) it was his turquoise ring which shylock would not have lost "for a wilderness of monkeys." the use of charm rings seems to have been not uncommon in early times. it was one of the articles of impeachment against hubert de burgh, the great justiciar of henry iii, that whereas the king had in his treasury a ring which rendered the wearer invincible in battle, his minister furtively removed the same and bestowed it upon llewellyn of wales. as charm rings, too, must be reckoned those which enclosed small relics. but rings so used seem for the most part to have been worn attached by a ribbon or chain to the neck, and not on the finger. since such highly valued objects as charmed stones could only be obtained by a few, cabalistic inscriptions often took their place. many of the devotional rings with the names jesus, mary, and joseph engraved on them, were used as a preservative against the plague; but the most popular inscription was, as has been seen, the names of the three kings of the east, which were a powerful charm against peril by travel and sudden death. such rings were worn against the cramp. there were also caract rings of superstitious use, which bore charms in the form of inscriptions, such as ananizapta. many other rings of this class have cabalistic names and strange barbaric words and combinations utterly unintelligible. the _fyancel_ or wedding ring appears to be of roman origin, and was usually given at the betrothal as a pledge of the engagement. two forms of these rings are the "gimmel" and the "posy" rings. gimmel rings (french, _jumelle_, a twin) are composed of two hoops forming, when closed, one ring, and so constructed as to play when open one within the other. they are of two sorts: those which are either plain or set with precious stones, and those which have the device of the _fede_ or two right hands joined. inscriptions or mottoes, as a rule in norman-french, are to be found on rings of the fourteenth, and more frequently on those of the fifteenth century. they were called "chansons" and also "resons" or "reasons," and later, poesies, posies, or posys. these love inscriptions, generally engraved on the outside of the ring (though placed inside in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries) are for the most part the same as those found on the brooches of the time, inscriptions such as _je suis ici en lieu d'ami_, and the like, being of frequent occurrence. more rarely the motto is in english, as on the beautiful iconographic gold ring in the british museum. new year's day among the romans was a _dies faustus_ and objects of jewellery were usually among the presents which it was the custom to exchange on that occasion. in the middle ages also the advent of the new year was celebrated by the bestowal of presents. among these _estrennes_ jewellery was a prominent item, and on the rings of the period (like the one figured on p. 150) the inscription, _en bon an_ frequently occurs. a very extensive group of mediæval finger rings is formed by signets. these are marked with some device, such as an animal, a bird, a tree, or any other object, so that they could be easily recognised; hence they were often given as credentials to a messenger. in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries rings of silver, and occasionally of gold, occur, with a crest or coat-of-arms, or with devices in the form of initials, and certain arbitrary signs called merchants' marks, which were used by merchants and others not entitled to armorial bearings. piers plowman speaks of "merchantes merkes ymedeled in glasse." such rings were often worn on the thumb. though armorial signets were worn in italy as early as the fourteenth century, they were not common in england till the commencement of the sixteenth. somewhat similar are certain devotional signet rings of silver or base metal engraved with an initial--generally the letter i surmounted by a coronet. the i is probably the initial of the saviour's name, such rings being worn from a belief in the efficacy of holy names as preservatives from evil. in connection with the mediæval use of ancient engraved stones, the fashion of wearing roman intaglios in rings has already been noticed. upon the metal setting around these gems a legend in latin was often engraved; the most usual inscription being sigillum secreti, sigillum meum, or the word sigillum, followed by the name of the owner (pl. xxiii, 11). rings which have the appearance of being purely ornamental were worn throughout the middle ages in considerable numbers both by men and women; yet at the same time it must ever be borne in mind that the stones set in them had probably in the eyes of the possessors a value quite independent of their use as ornaments. in the gold ornament room of the british museum is a collection of five english rings of silver of the twelfth century. they are of small intrinsic value, but of considerable interest as authenticated examples of ornamental rings of the period; for with the exception of those found on the fingers of prelates, the date of early rings is sometimes difficult to determine. the rings were dug up at lark hill, near worcester, in 1854, together with upwards of two hundred pennies of henry ii. they probably date, therefore, from about the end of the century.[104] [104] _archæologia_, xxxvi, p. 200. [illustration: french gold ring, fourteenth century (louvre).] the peculiarity of many of the richer ornamental rings of this period is the tendency to place the stone upon a high case or stalk, so that the bezel is raised considerably above the hand. a curious example, dating from the fourteenth century, is in the sauvageot collection in the galerie d'apollon of the louvre. it shows two dragons' heads issuing from crown-shaped ornaments supporting a sapphire in a high collet. in the fifteenth century a large number of rings appear to have been habitually worn; and on the monument of lady stafford in bromsgrove church, worcestershire (1450), every finger but the last one on the right hand is decorated with a ring. in many of the flemish pictures of the same date we find ornamental rings set with table-cut or cabochon stones. the form of these is admirably represented in the portrait of a goldsmith, ascribed to gerard david, in the royal gallery at vienna. in his right hand he holds one ring, and in the left a short roll of parchment, on which are placed four more. the rings are somewhat massive, and thicken towards the bezel, where they are mounted with table-cut stones within plain claw settings. in the same gallery is john van eyck's portrait, dated 1436, of john de leeuw, jeweller to philip the good, duke of burgundy. he holds between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand a gold ring set with a small cabochon stone. this notice of mediæval finger rings may be concluded by drawing attention to a picture which, in view of the jewellery of the middle ages, is one of the most fascinating of all the productions of the flemish school. the panel in question, the property of baron a. oppenheim, of cologne, represents the legend of st. godeberta and st. eloy. it was painted in the year 1449 for the corporation of goldsmiths of antwerp by petrus christus, who flourished in the first half of the fifteenth century, and died at bruges about 1472. appropriately enough, the patron saint of goldsmiths is figured in his shop; and the picture thus affords us a singularly interesting and attractive representation of the interior of a jeweller's shop in the middle of the fifteenth century with every detail of its glittering contents. st. eloy or eligius, whose figure, for all we know, may be the portrait of some well-known jeweller of the day, is seen seated at the goldsmith's bench, beside which stand dagobert, king of france, and st. godeberta. he is employed in weighing the ring with which the king seeks to espouse the virgin saint; but instead, so the legend runs, of giving her the engagement ring, he slipped on her finger a ruby ring, mystically espousing her to christ. the king wears, pinned to the front of his black chaperon, a brooch or enseigne, set with a ruby surrounded by four pearls and having a pendent drop. round his neck is a curb chain of alternate plain and beaded links, from which hangs a jewel formed of two lions _affrontés_. godeberta's head-dress, or _escoffion_, is of embroidered gold sewn with pearls. the pendant of her neck-chain, hidden by the bodice, lies between the breasts. very carefully rendered is each item of the choice collection of objects that forms the goldsmith's stock-in-trade, exhibited on a stall covered with white linen on the left hand of the goldsmith-saint. below is a box of rings, some plain, some mounted, ranged along three rolls of parchment. beside them lie large pearls and precious stones, and seed pearls sorted in a shell by themselves. behind, against the back, rest a branch of coral and oblong pieces of rock crystal and of opaque stone of porphyry-red. above, on a piece of dark cloth, hang three splendid jewels--a pendant and two brooches, and next to them a pair of tooth-like pendants, probably glossopetræ. from the shelf on the top is suspended a string of red, amber, and pale blue rosary beads, and in the middle a girdle end of brown leather with buckle and mounts of gilded metal. the remainder of the collection, formed of various vessels, comprises a crystal cylinder set with gold and precious stones and a mounted cocoanut cup; and on the upper shelf a covered cup and a couple of tall flagons of silver parcel-gilt. this remarkable picture at once brings to mind that strangely interesting series of interiors afterwards produced by quentin matsys and marinus van romerswael, representing money-changers, bankers, or usurers busily engaged in counting up or weighing coins scattered before them on a table, upon which also sometimes lie a handsome ring or two, a richly jewelled pendant, or unset precious stones and pearls. [illustration: _plate xxiv_ picture, known as the "legend of st. eloy and st. godeberta," representing the interior of a goldsmith's shop in the fifteenth century by petrus christus of bruges] bracelets bracelets were as little in vogue as earrings during the middle ages, and remarks made concerning the latter apply also to bracelets, in that they only appear as the lingering traces of byzantine fashions which, until the commencement of the twelfth century, made themselves strongly felt throughout the whole of europe. in the national museum at munich is a gold armlet formed of two hinged halves covered with filigree and beaded ornament. its outer rims are of twisted gold, and within are bands of fine plaited wire. it is adorned with bosses of filigree alternating with pyramidal projections. the origin of this fine ornament is unknown, but it probably dates from about the eleventh or twelfth century (pl. xviii, 6). the national museum of buda-pesth contains a pair of very similar armlets. in connection with these ornaments the persistence of tradition in goldsmith's work is curiously seen, since armlets closely resembling the earlier examples are made and worn in cairo at the present day. during the latter part of the middle ages it appears to have been a common practice for ladies to wear rosaries or chaplets of beads upon their wrists as bracelets. with these exceptions, the long sleeves that were worn throughout the greater part of the middle ages did not favour the use of an ornament that demanded the bare skin as a foundation. ornamental circlets round the upper arm, which are not infrequently met with in pictures, must be regarded as gold-embroidered edgings or bands. it is true they were frequently set with pearls, stones, and decorations in gold, but as they were sewn upon the sleeves they have no actual claim to the name of armlets. armlets or bracelets appear to have been worn to a certain extent towards the close of the fifteenth century, but to have been reserved chiefly for summer wear. "if the bracelets we ordered months ago are not here till the summer is over and we no longer wear our arms bare, they will be of no use." so, about 1491, says mrs. ady, wrote the famous isabella d'este, marchioness of mantua, to the skilled goldsmith, ercole fedeli, of ferrara, who had failed to execute her order punctually. the dilatoriness of the same artist on another occasion kept the marchioness waiting four years for a pair of silver bracelets, and they would never, she declared, have been finished in her lifetime if duke alfonso had not thrown him into the castello dungeon.[105] [105] cartwright (j.), _isabella d'este_, i, p. 73. though there are other references to the use of bracelets in the fifteenth century, it was not until about the middle of the century following that this species of ornament came into general use. [illustration: a goldsmith in his workshop. from _hortus sanitatis_ (strasburg, 1536).] chapter xix mediæval belts and girdles the girdle or _ceinture_ of elaborate workmanship formed no inconsiderable part of the jewellery of the wealthy in the middle ages. though actual examples are extremely rare, there is scarcely an effigy or picture from the thirteenth century to the beginning of the sixteenth which does not supply us with some varied form of this indispensable article; while the wills and inventories of the period often contain descriptions of girdles of extraordinary richness. by the poor, too, the girdle was habitually worn, but with them it frequently dwindled down to a few metal knobs sewn on to leather or on to coarse cloth. in addition to the upper girdle for fastening round the waist, a lower girdle was worn, both as an ornament and as a belt for the sword. it was a broad and sometimes stiff band which loosely encircled the body about the hips, and in the case of male attire was sometimes attached to the lower border of the tunic, with which it converged. of the narrower and more pliable species of girdle, the portions reserved for special enrichment were the ends, one of which terminated in the buckle, and the other in the pendant or _mordant_. some account of the buckle and of its plate, to which the strap of the girdle is attached, has already been given in the introduction. always a favourite field in former times for the display of the jeweller's art, it was likewise richly adorned by the goldsmiths of the later middle ages. at the other end of the girdle was a metal attachment or chape which gave it consistency where it was most required. this girdle end, which hung down and was known as the tag or pendant, was decorated with various designs frequently of an architectural character and sometimes set with precious stones; but whenever such decorations projected beyond the sides of the strap the buckle was made wider in like manner, and if tassels and other ornaments were added they were always of such size that they could pass easily through the buckle. the metal shape thus covering the end of the belt was also called the _mordant_ (of the same derivation as the word morse), especially if in the absence of a buckle it was so constructed as to hook on to a clasp to facilitate securing the belt round the person. the mordant often forms with the buckle-plate a single design, its decorated front being either as large as the plate, or of such a shape as to form with it a regular figure. from the twelfth century, when from sepulchral monuments[106] we obtain our first information respecting the girdle, until the seventeenth, we nearly always find that the end, when passed through the buckle, was twisted round the waist-strap and hung down in front, in the case of men about twelve inches and with women almost to the ground. but when, instead of a buckle, a clasp formed of a central stud or rosette was employed, either the end of the girdle itself hung down, or an additional chain was attached at the point of junction. to this was sometimes suspended a pomander-box, tablets, or a pendent reliquary. this mode, however, of suspending such objects did not come generally into vogue till the time of the renaissance, and when worn in the earlier period at the girdle they were hung at the side from a hook, somewhat like a chatelaine. [106] many admirable representations of girdles are figured in stothard's _monumental effigies of great britain_. the girdle itself was usually about two yards in length, and consisted of a strap of stamped leather, or a band of material with a firm foundation, upon which were set button-shaped decorations at regular intervals. this was known as the studded girdle (_ceinture ferrée_). among the wealthy the studs were composed of the precious metals, against which the sumptuary laws both at home and abroad (of little effect it would seem) contained special prohibitions. the studs upon the girdles of the poor were generally of the alloy of brass and tin called latten or laton, and the term "pearled with latoun" is mentioned in the _canterbury tales_. there is still in existence in the city of london the girdlers' company, which is of great antiquity. by a charter granted them by edward iii in 1327 it was forbidden to the girdlers to "garnish any girdle of silk, wool, leather or linen thread, with any inferior metal than latten, copper, iron, and steel, and if any girdles were garnished with lead pewter, or tin, the same should be burned, and the workmen punished for their false work."[107] in spite of this prohibition girdles appear to have been frequently mounted with the baser metals, and a considerable number with mountings of pewter have been discovered. their ordinance, as did that of latoners or workers in latten, likewise forbade girdlers from interfering with the trade of the goldsmiths by mounting girdles or garters with gold or silver; and that if a girdler wished to _harness_ his goods with either of the precious metals he was obliged to employ a goldsmith. in 1376 a girdler of the city of london was accused of "having secretly made in his chamber a certain girdle that was harnessed with silver." upon being brought before the justices he pleaded that his offence was a light one compared with the more serious fraud of plating with silver objects of base metal. he was dismissed with a warning. subsequently he was convicted of the very fraud he himself had mentioned, and punished with a heavy fine.[108] the work of the english goldsmiths in the adornment of girdles appears to have been well known and recognised upon the continent, and an inventory of the jewels of the duke and duchess of orleans in 1408 mentions a girdle of rich goldwork set with pearls and sapphires "_de la façon d'angleterre_." [107] riley (h. t.), _memorials of london and london life_, p. 154. [108] riley, _op. cit._, p. 399. the mediæval girdle, seldom as in later times in the form of a chain, but generally composed of leather, was sometimes ornamented in the most costly manner. in the inventory of edward ii is "a girdle in the old style [probably filigree-work] set with letters of pearls: the buckle and mordant enamelled with escutcheons of the arms of england and others."[109] in the expenses of the great wardrobe of edward iii[110] there occurs an entry of 304 dozens of silver buckles, and a similar number of pendants, while his jewels deposited in the treasury included many complete girdles enriched with enamels and precious stones.[111] from the many fifteenth-century girdles of extraordinary richness described in the inventories, the following, the property of henry iv, may be selected as an example: "item, a girdle of black silk, of gold, garnished with various stones. with 28 bars[112] of gold, 13 of which are set with 13 balasses, and 4 pearls at the corners, and 14 bars, each enamelled with various flowers, and on each 4 pearls. set on the buckle is one balas, 10 large and 6 small pearls. on the pendant one balas, 8 large and 5 small pearls." [109] _inventories of the exchequer_, iii, p. 142. [110] _archæologia_, xxxi, p. 55. [111] _inventories, etc._, iii, pp. 174, 184. [112] these bars of metal were attached vertically at intervals to the belt or girdle to maintain the rigidity of the material. the word _bar_ (corresponding to the french _clou_) was subsequently applied to all such attachments, which were sometimes perforated to allow the tongue of the buckle to pass through them (way, _prompt. parv._, p. 24). this entry probably refers to the broader and richer kind of girdle, known as the military belt (_cingulum_);[113] a similar belt being also worn by women. it was generally employed by men, as was sometimes the narrow girdle, for the purpose of hanging the sword. this belt, frequently composed of silk or gold tissue, seems to have come into general use about the fourteenth century, and was worn round the hips. it was often furnished with a buckle and mordant, but was more usually united by a clasp, which at times was made very prominent, and assumed excessive dimensions. girdles and belts in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were sometimes studded with medallions of limoges enamel. there is in the victoria and albert museum a beautiful fifteenth-century italian belt of gold tissue (pl. xxxviii, 1). its buckle, studs, and other ornaments are of gilt metal, and the broad buckle-plate is enriched with niello work, bearing the legend _virtus vin_[_cit_]. two silver-gilt plates from a gothic girdle of flemish work of the fifteenth century are in the possession of herr james simon, of berlin. each plate is almost square, and measures 1¾ by 1½ inches. the centres are sunk: within one is a figure of samson and the lion, and in the other a figure on horseback, probably st. george or st. michael. the figures, in full relief and delicately modelled, are each surrounded by pearls and blossoms, the groundwork being covered with bright green enamel, on which are small dots of white enamel capped with red. the plates are ornamented at each corner with chased gothic foliage, and have hinges at the sides to unite them to other similar sections, of which the complete girdle was, perhaps, originally composed (pl. xxv, 4). [113] hartshorne (a.), "swordbelts of the middle ages" (_arch. journ._, xlviii, p. 320). of frequent occurrence in old english wills is the word _demysent_ (or _demysens_), which refers to the little girdles worn by women: they were known in france as _demi-ceints_ or _demi-ceintures_. another species of girdle was called the _baldrick_--derived from the french _baudrier_; the _baudroier_ being the currier who prepared skins for the purpose. the term baldric or baudric, sometimes applied to the military belt worn round the waist, was generally employed for a belt worn over one shoulder, across the breast, and under the opposite arm.[114] it was often of a rich description and set with precious stones, and in early times was occasionally hung with little bells.[115] [114] way, _prompt. parv._, p. 27, n. 2. [115] there is the possibility that bells were worn as amulets, though not necessarily intended as such by their wearers. "le son de l'airain," like the tinkling ornaments of the daughters of zion (isa. iii. 18), was thought to have a prophylactic virtue. the double-tail mermaids of silver still worn in naples as charms against the evil eye are always hung with little bells (elworthy, _the evil eye_, p. 368). among the girdles in the possession of henry iv[116] one is garnished with heads of stags and small pearls, and another with ostrich plumes and little golden bells. others, mostly of stuff, are garnished with various flowers, mostly roses, or with ivy leaves, and the majority are hung with little bells. in addition to such enrichments, which included also coats-of-arms, girdles bore inscriptions, engraved on the buckle-plate, or formed of letters sewn upon the band. these latter were often of an amatory or of a superstitious character; for, like other articles of mediæval jewellery, the girdle, on account of the stones, etc., set upon it, was frequently considered endowed with talismanic properties. chaucer in his adaptation of the older "roman de la rose" describes the rich jewelled girdle, worn by one of the emblematical characters in the garden of love. it was set with stones evidently valued for their mystic properties. [116] _inventories of the exchequer_, iii, p. 337. richesse a girdle had upon, the bokell of it was of a ston, of vertue grete, and mokell of might. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the mordaunt wrought in noble wyse, was of a stone full precious, that was so fine and vertuous, that whole a man it couth make of palasey and of totheake. attached directly to the girdle or suspended from it by a hook or chain was a purse or pouch called either a _gipcière_, _aulmonière_, or _escarcelle_, which was made of velvet, silk, or stamped leather. the gipcière (also written _gypcyre_) is mentioned most frequently in early documents, where it is often described as being enriched with embroidery, and set with pearls and precious stones. like the aulmonière and escarcelle, it was worn from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century hung from a loop at the right side of the girdle. the heads or clasps of the finest purses were of beautiful workmanship, of silver, bronze, or iron, damascened, or exquisitely chiselled. for ordinary use these heads--known as gipcière _beams_--as well as the mounts or frames of the purses, were made of brass or latten; and judging from the number that has been found and preserved, in the guildhall museum, for instance, their use must have been very general in mediæval times. [illustration: "luckenbooth" brooch of silver (nat. mus. of antiquities, edinburgh).] renaissance jewellery chapter xx italy, fifteenth century the history of renaissance jewellery in general may be approached by reviewing the condition of italian jewellery in the fifteenth century. in the foregoing outline of european jewellery to the end of the fifteenth century--which has served as an approximate date for the termination of the mediæval epoch--practically no reference has been made to italy. one need only examine the general style of italian painting, architecture, and sculpture of the quattrocento, to see how far apart the art of italy stands from that of the rest of europe. italian jewellery certainly merits the great reputation it has always possessed. nor is this surprising, considering the prominent part played by the goldsmiths in the renaissance of artistic taste--by these craftsmen who, in the highest sense artists, were the first to break the fetters of tradition, and yield to those impulses that sought a wider field for the gratification of their creative instinct. hence the history of the jeweller's art in italy at the period of the quattrocento largely resolves itself into the biographies of those master sculptors and painters, who worked first as goldsmiths and jewellers, and throughout their careers remained ever mindful of their original trade. venice, which in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was the wealthiest city and the principal port in europe, though rivalled in the former century by bruges and by antwerp in the latter, encouraged the use of luxurious jewellery, as did the great cities of the north. but florence undoubtedly took the lead as an artistic centre, judging alone by the artists she produced. the paintings of the venetian school (the work of crivelli, for instance), and those of the schools of tuscany, etc., reveal the exquisite beauty of ecclesiastical jewellery, and of the ornaments with which men, no less than women, loved to deck their persons. nearly every painter possessed an insight into the mysteries of the goldsmith's craft, and represented his subject, whatever it might be, with careful attention to its jewelled accessories. the great merchants of opulent and artistic cities, such as siena, milan, and others, besides venice and florence, delighted in rich jewels; and the masters of the schools of painting which had their centres in these towns have preserved in glowing pigment a faithful record of these delicate works of art, on which the eminent jewellers of the day lavished their skill and ingenuity. the great superiority and beauty of the personal ornaments revealed to us in this manner must first of all be ascribed to that awakening to the full joy of life that was so characteristic a feature of the renaissance. the rapture of spring ran hot in men's veins. life was an uninterrupted succession of revelry and gaiety, amid splendour of colouring and glitter of gold. the goldsmith emerges from the subordinate state he occupied in the mediæval guild, and attains fame as a free artist, whose duty was to minister personally to the luxurious tastes of those who played a part in the gorgeous pageant of the new epoch. the goldsmiths included among their ranks great master craftsmen, whose perfection of technical skill seemed to find satisfaction only in overcoming the greatest problems that their art could offer. vasari tells of the very close connection and almost constant intercourse that existed between the goldsmiths and the painters. indeed, nearly every artist, before applying himself to painting, architecture, or sculpture, began with the study of the goldsmith's craft, and "passed the years of his apprenticeship in the technical details of an industry that then supplied the strictest method of design."[117] [117] symonds (j. a.), _renaissance in italy--the fine arts_, p. 91. the names of several artists of the renaissance have been handed down who are specially recorded as having worked at jewellery. one of the earliest of those who began their career in the goldsmith's workshops is ghiberti (b. 1378), who throughout life remained faithful to that species of work. his jewellery is specially extolled by vasari. following upon ghiberti were two great jewellers, tommaso (commonly called maso) di finiguerra and antonio pollaiuolo; the former famous for his nielli, the latter for his enamel-work upon relief. pollaiuolo's love for jewel-forms in his paintings (executed together with his brother piero) is seen not only in the annunciation at berlin, but in the group of ss. eustace, james, and vincent in the uffizi, and the portrait of simonetta vespucci at chantilly. born in 1435, a few years after pollaiuolo, andrea del verrocchio resembled in the peculiar versatility of his genius, others of these typical artists of the middle or high renaissance--the epoch of the goldsmith it has been termed. a jeweller whose influence in his own day was greater, and whose fame almost equalled that of cellini, was ambrogio foppa, called caradosso, who was born about 1446 at milan. he worked first in the service of ludovico sforza, and afterwards at rome, where he died as late as the year 1530. he seems to have been skilled in every branch of the goldsmith's art, and especially excelled in making little medallions of gold, enriched with figures in high relief and covered with enamels, which were worn as enseignes in the hat or hair. his work in this direction is highly extolled by cellini, and his skill in enamelling specially mentioned by vasari. among the artists of the end of the fifteenth century who, after being goldsmiths and jewellers, became celebrated as painters must be mentioned botticelli (1444-1510), domenico del ghirlandaio (1449-1494), and francia (1450-1517). ghirlandaio is commonly referred to as a maker of the jewelled coronals (_ghirlande_), popular with the unmarried and newly wedded ladies of florence. it is probable that he did produce this class of work in early life; but his name seems to have been borne by several members of his family, for in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries a goldsmith was often familiarly termed "ghirlandaio," as one of his chief occupations was the manufacture of the rich head-ornaments then so much in vogue. [illustration: pendant worn by one of the three graces in botticelli's "primavera."] though ghirlandaio does not fill his pictures with dainty details like the intricate settings which botticelli devised for the neck-pendants of the graces in his "primavera," yet he invariably pays careful regard to the representation of jewelled accessories. such may be seen in the well-known portrait of giovanna tornabuoni (1488), belonging to mr. pierpont morgan (formerly in the kann collection). she has two jewels: one, worn on her breast, is formed of a ruby in claw setting with a small beryl above, and hung with three pendent pearls; the other, specially introduced into the picture and lying beside her in a recess, is composed of a cluster of stones--a ruby surrounded by two pearls and three beryls--beautifully set, and surmounted by a winged dragon with a sapphire over its head. resting upon a table in the foreground of another picture--a curious panel in the possession of mr. george salting--representing costanza de' medici, are several pins, three rings on a roll of parchment, and a pendant hung with three pearls and set with a large and a small sapphire. in the pitti gallery is a portrait, not by domenico, but by his son ridolfo ghirlandaio, which may be here alluded to owing to the special interest of its subject. the portrait is that of a jeweller holding in his hand and gazing intently at what is presumably one of his own creations--a richly enamelled jewel fashioned in the form of a "pelican in its piety." [illustration: jewel, in ghirlandaio's portrait of giovanna tornabuoni.] concerning the jewellery of the great goldsmith of bologna, francesco raibolini, called francia, a considerable amount of information has been preserved. born in 1450, he passed the best part of his life as a goldsmith, and not till he was upwards of forty did he abandon the goldsmith's art for that of the painter.[118] one of francia's finest paintings is the "felicini" altar-piece in the bologna gallery, executed in 1484 by commission of messer bartolomeo felicini for the church of s. maria della misericordia in that city. among the many splendid gifts this famous church had received was a jewel which the records say was set by francia himself. its beauty was held in such esteem, that by desire of the chapter the artist introduced it into his picture, where it can be seen hanging over the head of the madonna. its centre is occupied by a fine amethyst, and is bordered by deep blood-crimson enamel, with pearls at the angles. so carefully is every detail of this jewel painted, that a modern goldsmith has found no difficulty in copying it with absolute exactness[119] (pl. xxv, 1). [118] williamson (g. c.), _francia_, pp. 2, 3, 21, 38. [119] for a photograph of this jewel, and for the information respecting it and the other works of this artist, i am indebted to the kindness of dr. williamson. [illustration: _plate xxv_ fifteenth-century pendants, etc. (italian and flemish)] the last of the great jewellers of the quattrocento was michelagnolo di viviano, who worked at florence under the patronage of lorenzo and giuliano de' medici. he was the earliest instructor of the greatest goldsmith and jeweller of the late renaissance, benvenuto cellini, in whose _treatise_ and _life_ he is spoken of with the highest praise. from actual examples we obtain but slight information of the italian ornaments of the fifteenth century; but that there is a distinct alteration in the style of jewellery between the quattrocento and the cinquecento, the pictures of these great artistic periods offer abundant proofs. this difference is particularly noticeable in ornaments for the head. during the fifteenth century we find the forehead heightened, and the space thus obtained emphasised by a single jewel placed at the top of the brow. this form of ornament is admirably shown in piero della francesca's "nativity" in the national gallery, and particularly in his "madonna and child," with saints and angels, and with the donor, federigo of montefeltro, duke of urbino, in the brera, milan. the parts of these two pictures most characteristic of the artist are the figures of the angels, who wear jewels executed with extraordinary brilliancy--compositions of pearls in delicate goldwork enriched with blue enamel. precious stones and jewels were often sewn, at regular intervals, all round the band of ribbon or galloon that encircled the head, as seen in a portrait in the ambrosiana, milan, ascribed to ambrogio da predis, and considered to be that of beatrice d' este; but it is more usual to find in the centre of the brow an isolated jewel, held by a narrow ribbon or silken cord, knotted at the back of the head--as in caroto's portrait of the duchess elizabeth gonzaga in the uffizi, who wears on the forehead a jewelled scorpion, emblem of logic. this head-ornament is known as the _ferronnière_; and the origin of its title is somewhat peculiar. there is in the louvre an attractive and greatly admired portrait of a lady, with her hair held in place by black cord supporting a diamond in the middle of the forehead. for many years the portrait was entitled "la belle ferronnière," having been erroneously considered to be that of the blacksmith's wife (ferronnière) whose beauty enthralled francis i in his declining years. it is now generally held to be a portrait of lucrezia crivelli, mistress of ludovico moro, duke of milan. the name of the painter is a matter of dispute, though the work is still ascribed, as it has long been, to leonardo da vinci. at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when the romantic movement was at its height, a similar ornament was revived, and received its present name under a misconception of the subject of the picture. in the sixteenth century this simple ornament is abandoned, and it was the painter's task to depict magnificent coiffures like those of veronese's ladies, sprinkled with jewels and entwined with ropes of pearls. as regards the ornaments for the neck, the changes of fashion in the two periods and the artistic mode of expressing the fashion demanded a different style of jewellery. the slender neck which is displayed in the portraits of the earlier period required lighter ornaments than did the massive forms of the later. "the artist no longer trifled with single gems, hanging on a thread, but painted a solid chain, and the light, close-fitting necklace becomes pendent and heavy."[120] the distinct refinement exhibited in italy in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries did not demand a great profusion or variety of jewellery. as the pendent ornament for the neck-chain, a simple jewel formed by one stone in the centre and smaller stones or four pearls around seems in most cases to have been sufficient. circular pendants of niello-work surrounded by silver-gilt bands of corded ornament were much in use, and a small number, dating from about 1460 to 1530, have survived. they sometimes bear a religious subject (pl. xix, 4). but not infrequently the head of a lady is represented in profile, generally with a flower under her nose; and it is possible that these were worn by men as a pledge of affection from their lady-love. finger rings with somewhat similar designs were also worn (pl. xxiii, 16). [120] wölfflin (h.), _the art of the italian renaissance_, p. 234. beyond a small number of objects of this description, very few examples of italian quattrocento jewellery have escaped the crucible. the change of taste even between the early and the full renaissance was sufficient to cause their destruction. among surviving jewels of this century is a very beautiful gold and enamel pendant in the collection of mr. pierpont morgan. it is circular in form, and was probably intended as a reliquary. upon the front is an annunciation in high relief. the garment of the virgin is enriched with red and blue, and that of the angel with red and white enamel; the chequered base being of translucent green. around is a border of leaves and flowers enamelled red and white. the open-work back consists of a central rosette, surrounded by interlacing curves, and edged with a delicate wreath (pl. xxv, 2). it remains to draw attention, by means of a beautiful representation of jewellery in painting, to an example of the style of brooch worn in florence in the latter part of the fifteenth century. the picture referred to is that of the virgin and child (no. 296) in the national gallery. it is apparently the work of verrocchio, pollaiuolo, or one of the goldsmith-painters of whom we have spoken; for the minute execution of the ornaments would seem to denote the hand of an artist who had practised the goldsmith's and jeweller's art. the brooch that serves as a fastening for the virgin's cloak--the same being represented on that of one of the angels--is of most charming design. it has in the centre a table-cut ruby, around which are set four pearls between ornaments in the form of blackberries, surrounded by an outer border of blackberry leaves. so carefully is the jewel drawn that every detail can bear close inspection. a peculiar point of interest is that the pearls, each of which is set in a couple of crutch-like clasps, appear to correspond to the "perles à potences" frequently mentioned in the contemporary jewel inventories of the dukes of burgundy. [illustration: brooch worn by the virgin in fifteenth-century florentine picture (no. 296, national gallery, london).] some measure of compensation for the unfortunate lack of actual examples of italian quattrocento jewellery is obtained, apart from their representation in pictures, by the very remarkable use that was made of jewel forms for the marginal decoration of manuscripts. such enrichments of the borders of missals, etc., by means of painted jewel ornaments, would seem to be but the direct outcome of the system whereby most of the painters, sculptors, architects, and no less eminent miniaturists received their first instruction in art in the workshops of the goldsmiths. it is certain from their quality that the jewels represented in manuscripts, generally in their natural size, are the work of artists well acquainted with the jeweller's art, whose eyes were further impressed by the embroidered edgings of ecclesiastical vestments enriched with jewel ornaments and sewn with pearls and precious stones. in painting with corresponding luxury the border decorations of church missals, the miniaturists have obviously not drawn on their imagination, or constructed jewel forms in a mere haphazard manner. the individual pieces, often complete jewels, are just such as might at the time have been found on the shelves of some goldsmith's workshop. among the most skilful of such reproductions of jewels are those in the celebrated choir books of the cathedral of siena, particularly the pages painted by liberale di giacomo da verona, who worked at siena from the year 1466. an examination of these illuminations reveals liberale as an artist thoroughly conversant with the jeweller's craft: so that his work, together with that of his followers, such as the florentine giovanni di giuliano boccardi, the dominican fra eustachio, litti di filippo corbizi, monte di giovanni, antonio di girolamo, the famous attavante, and the various miniaturists of king mathias corvinus of hungary, apart from its charming execution, constitutes a veritable storehouse of information respecting the ornaments of the period. particularly fine examples of jewelled and enamelled decorations are also contained in choir books in the cathedral of florence, missals in the barberini palace, rome, a bible of mathias corvinus in the vatican library, several books in the brera at milan, and the fine glockendon missal (_circa_ 1540) in the town library at nuremberg. more important perhaps than all is the grimani breviary, now in the library of st. mark's, venice. the ornamentation of this famous work, the product of a flemish artist of the final years of the fifteenth century, displays a northern naturalism favourable to the striking representation of jewel forms, and serves to illustrate the close and active relationship then existing between the flemish and italian goldsmiths.[121] [121] the whole of this magnificent work has been reproduced by sijthoff, of leyden, under the direction of scato de vries and dr. s. morpurgo. [illustration: a fifteenth-century jeweller. from _ortus sanitatis_ (strasburg, about 1497).] chapter xxi sixteenth-century jewellery (general) italy, sixteenth century great ostentation and external splendour were the chief features of the renaissance. so, if the jewellery of this time appears to us more magnificent than that of any other, this superiority is but an indirect result of the intermediate causes which find a place in all that is included under the term renaissance. in enumerating certain characteristics that distinguish sixteenth-century jewellery from that of other epochs, the enormous quantity used may first of all be noted. a general increase in wealth had taken place, but in the comparative rarity of opportunity for investments, it was still customary to keep gold and precious stones secreted,[122] or, as was more generally done, make them into ornaments of small compass and easily convertible into hard cash. [122] this tendency is as common as ever in the east, particularly among high-class natives of india, on account of the prevailing belief that the only safe way to invest money is to purchase precious stones and similar articles of intrinsic or sterling value. (see _nineteenth century_, lviii, p. 290, 1905, "the origin of money from ornament.") coupling this with the magnificent style of living during the renaissance, we need feel less surprise at the extraordinary abundance of jewellery which we read of in contemporary chronicles, and find represented in the utmost variety on the portraits of the period. men of solid reputation and serious disposition seem, equally with women, to have fallen victims to the reigning passion for jewellery. if we are at first inclined to wonder at the number of cinquecento jewels that have survived, we can more readily understand that they represent the merest fraction of what formerly existed, when we take into consideration all the risks of destruction such fragile and precious objects have undergone--objects by their nature the very first to disappear. monetary pressure caused by war, the division of property, and many other events were fraught with danger to objects in the precious metals. change of taste, almost as rapid as that in dress, which has caused the last fashion but one to be the least of all desired, necessitated the repeated refashioning of jewellery. notwithstanding their perfection, the exquisite productions of the sixteenth century were unable to resist the fatal influence of fashion, and were largely broken up towards the termination of the seventeenth century, when brilliant enamels and artistically wrought gold were less in request, and the precious metals became entirely subservient to the stones, for which they acted simply as settings. on the other hand, their small size, which has rendered them easy to conceal, accounts for the preservation of some examples, while mere chance, or perhaps an historical association, oft-times solely traditional, has saved others from destruction. the finest productions of the artificers of antiquity transcend in abstract beauty of design everything, perhaps, that has since been produced. those of the mediæval craftsmen possess a charm and beauty impossible to deny, and a peculiar _naïveté_ and ingenuousness of their own, to be looked for in vain elsewhere. it must be acknowledged, however, that the jewels of the renaissance, the receptacle of every variety of adornment by way of precious stones, pearls, and enamels that the goldsmith could devise in order to enrich them, are in their own manner incomparable. it may be that some err so far on the side of over-elaboration that they lose the balance and dignity of harmonious design, but the majority possess qualities rarely found in combination save at this remarkable period--a richness of form, boldness of conception, and extraordinary refinement of technique. there is no species of technical work, whether it was a case of hammering, chasing, or casting, or, above all, enamelling, that was not then brought to perfection. but the splendours of the renaissance must not blind us to the efforts of the preceding age; for thorough though the change was from the style of gothic art, the jewellers of the renaissance were deeply indebted to the mediæval traditions which they had by their side to aid them in developing their artistic conceptions. another noticeable point with regard to the jewellery of this period is its astonishing variety. its decline, and reduction to a monotonous repetition of design, coincides with the disappearance of those artists who possessed the universality of a man like cellini, and with the division of labour characteristic of modern art and industry. in addition to the enormous quantity used, a distinctive feature of renaissance ornaments is the preference shown for colour. the placing together of bright-coloured gems with delicately worked gold invariably enriched with polychrome enamels is the fundamental motive of the jewellery of the period. so admirable was the craftsman's taste that each jewel forms in itself a scheme perfect in design and colour, and the rubies, emeralds, and sapphires introduced for the sake of their colour values, serve the composition as a whole without overwhelming it; while the diamond, which comprised almost the sole material of the jewellery of later times, was used only for purposes of contrast. it cannot be said that precious stones had entirely forfeited their mediæval reputation at the period of the revival; but as jewellery was beginning to assume generally the character of mere ornament, the stones which enriched it were naturally chosen rather with an eye to their decorative qualities than for any fancied virtues they might be considered to possess. one of the charms of this old jewellery lies in the setting of its stones, which are mostly table-cut, and fixed in square pyramidal collets. the usual process of setting was to rub the upper edges of the closed and box-like collet over the setting edge of the stone, and occasionally to lay over this an additional ornament in imitation of claws. this manner of beating up or pressing the edges of the collet over the faceted sides of the stone is extremely pleasing, for the stone, with its colour thrown up by a foil or _paillon_, harmonises admirably with the somewhat irregular frame of gold that surrounds it. the art of enamelling, especially where figures are represented in full relief, attains the highest point of perfection. even when enamels cover the various parts of jewels in a wondrous harmony of colour, the artists of the period contrived with extraordinary tact to leave small portions in gold: the hair of the figures, manes of horses, armour, weapons--glittering points that enhance the beauty of the whole. translucent and opaque enamels are found side by side employed in different modes with astounding assurance. extensive use was made of opaque white enamel, always by way of contrast; a favourite device being to enrich with it the edges of tendrils in the form of minute beads, each no larger than a pin's head. it is the desire for harmony and beauty of execution, rather than for display of wealth, that characterises the best productions of the renaissance, whose true value lies not in their intrinsic, but in their real artistic worth. the whole of every jewel, back as well as front, is finished and enamelled with the same exquisite care. what little material value these jewels possessed when their form and design was destroyed and their beautiful devices obliterated is well illustrated by brantôme's story of the jewels of the countess of châteaubriand. this lady had been supplanted in the affections of francis i by another--the future duchess of estampes--who persuaded the king to claim all the fine jewels he had bestowed on his former mistress. the value of these lay chiefly in their beautiful designs and devices, so on receiving the demand, she melted them all down, and returned them to him converted into golden ingots. the splendid love of life which finds expression in every production of renaissance art exercises a pervading influence over its jewellery, and determines the subjects to be represented. all the larger objects, and indeed every object which is not of a purely decorative pattern, is given to the depicting of a subject. throughout the finest period of jewellery, goldsmith's work was closely associated with sculpture; and the human figure, or figures of animals either real or imaginary, wrought in relief or executed in the round, find a place on almost every jewelled composition. the subjects, largely chosen from among the new circle of ideas opened up by the literature of the renaissance, reveal wide knowledge of classical mythology, romance, and poetic legends, as well as remarkable adaptive genius. nor are subjects from the old and new testaments excluded; though fanciful groups--in one case a representation of some theological virtue, and in another some sacred allegory--are more popular. the symbolical figures of the middle ages, as the unicorn and the "pelican in her piety," with sea monsters and fantastic men and beasts, are of frequent occurrence. subjects such as these, and many others suggested by the fertile mind of the renaissance jeweller and the artist who drew his designs, are so numerous that space would fail were one to attempt to enumerate even a tithe of those met with on jewels of the cinquecento. notwithstanding its subjects, we find in the jewellery of the renaissance, beyond what tradition had preserved, no direct influence resulting from the study of the ornaments of the ancients, though the awakened interest of italy in the antique cannot but have been accompanied by some acquaintance with the productions of her early goldsmiths. there appears, however, to have been no attempt to base the jewels of the period on the forms of ancient ornaments, to imitate the beaded work of the etruscans or the goldwork of ancient greece or rome. yet renaissance design of the sixteenth century, with its arabesques and scrollwork (best represented by raphael's famous arabesques in the loggia of the vatican) seems to have been in the main inspired by antique designs, such as the frescoes discovered at rome in 1506, in the baths of petus--the so-called grottos, from which was derived, as cellini explains, the term grotesque. the newly developed design, a combination of figures, masks, flowers, fruits, and various other details, applicable as it was to every branch of art, was peculiarly adapted to jewellery, and was quickly seized upon by the jewellers, who employed it for ornaments of a purely decorative formation, or for the framework or backgrounds of the exquisite figured compositions then so much in vogue. the real difficulty that confronts one in dealing with the jewellery of the sixteenth century lies not in the inability to obtain the necessary material examples, but in expressing a definite opinion as to their nationality and origin; and this difficulty the best informed and most experienced connoisseurs are the first to confess. the utmost, therefore, that one can hope to do, without attempting in every case to arrive at accurate conclusions, is to indicate, as far as possible, such means as may be of assistance in ascribing a nationality, not to all, but to at least the majority of renaissance ornaments. italy, sixteenth century italian jewellery of the sixteenth century presents what is probably one of the most difficult problems in the whole history of the art. in the fifteenth century the almost complete absence of examples necessitates recourse mainly to pictures; but italian pictures of the sixteenth century are of comparatively small assistance, from the fact that italian painters of that period mostly neglected the preciosity of style and delicacy of perception that studied the gleam and shimmer on jewels and such-like objects. the bright blending of beautiful colours had to give way to strong shadows and skilful effects of perspective. there exists, on the other hand, an abundance of material in the form of actual specimens of cinquecento jewellery, but owing to the far-reaching influence of the renaissance style of ornament a decision as to their precise provenance is a matter of the utmost difficulty. the great popularity of one of the central figures of the late renaissance--benvenuto cellini (1500-1572)--has for many years caused the finest examples to be attributed to him or to his school, often with complete disregard of their design, which can be traced in many cases to another source. it is unnecessary to give a biographical account of the famous florentine goldsmith, for his life may best be studied in his own memoirs. more to the present purpose is it to attempt to estimate the real position that cellini should occupy, especially with regard to such examples of jewellery as have come down to the present day. upon the question of cellini the artistic world has long been divided into two camps. the majority of those who have previously dealt with the subject have considered it sufficient to sum up the whole history of the jeweller's art of the sixteenth century under the name of this one artist, and to attribute everything important to him. the lively and singularly attractive narrative of his own life and adventures contains such candid glorification of himself and his work, that the temptation is strong to follow the majority, and, unmindful of his contemporaries, to associate with him, as he himself has done, the finest jewellery of the whole renaissance. eugène plon, for example, cellini's chief exponent, in his magnificent work, _benvenuto cellini, orfèvre, médailleur, sculpteur_ (1883), though eminently just, and on the whole fair in his attributions, cannot disguise an evident desire to ascribe to the florentine goldsmith, or at any rate to his school, not only several jewels which might conceivably be associated with cellini, but also several others of more doubtful origin. among these is the important group of jewels in the rothschild collection in the british museum, known as the waddesdon bequest, the real origin of all of which is held by those best entitled to judge to be incontestably german. cellini's critics, on the other hand, sceptical, and in the main dispassionate, have placed him under a more searching light, and despoiled him of the halo with which his own memoirs have encircled him. he remains, however, an excellent and many-sided artist, thoroughly versed in all the technicalities of his craft, and one who without doubt strongly influenced his contemporaries. admirable goldsmith and jeweller as he certainly was, he is entitled to the highest distinction, but not so much on account of the references in his _vita_ and _trattati_ to his own productions, as for his lucid treatment of technical questions. "artists," says mr. symonds, "who aspire to immortality should shun the precious metals." despite all that has been said respecting such jewels as the _leda and the swan_ at vienna (pl. xxix, 5), the _chariot of apollo_ at chantilly, and the mountings of the two cameos, the _four cæsars_ and the _centaur and the bacchic genii_ in the bibliothèque nationale at paris, which have, with some degree of likelihood, been attributed to cellini, the only quite authenticated example of his work as a goldsmith is the famous golden salt-cellar at vienna. this object when looked at from the goldsmith's point of view, in the matter of fineness of workmanship and skill in execution, is seen to possess particular characteristics which should be sufficient to prevent the attribution to cellini of other contemporary work, created by jewellers who clearly drew their inspiration from entirely different sources. in endeavouring to affix a nationality to existing jewels, the only really serviceable landmarks are those furnished by the collections of engraved designs by german and french masters of ornament; and when these are compared with the contemporary work just spoken of, the common origin of nearly all becomes at once evident. bearing in mind the skill and fame of the italian goldsmiths, not only of cellini, but of his contemporaries, such as girolamo del prato, giovanni da ferenzuola, luca agnolo, and piero, giovanni, and romalo del tovaloccio, the reason why the vast majority of extant jewels should follow german designs is difficult to understand. an authority no less reliable than sir a. w. franks has expressed an opinion that the designs of dürer, aldegrever, and other german artists were extensively used in italy.