Chapter I: Part 1

ROUND THE YEAR
WITH THE STARS

THE CHIEF BEAUTIES OF
THE STARRY HEAVENS AS
SEEN WITH THE NAKED EYE

BY

GARRETT P. SERVISS

AUTHOR OF
“ASTRONOMY WITH THE NAKED EYE”
“CURIOSITIES OF THE SKY” ETC.

WITH MAPS SHOWING THE ASPECT OF
THE SKY IN EACH OF THE FOUR SEASONS
AND CHARTS REVEALING THE OUTLINES
OF THE CONSTELLATIONS AND THE
DESIGNATIONS OF THE PRINCIPAL STARS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

HARPER _&_ BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
MCMX

Copyright, 1910, by HARPER & BROTHERS

Published September, 1910.

_Printed in the United States of America_

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

PREFACE 7

INTRODUCTION 9

I. THE EVENING SKY AT THE VERNAL EQUINOX 21

II. THE EVENING SKY AT THE SUMMER SOLSTICE 50

III. THE EVENING SKY AT THE AUTUMNAL EQUINOX 71

IV. THE EVENING SKY AT THE WINTER SOLSTICE 93

V. THE PLANETS 118

APPENDIX 129

PRONUNCIATION OF STAR AND CONSTELLATION NAMES 141

INDEX 143

LIST OF CHARTS

PAGE

CHART I. THE VERNAL EVENING SKY 23

CHART II. THE SUMMER EVENING SKY 51

CHART III. THE AUTUMN EVENING SKY 73

CHART IV. THE WINTER EVENING SKY 95

CHART V. THE FIRST SIX HOURS FROM THE VERNAL
EQUINOX 134

CHART VI. FROM VI H. TO XII H. FROM THE VERNAL
EQUINOX 135

CHART VII. FROM XII H. TO XVIII H. FROM THE VERNAL
EQUINOX 136

CHART VIII. FROM XVIII H. TO XXIV H. FROM THE
VERNAL EQUINOX 137

CHART IX. POLAR CONSTELLATIONS FROM VI H. TO
XVIII H. 138

CHART X. POLAR CONSTELLATIONS FROM XVIII H. TO
VI H. 139

PREFACE

This book represents an attempt to cultivate the love of the stars, and to offer a guiding hand to all those who are willing to believe that some of the most exquisite joys of life are to be found, like scattered and unregarded gems, waiting to be picked up by any chance wayfarer who, without special knowledge, or optical aids, or mathematical attainments, or any of the paraphernalia or advantages of the professional astronomer, will simply turn his eyes to the sky and open his mind to its plain teachings and its supernal inspirations.

The writer’s only real excuse for appearing again in this particular field is that he has never yet finished a book, and seen it go forth, without feeling that he had overlooked, or cast aside, or of necessity omitted a multitude of things quite as interesting and important as any he had touched upon. Accordingly, he yields once more to the lure of this inexhaustible and illimitable subject, and strives again to find expression for the thoughts which it continually awakens, and to exhibit, however imperfectly, the endless procession of marvels which stream before him who knows and loves the stars like a dazzling _rivière_ of brilliants.

This book in no way duplicates another work of the same hand, _Astronomy with the Naked Eye_. In _that_ the effort was to revive the romance of the constellations by retelling their fascinating history, their mythology, their immemorial legends and traditions, and indicating their poetic background in the presence of the imaginary figures which, “from times of which the memory of man runneth not to the contrary,” have been associated with them; in _this_ the writer tries to draw the reader into more intimate relations with the stars by dwelling upon their individual peculiarities and beauties, and the impressions which either singly or in constellated groups they make upon the mind of the beholder. Surely there is not another field of human contemplation so wondrously rich as astronomy! It is so easy to reach, so responsive to every mood, so stimulating, uplifting, abstracting, and infinitely consoling. Everybody may not be a chemist, a geologist, a mathematician, but everybody may be and ought to be, in a modest, personal way, an astronomer, for star-gazing is a great medicine of the soul. There is the writer’s text.

INTRODUCTION

The charts illustrating this book have been drawn by the writer especially to meet the needs of beginners--of those who, feeling what a void in their intellectual life ignorance of the stars has created, would now fill that void, and thus round out their spiritual being with some knowledge of Nature on her most majestic and yet most beautiful and winning side.

On account of the necessarily diminutive scale of the charts, everything has been omitted from them which did not seem essential. But for the purpose in view they gain by this process of exclusion, for with more details they would have been confusing. It is the broad, general aspect of the sky with which the beginner must first familiarize himself. At the start the heavens appear to him to be filled with an innumerable multitude of scintillating sparks, scattered everywhere in disorder. But with a little attention he perceives that there is discipline in this host, and immediately the discovery gives him pleasure and awakens his admiration, as the perception of order always does. The great leaders of the firmament come forth, unmistakable, plainly recognizable, and thereupon the rank and file fall into their places. Then the ineffable beauty of the whole assemblage bursts like a revelation upon the mind. This revelation is not for the dull in spirit, but he who has once had it becomes henceforth, and even in spite of previous prejudice or indifference, a devotee of the stars, with a zeal flaming brighter with every swing of the pendulum of his years.

