Myths and Marvels of Astronomy Part 14

Men of chase Were taking the fleet hares; two keen-toothed dogs Bounded beside.

Homer would find no difficulty in pluralising the mighty Hunter and the hare into huntsmen and hares when utilising a description originally referring to the constellation.

I conceive that the original description related to one of those zodiac temples whose remains are still found in Egypt, though the Egyptian temples of this kind were probably only copies of more ancient Chaldaean temples. We know from a.s.syrian sculptures that representations of the constellations (and especially the zodiacal constellations) were common among the Babylonians; and, as I point out in the essay above referred to, 'it seems probable that in a country where Sabaeanism or star-wors.h.i.+p was the prevailing form of religion, yet more imposing proportions would be given to zodiac temples than in Egypt.' My theory, then, respecting the two famous 's.h.i.+elds' is that Homer in his eastern travels visited imposing temples devoted to astronomical observation and star-wors.h.i.+p, and that nearly every line in both descriptions is borrowed from a poem in which he described a temple of this sort, its domed zodiac, and those ill.u.s.trations of the labours of different seasons and of military or judicial procedures which the astrological proclivities of star-wors.h.i.+ppers led them to a.s.sociate with the different constellations. For the arguments on which this theory is based I have not here s.p.a.ce. They are dealt with in the essay from which I have quoted.

One point only I need touch upon here, besides those I have mentioned already. It may be objected that the description of a zodiac temple has nothing to connect it with the subject of the Iliad. This is certainly true; but no one who is familiar with Homer's manner can doubt that he would work in, if he saw the opportunity, a poem on some subject outside that of the Iliad, so modifying the language that the description would correspond with the subject in hand. There are many pa.s.sages, though none of such length, in both the Iliad and the Odyssey, which seem thus to have been brought into the poem; and other pa.s.sages not exactly of this kind yet show that Homer was not insensible to the advantage of occasionally using memory instead of invention.

Any one who considers attentively the aspect of the constellation Draco in the heavens, will perceive that the drawing of the head in the maps is not correct; the head is no longer pictured as it must have been conceived by those who first formed the constellation. The two bright stars Beta and Gamma are now placed on a head in profile. Formerly they marked the two eyes. I would not lay stress on the description of the Dragon in the s.h.i.+eld of Hercules, 'with eyes oblique retorted, that askant shot gleaming fire;' for all readers may not be prepared to accept my opinion that that description related to the constellation Draco. But the description of the constellation itself by Aratus suffices to show that the two bright stars I have named marked the eyes of the imagined monster--in fact, Aratus's account singularly resembles that given in the s.h.i.+eld of Hercules. 'Swol'n is his neck,' says Aratus of the Dragon--

... Eyes charg'd with sparkling fire His crested head illume. As if in ire, To Helice he turns his foaming jaw, And darts his tongue, barb'd with a blazing star.

And the dragon's head with sparkling eyes can be recognised to this day, so soon as this change is made in its configuration, whereas no one can recognise the remotest resemblance to a dragon's head in profile. The star barbing the Dragon's tongue would be Xi of the Dragon according to Aratus's account, for so only would the eyes be turned towards Helice the Bear. But when Aratus wrote, the practice of separating the constellations from each other had been adopted; in fact, he derived his knowledge of them chiefly from Eudoxus, the astronomer and mathematician, who certainly would not have allowed the constellations to be intermixed. In the beginning, there are reasons for believing it was different, and if a group of stars resembled any known object it would be called after that object, even though some of the stars necessary to make up the figure belonged already to some other figure.