[123] italian goldsmiths did not produce any such examples of engraved ornament for jewellery as did their confrères in germany, france, and flanders; but the current knowledge we possess of the art of the period renders it at least unlikely that the individuality which is the key-note of all the productions of the italian renaissance would have countenanced there, in italy, the use of extraneous ready-made designs. certainly artists of the stamp of cellini would not have used them. one is forced nevertheless to acknowledge the possibility of minor italian craftsmen having executed jewels from german engravings. the international character visible on so many art objects of the time must be attributed in no small degree to the circulation of such designs in almost all the workshops of europe. [123] _proc. soc. antiq._, xiv, p. 180. a reason for the many difficulties that arise in connection with this particular question seems to lie in the fact that for causes unexplained the jewellery of the first half of the sixteenth century, whether italian, german, or of other nationality, has almost all vanished, and that examples met with at the present day belong chiefly to the second half of that century. while acknowledging the existence of a fair number of jewels whose authorship cannot be otherwise than italian, and without denying the possibility of the survival of examples of jewellery even from the hand of cellini himself, a protest must be raised against the practice, hitherto so common, of describing _every_ jewel of the sixteenth century as italian, and of coupling _every_ high-class object of this description with the magic name of cellini. chapter xxii the sixteenth century germany, the low countries, hungary though introduced early into germany, the style of the italian renaissance made its way but slowly in a country where the ideas of the middle ages long held possession of people's minds. it was not till after about 1515, when the spread of books and engravings quickened its general acceptance, that the new movement gained ground there. the german goldsmiths, when once they had cast aside the gothic style, seized upon renaissance ornament with such avidity that by the second half of the sixteenth century they had acquired a widespread fame, and would seem by their richness of invention to have completely cast into the shade the italian jewellers of their own day. from an early period there had been a steady flow of artists leaving germany to study in the great italian ateliers. the principal of these, and one who influenced his countrymen more than any, was albert dürer, who showed in the engravings produced after his journey to italy a perfect apprehension of italian design. as it travelled northward, renaissance ornament increased in freedom from classic rule, and in the hands of the later draughtsmen and engravers who executed patterns for the goldsmiths, it lost much of its original purity, and assumed a mixed style, composed of strap and ribbon work, cartouches, and intricate complications of architectural members; while the industrious affectation of the jewellers of the day for manipulative difficulties led to the production of ornaments whose effect is sometimes marred by over-elaboration of detail. in addition to other circumstances, we must remember that the greater wealth of the middle classes was a powerful factor in the increasing production of jewellery. the goldsmiths consequently occupied an important position; and that there was a great demand for their services is proved by the fact that patterns for jewellery executed on their behalf by the foremost engravers of the day form no unimportant part of the engraved work produced by these artists. in germany, as elsewhere, success in trade resulted in a demand for objects of luxury. the city of augsburg, situated on a great trade route, early attained to a height of commercial prosperity, while munich, and especially nuremberg, not far distant, flourished to an equal degree. under the stimulating patronage of wealthy families, such as the fugger family of augsburg, articles of jewellery of every kind were produced in abundance, and throughout the sixteenth century found their way over nearly the whole of europe. in addition to these three cities, prague during the last few years of the sixteenth and the commencement of the seventeenth century was likewise a centre for the manufacture of an immense amount of enamelled jewellery. this industry, carried on with considerable activity owing to the influence of the archduke ferdinand of tirol (1520-1595), brother of maximilian ii, was most flourishing in the time of the emperor rudolph ii (1552-1612), king of hungary and bohemia, under whose patronage several remarkable specimens of german goldsmith's work now at vienna were executed, such as the austrian imperial crown, made in the year 1602. the epoch of about forty years that terminated at the death of rudolph ii in 1612, and known as the rudolphine period, witnessed the production, mainly in southern germany, of the greater part of the enamelled jewellery now extant. renaissance jewellery, as we speak of it, may be said to have almost ceased after that period, at a date which coincided with the outbreak of the thirty years' war in germany, and the civil war in england. its proximity to italy rendered augsburg more quickly subject to the influence of the italian style than nuremberg and munich, though by the middle of the sixteenth century the whole of southern germany followed the style of decoration of the italian masters so thoroughly, that it is difficult to assign a large proportion of the ornaments of the period to either nation, since the distinguishing feature of the hall-mark finds no place on jewellery, as on other objects in the precious metals. it is true that the extraordinary development of cartouche and strap ornament on german work, as on that of the netherlands, serves in many cases to distinguish it from the italian, yet there is sufficient similarity in details of ornamentation, in masks and figures, as well as in the method of enamel-work and the setting of gems, to account for the divergence of opinion that exists as to the provenance of all the jewels of the period. such is the glamour that surrounds italian art, that it has been the custom to assign every fine jewel of the renaissance to italy; but a careful examination of existing examples has left us convinced that by far the greater number of them are not italian, but of german origin, and belong to the second half of the sixteenth century and the early years of the seventeenth. portraits, alone, by such german painters as wolgemut, strigel, burgkmair, altdorfer, hans baldung grien, lucas cranach, and bartholomäus bruyn, show that by the very commencement of the sixteenth century the wealth of the merchant princes of southern germany resulted in an even greater display of jewellery than was indulged in by the italians. various other considerations contribute to this conviction. first and foremost is the question of the designs from which the jewellers drew their ideas. a certain number of original drawings for jewellery by german artists exist. of these there are examples of the work of the two greatest, namely dürer (1471-1528) and holbein (1497-1543). to holbein's drawings, which were executed in england, detailed reference is made in a later chapter. in his designs for jewellery, as in all else, dürer, the son of a goldsmith and descended from one on his mother's side, maintains a high standard of excellence. his drawings (as catalogued by lippmann) include the following: (1) _in the kunsthalle, bremen_. three sketches for pendent whistles, where the sound-producing part is formed of a ball with a hole in it, into which the air is carried by a pipe. in two cases the ball is held in the mouth of a lion, and in the third in the beak of a cock. the animals stand each on a curved pipe, and have a ring above for suspension (l. 124). (2) _in the british museum_. two sketches for ring-shaped pendants--apparently whistles (pl. xxvi, 1). in both cases is air blown from a mouthpiece half-way round the ring into a ball held in an animal's mouth (l. 252). (3) _in the possession of herr von feder, karlsruhe_. four designs for brooches and clasps, richly ornamented (l. 433-435, and 437). two of these sketches (l. 433 and 437) and several others (the whereabouts of the originals of which is not known) were etched by wenzel hollar in the seventeenth century, and are enumerated in parthey's catalogue of hollar's works. the etchings after the two known originals are numbered 2565 and 2561. the other jewels etched by hollar from dürer's designs are the following: (1) a pendant in the form of st. george and the dragon within a laurel wreath, with a ring above and below (p. 165). (2) a girdle-end formed of two dolphins with a chain attached (p. 2559). (3) a buckle and buckle-plate--the buckle formed of two dolphins, the plate ornamented with two cornucopiæ (p. 2560). (4) a round scent-case or pomander (p. 2567). in addition are miscellaneous designs for ornaments, erroneously considered to be patterns for embroidery (p. 2562-3-4 and 2566). a charming representation of a pendent jewel is seen in dürer's woodcut of the emperor maximilian's triumphal arch suspended from the imperial crown held by the figure of genius. [illustration: _plate xxvi_ designs for jewellery by dürer and holbein] following dürer there appeared a number of goldsmiths who, with the spread of the new style over europe, were prepared to perform the task of remodelling personal ornaments in accordance with the taste of the day. the most ingenious of them, together with some artists of distinction, engraved with great fertility of imagination, for those who were not capable of design, patterns for goldsmith's work and jewellery. a large demand was made on the productive faculties of these engravers, who included among their ranks not only the best artists, termed from the usual small size of their productions "the little masters," but many other designers of goldsmith's ornament; and from their works, multiplied by means of engraving, the numerous craftsmen who worked in gold, enamel, and precious stones, drew their subjects and ideas. on the question of the production of jewellery from such engraved designs, it is interesting to note the several points of similarity that exist in the procedure of the ornamentists of the sixteenth century and that of the english furniture-designers of the eighteenth. in both cases the original producers of the designs were practical craftsmen, who certainly executed objects after their published patterns; while the patterns themselves were employed extensively as models. in both cases, too, it is quite evident that in a number of instances fanciful designs were produced which were never carried out. hence one can readily understand the difficulties that are encountered in attempting to determine the provenance of such small and portable objects as personal jewels, the engraved designs for which were in like manner widely distributed. but there is the strong probability, after all, that the greater number of jewels, after engraved designs of german origin, were executed in, or not very far distant from the locality in which the designs originated. if designs are considered insufficient for the identification of jewels, there exists a means much more certain, and one which should surely prevent the attribution to italians of jewels unquestionably the work of german craftsmen. it may be remembered that cellini in his _trattati_, in dealing with the goldsmith's art, advised jewellers to preserve castings in lead of their works in gold and silver. in many cases cellini's recommendation has been literally carried out, and a considerable number of proofs struck by german jewellers of details of their jewels have fortunately come down to us. the bavarian national museum at munich contains a highly important collection of these leaden casts, being a complete series used by a family of gold and silver workers in augsburg for upwards of 250 years (from about 1550 to 1800). the jewellers of augsburg were among the first in europe, and these models of their productions, bearing strong traces of the influence of contemporary ornamentists, correspond in many details with original jewels dating from those times. examples of these lead models for jewellery exist in other collections, such as the historical museum at basle. of the same material but of infinitely higher artistic importance, are the lead models by the hand of peter flötner of nuremberg. in addition to engraved designs, flötner executed models for goldsmiths, carved in stone and boxwood. from these--of which original examples have survived--casts (so-called plaquettes) were made in lead, which were used as patterns for craftsmen in the same manner as engravings of ornament. flötner's models, though issued mainly for workers in gold and silver plate, were employed also by the jewellers, and exercised considerable influence on their productions. few engraved designs for jewellery are prior in date to the year 1550, though nearly all the prominent painter-engravers delighted in exercising their inventive faculty in this direction. one or two plates of pendants by brosamer, and a buckle and whistle by aldegrever, represent almost the sole engravings of the kind before virgil solis--the first to devise a more ambitious series of jewels. amongst the earliest is the _kunstbüchlein_[124] or pattern book for goldsmith's work, by hans brosamer (about 1480-1554). these woodcuts, which are singularly attractive, are of a transitional character, with traces of gothic design. they include two pages of pendants composed of stones between leafwork grouped round a central ornament and hung with pear-shaped pearls. one pendant consists of a niche between pillars--a similar style of ornament to that adopted by androuet ducerceau, and the first assignable instance, says herr lichtwark,[125] of the use of architecture in german jewellery of this time, though this same motive was frequently represented later on by erasmus hornick and mignot. three other pendants are in the form of whistles for wearing on the neck-chain. in an engraving for a whistle of a similar kind by aldegrever (1502-1558), the lower part is formed of a case containing an ear-pick and a knife for the finger-nails. except for this design (which finds a place in the background of his engraving of the pair of folding pocket-spoons of the year 1539), aldegrever's only example of jewellery is the remarkable gothic girdle-buckle with its buckle-plate and tag (dated 1537). the characteristic fig-leaf ornament of the early german renaissance is better represented here than on any other engraving of the period. [124] reproduced by quaritch in 1897 from a copy now in the possession of mr. max rosenheim. [125] lichtwark (a.), _der ornamentstich der deutschen frührenaissance_, p. 111. more modern in style is mathias zundt (1498-1586), whose compositions (dated 1551-1554) are carried out with great fineness. zundt lived at nuremberg, his great contemporaries, virgil solis and erasmus hornick being natives of the same city. it was to virgil solis (1514-1562), one of the most skilful and prolific of the german _klein-meister_, that the jewellers and other craftsmen of the day owed their finest inspirations. virgil solis's beautiful series of pendants are executed with great charm and delicacy. they bear the character of a transition from the graceful foliage of the early to the full renaissance, with its fanciful architectural forms, its scroll ornament, arabesques, animals, and grotesque human masks and figures (pl. xxvii, 1, 2). erasmus hornick likewise exercised a potent influence on the jewellery of the time. he engraved in 1562 a series of pendants, chains, and other jewels of the most delicate execution (pl. xxvii, 4-6). the pendants in form of an architectural niche with the subject placed in the centre, are the prototype of all the jewels of this kind which we meet with subsequently in the prints of the flemish engraver collaert. [illustration: _plate xxvii_ designs for jewellery by solis, woeiriot, hornick, and brosamer] while many important engravings were being issued for the benefit of the jewellers of nuremberg, a great quantity of jewellery was produced at munich under the patronage of the dukes of bavaria. duke albert v had as court painter a skilful miniaturist, hans mielich (1516-1573), whom he employed to paint in the form of an inventory exact copies in miniature of his jewels and those of his wife, anne of austria, preserved in his treasury. in addition to these drawings, now in the royal library at munich, are a number of others, which came into the possession of dr. von hefner-alteneck, and on his death in 1904 were purchased for the sum of £2,500 for the bavarian national museum.[126] though the majority of these drawings for jewellery, in themselves works of extraordinary beauty, were copies of objects then already in existence, the presence of jewels similar to mielich's designs leads to the supposition that this artist exercised a strong influence on the jewellers of his day, and that a number of jewels were also executed at the command of the duke from original sketches of his. none of the actual objects depicted by mielich have survived, save a large gold chain set with pearls, rubies, and emeralds, which corresponds, particularly in its rich enamel-work, to one of the drawings lately added to the national museum. this chain is known as the collar of the order of st. george. the size and quality of its stones and the great beauty of the enamelled settings render it, without doubt, the finest article of its kind in existence. it is preserved in the royal treasury (schatzkammer) at munich, together with a number of other objects of the same type. [126] most of mielich's works have been reproduced by hefner-alteneck in his _deutsche goldschmiede-werke des 16^t^e^n jahrhunderts_. the last decades of the sixteenth century saw the appearance of a new species of ornamental design, whose chief advocate, theodor de bry (1528-1598), of liège, with his sons johann theodor and johann israel, settled in frankfort-on-the-main about 1560. it is a rich and varied surface decoration, often of white upon a black ground, composed of scroll ornament richly set with flowers, fruit, grotesques, and figures of animals, the whole being charmingly designed, and engraved with great brilliancy of touch. in addition to his more famous knife-handles, de bry executed several engravings for clasps, buckles, and metal attachments to girdles. for the counterpart of the artistic style of de bry one must look to the low countries and particularly to the work of the engraver hans collaert (1540-1622), of antwerp, who developed remarkable fertility in the production of patterns for jewellery. collaert's designs require special attention, because of the tendency, elaborated largely by him and other engravers of the school of antwerp, towards exuberant cartouche ornaments with a mixture of extravagant and loosely arranged strap-work, and stud -or boss-work. this style, full of grotesques and arabesques, pervaded the work of every craftsman of the day, and dealt a final blow to any further development of pure renaissance ornament. collaert's chief series of pendants, eleven in number, published in 1581 under the title _monilium bullarum inauriumque artificiosissimæ icones_, are probably the best known of all designs for jewellery of this epoch. one of these engravings, in particular, has been several times reproduced. it is a large pendant hung from a cartouche and surmounted by a figure of orpheus with a lyre, with two seated female figures. the rest of the jewel is made up of scroll ornaments and bracket-shaped terminal figures, and is hung with three drop pearls. this pendant is of peculiar interest in connection with its bearing on what has already been said with regard to the attributions given to cinquecento jewellery. two striking instances of misapplied attributions of this kind may be quoted. in one[127] work the engraving in question is described as: "pendant par benvenuto cellini (musée de florence)"; and in another[128] as: "gehänge in der bibliothèque nationale zu paris nach seinem [cellini's] model gearbeitet!" [127] jannettaz, _diamant et pierres précieuses_, p. 423. [128] bucher, _geschichte der technischen künste_, ii, p. 307. it has been usual--while acknowledging the great influence of these engravings on the jewellery of the time--to doubt whether jewels exist which have been executed in exact imitation of them. to show that such designs were actually followed, we may point to a jewel figured by herr luthmer in his catalogue of baron karl von rothschild's collection at frankfort-on-the-main, which follows in every detail the particular engraving by collaert just mentioned as having been ascribed to cellini. collaert's influence was considerable in his day, and his compositions circulated not only in flanders, but also in germany and other prominent jewel-producing centres. jewels are repeatedly met with, which, though they do not follow in every detail collaert's published designs, are obviously inspired by them. a very notable example of such is a jewel, to be referred to subsequently (p. 247), in form of a gondola containing figures of antony and cleopatra, which was sold by auction in london for a very large sum a year or two ago. with collaert were several minor designers of jewellery, such as abraham de bruyn (1538-after 1600), among whose engravings are seventeen models for pendants and portions of jewels in the style of the admirable french jeweller-engraver etienne delaune. other dutch and flemish engravers of ornament belong more to the seventeenth century, and will be dealt with later. at the furthest corner of germany from flanders was the ancient kingdom of hungary, where jewellery was employed in almost oriental profusion. the native costume is luxurious even at the present day, and in olden times the nobility made a practice of attaching to it a great part of their fortunes in the form of precious stones, which, in enamelled settings of button-shape, termed "boglars," were sewn on, or were mounted in aigrettes, or set in girdles or dagger-sheaths. independent jewels enriched with enamel-work in the renaissance taste were produced, too, in considerable quantity. fine examples of the latter are preserved in the museum at buda-pesth; while to the exhibition held there in 1884 cinquecento jewellery of great beauty and wealth was lent by noble hungarian families. all these display striking similarity to the jewels executed at augsburg, prague, and elsewhere in the latter part of the sixteenth and the early years of the seventeenth century. in addition to those which betray the influence of foreign styles, there are jewels of native work, whose surface is enriched with the so-called _draht-email_. this "filigree-enamel," which was executed from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century in hungary and throughout the valley of the danube, is composed of bright opaque colours fired between cloisons or partitions composed of twisted wire. [illustration: design for a pendent whistle by hans brosamer.] chapter xxiii the sixteenth century france--spain the campaigns of charles viii and louis xii in italy, and the patronage of italian artists by cardinal d'amboise, brought a knowledge of renaissance art into france. france was the first nation to adopt the style of ornament to which italy had given birth, and at the very outset of the sixteenth century italian influence made itself felt. from the reign of francis i to that of charles ix, french jewellery was closely modelled on the italian, while many italian jewellers took up their abode in france, and among them cellini, who resided in paris from 1540 to 1545. not since the days of charles v had france witnessed such profusion of jewellery as was indulged in by the splendour-loving francis i who exceeded even henry viii and pope paul iii--two other great collectors of the day--in gathering together jewels and precious stones. we hear much of the jewellery of the day from rabelais, who speaks of the rosaries, girdle-ornaments, rings, gold chains, jewelled necklaces and of the various kinds of precious stones worn both in articles of jewellery and scattered in profusion over the dress. an incident of considerable interest is recorded to have taken place in the time of francis i in connection with a supposed abuse of enamel on the part of the jewellers. the king's attention was drawn to the fact that when jewellery enamelled with opaque enamels, which were considered to weigh heavier than the clear ones, came to be realised, the enamel was so much pure loss. so, in spite of a protest by some of the leading goldsmiths, who declared that the proper execution of the majority of articles of jewellery was impossible without opaque enamel, an ordinance was passed in 1540 forbidding its use. after three years, however, the king relented, and again permitted the jewellers the full exercise of the resources of their art, provided there was no superfluous excess in the use of enamel. under the last valois kings, charles ix and henry iii, the production of jewellery in france, as elsewhere, was greater than at almost any other period. vivid descriptions of the rich jewellery of this time are furnished by the chronicler brantôme. actual articles of french renaissance jewellery are, it must be confessed, of great rarity. almost the only extant specimens are the wonderful mounted cameos in the cabinet des médailles of the bibliothèque nationale at paris, the majority of which are presumably of french origin. from comparison of these with contemporary designs, the distinguishing features of the french jewellery of the time appear to be--a cartouche-shaped frame with comparatively unbroken outline, enriched with scroll ornament and occasionally with human figures and grotesques, a slight use of open-work, and the general employment of a central ornament. like the germans, the french had excellent masters, who engraved models for jewellery of great beauty of design. the following are the chief _maîtres ornemanistes_ who flourished in the sixteenth century:--jean duvet, known also as the master of the unicorn, born at langres in 1485 and died about 1562, was goldsmith to francis i and henry ii. his designs for small objects of personal use in the form of scrolls, flowers, and foliage, intended for execution in enamel, are among the earliest engravings in _taille-douce_ produced for the purpose. jacques androuet ducerceau (about 1510-about 1585) worked chiefly at orleans. his numerous engravings in the form of cartouches with rolled and voluted frames show the type of design mainly employed for pendants. his actual models for jewellery, numbering upwards of fifty, comprise clasps and brooches, and many pendants, including earrings (pp. 241 and 269). after androuet ducerceau, the most famous jeweller of this time was etienne delaune, called stephanus (1518-1595). he is said to have worked under cellini during the latter's residence in paris. in 1573 he moved to strasburg, where the greater part of his work was produced. a "little master" par excellence, he engraved with extraordinary delicacy a number of exquisite designs for jewellery. two of his engravings of slightly different design, both dated 1576, represent the interior of goldsmiths' workshops, and are of particular interest in illustrating the practice of the goldsmith's art and the equipment of the workshop at this period. designs for jewellery are the most interesting of the engravings of rené boyvin (1530-1598), of angers. he appears to have been influenced by the italian artists of fontainebleau, and his plates of jewel-ornament, engraved with great skill in the style of il rosso, show considerable ingenuity and fancy in the combination of faceted stones and large pearls with human and fantastic figures. more influential perhaps than any of the designs of the time are those of pierre woeiriot of lorraine, who was born in 1532 and died after 1589. in 1555 woeiriot settled at lyons, where he produced a large number of engravings for jewellery. these, showing the greatest variety of design, include numerous patterns for rings, a dozen earrings, and ten pendent ornaments (pl. xxvii, 3). these masterpieces of engraving and composition were published at lyons in 1555 and 1561. spain occupies a peculiar place with respect to its renaissance jewellery. in the sixteenth century the spanish peninsula was perhaps the richest part of the civilised world. even at a time when universal luxury in personal ornaments reigned, spain made itself an object of note by its extraordinary display in this direction. the union under the same dominion of three of the most powerful countries of europe coincident with the newly developed wealth of america resulted in a desire among all classes for a more luxurious style of living and for more sumptuous ornaments. the natural instinct of wealthy and cultured individuals to surround themselves with the choicest productions of the fine arts led to the importation of the best of such objects from other countries and of the first foreign craftsmen of the day. juan de arphe, "the spanish cellini," himself of german extraction, devoted much attention to the naturalisation of renaissance forms. other jewellers also remained in so large a measure dependent on foreign influence, at first of italian types, and then of the designs of french, german, and flemish engravers of ornament, that it is often hard to arrive at a decision as to the precise provenance of their productions. but just as other works of art, the product of different countries, are stamped with certain indefinable characteristics, which in general circumstances may at once be detected, so jewels of spanish origin betray the influence of national temperament in their composition and design. the series of drawings by barcelona jewellers published by davillier in his _recherches sur l'orfèvrerie en espagne_, bear sufficient evidence of this native spirit. nevertheless, the majority of the surviving examples of the renaissance jewellery of spain approach at times very near to those of germany. and there can be little doubt that the nuremberg and augsburg jewels which, as has been shown, were in vogue not only all over germany, but in france and england and the low countries, were imported and imitated, as davillier says, by the goldsmiths of spain. the most important spanish jewels of the sixteenth century are in the form of enamelled pendants. of these the victoria and albert museum possesses a collection, excelled by that of no other public museum, which acquired at the sale in 1870 of the treasures of the sanctuary of the virgen del pilar at saragossa. a species of pendant which in spain above all places has always been popular was the reliquary. it assumed numerous shapes; and among the many kinds of adornment it received were small panels of painted glass commonly known as _verres églomisés_. this so-called _verre églomisé_, which had been handed down from antiquity and was used in the middle ages, was brought to high perfection at the renaissance. adopted from italy, where it was also employed for jewellery, it met with considerable favour in spain in the sixteenth century (pl. xliii, 4). the process employed in its production consisted in covering the under side of a plate of glass or rock crystal with gold leaf. on this were traced the outlines of the design intended to be reserved in gold, and the remainder of the gold was then removed. in the painting which followed, the finest details, the high lights, the shadows and flesh tints were first executed. then came in successive applications, transparent varnishes of different colours and thicknesses, in accordance with the value of the tones desired. small pieces of silver leaf were applied to certain parts to reflect the light and heighten the effect; and the whole was finally backed with a sheet of metal.[129] [129] _la collection spitzer_, iii, p. 53. verre églomisé appears to take its name from one glomy, a french craftsman of the eighteenth century, who produced a special black and gold varnish which he applied to the back of glass. in a similar way his countrymen the martins gave their name to the varnish of their invention. verre églomisé, a somewhat unsatisfactory title, which came first into use in the latter part of the century, and was wrongly applied to paintings under glass of a similar order, has been retained ever since. a peculiar and characteristic species of pendent ornament, numbers of which were produced in the seventeenth century chiefly at barcelona, are certain badges worn by members of religious corporations. they are of open-worked gilt brass enriched with white, black, and blue opaque enamels fused into recesses stamped in the surface of the metal. these badges, which are either triangular, oval, square, or oblong in shape, are formed of two parts--a frame surrounded with rayed patterns, and a central portion ornamented with various designs (pl. liii, 5). among the latter designs are crowned monograms of christ or the virgin, with emblems such as palm leaves, and the device of a nail and the letter s interlaced--a rebus for "esclavo." fitted in the back is usually a miniature under crystal. in point of technique these enamelled badges offer an interesting comparison with the well-known english enamels of the same date applied mainly to objects such as candlesticks and fire-dogs. pendent badges of the same designs exist in gold. the collection of señor de osma at madrid contains several examples. to the seventeenth century belong also the characteristic "lazos" or bow-shaped jewels worn as breast-ornaments, made of open-work gold set with emeralds, and occasionally with other stones (pl. liii, 1). of the same style are rings, also set with emeralds, and particularly long earrings, which have always been popular in spain. the backs of these jewels are engraved with floral designs. the greater part of the spanish jewellery of the time is set with emeralds, which were acquired in quantities from peru. spain has always had a great reputation for these stones, which when of fine quality are still alluded to as "old spanish emeralds." emeralds are always subject to flaws and rarely free from them. the emeralds set in spanish jewellery, though usually full of feathers, are nevertheless of great decorative value. further reference will be made to spanish work of the seventeenth century when the jewels of that period are dealt with. the earlier hispano-moresque jewellery is of considerable rarity. it is often enriched with opaque enamel fired between cloisons formed of twisted wire. from the union of moorish and renaissance forms developed the spanish peasant jewellery, usually fashioned of stout silver filigree parcel-gilt. [illustration: design for a pendant by hans brosamer.] chapter xxiv england, sixteenth century (henry viii--elizabeth--mary stuart) with the accession of henry viii a new period opens in the history of the jeweller's art. the spirit of the revival, which had previously affected only the court, began to spread rapidly throughout the community, under the influence of the example set by the great jewellers of italy. the king inherited an enormous treasury, and the display of jewellery on his own person and on that of his court was prodigious. we are indebted to the venetian ambassador, giustinian, for the following graphic description of the king's personal adornment a year or two after his accession-"he wore a cap of crimson velvet, in the french fashion, and the brim was looped up all round with lacets and gold enamelled tags.... very close round his neck he had a gold collar, from which there hung a rough-cut diamond, the size of the largest walnut i ever saw, and to this was suspended a most beautiful and very large round pearl. his mantle was of purple velvet lined with white satin, the sleeves open, with a train more than four venetian yards long. this mantle was girt in front like a gown, with a thick gold cord, from which there hung large golden acorns like those suspended from a cardinal's hat; over this mantle was a very handsome gold collar, with a pendent st. george entirely of diamonds. beneath the mantle he wore a pouch of cloth of gold, which covered a dagger; and his fingers were one mass of jewelled rings."[130] [130] brewer (j. s.), _henry viii_, i, p. 10. many a lively and detailed picture has been left us by the chronicler and lawyer, edward hall, of the equipage and adornment of henry viii on his coronation and at the court entertainments, and particularly of the famous meeting of the cloth of gold, where, in their insane desire to outshine each other, the english and french nobles entered into boundless extravagance in dress, and so loaded themselves with jewellery, that, in the words of du bellay, "they carried the price of woodland, water-mill, and pasture on their backs." many are the elaborate descriptions of entertainments and pageants by the chroniclers leland, holinshed, and stowe, in which rich jewellery figures; but hall's chronicle, the most minute in its accounts of contemporary fashions, teems with references to "gold smithe's woorke" and to the wealth of precious stones broidered on the garments. the passion for personal ornaments ran such riot that even foreign critics inveighed against englishmen for their extravagance. this love of jewellery was largely due to foreign fashions, which hitherto discountenanced, were growing popular at court, in consequence of the increasing communication with the continent. from the commencement of henry's reign merchants and craftsmen from abroad swarmed in numbers into london, and hall, who shared the characteristic english antipathy to all things foreign, gives an instance of an invasion by these alien artificers. it was on the occasion of a magnificent embassy from france in 1518 in connection with the betrothal of the princess mary to the dauphin that there came, he says, "a great number of rascals and pedlars and jewellers, and brought over divers merchantize uncustomed, all under the color of trussery [baggage] of the ambassadors." in accordance with the system of his predecessors in pursuit of their own personal interests, henry viii extended his protection to the foreigner, while the example of the french court, the rivalry with francis i, and the foreign proclivities of wolsey and cromwell induced him to patronise extensively foreign jewellers and merchants in precious stones. occasionally henry was a sufferer in his transactions with sharp italian dealers; and cellini relates a story of how a milanese jeweller counterfeited an emerald so cleverly that he managed to palm off the same for a genuine stone on the sovereign of "those beasts of englishmen," as he elsewhere terms them, for 9000 golden scudi. and all this happened, because the purchaser--who was no less a person than the king of england--put rather more faith in the jeweller than he ought to have done. the fraud was not found out till several years after. a considerable number of the foreign craftsmen patronised by the king were italians; but in jewellery the french influence seems to have predominated--judging by the frequent mention of jewels of "paris work," and by the fact that the majority of the jewellers mentioned in the "king's book of payments,"[131] bear french names. among those of foreign extraction the following were the most prominent: robert amadas, john cryspyn, allart ploumyer, jehan lange, cornelius hays, baptist leman, john cavalcant, john baptista de consolavera, guillim honyson, alexander of brussels, john of utrecht, and john (hans) of antwerp. the mention, however, of such names as john angell, morgan fenwolf (a welshman), john freeman, john twiselton, thomas exmewe, nicolas worley, john monday, and william davy indicates the english nationality of several of the royal jewellers--though it is well to remember the common tendency of the time to anglicise foreign names. [131] _letters and papers of henry viii_, ii, p. 1441, etc.; iii, p. 1533, etc. throughout the first half of his reign henry placed huge orders in the hands of these craftsmen, but advancing years and an exhausted treasury appear to have somewhat diminished his expenditure on personal ornaments. some interesting correspondence between the above-mentioned jehan lange, a jeweller of paris, and certain of his native townsmen has been preserved.[132] "the king," he writes in 1537, referring to certain jewelled garments he had submitted to his majesty, "was very glad to see such riches. he said he was too old to wear such things, but he has offered 4000 cr." to allart ploumyer he writes: "the king always makes good cheer, but he has grown cold, and we have not quite sold everything; for the gentlemen have spent their money in the war." "i find the king," he says in another place, "disinclined to buy, for he has told me he has no more money, and it has cost him a great deal to make war." [132] _letters and papers_, xii, no. 47. in spite of lange's complaints, it was only just before his death that henry viii acquired a famous and magnificent historical jewel, the great pendant of charles the bold, last duke of burgundy.[133] in its centre was set the wonderful diamond--a deep pyramid five-eighths of an inch square at the base--believed to be the first on which louis de berghem tried his newly invented method of cutting. around it were set three balas rubies, styled from their equality in size and weight the "three brothers," which, owing to their fine quality, were set open, without the foil with which stones were then usually backed. between these were four enormous pearls (pl. xxv, 3). according to the universal custom of his day, the duke, accompanied by all his treasure when campaigning, carried this jewel with him, partly to have it constantly under his personal supervision, and partly because of the magic properties then attributed to precious stones. captured by a common soldier from his tent after his memorable defeat at the battle of granson in 1475, the pendant came into the possession of the magistrates of berne, and from them was purchased by jacob fugger, of the opulent merchant family of augsburg, whose son, after keeping it for several years, disposed of it to henry viii. fifty years later the jewel was still intact, and in james i's inventory of the crown jewels in 1603, it is thus described:[134] "a fayre flower,[135] with three greate ballaces, in the myddest a greate pointed dyamonde, and three greate perles fixed, with a fayre greate perle pendaunte, called _the brethren_." the last we hear of this famous jewel is in 1623, when it is described in the same words in the list of jewels removed from the tower by james i, and handed over to his jeweller heriot to be refashioned for the use of charles and buckingham on their visit to spain. that it was then remounted is evident from the king's letter to his son, in which he says: "i send for your wearing the three brethren, that you knowe full well, but newlie sette." [133] lambecius, _bibliotheca cæsarea vindobonensi_, ii, p. 512. [134] _kalendars and inventories of the exchequer_, ii, p. 304. [135] that pendants were termed "flowers" is clear from w. thomas's _italian grammar_ (1548), where a _fermaglio_ is defined as "the hangeing owche, or _flowre_ that women use to tye at the chayne or lace that they weare about their neckes" (_way, prompt. parv._, p. 359, n. 3). about the year 1536 the great painter hans holbein, who had come to england several years previously, entered into the service of henry viii, and it was between that date and his death in 1543 that he executed those masterpieces of design for jewellery which will ever stand as a landmark in the history of the subject. there is no evidence to show that holbein himself worked in the precious metals. but brought up under similar influences as had moulded the great italian artists of the renaissance, ghiberti, pollaiuolo, verrocchio, francia, and ghirlandaio, who combined the arts of painting, architecture, and sculpture with the jeweller's craft, he had been well grounded in the limitations of his materials, and knew how far the draughtsman could display his skill in this direction. the most important of holbein's designs for jewellery are preserved in the british museum, to which they were bequeathed by sir hans sloane in 1753. the collection, originally mounted in a quarto volume, termed holbein's london sketch-book, is now remounted and systematically arranged. the designs, comprising 179 separate items, are for the most part drawn with a pen with black ink, and then some slight touches of brown put in for the shadows. several of the designs have the ground blackened, the ornaments being left in white. some of the jewels, entirely coloured and often touched up with gold, are designed for enamelling in high relief; some are perhaps designed for execution in niello, though it is not improbable that these were intended to be ornamented with black champlevé enamel. the most attractive are the patterns for jewels enriched with precious stones and enamels, the majority of which were for neck pendants intended to hang from a chain, ribbon, or silken cord, itself sometimes shown in the drawing (pl. xxvi). the design of a few of these pendants is based upon the prevailing custom of wearing initials of the name either in embroidery or in pure gold attached to the garments. some curious instances of this fashion are recorded by hall, particularly in his graphic account of what took place at a masque given by henry viii at his palace at westminster. upon the king's invitation to divide the rich garments of the maskers sewn with letters of "fine and massy gold in bullyon as thicke as they might be," which generally went as largess to the ladies, a rabble of citizens, who were allowed to look on, broke in, and "ranne to the kyng and stripped hym into his hosen and dublet, and all his compaignions in like wyse. syr thomas knevet stode on a stage, and for all his defence he lost his apparell. the ladies like wyse were spoyled, wherfore the kynges garde came sodenly, and put the people backe, or els it was supposed more inconvenience had ensued." so pure was the gold of which these letters were composed that it is recorded subsequently that a "shipeman of london who caught certayn letters sould them to a goldsmyth for £3. 14. 8"--quite a considerable sum in those days. in the same way jewelled initials were also frequently worn in the form of pendants and a jewelled b can be seen hanging from the neck of anne boleyn in her portrait in the national portrait gallery. holbein's drawings contain several beautiful instances of this type of design, generally completed with three pendent pearls. one of them has a monogram of the initials r and e in chased and engraved gold set at the four corners with two rubies, an emerald, and a diamond. another has the letters h and i (probably for henry and jane seymour) with an emerald in the centre; and a somewhat similar jewel, formed of the sacred monogram, is worn by jane seymour in her portrait by holbein at vienna. the designs for the larger pendants, mostly circular or lozenge-shaped, are set with sapphires, diamonds, rubies, and pearls, and terminate with large pear-shaped pearls. the spaces between the stones are filled with chased or enamelled arrangements of scroll or leaf work. the smaller jewels, which might also have been worn as enseignes or badges on the hat, or as brooches, are of open goldwork with leaf or ribbon ornament set with stones and pearls. they include a very beautiful design of a half-length figure of a lady in the costume of the period holding between her hands a large stone, upon which is the inscription well laydi well (pl. xxvi, 9). the fifteenth-century traditions seem to have influenced holbein in the design of this jewel, which at once calls to mind the flemish-burgundian brooches (an example of which, in the british museum, has already been mentioned) ornamented with similar figures, full-faced, and holding a large stone before them. the jewels actually executed from these designs were probably the work of hans of antwerp, known as john anwarpe.[136] he was a friend of holbein, and one of the witnesses of his will; and his portrait, painted by holbein, is now at windsor. hans of antwerp appears to have settled in london about 1514, having perhaps been induced to do so by thomas cromwell, who in early life resided for a time in antwerp as secretary to the english merchants there. it was presumably cromwell who, as "master of the king's jewel house," was instrumental in procuring for him the post of the king's goldsmith. his name occurs several times in cromwell's accounts, and it was in accordance with the latter's "ryght hartye commendations" that he obtained the freedom of the goldsmiths' company of london. the chief duty of the king's goldsmith was to supply the new year's gifts (_estrennes_), so popular at that time. these usually took the form of personal ornaments, and it seems likely that holbein's famous sketches were specially designed for this purpose. [136] his family name was van der gow or van der goes. see l. cust, _burlington magazine_, viii, p. 356. elizabeth--mary stuart however remarkable the court of henry viii was for its profusion of jewellery, that of queen elizabeth, who inherited the tudor love for display, was still more extravagant. throughout her reign--a period marked also upon the continent for its prolific production of jewellery--the fashion set by the jewel-loving queen for a superabundance of finery maintained its sway. the country suddenly becoming wealthy, was tempted, like one not born to riches, to use the whole in outward show, and this display was rendered comparatively easy by the influx of gold and precious stones after the spanish conquests in america. numerous portraits of courtiers and court ladies afford ample evidence of the prevailing fashions in jewellery, while the portraits of the queen herself, all overburdened with ornaments, are too well known to need detailed description.[137] "there is not a single portrait of her," says walpole, "that one can call beautiful. the profusion of ornaments with which they are loaded are marks of her continual fondness for dress, while they entirely exclude all grace, and leave no more room for a painter's genius than if he had been employed to copy an indian idol, totally composed of hands and necklaces. a pale roman nose, a head of hair loaded with crowns and powdered with diamonds, a vast ruff, a vaster fardingale, a bushel of pearls, are features by which every body knows at once the pictures of queen elizabeth." [137] an enormous number of these exist. a catalogue of them has been drawn up by mr. f. m. o'donoghue, of the british museum. an excellent description of the jewellery of elizabeth towards the close of her brilliant reign is given by paul hentzner, who visited england in 1598: "the queen had in her ears two pearls with very rich drops; she wore false hair and that red; upon her head she had a small crown; her bosom was uncovered, and she had on a necklace of exceedingly fine jewels. she was dressed in white silk, bordered with pearls of the size of beans, and over it a mantle of black silk shot with silver threads; her train was very long. instead of a chain, she had an oblong collar of gold and jewels." to a courtier who knelt to her, "after pulling off her glove, she gave her right hand to kiss, sparkling with rings and jewels." the best of all representations of that "bright occidental star" is her faded waxwork effigy, still to be seen in westminster abbey--no other than the one which on the 28th of april, 1603, was carried on her coffin to the abbey. it shows the veritable passion elizabeth possessed for pearls. her stomacher is encrusted with large roman pearls, while strings of pearls hang round her throat and neck. her earrings are circular pearl and ruby medallions, with huge pear-shaped pearl pendants. full of detail are the records of costly "juelles" that have come down to us, particularly in the list, preserved in the british museum,[138] of the new year's gifts presented to the queen, from the fourteenth to the thirty-sixth year of her reign. the practice of exchanging presents on new year's day attained extraordinary proportions at the court of elizabeth, and was supplemented by birthday presents, which, as her majesty's weakness for jewellery was well known, took for the most part the form of personal ornaments of every kind. the very accurate accounts that were kept by the officers of the queen's wardrobe of every item in her enormous store of jewellery is witnessed by a number of curious entries in her wardrobe-book of losses of jewellery sustained by her majesty.