In the four circular charts representing the aspect of the heavens respectively at the Vernal Equinox, the Summer Solstice, the Autumnal Equinox, and the Winter Solstice, few stars fainter than the fourth magnitude are included, and not all even of that magnitude, because the sole purpose is to enable the beginner to recognize the constellations by their characteristic groupings of stars and their relative situations in the sky. The insuperable difficulty is to picture the _hemispherical_ sky on a _flat_ page. A certain amount of distortion cannot be avoided, and the reader’s imagination must supply the effect of perspective. He must always remember that the centre of the chart stands for the middle of the sky _overhead_, and that the circular boundary represents the full round of the horizon, from east through south, west, and north, to east again. If he is comparing the chart with the sky while facing south, he should hold the chart upright as it is printed in the book; if he makes the comparison while facing north, he should turn the chart upside down. If he lies on his back with his head to the north (and in no other way can one get so vast an impression of the starry dome), and holds the chart over his head, it will represent the entire vault of the firmament.

The names of the constellations will be found on the charts, and also the individual names of the most celebrated stars, but the constellation boundaries are not shown, because, in nine cases out of ten, the precise limits of a constellation are not important for the beginner to know, and to search for them would simply lead to confusion. As he progresses in his knowledge of the sky any uncertainty about the constellation to which particular stars belong can be settled by consulting the six charts, drawn to a larger scale, at the end of the book. On _these_ charts more of the small stars are shown, and in addition there will be found the Greek letters which astronomers attach to the principal stars of each constellation for the sake of ready identification. On these charts, too, the constellation boundaries will be seen, indicated by dotted lines. The tracing of these lines is more or less a matter of arbitrary choice. There are no international boundary disputes among the heavenly powers, and the frontier lines may run anywhere, provided only that they do not include in one constellation any stars which by common usage, or prescription, belong to another. The constellations have been reshaped many times in the past. The “geography of the heavens” has known as many changes as that of the earth, the ambition of the old astronomers being sometimes as insatiable as that of founders of terrestrial kingdoms and empires. About three centuries ago the starry sky was “Christianized,” St. Matthew, St. Peter, St. John, St. Joseph, St. Michael, St. Stephen, St. Gabriel, St. Mary Magdalen, St. Katharine, together with Noah, Aaron, Job, and Eve, taking the places of the heathen gods, goddesses, and heroes in the sky, while Saturn became Adam, Jupiter Moses, Mars Joshua, Mercury Elias, Venus St. John Baptist (!), the Moon the Virgin Mary, and the Sun Christ (see Appendix). It is not an unheard-of thing in uranography (“description of the heavens”; analogue to geography) for a star, or a group of stars, to change allegiance, or even to belong to two constellations at the same time. The bright star Alpheratz is still an example of this double nationality, for, although it shines on the head of Andromeda and is her jewel _par excellence_, yet her neighbor Pegasus also lays claim to the star, and uranographers so far admit the justice of his claim that they call Alpheratz, according to circumstances, either Alpha (α) Andromedæ or Delta (δ) Pegasi.

For many of their purposes astronomers find no use for the constellations, preferring to identify the stars by their position in right ascension and declination (equivalent to longitude and latitude), and in the great modern _Durchmusterungs_, or star catalogues, this plan is universally followed. Still, the constellations afford a very convenient classification of the stars, and probably they will never be abandoned even by professional astronomers; while from another standpoint they never can be abandoned, because they are among the most ancient and precious of human documents, valuable for history and for the understanding of mythology, and resistlessly charming in their poetic associations.

But, to return to the description of the charts, the reader should be informed as to the meaning of the lines shown upon them, and of the indications found round their borders. In the four circular charts the closed curve crossing the sky from right to left represents the equator of the heavens, which is directly over the equator of the earth; the vertical line through the centre shows the meridian, or north and south line, which, so to speak, follows the observer wherever he may go, occupying the same place in the sky, _at the same hour of local time_, in all longitudes; and the dotted curve is the ecliptic, or the apparent annual path of the sun through the sky. The crossing points of the equator and the ecliptic are respectively the Vernal and the Autumnal Equinox, where the sun is at the two dates in the year when day and night are of equal length; and the farthest northern and southern points of the ecliptic are respectively the Summer and the Winter Solstice, where the sun is at the times of the longest and the shortest days in our hemisphere. These four fundamental points are all shown on the charts. Around the border the hours of right ascension are indicated by Roman numerals. Each hour corresponds to 15° of space, or one twenty-fourth of a circle of the sphere. The hours begin at the Vernal Equinox, which is graphically described as the “Greenwich of the Sky.”

In the larger-scale charts at the end of the book the hours of right ascension are indicated at the bottom, and the degrees of north and south declination (the sign + standing for north and - for south) are shown at the side. In both cases the declination is reckoned from the equator. The four oblong charts of this series, taken together, represent the entire circuit of sky between 40° north and 40° south declination, and the two semicircular charts, taken together, show the stars within 50° of the north pole. Thus the entire set of six charts exhibits the complete dome of the heavens from the north pole to 40° south declination. In passing from the oblong to the semicircular charts it is only necessary to bring the hours of right ascension into accord. In the semicircular charts the hours will be found round the curved borders.

Each of the four circular charts in the body of the book represents the aspect of the _evening_ sky at one of the equinoctial or solstitial epochs. To be more precise, these charts show the sky as it appears, at about the latitude of New York, at 10 P.M., on, respectively, March 20th (the Vernal Equinox), June 21st (the Summer Solstice), September 23d (the Autumnal Equinox), and December 22d (the Winter Solstice).