This being remembered, we can have no difficulty in retorting the Dragon's head more naturally--not to the star Xi of the Dragon, but to the star Iota of Hercules. The four stars are situated thus, [Ill.u.s.tration] the larger ones representing the eyes; and so far as the head is concerned it is a matter of indifference whether the lower or the upper small star be taken to represent the tongue. But, as any one will see who looks at these stars when the Dragon is best placed for ordinary (non-telescopic) observation, the att.i.tude of the animal is far more natural when the star Iota of Hercules marks the tongue, for then the creature is situated like a winged serpent hovering above the horizon and looking downwards, whereas when the star Xi marks the tongue, the hovering Dragon is looking upwards and is in an unnaturally constrained position. (I would not, indeed, claim to understand perfectly all the ways of dragons; still it may be a.s.sumed that a dragon hovering above the horizon would rather look downwards in a natural position than upwards in an awkward one.)

The star Iota of Hercules marks the heel of this giant, called the Kneeler (Engonasin) from time immemorial. He must have been an important figure on the old zodiac temples, and not improbably his presence there as one of the largest and highest of the human figures may have caused a zodiac-dome to be named after Hercules. The Dome of Hercules would come near enough to the t.i.tle, 'The s.h.i.+eld of Hercules,' borne by the fragmentary poem dealt with above. The foot of the kneeling man was represented on the head of the dragon, the dragon having hold of the heel. And here, again, some imagine that a sculptured representation of these imagined figures in the heavens may have been interpreted and expanded into the narrative of a contest between the man and the old serpent the dragon, Ophiuchus the serpent-bearer being supposed to typify the eventual defeat of the dragon. This fancy might be followed out like that relating to the deluge; but the present place would be unsuitable for further inquiries in that particular direction.

Some interest attaches to the constellation Ophiuchus, to my mind, in the evidence it affords respecting the way in which the constellations were at first intermixed. I have mentioned one instance in which, as I think, the later astronomers separated two constellations which had once been conjoined. Many others can be recognised when we compare the actual star-groups with the constellation-figures as at present depicted. No one can recognise the p.o.o.p of a s.h.i.+p in the group of stars now a.s.signed to the stern of Argo, but if we include the stars of the Greater Dog, and others close by, a well-shaped p.o.o.p can be clearly seen. The head of the Lion of our maps is as the head of a dog, so far as stars are concerned; but if stars from the Crab on one side and from Virgo on the other be included in the figure, and especially Berenice's hair to form the tuft of the lion's tail, a very fine lion with waving mane can be discerned, with a slight effort of the imagination. So with Bootes the herdsman. He was of old 'a fine figure of a man,' waving aloft his arms, and, as his name implies, shouting l.u.s.tily at the retreating bear. Now, and from some time certainly preceding that of Eudoxus, one arm has been lopped off to fas.h.i.+on the northern crown, and the herdsman holds his club as close to his side as a soldier holds his shouldered musket. The constellation of the Great Bear, once I conceive the only bear (though the lesser bear is a very old constellation), has suffered wofully.

Originally it must have been a much larger bear, the stars now forming the tail marking part of the outline of the back; but first some folks who were unacquainted with the nature of bears turned the three stars (the horses of the plough) into a long tail, abstracting from the animal all the corresponding portion of his body, and then modern astronomers finding a great vacant s.p.a.ce where formerly the bear's large frame extended, incontinently formed the stars of this s.p.a.ce into a new constellation, the Hunting Dogs. No one can recognise a bear in the constellation as at present shaped, but any one who looks attentively at the part of the skies occupied by the constellation will recognise (always 'making believe a good deal') a monstrous bear, with the proper small head of creatures of the bear family, and with exceedingly well-developed plantigrade feet. Of course this figure cannot at all times be recognised with equal facility; but before midnight during the last four or five months in the year, the bear occupies positions favouring his recognition, being either upright on his feet, or as if descending a slope, or squatting on his great haunches. As a long-tailed animal the creature is more like one of those wooden toy-monkeys which used to be made for children, and may be now, in which the sliding motion of a ringed rod carried the monkey over the top of a stick. The little bear has I think been borrowed from the dragon, which was certainly a winged monster originally.