[139] [138] british museum. mss. no. 4827. [139] strickland, _queens of england_, iv, pp. 262, 416. in addition to numerous inventories and wills full of information concerning the jewellery of the period, we have at our service, as in roman times, the works of social satirists, such as _the anatomie of abuses_, by philip stubbes (1583), and bishop hall's poetical satires of 1597, to which we are indebted for many valuable details. in accepting these it is well to bear in mind the common tendency of every age to ridicule its own fashions; yet, in spite of puritan narrowness, and the exaggerated indignation of the satirist, it is manifest that extraordinary luxury and extravagance in dress and jewellery were prevalent not only at court, but among all classes of the community. of greater importance, however, than the information to be gleaned from pictorial and literary sources is that derived from the actual jewels themselves, a considerable number of which, through all the changes and chances of more than three centuries, have been handed down still practically intact, and retaining the chief feature of their decoration--their exquisite enamel. shakespeare, while appreciating the charm of its harmonious combination of colours, recognised, it appears, the delicacy of this beautiful medium, when in the _comedy of errors_ he makes adriana say:- i see the jewel best enamelled will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still, that others touch, and often touching will wear gold. the new learning, which made itself felt in england during the reign of henry vii, began at this time to exercise a direct influence on the choice of the designs of jewels and on the arrangement of their ornamentation. as witnesses of the intellectual revival, they often took emblematic forms, bearing in exquisite enamel-work fancy mottoes and devices, generally obscure in their interpretation, and intended to express the sentiments of their wearers, or those of donors, regarding the presumed state of mind of their recipients. the passion for these reached its height in the golden days of good queen bess, when it became the fashion for the bejewelled gallants who fluttered like a swarm of glittering insects around her to display their wit and ingenuity in devising jewelled emblems as fit presents to the virgin queen. thus in the list of costly articles of jewellery offered to elizabeth, we meet with the present, made in christmas week 1581, by some courtiers disguised as maskers, of a jewel in the form of "a flower of golde, garnished with sparcks of diamonds, rubyes, and ophales, with an agathe of her majestis phisnamy and a perle pendante, with devices painted in it." the love for strange devices and enigmatical mottoes was fostered by the spirit of an age that witnessed the production of lyly's _euphues_ and spenser's _faerie queene_; while elizabeth's colossal vanity prompted the dedication to her of highly laudatory mottoes, like the inscription on a jewel belonging to mr. pierpont morgan: hei mihi quod tanto virtus perfusa decore non habet eternos inviolata dies. few of the jewels of this stirring period display a more charming symbolism than those produced after the defeat and destruction of the spanish armada, whereon england is figured as an ark floating securely and tranquilly on a troubled sea, surrounded by the motto, saevas tranquilla per undas. the most remarkable of these armada jewels is mr. pierpont morgan's, just mentioned, and another of the same class in the poldi-pezzoli museum, milan. a jewel more characteristic of the period than any other, and an historical relic of singular interest, is that _chef d'oeuvre_ of inventive genius--the lennox or darnley jewel, the property of his majesty the king. it is covered inside and out with the most elaborate symbolism, and contains altogether no less than twenty-eight emblems and six mottoes (pl. xxviii, 4). internal evidence proves this remarkable jewel to have been made by order of lady margaret douglas, mother of henry darnley, in memory of her husband, matthew stuart, earl of lennox, who was killed in 1571. among many other examples of elizabethan jewellery, there stand out above the rest a certain number to which, besides their high artistic excellence, is attached the additional interest of historical associations. to this class belong the following important jewels: the berkeley heirlooms, belonging to lord fitzhardinge; the drake jewels, the property of sir francis fuller-eliott-drake; the wild jewel (miss wild); the barbor jewel (victoria and albert museum); and the phoenix jewel (sloane collection, british museum). public and private collections likewise contain a considerable number of enamelled miniature cases furnished with loops for suspension, and cameos set with jewelled and enamelled mountings of the period. the berkeley heirlooms, among which is the anglo-saxon ring already mentioned, include the hunsdon onyx, the drake pendant in form of a ship, edward vi's prayer book, and a crystal armlet. these exquisite jewels, according to tradition, were presented by queen elizabeth to her cousin henry carey, lord hunsdon, who died in 1596. they then passed to his son george, the second baron hunsdon, who so highly valued them, that he bequeathed them on his death, in 1603, to his wife, and afterwards to his only daughter elizabeth, with strict injunctions to transmit the same to her posterity, to be preserved (according to the actual terms of his will) "soe longe as the conscience of my heires shall have grace and honestie to perform my will, for that i esteeme them right jeweles, and monumentes worthie to be kept for theire beautie, rareness, and that for monie they are not to be matched, nor the like yet knowen to be founde in this realme." the jewels mentioned, which came into the berkeley family through the marriage of the above-named elizabeth carey with lord berkeley, are still preserved at berkeley castle. [illustration: _plate xxviii_ renaissance jewellery of enamelled gold (the property of his majesty the king)] further reference to these and other remarkable elizabethan jewels will be given when the special species of ornaments to which they belong is being dealt with. there is one jewel of this date, however, which, though it no longer exists, is of particular interest from the fact that it is specially mentioned in the famous inventory of charles i's collection drawn up by abraham van der doort in 1639.[140] this golden jewel, we learn, was round, and hung with a small pendent pearl; one side was enamelled with a representation of the battle of bosworth field, and the other with the red and white roses of lancaster and york upon a green ground. within were four miniatures, henry vii, henry viii, edward vi, and queen mary. the miniatures are still preserved at windsor castle, but shorn of their enamelled case, which has long since disappeared. the jewel was bought by the king, so van der doort tells us, from "young hilliard," son of the famous miniaturist nicholas hilliard, who, besides painting the miniatures, probably also executed the enamel-work upon the jewel itself. hilliard, like the artists of the renaissance already cited, had been brought up as a goldsmith and jeweller, and, as we see by the inscription which he placed round his own portrait, held an appointment as goldsmith at elizabeth's court; while his knowledge and love of jewellery are admirably displayed in his miniatures, in which every jewel is painted with faultless accuracy and care. [140] vertue (g.), _catalogue of the collection of charles i_, p. 47. the mention of hilliard introduces to our notice the other creators of the beautiful jewellery of the period. english work continued to be influenced by the continent; and engraved designs for jewellery by the frenchmen ducerceau and woeiriot, and by the eminent goldsmith and engraver theodor de bry, who himself worked in london in 1587 and the two following years, must have been well known and imitated in england. in spite of this, however, it would appear that englishmen were no longer actually dependent for their jewellery upon foreigners. the latter ceased to hold the virtual monopoly they had once enjoyed; and their place was taken by a number of native craftsmen. among these, the following were the most prominent: dericke anthony, affabel partridge, peter trender, and nicolas herrick--elder brother of william herrick, james i's jeweller, and father of robert herrick the poet. during the latter years of her reign hugh kayle and his partner sir richard martin supplied the queen with jewels as new year's gifts and presents to ambassadors amounting to upwards of £12,000. enough has been said to demonstrate that the reign of elizabeth, fertile in great events, was productive of much important jewellery, whose charm, excellence, and historic interest have, up to the present, by no means received the attention they deserve. and it may be stated, without prejudice, that jewels of the period which bear a clear stamp of english origin compare favourably, nay even advantageously, with the productions of contemporary jewellers of the continent. * * * the jewels of the unhappy mary stuart form a subject of peculiar interest. like her jealous rival queen elizabeth, mary was most lavish in her display of jewellery. in addition to the crown jewels she had a profusion of personal ornaments, her own private property. her inventories, published by the bannatyne club (1863), furnish many a vivid description of the splendid objects which, during the course of her turbulent life, she bestowed on her friends or lost under stress of circumstances. they have further acquired quite an historical celebrity "from the frequency with which they were claimed by their unfortunate mistress in her appeals for mercy and justice during her long captivity, and the rapacity with which her royal jailer and other enemies sought or retained possession of these glittering spoils." it is impossible here to enter into details respecting the many beautiful things recorded in her inventories, or the strange vicissitudes that they underwent. their dispersal would seem to have begun with her infatuated passion for bothwell. the number of jewels she lavished on him when they parted on carberry hill, those she distributed as personal gifts, and others that served in the various emergencies in which the unfortunate queen found herself, afford some idea of the extraordinary quantity of precious articles in her possession. a few of mary's actual jewels, such as the duke of norfolk's rosary and jewelled necklace, the duke of portland's jewelled cameo, and the penicuik jewel, have been preserved to our own day. along with the historical documents must rank the leven and melville portrait--the brilliant centre-piece of mr. andrew lang's _portraits and jewels of mary stuart_. as far as jewellery in general is concerned, this portrait may be said to merit greater consideration than any picture of its own or of other times, in that it displays a complete parure of contemporary jewellery, each item of which is entered and described in detail in the personal inventories of the individual it represents. chapter xxv renaissance head-ornaments (enseignes, aigrettes, hair-pins, earrings) the origin of the ornaments for the hat or cap, known generally as enseignes, has been mentioned in dealing with the jewellery of the middle ages. at the period of the renaissance, the enseigne--the "bijou par excellence" it has been termed--was above all the recipient of the very highest workmanship, and formed the subject of varied designs of the most ingenious character. by the beginning of the fifteenth century fashion had already turned hat-badges almost entirely into articles of adornment, and judging by that worn by king dagobert in petrus christus's picture of 1449, and, amongst many other portraits, by that of richard iii in the national portrait gallery, these jewels were composed of goldsmith's work, enamelled, and set with precious stones. in the sixteenth century the majority of enseignes seem always to have borne some figured design; and cellini, referring to the year 1525, says: "it was the custom at that epoch to wear little golden medals, upon which every nobleman or man of quality had some device or fancy of his own engraved; and these were worn in the cap." for a considerable time the earlier religious badges sold at places of pilgrimage continued to be worn. though enseignes very frequently bore some religious representation, or the figure or emblem of some patron saint, they ended, like other articles primarily religious, by becoming purely secular, and took the forms of devices of a fanciful or even humorous character. every one from the highest rank downwards had his personal _devise_ or _impresa_, or more often a series of them. it was worn as an emblem--an ingenious expression of some conceit of the wearer, the outcome of his peculiar frame of mind. it usually contained some obscure meaning, the sense of which, half hidden and half revealed, was intended to afford some play for the ingenuity of the observer. the love of the time for expressing things by riddles led to the publication of sets of emblems, like those of alciatus, which had imitators in all directions. every one, in fact, tried his hand at these "toys of the imagination." numbers of enseignes are mentioned in the inventories, and male portraits very commonly exhibit this form of decoration. women also wore them upon the hat or in the hair, but not until about the middle of the sixteenth century. the hat was turned up so as to show the lining, and the badge was usually placed under the rim, at the side, and somewhat to the front of the hat. some of these medallions are furnished with a pin, like a brooch; but as the majority have loops at the edge, or are pierced with holes for the purpose of sewing them to the head-dress, they can as a rule be distinguished from ordinary brooches. pendants of the same form as those hung from neck-chains also appear occasionally as enseignes upon the hat. in england, during the sixteenth century, brooches, owches, or nowches, as they were often called, were extensively worn in caps and hats[141] as men's jewels in particular; and besides these there were jewelled hat-bands richly decorated with precious stones. the chronicler hall mentions that on one occasion, in 1513, henry viii wore a hat called a "chapeau montabyn" which was adorned with a rich band or coronal, and had in addition an enseigne, for "y^e folde of the chapeau was lined with crimsyn saten; and on y^t a riche brooch withe y^e image of sainct george." an enamelled brooch of this design modelled in full relief with the figure of st. george and the dragon, with the princess sabra in the background, is preserved amongst the exceedingly interesting series of jewels in his majesty's collection at windsor castle. it is of gold, finely chased, brilliantly modelled, and surrounded with an open wire balustrade enamelled green. this brooch, traditionally believed to have been worn by henry viii, is known as the holbein george; but internal evidences tend to prove the unlikelihood of holbein having had any hand in its construction. it appears to be of venetian origin--though not without some traces of german influence--and to date from the first few years of the sixteenth century (pl. xxviii, 2). [141] "he gave me a jewel the other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat" (_timon of athens_, act iii.) "honour's a good brooch to wear in a man's hat at all times" (ben jonson, _poetaster_). "and his hat turned up, with a silver clasp on his leer side" (ben jonson, _tale of a tub_). there exist several other jewels, the majority of them hat-ornaments, executed in this so-called "gold wire" enamel,[142] of the same exquisite and rare style of workmanship, and all possessing a singular likeness to that at windsor, both in the patterns of the dresses worn by the figures represented on them, and in general treatment, particularly of the hair of the figures, which is formed of ringlets of spiral twisted gold wire. among other examples are two in the salting collection, another which was lately in the collection of sir t. gibson carmichael,[143] and a fourth in the cabinet des antiques in the bibliothèque nationale, paris. [142] bonnaffé (e.), _la collection spitzer_, iii, p. 134. [143] burlington fine arts club, _catalogue of enamels_, 1897. the wide range of subjects chosen for hat-ornaments can best be judged from the lists of "bonnets" in henry viii's possession in the years 1526 and 1530, enriched with a variety of brooches.[144] [144] _letters and papers of henry viii_, iv, nos. 1907 and 6789. representations of enseignes in pictures are too frequent to permit of any attempt to enumerate them. it is impossible, however, to refrain from drawing attention to the fine male portraits of bartolommeo veneto, an artist of marked individuality of character, who worked at venice from about 1505 to 1530. he appears to have delighted in painting with peculiar care the beautiful enseignes worn by his sitters--attractive jewels enamelled in _ronde bosse_, and contemporary with the windsor "george" and its fellows. the examples of his work that display such ornaments in the most striking manner are in the following collections: fitzwilliam museum, cambridge; dorchester house, london; the crespi gallery, milan; the collection of baron tucher at vienna; and the national gallery, rome.[145] [145] _l'arte_, ii, p. 432, 1899. one of the most exquisite jewels of the renaissance is a medallion of enamelled gold numbered 5583 in the bibliothèque nationale at paris. it is oval, and in a space of 2 by 2-3/16 inches contains a composition of no less than twelve men and eight horses in high relief, representing a battle. horsemen and foot-soldiers in antique armour are engaged in furious combat, and many have fallen. one horseman carries a banneret which flies in the wind. the background is enamelled green, and the figures, delicately modelled, are white, save for their armour and weapons, which are reserved in the gold. the frame of the jewel is furnished with four loops, which clearly explain its use (pl. xxix, 2). its design offers an interesting comparison with two cameos (nos. 643 and 644), themselves fanciful renderings of the subject of another cameo (no. 645), and an intaglio, the work of matteo del nassaro, in the same collection, both undoubtedly inspired by the famous painting after raphael, known as the battle of constantine at the milvian bridge (a.d. 312), in the so-called gallery of constantine in the vatican. among the jewels in the public collections in london, which on account of their design or form were presumably intended to be worn in the hat or cap, there are several noteworthy examples. the wallace collection contains a circular gold enseigne, repoussé, chased, and partly enamelled, with a representation of judith carrying the head of holofernes. it is probably italian. in the waddesdon bequest at the british museum is an oval badge enamelled in relief with the judgment of paris. it is of the same minute style of work as that of the "battle-piece," and is of striking similarity to a drawing by hans mielich, in the royal library, munich.[146] [146] hefner-alteneck (j. h. von), _deutsche goldschmiede-werke des 16^t^e^n jahrhunderts_, pl. 12. an enseigne in the victoria and albert museum--perhaps the most beautiful of all, and probably the work of a florentine goldsmith--represents the head of john the baptist on a charger. the _caput johannis in disco_, a favourite subject in mediæval art both in painting and sculpture, was also popular for personal ornaments. this symbol of the precursor was no doubt phylacteric, for the efficacy of his intercession was most highly esteemed against epilepsy and other disorders. the enseigne in question, contemporary with one described as a "st. john's head in a dish" in henry viii's possession in 1530, is of gold, one and five-eighths of an inch in diameter, and shaped like a circular dish. it has a corded edge, and round the rim, in pierced and raised letters, now only partially enamelled, are the following words: non · surexsit · inter · natos · mulierum. the sunk centre is covered with translucent ruby enamel, and in the middle is the head of the saint in gold and white enamel. the head is delicately modelled, and such care has the artist displayed in its execution that he has shown above the eyebrow the gash which herodias, according to the legend,[147] on receiving the head from salome, inflicted on it with a pin from her hair, or with a knife seized from the table where the feast had taken place (pl. xxix, 1). [147] this legend is the subject of a striking picture by quentin matsys (itself rich in representation of jewellery), which forms the left wing of the magnificent "deposition" (no. 245), in the antwerp museum. a famous relic, the skull of the saint in amiens cathedral, exhibits a hole over the eyebrow. [illustration: _plate xxix_ renaissance enseignes] all the four enseignes last mentioned are examples of the method of executing these ornaments described in cellini's famous treatise[148] on the goldsmith's art, where he extols the goldsmith caradosso as a craftsman skilled above all others in their production. the work is repoussé; the st. john's head being also worked into full relief by this process, and then applied to the dish. such repoussé figures were frequently attached to an independent background formed of lapis-lazuli, agate, or some other precious substance. [148] _i trattati dell' oreficeria._ ed. milanesi, 1857. chapter on minuteria. the revival of the art of gem-engraving led to a large demand for cameos--themselves more suitable for decorative purposes than intaglios--as personal ornaments. "it was much the custom of that time," says vasari, writing of the gem-engraver matteo del nassaro, "to wear cameos and other jewels of similar kind round the neck and in the cap." matteo produced many admirable cameos for use as enseignes for francis i and the nobles of his court, almost every one of whom carried on their persons some example of his work. on jewels of this kind parts of the figures were occasionally executed in cameo, and the remainder in gold, chased and enamelled; but more frequently figures were worked entirely in hard material, and then, in accordance with the artistic taste of the time, enclosed in borders, enriched with enamel and jewel-work of the most exquisite variety of design. unhappy vicissitudes, like those which the gems at florence have undergone,[149] have in course of time despoiled many a cameo of its rich setting. yet in the great public gem collections of london, paris, vienna, st. petersburg, berlin, munich, and dresden, as well as in the cabinets of private collectors, are to be found a number of beautiful examples of the jeweller's art at its best period, which have been preserved on account of the cameos they served to adorn. [149] in the night of december 17th, 1860, the galleria delle gemme of the uffizi was entered by thieves, who carried off a large number of gems and jewels. most of the gems were recovered, but nearly all robbed of their settings. all the jewels were lost (gotti, a., _le gallerie di firenze_, pp. 229 and 388). the finest enseigne that displays cameo and enamelled gold worked together in combination is cellini's exquisite "leda and the swan," in the münz-und-antiken-kabinet at vienna. the head and the torso of the figure of leda is in cameo--the latter being an antique fragment; the remainder of the jewel is of gold, enriched with enamels, diamonds, and rubies. this is considered to be the actual jewel executed by cellini at rome about 1524 for the gonfalonier gabriele cesarini[150] (pl. xxix, 5). [150] kenner (f.), _cameen und modelle des xvi. jahrhunderts_, p. 27 (_jahrbuch der kunsthistor. sammlungen des kaiserhauses, iv_), 1886. by far the most extensive collection of mounted cameos is preserved in the bibliothèque nationale at paris. the majority of these jewels which follow the cartouche form are presumably of french fabrique, though a decision as to their precise provenance is here, as ever, a matter of considerable difficulty. among brooches or medallions for the hat, whose purpose is clearly indicated by the presence of a pin or holes for attachment, the most noticeable are four, numbered respectively 595, 465, 513, and 1002. the first, bearing the head of a negro in agate, encircled with a band of rubies, has an outer border of open scrollwork, of white, heightened with red enamel. on each side and below is a table diamond; and above, a crown set with triangular faceted diamonds (pl. xxix, 4). lack of space precludes detailed reference to the other three _enseignes de chaperon_. they are equally attractive, both on account of their design and the high quality of their workmanship. those unable to afford such costly ornaments wore hat-brooches or medallions in cheaper materials, either bronze or copper. these were cast or stamped, and not, like the more magnificent enseignes of gold, executed by the repoussé process. the work of the earlier medallists was produced by means of casting, the medallions being afterwards delicately chased. from the beginning of the sixteenth century, medallists, who, it may be remembered, were mostly jewellers and gem-engravers as well, executed engraved dies, from which their medallions were struck instead of cast. the majority of smaller medallions so generally worn as hat-badges were multiplied by the newer process of stamping, and pierced with holes for attachment to the head-dress. they were afterwards gilded and occasionally enriched with enamel. further information about the cheaper class of enseignes is met with in bernard palissy's _art de la terre_, according to which the enamellers of limoges, owing to competition, had to supply figured hat-badges at _trois sols la douzaine_. "which badges were so well worked and their enamels so well melted over the copper that no picture could be prettier." brooches of even cheaper materials are alluded to by shakespeare in _love's labour's lost_, when biron and dumain, ridiculing holofernes, who acts as judas in the pageant of the nine worthies, exclaim:- _biron._ saint george's half-cheek in a brooch. _dumain._ ay, and in a brooch of lead. _biron._ ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. the fashion for enseignes lasted until about the second quarter of the seventeenth century. during this later period they were generally worn in the hats of persons of wealth and distinction, in the form of a cluster of precious stones[151] (pl. xxxiv, 3); while the enseignes with figured compositions appear to have fallen into disuse. the remarkable letter addressed by james i to charles and buckingham in spain, in 1623, deals chiefly with jewelled hat-brooches of this kind (p. 300). hat-bands richly jewelled were likewise worn; and among the jewels sent to spain for the use of the prince was a magnificent hat-band "garnished with 20 diamonds set in buttons of gold in manner of spanish work." it was made up of the following stones, representing every mode of cutting employed at the time: 8 four-square table diamonds, 2 six-square table diamonds, 2 eight-square table diamonds, 2 four-square table diamonds cut with facets, 2 large pointed diamonds, 1 fair heart diamond, and 3 triangle diamonds.[152] [151] a jewelled enseigne known as the "star jewel," once the property of sir francis drake, belongs to sir f. fuller-eliott-drake. it is enriched with translucent red enamel, and has rubies set in the rays, with opals and diamonds interspersed in the border, round an engraved ruby in the centre. it has four loops behind for attaching to the hat. [152] _archæologia_, xxi, p. 152. aigrettes at the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century an aigrette was often worn in the hat, a jewelled brooch being employed to hold it. the latter was sometimes in the form of a pipe or socket into which the stems of the feathers were inserted. a fine example of this class of ornament, discovered at lauingen in the coffin of otto henry, count palatine of neuburg (d. 1604), is now preserved with the rest of the jewels of the same family in the bavarian national museum at munich. it is in the shape of a heart open-worked and enriched with enamel, and has in the centre the letters d.m.--initials of his wife dorothea maria--set with rubies. behind is a tube for the reception of an aigrette of herons' feathers (pl. xxx, 3). [illustration: _plate xxx_ jewelled hat-ornaments, (aigrettes, etc.) late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries] though never in general use, feathers with settings mounted with precious stones and attached by jewelled brooches were worn long before this date; and charles the bold's hat--_chapeau montauban_--(lambecius, _bib. caes. vindobon._, ii, p. 516) was enriched with feathers of this description magnificently jewelled. about the commencement of the seventeenth century the feather aigrette was often replaced by one of precious stones. a jewel of this form is in the waddesdon bequest. it is 3½ inches in height, and formed of five plumes--three jewelled with rubies and diamonds and the others enamelled white--rising from an open-worked ornament in the form of military trophies, enamelled and set with four diamonds. a design for an aigrette of almost exactly the same style may be seen among the engravings for jewellery by the augsburg goldsmith daniel mignot. the engravings of paul birckenhultz (_c._ 1617) likewise contain designs for similar ornaments. these jewelled aigrettes were much in fashion in england at the time of james i, and a "feather jewel" or "jewel of gold in fashion of a feather, set with diamonds," is mentioned several times in the royal accounts. the finely executed drawings for jewellery in the victoria and albert museum by arnold lulls, jeweller to james i, include four coloured designs for jewelled aigrettes (pl. xxx, 1). they are provided with short, stout pins, and set with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds, arranged in the most tasteful manner, and are evidently intended to be further enriched with enamel. other jewelled aigrettes in favour in the seventeenth century were composed solely of precious stones. reference will be made to these in a later chapter dealing with the ornaments of that period. hair-pins besides the enseigne worn occasionally by ladies, the jewelled aigrettes of more frequent use, and the gold circlets set with precious stones, more elaborate forms of head-decoration were employed. though these were often entwined with ropes of pearls and sprinkled with precious stones, they belong rather to costume proper. there remain, however, hair-pins, of which we obtain a certain amount of information from the inventories, and from the few actual specimens that still remain. hair-pins, like other articles of renaissance jewellery, are remarkable for their variety of design, particularly as far as the heads of the pins are concerned. in the germanic museum at nuremberg are several hair-pins with heads variously ornamented, one of them being in the form of a small enamelled hand. the shaft of the pin is often flat, open-worked and enamelled; occasionally the head is attached to it by a ring and hangs loosely from it. a gold enamelled hair-pin is among the jewels of princess amalia hedwig (d. 1607), the contents of whose coffin, opened in the eighteenth century with those of the counts palatine of neuburg at lauingen, are now in the bavarian national museum. this pin has a small open rosette hanging loosely from it set with five diamonds and five pendent pearls. contemporary portraits show how these pins were worn, and in a portrait of a young woman by peter moreelse in the rotterdam gallery, just such a pin is seen thrust in under the close-fitting lace cap so that the pendent head rests upon the forehead. in the inventories of the time hair-pins are termed _bodkins_; and among queen elizabeth's new year's gifts are several of these richly decorated bodkins. thus: "a bodkyn of golde, garnished at the ende with four smale diamondes and a smale rubye, with a crown of ophales, and a very smale perle pendant peare fashone." "a bodkin of golde, with a flower thearat, garnished with smale rubyes and ophals on one side." "a bodkinne of silver, with a little ostridg of gold, pendant, enamuled, and two waspes of golde lose enamuled." in the inventory of jewels of anne, duchess of somerset, second wife of the protector somerset (1587), is "a bodkynne of golde, with clawes in the ende, inamyled blacke." earrings the fashion of wearing the hair over the ears, which, as we have seen, completely banished earrings from among the ornaments of the middle ages, greatly checked their use during the sixteenth century. in italian pictures one finds here and there some traces of them, but compared with the profusion of other ornaments, their almost complete absence is somewhat surprising. the most remarkable instance of their use is the beautiful portrait of a lady by sodoma, or by parmigianino, in the städel institute at frankfort, where are seen elaborate earrings of open-work scroll pattern with three pendent pearls. they measure upwards of two and a half inches in length. the so-called fornarina in the tribuna of the uffizi wears a small gold pendant in the form of an amphora attached to a simple ring; while in the portrait by angelo bronzino in the pitti gallery, supposed to be that of bianca cappello (1548-87), wife of francesco de' medici, the lobe of the ear is pierced twice, and the two rings placed in it support a pendant formed of two pearls mounted in gold, with three hanging pearls below. [illustration: earring, from portrait of a lady by sodoma (frankfort gallery).] in the second half of the sixteenth century, with the altered mode of wearing the hair, earrings, though still rare in pictures, appear to have come more into fashion, and the prints of woeiriot, collaert, birckenhultz, and other engravers of the day, as well as a number of examples in the various museums, show the types then in use. english portraits of the first half of the sixteenth century do not exhibit these ornaments, but when they appear later on, as in the numerous portraits of queen elizabeth, they are usually in the form of pear-shaped pearl drops. mary queen of scots appears to have generally worn earrings, judging by the inventory of her jewels in 1561,[153] which contains a very large number, including the following: "deux pendans doreille faictz en facon de croix de hierusalem esmaillez de blanc--deux petis pendans doreille garniz de deux petittes perles de facon de doubles ames--deux petis pendans doreille dor emplis de senteure." [153] _inuentaires de la royne descosse douairiere de france_ (published by the bannatyne club), p. 87. the use of earrings, curiously enough, was not confined to women, and we find men, even the sedatest, wearing them. "women," says philip stubbes in his _anatomie of abuses_ (1583), "are so far bewitched as they are not ashamed to make holes in their ears, whereat they hang rings, and other jewels of gold and precious stones; but this," he adds, "is not so much frequented among women as among men." this custom appears to have originated in spain, where the use of earrings was pretty general among both sexes, and as the result of spanish influence was introduced into france at the luxurious court of henry iii. the fashion subsequently came to england, where it was generally affected by the courtiers of elizabeth and james i, as is clear from contemporary male portraits, where an earring is worn, as a rule, in one ear only. robert carr, earl of somerset, is seen in the national portrait gallery wearing a ruby earring; while the duke of buckingham was particularly noticeable for the splendour of his diamond earrings. commenting on the degeneracy of his contemporaries, holinshed in his _chronicle_ (1577) observes: "some lusty courtiers also and gentlemen of courage do wear either rings of gold, stones, or pearl in their ears, whereby they imagine the workmanship of god to be not a little amended." in a splendour-loving time one might expect to find such ornaments among courtiers, but that earrings were worn also by men of action and men of parts is evident from the portraits of shakespeare, sir walter raleigh, and the earl of southampton. the use of earrings among men continued to the time of charles i, and in lenton's _young gallant's whirligigg_ (1629) a fop is described with- haire's curl'd, eares pearl'd, with bristows[154] brave and bright, bought for true diamonds in his false sight. [154] crystal quartz found in the clifton limestone, and known as bristol diamonds. king charles himself followed the general fashion and hung a large pearl in his left ear. this he wore even on the scaffold, where he took it from his ear and gave it to a faithful follower. it is still preserved, and is now owned by the duke of portland. it is pear-shaped, about five-eighths of an inch long, and mounted with a gold top, and a hook to pass through the ear. earrings, together with similar luxuries, vanished at the time of the protectorate; men are not seen wearing them after the restoration, though they are still in use among certain classes on account of their supposed value as preservatives against affections of the eyes. chapter xxvi renaissance necklaces, neck-chains, and collars necklaces or neck-chains worn by both sexes are a prominent feature in renaissance jewellery. just as in primitive times the neck was encircled by a torque, so at this later period it was the custom to carry heavy chains of pure gold, which were worn in different ways, either round the throat, or else upon the shoulders and low down over the breast. sometimes one long chain was wound several times round the neck so that the uppermost row closely encircled the throat. not satisfied with one, women in particular occasionally wore as many as half a dozen chains of different design covering the body from neck to waist. from the fifteenth until the middle of the seventeenth century neck-chains were a frequent adjunct to male costume, and allusion is made to them in barclay's _ship of fools_ (printed by pynson in 1508):- some theyr neckes charged with colers, and chaynes as golden withtthes: theyr fyngers ful of rynges: theyr neckes naked: almoste vnto the raynes; theyr sleues blasinge lyke to a cranys wynges. men's necklaces, apart from the chains and collars of distinction belonging to particular orders or guilds, seem to have been mostly of pure gold, and in the reign of henry viii the fashion of wearing them was carried to a most unreasonable excess. hall speaks of the "nombre of chaynes of golde and bauderickes both massy and grate" worn at the field of the cloth of gold, and of the "marveilous treasor of golde" thus displayed. references to the extraordinary dimensions of these chains show that they must have been extremely inconvenient to wear. henry viii's book of payments records the payment in 1511 of £199 to the goldsmith roy for a chain of gold weighing no less than 98 ounces. this is actually surpassed in elizabeth's time, when her majesty received as a new year's gift in 1588 "one cheine of golde, weing one hundred threescore and one ounce." queen mary had a heavy chain of gold made by her jeweller, robert raynes, out of the angels received as new year's gifts;[155] and the curious custom of converting bullion into chains is further exemplified in the case of sir thomas gresham, the bulk of whose wealth on his death in 1579 was found to consist of gold chains. [155] nichols (j.), _illustrations of the manners and expenses of ancient times in england_, pt. iii, p. 26. pictures without number exhibit these ponderous neck-ornaments, while contemporary wills teem with references to them. that they were very much worn in shakespeare's time would be apparent had we no other authority than his frequent allusion to them, as for instance in the _comedy of errors_, where there is a great ado about a chain. indeed, no gentleman was considered properly equipped unless he had his chain of gold upon his shoulders. with regard to their form, it seems that chains which appear as though made of plaited wire, and were known in mediæval times, remained still in use. but the majority of chains are composed of rounded links of various designs. they are usually of great length, so as to encircle the neck and shoulders several times. extraordinarily common though such chains must have been, but few examples have survived, and the reason for this must be that, composed of pure metal, they went direct to the melting-pot as soon as they became unfashionable. yet owing to peculiar circumstances some still exist. in the germanic museum at nuremberg are preserved several examples dating from the first quarter of the seventeenth century. these formerly belonged to the holtzendorff family, and were buried during the thirty years' war, at pinnow in north germany, where they were unearthed a few years ago.[156] two gold chains dating from about the middle of the same century are preserved in the ashmolean museum. they were presented to elias ashmole: the one 29 inches long, formed of thirty-two open-work quatrefoil links, by christian v, king of denmark, and the other, of circular links, by the elector of brandenburg in 1680, on the publication of the _history of the order of the garter_. the custom of presenting chains of gold was as common then, it is to be observed, as in the most ancient times. john williams, jeweller of james i, was paid sums amounting to upwards of £13,000 for chains of gold given by the king to divers ambassadors. [156] nuremberg: germanisches museum. _mitteilungen_, 1894, p. 73. these heavy linked or twisted chains were worn principally by men, but not exclusively, as is clear from numerous early portraits--those, for instance, by the german painters bernard strigel and lucas cranach, whose ladies (as in the portrait by cranach in the national gallery) almost invariably have massive gold chains. though generally composed of metal rings, men's chains, especially those worn by men of high rank, were occasionally composed of cylinders or plaques linked together and enriched with enamel and precious stones. such jewelled collars were, however, chiefly reserved for women. henry viii's numerous portraits generally show him adorned with magnificent collars set with pearls and precious stones; and it is recorded that on the occasion of his attending st. paul's at the proclamation of peace in 1515 he wore a collar thickly studded with the finest carbuncles, as large as walnuts. amongst the numerous collars mentioned in his inventory of 1526 is a "carkayne of hearts, with a hand at each end, holding a device of a goodly balasse garnished with five pearls and three diamonds, and a hanging pearl."[157] [157] _letters and papers_, iv, no. 1907. the jewelled neck-chain worn by women, and composed of strings of precious stones, "ropes of pearls", or of jewelled and enamelled sections, is often represented in pictures as being gathered in a festoon at the breast and hanging in loops at each side as low as the waist. a chain of gold of this character--one amongst many similar presented by the earl of leicester to queen elizabeth--was "made like a pair of beads, containing eight long pieces, garnished with small diamonds, and four score and one smaller pieces, fully garnished with like diamonds." besides the chains or collars worn round the neck and upon the shoulders, there were the actual necklets worn round the throat, and often only distinguishable from the collar proper by their length (pl. xxxi, 1). these necklaces, or carcanets, which almost invariably had as a central ornament an elaborate pendent jewel, are figured in such profusion in sixteenth-century portraits, particularly by the painters of the german school, that it is needless to mention particular examples. in henry viii's time they were worn in great abundance. the king loaded his wives with sumptuous jewels, and encircled their throats--on which the axe was eventually to fall--with jewelled and enamelled necklaces. the "carkyonetts" of queen elizabeth, of which she received an immense number, were equally magnificent. a new year's gift in 1587 was a "carkyonett of golde, like halfe moones, garnished with sparcks of rubyes and diamonds pendant, and one rowe of seede perles."[158] [158] nichols, _progresses of queen elizabeth_, ii, p. 498. the forms of the necklaces and jewelled neck-chains differ so much that the reader must be referred to the various collections of this country and the continent. occasionally necklaces of chain formation or of plaited wire are set with stones, but of more frequent occurrence are those where every single link shows a special development of a bijou kind. in the renaissance necklace every link is for the most part treated as a symmetrical composition, either cartouche-shaped or of pendent form. hence it happens that in collections, as herr luthmer suggests,[159] single links of this kind may occasionally be found incorrectly classified under the title of "pendants." those in existence display a variety of very remarkable formations, for seldom are the links exactly alike: generally a large and a small motive are arranged alternately--a larger and more richly decorated central link being inserted into the middle of the chain for the purpose of supporting or introducing the rich pendent jewel. to this type belongs one of the most noteworthy necklaces in existence, which now forms part of the adolphe rothschild bequest in the louvre. it is of gold set with pearls and precious stones, and is composed of twenty-two open-work links and a pendant, all enamelled in relief, the eleven larger links and the pendant containing each in separate compositions a story from the history of the passion. the groups of figures are of wonderful execution, and in spite of their minute proportions are singularly expressive, being worked in a delicate and at the same time most resolute manner. when exhibited by the countess of mount charles at the jewellery exhibition at south kensington in 1872, the jewel was thus referred to: "this superb specimen of italian cinquecento work has been attributed to benvenuto cellini, and is at least as good as anything extant known to be by his hand." this cautious observation need not disconcert one; for the jewel is too closely allied in style and workmanship to the jewellery of south germany of the second half of the sixteenth century to permit of such attribution. nevertheless it must certainly be reckoned among the most elaborate examples of cinquecento jewellery that have come down to us. [159] luthmer, _gold und silber_, p. 100. the great display of necklaces and long neck-chains ceased about the middle of the seventeenth century. in common with other similar objects they entirely disappeared in england during the protectorate; nor were they ever worn again in any greater profusion than they are at the present day. [illustration: design for a pendant by jacques androuet ducerceau.] chapter xxvii renaissance neck-pendants the necklaces, collars, or neck-chains which have just been spoken of as noticeable features in renaissance decoration served the purpose of suspending a species of ornament even more peculiarly characteristic of the period--the pendant. this was hung either to the necklet, or to the neck-chain that fell upon the breast. among all classes of renaissance jewellery, and indeed of the jewellery of all time, this neck-pendant certainly deserves the first place, not only on account of the predominating part it played among the other ornaments of the period, but also on account of the great number of examples we possess of it, and the variety of forms which it exhibits. throughout the middle ages almost every pendant worn at the neck (_pent-à-col_) bore a religious signification, but towards the close of the fifteenth or the beginning of the sixteenth century the pendant seems to have lost much of its religious character, and became mainly an object of decoration. that even in the sixteenth century it did not entirely serve a decorative purpose is shown by a number of portraits dating from the first half of the century, where the termination of the neck-chain is hidden beneath a square-cut bodice. what the object was which was thus concealed is uncertain. it was very possibly a reliquary, or perhaps a cross; for crosses form a very large proportion of renaissance pendants existing at the present day. apart from crosses, the majority of renaissance pendants represent a figured subject of some description, while compositions entirely of precious stones appear to be less common--at least in the second half of the sixteenth century, to which the greater number of these jewels belong. holbein's designs for pendants, on the other hand, were composed, it may be remembered, mainly of precious stones. from this we may infer that jewels having as a central ornament a single precious stone, or a gem surrounded by stones, and a regular contour, generally antedate those with figured compositions within uneven or broken borders. this of course applies to jewels which exhibit distinctly a back and front, and not to those formed of a single figure in the round, which are often difficult to date, though extant examples belong mostly to the latter half of the century. it is to be noticed that the majority of pendants are suspended by two, or sometimes three, richly jewelled and enamelled chains, connected above by a cartouche similarly enriched. while sixteenth-century pendants display on their front the art of the goldsmith-enameller in its full perfection, the reverse likewise exhibits artistic work in engraving as well as enamelling. it is likewise worthy of remark that renaissance pendants are almost invariably enriched with pendent pearls. of the immense number of subjects represented on these jewels we have already spoken in the introduction to the jewellery of the period. for pendants formed of single figures executed in the round, the whole of ancient or mediæval imagery--with its figures of pan or of wood-nymphs, centaurs, tritons, or mermen; nereids, mermaids or sirens; hippocamps, unicorns, dragons, and other creatures, real as well as fabulous, of the earth, air, or sea--was revived, or else transformed to suit the fancy of the renaissance jeweller. the formation of many of these was frequently suggested by a monster pearl, unsuitable for ordinary jewellery on account of its baroque or misshapen form, introduced in a wonderfully skilful manner into the body or breast of a figure, which was completed in enamelled goldwork. in such adaptations the german jewellers, who seem to have revelled in technical difficulties, displayed extraordinary ingenuity. among groups of several figures employed as subjects for representation, generally within a frame of ornamental design, scenes from ancient mythology predominate, the judgment of paris being a very favourite theme. but christian allegories are not excluded: besides the frequent representation of charity with her two children or her symbol the pelican, we find faith, hope, and fortitude; st. george and the dragon or st. michael are also frequently met with; while amongst scriptural subjects of the old and new testaments or the apocrypha, the annunciation is perhaps the most popular. [illustration: _plate xxxi_ german and french renaissance pendants] the majority of the pendants of this class show a rich and uneven outline broken by tendrils often enriched with small dots of enamel, by projecting wings of birds or amorini, by strapwork and other ornament. occasionally a "charity" or an "annunciation" is placed in an architectural niche, but the architectural device is not infrequently limited to a horizontal beam formed of a row of table-cut stones and two obelisks of the same construction forming the ends to the right and left (pl. xxxiii, 1). it is only in the smaller examples of pendants that we find the design lying flat on a plane. generally the jewel is fashioned in relief by means of two, three, or even four superimposed planes formed of open-work plates arranged in such a manner that the lower parts are seen through openings in the upper. these are fastened together by rivets sometimes three-eighths of an inch long, and the upper field of the jewel, on which are groups of enamelled figures, is set with stones in very large pyramidal collets, so that the whole composition is increased to a considerable height. collections contain frequent examples of this class of pendant (pl. xxxii). one of the most elaborate, of augsburg work dating from the end of the sixteenth century, is in the adolphe rothschild bequest in the louvre. in the centre is an enamelled group representing the annunciation, within an architectural framework set with diamonds, rubies, and pendent pearls. the jewel, which is suspended by triple chains from an enamelled cartouche, measures in its total length 5¼ inches. it was formerly in the debruge-duménil collection. similarly large open-work pendants, enriched with enamels, precious stones, and pendent pearls, are shown attached by a ribbon to the left breast in three portraits dated 1609, representing the princesses elizabeth, hedwig, and dorothea of brunswick, nos. 458, 460, and 461 in the hampton court gallery. of pendants containing groups of small enamelled figures there seems to have been an enormous production in southern germany towards the close of the sixteenth century, particularly in the workshops of munich and augsburg. these pieces, which are very charming, are greatly sought after by collectors, and are among the most highly prized of all objects of virtu at the present day. their workmanship is extraordinarily elaborate; though not a few of them, it must be confessed, are overloaded with detail, and somewhat unsatisfactory in composition. with the revival of the glyptic art, cameos begin to play a prominent part in jewellery. a considerable number of cameos in the great gem collections, set in exquisite jewelled and enamelled mounts, are provided with loops for use as pendants.