But the reader must not think that it is necessary to confine himself to the exact latitude, date, or hour just mentioned. Undoubtedly it would be better for the beginner to do that approximately, but it is not essential. The effect of a change of latitude is, perhaps, the least important. If the observer is farther south than about 40° north latitude, the southern stars will appear higher in the sky than they are shown in the charts, and some of the stars close to the northern horizon will sink from view. If, on the other hand, he is farther north (as in Canada or Northern Europe), the northern stars will appear higher, and some of those near the southern horizon will be invisible. But if he confines his attention to the stars and constellations represented in the central parts of the charts (which he should, in any case, do for other reasons), the effect of the shift due to difference of latitude will not be found very serious.

As to the effects of a departure from the hours and dates for which the charts are drawn, they, too, can readily be allowed for. Suppose that, without changing the date, the reader makes his observations an hour earlier than that given, say at 9 P.M., March 20th. Then he will find that some of the eastern stars, seen along the left-hand edge of the chart when it is held upright, have not yet come into view above the horizon, while other stars, not seen on the chart drawn for that date, are visible above the horizon in the west. To the stars thus carried out of, or brought into, view he should pay no attention; he will find them again on other charts when they are better placed for observation.

Next, suppose that without changing the hour of observation he changes the date, and instead of observing on the 20th of March he observes on the 5th. Then he will notice precisely the same difference that was manifest when his observation was made an hour too early on March 20th--_i. e._, some of the eastern stars on the chart will not yet have risen, and other stars, not on that particular chart, will be visible in the west. Although at first all this may be a little confusing to the beginner, he will soon find that he can make due allowance for the changes of aspect. The whole matter becomes very simple when it is remembered that the heavens have a double revolution toward the west; one of these revolutions, due to the earth’s rotation on its axis, being effected in twenty-four hours, and the other, due to the earth’s revolution round the sun, requiring an entire year. One hour of the daily revolution (represented by an hour of right ascension) produces the same effect on the position of the stars as two weeks of the annual revolution; or two hours of the first correspond to one month of the second.

If the observations are made at a later date or a later hour than those indicated on the chart, the changes will occur in the reverse order--_i. e._, western stars will have disappeared and eastern stars will have come up into view.

I particularly wish to impress upon the beginner the needlessness of being troubled about these discrepancies. He can avoid all possibility of perplexity by fitting his observations to the exact times of the charts. As I have already said, a difference of a few degrees in his latitude on the earth may be disregarded. The charts, with a slight allowance for the shift of position of the extreme northern and southern stars, are available for any of the middle latitudes of the northern hemisphere. And if the effects of a change of hour or date prove in the least confusing, the beginner has only to await the given date and the given hour, and all will be clear. Then, as soon as he has become familiar with a few of the leading constellations, the others, which in themselves are not so easily recognizable, will fall into their proper places, after which there can be no possibility of confusion. In fact, much less effort is required to become familiar with the aspect of the starry sky than is demanded for a similar acquaintance with the fundamental data of botany, mineralogy, geology, or any other of the observational branches of natural science.

It was at first the intention to indicate the course of the Milky Way on the circular charts by dotted outlines, but this was abandoned in view of the restricted space. Any one can easily trace the meanderings and branchings of this starry scarf, the contemplation of which carries the mind to greater heights of intellectual perspective than any other phenomenon of the world of matter. If the reader has the good-fortune to be situated where artificial lights do not interfere with the splendor of the heavens, he can observe the course of the Milky Way on any clear night; and, if he possesses skill in delineation, he may make charts of it and its offshoots which will be of real value. Better still if he has the means of photographing it. Here is a non-mathematical field of astronomy which is ripe for the harvest, and in which the laborers are few. The Milky Way is so full of wonders that centuries of observation and study cannot exhaust them. There is nothing more impressive than to see how it often follows curves of lucid stars as if some mysterious attraction were drawing it toward them; and yet it itself consists of stars.

A few more words of practical advice to the beginner. Let him, at first, confine himself to the bright and conspicuous stars and the striking groups shown in the charts, assigning each to its proper constellation. When he has become familiar with these in their broadest aspects, he can turn to the charts at the end of the book and familiarize himself with the constellation boundaries. After that, if he wishes to go further, as he almost certainly will, he can obtain a large star atlas, furnish himself with a telescope, and open up a new side of his life which will make him rejoice to be, for a few short years, a dweller on a planet inhabited by beings intelligent enough to lift their eyes above the horizon and to feed their minds with the inspirations of the universe.

Yet another thing, which may be a novelty to many, and which is sure to afford unexpected pleasure--when you have fairly learned the constellations, take a mirror and study them by reflection. This is a counsel of intimacy. Orion will seem less remote and more comprehensible when his living image is enclosed in a frame, which you can hold on your lap like an album. There is something startling in the sight of the starry heavens under your feet. I once enjoyed the sensation in perfection while stalking deer in a boat at midnight on the placid bosom of a forest pond. The water was as motionless as so many acres of black glass, and I forgot to look for the deer, in the shaft of light from the hooded “flare” at the bow, when we seemed to be drifting out into an ocean of ether, in the middle of the sky, with stars below as well as stars above. When we silently crossed the pond, and got far from the shores, the sensation was overpowering; it took one’s breath away. We drifted right over the Milky Way, and Vega, Altair, and the “Northern Cross” gleamed beneath the keel. Be sure that your mirror is freshly silvered and clean, and remember the reversals of position which all reflections produce. If you hold the mirror before you inclined downward, the position of objects in the sky will be reversed top for bottom; if you hold it inclined upward, so as to see objects behind your head, they will be reversed right for left. With these precautions you will find the mirror a great convenience for studying constellations which are nearly overhead. It is the principle of the “diagonal prism” employed with telescopes, and of the hand-mirrors used by many visitors at the Vatican Palace to view with comfort the ceiling pictures of Michael Angelo in the Sistine Chapel. Thus the sky becomes an atlas, and you can study its living charts at leisure.