Now the astronomers who separated from each other, and in so doing spoiled the old constellation-figures, seem to have despaired of freeing Ophiuchus from his entanglements. The Serpent is twined around his body, the Scorpion is clawing at one leg. The constellation makers have _per fas et nefas_ separated Scorpio from the Serpent Holder, spoiling both figures. But the Serpent has been too much for them, insomuch that they have been reduced to the abject necessity of leaving one part of the Serpent on one side of the region they allow to Ophiuchus, and the other part of the Serpent to the other.

A group of constellations whose origin and meaning are little understood remains to be mentioned. Close by the Dragon is King Cepheus, beside him his wife Ca.s.siopeia (the Seated Lady), near whom is Andromeda the Chained Lady. The Sea Monster Cetus is not far away, though not near enough to threaten her safety, the Ram and Triangle being between the monster's head and her feet, the Fishes intervening between the body of the monster and her fair form. Close at hand is Perseus, the Rescuer, with a sword (looking very much like a reaping-hook in all the old pictures) in his right hand, and bearing in his left the head of Medusa.

The general way of accounting for the figures thus a.s.sociated has been by supposing that, having a certain tradition about Cepheus and his family, men imagined in the heavens the pictorial representation of the events of the tradition. I have long believed that the actual order in this and other cases was the reverse of this, that men imagined certain figures in the heavens, pictured these figures in their astronomical temples or observatories, and made stories to fit the pictures afterwards, probably many generations afterwards. Be this as it may, we can at present give no satisfactory explanation of the group of constellations.

Wilford gives an account, in his 'Asiatic Researches,' of a conversation with a pundit or astronomer respecting the names of the Indian constellations. 'Asking him,' he says, 'to show me in the heavens the constellation Antarmada, he immediately pointed to Andromeda, though I had not given him any information about it beforehand. He afterwards brought me a very rare and curious work in Sanscrit, which contained a chapter devoted to _Upanachatras_, or extra-zodiacal constellations, with drawings of _Capuja_ (Cepheus) and of _Casyapi_ (Ca.s.siopeia) seated and holding a lotus-flower in her hand, of Antarmada charmed with the Fish beside her, and last of _Paraseia_ (Perseus), who, according to the explanation of the book, held the head of a monster which he had slain in combat; blood was dropping from it, and for hair it had snakes.' Some have inferred from the circ.u.mstance that the Indian charts thus showed the Ca.s.siopeian set of constellations, that the origin of these figures is to be sought in India. But probably both the Indian and the Greek constellation-figures were derived from a much older source.

The zodiacal twelve are in some respects the most important and interesting of all the ancient constellations. If we could determine the origin of these figures, their exact configuration as at first devised, and the precise influences a.s.signed to them in the old astrological systems, we should have obtained important evidence as to the origin of astronomy itself. Not indeed that the twelve signs of the zodiac were formed at the beginning or even in the early infancy of astronomy. It seems abundantly clear that the division of the zodiac (which includes the moon's track as well as the sun's) had reference originally to the moon's motions. She circuits the star-sphere in about twenty-seven days and a third, while the lunation or interval from new moon to new moon is, as we all know, about twenty-nine days and a half in length. It would appear that the earliest astronomers, who were of course astrologers also, of all nations--the Indian, Egyptian, Chinese, Persian, and Chaldaean astronomers--adopted twenty-eight days (probably as a rough mean between the two periods just named) for their chief lunar period, and divided the moon's track round the ecliptic into twenty-eight portions or mansions. How they managed about the fractions of days outstanding--whether the common lunation was considered or the moon's motion round the star-sphere--is not known. The very circ.u.mstance, however, that they were for a long time content with their twenty-eight lunar mansions shows that they did not seek great precision at first. Doubtless they employed some rough system of 'leap-months' by which, as occasion required, the progress of the month was reconciled with the progress of the moon, just as by our leap-years the progress of the year is reconciled with the progress of the sun or seasons.