[160] numerous gems, splendidly mounted as pendants, are to be found in the bibliothèque nationale at paris (pl. xxxi, 6); and in the british museum are a few fine examples from the carlisle collection. of extant pendants having as a centre-piece a figured subject, either cut in cameo or of repoussé work enamelled, the majority show uneven contours, generally of broken strapwork, after the manner of the german ornamentists, though not a few of those of oval shape have frames with smooth outlines. many, on the other hand, follow the cartouche design in form of shields with upturned edges. these figure chiefly in the designs of the french _maîtres ornemanistes_, androuet ducerceau and woeiriot. the doubling of the frame characteristic of the french cartouches, and the broken contours of the german pendants, which allow of a variety of intertwinings and traversings, offer a favourite field for the display of the jeweller's art in the application of polychrome enamels. [160] davenport, _cameos_, 1900. [illustration: _plate xxxii_ enamelled gold pendants set with pearls and precious stones german, about 1600 (the property of lady rothschild)] the "nef," or model of a ship, was of frequent use as an article of table plate. pendent jewels likewise take the form of a small ship completely equipped,[161] suspended by chains, and hung with pearls. in this style of jewel, which is perhaps of venetian origin, the crescent-shaped caravel or carvel, open and without a deck, but built up high at the prow and stern, with forecastle and cabin, and large ship's lantern, is often adhered to; but the design is not infrequently somewhat conventional. many of the best-known collections contain examples of these "nef" or "navette" pendants. their probable adriatic origin is evinced by the several specimens exhibited, together with jewels from the greek islands, in the franks bequest in the british museum. the victoria and albert museum contains a choice example from the spitzer collection. it carries three masts, five sails, a lantern, and a high poop and stern. the rigging is of twisted gold wire, and the hull covered with an imbricated pattern in translucent blue, red, and green, and opaque white enamels. a variety to this form is presented by a remarkable piece in the museum at vienna. it represents a barque manned by two rowers; while at the prow and stern are mandoline players who entertain two passengers seated beneath the framework awning such as was in use on the gondolas of the time. the whole is enriched with polychrome enamels. the figures are in full relief, and the boat, hung by three chains, is further set with diamonds and rubies. we may estimate the extraordinary value attached to such objects at the present day by the fact that a jewel very similar to this last was sold at messrs. christie's rooms in the autumn of 1903 for no less a sum than £6,500. the hull of this jewel is identical with that at vienna, but figures of antony and cleopatra, finely executed, though somewhat out of proportion to the rest, here take the place of the couple beneath the awning; while instead of being hung by chains (as is suitable to this form of pendant) the jewel is backed by a composition of scrolland strap-work, characteristic of german and flemish work of the second half of the sixteenth century. a comparison with contemporary designs clearly associates these two objects with the well-known set of engravings for pendent jewels published by hans collaert at antwerp in 1581 (pl. xxxiii). another version of this jewel is in the bavarian national museum, munich. the figures are the same as on the vienna jewel, but the vessel is in the form of a fish. [161] cf. "une petite nef d'or, estoffée de tout son appareil" (invent. of mary, dau. of charles the bold of burgundy, and wife of maximilian i. lille: _archives du nord_, viii, p. 171.) just as the great gem cabinets preserve pendants whose jewel-work is confined to richly decorated frames, so there exist a considerable number of mounted medals, which must be looked for in collections of coins and medals, among which they are classed on account of the presumed preponderating importance of their centre-pieces. these pendent gold medals (_gnadenmedaillen_), with beautiful jewelled and enamelled mounts, occasionally hung with pearls and suspended by chains from ornate cartouches, were much in favour in germany in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and were given by noble personages, whose portraits were figured on them, as presents and as marks of special distinction. many examples, as is to be expected, are to be found in the coin cabinets of munich and berlin; while others are preserved in the more important public and private collections of jewellery. these medallions, as was natural, were frequently made in duplicate, and the waddesdon bequest, and the salting and pierpont morgan collections each contain a jewel, dated 1612, of maximilian, archduke of austria (1558-1620), in an open-worked border of enamelled scrolls interrupted by four shields of arms, and suspended by three chains, united above by an oval escutcheon with the arms of austria on one side and the cross of the teutonic order on the other. the victoria and albert museum has an enamel-mounted medal of albert vi, duke of bavaria (1584-1666), a facsimile of which, hung with a single instead of trilobed pearl, is in the munich cabinet. many of the motives connected with pendants denote associations which appear inexplicable, until it is understood that no small number of them, like the pendent medals, were gifts from princes, the so-called "faveurs" granted in recognition of services rendered. among the princely gifts we must class that large group of pendants which consist only of one letter or a monogram in an ornamental frame or in open-work, sometimes composed entirely of precious stones. of these the victoria and albert museum possesses a fine early example in form of a square tablet of gold set with pearls, bearing on one side two enamelled shields of arms, and on the other the initials da, in a frame formed of bracket-shaped terminal figures and human masks. it is of german work of about the year 1530 (pl. xxxi, 3). distinct from these princely monograms are those employed for religious purposes, particularly the monograms of christ and the virgin. [illustration: _plate xxxiii_ pendent jewels by hans collaert, etc.] probably the finest example of the numerous pendants in the form of a single figure, particularly of those whose formation is suggested by a large baroque pearl, is the triton or merman jewel in the possession of lord clanricarde. the figure, whose body is made of a single pearl, with head and arms of white enamel and tail of brilliant yellow, green, and blue, wields a jaw-bone in the right hand, and an enamelled satyr's mask as a shield in the left. this magnificent italian jewel was brought from india by lord canning. pendants of somewhat similar character, often representing a mermaid holding a comb in one hand and a mirror in the other, are to be found in the vienna, windsor, waddesdon, and other collections. they are almost invariably of german workmanship. amongst many other jewels of similar formation the most important is a pendant in the form of a dragon in the galerie d'apollon of the louvre. the modelling and general form of this jewel is very fine, and its enamel-work, chiefly of white and light blue, in the design of circles and chevrons, especially on the wings, is most admirable. it is spanish work of the highest quality, and was bequeathed by baron davillier, who procured it in spain (_frontispiece_). of other animal forms are those of a lion, a dromedary, a dog (termed a talbot) (pl. xxxiv, 2), and a fish; birds include, besides a dove (the symbol of the holy ghost), eagles, cocks, parrots, and pelicans. fine examples of the two latter are at south kensington from the treasury at saragossa: one is mounted with a large hyacinth in front[162] (pl. xxxiv, 1), the other is represented plucking at a blood-red carbuncle set in her breast. [162] cf. "a juell of golde, wherein is a parret hanging" (new year's gifts to queen elizabeth, 1578-9). among miscellaneous pendants worn in renaissance times attached to the neck-chain mention must be made of whistles. these (like the "bo'sons pipe" of to-day) were formed, as has been shown (p. 190), of a pipe or tube, sometimes in the form of a pistol, through which the air is carried into a hole in a ball, thus producing the sound. whistles of this kind were designed by dürer and brosamer, and they are shown suspended at the neck in the engraved portraits of william, duke of juliers, and of john of leyden by aldegrever, in the portrait of a man by lucis cranach the elder (1472-1553) in the louvre, and in portraits of the margrave philibert of baden (1549) by hans schöpfer the elder at munich and nuremberg. silver whistles of somewhat similar construction, ornamented with a mermaid or siren, or with a lion or sea-horse, were frequently worn also as charms in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. they are usually hung with little bells, possibly for the purpose of averting the evil eye--the "mal'occhio" or "jettatura" it is termed in italy. examples are preserved in the cluny, nuremberg, and south kensington museums. in aldegrever's design for a whistle, of the year 1539, the lower part is formed of a case containing small articles for toilet purposes. such articles, in the shape of toothpicks and ear-picks, often richly gemmed and enamelled, were very commonly worn hanging from a fine gold chain or thread about the neck. elaborate toothpicks are occasionally seen in pictures, as in the venetian portrait of a young man in the national gallery of ireland. their owners are sometimes shown affectionately toying with them. judging by the frequency with which they are met with in inventories, they must have been extremely popular. a few quotations may be given. thus: henry viii (1530). "two gold toothpicks with h and e--a gold toothpick and an ear-pick, with a chain; and two other toothpicks, one with a ruby and a pearl, and the other with a ruby and a diamond--two gold whistles."[163] queen elizabeth amongst her new year's gifts received the following:--1573-4: "six smale tothe-picks of golde. geven by mrs. snowe, one of them lost by her majestie." 1574-5: "an eare-picke of golde enamuled, garnished with sparcks of rubyes, blue saphirs, and seede perle." 1576-7: "a tothe and eare-picke of golde, being a dolphin enamuled, with a perle pendaunte, 16 small rubyes being but sparcks, and 5 sparcks of dyamonds."[164] most of the important collections of cinquecento jewellery contain specimens of these magnificent toothpicks. the form is often that of a mermaid or merman. the body is constructed of a baroque pearl; the tail terminates in a point. designs for a couple of jewels of this kind were published by erasmus hornick of nuremberg in 1562. in the cluny museum (wasset bequest) is a silver-gilt pendant, an earand toothpick combined, one end being an ear-, the other a toothpick. it is ornamented in the centre with clasped hands and hung with a pearl, and is german work of the sixteenth century. [163] henry viii, _letters and papers_, iv, no. 6789. [164] nichols, _progresses of q. elizabeth_, i, pp. 380, 412; ii, p. 52. in addition to the museums already mentioned (namely, the victoria and albert museum and the vienna museum, the rothschild and davillier bequests in the louvre, and the coin or gem collections of london, paris, berlin, and munich), numbers of pendants, in immense variety of form, are to be found in all the well-known collections. the waddesdon bequest in the british museum contains, perhaps, the largest series; while the wallace collection, the prussian crown treasury at berlin, the bavarian crown treasury at munich, and the green vaults at dresden, all possess a great number of examples. * * * several english pendants of the renaissance claim attention for their rare beauty and historical importance. of the pendants of the time of henry viii we obtain a tolerably accurate idea from contemporary portraits, and from holbein's inimitable series of drawings. the earliest existing example, which, so far as can be ascertained, dates from the holbein period, is known as the penruddock jewel. it is believed to have been presented in 1544 by queen catherine parr to sir george penruddock of compton chamberlayne, and anne his wife. it is triangular in shape, and set with a large cabochon sapphire surrounded by rubies and diamonds in open-work enamel setting. this remarkable jewel is shown on a portrait of sir george penruddock by lucas de heere in possession of its owner, mr. charles penruddock, at compton chamberlayne, wiltshire. [illustration: the penruddock jewel.] the majority of english sixteenth-century pendants extant date from the elizabethan period, and are almost all more or less associated with the virgin queen. the ingenuity displayed in devising curious forms for these ornaments can best be judged from the lists of the queen's own jewels. a few of these may be mentioned: "a juell of golde, being a catt, and myce playing with her.--one greene frog, the back of emeraldes, smale and greate, and a pendaunte emeralde, and a smale cheyne of golde to hang by.--a juell of golde, being an anker." another "being a dolfyn," another "two snakes wounde together," others take the form of a horse-shoe, a swan, and a rainbow. the "nef" jewel, of which we have spoken, was also a favourite one. in the queen's inventory are a number of entries of this class of pendant, and among them: "a jeuel of golde, being a shippe, sett with a table dyamonde, of fyve sparcks of dyamondes, and a smale perle pendaunte.--a juell, being a ship of mother-of-perle, garneshed with small rubys, and 3 small diamonds." one of the chief treasures among the hunsdon heirlooms at berkeley castle is a pendant of this form, a present to elizabeth from sir francis drake, and given by her to lord hunsdon. it is supposed to represent the famous _golden hind_, the ship in which drake sailed round the world. the hull, which is of ebony, is set with a table diamond; the masts and rigging of gold are enriched with blue, white, green, and black opaque enamels, and set with seed pearls. in the ship is a seated figure of victory blowing a horn, and behind is a cherub crowning her with a wreath. the small boat suspended below is enamelled blue (pl. xxxv, 2). a jewel also associated with sir francis drake, and perhaps the most important of all elizabethan pendants, is preserved, with other relics of the great navigator, at nutwell court, devon. it is set in front with a fine renaissance cameo in oriental sardonyx, representing two heads--a negro in the upper and dark layer, and a classical head in the light layer of the stone. behind is a miniature by hilliard of elizabeth, dated 1575. the border, of most admirable work, is richly enamelled in red, yellow, blue, and green, interspersed with diamonds and rubies. beneath is a cluster pendant of pearls, to which is attached a very fine drop pearl (pl. xxxiv, 4). this magnificent jewel was presented to sir francis drake by queen elizabeth in 1579, and in his portrait by zucchero (now belonging, together with the jewel, to his descendant sir f. fuller-eliott-drake) he is represented wearing it suspended from the neck by a red and gold cord, over a silk scarf, also a present from the queen. the cluster of pearls, as on the drake jewel, was a favourite form of ornament for renaissance pendants. in the national portrait gallery is a portrait of henry grey, duke of suffolk (father of lady jane grey), wearing a george of the order of the garter, below which is hung a pearl cluster and a large pear-shaped pearl attached. a similar pendant, like a bunch of grapes, serves to enrich another fine jewel of this time--the barbor jewel in the victoria and albert museum. in the centre of this jewel is a beautifully cut cameo portrait in sardonyx of queen elizabeth in a frame of translucent blue and green on opaque white enamel, set alternately with rubies and table diamonds. according to a family tradition, mr. william barbor, who had been condemned to be burned at the stake in smithfield for his religion, had this jewel made to commemorate his deliverance through the death of queen mary and the accession of elizabeth (pl. xxxv, 4). the museum at south kensington exhibits another pendant of the same period, the property of miss wild. it is of gold, of open scrollwork, enamelled, and set with rubies and diamonds, and with pearl drops. it has in the centre a turquoise cameo of queen elizabeth. the sheen of the pearls with the rich red of the foiled rubies and the dark lustre of the diamonds in their old irregular setting, combine with the lightness and delicacy of the goldwork touched with coloured enamel to render this little pendant one of the most attractive objects of its kind in existence. in addition to its artistic beauty, the jewel is of interest from the tradition that it was given as a christening present by queen elizabeth to its first owner, by whose descendants it has been preserved to the present day. [illustration: _plate xxxiv_ renaissance pendants, etc., of gold, enamelled and jewelled spanish (1-2) and english (3-6)] amongst other examples in that important group of jewels which were apparently intended either as special rewards to naval officers or simply as complimentary presents from the queen to court favourites, the finest are the phoenix jewel in the british museum, a jewel belonging to mr. pierpont morgan, and one in the poldi-pezzoli museum, milan. the phoenix jewel, bequeathed to the british museum by sir hans sloane in 1753, has as a central ornament a gold bust of queen elizabeth cut from a gold medal known as the phoenix badge of the year 1574, bearing on the reverse the device of a phoenix amid flames. it is enclosed in an enamelled wreath set on both sides with red, white, and variegated roses symbolising the union of the houses of york and lancaster. the roses, of translucent red and opaque white enamel, and the leaves, of translucent green on engraved ground, are attached to stalks covered with lighter green opaque enamel (pl. xxxv, 1). the workmanship of this jewel is extremely fine, and on a level in point of excellence with the eliott-drake pendant and with mr. pierpont morgan's armada jewel. of the last-named--a splendid production of an english goldsmith of the elizabethan period--it is impossible to speak with adequate praise. like the phoenix jewel, it is modelled upon a contemporary medal, though in an entirely different style. upon the front is a profile bust of queen elizabeth from the personal or garter badge of 1582, upon an enamelled ground of aventurine blue, inscribed with the royal title. the opposite side forms a locket containing a miniature of elizabeth by hilliard dated 1580, and covered with a lid enamelled with translucent colours--on the outside with the ark and the motto saevas tranquilla per undas (as on the "naval award medal" of 1588), and on the inside with the tudor rose and a laudatory latin motto--the same as appears round the reverse of the phoenix badge of 1574, which refers to elizabeth with a regret "that virtue endued with so much beauty should not uninjured enjoy perpetual life." the jewel is bordered by strapwork _à jour_ of opaque blue and white enamel set with table diamonds and rubies. this exquisite object, which is in the highest possible state of preservation, and retains its fine enamel entirely uninjured, was sold at messrs. christie's in july, 1902, for the large sum of £5,250 (pl. xxxiv, 5, 6). the third jewel of this class, also undoubtedly english, is in the poldi-pezzoli museum at milan. it has in the centre a mother-of-pearl medallion with the ark carved in low relief, of the same design as on the morgan jewel and the 1588 medal, surrounded by the like inscription--saevas tranqvila per vndas--in gold on white enamel, and encircled by a band of table-cut rubies. the edge is enamelled with translucent red and green, and opaque white enamel (pl. xxxv, 3). the ark floating tranquilly amid violent waves is emblematic of the fortunes of england, or possibly of elizabeth, who, according to the legend per tot discrimina rerum which appears on the back of the jewel, had sailed triumphantly through many dangers. no account of this important object has previously been published, nor has its nationality up to the present been noticed, or at any rate recorded. the front opens on a hinge, and shows that the pendant was intended as a miniature case--though the miniature is missing. in the times of elizabeth and her successor miniature cases were among the most important of pendent jewels. quite a number have survived, chiefly on account of the miniatures they enclose. contemporary portraits show the manner in which they were worn. in the catalogue of charles i's collections a miniature of queen elizabeth is thus described: "queen elizabeth ... very richly adorned with gold and pearls, and a picture-box hanging at her right breast." such "picture boxes," with backs elaborately enamelled by the champlevé method, leaving only thin outlines of gold of scroll design, and hinged fronts of open-work, enamelled and set with precious stones, are among the presents which appear to have been frequently conferred as marks of recognition on favourite courtiers or subjects. it is impossible to enumerate all the various examples in public and private collections. the victoria and albert museum possesses one of the best, and a beautiful specimen is preserved at windsor castle[165] (pl. xxviii, 5). a description of a third jewel of the kind, the "lyte jewel," will be given subsequently (p. 303). [165] see _connoisseur_, v, p. 80. _the gems and jewels at windsor castle_, by h. clifford smith. [illustration: _plate xxxv_ elizabethan jewellery] besides the enamelled and jewelled pendants there are various medals (some of which have been alluded to) suspended by a ring or chain and worn as badges by those who were personally attached to the queen; and to the time of james i belong numerous references to medals of gold with the "king's majestie's phisnomy" on them, mostly the work of his goldsmith, john williams, and presented to various foreigners in official positions. space does not permit of detailed description of the wonderful lennox or darnley jewel at windsor castle, purchased by queen victoria at the sale of horace walpole's collection at strawberry hill in 1842 (pl. xxviii, 4). the jewel has been fully described by mr. tytler and mr. albert way.[166] [166] way(a.), _cat. of antiquities and historical scottish relics, edinburgh, 1859_, p. 163. see also _connoisseur, loc. cit._ it has been impossible here to convey an adequate idea of all the various specimens of sixteenth-century pendants that exist at the present day. attention has been drawn to a few of the most striking examples which stand out above the rest, either by reason of the beauty of their design or the superlative excellence of their workmanship, or by reason of their unique historical interest. while indicating the great public collections where these things are preserved, it must be left to amateurs to discover and appreciate for themselves, as they are bound to do, what, owing to exigencies of space, we are precluded from referring to in detail. chapter xxviii renaissance rings, bracelets, and brooches the splendour-loving sixteenth century far surpassed the middle ages in the use of the finger ring. no other ornament of the renaissance attained such richness and profusion. in sixteenth and seventeenth century portraits rings are represented in such quantities that the hands appear overburdened with them; while the number entered in the old inventories is astounding. yet it is well to remember that the word _bague_, which we translate a ring, was a general term for all pendent jewels--though not infrequently a distinction in the lists is drawn between _bague à mettre aux oreilles_ (an earring), _bague à pendre_ (a pendant), and _bague à mettre au doigt_. the extraordinary abundance of finger rings in use at the time may best be judged by a list in the inventory of henry viii of the year 1530, which contains no less than 234. of the large number of renaissance rings that have survived to the present day most are of a purely ornamental character; and though many others are of interest on account of their emblematic or historical associations, those which display artistic work require the chief consideration. out of all the rings that simply served the purpose of decoration, there are very few whose nationality can be easily determined. if it is difficult in the case of pendants and similar ornaments to come to a decision with regard to the question of provenance, it is even more so where rings are concerned. pictures of the period, as has been said, represent persons with their hands heavily loaded with rings, which are worn upon all the fingers, the thumb included. every finger-joint up to the very nail is covered with them, and they are worn, as by the ancient romans, even upon the knuckles. the great projection of the rings' bezels would have rendered the use of gloves impossible, were it not, as we know from pictures, for the custom of placing the rings outside the gloves, and also for the somewhat ugly fashion of slitting the fingers of the gloves, in order that they might be worn with greater comfort, and allow the rings themselves to be displayed. in a portrait of a lady by lucas cranach in the national gallery, rings are worn both over and beneath the gloves, every finger and the thumbs having two or three. the rings under the gloves appear on the top of the second knuckle of every finger, and are visible through the _crevés_ made in the gloves at these points. in other pictures by this artist, such as that entitled "judith" at vienna, and in the works of his contemporaries in germany, the same slashed gloves are to be seen. men's gloves, too, like their doublets, were slashed, as is clear from the engraved portrait of duke william of juliers, by aldegrever. bishop hall (_satires_, iii, iv) refers thus to the current fashion:- nor can good myson wear on his left hond, a signet ring of bristol diamond,[167] but he must cut his glove to show his pride, that his trim jewel might be better spy'd. [167] see note, p. 235. the tendency of placing the stone in a very high bezel was a tradition from the middle ages, where a preference had always been shown for the stone being so set. the ornamental rings of the renaissance followed a uniform outline as far as their bezels and settings were concerned. they contained, as a rule, one stone only, backed by a foil or _paillon_, and set in a box-like collet, square and pyramidal, and closed behind. the gold was rubbed over the setting edge of the stone, and the four side surfaces then decorated in a variety of ways by the application of enamel, and sometimes overlaid with an additional ornamentation in imitation of claws. the stone itself, usually table-cut, was frequently a ruby. [illustration: triple rings set with pointed diamonds. device of cosimo de' medici. (figured in botticelli's "pallas" in the pitti gallery.)] one peculiar variety of ring, known from the early part of the fifteenth century, is deserving of note. its design was founded upon the natural octahedrite shape of the diamond, and was distinguished by a very high bezel, which received one half of the octahedron and allowed the other to project upwards. rings set thus with pointed diamonds were in high favour until the middle of the seventeenth century, and were employed for writing upon glass--a practice which appears to have been much in vogue. the most characteristic examples of the _diamante in punta_ were those adopted by the medici as their device. three diamond rings interlaced were employed by cosimo (d. 1464); piero took one diamond ring held in the claw of a falcon; lorenzo continued the device of the ring, in which he placed three feathers. the best-known representations of these three devices are figured in paolo giovio's _dialogo dell' imprese_. in addition to the case for the stone, the sides or "shoulders" of the ring which held it were the subject of special artistic development. they took the form of small figures, winged creature, masks, and other ornaments in relief and richly enamelled; while for smooth surfaces champlevé enamel was employed in a variety of designs. so extraordinarily elaborate is the work on some of these rings that it would almost seem as if they were produced rather as examples of the skill of the craftsman than as objects for actual use. several old portraits exhibit rings strung upon men's necklaces, or hung from a thin cord round the neck. a portrait by mabuse, in the berlin gallery, shows a ring worn thus, and in two portraits by lucas cranach--one at weimar, representing johann friedrich of saxony attired as a bridegroom, and the other at dresden, of the elector johann the constant of saxony (1526)--rings are hung similarly round the neck. rings were also worn in the hat. a particularly striking example of this fashion is seen in the portrait of bernhard iii, margrave of baden, 1515, by hans baldung grien, in the pinakothek, munich. around his cap is fixed a thick wire-shaped band of gold, with a strip of cloth wound spirally round it. the latter serves to fix at regular intervals four gold rings, three of them set with cabochon stones and the fourth with a pointed diamond. a similar kind of decoration is alluded to in gabriel harvey's _letter book_, 1574 (camden society, 1884, p. 145), where a servant is mentioned carrying to a maiden an enamelled posy ring which his master had worn sewn upon his hat. the rings worn thus were in many cases betrothal or engagement rings; but those that served this purpose generally assumed special forms, and were among the most ingenious productions of the time. they were composed of twin or double hoops, and known as gimmel rings. the outer side of the two hoops was convex and elaborately ornamented, while the inner side was flat and often bore some inscription. the two hoops were wrought so exactly alike, that, together with the stones, they appeared to be one ring, yet could be separated, and the one hung from the other. their bezels were occasionally formed of clasped hands. ordinary one-hoop rings also bore the same design and were known as "fede" rings. another kind of betrothal or engagement ring was the "posy" or "poesie" ring, generally of simple form, with a verse, a name, or a motto engraved inside it. the posy ring, suitably inscribed, was also used as a wedding-ring. the simple posy ring belongs, however, chiefly to the seventeenth century. the elaborate betrothal ring seems to have been employed at this time as a wedding-ring as well. it was reserved for modern times to give the wedding-ring its smooth, convenient, but artistically unimportant form. widely distributed among the north german peasantry are certain peculiar wedding-rings, which, as a rule, contain a couple of the heart-shaped milk-teeth of the young roe-buck, with a small lock from which hang two keys--a symbol which perhaps not inaptly indicates the union of two pure hearts. dating from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but wholly different from the renaissance form of ring, and very large and elaborate, are the jewish wedding-rings, which were used only at the ceremony and then preserved by the family. they are composed of a broad band adorned with filigree (probably in keeping with some ancient oriental tradition) arranged in bosses and rosettes and enriched with light blue, light green, and other enamel. in place of a bezel there is often the model of a building with high gabled roofs and enamelled tile, pierced by windows, and having movable weathercocks on the apex; an inscription in hebrew characters on the shank contains the motto "good star." [illustration: _plate xxxvi_ renaissance and later rings] it was the custom to arrange finger rings upon a rod when not in use or when exposed for exhibition in the jeweller's shop, and in paintings it is no uncommon thing to see a line of rings of various patterns run on what appears to be a roll of parchment; as in the annexed illustration--a cut from a herbal published at frankfort in 1536. rings arranged thus may be seen in ghirlandaio's portrait of costanza de' medici, belonging to mr. salting; in the "legend of st. godeberta" by petrus christus; in gerard david's portrait of a goldsmith at vienna; in the "banker and his wife" by quentin matsys in the louvre, and in similar pictures where a jeweller or a banker is represented. [illustration: rings on a roll of parchment. from _kreuterbuch_ (frankfort, 1536).] in henry viii's inventory of 1527 we find: "upon a finger-stall, seven rings, one a ruby, another an emerald, and a turquoise, another a table diamond, another a triangular diamond, another a rocky diamond"; also in 1530: "a roll with thirty-nine paris rings, with small stones." in the duke of newcastle's comedy _the country captain_ (1649) mention is made of an extravagant person "who makes his fingers like jewellers' cards to set rings upon." in the pinakothek, munich, is a most interesting picture by paris bordone representing a jeweller with a quantity of his treasures lying on a table before him. every item is painted with extreme care. twelve massive finger rings, arranged in three rows of four, are displayed in an oblong ring-box, just in the same manner as one might expect to find them in a jeweller's shop of the present day. a somewhat similar picture by lorenzo lotto, in the kaufmann collection in berlin, represents a jeweller holding in his left hand a box full of rings and in his right a single specimen. by far the most attractive of the fine engravings of jewellery by pierre woeiriot of lorraine is his beautiful set of rings published in 1561 under the title of _livre d'aneaux d'orfévrerie_. m. foulc, of paris, is generally credited with the possession of the only complete set of these engravings. a perfect specimen of the work is, however, preserved in the bodleian library at oxford, to which it was bequeathed by the well-known antiquary francis douce in 1834. it comprises forty plates, each containing one or more rings to the number of ninety-six, and furnishes striking examples of the taste and inventive genius then bestowed on these minute objects. nevertheless, engravings can convey but small idea of the colour effect, and the wonderful charm that the actual rings possess. in order to fully appreciate them, one must visit the three great english collections of them now accessible to the public: the south kensington collection, containing the greater part of that formed by edmund waterton; the drury fortnum collection in the ashmolean museum, oxford; and above all, the collection in the british museum, which includes the splendid series bequeathed by sir a. w. franks, in which were absorbed the braybrooke, londesborough, and some minor cabinets, together with the best from the soden smith collection, as well as the choicest from the pichon and from many foreign sales. bracelets the bracelet during this period plays a scarcely more prominent part than it did in the middle ages, and probably owing to the same reason; for in renaissance times the fashion of leaving the arms bare was not in favour, and the long sleeves that fell over the hand were retained. a few examples presented by pictures lead to the supposition that bracelets consisted of beads of amber or jet separated by balls of gold, or of rows of cameos. catarina cornaro in her portrait by titian in the uffizi wears a bracelet upon her wrist over the sleeve, while the portrait of a lady by cranach in the national gallery shows that the sleeves were occasionally slashed at the wrists to exhibit the bracelets beneath them, just as were the fingers of gloves for the purpose of displaying rings. inventories supply a certain amount of information concerning bracelets. henry viii in 1530 possessed seventeen, including one of "paris work, with jacynths; and one with eight diamonds, eight rubies, fourteen pearls, and a diamond rose." elizabeth received a large number of bracelets amongst her new year's gifts. in the inventory of mary stuart's jewels are "une paire de brasseletz garniz de cornaline lappines et agate et entredeux de doubles--une aultre paire de brasseletz damatiste--ung bracelet fait a facon de serpent." others are formed, as were necklaces, of beads of filigree enclosing perfumes: "deux braceletz dor percez a jour pleins de parfum--une aultre paire dor a jour empliz de parfum." references to bracelets by writers of the period show that they were not infrequently worn as love tokens. thus in beaumont and fletcher's _cupid's revenge_:- given ear-rings we will wear bracelets of our lovers' hair, which they on our arms shall twist with our names carv'd on our wrist. also in barnfield's _affectionate shepherd_ (1594):- i would put amber bracelets on thy wrist, crownlets of pearls about thy naked arms. contemporary designs prove that bracelets followed the same elaborate forms as other articles of jewellery, as may be seen from the engraved designs of ducerceau, and the _livre de bijouterie_ of rené boyvin of angers (1530-1598). one of the most interesting bracelets--as far as actual specimens are concerned--is preserved at berkeley castle amongst the heirlooms bequeathed by george carey, lord hunsdon, who died in 1603. it is of crystal and gold, 3¾ inches in diameter. the crystal, a complete circlet overlaid with open-work gold, is encrusted all round with rubies, and has at intervals four clusters of rubies around a sapphire (pl. xxxv, 5). it is somewhat difficult to arrive at a decision as to the origin of this remarkable object. it seems to bear traces of oriental influence in the setting of the stones, though the goldwork is of different quality from what one would expect to find in indian work. if, like the "nef" jewel at berkeley, this armlet is to be associated with sir francis drake, it may well have been obtained by him as part of some spanish spoil, in like manner to the "crystal bracelet set in gold" procured by sir matthew morgan at the capture of cadiz in 1596--cadiz being then the staple town for all the trades of the levant and of the indies.[168] [168] _calendar of state papers_, domestic, aug., 1596. bracelets formed of cameos are met with sometimes on portraits. the bibliothèque nationale at paris preserves a pair of bracelets (nos. 624 and 625) formed each of seven oval shell cameos representing figures of animals, enclosed in gold mounting enriched with blue enamel, and hinged together by a double chain ornamented with rosettes enamelled green. on the under side of the larger cameos which form the clasps are two interlacing c's within a wreath of palm and olive, enamelled green, and a barred s in blue enamel at each angle. these bracelets, of which the cameos as well as the mountings are of fine sixteenth-century work, have been traditionally associated with diana of poitiers. but the interlaced c's, according to m. babelon, are in all probability the initials of some lady of the family of harlay, from whom the bracelets were acquired by louis xiv (pl. xxxvii, 3, 4). [illustration: _plate xxxvii_ renaissance bracelets] bracelets, like necklaces, were not infrequently composed entirely of gold, with interwoven links, like mail-chains. a chain bracelet of this style, formed of circular fluted links, is in the victoria and albert museum. its clasp is enriched with a floral pattern in translucent champlevé enamel (pl. xxxvii, 1). three similar bracelets forming part of the holtzendorff treasure from pinnow (ucker-mark, n. germany) are in the germanic museum, nuremberg. they are composed of circular links, and have flat clasps like the bracelet just mentioned, ornamented with coats-of-arms in enamel. one of them bears the date 1612. brooches one of the most important of ornaments throughout the middle ages was the brooch; but towards the end of the fifteenth century the mode of wearing garments changed, and the _côtehardi_ having replaced the mantle, brooches disappeared little by little, till in renaissance times they were rarely employed, except as ornaments for the hat. it is true that sixteenth-century inventories contain an immense number of owches and brooches--henry viii had no less than 324--but nearly all these, the larger ones especially, were worn as enseignes upon the hat; while the smaller were employed not as dress fasteners, but simply as ornaments sewn or pinned at regular intervals upon the front of the dress or the borders of the sleeves. a single elaborate jewelled brooch is sometimes seen in pictures attached to the upper part of the sleeve. we see it thus on the figure of arithmetic in pinturicchio's famous fresco in the appartamento borgia of the vatican, and later in english pictures, notably the well-known painting in sherborne castle, dorset, representing queen elizabeth's procession in litter to blackfriars in 1600, where the ladies of her retinue have jewels fastened to the sleeves of their right arms. the garments of this period were not fastened by means of brooches, but were closed with buttons or points, or with hooks and eyes. sleeves were often held on by buttons to which the sleeve-loops or points were tied, while other portions of the clothing, especially if of leather and cumbersome to button, were secured with loops or hooks and eyes. the slashings of the dress were sometimes closed by buttons or pompoms formed of stones surrounded by pearls. similar button-like ornaments, jewelled and richly enamelled, of which examples exist, were worn in rows all over the dress, but their delicate form and often irregular shape exclude the supposition that they were used as actual buttons. of ornaments of this kind mary queen of scots possessed a large number: thus--"quatre vingtz bouttons dor esmaillez de blanc et noir garniz de chacune une perle." others mentioned in her inventory are "à rose garniz de chacun trois perles"; others again are "percez à jour esmaillez de noir." these individual jewelled ornaments, which it was the practice to sew on the dress at regular intervals by way of trimming, may be treated as distinct from ornamentation which formed part of the actual costume, such as masses of pearls and precious stones, with which dresses were literally loaded. individual jewels often took the form of the monogram, crest, or device of the owner, in pure gold richly decorated. a curious instance of this custom has already been alluded to in connection with what occurred during the masque given by henry viii at westminster. the fashion for wearing ornaments in the form of jewelled initials was still in vogue on the quilted dresses of the time of james i. anne of denmark is represented in her portraits wearing them both on her ruff and in her hair, and a "jewel, in form of an a and two cc, sett with diamonds" and others of similar kind are to be found in the lists of jewels supplied to the queen by george heriot. except occasionally for buttons, the chief means employed for fastening the garments was by _aigulets_ or _aglets_. these ornamental loops or eyelets, formed of cords terminating with goldsmith's work, were movable and were changed from one dress to another according to pleasure. they are seen in pictures hanging not only from slashes and various parts of the garments, but also from the cap; and henry viii is described as wearing a cap ornamented with gold enamelled tags. his daughter, the princess mary, was supplied in 1542 by her jeweller, mabell, with two dozen pairs of _aglets_. mary stuart had a number, such as: "soixante cinq esguillettes dor facon de cheuilles sans esmail," "soixante une esguillettes dor et de perle esmaillez de rouge," and "quatre vingtz dixhuict esguillette dor esmaillez de blanc et noir." queen elizabeth possessed several sets, of different colours and patterns--some gold enamelled white, some blue, others purple, and some enriched with pearls and precious stones. these jewelled aglets are now extremely rare, and are not represented in any public collection. [illustration: design of a bracelet by jacques androuet ducerceau.] chapter xxix renaissance girdles and girdle pendants (mirrors, books, watches, scent-cases, and pomanders) the girdle is an important ornament in the dress of the renaissance. from the beginning of the sixteenth century it differs considerably from the mediæval pattern already discussed. in place of the stiff hoop about the hips, it was worn loosely across the body from above the right hip down towards the left thigh, where the upper garment was passed over it in a light fold. at this point was the clasp, from which hung numerous small articles necessary to the active housewife. another style of wearing it, which appears to have been adopted for more sumptuous dress, was one where it more firmly encircled the body, and from a clasp in front, hung down in a long end, terminating in a special ornamental appendage--a scent-case or pomander. the common material was leather or stuff, such as was employed for men's girdles. the long and narrow thong of leather, termed _courroye_, was worn by all classes. rows of such girdles are figured in the background of jost amman's well-known woodcut of the _ceinturier_ in his workshop, of the year 1594. the majority of renaissance girdles, confined solely to female attire, were made entirely of silver or silver-gilt, and even of silvered or gilded bronze. they took the form of flat chains composed of links, generally with solid pieces in the shape of oblong plaques, of cast or chased work, introduced at regular intervals. the solid parts, particularly those that formed the clasps, were occasionally enriched with enamels, precious stones, or engraved gems. the majority of collections contain specimens of such girdles; but simpler kinds, composed entirely of ring-shaped links, which, judging from numerous flemish, dutch, and german portraits, must have been in very general use in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, are much less frequently met with. a good example of such, a chain in silver-gilt, of german work of the second half of the sixteenth century, is preserved in the musée du cinquantenaire at brussels. it is formed of rounded grooved links. at one end is a rosette-shaped girdle plate set with a white crystal, and having a hook behind to catch into any link of the chain. the other end terminates in a pear-shaped pomander 3½ inches long, and divided for the reception of different cosmetics into two parts, united by a screw from below. a considerable number of girdles of leather or strips of material are found mounted after the mediæval style with buttons or studs, and instead of clasps, have buckles at one end, and at the other the pendants or chapes common in earlier times. it is not unusual to meet with girdles of flemish or german work which, though dating from the latter part of the seventeenth century, are ornamented with gothic patterns. the buckle and pendant (_mordant_), deeply pierced with open-work tracery of flamboyant design, are generally united by only a short thong, and are so overcharged with ornament that it is doubtful if they could have been of any practical use. such objects appear in reality to be but specimens of their work submitted by girdlers who were desirous of obtaining admission to the girdlers' company. they serve to show how long-lived were gothic traditions among the guilds. examples in silver or bronze gilt are to be found in the germanic museum, nuremberg, the victoria and albert museum (no. 2304-'55), the waddesdon bequest (no. 226), dated 1680, the wallace collection (no. 783), dated 1709, and in many other public collections (pl. xxxviii, 3). a number of articles, both useful and ornamental, were suspended from the girdle. for practical purposes the housewife carried at her side, besides a knife, such objects as small scissors in a case, a purse, and also her keys. cases or étuis for knives were attached either by silken cords or by chains. when cords were employed the cover of the étui was furnished with loops on each side through which the cords slid. open quiver-like sheaths for knives hung by chains were often worn, in order to display the rich decoration of the knife-heads. [illustration: _plate xxxviii_ renaissance girdles] the italianate costume, such as is found in the type of "vanity" in emblem books of the age, and which made its way everywhere, favoured the addition of many other accessories to the girdles, such as fans, gloves, looking-glasses, books, watches, scent-cases, and pomanders. mirrors, besides being worn from the neck, formed, as did miniature-cases, a frequent pendant from the girdle. these were either in a frame of ivory or goldsmith's work, or inserted in the fan. stubbes, the censor of the follies of his day, speaks of the looking-glasses which ladies carried with them "wheresoever they go." etienne (stephanus) delaune has left eight engraved designs for hand mirrors of great beauty. their handles terminate with small rings for attachment by a chain to the girdle. in the louvre is an interesting pendent mirror-case, or rather back of a mirror, formed of an oval plaque of glass encrusted with designs in enamel on gold (_émail en résille sur verre_),[169] bearing the inscription "grace dedans, le lis-ha." [169] compare pp. 293 and 297. see darcel (a.), _notice sur émaux et de l'orfévrerie_ (louvre), p. 81. see also labarte (j.), _les arts industriels_ (2nd ed., ii, p. 136, 1873), "_l'émaillerie cloisonnée sur cristal_." small books, mainly devotional, were also worn at the girdle. it appears to have been a common practice for ladies to carry such books, and in lyly's _euphues_ mention is made of "the english damoselles who have theyr bookes tyed to their gyrdles." queen elizabeth had several. amongst the "juelles given to her majestie at newyere's-tyde," 1582, was "a litle boke of golde enamuled, garnished and furnished with smale diamondes and rubyes, with claspes, and all hanging at a chayne of golde." the inventory of the jewels of the duchess of somerset, widow of the protector, in 1587, likewise contains "a booke of golde inamyled blacke." two drawings for small pendent books intended to be executed in niello or black enamel appear amongst holbein's designs for jewellery in the british museum; and the earl of romney possesses a small manuscript prayer book in binding of enamelled gold of the same style. the most magnificent book-cover in existence, provided with loops for hanging by a chain to the girdle, is one preserved in the victoria and albert museum. it is of enamelled, repoussé gold, and has been ascribed to cellini. of less beauty, though of great interest as an example of english work, is the gold binding of a pendent prayer book in the british museum. the subjects on the sides, raised and enamelled, are the brazen serpent, and the judgment of solomon, with english inscriptions around. it is said to be the work of george heriot of edinburgh;[170] and there is a tradition that it was worn by queen elizabeth. whatever associations this object may have had with elizabeth, there is better authority for such with regard to the small book of prayers, the property of lord fitzhardinge, and one of the hunsdon heirlooms. this very interesting english jewel, measuring 2¼ by 2 inches, is of gold, inlaid with black enamel, with a rosette of white enamel at each corner. the centre of one cover is decorated with translucent red and green enamel, that of the other with a shell cameo. it contains the last prayer of king edward vi in ms. written on vellum. the title runs: "the prayer of kynge edward the vi which he made the vj of julij, 1553, and the vij yere of his raigne, iij howres before his dethe, to him selfe, his eyes being closed, and thinkinge none had herd him, the xvj yere of his age." the book was worn by queen elizabeth at her girdle, and came into the berkeley family through her cousin, lord hunsdon (pl. xxxv, 7). [170] see p. 301. the earl of leicester, it is recorded, presented queen elizabeth on new year's day, 1581, with a long gold chain set with diamonds and "hanging thereat a rounde clocke fullie garnished with dyamonodes, and an appendante of diamondes hanging thearat." though occasionally worn thus suspended from the neck-chain, watches appear to have been more frequently carried at the girdle--a position somewhat similar to that which they subsequently occupied upon the chatelaine. the honour of the invention of portable timepieces is probably due to peter henlein, of nuremberg, in the last quarter of the fifteenth century, but it was not till a century later that they came into anything like general use. the cases, which received the same beautiful enrichment in the way of enamel-work and precious stones as was bestowed on other personal ornaments of the time, were made _à jour_ to emit the sound of the ticking and striking, and the lid was pierced with an aperture over each hour, through which the position of the hand might be seen. the makers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries endeavoured to vary as much as possible both the figure of the machine and the material in which it was placed. not only square, oval, octagonal, and cruciform watches occur, but some in such fanciful shapes as death's-heads, books, shells, acorns, tulips, pears, etc; while rock crystal (to render the works visible) and other stones were often converted into cases. oval watches, known as "nuremberg eggs", are usually reckoned among the earliest, but this title was not given to watches till some time after their invention, and as a matter of fact, according to dr. rée (_nürnberg_, p. 172), all egg-watches that have been preserved belong to the seventeenth century. in hollar's set of plates of the four seasons, dated 1641, the lady representing summer has on her left side depending from her girdle an object of this shape, apparently a watch. the most important pendent ornament to the girdle, from the present point of view, is the pomander, the early history of which has already been alluded to. throughout the sixteenth, and until about the middle of the century following, the pomander formed an almost invariable adjunct to the girdle, and was occasionally, in the case of men, hung to the long and heavy chains worn at that period round the neck.