ROUND THE YEAR WITH THE STARS

I

THE EVENING SKY AT THE VERNAL EQUINOX

The year has its morning no less unmistakable in its characteristic features than the dawn of the day. The earth and all of its inhabitants feel the subtle influences of the dawning year, and Nature awakes at their touch. This annual morning comes when the sun transits the equator, moving north, at the beginning of his long summer tour, about the 20th of March. This is the epoch of the Vernal Equinox, when the springs of life begin, once more, to flow. Then the sun truly rises on the northern hemisphere. Then the mighty world of the north, which Providence has made the chief abode of vital organisms on this planet, rouses itself and shakes off the apathy of winter, and men, animals, and plants, each after their manner, renew their activities, and in many cases their very existence. This annual reawakening is one of the profoundest phenomena of nature, and there are secrets in it which science has not yet penetrated.

Bliss Carman has beautifully pictured the terrestrial charms of the vernal season in his “Spring’s Saraband”:

“Over the hills of April,
With soft winds hand in hand,
Impassionate and dreamy-eyed
Spring leads her saraband.
Her garments float and gather
And swirl along the plain,
Her headgear is the golden sun,
Her cloak the silver rain.”

But why do not the poets see and express the hyperphysical charm of the spring evenings? When the light of the vernal day has faded the stars come forth, and in the quality of their shining reduplicate and heighten the impressions left by the quickening landscapes. More than half is lost if this be missed. But perhaps this side of nature is too transcendent even for poetry. One can behold but not tell it. Emerson has come nearest to its expression, and he puts it in prose:

“The grass grows, the buds burst, the meadow is spotted with fire and gold in the tint of the flowers. The air is full of birds, and sweet with the breath of the pine, the balm-of-Gilead, and the new hay. _Night brings no gloom to the heart with its welcome shade._ Through the transparent darkness the stars pour their almost spiritual rays. Man under them seems a young child, and his huge globe a toy. The cool night bathes the world as with a river, and prepares his eyes again for the crimson dawn.”

There was not only poetic but logical fitness in the old English custom, abandoned since 1751, of dating the opening of the year from the last week of March. How can the real birth of the year be imagined to occur when all nature is still deep in slumber under the January snows? The seasons are manifestly the children of the sun, waxing and waning with his strength, and surely that one should be reckoned the eldest which is the first birth of his vivific springtime rays. It seems remarkable that the beginning of the year in ancient times, when men felt more keenly than we do now the symbolism of natural phenomena, was not more frequently fixed at, or near, the Vernal Equinox, and I suspect some defect in our information on this subject. In Attica, George Cornewell Lewis tells us, the year began at the Summer Solstice. But this was to make the second of the sun’s seasonal offspring the senior, thus ignoring the just claim of the true heir, the season of buds. In Sparta and Macedonia, according to the same authority, the year began with the Autumnal Equinox, which was still worse, for in summer the year is at the zenith of its life, while in autumn it is already stumbling toward the tomb. In Bœotia, at Delphi, and in Bithynia they contradicted nature more decidedly, as we do to-day, by making the year begin at the Winter Solstice, when the chilled world is yet asleep. The Romans adopted this plan eventually, but it is interesting to observe that they had an older custom of beginning the year in March, which many cherished in their domestic life as well as for some legal purposes, after the lawful opening of the year had been fixed on the 1st of January. And finally _we_ have perpetuated the illogical system of absolutely reversing nature’s rule in the succession of the seasons by making the year begin about nine days after the Winter Solstice. But in spite of calendars and laws nature prevails, and everybody instinctively feels that the true beginning of the year is in the season when the currents of life resume their youthful flow. At any rate, however it may be with strictly terrestrial affairs, that is the time when the call of the stars becomes the most insistent and irresistible. Accordingly the epoch of the Vernal Equinox is chosen for our opening chapter. But the reader at the commencement of his star-gazing is not confined to this season; he can begin at any time convenient to him.

To avoid misapprehension it is important to point out that our concern is not with that half of the heavens which the sun illumines when he crosses the equator, coming north, at the Vernal Equinox, but with the diametrically opposite half, where in countless multitudes shine his fellow suns--his peers, his inferiors, and his superiors--turning physical night into intellectual day. Accordingly, in Chart I we see not that part of the sky which contains the point called the Vernal Equinox, but the opposite part, where the sun pursues his course when he is declining from the Summer Solstice toward the Autumnal Equinox. The chart represents the appearance of the sky at 10 P.M. on the 20th of March (see Introduction). It also represents the sky as it appears about 11.30 P.M. at the beginning of March, about 9 P.M. the first week of April, and 8 P.M. about April 20th.