The use of the twenty-eight-day period naturally suggested the division of time into weeks of seven days each. The ordinary lunar month is divided in a very obvious manner into four equal parts by the lunar aspects. Every one can recognise roughly the time of full moon and the times of half moon before and after full, while the time of new moon is recognised from these two last epochs. Thus the four quarters of the month, or roughly the four weeks of the month, would be the first time-measure thought of;--after the day, which is the necessary foundation of all time measures. The nearest approach which can be made to a quarter-month in days is the week of seven days; and although some little awkwardness arose from the fact that four weeks differ appreciably from a lunar month, this would not long prevent the adoption of the week as a measure of time. In fact, just as our years begin on different days of the week without causing any inconvenience, so the ancient months might be made to begin with different week-days. All that would be necessary to make the week measure fairly well the quarters of the month, would be to start each month on the proper or nearest week-day. To inform people about this, some ceremony could be appointed for the day of the new moon, and some signal employed to indicate the time when this ceremony was to take place. This--the natural and obvious course--we find was the means actually adopted, the festival of the new moon and the blowing of trumpets in the new moon being an essential part of the arrangements adopted by nations who used the week as a chief measure of time. The seven days were not affected by the new moons so far as the nomenclature of these days, or special duties connected with any one of them, might be concerned.

Originally the idea may have been to have festivals and sacrifices at the time of new moon, first quarter, full moon, and third quarter; but this arrangement would naturally (and did, as we know, actually) give way before long to a new moon festival regulating the month and seventh-day festivals, each cla.s.s of festival having its appropriate sacrifices and duties. This, I say, was the natural course. Its adoption _may_ have been aided by the recognition of the fact that the seven planets of the old system of astronomy might conveniently be taken to rule the days and the hours in the way described in the essay on astrology. That that nomenclature and that system of a.s.sociation between the planets and the hours, days, and weeks of time-measurement was eventually adopted, is certain; but whether the convenience and apparent mystical fitness of this arrangement led to the use of weekly festivals in conjunction with monthly ones, or whether those weekly festivals were first adopted in the way described above, or whether (which seems altogether more likely) both sets of considerations led to the arrangement, we cannot certainly tell. The arrangement was in every way a natural one; and one may say, considering all the circ.u.mstances, that it was almost an inevitable one.

There was, however, another possible arrangement, viz., the division of time into ten-day periods, three to each month, with corresponding new moon festivals. But as the arrival of the moon at the _thirds_ of her progress are not at all so well marked as her arrival at the quarters, and as there is no connection between the number ten and the planets, this arrangement was far less likely to be adopted than the other.

Accordingly we find that only one or two nations adopted it. Six sets of five days would be practically the same arrangement; five sets of six for each month would scarcely be thought of, as with that division the use of simple direct observations of the moon for time measurement, which was the real aim of all such divisions, would not be convenient or indeed even possible for the generality of persons. Few could tell easily when the moon is two-fifths or four-fifths full, whereas every one can tell when she is half-full or quite full (the requisite for weekly measurement); and it would be possible to guess pretty nearly when she is one-third or two-thirds full, the requisite for the tridecennial division.