[171] [171] i will have my pomander of most sweet smell, also my chains of gold to hang about my necke. _book of robin conscience_ (_circa_ 1600). most of the pendants still termed pomanders were, as has been already noted, in reality cases for scents or different cosmetics; but from their fruit-like shape, though often innocent of the original pomander ball, they have retained the title, but solely, it would seem, in our own language[172] (pl. xxxi, 7). [172] the only modern french word for the pomander is _cassolette_. in german and italian there is a tendency to revive the old titles _bisamapfel_ and _oldano_. later and modern jewellery chapter xxx seventeenth-century jewellery (general) through the whole jewellery of the late renaissance there runs a gradual and profound change of taste. slowly and by imperceptible stages the earlier style, with its minute enamelled figures in high relief, gives place to a desire for sparkling diamonds, and a pleasure in the glitter of faceted stones. in the sixteenth century, diamonds, rubies, and other stones played a comparatively insignificant part in jewellery, and were prized mainly for their decorative value, but during the course of the seventeenth century a more prominent rôle was gradually conceded to precious stones. used singly at first, in table-cut form, to give a centre of interest or a note of colour, they came finally to be arranged in juxtaposition and long rows. a complete change was brought about in the whole character of jewellery by the prominence thus given to the precious stone--a position it has retained ever since. from the commencement of the seventeenth century germany began to lose the position which, during the greater part of the century previous, she had occupied as a jewel-producing centre; while the thirty years' war, by handicapping her industries, caused the jewellers to seek employment elsewhere. it was mainly from france that the new ideas in the form of ornaments emanated. the french are fortunate in possessing separate words to distinguish different kinds of jewellery: _bijouterie_, a general term applied to all jewellery formed of gold, enamels, and precious stones; and _joaillerie_, used for jewellery composed of stones along with a minimum of metal-work. by the revolution of taste in the later days of the renaissance the _joaillier_ gradually superseded the _bijoutier_; while the two crafts of the silversmith and the jeweller replaced the ancient craft of the goldsmith. changes in the mode of wearing clothes, and in the materials employed for them, had an enormous influence on jewellery. in place of the velvet and brocade that prevailed during the renaissance, damask came to be worn, together with an extravagant taste for lace and ribbons. the wearing of the silken stuffs that began to be issued from the factories of lyons, and of the lace that formed their accompaniment, necessitated the use of ornaments more in keeping with these materials; with the result that the jewellery of the period assumed an open and lace-like character, suitable also for the display of precious stones. at first coloured stones were used--the ruby, sapphire, and the emerald; but soon the diamond held sole possession of the field. in renaissance ornaments this latter gem played only a secondary part, and was employed solely for the sake of contrast, but it now appeared as the chief object in view, and formed the ornament by itself, all other parts of the jewel, the setting, and possible addition of other stones, being wholly subordinate to it. for the first general employment of the diamond in jewellery one must look back to the fifteenth century, to the invention of the art of cutting that stone, which is generally credited, in spite of laborde's opinion to the contrary, to louis de berghem of bruges in the year 1475. from that date until the beginning of the seventeenth century every diamond, as is seen both by jewels and their designs, was one of two forms: either the "point," a four-sided pyramid produced by polishing the faces of the native octahedral crystal of diamond and making them exactly true and regular; or the "table," in which the point of the crystal is reduced to a square or oblong plane, the opposite extremity being also in plane form, but of smaller extent, with sloping faceted edges. this simple cutting did so little to augment the brilliance of the diamond that the jewellers of the sixteenth century had to depend on the _tinctura_ or foiling of the stone, in which art cellini in his treatise, with his characteristic appreciation of his own merits, tells us that he particularly excelled. the change of taste in the seventeenth century may be attributed to the opening up of the diamond fields of golconda on the southern borders of the state of hyderabad, at the beginning of that century, and to the enterprise of the french travellers, tavernier, chardin, and others, who, during their frequent voyages to persia and india, dealt largely in precious stones. these travellers succeeded in establishing new commercial relations, which led to the introduction into europe of abundance of precious stones and particularly diamonds; while the narratives of their journeys, furnishing more exact knowledge of the quality and value of the products of the east, attracted towards precious stones a new interest. owing to the abundance of material imported from the east, the market for precious stones assumed an entirely different aspect; while the quantity and beauty of the material thus at their disposal spurred on the stone-cutters towards the improvement of their technique, until at the end of the century they arrived at the true cutting of the diamond. besides the "point," which was but rarely used, the table-cut diamond alone was employed until the commencement of the seventeenth century. about that time there came into use the "rose," a half-crystal, flat at the base and with a convex top covered with a number of small facets. stones faceted in this manner were at first mostly small and unimportant and cut very irregularly into four or six facets. between the years 1641 and 1643, cardinal mazarin, a great lover of the diamond, is said to have encouraged the promotion of experiments by the dutch lapidaries which led to the true "rose" cutting. anyhow, a more systematic method of faceting in sixteen facets--the _taille en seize_--began to be employed about that time. this process, though it left much to be desired, was an immense improvement, and set forth the qualities of the stone in a way that had not been possible by the forms previously in use. "roses," together with "tables," as the designs of gilles légaré and his contemporaries show, lasted until the invention of the "brilliant" at the commencement of the eighteenth century by the venetian, vincenzo peruzzi, though rose cutting was popular for some time after, and is still used for certain stones. the "rose" leaped into fashion at its first appearance, and the taste for diamonds and other precious stones seems to have dominated under louis xiii and louis xiv, when they became the principal objects in jewellery. gold was worked into the form of garlands, flowers, and all sorts of designs for the purpose of mounting precious stones and setting off their beauty. the enormous increase of luxury in this direction was entirely in keeping with the whole conception of an absolute monarchy as developed by louis xiv, who made it the duty of the grandees of france and spain to wear their whole property, in the form of glittering gems, and to carry the value of lands and forests upon their own and their wives' apparel when they appeared before the eyes of their sovereign. though actual examples of the seventeenth-century jewellery are rare, at any rate in public collections, we can become acquainted with its characteristics by the numerous prints bequeathed by the goldsmiths and draughtsmen of the time. these prints, like those of the sixteenth century, were not invariably the work of their designers, since it was no uncommon practice for the master-goldsmith to have his designs multiplied for use in his own workshop, and for general circulation, by placing them in the hands of an engraver. as a rule the nationalities of existing jewels may be in some measure determined by means of the designs from which they were executed. but it is often difficult to make clear distinctions in this manner, owing to the continual artistic interchange which brought the fashions of one place to another, and caused the methods and ideas of the craftsmen to become common property. the bi-lingual inscriptions which one finds on the frontispieces of many of the pattern-books or sets of designs then published, prove that they were intended for international use. the first attempts to base the composition of the ornament exclusively upon the effect of stones arranged in definite forms, without granting the setting of the plastic metal any independent part, are found in some of the prints of daniel mignot, of the year 1590. mignot, probably of french extraction, was a goldsmith of augsburg, where between the years 1590 and 1616 he produced a number of highly important designs for jewellery, which form a link between the old and the newer styles. while following the artists of the late sixteenth century in the representation of figure designs in cartouche-shaped ornaments formed of flat strapwork curves characteristic of the older school, he presents engravings of pendants, earrings, and aigrettes, in which the stones are set in juxtaposition. [illustration: _plate xxxix_ engraved designs for jewellery by daniel mignot] that the transition to the newer forms was slow, is shown in the works of the goldsmith-engraver of amsterdam, whose models for pendants, signed with the initials p. r. k., and dated 1609 and 1617, are formed of elaborate open scrollwork of tendril design, almost destitute of stones. exhibiting features more in keeping with those of mignot are the designs of paul birckenhultz of frankfort-on-the-main (1617). they are of fine quality, and take the form of aigrettes and earrings set with precious stones and elaborate oval pendants terminating with pearls and ornamented with scroll ornaments intended for execution in enamel (pl. xl, 4). birckenhultz is the last of the german school of designers to model his work on the productions of the sixteenth-century masters. henceforth one must look for designs chiefly to france, where an entirely new type of ornament for jewellery, such as is found in no other art production of the time, was brought into existence by endeavours to associate leaf patterns with a number of stones. its characteristic is the use of a sort of pea-pod or husk ornament, termed _schotenornamentik_ in german, and known generally by the french name of _genre cosse de pois_ (pea-pod style). in the designs of the time this formal ornament is largely employed for elaborate aigrettes; but owing to the jewels executed from such designs having been set with stones, the result has been that change of fashion has suffered scarcely a jewelled example to survive. as a consequence, the objects existing at the present day chiefly represent enamelled miniature-cases and pendants. the number and variety of engraved designs for this kind of ornament in the form of jewelled bouquets or palmettes, chiefly for aigrettes, dating from the first half of the seventeenth century is surprising, considering that it remained a comparatively short time in use. one of the chief advocates of this style is pierre marchant, who worked in paris about 1623. his rare designs for aigrettes, and wreaths for the borders of pendants, are most graceful, and show a form of leaf ornament which is extremely happily adapted for materials in which the precious stone had to play a prominent part (p. 306). another frenchman who employed it is pierre labarre (1630), goldsmith to louis xiv, who, together with a well-known jeweller, julien defontaine, had apartments in the louvre. amongst other french designers were jacques caillard (1627), baltasar lemersier (1626-1630), claude rivard (1592-1650), françois lefebure (1635-1661), and gédéon légaré (1615-1676), to whom as "orfévre-esmailleur," together with pierre bain, louis xiv in 1671, on the suggestion of colbert, granted quarters in the louvre. designs of the same nature were executed in strasburg by p. symony (1621) and hans mosbach (1626), and in holland by jacques honervogt (1625). the foregrounds or bases of nearly all these engravings are remarkable for the landscapes and for the quaint and vigorous genre figures in the style of the painter-engraver, jacques callot, that enliven them. of all the goldsmiths of the time the best known is gilles légaré of chaumont-en-bassigny, who was jeweller to louis xiv, and worked in paris about 1663. his series of designs, entitled _livre des ouvrages d'orfévrerie_, is perhaps the most interesting of the kind produced during the seventeenth century. these fine compositions, when formed of precious stones, show knots and interlacings for clasps, pendants, and earrings, in which diamonds are fully displayed in rose-cut forms. as models for objects not composed entirely of stones, we find seals, rings, bracelets and chains decorated with ribbons and bows mingled with monograms, and emblems, such as death's-heads. together with these appear tasteful arrangements for enamel-work in the form of natural flowers of great charm and delicacy. to these last reference will be made later. contemporary with légaré was the painter and engraver balthazar moncornet, who worked at rouen and paris. his book of designs, of which he was probably the inventor as well as engraver, entitled _livre nouveau de toutes sortes d'ouvrages d'orfévries,_ was published about 1670[173]. the jewels, in the form of pendants, earrings, and brooches, are composed of stones set in various ways; the last plate is a miniature portrait of louis xiv set as a brooch. all his designs are accompanied by garlands of natural flowers. [173] reproduced by quaritch in 1888. [illustration: _plate xl_ designs for jewellery by gilles légaré and paul birckenhultz] complete as was the change which was brought about owing to the prominence given to the precious stone, it must not be supposed that the enameller's art was by any means neglected. though it cannot be compared with that in the best productions of the renaissance, the enamel-work applied to seventeenth-century jewellery is, nevertheless, worthy of close attention. enamel executed by the champlevé method was much employed. the technical process known as champlevé was performed in two ways. by one method the surface of the gold was simply incised with designs, and the grooves thus made filled with enamel. by another method only thin lines of the metal were reserved to form the design, and the remainder of the field cut out to receive the enamel. this latter system resembles in appearance the well-known cloisonné; but the metal strips that form the partitions between the enamel, instead of being inserted, are a solid part of the metal base. commonly employed on jewellery from the middle of the sixteenth century, it remained in general favour, together with the simpler form of champlevé, till about the third decade of the seventeenth century, when it gave place to enamel-work of an entirely different kind. for jewellery intended to be carried out by this champlevé method, or on rare occasions to be covered with translucent enamels, we have at our service again a number of dated designs. these engravings, known as _schwarzornamente_ or niello ornaments, are in the nature of silhouettes. the patterns, reserved in white upon a black ground, are composed of curves of flat and broken strapwork. the designs are occasionally for complete jewels, but most of them take the form of very small motives intended as patterns for the shoulders of finger rings, or for the borders, frames, or other details of jewels. some engraved plates are made up entirely of such motives; on other plates they appear as details, either within a complete design or upon the field outside it. germany and the netherlands furnish the earliest examples of these. several dating from the latter part of the sixteenth century are by "monogrammists," who signed their engravings with their initials, and whose names are mostly unknown--such as the german master a. c. of the year 1598. among recognised engravers in this style are the following:--of the german school: arnold jörg (1586-1596), corvinianus saur (1590-1597), the rare hans hensel of sagan (1599), daniel hailler (1604), jonas bentzen (1615), and daniel mignot (1590) and p. symony (1621), both of whom placed these motives on the field of their plates. of the netherlandish school is the well-known michel le blon, called blondus, goldsmith at the court of queen christina of sweden, who was born at frankfort-on-the-main in 1587 and died at amsterdam in 1656. his designs in silhouette, the earliest of which, in the british museum, is dated 1605,[174] were in great demand, and appear not only on knife-handles, but on oval and octagonal box-shaped pendants--presumably watch-cases. also of the same school are: the rare master, hans van ghemert (1585), hans de bull (1590), the monogrammist p. r. k. (1609), and guillaume de la quewellerie of amsterdam (1611-1635). in addition there is giovanni battista costantini of rome, who published his _ornementi per lavorare giorje_ in 1622 and 1625. [174] _burlington magazine_, viii, p. 130, 1905. [illustration: _plate xli_ patterns for jewellery and enamelled jewels from similar designs] the french goldsmith-engravers, who produced designs in the "silhouette" manner intended for jewels that were to be enamelled by the champlevé method, include jehan vovert (1602), an anonymous engraver a. d. (1608), jacques hurtu (1614-1619), stephanus carteron of châtillon (1615), pierre nolin (1620), and jean toutin (1619) and his son henri (1628). the most important of these is the goldsmith and enameller jean toutin of châteaudun, whose plates--six in number, dated 1618 and 1619--are filled with charming motives for watch-cases or lockets, to be carried out in enamel. they are ornamented with patterns reserved in white on black ground in the form of trailing leaves and tendrils, partly in the "pea-pod" style, and accompanied by lively genre figures in various attitudes. perhaps the most attractive of these plates is that which represents a jeweller--probably toutin himself--firing a jewel which he holds in the furnace by a pair of long tongs, while above is figured a model of the actual jewel--an octagonal box-like pendant (p. 289). toutin, who appears to have been an experimenter in enamels, is entitled to distinction as the discoverer of a new process of using them. the process consisted in covering a plate of gold or copper with an opaque monochromatic enamel, on which designs were painted with colours, opaque and fusible, and of greater variety than had previously been employed. this method of enamel painting, extensively used for jewellery, proved to be peculiarly suitable to the representation of natural flowers which came into high favour about the same time. the employment of naturalistic flower designs, as displayed on the margins of manuscripts, was one of the features of late gothic art. the same tendency with regard to flowers was manifested on the enamelled jewellery of the fifteenth century, the most striking example of which is the wonderful necklace seen on the flemish portrait of maria baroncelli in the uffizi gallery. renaissance ornaments on the whole did not favour naturalistic floral patterns, though flowers enamelled in full relief are occasionally found, as on the border of the phoenix jewel in the british museum. the general return in the early part of the seventeenth century to flower designs for the decoration of jewellery is associated with a curious phase in the social history of the time that accompanied the deep interest then taken in flowers and horticulture. among flowers, of which the dutch have ever been enthusiastically fond, and never tired of growing and of painting, the most prominent position was occupied by the tulip. from about the year 1634 the cultivation of the tulip became a perfect craze in holland, and "tulipomania" like a violent epidemic seized upon all classes of the community. gambling of an almost unparalleled nature was carried on in the bulbs, and the flower became fashionable everywhere. in the bouquets which the enamellers arranged with great taste, and painted with extraordinary skill, the tulip is always prominent. this and many other flowers, and occasionally fruits, were painted in the same manner as a picture, on an enamel ground of uniform colour--generally white, and sometimes pale blue, yellow, or black. small plaques enamelled and painted thus are popularly known by the name of "louis treize" enamels, though the majority of them were produced after louis xiii's death in 1643. about 1640 it became the custom occasionally to model the design in relief with a paste of white enamel, which was afterwards painted with vitreous colours according to nature. towards the middle of the century the background of the flowers was pierced and cut away, so that every single flower, exquisitely modelled and coloured, stood out by itself. in addition to tulips of every variety, and hyacinths, sunflowers, and roses, all kinds of lilies were in favour, especially the tiger-lily, the "crown imperial," and different species of fritillaries, whose beautifully spotted or chequered blossoms were rendered in their natural colours with striking fidelity. flowers executed in this realistic style for jewellery were arranged chiefly in garlands and festoons, in the manner of the wreaths painted by jan brueghel round several of rubens' pictures, the flower pieces of such dutch and flemish painters as jan de heem, van den hecke, daniel seghers, and van thielen, and the wood carvings of grinling gibbons (himself dutch by birth), which display the same remarkable realism. among the goldsmiths and draughtsmen of the time who have left designs for jewels in painted enamel are the germans heinrich raab and johann paulus hauer, both goldsmiths of nuremberg. their engravings, with natural flower ornamentation very finely designed and executed, were published about 1650. they comprise crosses, étuis, scissor, watch, and scent cases, and pendants--starand bow-shaped, and set each with a pendent pearl. work in the same direction by the artists of the french school is of great importance. gédéon légaré, though he practised the pea-pod style, is the first to show a decided preference for natural flowers in his engravings, which date from about 1640. he is followed by three famous masters of flower ornament--balthazar moncornet, gilles légaré, and jean vauquer. vauquer worked at blois between 1670 and 1700, and like many other engravers of jewellers' designs, was a jeweller and enamel painter by profession. he was a pupil of morlière of orleans, who also worked at blois. his fine plates of flowers and ornamental foliage, engraved after his own designs and entitled _livre de fleurs propres pour orfévres et graveurs_, were published in 1680.[175] vauquer was an enamel painter of pre-eminent ability, and one of the greatest exponents of the day of the art of representing natural flowers. [175] reproduced by quaritch in 1888. of the designs of moncornet (_c._ 1670) and gilles légaré (_c._ 1663) for jewelled ornaments we have already spoken. moncornet, a great lover of flowers, accompanied his jewels by charming garlands. with him and vauquer and légaré must be associated the renowned enamel painter jean petitot (1607-1691), who was first an enameller of jewellery. so highly skilled was he as a painter of flower designs and foliage on rings and other ornaments, that on going over to england in 1635 he entered at once into the service of charles i, where he brought to perfection his famous enamelled portraits. several actual examples have survived of the enamel-work of gilles légaré, whose designs--the best-known of this time--reveal a charming feeling for natural flower ornaments. his _chef d'oeuvre_ is generally considered to be the garland of flowers painted in enamel in open-work relief that surrounds a miniature by petitot of the countess d'olonne in the collection of major holford at dorchester house. this splendid piece, on which the tints of the flowers are rendered with striking fidelity, was formerly in the collection of a great french connoisseur of the eighteenth century, p. j. mariette. at his death it passed into the possession of horace walpole, who counted it as one of his special treasures. it joined the dorchester house collection after the strawberry hill sale in 1842. if this magnificent enamel-work be by the hand of légaré, and we may take mariette's word for it that it is,[176] this clever craftsman must have worked for petitot; for another very fine example of the same kind of work, a wreath of enamelled flowers finely modelled and painted, surrounds a miniature by petitot in the possession of the earl of dartrey. [176] mariette, _abecedario_, iv, p. 133. to sum up the characteristic styles of seventeenth-century ornament which we have endeavoured to describe, the first feature is the general preference for precious stones, and especially diamonds, and the use of the "pea-pod" ornament for displaying them. from this style, practised by marchant and many others, we pass, secondly, to the "schwarzornamente" or "silhouette" designs of le blon and toutin employed for champlevé enamel. thirdly comes the development of naturalistic flower designs, and the application of these to the painted "louis treize" enamel evolved by toutin, and perfected by petitot, vauquer, and légaré. [illustration: jean toutin in his workshop, firing an enamelled jewel.] chapter xxxi seventeenth century jewellery (_continued_) england, seventeenth century the jewels of the seventeenth century, as has been observed, are comparatively rare in public collections. unlike those of the cinquecento, which find a more appropriate place in the museum or collector's cabinet, they are admirably adapted for personal use at the present day; but until the change of taste of the last few years in favour of old work, these attractive objects, owing to their being set with precious stones of intrinsic value, suffered cruelly at the hands of modern jewellers in the destructive process of resetting. partly for this reason it is less easy than it was with the jewellery of the century previous to notify extant examples of all species of ornaments. their main features, already described, lie in a preference for precious stones, and for a style of ornament which, at first formal, evolves into naturalistic flower designs in painted enamel. widespread luxury accompanied the large importation of precious stones. ladies made each new fête a pretext for greater extravagance and greater efforts to outshine their neighbours; and the ornament in which they seem above all to have delighted for the best display of their wealth of jewellery was the aigrette. this ornament, of which some mention has been made (p. 281), generally took the form of a bouquet of flowers on movable stalks, composed of clusters of precious stones in enamelled gold, accompanied sometimes by a jewelled knot, and was fixed in the hair on all occasions of ceremony. a large number of these bouquets are mentioned in the inventory of the french crown jewels of 1618. in default of actual examples we must rely on the designs which the jewellers of the day published for them, and also on contemporary portraits, which further illustrate a passing mode for plaiting strings of pearls through the hair. [illustration: _plate xlii_ seventeenth-century enamelled pendants] of earrings, on the other hand, a considerable number of examples have survived. french and english portraits show at first only a large pear-shaped pearl in each ear. in the second half of the century more elaborate earrings came into use. spain, where these ornaments have always been popular, produced at the time a number of portraits exhibiting earrings of open-work set with coloured stones. they are in the form of a rosette or bow-shaped ornament hung with movable pendants. the engravings of rivard (1646), lefebure (1647), and gilles légaré (1663) include designs for earrings; those of the last-named being such voluminous jewels, hung with triple _briolettes_, _pendeloques_, or pearls, that they might easily be mistaken for neck pendants. the majority of earrings of this period, now existing, are of spanish, portuguese, or italian origin. the general type of earring then in use is well shown in rembrandt's portrait of hendrickje stoffels (about 1652), in the louvre, where it takes the form of an elaborate pendant terminating with a big pearl drop. necklaces of light open-work design are set with diamonds or coloured stones. these seldom have a special pendant; they were, in fact, fast disappearing to make room for rows of pearls. jewelled pendants, often consisting of two or more mobile parts, were frequently attached to a velvet band that closely encircled the throat. more important pendants of this period are those which take the forms of mounted engraved gems or enamelled portraits, or else of miniature cases or lockets beautifully enamelled. the finest series of mounted gems is that in the bibliothèque nationale at paris. some of the mounts are executed in the "pea pod" style in open-work; others are ornamented with champlevé enamel, after the niello designs in the silhouette manner; others again are of natural flower designs in painted enamel. there is a noteworthy example at paris of the pea-pod style--a cameo (no. 791) of louis xiii as an infant. it is in an open-work frame of opaque enamel--black, dark green, and white--of about 1605, which bears a very close resemblance to one of the published designs of pierre marchant. in the gem room of the british museum is a still finer example, and one of the most splendid jewels from the famous marlborough collection. it is of open-work, enamelled white and green: the husks or pods, set each with a small diamond, are in green, and the little pea ornaments issuing therefrom are in white enamel (pl. xliv, 17). the work dates from the first years of the seventeenth century. the gem it serves to enrich, a fine onyx cameo of lucius verus, is slightly earlier. the choicest example of painted enamel of flower design in open relief is certainly the mounting or frame of a magnificent pendant (no. 961) in the bibliothèque nationale, set with a cameo of lucrezia de' medici, wife of alfonso ii, duke of ferrara. this frame, quite unmatched for its taste and skill, is formed of a garland of flowers, open-worked, and enamelled in the utmost delicacy with white, pale yellow, and light green enamel, heightened with reddish touches (pl. xliii, 6). among other jewels of the same style, of which there are quite a number, one may mention the setting of an antique roman cameo (pl. xliv, 15), and the reverse of the onyx "george" of charles ii (pl. xxviii, 1) both english work, at windsor castle[177]. besides the two beautiful examples of his work already noticed (p. 288), it is usual to associate with gilles légaré the frame of birds and flowers, enamelled black and white, that surrounds petitot's portrait of louis xiv in the jones collection at south kensington. the designs of vauquer, also, seem to have been followed in many similar kinds of enamelled jewels. [177] these are described in the _connoiseur_, v, p. 243. [illustration: _plate xliii_ seventeenth century enamelled miniature cases, lockets, etc.] the pendent miniature-cases or lockets of the seventeenth century are of great interest. the best example of those enriched with champlevé enamel is the lyte jewel (p. 303). the "pea-pod" style is well shown on the back of a miniature-case containing a female portrait by peter oliver (1601-1647) in the dyce collection at south kensington (pl. xliii, 2). it is enamelled _en plein_ with translucent green on a ground of matted gold, with the pea-pod pattern in white, after an engraved design by the french ornamentist pierre firens (1605-1625). this same style of ornament is seen on a miniature-case _émaillé en résille sur verre_[178] belonging to mr. pierpont morgan. enamel-work after the silhouette engravings of the same period is represented by one of its principal exponents, jean toutin of châteaudun (1618), on the front and back of a miniature-case (plate xliii, 1) in the possession of mr. pierpont morgan, ornamented with designs _en genre cosse de pois_ reserved in gold on a ground of black enamel. small plaques of "louis treize" enamel painted in natural colours on a monochrome ground were frequently employed for miniature-cases. a considerable number of these, of both french and german (augsburg) work, exist. english work is rarer: an example, upon the cover of a miniature of oliver cromwell, painted with roses and leaves in natural colours on a white ground, is preserved in the university galleries, oxford. enamelled flower designs modelled in relief, sometimes on open-work ground, in the manner of vauquer and légaré, are also found on lockets. an exquisite little example, inscribed "o.c. 1653," belongs to mr. max rosenheim. it contains an enamelled miniature of oliver cromwell. [178] see pp. 273 and 297. like the aigrette, an important jewel worn at this time was a breast ornament, termed a _sévigné_, after the celebrated lady of that name. this ornament took the form of a bow or rosette of open-work, of foliated design, generally of silver, set with small diamond splinters. as the century advanced the work set with small stones and diamond sparks in substantial mounts was replaced by open-work jewels, known as "lazos" jewels, set with large flat stones, and ornaments formed of several pieces--an upper part of tied bow or knot shape and hung with pendants--all set with rose-cut stones. much of this work, intended for the display of diamonds and various coloured stones in imitation of flowers, hails from spain. it is admirably shown in spanish portraits--those, for example, by velasquez, coello, etc; in the large series of habsburg portraits preserved in the castle of schönbrunn, in austria; and in portraits of the medici family by the painter sustermans (1597-1681) in the uffizi and pitti galleries. it is here worthy of note that still in the seventeenth century we find elaborate ornamentation applied to the back of jewels--a notable feature in almost all jewellery of the finest craftsmanship. a plain surface on this part of the jewel was generally avoided by a charming use of the graver, or by means of small panels of painted enamel. bracelets set with precious stones are generally of open-work of the same style as the necklaces. of those executed in enamel there is a good french example at south kensington (plate xxxvii, 2). it is formed of six medallions, each containing a crowned cypher alternating with true-lover's knots. it may usefully be compared with gilles légaré's designs for bracelets and chains on plate 8 of his _livre des ouvrages d'orfévrerie_. [illustration: _plate xliv_ rings, slides and pendants seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries] the finger rings of the early seventeenth century, as far as one can judge from pictures, did not differ essentially from the late sixteenth-century types; in fact many of the ornamental rings usually ascribed to the sixteenth century really date from the first half of the seventeenth. the majority of small niello designs engraved at this period were patterns for the shoulders of rings, intended to be executed in enamel by the champlevé process (pl. xli). henri, son of jean toutin, furnishes a couple of engravings for rings, of the year 1628, of which the whole outer surface of the hoop is covered with designs reserved in white on a black ground. de la quewellerie of amsterdam, 1635, has also left the designs for a finger ring in the same style. the love for "bouquets d'orfévrerie"--flower designs in coloured stones--finds expression, towards the end of the century, in the _giardinetti_ ring, the bezel of which is formed like a nosegay, a basket of flowers, or a bunch of flowers springing from a vase. these floral designs are of charming execution, and their coloured stones produce an extremely pleasing effect. many of these rings are italian, but there are several english examples at south kensington (pl. xxxvi, 9, 10). painted enamels in flower patterns are found not only on the shoulders of rings, but covering the entire outer surface. occasionally flowers enamelled _à jour_ occur, the hoop of the ring being hollow. lord falkland possesses a good example of one of these rings encircled with coloured flowers (pl. xliv, 8). the hollow space is filled with hair. within the hoop is the posy _difficulty sweetens enjoyment_. mottoes or posies of this kind were occasionally engraved on mediæval rings and on those of the sixteenth century, but the majority of the large number of rings on which such mottoes occur belong to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. unlike the example just mentioned, these rings, with the motto engraved inside them, usually have plain hoops, and were used as engagement, and sometimes as wedding rings. the mottoes generally rhyme, but are not remarkable for poetic skill, and they are found constantly repeated. numbers of the verses employed for the purpose are given in jones's _finger-ring lore_, and in an article published by sir john evans in _longman's magazine_ (1892). a few examples will suffice: _as god decreed so we agreed; god above increase our love; this take for my sake; the love is true i owe you; in thee my choice i do rejoice._ posy rings, like mourning rings, to be referred to later, are almost exclusively english. as regards the ordinary ornamental ring of the period, it is to be observed that the diamond, which came so much to the front at this time, found a prominent place on it. towards the close of the century, though enamel-work is still visible, the purpose of the ring, as at the present day, seems to have been nothing more than for displaying the diamond on the finger, so far as one may judge from some of légaré's designs (pl. xl, 2). the girdle in the seventeenth century was still an important ornament for ladies. the great portrait painters of the low countries present ladies wearing massive linked chains terminating in elaborate pomanders. not infrequently the lady is shown, as in a picture by gerard douffet at munich, holding the pomander in her hand. a fine pomander is seen in a portrait of a flemish lady by cornelis de vos in the wallace collection, and one of extraordinary beauty is worn by a dutch lady in a splendid picture by frans hals in the cassel gallery. amongst the various seventeenth-century girdles to be found in public collections, without doubt the most remarkable are two examples, one in the victoria and albert museum and the other in the wallace collection. they represent the species of enamel-work known as _émail en résille sur verre_, which was employed during the latter part of the sixteenth and the early seventeenth century for miniature and mirror cases--of which specimens in the morgan collection and the louvre have already been noticed--and for the dials of watches. the girdle at south kensington, of french work of the early seventeenth century, is formed of twenty-one oblong and slightly convex plates linked together by rosettes. these plates, of silver, are filled with glass paste, which is backed with coloured foils and inlaid with minute designs in translucent enamel on gold, representing hunting and other country scenes. the chain in the wallace collection, which might possibly have been worn as a neck-chain, is almost identical in subject and design, save that the oblong links number eighteen, while the rosettes uniting them are enamelled and set with garnets. the jewel which best represents the various kinds of decoration in the way of engraving and enamel-work applied to seventeenth-century ornaments is the watch. from the early part of the century the round form, more or less flat, which has been preserved from that time to the present day, began to be generally adopted for watches. all the different species of work employed on miniature-cases are found on watch dial-plates and cases. the interesting _cosse de pois_ ornament is represented in the british museum on the dial-plate of a watch by d. bouquet of london, of about 1630-1640. it is executed by the rare process just described--the pattern being inlaid on gold upon a ground of green glass or enamel. another watch, by vautier of blois, has the centre of the dial enriched with translucent enamel in gold cloisons on opaque white. among watches with richly decorated cases there is in the same collection another by bouquet, beautifully enamelled with flowers in relief, of various colours and kinds, on a black ground encrusted with small diamonds. besides the names already mentioned, the best-known enamellers of watch-cases from about 1680 to 1700 were the brothers huault, or huaud, of geneva, who worked also at berlin. no more examples need be given of the different species of enamel applied to seventeenth-century jewellery. enough has been said to demonstrate the importance and attractiveness of the comparatively little-known enamel-work of this time. during the greater part of the seventeenth century the watch was simply hung by a chain to the girdle, as we see it on the two portraits (about 1645) of the wife of john tradescant the younger in the ashmolean museum, oxford. the elaborate chatelaines which attached the watch to women's girdles, and the chains which hung from the fob-pocket of men, belong rather to the eighteenth century; but they were already in use, and from them were suspended that most attractive article of jewellery, the seal, which was then beginning to take the place of the signet ring. evelyn, in his _mundus muliebris_, or _voyage to marryland_ (1690), gives a rhyming catalogue of a lady's toilet, and alludes to the chatelaine:- to which a bunch of onyxes, and many a golden seal there dangles, mysterious cyphers, and new fangles. the designs of légaré contain several charming pendent seals having their shanks or handles finely worked with monograms and other patterns (pl. xl). seals, however, together with the chatelaine and the rest of its accompaniments, will be spoken of later. there remain various pieces of jewellery, such as buckles, clasps, or brooches, which were sprinkled on different parts of the dress. like the sévigné or breast ornament, they often take the form of a tied bow, and find a place on the arms and shoulders, and in rows down the front of the bodice and the skirt. in the latter part of the century jewelled buckles replaced the rosette of ribbons on the shoe. thus again evelyn speaks of:- diamond buckles too, for garters, and as rich for shoo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a manteau girdle, ruby buckle, and brilliant diamond rings for knuckle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a saphire bodkin for the hair, or sparkling facet diamonds there: then turquois, ruby, emrauld rings for fingers, and such petty things; as diamond pendants for the ears, must needs be had, or two pearl pears, pearl neck-lace, large and oriental, and diamond, and of amber pale. england, seventeenth century in england in the time of james i, the love of personal ornament, among men as well as women, was even more widespread than before. king james, and also his queen, who herself possessed a highly extravagant taste for jewellery, set a public example by their patronage of the jewellers; while the nobility outbid one another in lavish expenditure. john chamberlain, an entertaining correspondent of the day, writes thus in 1608 to a friend unable to attend a masque: "whatsoever the devise may be, and what success they may have in their dancing, yet you should be sure to have seen great riches in jewels, when one lady, and that under a baroness, is said to be furnished for better than a hundred thousand pounds; and the lady arabella goes beyond her, and the queen must not come behind." contemporary chroniclers have left no descriptions that show precisely how the king's own person reflected the fashions in jewellery of his day, yet we know that he possessed an almost childish admiration for "bravery," as it then was termed, particularly such as was intended for the decoration of those about his person. a very curious instance of the king's interest in these matters is to be found in the elaborate instructions he issued concerning the despatch of a large consignment of jewels for the use of the prince of wales, and his favourite, buckingham, on their memorable journey to spain in 1623. in the spring of that year orders were given to several officers of state, and with them the jeweller heriot, to repair to the tower and make a selection of the finest jewels there--some fit for a woman, and others for the prince to wear. among them a "jewel called the three brothers, five or six faire jewels to be worn in men's hats, same to be of £6,000 or £7,000 value, and none under; the five pendent diamonds that were the queen's, whether they remain upon a string or be made up upon a feather. if none of the targett fashion for hats, the jewels to be broke up to make them."[179] [179] _historical mss. commission_, iv, p. 286. to his son and favourite the king then addresses a letter, in which he tells them that he had been choosing "the jewells i am to send you, whereof my babie is to present some to his mistresse, and some of the best hee is to wear himselfe, and the next best hee will lend to my bastard brat [buckingham] to wear." on their removal from the tower the jewels are carefully inventoried, and heriot is set to work to refashion them. after a fortnight's work he promises that they will be finished in a few days. so, on the 18th of march, "the jewels," we learn, "have been delivered." "mr. herriot is gone to assist in packing them, and has sat up day and night to get them completed."[180] [180] _calendar of state papers, domestic_, march 18, 1623. the king then writes that he is sending for his "babie's owin wearing ... the three brethren,[181] that you knowe full well, but newlie sette, and the mirroure of frawnce, the fellowe of the portugall dyamont, quhiche i wolde wishe you to weare alone in your hatte with a litle blakke feather." to his "sweete gosseppe" he sends "a fair table dyamonde." "i have hung," he says, "a faire peare pearle to it for wearing in thy hatte or quhair thow pleasis."[182] [181] see p. 209. [182] nichols, _progresses of james i_, iv, p. 830. a complete list of the jewels removed from the tower is given in _archæologia_, xxi, p. 148. as the result of extensive transactions both with the crown and the nobility the jewellers of the day seem to have reaped a rich harvest; and they attained to positions of eminence by adding banking to their more ancient art of working in the precious metals. of the royal jewellers, george heriot of edinburgh--rendered immortal by sir walter scott as "jingling geordie"--the founder of heriot's hospital, comes first to mind. heriot received in 1597 a life appointment as jeweller to queen anne of denmark, and in 1601 james made him his own jeweller. he followed the king to london, and in 1603, together with william herrick and john spilman, was appointed jeweller to the king, queen, and prince, at a yearly salary of £50. immense sums of money were paid him both as interest on loans and for the jewels supplied to their majesties, of which long lists have been preserved. sir john spilman, a german by birth and one of the chief jewellers of queen elizabeth, executed great quantities of jewellery at the royal commands; but sir william herrick seems to have obtained an even larger share of the royal patronage. queen anne of denmark, who spent an enormous amount on personal ornaments, received £36,000 worth from him alone. "queen anne," writes a contemporary shortly after her death, "hath left a world of brave jewels behind; and although one piers, an outlandish man, hath run away with many, she hath left all to the prince [charles] and none to the queen of bohemia [her daughter elizabeth]." in fact, so many of her jewels were embezzled that scarcely a vestige remained, though herrick produced the models of them and swore to their delivery.[183] the poet robert herrick, sir william herrick's nephew, was a jeweller-apprentice to his uncle for several years, and his early training seems to have left a strong impression on him, for his poems throughout betray a love and appreciation for jewels. among other jewellers whose names occur in the state papers, the following may be mentioned: philip jacobson, arnold lulls, john acton, and john williams--a maker of gold neck-chains and pendent medals. [183] nichols, _op. cit._, iii, p. 548. as far as the actual productions of the jacobean jewellers are concerned we meet with comparatively few examples; this want, however, is supplied, to a certain extent, by means of a beautiful set of contemporary drawings for jewellery preserved in the victoria and albert museum--the work of arnold lulls, a jeweller whose name occurs several times in the royal accounts. in conjunction with sir william herrick, lulls supplied the king in 1605, as new year's gifts for the royal family, with jewels to the amount of £3,000. for a certain jewel of diamonds, with pearls pendent, and two dozen buttons supplied by him and jacobson, and bestowed by his majesty on the queen at the princess mary's christening the same year, lulls was paid £1,550.[184] [184] devon (f.), _issues of the exchequer, james i_ (_pell records_), p. 49. lulls' designs, drawn in water-colours in a parchment book, number altogether forty-one. the majority, set with large table-cut stones and hung with huge pear-shaped drops, are for pendent ornaments, for wearing either on the neck-chain, or as earrings, or else upon the hat. among the drawings are two designs for a "rope of round pearls, great and orient"--forty-seven in number--given to the queen, and several designs for the above-mentioned diamond and pearl ornament given her in 1605; two drawings for georges of the order of the garter given to prince henry; and designs for a large balas ruby with pearl pendant mentioned in an inventory of the prince's jewels.[185] the remaining drawings include four of jewelled aigrettes set with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires (plate xxx, 1). these remarkable contemporary illustrations of english jewellery reveal the change then beginning to take place in the character of personal ornaments. yet, though precious stones are much in evidence, in almost every case their settings are coloured, while the design of each jewel is completed with charming scrollwork enriched with polychrome enamels. [185] _archæologia_, xv, p. 19. the finest jacobean jewel in existence is the famous miniature-case known as the lyte jewel, now in the waddesdon bequest in the british museum. miniature-cases of gold elaborately enamelled, with hinged fronts often set with jewels, were as much in vogue as in elizabeth's time; and records show that many precious "picture cases" of the kind were made for james i as presents to personal friends or to ambassadors. the cover of the lyte jewel is of open-work, filled with the letter r, with diamonds on the outside and brilliant enamel within. the back is a white enamelled plate with a design in fine gold lines and ruby enamel, the edge being enamelled alternately ruby colour and sapphire-blue. within is a portrait of james i ascribed to isaac oliver. the first owner of the jewel was mr. thomas lyte. this gentleman drew up a long pedigree of king james i's ancestry and presented it to the king, who was so much pleased with it that he rewarded mr. lyte with "his picture in gold, set with diamonds, with gracious thanks." the jewel passed from the lyte family some generations ago into the hands of the duke of hamilton. at the dispersal of the hamilton palace collection it was bought for the sum of £2,835 by baron ferdinand rothschild, who bequeathed it with his other art treasures to the british museum. a contemporary portrait of thomas lyte, dated 1611, in the possession of sir henry maxwell lyte shows him wearing it suspended from a brown ribbon round his neck. the jewel is the same, save that the drop at the bottom, now a single pearl, was originally trilobed. this exquisite jewel was probably the work of one of the court jewellers mentioned above. the design on the back, which corresponds in style with engravings of daniel mignot and the other earlier designers in the "silhouette" manner, exemplifies the influence exercised by the ornamentists on all the jewellery of the period (pl. xli). throughout the reign of charles i ornaments in the same style as those portrayed in lulls' drawings appear to have remained in use. all jewellery was largely influenced by the pattern-books issued from the goldsmith-engravers' shops of germany, france and flanders. several jewellers themselves came over, as did the well-known michel le blon, in the early part of the reign. in 1635 the famous goldsmith-enamellers petitot and bordier likewise visited england, and doubtless made their influence felt on the enamelled jewellery of the time. the period, on the whole, though it terminated disastrously for all the sumptuary arts, seems to have been a prolific one in the production of jewellery. the chief business was shared by the court jewellers--james heriot (half-brother of george heriot), philip jacobson, thomas simpson, john acton, and william terrey. though he showered commissions on these jewellers, the king had commenced early in his reign the dispersal of the immense hoards of jewellery brought together by his predecessors; and by selling and pawning raised large sums of money, to make good the deficiencies caused by the rupture with parliament. subsequently, during the civil war, to relieve his personal necessities, numbers of jewels were sold at home, and many more pawned and sent over to the dealers at amsterdam, who broke them up for the intrinsic value of their gold and precious stones; while the remainder were put under the hammer by a commission appointed after the king's death to dispose of the works of art in the royal collection. [illustration: _plate xlv_ page from the ledger of sir francis child, jeweller to william iii] the fact that all classes during the struggle parted with their valuables to assist their respective champions has rendered jewellery extremely rare. women, and even little children, voluntarily sent their necklaces and brooches "for the king"; while cromwell was assisted in the same manner. great luxury in jewellery appears to have been associated with the court of charles ii. the king himself bestowed magnificent presents on his mistresses. amongst his jewellers was "that prince of goldsmiths," sir robert vyner, who made the crown jewels. later on king charles had as court jeweller the celebrated french traveller and gem merchant sir john chardin, who settled in london with an immense collection of precious stones acquired in the east. another eminent jeweller of the time was the banker alderman edward backwell, whose old books, still preserved, are full of interesting accounts for jewels supplied during the commonwealth and the reign of charles ii. the religious troubles which had led chardin to quit france induced a number of other french jewellers, after the revocation of the edict of nantes in 1685, to establish themselves in england. these foreign jewellers, like the army of craftsmen in every field that at all times swarmed into england, soon accustomed themselves to their environment and became as english as the english themselves. english work has ever had its own distinctive mark, for whatever the native craftsmen themselves borrowed they speedily made their own. the chief jeweller of the latter part of the century was sir francis child--one of the founders of the great banking house that still bears his name. he was appointed court jeweller to william iii in 1689, and supplied the king with a great quantity of jewellery. much of this was intended as presents to ambassadors; for jewellery, it appears, played a very prominent part in the diplomatic affairs of the day. even the most trifling negotiation cost the exchequer an enormous amount in presents of this kind, while foreign envoys were likewise obliged to disburse large sums for the same purpose. lists of these gifts and of other jewels are preserved in the ledgers of this ancient firm of goldsmith-bankers, and have been published by mr. f. g. hilton price in _the marygold by temple bar_. a set of drawings for jewels of about the year 1674 from sir francis child's ledger, with particulars concerning them in the great goldsmith's own handwriting, is here reproduced (pl. xlv). [illustration: design for a pendent miniature-frame by pierre marchant.] chapter xxxii eighteenth-century jewellery the jewellery that came into fashion towards the close of the seventeenth century and flourished during the greater part of the eighteenth follows the style known as "rococo." rococo ornament with its assemblage of rich fantastic scrolls and crimped conventional shellwork wrought into irregular and indescribable forms, though overcharged and inorganic, yet possesses certain beauty and artistic quality. like most objects in this style, rococo jewellery has a real decorative charm. but the title of baroque or rococo is really less adapted to jewellery than to other art productions of the time, for jewellery itself never indulged in the same extravagant use of this form of ornament. except for slight changes in design, eighteenth-century jewellery, as far as its general form is concerned, does not at first display any marked variation from that of the previous century. a charming but somewhat superficial sentimentality expressed by means of pastoral subjects results in ornaments on which tokens of friendship are represented in all manner of forms. the naturalistic tendency in ornament is still strong, but is less striking than it was before, since feather, ribbon, and other conventional designs make their appearance, mingled with flowers and leaves. these rococo jewels, on account of the setting and arrangement of the precious stones which entirely govern their composition, are in their way masterpieces both technically and artistically. unlike the earlier jewels, one cannot help regarding them rather more as accessories to costume than as independent works of art. the general character of the jewellery of the period with which we are now dealing may best be judged by a notable series of original designs in colour for such objects executed by the santini family of florence, and now preserved in the library of the victoria and albert museum. this remarkable collection comprises upwards of 382 separate designs, which are mostly constructed in a manner best calculated to show off the brilliant character and size of the stones and pearls, on which their effect mainly depends. a large proportion of the drawings take the form of what at this period constituted a parure, or set of jewels, composed of three items of similar design--a bow-shaped breast ornament hung with a cross, and a pair of earrings _en suite_. in place of the breast ornament is sometimes a v-shaped corsage in imitation of hooks and eyes or braidwork, set with various precious stones. the whole work shows that in the eighteenth century the stone cutter and stone setter had practically supplanted the artist in precious metals. in the metal-work of the settings--in most cases a matter of minor consideration--gold is employed for coloured stones and silver for diamonds. the general tendency is towards the rococo, but this type of ornament is here by no means strongly marked. in other directions, however, it is more apparent, and already in the seventeenth century we meet with traces of it in engraved designs for jewellery. the best work of this kind is that of friedrich jacob morisson, a draughtsman and jeweller who worked at vienna from about 1693 to 1697. he was one of the most popular jewellers of the day, and his plates, which are rich in motives for ornaments in precious stones and fine metal-work, found a wide circulation. they comprise aigrettes, earrings, brooches, pendants, bracelets, rings, étuis, and seals. other germans who have left designs in the same style are f. h. bemmel (1700) of nuremberg, d. baumann (1695), johann heel (1637-1709), and j. f. leopold (1700)--all of augsburg. french designers led european taste in jewellery as in furniture, and published a number of important designs. the most remarkable are those of the master-goldsmith jean bourguet of paris, whose models for earrings, pendants, and clasps, dated 1712 and 1723, are set with large faceted stones, and have their backs chased or enamelled with flower designs. his _livre de taille d'épargne_ with designs for enamel-work published as models for jewellers' apprentices, contains amongst other patterns a series of twelve rings set with large faceted stones; beside each ring is a design for the enamel decoration of its shoulder: "petits morceaux" he calls them, "de taille d'épargne facile à coppier." contemporary with bourguet was pierre bourdon, of coulommiers en brie, who worked at paris. his designs, dated 1703, are for seals, scent cases, and watch covers of rococo work, and pendent medallions and miniature frames set with precious stones. among other parisian designers are the master-goldsmiths briceau (1709), and mondon (_c._ 1730-1760) whose _livre de pierreries, pour la parure des dames_ contains patterns for earrings, brooches, and aigrettes set with brilliants, and for enamelled and jewelled watches. of italian designs for jewellery set with precious stones in the rococo style we may note those of g. b. grondoni of genoa, who worked at brussels about 1715, carlo ciampoli (1710), and d. m. albini, whose _disegni moderni di gioiglieri_ were published in 1744. the publication in london of several series of designs proves that england was not far behind the continent in the production of high-class personal ornaments. among the most important pattern-books for jewellery, are those of simon gribelin, who was born in paris in 1662, and worked chiefly in london, where he died in 1733. his work includes _a book of seuerall ornaments inuented and ingraued by s. gribelin, 1682_, and _a book of ornaments usefull to jewellers_, etc., 1697. these were republished in 1704. gribelin's productions were followed by those of j. b. herbst, who issued in 1708 _a book of severall ornaments fit for juweler, made by j. b. herbst_, and in 1710 _a book of severall juwelers work, ... sold by mr. eymaker, juweler in earls court drury lane london_. the patterns are chiefly for seals, and for breast ornaments and clasps set with rose-cut stones in rococo settings. about the same time similar pattern-books were published by j. smith and thomas bowles. in 1736 appeared _a book of jeweller's work design'd by thomas flach in london_, engraved by j. fessey. it contains designs for buckles, seals, watch-keys, a chatelaine with a watch and another with an étui, pendants and bow-shaped breast ornaments hung with drop pearls. in 1762 j. guien published in london a _livre de jouailleries--a book of ornaments for jewellers_, containing various designs in precious stones in the manner of morisson and grondoni. an isolated phenomenon in the midst of the universal love for precious stones that then dominated the productions of the jewellers, there stands out johann melchior dinglinger, who carried the traditions of the sixteenth century far into the eighteenth. born at biberach, near ulm, in 1665, dinglinger worked first at augsburg, and, having visited italy, was summoned to dresden in 1702 by augustus ii, elector of saxony, where he lived until his death in 1731. during these thirty years, aided by his brother georg friedrich (d. 1720) and his son johann melchior (1702-1762), he was employed as court jeweller to the elector, whom he assisted in planning and arranging the grüne gewölbe at dresden, which marvellous assemblage of precious objects contains the best examples of his work. all the processes of the cinquecento craftsmen, of whose technique he possessed a fine knowledge, were employed by dinglinger with wonderful care and exactitude--though his productions naturally betray in design the period of their execution. he exercised considerable influence on his contemporaries, more especially with regard to the revival of the art of enamelling in the second half of the century, when jewellery made a notable advance in the time of louis xvi. a change in style was first experienced on the arrival in power of madame de pompadour, who led the way in that coquettish return to simple conditions of life which showed itself in the pastorals of the louis quinze epoch. it resulted in a preference for simple gold; this metal, coloured by alloys such as platinum and silver, and popular under the name of _à quatre couleurs_, being at most only set off by enamel painting. this later rococo period, as far as its technique is concerned, is one which has never been equalled either before or since. an event of importance in the history of jewellery, as of art generally, was the discovery in 1755 of the city of pompeii, succeeding that in 1713 of herculaneum, buried for centuries beneath the ashes of vesuvius. the journeys of artists to italy and to naples, and the interest aroused thereby in ancient art, a weariness with the mannerism of rococo ornament, and the whim of fashion, gradually transformed jewellery like other decorative arts, and resulted in the classicism of the style of louis xvi. antique forms as they then were known showed themselves in a very charming manner in well-balanced jewels, where different coloured gold took the form of classical motives in the midst of ribbons, garlands, and the pastoral subjects dear to the previous epoch. enamel returned into fashion, and accomplished its chief triumph with painting _en plein_ in fine transparent tones over _guilloché_ gold. in conjunction with the art of gem setting and cutting, and metal chasing, this species of enamel produced effects which were all the more surprising, seeing that it was often confined to the smallest of spaces. among the first craftsmen who created, or followed the fashion, was the jeweller lempereur. some of his designs were published by his pupil pouget the younger in 1762 and 1764, in a treatise entitled _traité des pierres précieuses et de la manière de les employer en parure_, the plates of which, mostly coloured, and representing models of jewellery of all kinds set with precious stones, were engraved by mlle. raimbau. another pupil of lempereur, august duflos, published in 1760 a similar work entitled _recueil de dessins de joaillerie_. other french designers of jewellery at this time were: maria, a jeweller of paris, who issued about 1765 an important series of plates, thirty-five in number, of pendants, brooches, clasps, chatelaines, aigrettes, seals, rings, and buckles; p. moreau (1740-1780) and j. b. fay (1780-1790), both of paris; and l. van den cruycen (1770) of brussels. in 1770 was published in london by t. d. saint _a new book of designs for jewellers' work_ containing eleven plates of ornaments of various kinds in the style of pouget and duflos. one of the last english jewellers of the old school was george michael moser (1707-1783), one of the founders of the academy--like fuseli, a swiss by birth, and a native of schaffhausen. he was originally a gold chaser--"the first in the kingdom," so sir joshua reynolds described him; but when that mode of decorating jewellery was put aside in favour of enamels, he turned his attention to enamel compositions of emblematical figures, much in vogue for the costly watch-cases of the day, for chatelaines, necklaces, bracelets, and other personal ornaments. he succeeded so well in this class of work that the queen patronised him, and he executed a considerable number of commissions for the king. another eminent jeweller, who was likewise a painter and enameller, was augustus toussaint. he worked principally with his father, a noted jeweller of denmark street, soho, and exhibited at the royal academy from 1775 to 1778, sending in both miniatures and enamels. he died between 1790 and 1800. several of the fine open-work jewelled frames which held the choice miniatures of the day, were made in the workshop of toussaint the elder, and on his death his son augustus is said not only to have retained for his own use all the examples of these frames which were in stock, but to have continued to supply a few fellow-artists, with whom he was on terms of intimacy, with the celebrated toussaint frames.