Let us, then, near one of these dates and hours, go out-of-doors and transport ourselves to the universe. Why does not everybody feel the thrill that comes to the astronomer when, with eager expectation, he watches the fading sunset light, the slow withdrawal of the vast curtain of illuminated air which for twelve hours has hidden the prodigious marvel of the spangled heavens, and the first peering forth of the great stars? I believe that everybody _does_ feel it when he gives himself the opportunity and abandons his mind to its own reflections--but so few embrace the opportunity or encourage the reflections!

Select, if possible, a high place, where the eyes can range round the whole horizon unobstructed. Then try to seize the entire view at once, as one glances for the first time at the map of a new country. Get the _ensemble_ by sweeping all around the sky, not pausing to note details, but catching at a glance the location of the brighter stars and those that form striking groups. Note where the Milky Way runs, a faint, silvery zone at this season, arched across the western half of the firmament, hanging like starry gossamers in places, brilliant in the northwest, but becoming fainter as it dips toward the southwestern horizon--a mere anticipation of its summer splendor, hiding its light and fading away as it approaches the imperial presence of Sirius. Notice the great hexagon of first magnitude stars that surrounds Orion in the west--Sirius, Rigel, Aldebaran, Capella, Castor and Pollux, and Procyon marking the angles, and Betelgeuse glittering not far from the centre of the figure. Observe Regulus with the “Sickle” of Leo on the meridian. Look for the glimmer of the “Beehive” in Cancer, between Gemini and Leo, and for the pentangular head of Hydra beneath it. Still lower you will see the reddish gleam of the starry serpent’s heart, Cor Hydræ, or Alphard, and then, running eastward, and dipping ever nearer the horizon, the long, winding line of his stars passing under the overset cup of Crater and the quadrilateral of Corvus, the “Crow,” until they disappear, unended, in the southeast, for from mid-heaven to the horizon there is not space enough to display all of these beautiful coils, which take a kind of life as you watch them.

Away over in the east, close to the ecliptic, you will see Virgo with her diamond, Spica, flashing in her hand. You are now facing east; to your left, then, north of Spica, glows great Arcturus, with his attendants shaping the figure of Boötes. Of Arcturus, a star that among a million finds no rival, we shall speak more particularly elsewhere. Farther to the left, beyond Boötes, shines the exquisite “Northern Crown,” Corona Borealis. That too will claim attention in a later chapter. The square of Hercules is just above the horizon below the Crown in the northeast, and to its left, as you face north, is seen the diamond-shaped head of Draco, the “Great Dragon” that Athena was fabled to have entangled with the axis of the world. His stars wind upward between the “Dippers”--the “Little Dipper,” which has the Polestar at the end of its handle, and the “Great Dipper,” which, brim downward, shines east of the meridian, almost as high as the zenith, if you are as far north as 40° or more. The handle of the “Great Dipper” is the tail of Ursa Major, who treads lumberingly about the pole, with his back downward, his head out-thrust west of the meridian, and his feet, marked by three striking pairs of stars, up in the middle of the sky. On the meridian south of Ursa Major stands the “Sickle” of Leo already mentioned. Away round in the northwest, beyond Capella, are Perseus and Cassiopeia, immersed in the Milky Way.

Having fixed the location and general appearance of all these constellations in the mind, you are prepared to study them, and their stars, in more detail. Let us begin in the east. For some occult reason the rising stars always seem more attractive than those that are near setting. In the east, then, the eye is at once drawn to the beautiful Spica, which the impassive, immemorial Virgo wears as her only ornament. It is a fascinating star with its pure white rays, dashed with swift gleams of exquisite color as the atmospheric waves roll over it. There is not another equal to it in the impression of purity which it gives. We may imagine that some dim sense of this immaculate quality in the light of Spica led to the naming of the constellation the “Virgin,” thus called by nearly all peoples, each in its own language: Παρθέυος, Kóρη, _Puella_, _Kauni_, _She-Sang-Neu_, _Pucella_, _Vièrge_, _Mæden_, _Jungfrau_, _Virgine_--all, ancient and modern, Greek, Roman, Indian, Chinese, Norman, French, Anglo-Saxon, German, Italian, and English worshipping together at this shrine of ideal purity. If the Assyrians made her the wife of Bel that was hardly a disparagement, for Bel was the sun. So, too, the identification of Virgo with the Greek Persephone, the Roman Ceres, and the Jewish Bethula, all goddesses concerned with the harvest and the fertility of the land, in no way detracted from her virginal character, nor did her association with Astræa, the goddess of justice.

Beside Spica, Virgo has no very bright stars, and it is hardly doubtful that the imaginary purity ascribed to the constellation was derived entirely from the unsullied whiteness of Spica. While gazing at that beautiful star all of these associations, coming from times so remote and peoples so distant, crowd into the mind, increasing the interest with which one regards it. The nations who named it the vernal star, before all others, have gone the way of terrestrial things, but the star remains, as pearly fair as when Aratus sang to it:

“Lo, the Virgin!...
Her favor be upon us!”