My object in the above discussion of the origin of the week (as distinguished from the origin of the Sabbath, which I considered in the essay on astrology), has been to show that the use of the twelve zodiacal signs was in every case preceded by the use of the twenty-eight lunar mansions. It has been supposed that those nations in whose astronomy the twenty-eight mansions still appear, adopted one system, while the use of the twelve signs implies that another system had been adopted. Thus the following pa.s.sage occurs in Mr. Blake's version of Flammarion's 'History of the Heavens:'--'the Chinese have twenty-eight constellations, though the word _sion_ does not mean a group of stars, but simply a mansion or hotel. In the Coptic and ancient Egyptian the word for constellations has the same meaning. They also have twenty-eight, and the same number is found among the Arabians, Persians, and Indians. Among the Chaldaeans or Accadians we find no sign of the number twenty-eight. The ecliptic, or "yoke of the sky," with them, as we see in the newly-discovered tablet, was divided into twelve divisions, as now, and the only connection that can be imagined between this and the twenty-eight is the opinion of M. Biot, who thinks that the Chinese had originally only twenty-four mansions, four more being added by Chenkung, 1100 B.C., and that they corresponded with the twenty-four stars, twelve to the north and twelve to the south, that marked the twelve signs of the zodiac amongst the Chaldaeans. But under this supposition the twenty-eight has no reference to the moon, whereas we have every reason to believe it has.' The last observation is undoubtedly correct--the twenty-eight mansions have been mansions of the moon from the beginning. But in this very circ.u.mstance, as also in the very tablets referred to in the preceding pa.s.sage, we find all the evidence needed to show that originally the Chaldaeans divided the zodiac into twenty-eight parts. For we find from the tablets that, like the other nations who had twenty-eight zodiacal mansions, the Chaldaeans used a seven-day period, derived from the moon's motions, every seventh day being called _sabbatu_, and held as a day of rest. We may safely infer that the Chaldaean astronomers, advancing beyond those of other nations, recognised the necessity of dividing the zodiac with reference to the sun's motions instead of the moon's. They therefore discarded the twenty-eight lunar mansions, and adopted instead twelve solar signs; this number twelve, like the number twenty-eight itself, being selected merely as the most convenient approximation to the number of parts into which the zodiac was naturally divided by another period. Thus the twenty-eighth part of the zodiac corresponds roughly with the moon's daily motion, and the twelfth part of the zodiac corresponds roughly with the moon's monthly motion; and both the numbers twenty-eight and twelve admit of being subdivided, while twenty-nine (a nearer approach than twenty-eight to the number of days in a lunation) and thirteen (almost as near an approach as twelve to the number of months in a year) do not.

It seems to me highly probable that the date to which all inquiries into the origin of the constellations and the zodiacal signs seems to point--viz. 2170 B.C.--was the date at which the Chaldaean astronomers definitely adopted the new system, the lunisolar instead of lunar division of the zodiac and of time. One of the objects which the architects of the Great Pyramid (not the king who built it) may have had was not improbably this--the erection of a building indicating the epoch when the new system was entered upon, and defining in its proportions, its interior pa.s.sages, and other features, fundamental elements of the new system. The great difficulty, an overwhelming difficulty it has always seemed to me, in accepting the belief that the year 2170 B.C.

defined the beginning of exact astronomy, has been this, that several of the circ.u.mstances insisted upon as determining that date imply a considerable knowledge of astronomy. Thus astronomers must have made great progress in their science before they could select as a day for counting from, the epoch when the slow reeling motion of the earth (the so-called precessional motion) brought the Pleiades centrally south, at noon, at the time of the vernal equinox. The construction of the Great Pyramid, again, in all its astronomical features, implies considerable proficiency in astronomical observation. Thus the year 2170 B.C. may very well be regarded as defining the introduction of a new system of astronomy, but certainly not the beginning of astronomy itself. Of course we may cut the knot of this difficulty, as Prof. Smyth and Abbe Moigno do, by saying that astronomy began 2170 B.C., the first astronomers being instructed supernaturally, so that the astronomical Minerva came into full-grown being. But I apprehend that argument against such a belief is as unnecessary as it would certainly be useless.