[186] [186] examples of these jewelled frames are preserved in mr. pierpont morgan's collection of miniatures. for the information respecting them i am indebted to the kindness of dr. williamson, author of the catalogue of that collection. the excess of ornamentation and the desire for jewellery formed of precious stones had, since the seventeenth century, favoured the use of imitations. rock crystal or quartz had long been employed to imitate diamonds. forgeries and imitations which were intended to pass as precious stones will be spoken of in another place. but at this time even people of great wealth wore imitation jewels, such as certainly would not be worn by persons in a corresponding position nowadays. these made no profession of being real stones. they were recognised as imitations. the credit of the production of the first satisfactory substitute for the diamond is due to a german--stras or strass by name--who about 1758 established himself at paris on the quai des orfévres, where he met with great success as a vendor of paste imitations of diamonds, which still bear his name. competitors were not slow in making their appearance, and one chéron also gave his name for a considerable time to the false diamonds that issued from his workshop. so large and flourishing did the industry in imitations become that in 1767 a corporation of _joailliers-faussetiers_ was established in paris. imitation pearls were likewise very largely worn; even ladies of high position did not disdain to wear them--"un collier de perles fausses" occurs in the inventory of the jewels of madame de chamillart made on her death in 1731. false pearls first appeared in paris about the time of henry iv, the production of one named jaquin, whose descendants carried on a large business in them in paris till the middle of the eighteenth century. "so well have pearls been imitated," writes pouget the younger, in 1762, "that most of those of fine orient have found their way back from europe to asia, and are so rare in france that nowadays one scarcely sees any good specimens." productions such as these were rendered necessary to satisfy the luxury which from the nobility had extended over the whole middle classes, and also on account of the strained condition of french finance. étienne de silhouette, controller of finance, endeavoured to cut down expenses, and issued in 1759 an invitation to the wealthy to bring in their jewels to be converted into cash for the benefit of the treasury. such attempts at economy, though rewarded only by ridicule, so that portraits henceforth executed in the commonest manner were _à la silhouette_, yet met with this result, as pouget observes, that since the time of m. de silhouette marcasite had become very much the fashion in france. in switzerland, too, since it was forbidden to wear diamonds, ladies, he tells us, wore no other ornaments than marcasite, and spent a good deal of care and money in the setting of it. the mineral known as marcasite, a word which was spelled in many ways, is a crystallised form of iron pyrites cut in facets like rose diamonds, and highly polished. it was used for a number of ornaments. steel, likewise cut in facets, was similarly employed. steel jewellery appears to have been invented in england, and from birmingham, the centre of its manufacture, found its way all over europe, reaching france by way of holland. it was carried out largely by boulton and watt and other firms of birmingham, sheffield, and wolverhampton. this steel jewellery, which was in high favour in the latter half of the eighteenth, continued to be worn until the second quarter of the nineteenth century, when it finally went out of fashion. even after that, cut steel was still made at birmingham, and the firm of hipkins, one of the most prominent, continued for many years to supply the court of spain with buttons and buckles ornamented with it (pl. li, 1, 2). steel was largely employed as mounts for the fictile cameos of wedgwood, tassie, adams, and turner, which were in considerable demand for rings, brooches and buttons. mountings for these were also made in silver or sheffield plate, principally the work of thomas law & co., of sheffield. in the latter part of the century england occupied a unique position with regard to the production of objects of this kind, which were eagerly sought for throughout the whole of the continent. another characteristic of the changed condition of the times was the use in jewellery, together with strass, false pearls, and marcasite, of various substitutes for gold. the best-known of these substitutes was "pinchbeck," so called after its inventor, christopher pinchbeck (d. 1732), a clock and watch maker, of fleet street. this pinchbeck gold was an alloy of copper and zinc. when fused together the metals assumed the colour of fine gold, and preserved for a time a bright and unoxidised surface, though in some cases objects thus fashioned received a washing of gold. pinchbeck was much used for cheaper jewellery of all kinds. the larger articles made of this metal were chatelaines, snuff-boxes, and étuis, while watch-cases, miniature-frames, buckles, clasps, and so forth, are to be found for the most part ornamented in relief and carefully chased. these several articles to which pinchbeck was suited, went in those days by the name of "toys". the term "toyman" was employed by pinchbeck himself, but the title had, of course, no reference to what are now known as toys. in france and germany a metal composition like gold, in imitation of pinchbeck, called _similor_ or "goldshine," was produced, first by renty, of lille, about 1729, and subsequently improved by leblanc, of paris. but the name of the english inventor of the metal was well known in france, where it was retained in such forms as "pinsebeck" or "pinsbeck." * * * the head-ornament--the aigrette--was still an important jewel in the eighteenth century. generally a kind of delicately formed bouquet of precious stone in very light setting, it continued long in fashion, together with strings of pearls among the hair. for a while the aigrette was set aside for bows, small birds, etc., made of precious stones mounted upon vibrating spiral wires which were then attached to the hair-pin. these went under the name of "wasps" or "butterflies." in the days of marie antoinette they were supplemented by hair-pins and aigrettes set entirely with diamonds, which about 1770 had almost entirely superseded coloured stones. many designs for these head-ornaments were published by pouget the younger and duflos, the latter of whom complains in the preface to his work of the tendency shown in his day to do away with the admixture of coloured stones with diamonds; a proof that up to this date, in spite of the general preference for the diamond, taste had not yet learned to do without colour effect in jewellery. [illustration: _plate xlvi_ eighteenth century jewellery, french and english] earrings, as has been noticed in reference to the santini designs, were in particular favour at this period. the majority were composed of large faceted stones or of pearls, formed _girandole_ fashion--that is to say, of a large circular stone above, with three _briolettes_ or pear-shaped pendants below. a pair of earrings of this form, said to have belonged to madame du barry, are in possession of lady monckton. they are set each with four sapphire pastes of very fine quality; the three drop-pendants being separated from the upper stone by open spray-work of silver set with white pastes (pl. xlvi, 5, 6). similarly elaborate pendent earrings in seven sections composed of brilliants are seen in an original mezzotint portrait of queen charlotte by thomas frye (_c._ 1760). drop-shaped pendants, mostly diamonds, were then very highly esteemed. marie antoinette had a pair of diamond earrings with stones of this form hanging from a perpendicular line of large brilliants. the designs of ciampoli, mondon, guien, pouget, van den cruycen, and fay, all contain varieties of earrings, mostly _girandole_ fashion. for necklaces the engravings of these same designers supply many patterns. like the _carcan_ of the fifteenth century, they are often in the form of a band about an inch in width, composed of precious stones--rubies, emeralds, pearls, and diamonds--in open-work, or attached to velvet. they are generally constructed so as to reach only half-way round the neck, the back part being a band of black velvet. portraits of the time frequently exhibit ropes of pearls, and finally rows of large diamonds, like the renowned _collier_ of marie antoinette composed by the court jewellers boehmer and bossange. numerous circumstances connected with it, too lengthy to relate here, gave to the _affaire_ of the diamond necklace a world-wide celebrity, making it one of the chief events of the century. though historically one of the world's most famous pieces of jewellery, the necklace itself, described in quaint but vivid language by carlyle in his _miscellanies_, calls for no special comment, being on the whole of comparatively small artistic importance. its value--£90,000, a great sum for those days--lay in the size and quality of the brilliants and _pendeloques_ of which it was composed. a favourite point of adornment in female attire was still the breast, where, in the first part of the century, jewelled ornaments, or _sévignés_, in the form of bows and rosettes, hung with pendants and set with table-cut stones or rose diamonds, continued to be worn. generally they assumed the _girandole_ shape hung with pear-shaped pendants. about 1770 a large bunch of flowers, or a bouquet-shaped ornament formed of precious stones, was worn in the breast. for the latter the jeweller lempereur enjoyed a great reputation. upon the stiff bodice, which came into fashion at the end of the seventeenth century, scope was afforded for a goodly use of ornament, and soon we find the corsage literally covered with jewels, in a manner similar to that in which the ladies of the renaissance almost completely covered the upper part of their dresses with pendent chain-ornaments. at the time, however, of which we now speak the ornaments are single pieces mounted upon the dress and arranged symmetrically in the form of a jewelled "stomacher" or _devant de corsage_. the santini drawings contain many examples of this kind of open framework composed of precious stones; and several interesting designs for the same are figured on plates 16, 17, and 18 of maria's _livre de dessins de jouaillerie et de bijouterie_. at this period also, when luxury reached its climax, even the _panier_ or tucked-up upper skirt had the whole of its exaggerated dimensions sprinkled with pieces of jewellery, so that of this time again it may be said that the ladies of the court displayed the whole of their wealth, and often enough of their credit too, upon a single dress. fashion endeavoured to fill a corresponding part in gentlemen's attire by adorning coat and waistcoat with buttons of artistic workmanship. to match the beautiful embroidered garments of the time, buttons were sewn with bugles, steel beads, or spangles; and many have survived which may be reckoned as real articles of jewellery. every material and mode of decoration was applied to them. occasionally we find buttons set with diamonds and other precious stones, but more often paste, or with odd natural stones such as agates, carnelians, marcasite, blood-stones, lapis-lazuli, or buttons of tortoise-shell, or of compositions such as wedgwood ware, in frames of cut steel. translucent blue glass or enamel, mounted or set with pearls, diamonds or pastes, and chased and coloured gold, were all fashionable. on the whole, cut steel was the most popular. a birmingham craftsman by name of heeley, who worked for wedgwood about 1780, is recorded is being especially skilful at this class of work; while in france a certain dauffe had almost a monopoly in the production of steel objects. certainly some of the open-work steel buttons of the time--english as well as french--are jewels of a very high order. bracelets were mostly formed of bands of velvet with oval clasps. the clasp was decorated in a variety of ways, and was very frequently fitted with a painted or enamelled miniature. the practice of wearing miniatures in this way seems to have been a common one, judging by the numerous advertisements inserted in the london _public advertiser_ about the middle of the century by "ingenious artists," willing on "reasonable terms to paint elegant portraits in miniature for bracelets, rings, etc." madame de chamillart had amongst other jewels "un petit portrait en mignature en forme de bracelet garny de quatre diamants, monté en or." in fact, according to fontenay, the terms _bracelet_ and _boîte à portrait_ had for a time practically the same meaning.[187] cameos were sometimes employed as bracelet clasps, but not to the same extent as they were subsequently under the empire. in the bibliothèque nationale at paris are two portrait cameos in sardonyx (nos. 788 and 927) which served as the clasps of the bracelets of madame de pompadour, and were bequeathed by her to louis xv in 1764. the work of the celebrated gem-engraver jacques guay, the one represents henri iv, and the other, which is signed, louis xv. the mounting of each, an admirable example of french jewel-work of the time, is formed of a circlet of emeralds arranged in the manner of a laurel wreath, and tied at intervals by cords of rose diamonds terminating above and below in knots. among other decorations for bracelets, mention may be made of the celebrated enamels produced at battersea between 1750 and 1775, very many of which, oval in shape, were set in gold frames so as to be easily mounted in bracelets. the productions of the rival establishment at bilston, in staffordshire, were similarly employed, and, like the former, were frequently worn as buttons. [187] _les bijoux anciens et modernes_, p. 294. [illustration: _plate xlvii_ eighteenth-century necklaces, etc.] the finger ring in the eighteenth century was a particularly favourite jewel. that considerable attention was paid at the time to the design and decoration of the ring, may be judged from bourguet's designs, which contain patterns for enamel-work intended for its enrichment. the beauty of the sentiments displayed on the rings of the time is nowhere more charmingly expressed than on an english wedding-ring at south kensington, which is formed of two hands in white enamel, holding between the thumbs and first fingers a rose diamond in the shape of a heart set in silver and surmounted with a jewelled coronet. it bears the date 1706 (pl. xxxvi, 3). other rings of similar style have the bezel formed of two precious stones in the form of hearts united by a knot. rings which served simply as souvenirs of affection were very popular. in addition to the plain gold ring engraved with a posy or motto, were rings containing a like sentiment read by means of the first letters of the stones with which they are set. the most typical ring of the period is perhaps the _marquise_ ring, which dates from the second half of the century. the bezel, which is oblong, and either oval or octagonal, is often of such size that it covers the whole joint of the finger. it is formed of a plaque of transparent blue glass on matted gold, surrounded with diamonds, and set either with a single diamond, or with several arranged at regular intervals, sometimes in the form of a bouquet. often instead of diamonds are pastes and even marcasite. of other varieties of rings of the time it is necessary only to mention those set with wedgwood cameos, or with stones such as moss-agates, and a form of agate somewhat similar, but of lighter colour, called the mocha stone. mourning and memorial rings, of which this period was so prolific, will be spoken of subsequently. an ornament that showed a peculiarly wide development throughout the eighteenth century was the shoe-buckle. various kinds of buckles are recorded in the _caution to the public_, issued in 1733, in connection with his famous ware, by edward, the son of christopher pinchbeck. they include the following: buckles for ladies' breasts, stock-buckles, shoe-buckles, knee-buckles, girdle-buckles. of these the most important was the buckle worn on the shoes of every one--man woman, and child--attached to the latchet or strap passing over the instep. it assumed all sorts of forms and was made and enriched with every conceivable material. it is interesting to observe that in spite of the immense number produced, hardly any two pairs of buckles are precisely alike--this is shown in the case of the collection of sir s. ponsonby fane, which contains upwards of four hundred specimens. towards the last years of the century buckles began to be supplanted by shoe strings. during this period of transition many attempts were made to foster their use.[188] on tickets to public entertainments at the time one occasionally finds a notice that "gentlemen cannot be admitted with shoe strings." the latter, however, won the day, and about the year 1800 shoe-buckles disappeared from use. [188] see _connoisseur_, xii, p. 81. the chatelaine was perhaps the most characteristic of all eighteenth-century ornaments. it was exceedingly popular, and formed, it may be observed, a very favourite object of the time for a wedding present. it usually consisted of a shield with a stout hook, suspended from which were several chains united by another plate or shield which carried the watch. besides this were two or more chains for holding the watch-key or seals. extraordinary skill was exercised in the elaboration of chatelaines. the plaques, hinged or united by chains, withstood the incursion of the precious stone that dominated all other forms of jewellery, and afforded peculiar opportunities for the display of the art of the goldsmith in chased and repoussé metal-work enriched with exquisite enamels. the jeweller's whole artistic skill was thus exhibited, not only upon the shields, but upon the solid links of the chains and upon the various breloques hung therefrom. the chief of the latter was of course the watch. its dial-plate was enriched with enamel, and chased and coloured gold: even the hands when made of gold showed a high degree of skilled workmanship within a very small space. the principal ornamental part was, however, the outer case; and it may be maintained that there was not any species of work connected with the goldsmith's art that was not displayed in its finest form upon watch-cases, more especially in the time of louis xvi. [illustration: _plate xlviii_ eighteenth-century chatelaines] beside the watch was hung the watch-key and seals, and all sorts of ornamental knick-knacks, as étuis and such-like. the elaborate chatelaine upon which nearly every conceivable kind of trinket could be attached, is the "equipage" thus described by lady mary wortley montagu in her fourth _town eclogue_:- behold this equipage by mathers wrought with fifty guineas (a great pen'orth!) bought! see on the tooth-pick mars and cupid strive, and both the struggling figures seem to live. upon the bottom see the queen's bright face; a myrtle foliage round the thimble case; jove, jove himself does on the scissars shine, the metal and the workmanship divine. while women carried elaborate chatelaines, men hung from the watch in the fob-pocket bunches of seals which dangled beneath their embroidered waistcoats. thus in _monsieur à la mode_, published about 1753, we read of- a repeater by graham, which the hours reveals; almost overbalanced with nick-nacks and seals. it was the seal above all which experienced particular artistic development. ever since the sixteenth century the seal had been worn in addition to the signet ring. though hung perhaps like a pomander from a chain at the neck or from the girdle, the seal seems to have been but rarely displayed on the person until the general introduction in the early seventeenth century of the watch, to which for more than a couple of centuries it was a regular accompaniment. the majority of seventeenth-century seals are of silver with the arms engraved in the metal; others of steel are on swivels and have three faces; others, again, of gold set with stones engraved with heraldic devices, have finely worked shanks, occasionally enriched with delicate enamel-work. the gold seals of the eighteenth century, which are among the best examples extant of rococo jewellery, are of open-work in the form of scroll and shell patterns, of admirable design and workmanship. it is out of the question to attempt a description of the numerous attractive forms these pendent seals assumed, or the peculiar interest they possess from an heraldic point of view. about the year 1772 fashionable men carried a watch in each fob-pocket, from which hung bunches of seals and chains. from the custom set in england of introducing masculine fashions into dress, ladies likewise wore two watches, one on each side, together with rattling breloques, seals, and other appendages. in addition to the real watch with beautifully enamelled back which adorned the left side, they wore on the right what was called a _fausse montre_ or false watch. these false watches were, however, often little less costly than the genuine article, being made of gold and silver, with jewelled and enamelled backs. the front had either an imitation dial-plate, some fanciful device, or a pin-cushion. for those of less ample means the _fausse montre_ was made of gilt metal or even of coloured foils. chapter xxxiii nineteenth-century jewellery the modern revival jewellery of the nineteenth century presents a very variegated picture both as regards material and technique, as well as in the display of every conceivable style. it is not so much a particular character of its own that has marked the jewellery of each epoch of the century, as a peculiar form of reproduction or rather reconstruction of older styles of art, based for the most part on false traditions. the whole period was an eclectic one, and the majority of its productions--the result of nothing less than aimless hesitation and fruitless endeavour to revive the forms of the past--display at least doubtful taste. throughout the greater part of the time france led the fashion, and every one of the political changes she underwent left its mark on her artistic productions. after the desolate epoch of the revolution, under which the whole standard of jewellery was measurably lowered, a revival of something approaching luxury was experienced under the directory. this was succeeded about the year 1800, owing to the stimulating dominance of the first consul, by circumstances of real luxury. the period dating from napoleon's accession to the imperial dignity four years later, till about 1814, was one of considerable importance in the history of jewellery. the severe and academic influence of the leading and most popular artist of the day, the painter david, and of his pupils, with their extravagant taste for the antique, was universally felt. yet while the antique celebrated its triumph in all directions, the empire failed to shake itself entirely free from eighteenth-century styles. as far indeed as jewellery was concerned, the classical revival cannot be said to have been altogether unhappy; for its ornaments are not without a certain charm. like all else, they breathed the spirit of the past, and are not less formal and rigid than the other art productions of the period. it was under the short-lived reign of the associated kings, termed the directory, that the taste for the antique first became thoroughly dominant. jewellery of all kinds assumed classical forms. the few individuals who were fortunate enough to procure them wore ancient greek and roman jewels; the rest had to be content with facsimiles of objects discovered at pompeii, or simple copies adapted from representations on early vase paintings, sculptures, or engraved gems. so exaggerated became the enthusiasm for the antique that, following the lead of madame tallien and madame récamier, the fashionables of the period adopted in its entirety, without regard for differences of climate, what they deemed to be classical costume, and appeared on public promenades in paris with unstockinged feet in sandals that allowed them to exhibit jewels upon their toes. [illustration: _plate xlix_ empire head-ornaments] the affected classicism of the republic and first empire stimulated the use of engraved gems. far from cameos and the less decorative intaglios being considered out of place with fine precious stones, they often occupied positions of honour, surrounded and mounted occasionally with important diamonds. in the majority of cases, however, they were used alone and were made up into special ornaments by themselves. antiques were worn when procurable, but the greater number of gems were of modern manufacture, carefully studied both as regards technique and style from ancient examples. somewhat later, small mosaics, on which were figured classical subjects or buildings of ancient rome, were also employed. these, together with cameos, generally on shell, were produced in quantities, particularly in italy, where cameo cutters and mosaic workers still carry on a somewhat languishing trade in ornaments of this nature, venice, florence, and rome sharing in the industry of mosaic jewellery; rome, naples, and the whole of southern italy in that of cameos. the production of both kinds of objects is now in a sterilised condition. they have entirely lost their earlier qualities, for the reason that they find but little favour and have ceased to be worn by the upper classes. except during the height of the first empire the fashion for engraved gems never took a very thorough hold. ladies have seldom a taste for archæology. if a few, in accordance with the current idea, affected a sober and refined style of ornament, the majority soon wearied of the burden of cameos in the necklace and bracelet, and preferred sparkling stones to the delicate cutting of the gem. the general and instinctive preference for brilliant jewels did more than anything to kill the attempted employment of antique forms and designs. as regards technique, the metal-work of the early nineteenth century generally displayed considerable poverty of material. the gold, if not pinchbeck imitation, was usually thin, light, and of low quality, with simple designs in the form of clusters of grapes. borders of leaves and flowers in the antique style were stamped and chased sometimes in open-work, with small rose-shaped ornaments applied. granulated, beaded, and purled work was much employed, and the surface of the metal was often matted. artistic effect in chased work was produced by the use of ornamental inlays, or rather overlays, of coloured gold. actual jewel-work and settings, as a rule, displayed good quality of workmanship. the general tendency lay in the direction of the coloured stones popular in ancient times--the topaz, peridot, aquamarine, and amethyst; together with precious stones, such as emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds, and with pearls. the latter were generally reserved only for the most sumptuous ornaments, but were occasionally used in conjunction with jewels of less value. the stones most commonly used were carnelians, moss-agates, turquoises, garnets, pink and yellow topazes, as well as coral, mingled together. wedgwood ware and its imitations, popular in the latter years of the eighteenth century, continued for some time to meet with favour, while paste jewellery was also worn to some extent. on every species of jewellery the taste for the antique was clearly visible. ornaments for the head took the form of frontlets and diadems, hair-combs, hair-pins, triple chains, and strings of pearls. earrings were in general use, together with necklaces, brooches, bracelets, rings, and girdles. the chief head-ornaments were wide metal combs, fixed in the hair in such a manner as to be visible from the front. the general form of the empire comb, with its upright rows of pearls or coral, is well known, since a number of examples exist. at the same time frontlets or _tours de tête_ were worn on the upper part of the forehead and over the hair. these, enriched with pearls, cameos, or precious stones, took the form of broad bands or coronets. another ornament, which did not, however, come into fashion till about 1820, was the _ferronnière_--a band round the head, with a jewel in the middle of the forehead. it was generally a fine gold chain, but might be made of velvet ribbon or silken cord, or strings of beads. the origin of its title has been given in connection with italian jewellery of the fifteenth century. cameos and moss-agates entered largely into the composition of necklaces as well as the various coloured stones mentioned above. cameos often assumed considerable proportions. they were occasionally set with precious stones, and were linked together with fine chains. bracelets were much worn, three on each arm: one on the upper part of the arm, a second just above the elbow, and a third upon the wrist. they were usually composed of a number of small chains, or even a band of velvet; while the clasp was formed by a cameo, or else an amethyst, peridot, or topaz set in stamped and pierced gold. girdles for the most part were fashioned in the same manner as bracelets, with a large cameo on the clasp. [illustration: _plate l_ early nineteenth-century jewellery] the pictures in the gallery at versailles afford perhaps the best idea of ornaments in the empire style; since jewellery is more clearly represented on french portraits than on any others of the time. among the most striking of such portraits are those of marie pauline, princess borghese, by lefèvre, of caroline buonaparte, queen of naples, by madame vigée-lebrun, and of madame mère, by gérard. the first has a high comb and bandeau, earrings, and girdle, all decorated with cameos, the second a parure of pearls and cameos, and the third a head-ornament mounted with a single large cameo. the coronation of napoleon in 1804 furnished the painter david with the subject of a picture unrivalled in its kind--"le sacre de napoleon i^e^r à notre-dame," which is exhibited in the louvre. this grandiose production, besides being a truly epic rendering of a great historical event, serves as a valuable document in the history of jewellery, in that it represents jewellery of the most magnificent kind carried by josephine, the princesses, and the ladies of honour. the empress is shown wearing comb and diadem of precious stones, brilliant earrings, and a bracelet on the wrist formed of two rows of jewels united with a cameo. her suite have, besides, necklaces and girdles mounted in several cases with cameos. josephine herself possessed a perfect passion for engraved gems, and she actually induced napoleon to have a number of antique cameos and intaglios removed from the gem collection in the royal library and made up into a complete parure of jewellery for her own use. a german speciality of the expiring empire was the cast-iron jewellery, brought into favour largely on account of the prevailing scarcity of gold and silver. a foundry for its production was first set up in 1804 at berlin, where articles of great fineness were cast in sand moulds. in the year 1813, the time of the rising against the napoleonic usurpation, more than eleven thousand pieces of iron jewellery were turned out, and among them five thousand crosses of the new order of the iron cross. in that year appeared the well-known iron rings. during the war of liberation, when every man joined the prussian regiments to fight against the french, the patriotic ladies who remained behind laid at the altar of the fatherland their valuable jewels, which were melted down for the benefit of the national war-chest. for the articles thus surrendered they received in exchange from the government iron finger rings bearing the words "eingetauscht zum wohle des vaterlandes," or the famous inscription "gold gab ich für eisen." in addition to crosses and rings, other jewels, such as diadems, necklaces, brooches, and bracelets, were executed in cast iron, open-worked and in relief (pl. li, 8). complete parures comprising a comb, necklace, earrings, and bracelets are not infrequently met with, and the name of the manufacturer, such as "geiss, berlin," etc., is sometimes found stamped on them. most of the work is in the antique taste, and is occasionally adorned with classical heads in the manner of wedgwood and tassie. considering the material and method of production, the fineness and lace-like delicacy of this iron jewellery is little less than marvellous. [illustration: _plate li_ buckles and necklaces late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries] another kind of nineteenth-century ornament, particularly popular in the first half of the century, was hair jewellery. it was favoured possibly in some cases less by inclination than by that necessity which had originally led the way for the use of iron and other less valuable materials. finger rings, bracelets, necklaces, and watch-chains were plaited of the hair of the departed, brooches and medallions mounted with it, and even ornamental landscapes constructed of strands of human hair. hair was worn as a gift of affection from the living; but it was chiefly employed for mourning or memorial jewellery. it will be referred to again when mourning jewellery is dealt with. we enter about the year 1830 into the romantic period--the days of the heroines of balzac, the days when byron and ossian were _à la mode_, the days of a fancy chivalry and mediæval sentimentality, of sir walter scott, and above all of the gothic revival. gothic motives, rampant in architecture, make their appearance also on bookbindings, furniture, and other things, and influence jewellery to a certain degree. among the leaders of the movement so far as it affected jewellery were the goldsmiths froment meurice, and robin, whose productions, executed in accordance with the romantic taste, assumed the form of armoured knights, on foot, or fully equipped on horseback, lords and ladies in mediæval costume, and jewels which took the shape of compositions of a similar "elegant" nature. at this period cameos were still worn, but seldom of strictly classical character. sentimental hair jewellery likewise continued, as did the iron jewellery. the latter, however, no longer displayed classical forms, but debased gothic designs. chains of various kinds were in considerable favour. they were usually looped up at intervals with circular or oblong plaques of thin and coloured gold set with small turquoises and garnets. with the development of machinery appeared thin goldwork, ornamented with stamped and pressed designs. work of this kind, characteristic of its first decades, extended far into the nineteenth century. as far as men's jewellery is concerned there is little or nothing to chronicle. strangely enough, the masculine delight in splendid jewels that had existed up to the end of the eighteenth century, came all at once to an end, along with that older world on the ruins of which napoleon rose. almost all that remained to them was the bunch of seals, often of considerable size, that hung by a silken cord from the fob. it is true that occasionally beaux and macaronis actually wore earrings. but these were not employed solely as ornaments, but largely as the result of a fanciful idea, still prevalent in certain quarters, of the value of such objects against diseases of the eye. fashion next, about the middle of the century, harked back to rococo, and imitated the style of louis xv. it was rococo of a kind, but lay as far from the eighteenth century as did romantic gothic from the gothic of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. design for the most part was deplorably bad, defects in this direction being passed off under a glitter of stones. instead of the close setting which had so long satisfied the jeweller, open setting for precious stones became universal. countless old and valuable ornaments perished. the diamonds and other precious stones were picked out of them and transferred to newer settings, and the beautiful old metal-work was ruthlessly melted down. many fine jewels during the course of the nineteenth century have likewise been spoiled and reduced in value by their owners attempting to adapt them to a prevailing fashion. vast is the number of family treasures that have undergone the fate of remounting. it is to be hoped that the new-born interest in the beautiful work of earlier craftsmen may help to save what is left from the same sort of destruction that the ancient churches of our land have undergone as the result of ill-judged "restoration." the modern revival long prior to the developments that have taken place in recent years, attention had been attracted to the artistic qualities of gold and an impetus given to the manipulation of the simple material. it was early in the "sixties" that notice was first drawn to the gold jewellery then being executed in rome, and the discoveries that had been effected in the working of the wrought metal by the firm of castellani. the head of this famous family was the goldsmith fortunato pio castellani, one of the best-known jewellers and dealers of his day. in 1814, at an early age, he started a business in rome, which he developed about 1826 on the lines of the antique work. the process of production of the old granulated gold jewellery of the ancient etruscans--that in which the surface is covered with minute grains of gold set with absolute regularity--had long been a puzzle and problem to jewellers. castellani was deeply interested in the lost art, and searched italy through to find some survival of it. at last in st. angelo in vado, a village of the apennines, in the corner of the umbrian marches, he found a caste of local goldsmiths who had preserved it in what seemed to be an unbroken tradition. he transported some of them to rome, and together with his sons alessandro and augusto succeeded in imitating the tiny golden grains of the etruscans and soldering them on to the surface of jewels. the work he accomplished in this direction has become famous all the world over. in 1851 fortunato retired, and on his death in 1865 his property was divided--augusto retaining the business, alessandro setting himself up as a collector and dealer. augusto, born 1829, carried on the traditions of his father's atelier, and was afterwards promoted to the directorship of the capitoline museum. alessandro, the elder brother, was perhaps one of the most striking personalities of his age. born in 1824, he first assisted his father; but his political opinions, which led him to take an active part in the revolutionary movement in rome in 1848, and implicated him in the conspiracy of 1852, resulted in his imprisonment in the castle of st. angelo; but successfully feigning madness, he was liberated and sent out of the pontifical states. he then proceeded to travel about exploiting the productions of the casa castellani. gradually he devoted himself to archæological pursuits. his knowledge of these matters was profound, and he became the finest expert of his day. he was continually collecting, and dealt largely, his chief customers being the museums of europe and america. the finest of the antique jewellery in the british museum was purchased from him in 1872-1873. a few years before, in 1867, his unrivalled series of peasant ornaments, gathered together from all parts of italy, was acquired by the victoria and albert museum, which also made large purchases at the sale that took place after his death in 1883. the art of filigree and granulation practised by castellani was carried to still greater perfection by another italian, carlo giuliano, who was largely indebted to the discoveries of his compatriot. examples of his work, with that of castellani, are in the victoria and albert museum. since his death, his business house in london has been continued by his sons. another italian who has surpassed both castellani and giuliano in the reproduction of the antique is melillo of naples. his jewellery, though "copied closely from ancient models, has a certain modern _cachet_" and is in fact "a translation of the most refined ancient art into modern language." an eminent english jeweller, whose name is worthy of record, was robert phillips of london, who died in 1881. he also came under the influence of castellani. at the same time he was responsible for the production of some of the most original work executed in england during the victorian era. a forerunner in france of the modern movement in artistic jewellery, and one entitled to a high place in the history of the art, was the goldsmith lucien falize (b. 1838), who was a partner with m. bapst, crown jeweller of the second empire. he succeeded bapst as official goldsmith to the french government, and died in 1897. another great french jeweller was eugène fontenay, author of the important history of jewellery, who died in 1885. side by side with the improvement in taste which during the last few years has prompted people to preserve old jewellery, and a genuine love for its peculiar and indefinable attractions which has induced them to collect it, the present age has witnessed a truly remarkable revival in the artistic production of articles of personal ornament. the general awakening that has taken place in the industrial arts has nowhere made its influence more strongly felt than in respect to jewellery. owing to the example set by the highest artistic spirits, which has affected even the ordinary productions of commerce, there has arisen a new school of jewellery, the residue of which, when the chaff of eccentricity on the one hand and coarse workmanship on the other is winnowed from it, consists in works which combine the charm and sense of appropriateness requisite to objects of personal adornment with qualities that mark them as individual works of art. the ornaments of the past reveal an elemental truth of art which it may be to the ultimate advantage of the decorative artificer of modern times to study and to imitate. they show, particularly in their most refined periods, that the simplest materials and the simplest modes of decoration can be associated with beauty of form and purity of design, and that the value of a personal ornament does not consist solely in the commercial cost of the materials, but rather in the artistic quality of its treatment. in the revival of the arts in the latter part of the nineteenth century the artistic styles of the past began to be carefully studied, and for the first time were brought together and exhibited as models. they have undoubtedly exercised a profound influence both on design and technique. it is well at the same time to remember that personal ornaments, as indeed all productions of former times, which are thus shown in museums, must not be reckoned with from one standpoint only. the intention of their public display is to afford material for instruction, investigation, and inspiration, for the craftsman, the student, and the "man in the street." their function in this respect is not only to produce artists and craftsmen, or even connoisseurs, but to inspire the lay public with a love of beauty, and to induce a divine discontent with the ugliness with which it is surrounded. though it is very well to use and reproduce the forms and motives of the past, an indefinite persistence in that attitude is liable to be construed as a confession of æsthetic sterility. but while empty revivals and false adaptations are to be rejected, the reckless race after originality, resulting in the eccentricity which is so rife in modern art, should especially be avoided. it is the desire for originality instead of a modest devotion to fine workmanship, "a love for the outrageous and the _bizarre_, and a lack of proportion, both in form and in choice of material," that has ruined much of the jewellery produced under the _nouveau art_ movement. if colour and form produced by a study of harmony and a limited appeal to nature could be united to elaboration and minuteness of finish, with symmetrical arrangements freed from purely mechanical detail of ornament; if more insight could be obtained into the spirit which produced those splendid fragments that have survived from the past, there would be a gradual return to a style of work wherein the inherent preciousness of material might be accompanied by a fuller appreciation of its artistic possibilities, and a way opened to the restoration of the art of the goldsmith to the honourable place it once held. apart from matters of design the new movement has resulted in great changes in the artistic aspect of jewellery. in distinction to the tendency hitherto prevalent which bids the metal mounting of jewellery to be rendered almost invisible, the working of gold and silver has once again become a matter of some moment. a second change, due to the study of old models, has been the revival of enamelling--an art which offers many an opportunity for the exercise of the craftsman's taste and skill, and has once again resumed its proper position as handmaid to the goldsmith. a third change has been the wider choice and employment of stones. till recent years only those stones that are reckoned as fine--the diamond, ruby, emerald, and sapphire--have been allowed a place in jewellery. though their commercial value can never be set aside, precious stones are now valued, as they were in renaissance times, for the sake of their decorative properties. the taste for colour effects in jewellery has resulted in the adoption of certain gems not very precious, yet sufficiently rare, while the artistic value of broken colour in gems is beginning to be appreciated in purely commercial productions. there is now a welcome tendency to use such stones as the aquamarine, peridot, zircon, topaz, tourmaline, chrysoprase, and others of beautiful colour and high decorative value. for a precious stone, as has been truly said, "is not beautiful because it is large, or costly, or extraordinary, but because of its colour, or its position in some decorative scheme." the present master of the jeweller's art is rené lalique of paris, universally recognised as the greatest of modern artists in this class of the fine handicrafts. he possesses a perfect mastery over materials of all sorts, even of such as ivory, horn, and mother-of-pearl, and above all enamel, especially that in open settings. to his wonderful dexterity of technique he unites a fertile imagination and infinite resource of design in the direction of naturalistic forms, as flowers, winged insects, and human figures. the style of lalique, freed entirely as it is from the forms of tradition, is carried out by several artists of individual talent, such as lucien gaillard, gaston laffitte, georges fouquet, comte du suau de la croix, vever, rené foy, and louis bonny. it has, in addition, hosts of imitators, whose productions are wrought with rare skill, but display, nevertheless, singular disregard of appropriateness and utility, and are further marred in many cases by eccentricities of design. much original, if not always very attractive, work has been produced also in germany and austria since the full expansion of the _nouveau art_ movement about the year 1897. among the first in germany to display activity in the design and production of jewellery in the new style have been the artists hirzel and möhring, and piloty of munich. van der velde, olbrich, and schaper and j. h. werner of berlin have all obtained a reputation for their work in this direction. the movement has been fostered with success in the leading art schools, under the superintendence of gnauth at nuremberg, hammer and göss at karlsruhe, graff at stuttgart and dresden, and luthmer at frankfort. the chief centres in germany for the production of jewellery are pforzheim, hanau, and gmünd. the leading craftsmen of pforzheim are zerrenden, fahrner, friessler, and stoffler; while gmünd possesses the well-known jeweller hermann bauer. [illustration: _plate lii_ modern french jewellery] among the leaders of the new art movement in austria are the sculptor gurschner, dietrich, prutscher, and franz hauptmann; while elsa unger, anna wagner, and eugenie munk have carried out distinctive work on the same lines. belgium has produced some able craftsmen in the persons of paul dubois the sculptor, ph. wolfers, and van strydonck. the modern school of denmark possesses the artists slott-möller, bindesböll, magnussen, and bollin. england, the pioneer of the latter-day renaissance of the decorative arts, can boast of a number of craftsmen of distinction in artistic jewellery. among the leaders of the movement whose style and individuality have secured them recognition are mr. h. wilson, mr. henry h. cunynghame, mr. and mrs. nelson dawson, mr. c. r. ashbee, mr. harold stabler, mr. edgar simpson, mr. alexander fisher, mrs. bethune, mr. and mrs. arthur gaskin, mrs. newman, mrs. traquair, mrs. hadaway, mr. and mrs. partridge, and mr. f. s. robinson. one may also name h.h. princess louise augusta of schleswig-holstein, and h.h. the ranee of sarawak, in addition to a number of others whose work has figured in exhibitions such as those held by the arts and crafts society. the name of mr. a. lazenby liberty, who has done much to foster new design in england, likewise deserves mention. messrs. tiffany of new york have shown how artistic design may be combined with fine and rare gems--the natural instinct for which will have to be gratified so long as jewellery is worn. a number of other firms both in england and france have in recent years displayed remarkable advance in this direction, also, as in the case of messrs. boucheron, in a skilful combination of coloured stones, as well as in a reserved use of enamel. a hopeful sign for the future of this refined art is the thoroughness with which it is taught in schools of art throughout the country, and the eagerness and success with which it is practised also by a number of gifted amateurs. the work produced, though far behind that of continental craftsmen in point of execution, avoids many of the extravagances of the "new art," and exhibits, for the most part, taste and reserve in design, and adaptability to ultimate uses. chapter xxxiv peasant jewellery until the middle of the nineteenth century the peasants and natives of every country district of europe wore modest gold and silver jewellery, of small pecuniary value, but of great artistic interest. a few years ago peasant jewellery was seldom sought for, and comparatively unknown; and collectors, better informed in other respects, did not think of saving it from the melting-pot. it is now, however, beginning to attract some of the attention it deserves. this old peasant jewellery has at the present day nearly all passed out of the hands of its original owners. the chief cause of its disappearance has been increased facilities for travelling, which resulted in jewellery fashioned wholesale in industrial centres being distributed to the remotest rural districts. the demands of the modern collector, and improvements in present-day taste among certain of the cultured classes, which have led to the adoption of old articles of jewellery for personal use, have also contributed to the disappearance of peasant jewellery in recent years. the wiles of the dealer have induced peasants to yield up heirlooms, which, handed down for generations, have escaped the fate of the jewels of the wealthy and more fashionable. the great museums of art and industry springing up everywhere, especially in germany, have all obtained a generous share of the spoil, and have preserved it from what, until lately, would have been inevitable destruction. so completely in most parts has this old jewellery gone out of use among the peasantry, that hardly a trace remains of a once flourishing industry carried on by local craftsmen working on traditional lines, and untrammelled by the artistic fashion of the moment. machines driven by steam power have crushed out of existence skill to make things by hand, and the cold and monotonous production of the artisan has taken the place of the old work, whose peculiarly attractive character is due to its expressing the fresh ideas and inspiration of the artist. the french peasant jewel _par excellence_ is the cross. it is suspended from the neck by a velvet ribbon, and varies in form according to localities. its size is often in proportion to the social condition of the wearer. sometimes it attains considerable dimensions. fixed upon the velvet ribbon, and drawing it together just above the cross is a slide or _coulant_, in the form of a bow, rosette, or heart, and of the same style as the cross itself. in many provinces of france, such as savoy, gold is reserved exclusively for married women--custom having it that all their jewels should be of that metal. silver, on the other hand, is often employed solely for girls' jewellery, possibly because it is considered the natural symbol of virginal purity, just as in ancient times it was consecrated to the virgin goddess, diana. [illustration: _plate liii_ spanish, portuguese, flemish and french peasant jewellery, etc.] the most interesting and perhaps the best-known french peasant jewellery is that of normandy and the auvergne. the chief norman jewel is the cross. the most usual form is that which occurs in the districts round st. lô and caen. it is of silver, formed of five high bosses, four round and one pear-shaped, each set with a large foiled rock crystal (commonly known as _diamant_, _caillou_, or _pierre d' alençon_) cut and faceted in the brilliant shape, and further ornamented with sprays set with small crystals in rose form. the lower limb of the cross, _briolette_ or pear-shaped, is hinged, so as to render it less liable to get bent or broken in wear (pl. liii, 4). the spaces between the limbs are sometimes completely filled up with branched open-work set with small crystals. in the more northerly parts of france the cross is formed simply of large bosses set with crystals; but round about rouen we meet with an abundance of spray-work. other crosses of considerable size are formed of thin plates of pierced gold. the shape of the cross is indicated simply by crystal bosses, but its form is almost lost in the outline of the jewel. a favourite subject for representation on rouennais jewellery is the _saint esprit_ or holy dove. employed as a breast-ornament or pendant, the dove is either in gold or silver, mounted with crystals, or coloured pastes set close together. it is suspended from an ornament of open knot design, with a rosette-shaped slide above. in its beak is a branch, spray, or bunch of grapes, generally of coloured pastes. peasant jewellery ceased to be worn in normandy about 1840, when native costume was given up. while normandy relies chiefly on crystal quartz for its jewellery, the auvergne can boast of a variety of gems, such as garnets, opals, spinels, and zircons, which are of frequent occurrence in the volcanic rock of central france. the jewellery of puy is mounted with cabochon stones in large high settings. open-work circular pendants have a central boss with eight similar settings around. the _saint esprit_ is also a popular jewel, but in these parts the form of the dove is not completely carried out, the jewel being composed merely of five pear-shaped bosses to indicate the wings, body, head, and tail of the bird. it is to be observed that the patterns of the jewels here alluded to are not entirely original inventions of the peasantry. as a matter of fact, they are often from precisely the same models as the jewellery in use in the seventeenth and early part of the eighteenth century, and are very similar in style to the large series of original designs in the national art library, south kensington, executed about that time by the santini family of florence. their technique is also traditional. this is shown by the presence on many of the peasant jewels of southern france, as well as of other districts, of the painted enamel which came in about 1640, and continued in use for upwards of a century. while fashion has shifted scores of times since those days, types and styles of jewellery then set remained unchanged in these quarters until the great industrial revolution of the nineteenth century and the strange and universal decline of taste that accompanied it. holland is one of the few countries that have retained their peasant jewellery. not only is it displayed in abundance on festal occasions, such as weddings, but it is worn in everyday life by the well-to-do natives of the country districts. much jewellery is employed in zeeland. the country belles wear jutting out on either side of the lace cap curious corkscrew-like ornaments of gold, silver, or gilt metal, on which they hang pendants sometimes tipped with pearls. in the land of goes a square gold ornament is pinned close to the face inside the lace halo that surrounds the head. coral necklaces are worn, and jet ones for mourning. boys have earrings and gold and silver buttons near the throat. the head-ornaments of north holland and utrecht consist of a broad thin band of gold or silver which encircles the skull and terminates at each end with the above-mentioned spiral ornaments. these bands are covered by a white muslin cap or by a cap decorated with coloured designs. the women of gelderland display costly caps of gold beaten out to fit each individual head. in overyssel the lace cap terminates with gold ornaments, and the coral necklace has clasps of gold filigree. men and boys wear flat silver buttons on the coat and gold at the collar. at the waist is a pair of large hammered discs of silver. the natives of the fertile country of friesland possess vast stores of jewellery, generally of gold set with diamonds. very attractive peasant ornaments are still in use in belgium. long pendent crosses are worn, with earrings to match. they are of open-work floral and scroll designs, and are mounted with small rosettes set with rose diamonds--silver rosettes being applied to gold ornaments, gold to silver ones. the slide or _coulant_ above the cross here forms part of the pendant, and is not, as in france, attached by the ribbon worn with it. the heart (_sacré coeur_) is not worn above the cross, as in france, but is used as a distinct ornament, as a rule in silver only. these open-work heart pendants, commonly found between antwerp and malines, and rarely elsewhere, have an opening in the centre hung with a movable setting, and a hinged crown-shaped ornament above. instead of a crown is sometimes a _flèche_, two quivers and a bow--a love token. flemish jewels, unlike the french, are set entirely with rose diamonds. the peasant jewellery of norway and sweden is mainly of silver filigree. precious stones do not take an important place in it. when used they are more often than not false, and are only sparingly applied for the sake of their colour. particularly characteristic of almost all the ornaments of these parts are numerous small concave or saucer-like pieces of metal, highly polished, or small flat rings. they are suspended by links, particularly from the large circular buckle which is the chief article of jewellery. most ornaments are circular in plan. besides being executed in filigree, many of them are embossed or else cast--a style of work admirably displayed on the huge silver-gilt crowns worn by scandinavian brides. the peasant ornaments of germany present many varieties of design. silver filigree of various kinds is employed for almost all of them. in the northern districts amber beads are naturally the commonest form of necklace, while hollow balls of silver are also worn strung together. large flat hair-pins are used, the expanded heads of which are ornamented with raised filigree. swiss and tyrolese peasant jewellery is largely composed of garnets or garnet-coloured glass set in silver filigree. so numerous are the different types of italian peasant jewels that it is impossible to mention them all. every small district, nay, every township, seems to have possessed ornaments that differed in some detail from those of its neighbours. many of them display reminiscences of the antique. their manufacture follows--or did till quite recent years--the old methods; the natives of certain out-of-the-way districts in umbria still working in very much the same manner as the ancient etruscans. all ornaments are somewhat voluminous. the head is uncovered, and presents an extensive field for hair-ornaments. the lombards have all sorts of hair-pins, often a couple of dozen, stuck in nimbus fashion, and through them crosswise is passed another pin with an oval head at each end. earrings are likewise of considerable dimensions, but light in spite of their size. their surfaces are very frequently set with seed pearls. the finest existing collection of italian peasant jewellery is that in the victoria and albert museum, purchased from signor castellani in 1867. of great beauty is the jewellery of the shores of the adriatic, and that of the greek islands, probably made by descendants of the venetian goldsmiths, and commonly known by the title of "adriatic" jewellery (pl. liv). it is of thin gold, on which are shallow cells filled with opaque enamels. crescent-shaped earrings are formed of pendent parts hung with double pearls. dating from the seventeenth century are elaborate and delicate pendants in the shape of fully rigged ships enriched with painted enamel and hung with clusters of pearls. beautiful work of a similar nature was also produced in sicily. [illustration: _plate liv_ "adriatic" jewellery] hungarian and spanish peasant ornaments have already been alluded to. in both these countries we find the native filigree enamel in sixteenth-century work, and painted enamel in that of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. spanish jewellery frequently takes the form of pendent reliquaries. it is usually of stout silver filigree, bearing traces of moorish design. the moorish style is also felt on portuguese jewellery, which displays in addition a certain amount of what appears to be indian influence. it is composed of gold filigree of very fine workmanship. earrings and neck-chains are of such proportions that they reach respectively to the shoulders and the waist. in addition to the cross, star, heart, and crescent-shaped pendants are worn. a favourite form is one resembling an inverted artichoke. openings are left in its surface, and within these spaces and on the edges of the jewel are hung little trembling pendants (pl. liii, 2). portuguese jewellery of the eighteenth century, largely set with crystal, is admirably represented in the museum of fine arts at lisbon. chapter xxxv jewellery in pictures one aspect of the present subject, more attractive perhaps than any other, is that which concerns the representation of personal ornaments in pictures. scarcely as yet have pictures been fully appreciated from the point of view of their utility to antiquaries or the light they throw upon matters of historical inquiry. the important part which from the fifteenth century onwards they have played in connection with the subject of jewellery is sufficiently attested by the number of times they have already been referred to during the course of the present inquiry. the truth, reality, and accuracy of the artists' work has eminently contributed to the value of these pictures. a sympathetic way of seeing things and reproducing them and a fine feeling for naturalistic detail is characteristic of all the work of the painters of early times, when a strength of realism made its wholesome influence universally felt. such works, while they display the grandeur and magnificence of former ages and point out the fashions and customs of our ancestors, show in detail not only the bright splendour of patterned draperies in many materials, but also the shimmer of goldsmith's work in the form of a variety of actual ornaments, now for the most part entirely lost. in this way they set before us details unnoticed by chroniclers, and convey clearer ideas than can be attained by reading the most elaborate descriptive inventories. the special capability of the early painters for representing articles of jewellery need merely be alluded to again, seeing the close connection already shown, that always existed between them and the goldsmiths, in whose workshops most of them passed their apprenticeship. every jewelled ornament figured in their works is, in fact, designed with the full knowledge of a goldsmith versed in his craft. the artists of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries are notorious for the extreme and elaborate minuteness of their painting of jewels. in the portraits of the time careful accuracy in depicting ornaments was the duty, and evidently the delight, of the painter. in every early picture the various details of costume and jewellery are rendered with scrupulous care and refinement. though placed in the most prominent and decorative positions, jewellery was never, in the best works, allowed to intrude or to occupy an exaggerated place in the composition. for however minutely defined these accessories may be, they are so fused into the general design that they are only apparent if one takes the trouble to look for them. in addition to recognised masterpieces, there exists a vast number of pictures obviously not by the first masters, which, though of only moderate quality, do not actually offend by their inferiority. these equally well serve to illustrate details of jewellery and dress. in a picture of the first order such details, of importance in themselves, sink into insignificance beside the splendid qualities of a work of art: in less important pictures the ornamental accessories are all in all. it would be of great value to students if all public collections that possess costumes and ornaments could bring together--as has been done with marked success in the germanic museum at nuremberg--series of portraits specially chosen to illustrate these details, such portraits, like the actual articles of dress and jewellery, being, of course, old ones, not modern copies. we may state, in general, that jewels figured in portraits are to be relied upon as being the actual objects possessed by the persons represented. all the early painters displayed, as has been said, a special love for jewel forms. they not only took their beautiful models as they found them, but being themselves mostly masters of the jeweller's craft, they devoted much attention to the adornment and the arrangement of the jewels of their models. it may be urged that painters are apt to indulge their fancy by decorating their sitters with jewels they do not possess, introduced to improve the colour or arrangement of the picture, or introduced in accordance with orders, like those of the good mrs. primrose, who expressly desired the painter of her portrait to put in as many jewels as he could for the money, and "not to be too frugal of his diamonds in her stomacher and hair." it is unlikely, on the contrary, that any of the early painters departed from their usual methods of truth, reality, and accuracy; or, considering the elaborate detail with which they depicted jewellery, that they ever specially invented it for the portrait in which it occurs. it is much more probable that they worked from what they saw: for masters of painting have in all ages worked from models in preference to carrying out their own designs. an instance may be cited of the care which painters paid to the ornaments of their sitters. preserved in the archivio di casa gerini at florence are certain unpublished documents[189] of the years 1579 to 1584 relating to the artist alessandro allori, in which is a list of the clothes and jewels that had been lent him from the wardrobe of the grand duchess, bianca cappello, when he was painting her portrait. [189] kindly communicated by the late sir dominic colnaghi. one or two of the peculiarities of artists in representing jewellery are worthy of being mentioned. it is to be observed that the presence or absence of gilding on jewellery often serves to distinguish between german and flemish paintings. holbein almost always employed gold upon golden objects; but in the works of mabuse, so rich in elaborate detail, paint alone suffices to produce the effect. the artists of those days possessed a marvellous facility for imitating the brilliance of gold by colour alone. in examining the jewellery of sixteenth and seventeenth century portraits numbers of what appear to be black stones are frequently to be seen. these were evidently intended to represent diamonds. from early times, when the custom existed of improving, as it was considered, the colour of all stones by the use of foils, diamonds--the old stones of golconda and brazil, different in colour and quality from the diamonds of to-day--were usually backed with a black varnish composed of lamp-black and oil of mastic. this _tinctura_, or colouring of the diamond, which is alluded to by cellini, would account for the intense and clear blacks and whites used by the artists of the time in depicting that precious stone. in the work of some of the finest painters of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, so masterly is the handling, that in the contemplation of broad effects one may fail to notice how much detail the artists were able to combine with such breadth. in fact the detail they displayed is hardly less precise than that of the earlier painters. mr. davies[190] has some interesting remarks to make on the different modes of depicting jewellery adopted by first-class painters--by the one who paints it in detail and the other who treats it with freedom. "the first paints you, touch by touch, his chains, his bracelets, his tiara, link by link, and gem by gem, with precision so great that if you called in a fairly capable goldsmith, of little or no intelligence, he would use them as a pattern and produce you an exact facsimile. the second obtains his result by summarized knowledge, letting his line lose itself and find itself again, a flash on a link, a sparkle on a gem suggesting all to the eye with a completeness which is fully as complete as the literal word for word translation of the other man. call in a really intelligent goldsmith to this work and he would find it quite as easy as, or even easier than, the other to understand and reproduce from, but it would not do to make a tracing from, nor give as a pattern to one of his unintelligent apprentices." [190] davies (g. s.), _frans hals_, p. 88. very attractive and valuable guides to the jewellery of the early period are the early flemish-burgundian paintings (p. 90), and those of the italian masters of the fifteenth century (p. 167). the most fertile of sixteenth-century pictures for the present purpose are the german (p. 189), as may be judged from herr luthmer's _goldschmuck der renaissance_, in which are reproduced in colours a number of specimens of jewellery figured in contemporary pictures. in the second half of the sixteenth century and the early part of the seventeenth, the painters of the low countries especially excelled in the delineation of jewel forms. among these artists are sir antonio more, peter pourbus, lucas de heere, zucchero, marc gheeraerts, d. mytens, van somer, and janssens. by these and by numerous followers of holbein, many pictures were painted, and exist in england at the present day. the technique of the great dutch and flemish painters of the seventeenth century, even of such as frans hals, was not incompatible, as mr. davies has shown, with the clear representation of personal ornaments. the majority of pictures of the early part of the eighteenth century offer but slight indication of the jewellery of the time. the conventional style of portraiture which then found favour did not allow such individual characteristics as personal ornaments to obtain a place in the portrait. in the canons for painters laid down by c. a. du fresnoy of paris, entitled _de arte graphica_, which ruled artists of the first half of the eighteenth century, it was particularly enjoined that "portraits should not be overladen with gold and jewels." "the portrait painters," as reynolds expressed it in speaking of his predecessors as far back as lely and kneller, "had a set of postures (and ornaments too) which they applied to all persons indiscriminately." seeing the reliance that may be placed on the jewellery figured in the portraits of earlier times, it is not unnatural to expect such detail to be of considerable service in art criticism. in the identification of a portrait much may rest on the identification of its jewels: for "a portrait," as mr. andrew lang says, "with the jewels actually owned by the subject, if not 'the rose' (for it may be a copy of a lost original) has certainly been 'near the rose.'" but critics seldom think of examining the numerous extant royal and noble inventories and other documents such as wills containing lists of jewels, and of comparing the jewels described in them with those displayed in portraits. this method, neglected as a rule in criticism, has been employed by mr. lang with conspicuous success in his _portraits and jewels of mary stuart_, and has served to identify the remarkable portrait of the scottish queen in the possession of lord leven and melville. interesting as it is when the jewels depicted in the portraits are identical with those described in their owners' inventories, it is even more so when the actual jewels thus represented have survived to the present day, such as is the case with the penruddock jewel shown in lucas de heere's portrait of sir george penruddock; the drake jewel in zucchero's portrait of sir francis drake; the lyte jewel in the portrait of mr. thomas lyte; the earring of charles i belonging to the duke of portland, shown in van dyck's portraits; and the earrings of henrietta maria in lord clifford's possession, shown in portraits of her painted by the same artist. chapter xxxvi frauds and forgeries owing to the important position that jewellery occupies in the domain of virtu, it is natural that it should receive particular attention at the hands of the fraudulent. on the question of frauds of jewellery we have to distinguish between forgeries--articles professing to be genuine ancient works of art--and counterfeits--imitations of real objects. long before the forger, as we define him, set to work on the field of jewellery, there existed the business of the imitator of precious stones and precious metals--one of counterfeit rather than of forgery. the production of false gems dates from the time that precious stones first came to be generally worn as personal ornaments. the manufacture of imitations, intended in many cases to pass as real stones, was an important branch of the art of the famous glassworkers of antiquity. these glass gems, or pastes as they are termed, were largely set in rings to meet the tastes of the poorer classes; and are referred to by pliny as the "glass gems from the rings of the multitude." would-be smart individuals, also, are frequently satirised by martial for wearing in their rings glass pastes which they attempted to pass off as real stones. at the same time coloured foils were placed as the backing to transparent stones, and were employed to give a full hue to inferior-coloured stones. besides being employed for jewellery, precious stones were made use of by the mediæval embroiderers to increase the effect of the coloured materials and gold thread in the decoration of their robes. but when we bear in mind the accurate descriptions given by theophilus in his _diversarum artium schedula_ of the process of making false gems, it is only reasonable to assume that many of the so-called jewels were not in fact real gems, but imitations. certain it is that in mediæval times the counterfeiting of precious stones was very largely carried on, while many accounts are preserved in early records of fines and other punishments inflicted on dishonest traders in gems who attempted to dispose of spurious stones, usually set in finger rings. in england and france during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries it was customary for the jewellers' guild of each town to have a rule prohibiting its members from setting paste gems in real gold or real gems in plated metal; from mounting scottish pearls with those of the east; or mingling coloured glass, or false, with precious stones. as in earlier periods, a crystal or a colourless paste was made to imitate a coloured stone by backing it with a foil. at south kensington an example exists, set in a gold ring of sixteenth-century german work (no. 1206-'03), of a white crystal, which is cut _en cabochon_ and backed with a red foil, and bears a striking resemblance to a carbuncle (pl. xxiii, 17). many books on precious stones, both old and new, give receipts for the manufacture of imitation gems, made of flint glass and coloured with oxides according to the originals they are intended to counterfeit. apart from these are false gems produced with really fraudulent intent. since imitation stones cannot resist the file, it is the practice, besides backing a crystal with coloured foil, to back a thin layer of genuine stone--intended to resist the test when examined for hardness--with a layer of glass coloured as required. another process of fabrication consists of placing a layer of glass between two layers of true stone. the place of the join in the "triplet" is hidden by the collet of the setting, and the deceit can only be detected by unsetting the stone and soaking it in chloroform. another means employed for changing and improving the colours of stones is by heat, for the colour of nearly all gems is affected by heating. not pastes only but clear crystals have long been palmed off on the unwary for diamonds. perhaps the best-known of these were crystals of quartz found in the clifton limestone near bristol, which went by the name of bristol diamonds. they are alluded to as worn in the ears by the fop described in lenton's _young gallant's whirligigg_ (1629). quartz crystals found in the tin mines of cornwall, and similar stones from the neighbourhood of harrogate, still known respectively as cornish and harrogate diamonds, were also much employed for jewellery from the sixteenth century. transparent stones from various parts of the continent are given the names of the localities in which they are found. in france, rock crystal, cut in rose or brilliant form, went generally by the name of _pierre d' alençon_ or _caillou du rhin_. of the transparent glass paste termed stras or strass we have already spoken. though an imitation, the paste of eighteenth-century jewellery does not necessarily belong to the category of frauds and counterfeits, since it possesses a certain originality of its own, and does not appear to have been generally worn with intent to deceive. false or mock pearls on the other hand seem in some way to be rather more associated with deception, though they also can be made to serve for decorative purposes entirely apart from any such intent. to reproduce the lustre or "orient" characteristic of oriental pearls, use is made in the fabrication of imitations of a pearly essence known as _essence d'orient_, obtained from the silvery scales on the underside of a fish called the bleak. beads of blown glass slightly opalescent and treated with acid to produce an iridescent surface are coated internally with a film of the essence, and wax is then introduced to give the bead the desired weight. other mock pearls are made up of a vitreous composition formed largely of the pearl essence. their surface when burnished presents a fine lustre. these are generally termed venetian pearls. roman pearls are formed of external coatings produced by frequent dippings into a solution made of the pearliest parts of the oyster. from earliest times frauds have been committed in connection with the precious metals. the goldsmiths and jewellers of the middle ages were forbidden to work in base metal, to use false stones of glass, or to put coloured foil beneath real stones. they were further expressly forbidden to manufacture personal ornaments for secular use of gilt or silvered copper or brass. documents in the archives of the city of london contain many references to the perpetration of fraud in passing off as real, objects of brass or latten that had been silvered or gilded. in 1369 a conviction and punishment by the pillory took place for selling to "divers persons rings and fermails of latten, of coloured gold and silver, as being made of real gold and silver, in deceit, and to the grievous loss, of the common people"; and in 1376 a workman was imprisoned for having silvered 240 buttons of latten, and thirty-four latten rims for gipcières, and having "maliciously purposed and imagined to sell the same for pure silver, in deceit of the people." from actual objects that have survived it would seem that the more heinous offence was not infrequently committed of plating with silver the baser metals of tin, lead, and pewter. the statutes of the goldsmiths ordained that no jeweller should sell any article of silver unless it was as fine as sterling, "nor sett it to sell before it be touched" with the leopard's head and maker's mark. but exceptions were always made in favour of small articles of jewellery "which could not reasonably bear the same touch." such materials as _pinchbeck_ and _similor_ and the plated objects of modern times hardly fall within the present category. actual forgeries of personal ornaments can scarcely be said to have been committed until comparatively recent years--not, in fact, until the demand for specimens of old jewellery on the part of the antiquary and connoisseur rendered their reproduction profitable.[191] [191] munro (r.), _archæology and false antiquities_. eudel (p.), _le truquage_, 1887. _trucs et truqueurs_, 1907. owing to the high prices they command from collectors, or to various facilities afforded for their production and disposal, three classes of objects--greek and etruscan jewellery, mediæval rings, and enamelled pendants of the renaissance--offer the strongest temptation to the forger; and he on his part displays such an amount of skill and ingenuity, that the fabrication of spurious antiquities of this kind may be said to have amounted almost to a fine art. the much sought after gold jewellery of greece and etruria has received more attention than any other, partly on account of the fact that gold is subject to but slight oxidisation; for the patina of age is lacking even on ancient examples. setting aside the beautiful imitations by such artists as castellani, father and sons, and later by melillo and giuliano--which clever reproductions are known to have been sometimes foisted upon collectors by unscrupulous dealers--a great deal of really false work made with the intent of passing for old has been produced in italy--chiefly at rome, naples, and florence. on the subject of such pseudo-antiques count tyszkiewicz has several good stories to tell in his _memories of an old collector_. of all objects of this kind, that which has claimed the largest share of public attention is the notorious "tiara of saitapharnes," which deceived several well-known authorities, and reposed for several years as a genuine antique in the louvre, until the revelation in 1903 of the person of its ingenious author--a russian jew of odessa. the disclosure of this remarkable fraud was the climax of a long series of forgeries of ancient greek jewellery from southern russia, which, purporting to be recovered from the greek tombs of olbia and kertch, long renowned for their wealth in such objects, were purchased by more than one well-known collector. so keenly has the forger pursued his evil course in this particular domain, that, apart from that preserved in museums and in the cabinets of collectors whose personal judgment is sound on such matters, m. eudel goes so far as to say that the greater portion of the antique jewellery extant is of recent fabrication. mediæval ornaments of all sorts are forged at the present day upon the continent to a considerable extent, though less than are those of later times. one important centre of their production is paris. another, in earlier years in particular, was frankfort, where visitors to watering-places on the rhine have long been the victims of fraudulent vendors. such mediæval objects, however well supported by a dealer's warranty of place and time of discovery, require, says mr. king, to be examined by the amateur with a very suspicious and critical eye. among other personal ornaments of this period that have received attention at the hands of the forger are the leaden badges known as pilgrims' signs. many ingenious forgeries of the kind were produced about forty-five years ago, and purported to be brought to light by workmen engaged in excavations near the thames in the city of london. these were in large part the work of two illiterate mud-rakers on the banks of the river; while articles of like kind were shortly afterwards made by two men known as "billy and charley," who manufactured a number of curious pendent medals of lead and "cock-metal."[192] the discovery in the seine, about the same time, of many genuine pilgrims' signs led to the circulation also in france of a quantity of spurious objects of a similar nature. [192] _archæological journal_, xxi, p. 167. a collection of pseudo-antiques of the kind made at the ateliers of messrs. billy and charley, rosemary lane, tower hill, is shown in the cuming museum, walworth road, london. renaissance pendants, the prizes of the connoisseur, are favourite subjects for reproduction at the present day, for, unlike the earlier objects, they are not ill-adapted for personal use. jewellery in the cinquecento style has for several years past been made in large quantities at vienna. these jewels are generally not in gold, like the works they profess to imitate, but in silver-gilt, and as a result their enamel is never of fine quality, their general appearance is not up to the standard of the old, and their workmanship is mostly very mechanical. apart from these and similar works, made also in france and generally sold in jewellers' shops as modern productions, there are others which pretend to age. though one seldom meets with examples that approach the best productions of the renaissance, objects of the kind are occasionally imitated with such proficiency, that in collecting specimens of early jewellery in no instances is it necessary to exercise greater caution than in those of the cinquecento. fine jewellery of the eighteenth century, now almost equally sought after--watches, chatelaines, rings, and brooches--has been multiplied in quantities during recent years. as the brooches of this date are very often mounted with rose-cut diamonds, care has been taken to employ stones cut in this manner. their settings generally distinguish the copies. again, as m. eudel points out, when fine old diamond-work has been sent to be reset, the jeweller preserves the old mounts, sets them with modern stones or pastes, and sells them as genuine old work. for the purpose of furthering the deception complete parures purporting to be seventeenth or eighteenth century work are offered for sale in genuine old leather or shagreen cases. a set of jewels may even be made for the special purpose of fitting such a case, or an entirely new case constructed, and treated in such a manner as to give it an appearance of age. chapter xxxvii memento mori "i will keep it, as they keep deaths' heads in rings, to cry _memento_ to me." the study of the various forms of personal ornament by means of which the memory of the dead or of death itself has been preserved by the living is one which offers a wide field for investigation. the egyptians enforced the precept "_memento mori_" by introducing at their banquets a small coffin containing the image of a corpse which, according to herodotus, was shown to each guest. in classical times skeletons were rarely represented, though one is sculptured on a tomb at pompeii. the warning "_memento mori_" manifested itself in divers fashions in the middle ages, the most conspicuous being the famous "dance of death," which made its début in the fourteenth century, and was figured by holbein in the sixteenth. testimony of the desire of all to keep the warning constantly before the mind is borne by personal ornaments of various kinds displaying emblems of mortality. in order to arrive at the meaning of these crude emblems so often applied to objects of jewellery, regard should be paid to the feelings of the times that gave them birth. during the latter period of the middle ages the grim and ascetic contemplation of death caused the artists of that period to represent it as the devil, the father of sin, horned and cloven-hoofed, carrying off the sinful souls and forcing them into the mouth of hell. but when during the fifteenth century "printing excited men's imaginations, when the first discovery of the ancient classics roused their emulation and stimulated their unrest, when the renaissance in art increased their eagerness to express their thoughts and multiplied their method of expression,"[193] and their conscience was turned to the latter end and the unseen world, then at length did death appear, no longer as the father of sin, but altered into a familiar and human personification. [193] cook (t. a.), _the history of rouen_, p. 293. side by side with the strange vigour and extraordinary joy in life that marked the period, there existed a great contempt for the value of life and a gross familiarity with death. it was death himself, according to the imagination of the sixteenth century, who, always at hand, clutched men of every age and condition by the sleeve and hurried them all unwillingly away. the emblems of death were always presented in close touch with the living. the forms they took--the skeleton, or simply the skull, or death's head, with cross-bones--were rendered in the sixteenth century by both painter and sculptor; but it was reserved for the goldsmith--the sculptor and painter in one--to represent them on jewellery through the medium of the precious metals enriched with gems and coloured enamels. they figured on every kind of ornament. brooches with enamelled skulls were fastened as enseignes upon the hat; golden jewels like funereal objects in shape of coffins holding enamelled skeletons hung from the neck; rosary beads, pomanders and watches in the form of human skulls were attached to the waist; and rings bearing death's heads and other emblems were worn upon the fingers. a great impetus was given to the use of such articles of adornment by diana of poitiers when she became mistress of henry ii of france. she was then a widow in mourning; and the complaisant court not only adopted her black and white as the fashionable colour, but covered their personal ornaments with emblems of death. jewels of this description, it is clear, were not necessarily carried in remembrance of any special individual. with their legend "memento mori" they were simply reminders of death in the abstract. as such they characterised exactly the temper of the time, and were quite commonly worn by the upper and middle classes, especially by those who affected a respectable gravity. at the time of which we now speak the personal badge or _devise_, an obscure expression of some particular conceit of its wearer, was at the height of fashion. in its elaboration the various emblems of death were largely put under contribution, their choice for the purpose being the outcome of the special disposition of those who adopted them. perhaps the most notable instance of the representation of a badge of this kind is in holbein's famous "ambassadors," in the national gallery. here jean de dinteville, who stands on the left of the picture, wears a circular jewel formed of a white enamelled skull in a gold mount, pinned as an enseigne to the lower rim of his small black bonnet. amongst sundry ornaments bearing mortuary devices, there is a good example at south kensington--a _memento mori_ charm of enamelled gold in the form of a coffin containing a minutely articulated skeleton. it is english work of the elizabethan period, and was found at tor abbey, devonshire (pl. xliv, 16). no article of decoration has been more extensively used as a "memento mori" or for memorial purposes than the finger ring. the association of the ring is largely with affairs of the heart, and lovers are united with it. and since the form itself is emblematic of eternity, so by this same token of affection has the memory of departed friends been kept green. the sepulchral emblems referred to were not made use of for mediæval ornaments. but in the sixteenth century they were very frequent, especially on rings. one of the most remarkable specimens of the wonderful mastery over technical difficulties which stamps the goldsmith's work of this time is a "memento mori" ring of german work in the waddesdon bequest. its bezel or top is in the form of a book, decorated at each corner with a diamond, emerald, sapphire, and ruby, with snakes and toads between them. in the centre is a death's head. the lid on opening discloses a recumbent figure with skull and hour-glass. on the shoulders of the ring, supporting the bezel, are figures of adam and eve representing the fall and expulsion from eden. all the figures are enamelled in high relief, and though merely a fraction of an inch in size, are executed with extraordinary fidelity. a ring described as having belonged to mary stuart is in the possession of the earl of ilchester. its bezel, composed of a large ruby cut in the form of a death's head and set with diamond eyes, is supported underneath by cross-bones in enamel. woeiriot's beautiful collection of designs for rings, of the year 1561, contains a ring of this kind surmounted with a skull and cross-bones; and gilles légaré's _recueil_ of a century later has an engraving of similar pattern (pl. xl). english rings of the sixteenth century have a death's head carved in intaglio on carnelian, or sunk in the metal of the ring and sometimes filled with enamel. around is the motto "memento mori," and similar expressions in latin or in english (pl. xxxvi, 12). a certain agnes hals whose will is dated 1554 bequeathed to her niece "my rynge of gold with the wepinge eie," and to her son "my rynge with the dead manes head." from the commencement of the seventeenth century memento mori rings begin to be worn also as memorials of the departed, and bequests of money were frequently made for their purchase. the decoration of many of the rings of this period is very curious. on some the death's head in its natural shape is beautifully formed in enamel, has small diamond eyes, and is supported on each side by skeletons bent along the hoop of the ring. the bezel of others is of crystal in the shape of a coffin, the lid of which on being removed discloses a skeleton. widows on the death of their husbands sometimes converted their wedding rings into memorial rings. this was done by engraving outside an elongated skeleton, the bones of which were brought into prominence by a background of black enamel. inside the memorial rings of the time was often a motto or posy, appropriate for the purpose, sometimes rhyming:- prepared be to follow me; or i restless live, yet hope to see that day of christ, and then see thee. rings of this kind, commonly known as mourning rings, were frequently given, together with gloves and hat-bands, to those who attended at funerals. they were inscribed, in addition to a posy, with the initials of the deceased and the date. evelyn at his son's funeral in 1658 distributed a number of rings with the motto "dominus abstulit." at pepys' funeral upwards of a hundred and thirty rings were given to friends and relatives. mention must be made, amongst other memorial jewellery, of the various objects worn in memory of charles i. most of these are finger rings containing a portrait of the ill-fated monarch, which were made and worn by royalists after his execution. some are so contrived that the portrait can only be discovered by opening a lid formed of a table diamond. they were doubtless used by those for whom devotion of the kind was dangerous. other jewels worn in memory of the royal martyr were heart-shaped lockets, inscribed and decorated in a suitably funereal manner with skulls, cross-bones, and like emblems. an important group of ornaments, dating from the time of charles ii to that of queen anne, are those in the form of small memorial brooches, lockets, bracelet clasps, buttons, and slides with loops at the back for attachment to a velvet band. they are of considerable interest in that they represent almost the only surviving examples of english jewellery of the time. the franks bequest in the british museum contains several specimens. they usually have letters in a fine filigree of gold entwined in a monogram, laid on a ground of crimson silk, and covered with a thick crystal set in gold. the gold filigree, which is of extraordinary delicacy, is often laid on braids of hair arranged in various designs, and accompanied by the skull and cross-bones. the crystal covering is sometimes cut in table form, but is more often rose-cut. the locket surrounded with pearls shown on plate xliv has on its surface no less than a hundred facets. memorial rings of the same period have bezels with similar designs beneath a rose diamond or faceted crystal. their hoops are mostly enamelled black on the shoulders. in the second quarter of the eighteenth century the mortuary emblems of skull and cross-bones in general disappear. the hoop of the ring is shaped in the form of a scroll or ribbon, and set with a small diamond, a coloured stone, or usually a white crystal. around the hoop is inscribed in enamel the name and age of the deceased, and date of death. black enamel was used for those who had been married; while white was employed for the unmarried--just as it was the practice at the funeral of an unmarried man or woman for the mourners and attendants to be clothed in white. mourning jewellery was extremely popular in england towards the end of the eighteenth and in the early part of the nineteenth century. the variety of design in objects of the kind then in use, and the ingenuity displayed in their production, may well be judged from a collection numbering upwards of one hundred and fifty specimens in the victoria and albert museum. some mementoes of the deceased are simply miniature portraits, as well as cameos and silhouettes, the miniature sometimes taking the form of a single eye set round with pearls or diamonds. but in most cases it appears to have been the custom to wear in lockets, brooches, and rings microscopic devices--works of infinite patience and skill--wrought in hair, with initials and other designs cunningly worked in seed pearls. there were also, sometimes, paintings in _grisaille_ (pl. xlvii, 2, 3). these often represented a lady in mourning garb weeping over a funeral urn, in the style of the ornament worn by mr. wemmick, the attorney's clerk in _great expectations_, of whom dickens gives the following inimitable description: "i judged him to be a bachelor from the frayed condition of his linen, and he appeared to have sustained a good many bereavements; for he wore at least four mourning rings, besides a brooch representing a lady and a weeping willow at a tomb with an urn on it. i noticed, too, that several rings and seals hung at his watch chain, as if he were quite laden with remembrances of departed friends." further on mr. wemmick himself describes his personal jewellery, and concludes by remarking: "i always take 'em. they're curiosities. and they're property. they may not be worth much, but, after all, they're property and portable.... my guiding-star always is, get hold of portable property." the painted brooches backed with hair and set round with pearls form, as a matter of fact, very pretty jewels, in spite of the sombreness of their subject and the trivial sentimentality of their mottoes, which run in this vein: "whose hair i wear--i loved most dear." mourning jewellery was usually set with pearls, garnets, or more often jet. the last, until a short while ago, was in universal favour, and was fashioned into all sorts of ornaments. it fortunately now meets with but little demand. the same applies to hair jewellery, of human hair woven in many intricate plaitings into brooches, rings, bracelets, and chains. the brooches of about the "forties" have a broad border inscribed with the word "memory," etc., in gothic letters on black enamel, and in the centre a panel of plaited hair. the custom of wearing ornaments composed of such sombre and unpleasing material has now to all intents and purposes ceased, though it is carried on to a certain extent in france, where _ouvrages en cheveux_ in the form of bracelets and lockets are still worn as _précieux souvenirs de famille_. after the middle of the nineteenth century the use of mourning rings and other memorial jewellery began to die out. the goddess fashion, who throughout all ages has waged war on the productions of the goldsmith, has laid a heavier hand on these than on any other forms of personal ornament--a circumstance which accounts for the survival at the present day of a comparatively small proportion of the enormous quantity of objects of this description that must formerly have been produced. most families from time to time have consigned to the melting-pot accumulations of these memorials of their predecessors; 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[articles in _archæological journal_, xvi, xx, xxi.] way (a.). _promptorium parvulorum._ london, 1865. way (a.). [articles in _archæological journal_, vi, vii, xvi, xix, xxv.] wessely (j. e.). _das ornament und die kunstindustrie._ 3 vols. berlin, 1877-8. wigley (t. b.). _the art of the goldsmith and jeweller._ london, 1898. wilde (sir w. r. w.). _catalogue of the antiquities of gold in the museum of the royal irish academy._ dublin, 1862. wilson (h.). _silversmith's work and jewellery._ london, 1903. wright (t.). _the celt, the roman, and the saxon._ second edition. london, 1861. wright (t.). see fairholt (f. w.). _miscellanea graphica._ index [.a][=a]h-[h.]etep, 3, 5 à becket, thomas. _see_ thomas à becket aberford (yorks), 72 abingdon brooch, 60 acorn-shaped pendants, phoenician, 10 acorn-shaped pendants, worn by henry viii, 206 acton, john, 302, 304 _acus_, xli, xlii, 60, 127 adalbert of saxony, 137 adams (potter), 315 adriatic, 83 " jewellery, 246, 347 ægean, 12 ægides, 6 _aetites_, 122 aglets, 268-9 _agnus dei_, 72, 122 agnolo, luca, 185 _agrafes_, 140 aigrettes, hungarian, 198 " jewelled, 230, 231 " " sockets for, 230 " 17 cent., 230, 231, 281, 290, 291, 303 " 18 cent., 309, 312, 316, 317 _aigulets_, 268 aix-la-chapelle, treasury, 118, 139 albacete, 9 albert v, duke of bavaria, 194 " vi, duke of bavaria, 248 albini, d. m., 309 alciatus, a., 223 aldegrever, h., 185, 193, 194, 250, 259 _alençon, pierre d'_, 343, 357 alexandria, 93 alfonso i, duke of ferrara, 158 " ii, duke of ferrara, 292 alfred the great, 68, 69, 71 " jewel, 68, 69 algeria, celtic brooch in, 76 algerian women, head-ornaments of, 9 alhstan, bishop of sherborne, 71 alicante, 9 allori, alessandro, 350 altdorfer, a., 189 altoetting (bavaria), 88 amadas, robert, 208 ambassadors, jewellery given to, eng., 17 cent., 306 amber in anglo-saxon jewellery, 58 " in ancient irish jewellery, 42 " in german peasant jewellery, 346 " in early italian jewellery, 24 " in prehistoric jewellery, 39 " in roman jewellery, 30 " in romano-british jewellery, 45 ambergris, 125 n. amboise, cardinal d', 199 amethystine quartz, beads of, in anglo-saxon jewellery, 58 amethysts, 19 cent., 328, 329 amman, jost, 270 _amourette_, 146 amphoræ, 8, 10 amphora-shaped ornaments, greek, 16 amsterdam, charles i's jewellery sent over to, 305 amulets, egyptian, 2 " etruscan, 25 " medl., 103, 122, 132 " in medl. rings, 151 " roman, 29, 32 " romano-british, 47 _ananizapta_, 152 androuet ducerceau, j., 201, 219, 241, 246, 265, 269 angell, john, 208 angles, 56 anglo-saxon jewellery, 51, 56-74 ankles, rings for, 6 ann boleyn, q. of england, 212 anne of austria, wife of albert v, duke of bavaria, 195 " of bohemia, q. of england, 141 " of denmark, q. of england, 268, 301 annunciation, on medl. morses, 139 " on renaiss. pendants, 244-5 anselm, 92 anthony, dericke, 220 antioch, sack of, 33 antonio di girolamo, 175 antwerp, corporation of goldsmiths, 155 " engravers of designs for jewellery, 196 " hans of. _see_ hans. " museum, 227 n. " port of, 16 cent., 167 _annulus vertuosus_, 147 aphrodite, 28 arabella stuart, 299 arabs in spain and sicily, 84 ardagh chalice, 66 ark on elizabethan jewellery, 255, 256 armada jewels, 217, 255 armagnacs, badge of, 110 armento, 16 _armillæ_, ancient british, 41 " roman, 30 armlet, hunsdon, 218 armlets, xliv " ancient irish, 42 " medl., 157-8 " roman, 30 " romano-british, 47 arphe, juan de, 202 arrow heads, prehistoric, as charms, in etruscan jewellery, 25 " " " medl. jewellery, 122 _art nouveau_, 337, 338 arundel, eleanor, countess of, 113 ashbee, c. r., 339 ashmole, elias, 238 ashmolean museum. _see_ oxford asia minor, 8, 14 assyria, 7, 8 assyrian art, 12 athelney, isle of, 68 athene, 16 athens, national museum, 11 attavante, m., 175 augsburg, goldsmiths, 192 " jewellery made at, 202, 203, 205 " in 16 cent., 180, 189, 198, 210 augustine, st., 65, 66 augustus, emperor, cameo of, 103 " ii, elector of saxony, 310, 311 _aulmonière_, 165 autun, gallo-roman enamelled jewellery found at, 46 auvergne, peasant jewellery, 342-3 babelon, e. c. f, 266 bacchus, 24 backwell, edward, 305 bacon, sir f., 100 bactria, 51 baden, margraves of, 250, 261 badges, 116, 365 " for hats, medl., 107-12 " english, 16-17 cent., 257 " pendent, medl. 110 " " spanish, 17 cent., 204 bags, at girdles, anglo-saxon, 63 _bague_, 258 _bagues à trois grains_, 73 bain, p., 282 baldrick, 93, 164 baldung, hans. _see_ grien baldwin, k. of jerusalem, 119 baltic, amber from, in anglo-saxon jewellery, 58 balzac, h. de, 331 _bandeau_, french, 19 cent., 329 " italian, 15 cent., 107 bannatyne club, 220 bapst, g., 335 barbarian tribes, migrations of, 49 barbaric jewellery of europe, 49-55 barbor jewel, 218, 254 " william, 254 barcelona, goldsmiths of, 202, 204 barclay, a., 236 baroncelli, pierantonio, maria, wife of, 114, 286 barnfield, r., 265 barrows, or graves, anglo-saxon, 57 bars of girdles, medl., 162 n. basalt, 5 basil, xlv basil the macedonian, emperor, 34 basle, historical museum, 192 _basse-taille_ enamel. _see_ enamel bast, 6 batrachites, 151 battersea enamel, 320 bauer, hermann, 339 baumann, d., 309 bavaria, dukes of, 194, 248 bavarian national museum. _see_ munich _baudrier_, 164 beaded work, 19 cent., 327 beads, anglo-saxon, 58 " or balls of gold, on anglo-saxon rings, 73 " ancient british, 40 " " irish, 42 " egyptian, 4-6 " filigree, for perfumes, 265 " glass, romano-british, 45 " jet, romano-british, 47 " phoenician, 10 " roman, 29 " rosary, 124-5 beatrice d'este, duchess of milan, 172 _beams_, of gypcières, 165 beaumont and fletcher (quoted), 265 bede, the venerable, 67 bees, gold, jewelled, 53 belgium, peasant jewellery, 345-6 belisarius, 33 bells, hung from medl. girdles, 164 " " renaiss. pendants, 250 belts, xlv, xlvi " anglo-saxon, 63 " medl., 159-65 " " resemblence to fillets, 105 " military, medl., 163-4 bentzen, j., 284 berengaria, of navarre, q. of england, xliii, 128 beresford-hope cross, 36 berghem, louis de, 209, 277 berkeley castle, 73, 218, 253, 265, 266 " elizabeth, lady, dau. of lord hunsdon, 218 " family, 274 " heirlooms, 218 " thomas, lord, 116 berlin, crown treasury, 251 " iron jewellery made in, 330 " museums, 3, 9, 139 " " pictures in, 90, 106, 168, 261 bernal, ralph, 133 berne, 210 " museum, 64 bernhard iii, margrave of baden, 261 bettystown, co. louth, 78 _betnüsse_, 125 beuvray, mont, near autun, 46 bezel, xlv bezoar stone, 122 bibracte, 46 n. _bijouterie_, 277 "billy and charley," 360 bilston enamel, 320 bindesböll, t., 339 birckenhultz, p., 231, 234, 281 birds on teutonic jewellery, 57, 58 " " renaiss. pendants, 249 birmingham, steelwork, 315, 319 _bisamapfel_, 275 n. black sea, 14 blondus. _see_ le blon. boccardi, giovanni di guiliano, 175 bodkins (hair-pins), renaiss., 232, 233 bodleian library. _see_ oxford. boehmer, 318 boethius, 100 "boglars," 198 bohemia, medl. pendants, 121 " renaiss. jewellery, 188 _boîte à portrait_, 320 bollin, m., 339 bologna, church of s. maria della misericordia, 170 " picture gallery, 170 bömmel, w. h., 309 bonny, louis, 338 books, pendent to girdle, 272-4 bordier, p., 304 bordone, paris, 263 borghese, marie pauline, princess, 329 borgia, cæsar, 100 bossange, 318 bossington (near stockbridge), 73 bosworth jewel, 219 bothwell, earl of, 221 botticelli, sandro, 169 boucheron, messrs., 340 boulton and watt, 315 bourchier, lord, 110 bouquet, d., 297 bouquets, jewelled, 17 cent., 281, 290 " " on the breast, 18 cent., 318 _bouquets d'orfévrerie_, 295 bourdon, pierre, 309 bourguet, jean, 309, 320 bow, jewelled, on breast, 17 cent., 204, 294 " " " " 18 cent., 308, 318 bow-shaped brooches, romano-british, 46 bowles, thomas, 310 boyvin, rené, 201, 265 bracelets, xliv " byzantine, 37 " clasps, memorial, english, 17-18 cent., 368 " egyptian, 6 " etruscan, 25 " greek, 10 " hair, 19 cent., 331 " ancient irish, 42 " medl., 157-8 " renaiss., 264-7 " " designs for, 265, 269 " roman, 30 " romano-british, 47 " 17 cent., 294 " 18 