Then science comes to carry the thoughts to grander, if less romantic, heights. Spica, it tells us, is a sun which might well claim to be included in Newcomb’s wonderful “XM” class--_i. e._, stars excelling our sun at least _ten thousand times_ in splendor, for, notwithstanding the brilliance with which it delights us, it is so remote that no certain estimate of its distance can be made, its parallax escaping measurement--what, then, must be the intolerable blaze with which it illumines its immediate neighborhood! But when Science begins her revelations no man can foretell the wonders that she will discover. The spectroscope avers that Spica is speeding hitherward at a pace of more than 32,000 miles per hour! Each night that star is almost 700,000 miles nearer than it was the night before, and yet it is not perceptibly brighter than it was in the days of Homer. Such are the star depths! Such is the measureless playground of the spinning suns! Then Science, inspired by its spectroscopic sibyl, whispers another startling word in our ears: That core of white fire glowing so softly in the vernal midnight has an invisible companion star, with which it circles in an orbit 6,000,000 miles in diameter, and every four days they complete a swing in their mighty waltz!

The star Epsilon (ε) in Virgo (see Chart VII, at the end of the book) is _Vindemiatrix_, the “Grape-gatherer,” thus named from some imagined association with the vintage. _Mukdim-al-Kitaf_, “The Forerunner of the Vintage,” the Arabs called it, taking their hint from the Greeks before them. Admiral Smyth, in his _Cycle of Celestial Objects_, has these curious lines on this star:

“Would you the Star of Bacchus find on noble Virgo’s wing,
A lengthy ray from Hydra’s heart unto Arcturus bring;
Two-thirds along that fancied line direct th’ inquiring eye,
And there the jewel will be seen, south of Cor Caroli.”

The reader may be interested in trying the star-loving admiral’s plan for finding _Vindemiatrix_.

Gamma (γ) is _Porrima_, a prophetic goddess of ancient Latium, consulted especially by the women. But for us this star is most interesting as being one of the first binaries discovered in the heavens. It is a charming object for a small telescope. The two components revolve round their common centre of gravity in a period of about one hundred and eighty years.

As the reader progresses in his studies he will find Virgo full of interesting objects, including the celebrated “Field of the Nebulæ,” marked out by the stars Beta (β), Gamma (γ), Delta (δ), Epsilon (ε), and Eta (η); but to see the nebulæ, which are thickly scattered there, he must have a powerful telescope.

Southwest of Virgo, but near the southeastern horizon, the quadrilateral figure of the constellation Corvus, the “Crow,” catches the eye. Its brightest star is of less than the second magnitude, yet by their apparent association the four stars immediately attract attention. One sees no special reason why the figures marked out by these stars should be likened to the form of a bird; but it was a raven to both the Greeks and the Romans, and similarly symbolical to other early peoples. The Arabs, however, at first called it the “Tent,” a designation which at least had a real resemblance for its basis. But these stars possess a charm independent of any fancied likeness to terrestrial things. In looking at them we do not think of the billions of miles which actually separate them from each other, but only of their seeming companionship. If, on the other hand, we force ourselves to consider the immense distances between them the mind is overwhelmed with the reflection that here, plainly staked out before us, is a field of space of absolutely unthinkable magnitude with its angles as clearly marked as if a celestial surveyor had placed corner-stones there. Note that the star Alpha (α), once the leader of the constellation in brightness as well as in alphabetical rank, is now so faint that you have to look for it where it shrinks, in half concealment, below one of its now brighter neighbors. These abasements are not very uncommon among the stars. Their glory, too, is mutable; they also have their ups and downs. The Arabic name for Alpha (α) was _Al Chiba_, or _Al Hiba_, meaning the “Tent.” Gamma (γ), now the brightest star of the constellation, was called _Gienah_, the “Wing,” and Delta (δ), _Algorab_, or _Al Ghurab_, the Arabic name for “Raven,” but Beta (β), which is perhaps as bright as Gamma (γ), has no special designation.

From Corvus the eye wanders naturally to its neighbor on the west, Crater, the “Cup.” Both of these constellations rest on the back of the long serpentine Hydra. Crater is far less conspicuous than Corvus; but its resemblance to a cup is rather striking, although the imaginary vessel lies tipped up on its side with the open part toward the east. Among the many ascriptions of this starry cup in ancient mythology to various gods and goddesses, none is more interesting than that which made it the cup of Medea, thus including Crater among the numerous constellations which were associated in the imagination of the Greeks with their great romance of the Argonautic Expedition. Its brightest stars are only of the fourth and fifth magnitudes, and individually not worth much attention.

Hydra, which stretches its immense coils across about seven hours of right ascension, passing under Cancer, Leo, Crater, Corvus, Virgo, and a part of Libra, also carries the mind back through the golden mists of the morning of Greek mythology to the adventures of Jason and his crew of Argonauts, for it was once identified with the Aonian Dragon. It would be interesting to inquire how much of the perennial fascination of this ancient romance may be due to its traditional association with the stars. Look first at the head of Hydra, now well west of the meridian, below the glimmering “Beehive” in Cancer. It is marked by five stars of various magnitudes making an irregular pentagon. Then let the eye follow the line down southeastward until it encounters Cor Hydræ, or _Alphard_, the latter its Arabic name, meaning the “Solitary One.” It is of the second magnitude and of a reddish color, and the space about it is vacant of conspicuous stars. There is an attraction about these solitary bright stars that is almost mystical, their very loneliness lending interest to the view, as when one watches some distant snow-clad peak gleaming in the rays of sunset after all the lower mountains have sunk into the blue shadows of coming night. Cor Hydræ is the Alpha (α) of its constellation.