And now let us consider how this theory accords with the result to which we were led by the position of the great vacant s.p.a.ce around the southern pole. So far as the date is concerned, we have already seen that the epoch 2170 B.C. accords excellently with the evidence of the vacant s.p.a.ce. But this evidence, as I mentioned at the outset, establishes more than the date; it indicates the lat.i.tude of the place where the most ancient of Ptolemy's forty-eight constellations were first definitely adopted by astronomers. If we a.s.sume that at this place the southernmost constellations were just fully seen when due south, we find for the lat.i.tude about thirty-eight degrees north. (The student of astronomy who may care to test my results may be reminded here that it is not enough to show that every star of a constellation would when due south be above the horizon of the place--what is wanted is, that the whole constellation when towards the south should be visible at a single view. However, the whole constellation may not have included all the stars now belonging to it.) The station of the astronomers who founded the new system can scarcely have been more than a degree or two north of this lat.i.tude. On the other side, we may go a little further, for by so doing we only raise the constellations somewhat higher above the southern horizon, to which there is less objection than to a change thrusting part of the constellations below the horizon. Still it may be doubted whether the place where the constellations were first formed was less than 32 or 33 degrees north of the equator. The Great Pyramid, as we know, is about 30 degrees north of the equator; but we also know that its architects travelled southwards to find a suitable place for it. One of their objects may well have been to obtain a fuller view of the star-sphere south of their constellations. I think from 35 to 39 degrees north would be about the most probable limits, and from 32 to 41 degrees north the certain limits of the station of the first founders of solar zodiacal astronomy.

What their actual station may have been is not so easily established.

Some think the region lay between the sources of the Oxus (Amoor) and Indus, others that the station of these astronomers was not very far from Mount Ararat--a view to which I was led long ago by other considerations discussed in the first appendix to my treatise on 'Saturn and its System.'

At the epoch indicated, the first constellation of the zodiac was not, as now, the Fishes, nor, as when a fresh departure was made by Hipparchus, the Ram, but the Bull, a trace of which is found in Virgil's words--

Candidus auratis aperit c.u.m cornibus annum Taurus.

The Bull then was the spring sign, the Pleiades and ruddy Aldebaran joining their rays with the sun's at the time of the vernal equinox. The midsummer sign was the Lion (the bright Cor Leonis nearly marking the sun's highest place). The autumn sign was the Scorpion, the ruddy Antares and the stars cl.u.s.tering in the head of the Scorpion joining their rays with the sun's at the time of the autumnal equinox. And lastly the winter sign was the Water Bearer, the bright Fomalhaut conjoining his rays with the sun's at midwinter. It is noteworthy that all these four constellations really present some resemblance to the objects after which they are named. The Scorpion is in the best drawing, but the Bull's head is well marked, and, as already mentioned, a leaping lion can be recognised. The streams of stars from the Urn of Aquarius and the Urn itself are much better defined than the Urn Bearer.

I have not left myself much s.p.a.ce to speak of the finest of all the constellations, the glorious Orion--the Giant in his might, as he was called of old. In this n.o.ble asterism the figure of a giant ascending a slope can be readily discerned when the constellation is due south. At the time to which I have referred the constellation Orion was considerably below the equator, and instead of standing nearly upright when due south high above the horizon, as now in our northern lat.i.tudes, he rose upright above the south-eastern horizon. The resemblance to a giant figure must then have been even more striking than it is at present (except in high northern lat.i.tudes, where Orion, when due south, is just fully above the horizon). The giant Orion has long been identified with Nimrod; and those who recognise the ant.i.types of the Ark in Argo, of the old dragon in Draco, and of the first and second Adams in the kneeling Hercules defeated by the serpent and the upright Ophiuchus triumphant over the serpent, may, if they so please, find in the giant Orion, the Two Dogs, the Hare, and the Bull (whom Orion is more directly dealing with), the representations of Nimrod, that mighty hunter before the Lord, his hunting dogs, and the animals he hunted.

Pegasus, formerly called the Horse, was regarded in very ancient times as the Steed of Nimrod.

In modern astronomy the constellations no longer have the importance which once attached to them. They afford convenient means for naming the stars, though I think many observers would prefer the less attractive but more business-like methods adopted by Piazzi and others, according to which a star rejoices in no more striking t.i.tle than 'Piazzi XIIIh.