cent., 309, 313, 319, 320 " 19 cent., 329 _brachiale_, 30 _bracteæ_, greek, 19 bracteate coins, in anglo-saxon jewellery, 59 bracteates, gold, 13 brandenburg, fred. william, elector of, 238 brantôme, 181, 200 "bravery," 299 braybrooke collection of rings, 264 brazil diamonds, 351 breast ornaments, medl., 135, etc. " 17 cent., 204, 294 " 18 cent., 308, 318 bremen, kunsthalle, 190 "brethren," "the three." _see_ "brothers" briceau, 309 _briolettes_, 291, 317, 343 bristol diamond, 259, 357 britain, invasion of, by teutonic races, 56 " roman occupation of, 44 british isles, prehistoric jewellery, 39 british museum. _see_ london britons, 39 _broche_, 127 broighter, near limavady, 43 bromsgrove church, 154 bronze age, 39 " ornaments, british, 39, 41, 45 bronzino, angelo, 233 brooches, xl-xliv " anglo-saxon, xlii, xliii, 50, 59-62, 70 " byzantine, 36, 37, 70 " celtic, xlii-xliv, 74-9, 131 " circular, xlii, xliv " cruciform, xlii, 61 " disc-shaped, xlii, xliii " flemish-burgundian, 15 cent., 143-6 " greek, 18, 19 " hair, 19 cent., 331 " hat, 108. _see also_ enseignes " by holbein, 212 " italian, 15 cent., 174 " luckenbooth, 133-4, 165 " medl., 121, 127, 144 " " english, 93, 94 " " inscriptions on, 128-30 " " pectorals, 135-46 " memorial, english, 17-18 cent., 368 " penannular, xlii, xliii, 74-9 " radiated, 63 " renaiss., 267 " ring-brooch, xlii, xliv, xlv, 62, 127-34 " romano-british, 45-7 " safety-pins, xli-xliii, 41 " scandinavian, 62 " scottish, 131-4 " on sleeves, 267 " 17 cent., 298 " 18 cent., 309, 312 " _see also_ fibulæ brosamer, hans, 193, 198, 205, 250 "brothers," "the three brothers," 209, 210, 300 brueghel, jan, 287 bruges, 89, 114, 277 " goldsmith's shop in, 15 cent., 155 " port of, 15 cent., 167 brunswick, dorothea, elizabeth, and hedwig, princesses of, 245 brussels, musée du cinquantenaire, 106, 271 " alexander of, 208 bruyn, abraham de. _see_ de bruyn " bartholomäus, 189 bry, theodor de, 195, 196, 219 brythons, 39 bucharest, museum of antiquities, 52 buckingham, george villiers, duke of, 210, 230, 235, 300 buckle, xlv, xlvi " design for, by aldegrever, 194 " " " " de bry, 196 " " " " dürer, 191 " -plate, xlvi, 159, 160 buckles, anglo-saxon, 63 " medl., 159-60 " pinchbeck, 316 " shoe, 18 cent., 321 " steel, 315 " stock, 18 cent., 322 " teutonic, 64 " 17 cent., 298 " 18 cent., 310, 312, 322 buda-pesth, national museum, 112, 157, 198 bugles, 10, 319 bull, h. de. _see_ de bull _bullæ_, etruscan, 24, 25 " roman, 29 bulliot, j. g., 46 n. buonaparte, caroline, q. of naples, 329 burgh, hebert de, 151 burgkmair, h., 189 burgundian court, luxury of, 88-90 burgundians (gothic tribe), 50 burgundy, dukes of, 88-9, 114, 143 bussy d'amboise, 123 n. "butterflies," 316 buttons, jet, romano-british, 47 " memorial, english 17-18 cent., 368 " renaiss., 267-8 " steel, 315 " 18 cent., 319, 320 byron, lord, 331 byzantine, cloisonné enamel, 66 " influence on medl. jewellery, 83-5, 157 " jewellery, 33-8 byzantium, 33 c., a., 284 cabalistic inscriptions on medl. rings, 152 cabochon stones, 88, 96, 97 cadboll brooches, 77 cære, 25 caillard, j., 282 _caillou d' alençon_, 343 " _du rhin_, 357 cairngorms, 133 cairo, museum, 3, 5 callot, j., 282 cambridge, fitzwilliam museum, 225 " king's college, 115 camden, w., 94 cameos, antique, in medl. jewellery, 138 " in bracelets, renaiss., 264, 266 " in bracelets, 18 cent., 320 " elizabethan, 217-18 " medl. use of antique, 101-4 " in mourning jewellery, 369 " renaiss., 226 " " enseignes, 227-8 " " pendants, 245-6 " roman, 30 " 19 cent., 326-31 campbells of glenlyon, 132 canning, lord, 249 canosa, 70 canterbury cathedral, 108 n., 109 " " chapel of st. thomas à becket, 140 _canterbury tales_, 161, etc. cappello, bianca, 233, 350 _caracts_, 132 caract rings, 152 caradosso, 168, 227 caravel, or carvel, 246 carberry hill, 221 _carcan_, 317 _carcanets_, 114 " renaiss., 239 carlyle, t., 318 carmichael, sir t. d. gibson, 224 caroto, g., 172 carrand collection. _see_ florence, museo nazionale carteron, s., 205 cassel gallery, 296 _cassolette_, 275 n. castellani, 22, 346, 359 " alessandro, 333, 334 " augusto, 333, 334 " fortunato pio, 333, 334 " brooch, 70 cast-iron jewellery, 19 cent., 330-1 catherine parr, q. of england, 252 caucasus, 50 cavalcant, john, 208 _ceinture_, 105, 159 " _ferrée_, 161 _ceinturier_, 270 cellini, b., 21, 22, 169, 171, 179, 183-6, 192, 196, 197, 199, 201, 202, 208, 222, 227, 228, 241, 273, 278, 351 celtic brooch, 74, 75-9, 131 " jewellery, 11, 39 " period (late), 39, 43 celts, 40 _cercles_, 93, 105 "cerro de los santos," 9 cervetri, 25 cesarini, gabriele, 228 chains, ancient irish, 43 " egyptian, 5 " phoenician, 9 " neck, 19 cent., 331 chains, worn round the neck. _see also_ necklaces and neck-chains chalke, agnes, 106 chamberlain, john, 299 chamillart, mdme de, 314, 320 _chansons_, 152 chantilly, 168, 185 chape of girdle, xlvi, 160, 271 _chapeau montabyn (montauban)_, 224, 231 _chapelet_, 125 _chapeletz_, 93, 105 _chaperon_, 156, 229 chaplets, medl., 105 chardin, sir john, 278, 305 charity, figure of, on renaiss. pendants, 244 charlemagne, 55, 65, 83, 84, 118 charles i, k. of england, 210, 219, 230, 288, 300, 304, 305, 354 " i, k. of england, earrings of, 235, 354 " i, k. of england, memorial jewellery of, 367 " ii, k. of england, 292, 305 " v, k. of france, 88, 199 " " " cameo of, 103, 130 " viii, k. of france, 199 " ix " " 199, 200 " the bold, duke of burgundy, 107, 209, 231 " the great, emperor of the west. _see_ charlemagne charlotte, q. of england, 313, 317 charms, 99-104, 111-120 chartres, treasury of, 103 châteaubriand, countess of, 181 chatelaines, xlvii " anglo-saxon, 63 " medl., 161 " pinchbeck, 316 " 17 cent., 298 " 18 cent., 310, 312, 313, 322, 323 _chaton_, xlv chaucer, 93, 94, 109, 129, 130 n., 164 chelsea, ring found at, 73 chepstow, monmouthshire, 46 chéron, 314 chiflet, j. j., 53 child, sir francis, 305, 306 child's bank, 306 childeric i, k. of the franks, 51, 52, 53 " " ring of, 63 chlotaire ii, k. of the franks, 59 christian v, k. of denmark, 238 christianity, introduction of, change in jewellery owing to, 65, 66 " introduction of into ireland, 75 christie's auction rooms, 247, 256 christina, q. of sweden, 284 christopher, st., 142 christus, petrus, 155, 222, 263 ciampoli, carlo, 309, 317 _cingulum_, 163 circlets, xxxix " medl., 106 clanricarde, marquess of, 249 clarendon brooch, 78 clasps, xl " of girdle, xlv, xlvii " " medl., 160, 163 " of mantle, medl., 140, 141 " 17 cent., 298 " 18 cent., 310, 312 clifford, lord, 354 cloth of gold, field of, 207, 237 cloisonné enamel. _see_ enamel " inlay, 3, 35, 50, 56 coats-of-arms on rings, 31, 153 cobra snake, 2 coello, a. s., 294 coiffure, phoenician, 9 " _see also_ head-ornaments coins in anglo-saxon jewellery, 59 " in byzantine jewellery, 36 " in roman jewellery, 30, 32 colbert, j. b., 282 collar, gold, ancient irish, 43 " of order of golden fleece, 90 " of lord mayor of london, 117 " ss collar, 116-17 collars, egyptian, 5 " medl., 113-117 " _see also_ necklaces collaert, h., 194, 196, 197, 234, 247 _collet_, xlv _collier_ of marie antoinette, 318 cologne cathedral, 111, 145 cologne, episcopal museum, 145 " wallraf-richartz museum, 145 columban, 66 combs, empire, 19 cent., 328 " jewelled, medl., 107 " 19 cent., 329 comines, philip de, 109, 110 commonwealth, england, 305 compostella, 109 " shrine of st. james, 91 conques, 102, 137 " treasury, 112, 137 consolavera, j. b. de, 208 constantine, 33, 226 constantinople, 33, 34, 49 " foundation of, 33 " sack of, 38 coral, in dutch peasant jewellery, 345 " medl. use of, 123 " 19 cent., 328 corbeil, our lady of, 137 corbizi, litti di filippo, 175 cornaro, catarina, 264 _cornette_, 107 cornish diamonds, 357 coronals, italy, 15 cent., 169 " medl., 106 " round hat, 224 coronets, 106 n. " medl., 106 " 19 cent., 328 corsage, jewelled, 308 _cosse de pois_ ornament, 281, 293, 297 costantini, g. b., 284 _côtehardi_, 267 _coulant_, 342, 345 counterfeit, 355 " stones sold to henry viii, 208 _courroye_, 270 coventry, st. mary's hall, 115 " ring, 150 cramp, rings worn against, 152 cranach, lucas, 189, 238, 250, 259, 261, 264 crapaudine, 151 crete, 8 crimea, 9, 12, 14, 50 crivelli, carlo, 167 " lucrezia, 172 cromwell, oliver, 293, 294, 305 " thomas, 208, 213 crosby, sir john, 115 cross, pendent, byzantine, 36 " " medl., 118 " " peasant, 342 " " renaiss., 242-3 " the true, relics of, 118 " visigothic (guarrazar), 54 _crotalia_, 28 crown, alfred jewel, as ornament of a, 69 " of thorns, relic of, 118, 119 crowns, xxxix, 106 " byzantine, 35 " greek, 17 " mycenæan, 11 " scandinavian peasant, 346 " visigothic, 53, 54 croy, celtic brooch from, 77 crusaders, 34 crusades, influence on jewellery, 101 " jewellery brought back from, 84, 93 cryspyn, john, 208 crystal, 313, 342, 343, 347, 356, 357 " of lothair, 139 _cuir bouilli_, 97 cunynghame, h. h., 35, 86, 339 cupreous glaze, 2 cuthbert, st., 68 cyprus, 8, 10, 12, 21 d., a., 285 dagobert, k. of the franks, 155, 222 dalton, o. m., 34 n, 51 n. dance of death, 363 danes, invasion of, 68 danube, irish missionaries on, 67 " valley, enamel-work, 198 dark ages, 51 darnley, henry, 217 " jewel, 217, 257 dartrey, earl of, 288 dashûr, 5 dauffe, 319 dauphin, badge of, 110 davenport, c. j. h. (quoted), 71 david, gerard, 140, 155, 263 " j. l., 326, 329 davies, g. s. (quoted), 351, 352 davillier, baron c., 202, 249 davy, william, 208 dawson, nelson, 339 death's head, 364-7 de boot, a., 100 debruge-duménil collection, 130, 245 de bruyn, abraham, 197 de bull, h., 284 defontaine, j., 282 de heem, jan, 287 de heere, lucas, 252, 352 de la quewellerie. _see_ la quewellerie delaune, etienne, 197, 201, 272 de leeuw, john, 155 _demi-ceint_, or _demysent_, 164 desborough (northants), 74 _devant de corsage_, 318 devices, 223 " on elizabethan jewellery, 216-7 " renaiss., sewn to garments, 268 _devise_, 223, 365 _dextrocherium_, 30 diadems, xxxix " byzantine, 34 " egyptian, 3 " etruscan, 23 " greek, 16, 17 " medl., 106 " " english, 93 " phoenician, 9 " roman, 28 " 19 cent., 328 _diamant d' alençon_, 343 diamond, 276-9 " of charles the bold, 209 " earrings of marie antoinette, 317 " necklace of marie antoinette, 318 diamonds, the brilliant, 279 " bristol, 235, 259 and n. " cutting of, 230, 277-9 " false, 235, 313, 314, 357 " in pictures, 351 " the "point," 277, 278 " pointed, in rings, 260 " in renaiss. jewellery, 179 " in rings, 17 cent., 296 " rose cut, 282, 310 " " in flemish peasant jewellery, 345 " "roses," 278-9 " "table," 278-9 " _taille en seize_, 279 " use of, in early jewellery, 277 " in 18 cent. jewellery, 308, 319 dickens, charles (quoted), 369 dietrich, 339 _dinanderie_, 112 n. dinglinger, george friedrich, 310 " johann melchior, 310 " " " (junior), 311 dinteville, jean de, 365 dionysius of halicarnassus, 20 dionysos, 24 diptychs, pendent, medl., 119-20 directory, 325-6 discs of gold. _see_ plates of gold dog (talbot), on renaiss. pendants, 249 "dombild," 145 dorchester house. _see_ london douce, francis, 53, 264 douglas, lady margaret, 217 douffet, gerard, 296 dove, symbol of holy ghost, 249 " in peasant jewellery, 343 dowgate hill brooch, 69 dragon, renaiss. pendant in form of, 249 drake, sir francis, 253, 266, 354 " sir f. fuller-eliott, 218, 230 n., 253 " jewels, 218, 230 n., 353 drawings for jewellery by barcelona goldsmiths, 202 drawings for jewellery by sir f. child, 306 " " by dürer, 190 " " by holbein, 210-213 " " by lulls, 302 " " by mielich, 195 " " by the santini family, 308 drury fortnum. _see_ fortnum dresden, picture gallery, 261 " grüne gewölbe, 251, 311 dress, ornaments sewn on, ancient irish, 43 " " " renaiss., 268 dress-fasteners, prehistoric, xliii " " ancient british, 41 dressche, reinecke van, 139 du barry, madame, 317 du bellay, g., 207 dublin, irish national museum, 42, 44, 77, 78 " national gallery of ireland, 250 " royal irish academy, 42, 78 " trinity college, 78 dubois, paul, 339 ducerceau. _see_ androuet ducerceau duflos, august, 312, 317 du fresnoy, c. a., 353 dunstan, st., 67 dürer, a., 185, 187, 190, 191, 250 du suau de la croix, comte, 338 duvet, jean, 200 "eagle fibula," 135 eagle stones, 122 eanred, 72 earle, j., 69 ear-picks, renaiss., 250-1 earrings, xxxix, xl " anglo saxon, 58 " ancient british, 40 " byzantine, 35, 37 " " in middle ages, 112 " egyptian, 4 " english, 16-17 cent., 234-5 " etruscan, 23 " frankish, 58 " greek, 15, 16 " medl., 112, 113 " " english, 92 " worn by men, 234-5, 332 " merovingian, 58 " phoenician, 9 " renaiss., 233-5 " roman, 28-9 " 17 cent., 291 " 18 " 309, 317 " 19 " 328 east anglia, 60 edict of nantes, 305 edinburgh, high street, 133 " st. giles' church, 133 " national museum of antiquities, 77, 132, 150, 165 edmer, 92 edward the confessor, k. of england, 92, 102, 118 " i, k. of england, 67, 92 " ii " 93, 162 " iii " 93, 121, 161, 162 " iv " 115, 116 " vi " 218, 219 " " " prayer book of, 274 " vii " 217, 224 effigies, sepulchral, jewellery on, 82 eglentine, prioress, jewel worn by, 129 egyptian jewellery, 1-7, 49 elché, "lady of," 9, 10 electrum, primitive italy, 24 _elenchi_, 28 eligius, st. _see_ eloy elizabeth, q. of bohemia, 301 " " england, 213-20, 232, 234, 237, 239, 251-256, 265, 267, 269, 273, 301 " gonzaga, duchess of urbino, 172 eloy, or eloi, st., 67, 155 emeralds, spanish, 205 empire jewellery, 326 enamel, 49 " battersea, 320 " _basse-taille_, 87, 97, 138 " bilston, 320 " byzantine, 35 " celtic, 41 " champlevé, english, 16 cent., 211 " " medl., 85, 138 " " romano-british, 45 " " on rings, 17 cent., 295 " " spanish, 17 cent., 204 " " 16-17 cent., 283 etc. " " 17 cent., 292 " cloisonné, 70, 136, 283 " " anglo-saxon, 66, 68 " " byzantine, 35, 36 " " medl., 84 " " tara brooch, 66, 78 " egyptian, 3 " _émail en blanc_, 87 " _émail en résille sur verre_, 273, 293, 296 " _émail en ronde bosse_, 87, 225 " english 16 cent., 216 " " 18 " 313 " "filigree enamel," (_draht-email_), 198, 347 " french, 18 cent., 311, 312 " gallo-roman, 46 " "gold wire," 224 " greek, 13, 15, 17 " hispano-moresque, 205 " irish, 66, 78 " limoges, medl., 86 " " renaiss. for enseignes, 229 " "louis treize," 286, 289, 293 " medl., 84-88 " opaque, french, 16 cent., 199, 200 " painted, 346, 347 " " on peasant jewellery, 344, 347 " " 17 cent., 285, 292, 293, 295 " renaiss., 180 " romano-british, 45 " toutin firing an, 285, 289 " transluscent, 17 cent., 283 " " 18 " 312 " " _see_ _basse-taille_ " white, _émail en blanc_, 87 " 17 cent., general, 283, 298 " " on watches, 297 " 18 cent., 312 " 19 cent., revival of, 337 england, medl. jewellery, 91-98 " 16 cent. jewellery, 206-221 " 17 " " 299-306 " 18 " " 310 engraved designs for jewellery, english, 18 cent., 310, 312 engraved designs for jewellery, french, 16 cent., 200, 201 engraved designs for jewellery, flemish, 16 cent., 196, 197 engraved designs for jewellery, german, 16 cent., 186-7, 191-4 engraved designs for jewellery, 17 cent., 280-9, 291-8 engraved designs for jewellery, 18 cent., 308-10, 312, 320 engraved gems, antique, in medl. jewellery, 148, 153, 154 " " medl. use of, 101-4 " " in rings, romano-british, 47 " " 16 cent., 227, 245 " " 19 cent., 326, 327 enkomi, cyprus, 12 enseignes, 156, 169 " medl., 107-111, 146 " renaiss., 222-230, 267 " with skulls, 364, 365 "equipage," 323 erasmus, d., 109 eros, 15, 16 _escarcelle_, 165 "esclavo," 204 _escoffion_, 107, 156 _esguillettes_, 269 _espreuves_, 123 essen, treasury of, 143 " medl. brooches at, 143-145 essence d'orient, 358 estampes, duchess of, 181 este, beatrice d', duchess of milan. _see_ beatrice " isabella d', marchioness of mantua. _see_ isabella _estrennes_, 153, 213 ethelbert, k. of kent, 65 ethelswith, 71 " ring of, 72 ethelwulf, k. of wessex, 71 " ring of, 72 ethred, 72 eton college, 115 etruscan goldsmiths, 8 " jewellery, 20-26, 333 étuis, eng., 18 cent., 309, 310, 323 " pinchbeck, 316 " renaiss., 272 eudel, p., 360, 362 _euphues_, 273 eustachio, fra, 175 evans, a. j., 43 " sir j., 47, 62, 296 evelyn, john, 298, 299, 367 evil eye, 164, 250 "exeter book," 57 exmewe, thomas, 208 _ex voto_, 136 eyck, van, 106 " john van, 90, 155 eyelets, renaiss., 268 eymaker, 310 _façon d'angleterre_, 162 fahrner, t., 339 faience, egyptian, 2, 7 falize, lucien, 335 falkland, viscount, 295 fane, sir s. ponsonby, 322 fans, renaiss., suspended to girdles, 272 fashion, influence on jewellery, 28, 80, 178, 370 _fausse montre_, 324 faversham, 57 fay, j. b., 312, 317 feathers, jewelled, as aigrettes, 17 cent., 231 feather jewel for hats, english, 17 cent., 300 fedeli, ercole, 158 feder, von, 190 federigo of montefeltro, duke of urbino, 171 "felicini" altar-piece, 170 felicini, bartolomeo, 170 felspar, green, 3 fenwolf, morgan, 208 ferdinand of tirol, archduke, 188 ferenzuola, giovanni da, 185 _fermail_, 93, 128, 131, 137, 141 _fermailleurs_, 131 _ferronnière_, 172, 328 fessey, j., 310 fibulæ, xlii, xliii, 127 " anglo-saxon, 59, 127 " byzantine, 34 " etruscan, 24 " roman, xlii " romano-british, xlii, 46 " "spectacle," xlii " _see also_ brooches field of cloth of gold, 207, 237 filigree, 19 " byzantine, 35 " " influence in europe, 35 " etruscan, 24 " gold, in portuguese jewellery, 347 " gold, in 17 cent. memorial jewellery, 368 " greek, 13, 16 " in jewish wedding rings, 262 " silver, in german peasant jewellery, 346 fillets, xxxix " etruscan, 23 " medl., 105 " phoenician, 9 " roman, 28 finger rings. _see_ rings _finger-ring lore_, 296 finiguerra, tommaso (maso), 168 firens, p., 293 _firmacula_, 92, 138 fisher, alexander, 339 fitzhardinge, lord, 73, 274 flach, thomas, 310 flanders, influence of, in 15 cent., 142 fleece, golden, 24 " " order of, 90 flemish-burgundian jewellery, 143-6, 213 flemish brooches, 15 cent., 146 " paintings, jewellery in, 89-90 " peasant jewellery, 345 " renaiss. " 196, 197 fleurs-de-lis, 93, 106 florence, 167 " bargello. _see_ museo nazionale " cathedral, 175 " museo nazionale (bargello), 130 " museo nazionale (bargello), carrand collection, 145 " pitti gallery, 170, 233, 294 " spedale di santa maria nuova, 114 " uffizi gallery, 114, 117, 144, 168, 172, 264, 286, 294 " uffizi gallery, galleria delle gemme, 228 n. " 15 cent. jewellery, 174 flötner, peter, 193 _flower_, pendant called, 210, 217 flowers, natural, designs in jewellery, 283, 285-9 fob-pocket, 298, 323, 324, 332 foil, gold, anglo-saxon, 60 foils for precious stones, 60-63, 180, 260, 351, 355, 356 fontenay, e., 4, 48, 72, 320, 335 fontevraud, 141 foppa ambrogio, called caradosso, 168 forgeries, 313, 355-62 fornarina, 233 fortnum collection. _see_ oxford, ashmolean museum foulc, e., 263 fouquet, georges, 338 foy, rené, 338 foy, st., 112, 136, 137 foyle, lough, 43 france, barbaric jewellery, 56 " medl. jewellery, 88 " peasant jewellery, 342, 343 " renaiss. jewellery, 199-201 " 17 cent. jewellery, 276 " 18 " " 309 " 19 " " 325 francesca, piero della, 171 francia, f., 169, 170, 210 francis i, k. of france, 172, 181, 199, 200, 208, 227 frankfort-on-the-main, 195 " rothschild collection, 197 " städel institute, 233 franks, the, 56 franks, sir a. w., 72, 185 " " _see also_ london, british museum, franks bequest frauds, 355-62 freeman, john, 208 friessler, l., 339 fritillaries, painted on enamel, 287 froment-meurice, 331 frontlets, egyptian, 3 " greek, 16 " 19 cent., 328 fruit-shaped pendants, medl., 125 frye, thomas, 317 fugger family, 188 " jacob, 210 fuller-eliott-drake. _see_ drake fuseli, h., 312 gaillard, lucien, 338 gallo-roman jewellery, 46 garlande, jean de, 131 garnets, in anglo-saxon jewellery, 57, 58, 60, 61, 63, 67 " in barbaric jewellery, 49, 53 " in mourning jewellery, 370 " in swiss peasant jewellery, 346 garter, order of, 254 " " pendent "george" of, 302 gaudees (gauds), 124, 125 gaskin, arthur, 339 gaul, 50 " invasion of by teutonic races, 56 gaveston, piers, 67, 93 geiss, 330 gems, engraved, antique, in medl. jewellery, 148, 153, 154 " " in enseignes, 16 cent., 227 " " in girdles, 271 " " in pendants, 16 cent., 245 " " in pendants, 17 cent., 291, 292 " " 19 cent., 326-31 " sewn on dress, byzantine, 34 " _see also_ engraved gems george, st., enseigne of, 224, 225 "george," of the order of garter, 302 george iii, k. of england, 313 _genista_, 110 gérard, f., baron, 329 gerini, casa, 350 germanic tribes, 50 germany, peasant jewellery, 346 " 16 cent., jewellery, 187-96 " 17 cent., jewellery, 276 gheeraerts, marc, 352 ghemert, h., van, 284 ghent, 89 " altar piece by the van eycks, at, 106 ghiberti, lorenzo, 168, 210 ghirlandaio, domenico del, 169, 170, 210, 263 " ridolfo del, 170 _ghirlande_, 169 gibbons, grinling, 287 gibbs bequest. _see_ london, british museum _gigates_, 47 giovio, paolo, 260 _gipcière_, 165 " _beams_, 165 giraldus cambrensis, 109 _girandole_, 317, 318 girdle, medl., in picture, 156 " -buckle, xlv, xlvi, 159, 160 " " design by aldegrever, 194 " " " de bry, 196 " " " dürer, 190 " -buckles, 18 cent., 322 " -hangers, anglo-saxon, 63 girdlers' company of london. _see_ london girdles, xlv, xlvi " anglo-saxon, 63 " greek, 18 " medl., 159-65 " " england, 93, 94 " renaiss., 270-2 " 17 cent., 296-7 " 19 cent., 329 giuliano, carlo, 22, 334, 359 giustinian, s., 206 glass, armlets, romano-british, 47 " beads, phoenician, 10 " " roman, 29 " " romano-british, 45 " diamond rings for writing on, 260 " egyptian, 3, 6 " millefiori, in anglo-saxon jewellery, 59 " millefiori, in romano-british jewellery, 46 " painted, in jewellery, "verre églomisé," 203-4 " paste, 1, 49, 52 glastonbury, 67 glenlyon brooch, 111, 132 glockendon missal, 175 glomy, 203 _glossopetræ_, 122, 123, 156 gloves, rings worn over, 149, 259 " slashing of, 259, 265 gmünd, 339 _gnadenmedaillen_, 248 gnauth, 339 gnostics, 101 godberta, st., 155, 263 godstow priory ring, 150 golconda, 278, 351 gold, coloured, 311, 328 " imitation, 358, 359 golden fleece, 14 " " collar of, 90 " hind, 253 "goldshine," 316 goldsmiths of paris, medl., 134 " company of london. _see_ london " workshops, interiors of, 98, 155, 156, 158, 176, 201 gondola, pendent jewel, in form of, 197, 247 gonzaga, elizabeth, duchess of urbino. _see_ elizabeth gorget, from petrossa, 52 gorgets, ancient irish, 42 göss, 339 gothic ornament, appearance of, 86 " nations, 49, 50 " revival, 19 cent., 331 " style, 19 cent., 332 græco-phoenician jewellery, 8 graff, c., 339 _grains de chapelet_, 125 granulated gold, 327, 333 granulation, byzantine, 35 " etruscan, 21, 24 " greek, 12, 13 " phoenician, 8 granson, battle of, 210 greek jewellery, 8, 11-19 " islands, peasant jewellery, 246, 346 green, j. r. (quoted), 66 gregory xvi, pope, 22 gresham, sir t., 237 grey, lady jane, 254 gribelin, simon, 310 grien, hans baldung, 189, 261 grimani breviary, 175 grondoni, g. b., 309, 310 guarrazar, 50, 53 guay, j., 320 guien, j., 310, 317 guilds, goldsmiths', 134 " " rules against forgery, 356, 358, 359 _guilloché_ gold, 312 gurschner, g., 339 _gypcière_, 94 habsburg, family, 294 hadaway, mrs., 339 hailler, d., 284 hair, jewellery of, 368-70 " " 19 cent., 331 " ornaments for the, medl., 114 " " " renaiss., 223 " " " 17 cent., 291 " " " 18 " 316 hair-pins, xl, xli " anglo-saxon, 57 " etruscan, 23 " german peasant, 346 " greek, 17 " renaiss., 232-3 " roman, 28 " romano-british, 45 " 18 cent., 316 " 19 " 328 hall, bishop, 259 " edward, 207, 211, 224 hals, agnes, 366 " frans, 296, 362 hamilton brooch, 70 " palace collection, 303 hammer, 339 hampton court gallery, 245 hanau, 339 hannibal, 32 hans of antwerp, 208, 213 harlay, family, 266 haroun al-raschid, 84, 118 harrogate diamonds, 357 harvey, gabriel, 261 hastings, lord, 46 hat-badges. _see_ enseignes " bands, jewelled, 224, 230 " ornaments, medl., 109 hats, jewelled, medl., 107 " jewels on, english, 17 cent., 300, 301 " rings worn on, 261 hauer, j. p., 287 hauptmann, franz, 339 hays, cornelius, 208 head-appendages, greek, 16 " dresses, roman, 28 " ornaments, xxxix " " dutch, 344 " " ancient irish, 42 " " italian, 15 cent., 171, 172 " " medl., 105-12 " " renaiss., 232 " " 18 cent., 316 " " 19 " 328 hearts, peasant jewels in form of, 342-5 hecke, van den. _see_ van den hecke heel, johann, 309 heeley, 319 heem, jan de. _see_ de heem hefner-alteneck, j. h. von, 195 hendrickje stoffels, 191 _henin_, 107 henlein, peter, 274 henrietta maria, q. of england, earrings of, 354 henry i, k. of england, 92 " ii " 141 " iii " 92, 141, 151 " iv " 95, 115, 116, 140, 142, 162, 164 " v " 95, 110 " vi " 115 " vii " 216, 219 " viii " 199, 206-13, 219, 224, 225, 226, 237, 238, 250, 252, 258, 263, 265, 267, 268, 269 " ii, k. of france, 200, 365 " iii " 200, 234 " iv " 314, 320 " k. of castile, 109 " prince of wales, son of james i, 302-3 hentzner, paul, 214 hera, 19 herbals, precious stones in, 100 n. heraclius, emperor, 59 herbst, j. b., 310 herculaneum, 29 " discovery of, 311 herculean knot, rings shaped like, 32 heriot, george, 268, 273, 300, 301, 304 " james, 210, 304 heriot's hospital, 301 hermitage museum. _see_ st. petersburg herodotus, 363 herrick, nicolas, 220 " robert, 220, 302 " sir william, 220, 301, 302 heyl, baron von, 136 highland brooches, 131-3 hilary, st., 104 " " jewel of, 103, 136 hilliard, nicholas, 219, 253, 255 hipkins, w. and co., 315 hirzel, h. r. c., 338 hispano-moresque jewellery, 205 hissarlik, 9 holbein, hans, the younger, 190, 210-13, 224, 243, 252, 273, 351, 352, 363, 365 holford, major, 288 holinshed, r., 207, 235 holland, peasant jewellery, 344-5 hollar, w., 190, 275 holtzendorff treasure, 267 " family, 238 holy land, jewellery brought back from, 84, 86 holyrood, 115 homer, 19 honervogt, j., 282 honyson, guillim, 208 hooks and loops, medl., 140 " " eyes, renaiss., 268 hoop (of ring), xlv hornick, erasmus, 193, 194, 251 horus, 2 huaud or huault, 298 hungary, 16 cent. jewellery, 197-8 " peasant jewellery, 347 hunsdon, george carey, lord, 218, 265 " henry carey, lord, 218, 253, 274 " jewels, 93, 218, 253, 274 hunterston brooch, 79 hurtu, j., 285 hyderabad, 278 ialysos, 12 iconoclastic decrees, 34 _iklyngton coler_, 115 ilchester, earl of, 366 il rosso. _see_ rosso _impresa_, 223 imitation diamonds, 313-14 " gold, 358, 359 " pearls, 314 " precious stones, 18 cent., 313 imitations, 355-62 incrustation (or inlay), process of, 49-55 initials, jewelled, renaiss., on garments, 268 " jewels in form of, 211-12 " pendants in form of, renaiss., 248 inlaid jewellery, 35, 49-55 " " anglo-saxon, 60 innocent iii, pope, 96, 148 intaglio cutting on gold, greek, 13 " medl., 138 intaglios, antique, in medl. jewellery, 102 " renaiss., 227 " roman, 30 " 19 cent., 326 inventories, jewellery in, 82, 88-9, 92-6, 142, 215, 258, 263, 353 ionia, 22 ipsamboul (abu simbel), 4 ireland, cloisonné enamel, 66 " introduction of christianity into, 75 " prehistoric ornaments in, 40-4 irish missionaries, their influence on anglo-saxon jewellery, 66, 67 iron jewellery, 19 cent., 330, 331 " prehistoric, 39 isabella d'este, marchioness of mantua, 158 " of france, q. of england, 114 italian jewellery, 15 cent., 166-76 " " 16 " 183-6 " peasant jewellery, 334, 346 jacobson, philip, 302, 304 james i, k. of england, 210, 230, 231, 235, 238, 257, 268, 299, 300-4 " ii " 119 " st., of compostella, 109 jane seymour, q. of england, 212 janssens, c., 352 jaquin, 314 jet jewellery, 48 " medl., 124 " mourning jewellery, 370 " romano-british, 45, 47 jewish wedding rings. _see_ rings "jingling geordie," 301 _joaillerie_, 277 _joailliers-faussetiers_, corporation of, 314 joanna of navarre, q. of england, 141 _jocalia_, 92, 138 john anwarpe. _see_ hans of antwerp " of cambridge, 106 " the constant, elector of saxony, 261 " frederick, elector of saxony, 261 " of leyden, 250 " st., baptist, head of, 226, 227 n. " " evangelist, 36, 99, 103 " king of england, 92, 96 " ii, king of france, 88 jones, w., 296 jonson, ben, 151 jörg, a., 284 josephine, empress, 29, 329-30 juliers, william, duke of. _see_ william jupiter, cameo of, considered to represent st. john, 103 " capitolinus, temple of, 32 justinian, emperor, 33, 34 jutes, 56, 59 k., p. r., 280, 284 kameiros, 12 kann collection, 169 karlsruhe, 190 kaufmann collection, 263 kayle, hugh, 220 kensington (south) museum. _see_ london, victoria and albert museum kent, 60 kentish cemeteries, 56, 57, 63 kertch, 14, 16 " forged jewels, said to come from, 360 kh[=a]-em-uas, 5 khepera, 2 kilbride, west, 79 kilmainham brooch, 77 kimmeridge shale, 47 king, c. w. (quoted), 100 kings of the east, three, 102, 111, 129, 132, 150, 152 kingston brooch, 60 " -on-thames, 142 _klein-meister_, 191-4 kneller, sir g., 353 knives, renaiss., suspended to girdles, 272 knotwork, in anglo-saxon jewellery, 57 koul-oba, 14 kraft, adam, 120 _kreuterbuch_, 100 n., 126 labarre, p., 282 laborde, l. de, 277 laffitte, gaston, 338 lalique, rené, 338 lang, andrew, 221, 353 lange, jehan, 208, 209 latten, 161 la quewellerie, g. de, 284, 295 lannoy, baldwin de, 90 " raoul de, 116 lapis-lazuli, 2, 136 lark hill, near worcester, 154 latium, 24 laton, 161 lauingen, 230, 232 laverstoke, 72 law, thomas and co., 315 "lazos," 204, 294 lead, medl. jewels of, 108-10, 131, 161 " models for jewellery, 192-3 leblanc, 316 le blon, m., 284, 304 "_leda and the swan_," by cellini, 185, 228 ledyard, adam, 124 lefebure, f., 282, 291 lefèvre, r., 329 légaré, gédéon, 282, 287 " gilles, 279, 282, 287-9, 291, 293, 294, 296, 298, 366 leicester, robert dudley, earl of, 239, 274 leland, j., 207 lely, sir p., 353 leman, baptist, 208 le mans, xliii, 128 lemersier, b., 282 lempereur, 312, 318 lennox, henry stuart, earl of, 217 " jewel, 217, 257 lenton, f., 235, 357 leo iii, emperor, 34 leonardus, c., 100, 101 leopold, j. f., 309 letelen, albert von, 139 letters, jewels in form of, 211 " pendants in form of, renaiss., 248 leven and melville, earl of, 221, 353 leyden, john of, 250 liberale di giacomo da verona, 175 liberation, german war of, 330 liberty, a. lazenby, 339 lichtwark, a., 193 limoges enamel, medl., 86 " enamelled enseignes made at, 229 limavady treasure, 43 lion's head on egyptian jewellery, 5 " phoenician jewellery, 9 lions on archaic greek jewellery, 12 lipona, countess, 16 lippmann, f., 190 lisbon, museum of fine arts, 347 linas, c. de, 52 n. "little masters" (_kleinmeister_), 191-6 liverpool, mayer collection, 60 lively, 110, 116-7 _livre de taille d'épargne_, 309 llewellyn, 152 llys-fæn, carnarvonshire, 71 loch buy brooch, 133 lochner, stephan, 145 lockets, memorial, eng., 17-18 cent., 368 " 17 cent., 293 lombard street, 115 lombards (gothic tribe), 50 lombardy, peasant jewellery, 346 london, british museum, 3, 4, 8-10, 12, 17, 23-8, 34, 37, 44, 46, 51, 60, 63, 69, 72, 74, 76, 108, 119, 122, 129, 132, 133, 138, 190, 211, 273, 297 " british museum, franks bequest, 37, 110, 145, 148, 246, 264, 368 " british museum, gibbs bequest, 57, 62, 63 " british museum, waddesdon bequest, 125, 184, 226, 231, 248, 272, 303, 366 " british museum, sloane collection, 218, 255 " british museum, gold ornament room, 154, 292 " british museum, carlisle collection, 246 " british museum, room of greek and roman life, 23 " cuming museum, walworth road, 361 n. " dorchester house, 225, 288 " girdlers' company, 161, 272 " goldsmiths' company, 131, 213 " guildhall museum, 108, 165 " national gallery, 140, 171, 174, 238, 259, 264, 365 " national portrait gallery, 141 n., 212, 222, 235, 254 " royal academy, 312, 313 " st. helen's church, bishopsgate, 115 " st. paul's cathedral, 115, 138 " south kensington museum jewellery exhibition, 1872, 241 " south kensington museum. _see_ london, victoria and albert museum " temple church, 128 " tower, 300 " victoria and albert museum, 31, 36, 51, 72, 73, 120, 122, 129, 130, 138, 139, 163, 203, 218, 226, 231, 246, 248, 249, 254, 257, 266, 272, 273, 294, 296, 321, 334, 347, 356, 365, 369 " victoria and albert museum, art library, 308, 344 " victoria and albert museum, dyce collection, 293 " victoria and albert museum, jones collection, 293 " victoria and albert museum, waterton collection, 149, 264 " wallace collection, 226, 272, 296, 297 londesborough collection, 129, 264 loops (clasps), medl., 140 " renaiss., 268 lord mayor of london, collar of, 117 loreto, santa casa, 91 lorn, brooch of, 133 lothair ii, k. of the franks, 139 lotto, lorenzo, 263 lotus flower, 4 louis ix, st., k. of france, 119 " xi, k. of france, 109, 110, 116 " xii " 199 " xiii " 279, 286, 292 " xiv " 266, 279, 282, 293 " xv " 311, 320 " xvi " 311, 323 louise augusta, of schleswig-holstein, princess, 339 luckenbooth brooches, 133-4, 165 ludovico sforza, duke of milan, 168, 172 ludwig i, k. of bavaria, 16 lulls, arnold, 231, 302, 304 lunulæ, 42 luthmer, f., xxxiv, 82, 135, 197, 240, 339, 352 lyly, j., 217, 273 lyons, 277 lyte jewel, 257, 293, 303, 304, 354 " sir h. maxwell, 304 " thomas, 303, 304, 354 mabell, 269 mabuse, 261, 351 macdougals of lorn, 133 macleans of loch buy, 133 macneals of firfergus, 133 macquoid, mrs. percy, 120 madrid, royal armoury, 53 " museum of antiquities, 9 mænad, 15 magi. _see_ kings of the east magna græcia, 14, 17, 18 magnussen, e., 339 mainz, 135-7 mainz cathedral, 137 " " treasury, 137 " museum, 136 _maîtres ornemanistes_, 246 malone, e., 123 n. mammillary fibulæ, xliii, 42 mantle clasps, medl., 140, 141 manuscripts, representation of jewellery in, 82, 97, 174, 175, 176 marbode, bishop of rennes, 100 n. marcasite, 315, 319, 321 marchant, pierre, 281, 292, 306 margaret, q. of scotland, 114-115 maria, 312, 319 marie antoinette, q. of france, 316, 317, 318 mariette, p. j., 288 martial, 31, 355 martin, brothers, 204 " sir richard, 220 mary, the blessed virgin, 36, 37 " " monogram of, 97, 204, 249 " of burgundy, empress, 146 n., 246 n. " daughter of james i, 302 " q. of england, 207, 219, 237, 254, 269 " q. of scots, 220, 221, 234, 265, 268, 269, 353, 366 _marygold by temple bar_, the, 306 matsys, quentin, 156, 227 n., 263 mathias corvinus, king of hungary, 175 mauricius, emperor, 59 mayer collection. _see_ liverpool maximilian, archduke of austria, 248 " i, emperor, 191, 146 n. " ii " 188 mazarin, cardinal, 279 medallions on the hat, 229. _see also_ enseignes medals, pendent, renaiss., 247-8 " " english, 257 medici, family, 114, 260, 294 " " device of, 260 " costanza de', 170, 263 " cosimo de', 260 " francesco de', 233 " guiliano de', 171 " lorenzo de', 171, 260 " lucrezia de', 292 " piero de', 260 mediterranean, 8, 21 melillo, 334, 359 melos, 17 "memento mori," 363-70 memorial jewellery, 321, 331 " rings, 364-70 merchants' marks on rings, 153 mermaids, pendants in form of, renaiss., 249, 250, 251 " " hung with bells, 164 n. merman, renaiss. pendant in form of, 243, 249, 251 merovingian dynasty, 52, 55 " jewellery, 46, 56 merovingians, 50 meuse, jewels found in, 143 michelangelo di viviano, 171 mielich, hans, 195, 226 mignot, d., 193, 231, 280, 284, 304 migrations of the tribes, 49 milan, ambrosiana, 172 " brera gallery, 171 " crespi gallery, 225 " poldi-pezzoli museum, 217, 255, 256 " s. eustorgio, 111 " school of painting, 167 millefiori glass in anglo-saxon jewellery, 59 " " in romano-british jewellery, 46 milvian bridge, battle of, 226 minden, 139 miniature cases, 218 " " elizabethan, 256 " " english, 17 cent., 303 " " 17 cent., 281, 293, 297 " frames, pinchbeck, 316 " " 17 cent., by marchant, 306 " " jewelled, 18 cent., by toussaint, 313 miniatures in bracelets, 319-20 " memorial jewellery, 369 minster lovel jewel, 69 _minuteria_, xxxiii, 227 n. "mirror of france," 300 mirror cases, medl. 146 " renaiss., 272 " 17 cent., 297 mithridates, 29 mitres, jewels on, 97, 98 mocha stone, 321 models for jewellery in lead, 192-3 möhring b., 338 monckton, lady, 317 moncornet, b., 282, 287, 288 monday, john, 208 mondon, 309, 317 _monilia baccata_, 29 " medl., 121, 138 " roman, 29 monograms, pendants in form of, 204, 212, 248, 249 " sewn on garments, 268 monogrammists, 284 _montauban_, 224, 231 montagu, lady mary wortley, 323 monte di giovanni, 175 montefeltro, federigo of, duke of urbino. _see_ federigo moorish influence on portuguese peasant jewellery, 347 " influence on spanish peasant jewellery, 205, 347 _mordant_, xlvi, 159, 160, 162, 271 more, sir antonio, 352 moreau, p., 312 moreelse, peter, 232 morgan, sir matthew, 266 " octavius, 148 " pierpont, collection, 169, 173, 217, 248, 254, 256, 293, 297, 313 n. morisson, f. j., 308, 310 morlière (of orleans), 287 _mors de chape_, 137 morses, 121, 137-40 mosaic jewellery, 19 cent., 327 mosaics, byzantine, 33, 34, 36 mosbach, h., 282 moser, g. m., 312 moss agates, 18 cent., 321 " 19 cent., 328-9 mottoes on rings, 295-6 moulds for casting jewellery, 108, 122 mount charles, countess of, 240 mourning jewellery, 331, 369, 370 " rings, 296, 364-70 mummies, 1, 6 munich, 194 " antiquarium, 3, 16 " bavarian national museum, 62, 120, 157, 192, 195, 231, 232, 247 " coin cabinet, 248 " jewels made at, 245 " pinakothek, 261, 263 " royal library, 195, 226 " royal treasury, 195, 251 " in 16 cent., 188, 189 munk, eugenie, 339 murat, joachim, 16 museums, collections of jewellery in, 336 " portraits and jewels in, 349 mycenæ, 11, 19, 40, 43 mycenæan jewellery, 11 " period, 21, 22 mytens, d., 352 nail, holy, 204 nancy, battle of, 107 nantes, edict of, 305 napoleon i, emperor, 118, 325, 329, 332 " iii " 118 narwhal, 123 nassaro, matteo del, 226, 227 national gallery, london. _see_ london, national gallery "navette" pendants, 246 neckam, a., 92 newman, mrs., 339 neck-chains, xl " medl., 113-17 " renaiss., 236-41 necklaces, xl, xliv " anglo-saxon, 58, 59, 74 " ancient british, 40 " egyptian, 4 " etruscan, 24 " greek, 17 " hair, 19 cent., 331 " italian, 15 cent., 172-3 " medl., 113-17, 121 " phoenician, 10 " renaiss., 236-42, 266, 285 " " perfumes worn in, 265 " rings worn on, 152, 261 " roman, 29 " romano-british, 45 " 17 cent., 291 " 18 " 313, 317, 318 " 19 " 328-31 necklets, 113-17 " renaiss., 239-40 neck-ornaments, ancient irish, 42 nef, 246 " jewel, 252 nene, 72 neolithic age, 47 nephthys, 5 neuburg, amalia hedwig of, 232 " counts palatine of, 232 " dorothea maria, wife of otto henry, count of, 231 " otto henry, count palatine of, 230 newcastle, william cavendish, duke of, 263 new college jewels, 96-8. _see also_ oxford new year's gifts, 153, 213, 215, 220, 265, 302 niello, anglo-saxon, 71-3 " byzantine, 36 " italian, 15 cent., 163, 168, 173 " on medl. brooch, 130 " on tara brooch, 78 "niello" designs, engraved, 284, 295 nolin, p., 285 norfolk, duke of, 221 " " badge of, 110 norman conquest, 65 normandy, peasant jewellery, 342, 343 norsemen, ravages of england, 68 northumbria, 60 norway, peasant jewellery, 345 nose-ornaments, ancient british, 40 nouches, 70, 93, 111, 121, 141, 142, 145, 223 _nowche_ or _nuche_, 141, 223 _nummi bracteati_, anglo-saxon, 59 "nuremberg eggs," 275 nuremberg, 194 " jewellery made at, 202 " germanic museum, 232, 238, 272, 349 " st. lawrence's church, 120 " town library, 175 " 16 cent., 188, 189 nutwell court, 253 odobesco, a., 52 n. olbia, forged jewels said to come from, 360 olbrich, j. m., 338 _oldano_, 275 n. oliver, i., 303 " p., 293 olonne, countess d', 288 oppenheim, baron a., 155 _opus interrasile_, byzantine, 34, 35 " roman, 30 orleans, duke and duchess of (1408), 162 _orles_, 106 ornament engravings. _see_ engraved designs for jewellery orpheus, 100 osma, j. g. de, 204 ossian, 331 otho ii, emperor, 34 _ouch_ or _owche_, 141, 223. _see also_ nouches oxford, ashmolean museum, 29, 60, 68, 73, 238, 298 " ashmolean fortnum collection, 264 " bodleian library, 63, 264 " new college, 123, 142, 149 " university galleries, 293 oxus treasure, 51 _paillons_, 180, 260 palestine, jewellery brought back from, 84, 86 palissy, bernard, 229 palmer, col. n., 68 " thomas, 68 _panier_, 319 pantikapaion, 14 paphos, 17 paris, bibliothèque nationale, cabinet des médailles et antiques, 30, 52, 53, 103, 185, 200, 225, 228, 245, 266, 292, 320, 330 " dutuit collection, 139 " goldsmiths of, medl., 134 " louvre, 3, 5, 6, 9, 12, 172, 272, 291, 297, 329 " " campana collection, 23, 24 " " davillier bequest, 251 " " galerie d'apollon, 137, 139, 154, 249 " " adolphe rothschild bequest, 139, 240, 245 " " salle des bijoux antiques, 23 " " sauvageot collection, 154 " musée cluny, 53, 108, 139, 250, 251 " notre-dame, 329 " quai des orfévres, 314 parmigianino (mazzuola), 233 parrot, renaiss. pendant in form of, 249 parthey, g. f. c., 190-91 partridge, affabel, 220 " mr. and mrs., 339 parure, 18 cent., 308 pastes, 355-7 " imitating garnets, in barbaric jewellery, 49-54 paste jewellery, 18 cent., 314 " 19 " 328 paternosterers, 124 paton, j., 99 patrick, st., 75 pattern-books for jewellers, 17 cent., 280, 304 pattern-books for jewellers, english, 18 cent., 310 paul iii, pope, 199 "paul's windows," 87 peacocks, 35, 37 "pea pod" ornament, 281, 289, 292, 293 pearls, 314 " baroque, in renaiss. pendants, 244 " " " toothpicks, 251 " in byzantine jewellery, 33 " earrings, 234, 235, 291 " q. elizabeth's, 215 " false or mock, 314, 315, 357, 358 " pendent cluster, on jewels, 253 347 " pendent from renaiss. jewels, 243 " _perles à potences_, 174 " ropes of, in the hair, 232, 316 " " as necklaces, 113, 239, 318 " "roman," 358 " in roman jewellery, 28 " scottish, 121, 133, 356 " setting of, 15 cent., 174 " "venetian," 358 " 19 cent., 328 peasant jewellery, 341-7 " dutch, 344-5 " flemish, 345 " french, 342-4 " german, 346 " hungarian, 197-8, 347 " italian, 346 " norwegian and swedish, 345-6 " portuguese, 347 " spanish, 205, 347 _pectoralia_, 138 pectorals, egyptian, 5 " medl., 135-46 pembroke, earl of, 116 penannular brooch, xlii, xliii, 74 pendants, xl " anglo-saxon, 58 " egyptian, 5 " etruscan, 24 " flemish, 16 cent., 196 " girdle, medl., 159-60 " " renaiss., 272, 275 " italian, 15 cent., 169, 173 " medl., 118-26, 156 " phoenician, 10 " renaiss., 242-57 " " english, 212, 251-7 " " forgery of, 361 " " worn on hats, 223 " roman, 29, 30 " 17 cent., 281, 291-4 " 18 " 309 _pendeloques_, 291, 318 _pendulum_, 93 penicuik jewel, 221 penruddock jewel, 252, 353 " sir george, 353 _pent-à-col_ (_pentacols_), 113, 121, 242 pepys, s., 367 _peres de eagle_, 122 perfumes in bracelets, 265 " in earrings, 234 " in necklaces, 265 " in pomanders, medl. 125-6 " " renaiss., 275 persia, 33, 34, 50 persian origin of inlaid jewellery, 52 peru, emeralds from, 205 peruzzi, vincenzo, 279 petitot, j., 288, 293, 304 petrossa, treasure of, 50, 52 peutin, john, 90 pewter, jewels of, 111, 131, 161 pforzheim, 339 philibert, margrave of baden, 250 philip "the good," duke of burgundy, 89 n., 90, 155 phoenicians, 21 phoenicians jewellery, 7-10 phoenix jewel, 218, 254, 255, 286 phillips, robert 335 phylacteries, 122 pichon, baron, 119, 130, 264 "picture-cases" (miniature-cases), english, 17 cent., 303 pictures, jewellery in, 82, 329, 348-54 " flemish jewellery in, 89, 90 " german jewellery in, 145, 189 " italian, 15 cent., jewellery in, 167-76 " italian, 16 cent., jewellery in, 183 " medl. necklaces in, 114-15 " " rings in, 155-6 _pierre d' alençon_, 343, 357 piers plowman, 153 pilgrims' signs, 107-11, 222 " forgery of, 360-1 piloty, 338 pinchbeck, 315-16, 327, 359 " christopher, 316, 321 " edward, 321 pinnow, 238, 267 pins, xi-xli " anglo-saxon, 57, 74 " ancient british, 41 " romano-british, 45 pinturicchio, b. b., 267 plaquettes, 193 plate-inlaying, 50 plates or discs of gold, 11 " " ancient irish, 43 " " mycenæan, 12 platinum, 311 pliny, 28, 30, 32, 47, 355 plon, eugène, 184 ploumyer, allart, 208, 209 plume decoration on hat, 111 points, renaiss., 267-9 poison, medl. tests for, 123 " in rings, 32 poitiers, diana of, 266, 364 pollaiuolo, a., 168, 174, 210 " p., 168 _polypsephi_ rings, 32 pomander, design for, by dürer, 191 " medl., 125-6, 160 " renaiss., 270, 275 " in form of skulls, 364 " 17 cent., 296 _pomeambre_, 125 pompadour, madame de, 311, 320 pompeii, 311, 326, 363 pompey, 29 pompoms (buttons), renaiss., 268 pont-y-saison, 46 portinari, tommaso, 114 " " daughter of, 114, 115, 117 " " maria, wife of, 114, 144 portland, duke of, 221, 235, 354 portraits, enamelled, as pendants, 17 cent., 292 " on bracelet clasps, 319-20 " on rings, roman, 31 " " 18 cent., 320 "portugal diamond," 300 portugal, peasant jewellery, 347 posy (posies), 128, 152, 262, 295, 296, 321 pottery, glazed, 1 pouches, medl., 165 pouget, the younger, 312, 314, 317 pourbus, peter, 352 prague, 188, 198 " cathedral treasury, 121 præneste, 24 prato, girolamo del, 185 prayer-books, enamelled gold, 218, 273, 274 precious stones, imitation of, 355-8 " in modern jewellery, 337, 338 " setting of, in renaiss. jewellery, 180, 260 " mystery of, 99-104 " 19 cent., 328 predis, ambrogio da, 172 prerogative royal, 44 price, f. g. hilton, 306 "primavera," 169 "primrose," mrs., 350 prutscher, o., 339 ptolemaic jewellery, 6 "pulvisculus aureus," 21 purbeck, island of, 47 purled work, 19 cent., 327 purses, anglo-saxon, 63 " medl., 165 puy, peasant jewellery, 343 _pylon_, 5 pynson, r., 236 pyrites, iron (marcasite), 315 quartz, 313 " crystals, 357 raab, h., 287 rabelais, f., 199 raibolini, francesco. _see_ francia raimbau, mlle., 312 raleigh, sir walter, 235 rameses ii, 4, 5 raphael, 182, 226 ravenna, 33, 70 " sant' apollinare nuovo, church of, 36 " san vitale, church of, 33, 36 raynes, robert, 237 _reasons_, 152 récamier, madame, 326 reccesvinthus, 54 red sea, 28 rée, p. j., 275 relics, 102, 108, 111, 118, 125 " in rings, 152 reliquaries, byzantine, 36 " italian, 15 cent., 173 " medl., 118-19, 121, 160 " spanish, 203, 347 rembrandt, 291 renaiss. jewellery, its general characteristics, 177-183 renty, 316 repoussé work, 11 " byzantine, 34 " egyptian, 3 " etruscan, 21 " greek, 13 " irish, 43 " renaiss., 227 _resons_, 152 reynolds, sir joshua, 313, 353 rhenish enamels, 85-6 rhine, irish missionaries on, 67 rhodes, 12 richard i, k. of england, xliii, 128 " ii " 94, 110, 114, 116, 141 " iii " 116, 222 ring-brooch. _see_ brooch ring-money, 40, 43 rings, xliv, xlv " anglo-saxon, 62, 71-3 " betrothal, 261-2 " ancient british, 40 " byzantine, 37 " charm, 151-2 " with coins, roman, 32 " with death's heads, 364 " decade, 150 " devotional, 149, 150, 152 " " signets, 153 " made by st. dunstan, 67 " ecclesiastical, 147-9 " egyptian, 2, 67 " engagement, 261-2, 296 " engraved designs for, 263, 264, 284, 295, 296 " episcopal, xlv, 148, 149 " etruscan, 25, 26 " _fede_, 152, 261 " _fyancel_, 152 " giardinetti, 295 " gimmel, 152, 261 " greek, 18 " with hair, 331 " worn on hats, 261 " iconographic, 149, 150 " of investiture, 148 " italian, 15 cent., 170 " jet, 47 " jewish, 262 " key-rings, byzantine, 37 " " roman, 31 " _marquise_, 321 " medl., 147-57 " " with antique gems, 96, 101, 103, 148-9, 153-4 " " with false stones, 356 " " forged, 360 " memento mori, 365-70 " memorial, 364-70 " mourning, 296, 321, 367 " merovingian, 62, 73 " mycenæan, 11 " worn on necklaces, 152, 261 " nielloed, anglo-saxon, 71-3 " " italian, 15 cent., 173 " ornamental, xlv " " medl., 154-5 " " renaiss., 258, 259 " " 17 cent., 295, 296 " papal, 148 " phoenician, 10 " in pictures, 155-7, 261, 263, 295 " poison, 32 " _polypsephi_, roman, 32 " posy, 152, 262, 295, 296, 321, 367 " with relics, 152 " religious, 149-50 " renaiss., 258-64 " arranged along a roll of parchment, 155, 156, 170, 263 " roman, 31 " romano-british, 47 " samothracian, 32 " in ancient sculpture, 18 " signets, xlv, 298 " " of childeric i, 53, 63 " " egyptian, 6 " " greek, 18 " " medl., 153-154 " " roman, 31 " " 17 cent., 298 " talismanic, 111 " teutonic, _à trois grains_, 73 " wedding, xlv " " medl., 152 " " converted into memorial, 367 " " jewish, 262 " " renaiss., 262 " " 17 cent., 296 " " 18 cent., 321 " 17 cent., 295-6 " 18 cent., 309, 312, 320, 321 rivard, c., 282, 291 rivers, ornaments found in, 107 roach smith nouche, 69 robin, 331 robinson, f. s., 339 rococo, 307, 308, 311, 324, 332 rogart, 77 "roman de la rose," 113, 164 roman jewellery, 27-32 romano-british jewellery, 44-48 "romantic" jewellery, 331 " style, 332 romanus, emperor, 34 rome, barberini palace, 175 " baths of petus, 182 " castle of st. angelo, 334 " national gallery, 225 " vatican, 22 " " appartamento borgia, 267 " " gallery of constantine, 226 " " library, 175 " " loggie, 182 romerswael, marinus van, 156 romney, earl of, 273 rosenheim, max, 193 n., 294 "rössel," "das goldene," 88 rosso, il, 201 rosaries, 124-5, 156 " as bracelets, 157 rosary beads in form of skulls, 364 rosette, jewelled, on breast, 17 cent., 294 rothschild, baron f., 303 " baron k., 197 rotterdam gallery, 232 rouen, 128 " peasant jewellery, 343 roy, 237 rubens, p. p., 287 rubies, 148, 260 " of charles the bold. _see_ three brothers rudolf ii, emperor, 100, 188, 189 rudolphine period, 188 runic characters on hunterston brooch, 79 russia, byzantine jewellery in, 38 " greek jewellery in, 14-16 sabines, 20 sabra, princess, 224 _sacré coeur_, 345 safety-pins, xli-xliii, 41 saint, t. d., 312 st. angelo in vado, 333 st. denis cathedral, 137 " " treasury, 103 _saint esprit_, 343 st. germain, musée des antiquités nationales, 46 st. helen's church, bishopsgate. _see_ london st. hilary, jewel of, 103 st. paul's cathedral. _see_ london st. petersburg, hermitage museum, 9, 15, 16 saitapharnes, tiara of, 360 salting, george, 119, 176, 224, 248, 263 santini family, drawings by, 308, 317, 318, 344 sapphires, 54, 151 saragossa, treasury of the virgen del pilar, 144, 203, 249 sarawak, ranee of, 339 sardinia, 8, 9, 21 sardonyx, 31 sarre, 59 " brooch, 60 sarum, 138 saur, c., 284 savoy, peasant jewellery, 342 saxons 50, 56 scandinavians, 50 scarabs, 2, 5, 6, 10, 25 scent-cases, 125-6, 275 schaffhausen onyx, 103, 104, 136 schaper, hugo, 238 schliemann, h., 11, 40 schneider, f., 137 schönbrunn, 294 schöpfer, h. 250 _schotenornamentik_, 281 _schwarzornamente_, 283, 289 scissors suspended to girdle, 272 scorpion, jewelled, 172 scotland, introduction of christianity into, 75 " celtic brooches, 75-9 " medl. brooches, 131-4 scott, sir walter, 301, 331 scythian tribes, 14 seal stone, egyptian, 6 seals, medl., 139 " pendent, 17 cent., 298 " 18 cent., 309, 312, 322-4 " 19 " 332 seffrid, bishop of chichester, 149 seghers, d., 287 seneca, 29 serpent bracelet, roman, 30 " ring, greek, 18 set-hathor, 5 _sévignés_, 294, 298, 318 shagreen jewel-cases, 362 shale, kimmeridge, 47 shakespeare, w., 151, 216, 229, 237 " portrait of, 235 shank (of ring), xlv sheffield plate, 315 " steelwork, 315 sherborne castle, 267 ships, pendants in form of, 249, 252, 253, 347 shoe-buckles, 299, 321, 322 " -strings, 322 shoes, rosettes on, 299 shore, jane, 115 shrines, jewels on, 91, 108 sicily, 27 " arabs in, 84 " peasant jewellery, 347 " roman plunder of, 27 siena cathedral, 175 " school of painting, 167 _signacula_, 109, 111 signs of pilgrimage, 107 silhouette, etienne de, 314 " designs, 283, 284, 289, 304 " portraits, 314 silhouettes in mourning jewellery, 369 silver jewellery worn by virgins, 342 _similor_, 316, 359 simon, james, 163 simpson, e., 339 " t., 304 "sippenaltar," 145 n. sirens, pendants in form of, 250 skeletons, 363-7 skulls, 364-6 slashes in garments, 259, 265, 268-9 slides, 342, 343 " memorial, english 17-18 cent., 368 sloane, sir hans, 72, 211, 255 slott-möller, h., 339 smith, c. roach, 62, 69 " j., 310 " r. soden, 264 sodoma (bazzi), 233 solder, egyptian, 3 " etruscan, 20, 21 " greek, 13 " phoenician, 8 " prehistoric, 39 solis, virgil, 193, 194 somerset, alfred in, 68 " anne, duchess of, 233, 273 " edward seymour, duke of, 233, 273 " robert carr, earl of, 235 southampton, henry wriothesley, earl of, 235 south kensington museum. _see_ london, victoria and albert museum spain, arabs in, 84 " phoenician sculpture in, 9 " peasant jewellery, 347 " 16 cent. jewellery, 202-205 " 17 cent. jewellery, 294 "spangle money," 59 spenser, e., 217 sphinxes, 5, 16 spilman, sir j., 301 _spinther_, 30 spiral ornament, 11 " " celtic, 39, 75 spitzer collection, 246 ss collar, 116-17 stabler, harold, 339 stafford, lady, 154 _stalagmia_, 29 steatite, 5 steel jewellery, 315, 319 stephan, master. _see_ lochner stephanus. _see_ delaune, etienne stock-buckles, 322 stoffels, hendrickje, 291 stoffler, w., 339 "stomacher," 318, 350 stone age, 47 stowe, j., 207 stras or strass, 314, 315, 357 strawberry hill, 257, 288 strigel, bernard, 189, 238 stuart, arabella, 299 " henry, earl of lennox. _see_ lennox stubbes, philip, 215, 234, 272 studded girdle, 161 suffolk, henry grey, duke of, 254 sulla, 28 sumptuary laws, 27, 93, 94, 161 sustermans, j., 294 svinthila, 50, 54 swans on byzantine jewellery, 37 sweden, peasant jewellery, 345 switzerland, use of marcasite in 18 cent., 315 " peasant jewellery, 346 symonds, j. a. (quoted), 168, 185 symony, p., 282, 284 _tableau_ or _tabulet_, 120 tablets, votive, pendent, 119 tag of girdle, xlvi, 160 tags (aglets), 269 talaura, 29 talbot, 249 " earl of shrewsbury, badge of, 110 talismans, 30, 99, 101, 109, 111, 121, 129, 132, 147, 151 talismanic inscriptions on scottish brooches, 111, 131 tallien, madame, 326 taman, 14 taplow buckle, 63 tara brooch, 66, 78, 79 tassels, greek, 18 " of medl. clasps, 140 " phoenician, 9 tassie, j., 315, 330 tauric chersonese, 14 tavernier, j. b., 278 terrey, william, 304 _tet_, 2 teutonic jewellery, 51, 53 " nations, 56, 57 tharros, 9, 10 theban dynasties, 3 theodamas, 100 theodora, empress, 33 theophano, 34 theophilus, 85, 356 thirty years' war, 189, 238, 276 thomas à becket, st., 91, 96, 109, 140 three brothers, jewel called, 209, 300 three kings of the east. _see_ kings tiara of saitapharnes, 360 tiffany, messrs., 339 _tinctura_, 278, 351 titian, 264 _titulus_, 132 toadstones, 100, 123, 151 toes, jewels on, 19 cent., 326 tongue of buckle, xlvi toothpicks, 250-1 tor abbey, devonshire, 365 tornabuoni, giovanna, 169 torque, from petrossa, 52 _torques bracchialis_, 30 torques, 236 " ancient british, 40 " " irish, 42, 43 touching-pieces, 123 tournai, 52 _tours de tête_, 328 _tousches_, 123 toussaint, augustus, 313 toutin, h., 285, 295 " j., 285, 293, 295 " j., in his workshop, 289 tovaloccio piero, giovanni and romolo del, 185 tower of london. _see_ london townley brooch, 70 "toys," "toyman," 316 tradescant, john, the younger, wife of, 298 translucent enamel on relief. _see_ enamel, _basse-taille_ transylvania, 58 traquair, mrs., 339 treasure hoards, 51 " trove, 44 treasuries, jewellery preserved in, 83 trender, peter, 220 _tressoures_, 93, 105 "triplet," 357 triptychs, pendent, 119-20 _triquetra_, 78 triton, pendant in form of, 243, 249 troad, 9 trumpet pattern, celtic, 43 " " on tara brooch, 78, 79 tucher, baron, collection of, 225 "tulipomania," 286 tulips painted on enamel, 286 turkey stone, 151 turquoise, 3, 67, 151 turner (potter), 315 tuscany, schools of painting, 167 twiselton, john, 208 _tymborychoi_, 13 tyrol, peasant jewellery, 346 tyszkiewicz, count, 17, 360 tytler, p. fraser, 257 ucker-mark (n. germany), 267 ugadale brooch, 133 uffila brooch, 62 uffizi gallery. _see_ florence umbria, peasant jewellery, 346 unger, elsa, 339 unicorn, master of the, 200 unicorn's horn, 123 unicorns on medl. jewels, 145 " on renaiss. jewels, 243 _uniones_, 28 university brooch, 78 _uræus_, 2 urban vi, pope, 122 usekh collar, 5 usertsen iii, 5 utrecht, john of, 208 _uza_ or _utchat_, 2 van den hecke, j., 287 van der cruycen, l., 312, 317 " doort, abraham, 219 " goes, h., 114, 117, 144 " gow, j., 213 n. van de velde, h. c., 338 van dyck, a., 354 van somer, p., 352 van strydonck, l., 339 van thielen, j. p., 287 vasari, g., 168, 227 vatican. _see_ rome vauquer, j., 287-9, 293 vautier, 297 velasquez, 294 venetian pendants, renaiss., 246 venetians, sack of constantinople by, 38 veneto (veneziano), bartolommeo, 225 venice, byzantine jewellery in, 83-84 " library of st. mark's, 175 " in middle ages, 89 " port of, 15-16 cent., 167 " school of painting, 167 vermiculated patterns in gold, anglo-saxon, 63 vernicles, 130 veronese, paolo, 172 veronica, 130 n. _verre églomisé_, 203-4 verrocchio, andrea del, 168, 174 210 versailles, picture gallery, 329 verus, lucius, 292 vespasian, 28 vespucci, simonetta, 168 vesuvius, 311 vever, 338 victoria, q. of england, 257 vienna, imperial art collections, 30, 145, 185, 247 " imperial art collections, antiken-kabinet, 228 " picture gallery, 155, 212 " treasury, 188 " jewellery in, 18 cent., 308 " reproductions made in, 361 vigée-lebrun, madame, 329 vinci, leonardo da, 172 virgin, the. _see_ mary, the blessed virgin visigoths, 50, 54 vos, cornelis de, 296 vovert, j., 285 vulci, 23, 24 vyner, sir robert, 305 waddesdon bequest. _see_ london, british museum wagner, anna, 339 walpole, horace, 214, 257, 288 walsingham priory, 91, 108 war of liberation, german, 330 wars of the roses, 95 warwick, earls, badge of, 110 "wasps," 316 watches, 16 cent., 274 " 17 cent., 274, 275, 297-8 " 18 cent., 309, 323-4 " egg-shaped, 275 " false, 324 " in form of skulls, 364 watch-cases, pinchbeck, 316 " " 18 cent., 313 " -chains, hair, 331 " -keys, 18 cent., 310, 322-3 waterton, edmund, 71, 149 n., 264 " collection. _see_ london, victoria and albert museum way, albert, 257 wedgwood, 315, 319, 321, 328, 330 weimar, picture gallery, 261 wells cathedral, sculpture on, 128 werner, j. h., 338 westminster, 211, 268 " abbey, 92, 102, 119, 141, 215 whistles, pendent, 190, 193, 198, 250, 251 wight, isle of, 56, 57, 59, 60 wild jewel, 218, 254 wilde, w. r., 42 n. william i, k. of england, 91 " iii " 306 " duke of juliers, 250, 259 " st., of york, 141 " of wykeham. _see_ wykeham williams, john, 238, 257, 302 wilson, h., 339 wilton house, 116 winchester cathedral, 98, 148 windsor castle, 219, 224, 225, 249, 257, 292 witham, 74 wittislingen, 62 woeiriot, pierre, 201, 219, 234, 246, 263, 366 wolfers, p., 339 wolgemut, m., 189 wolsey, t., cardinal, 208 wootton-under-edge (gloucestershire), 116 worley, nicolas, 208 wreaths, byzantine, 35 " greek, 16 " medl., 105 wright, t., 101 wykeham, william of, bishop of winchester, 96-8, 142, 149 yecla, 9 york minster, 138 " " shrine of the head of st. william, 141 zerrenden, f., 339 _zona_, 93 zucchero, f., 253, 352, 353 zundt, mathias, 194 printed by william brendon and son, ltd. plymouth