Above Hydra, northeast of Cor Hydræ, at the crossing of the ecliptic and the meridian, is the great star Regulus in Leo, the “Lion.” It stands at the lower end of the handle of a very distinctly marked sickle-shaped figure, which includes the breast, head, and mane of the imaginary lion. Regulus is not only a beautiful star, but it possesses much practical importance as one of the principal “nautical stars,” having been employed by sailors ever since the beginning of navigation to determine their place at sea. The sun almost runs over this star about the 20th of August, and every month the moon passes close beside it, and sometimes occults it. Thus it serves as a golden mile-stone in the sky. It has strangely affected the imagination of mankind in all ages. From the remotest times it has everywhere been known as the “royal star” _par excellence_. In Greek it was =βασιλίσκος=, in Latin _Rex_, from which Copernicus constructed our name, Regulus. There are three other “royal stars,” Aldebaran, Antares, and Fomalhaut, but Regulus has always been, in a certain way, their chief. For five thousand years it has been believed, traditionally, to control the affairs of heaven, and the astrologers have seized upon this idea by making it the natal star of kings, and those destined to kingly achievements and rule. In our age of science we may safely indulge these fancies; they can now do no harm, and they add immensely to the interest with which we regard the star that gave birth to them. When the “Royal Star” crosses high on the meridian in the vernal evenings, the imagination is thrown back over almost the whole course of the history of the Aryan race, and the rays of Regulus bring again the dreams of Babylon and Nineveh, of Greece and Rome, of India, and of the star-watching deserts of Arabia. Cyrus, in his conquering marches, may have looked to that star for help and inspiration, for it was the heavenly guardian of the Persian monarchs.

The spectroscope tells us that Regulus, like Spica, is approaching us, but less rapidly, drawing nearer about 475,000 miles per day. But its distance is 950,000,000,000,000 miles (parallax 0″.02), and it outshines the sun one thousand times.

The second star above Regulus, in the curve of the sickle’s blade, is Gamma (γ), or _Algieba_ (Arabic the “Forehead”), a beautiful double, probably binary, with a period of revolution which Doberck has estimated at about four hundred years. The larger star of the pair is golden-orange and the smaller bronze-green, a marvellous contrast, and an ordinary telescope shows well the spectacle, the distance between the components being 3″.78. And this wonderful pair is rushing toward the solar system at the rate of _two million miles per day_. Yet so great is its distance that we have no record that in a thousand years men have noticed a brightening of the headlight of this terrible locomotive of space! But probably the more refined methods of the present time, if applied for a similar period, would reveal an ominous expansion of that oncoming light. Gamma is interesting as marking, roughly, the spot in the sky which was the apparent centre of radiation for the November meteors, which were last seen in their splendor in 1866-67, their return in 1899-1900, for which the world had long been waiting, having been prevented by the disturbing attraction of Jupiter and Saturn, which shifted their orbit.

The “Sickle” in its entirety is an attractive asterism, and hanging so conspicuously in the sky on a spring evening it may be imaginatively regarded as a harbinger of the opening of the season when the thoughts of men are turning to preparations for future harvests. In the height of the harvest season the “Sickle” sets near sundown, then no longer standing upright, but lying along upon the horizon--a symbol of the wearied husbandman’s approaching hours of rest:

“Nor shall a starry night his hopes betray.”

Away off at the eastern end of the constellation, in the lion’s tail, shines its second star in rank, Denebola (Arabic _Al Dhanab_, the “Tail”). It too is speeding hitherward, but only half as fast as Gamma. Like Aldebaran, the name Denebola has an indefinite charm, from its full round vowel sounds, and a certain nobility in the look of it as it lies on the printed page. As with many sonorous Indian names in American geography, these old star names lose something of their effect when they are translated. It is better to take them as they stand, transcending terrestrial analogy and definition, like the sublime objects that they designate.

Northeast of Denebola lies the small constellation of Coma Berenices, “Berenice’s Hair,” remarkable for the confused glitter of the small scattered stars of which it consists. It is a constellation with a romantic history which I shall not retell here. It forms an attraction for an opera-glass.

We now return to the region of sky above the head of Hydra, west of the meridian. There the attention is arrested by a glimmering spot, a kind of starry cobweb, which represents the “Beehive” cluster in Cancer. Its classical name is _Præsepe_, the “Manger.” In _Astronomy with the Naked Eye_ will be found a copy of Galileo’s drawing of the stars of Præsepe as they appeared to him with his newly invented telescope. It is delightful to look at them on a clear night with a large opera-glass or a small telescope. They are an example of that clustering tendency so often seen among the stars, and which reaches its most wonderful manifestations in such assemblages as the famous globular clusters in Hercules and Centaurus, where countless thousands of small stars appear to be so crowded together that in the centre they run up into a perfect blaze. But in Præsepe there is no such apparent crowding, though the stars are so numerous that they resemble a swarm of bees. The probability is that none of the stars in this company is as large as our sun--although we cannot be perfectly sure because we do not know their distance--but they are, nevertheless, true stellar bodies, solar children, which seem playing together, overwatched by larger stars, waiting not far away. Plato, or his disciples, taking the suggestion from older dreamers, regarded Præsepe as a gateway of souls through which descended the spirits that were to animate the bodies of men during their earthly life. There are moods in which one can hardly consider our coldly scientific way of treating such celestial wonders as being essentially superior to the more spiritual ideas and suggestions of the visionaries of antiquity, before man became possessed with the notion that all science is summed up in measurement. Unquestionably we have more “facts,” but have we more inspiration? Are we as near to the stars as were those who knew less about them? Have we yet got the key to unlock the universe? Do many of us comprehend the _dictum_ of one of our own modern sages--“Hitch your wagon to a star”?