273,' or 'Struve, 2819.' They still serve, however, to teach beginners the stars, and probably many years will pa.s.s before even exact astronomy dismisses them altogether to the limbo of discarded symbolisms. It is, indeed, somewhat singular that astronomers find it easier to introduce new absurdities among the constellations than to get rid of these old ones. The new and utterly absurd figures introduced by Bode still remain in many charts despite such inconvenient names as _Honores Frederici_, _Glob.u.m aerostatic.u.m_ and _Machina Pneumatica_; and I have very little doubt that a new constellation, if it only had a specially inconvenient t.i.tle, would be accepted. But when Francis Baily tried to simplify the heavens by removing many of Bode's absurd constellations, he was abused by many as violently as though he had proposed the rejection of the Newtonian system. I myself tried a small measure of reform in the three first editions of my 'Library Atlas,' but have found it desirable to return to the old nomenclature in the fourth.

THE END.

_Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.

_Edinburgh and London_

FOOTNOTES:

[1] These reflections were suggested to Tacitus by the conduct of Thrasyllus (chief astrologer of the Emperor Tiberius), when his skill was tested by his imperial employer after a manner characteristic of that agreeable monarch. The story runs thus (I follow Whewell's version): 'Those who were brought to Tiberius on any important matter, were admitted to an interview in an apartment situated on a lofty cliff in the island of Capreae. They reached this place by a narrow path, accompanied by a single freedman of great bodily strength; and on their return, if the emperor had conceived any doubts of their trustworthiness, a single blow buried the secret and its victim in the ocean below. After Thrasyllus had, in this retreat, stated the results of his art as they concerned the emperor, Tiberius asked him whether he had calculated how long he himself had to live. The astrologer examined the aspect of the stars, and while he did this showed hesitation, alarm, increasing terror, and at last declared that "The present hour was for him critical, perhaps fatal." Tiberius embraced him, and told him "he was right in supposing he had been in danger, but that he should escape it," and made him henceforward his confidential counsellor.' It is evident, a.s.suming the story to be true (as seems sufficiently probable), that the emperor was no match for the charlatan in craft. It was a natural thought on the former's part to test the skill of his astrologer by laying for him a trap such as the story indicates--a thought so natural, indeed, that it probably occurred to Thrasyllus himself long before Tiberius put the plan into practice. Even if Thrasyllus had not been already on the watch for such a trick, he would have been but a poor trickster himself if he had not detected it the moment it was attempted, or failed to see the sole safe course which was left open to him. Probably, with a man of the temper of Tiberius, such a counter-trick as Galeotti's in _Quentin Durward_ would have been unsafe.

[2] The belief in the influence of the stars and the planets on the fortunes of the new-born child was still rife when Shakespeare made Glendower boast:

At my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes Of burning cressets; know, that at my birth The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shook like a coward.

And Shakespeare showed himself dangerously tainted with freethought in a.s.signing (even to the fiery Hotspur) the reply:

So it would have done At the same season, if your mother's cat Had kittened, though yourself had ne'er been born.

In a similar vein Butler, in _Hudibras_ ridiculed the folly of those who believe in horoscopes and nativities:

As if the planet's first aspect The tender infant did infect In soul and body, and instil All future good and future ill; Which in their dark fatalities lurking, At destined periods fall a-working, And break out, like the hidden seeds Of long diseases, into deeds, In friends.h.i.+ps, enmities, and strife.

And all th' emergencies of life.

[3] Preface to the _Rudolphine Tables_.

[4] It is commonly stated that Bacon opposed the Copernican theory because he disliked Gilbert, who had advocated it. 'Bacon,' says one of his editors, 'was too jealous of Gilbert to entertain one moment any doctrine that he advanced.' But, apart from the incredible littleness of mind which this explanation imputes to Bacon, it would also have been an incredible piece of folly on Bacon's part to advocate an inferior theory while a rival was left to support a better theory. Bacon saw clearly enough that men were on their way to the discovery of the true theory, and, so far as in him lay, he indicated how they should proceed in order most readily to reach the truth. It must, then, have been from conviction, not out of mere contradiction, that Bacon declared himself in favour of the Ptolemaic system. In fact, he speaks of the diurnal motion of the earth as 'an opinion which we can demonstrate to be most false;' doubtless having in his thoughts some such arguments as misled Tycho Brahe.

[5] To Bacon's theological contemporaries this must have seemed a dreadful heresy, and possibly in our own days the a.s.sertion would be judged scarcely less harshly, seeing that the observance of the (so-called) Sabbath depends directly upon the belief in quite another origin of the week. Yet there can be little question that the week really had its origin in astrological formulae.

[6] In Bohn's edition the word 'defective' is here used, entirely changing the meaning of the sentence. Bacon registers an _Astrologia Sana_ amongst the things needed for the advancement of learning, whereas he is made to say that such an astrology must be registered as defective.

[7] The astrologers were exceedingly ingenious in showing that their art had given warning of the great plague and fire of London. Thus, the star which marks the Bull's northern horn--and which is described by Ptolemy as like Mars--was, they say, exactly in that part of the sign Gemini which is the ascendant of London, in 1666. Lilly, however, for whom they claim the credit of predicting the year of this calamity, laid no claim himself to that achievement; nay, specially denied that he knew when the fire was to happen. The story is rather curious. In 1651 Lilly had published his _Monarchy or no Monarchy_, which contained a number of curious hieroglyphics. Amongst these were two (see frontispiece) which appeared to portend plague and fire respectively. The hieroglyphic of the plague represents three dead bodies wrapped in death-clothes, and for these bodies two coffins lie ready and two graves are being dug; whence it was to be inferred that the number of deaths would exceed the supply of coffins and graves. The hieroglyphic of the fire represents several persons, gentlefolk on one side and commonfolk on the other, emptying water vessels on a furious fire into which two children are falling headlong. The occurrence of the plague in 1665 attracted no special notice to Lilly's supposed prediction of that event, though probably many talked of the coincidence as remarkable. But when in 1666 the great fire occurred, the House of Commons summoned Lilly to attend the committee appointed to enquire into the cause of the fire. 'At two of the clock on Friday, the 25th of October 1666,' he attended in the Speaker's chamber, 'to answer such questions as should then and there be asked him.' Sir Robert Brooke spoke to this effect: 'Mr. Lilly, this committee thought fit to summon you to appear before them this day, to know if you can say anything as to the cause of the late fire, or whether there might be any design therein. You are called the rather hither, because in a book of yours long since printed, you hinted some such thing by one of your hieroglyphics.' Unto which he replied: 'May it please your honours, after the beheading of the late king, considering that in the three subsequent years the Parliament acted nothing which concerned the settlement of the nation's peace, and seeing the generality of the people dissatisfied, the citizens of London discontented, and the soldiery p.r.o.ne to mutiny, I was desirous, according to the best knowledge G.o.d had given me, to make enquiry by the art I studied, what might, from that time, happen unto the Parliament and nation in general. At last, having satisfied myself as well as I could, and perfected my judgment therein, I thought it most convenient to signify my intentions and conceptions thereof in forms, shapes, types, hieroglyphics, etc., without any commentary, that so my judgment might be concealed from the vulgar, and made manifest only unto the wise; I herein imitating the examples of many wise philosophers who had done the like. Having found, sir, that the great city of London should be sadly afflicted with a great plague, and not long after with an exorbitant fire, I framed these two hieroglyphics, as represented in the book, which in effect have proved very true.' 'Did you foresee the year?' said one. 'I did not,' said Lilly; 'nor was desirous; of that I made no scrutiny. Now, sir, whether there was any design of burning the city, or any employed to that purpose, I must deal ingenuously with you, that since the fire I have taken much pains in the search thereof, but cannot or could not give myself the least satisfaction therein. I conclude that it was the finger of G.o.d only; but what instruments He used thereunto I am ignorant.'

[8] Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek were evidently not well taught in astrology. 'Shall we set about some revels?' says the latter.

'What shall we do else?' says Toby; 'were we not born under Taurus?'

'Taurus, that's sides and heart,' says sapient Andrew. 'No, sir,'

responds Toby, 'it's legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper.'