Cancer has no conspicuous stars, and it covers but a small space on the sky, yet as a constellation it is as old as any, and it has given us our “Tropic of Cancer,” because in ancient times, before the Precession of the Equinoxes had drifted the zodiacal signs and constellations apart, the place of the Summer Solstice, where the sun is at its northern extreme of declination, was situated in Cancer, though now we find it in Gemini, close to the borders of Taurus.

Westward from Cancer we see the great group of mighty stars and constellations of which Orion is the chief and centre, but Sirius the brightest jewel. They are now declining rapidly toward the horizon, and will be better studied at another season. They include, besides Orion, Gemini, Auriga, Taurus, Canis Major, and Canis Minor, and will be found more favorably situated in the chart devoted to the sky at the Winter Solstice. For the present, then, we turn our eyes to the northern central part of the vernal heavens. There, almost overhead, shines the “Great Bear,” Ursa Major, always recognizable by the remarkable figure of the “Great Dipper,” or, as they prefer to call it in Old England--where brimming dippers of sparkling water lifted dripping from the “old oaken bucket” are not so familiar as in New England--the “Wain,” or the “Plough.” We have already remarked that at this season the Bear has his feet uppermost in the middle of the sky and his back downward toward the pole. The Dipper, too, is now upside down, drained of its last imaginary drop, though its stars may be the more brilliant for that. The figure of the bowl is situated on the flank of the Bear, and its handle represents his impossible tail. Six of its stars are of the second magnitude, and one, at the junction of the bowl and the handle, of the third. Their Greek letters, beginning at the northwestern corner of the bowl, are, _Alpha_ (α), _Beta_ (β), _Gamma_ (γ), _Delta_ (δ), _Epsilon_ (ε), _Zeta_ (ζ), and _Eta_ (η), and their names, in the same order, _Dubhe_, _Merak_, _Phæd_, _Megrez_, _Alioth_, _Mizar_, and _Benetnasch_.

I once knew a country school-teacher who thought that he had acquired a pretty good knowledge of astronomy when he had learned these names by heart. He certainly knew more of uranography than most people. The names seem to be all of Arabic origin, and at the risk of destroying their charm I will give, from Allen’s _Star Names_, their probable significations. _Dubhe_ means simply “Bear”; _Merak_ (sometimes _Mirak_), “Loin”; _Phæd_ (sometimes _Phecda_ or _Phad_), “Thigh”; _Megrez_, “Root of the Tail”; _Alioth_, meaning uncertain, probably something to do with the tail; _Mizar_ (originally _Mirak_), “Girdle”; and _Benetnasch_ (sometimes _Alcaid_), “Chief of the Mourners,” from an Arabic phrase having that signification.

The star Megrez, now so much fainter than the others, was once as bright as any of them. It has faded within three hundred years.

Close by Mizar a fairly good eye has no difficulty in seeing a small star which is named Alcor (signification uncertain). The Arabs are said to have called these two stars the “Horse and his Rider,” and to have regarded it as a test of good vision to be able to see them both. It is certainly not a severe test at present. Mizar itself is telescopically double, presenting a beautiful sight in a small telescope, the distance asunder being about 14″. The smaller star is like an emerald in hue, and the color is usually remarked at once by the beginner in telescopic observation. The larger star is one of those strange objects called “spectroscopic binaries”--two suns locked in the embrace of gravitation and spinning round a centre so near to each other that to anything less penetrating than the magic eye of the spectroscope they appear as a single body.

Merak and Dubhe are the celebrated “Pointers,” so called because a line drawn from the former to the latter, and continued toward the pole, passes close to Polaris, the Pole-star, of which we shall presently speak. The distance between these stars is about five degrees, so that they serve as a rough measuring-stick for estimating distances in the sky. Immediately west of the meridian will be seen a curving row of stars which indicate the head of the Bear. Three of his feet, or claws, are represented by as many pairs of stars between the Great Dipper and the Sickle of Leo, one of the pairs being east of the meridian, one west of it, and one nearly upon it. Below the outer end of the handle of the Dipper, in the direction of Denebola, a fairly bright star, Cor Caroli, which English loyalty named for the heart of the unfortunate King Charles I., shines on the collar of one of the “Hunting Dogs,” Canes Venatici, which Boötes is represented as holding in a leash as he chases Ursa Major round the pole. This, too, is a beautiful double, the contrasted colors of whose widely separated stars are finely shown by a small telescope.

Now let the eye run along the curve of the Dipper’s handle, beginning at the bowl, and then, springing on, continue the same curve eastward; it will encounter, at a distance about equal to the whole length of the Dipper, a very great and brilliant star--Arcturus, brighter than Spica and Regulus, and usually, when not very far risen from the horizon, of a distinctly reddish hue. It is the chief star of Boötes, the “Driver,” the “Vociferator,” the “Herdsman,” or the “Bear-watcher,” as it has been variously rendered. We shall have more to say about Boötes in another chapter, but Arcturus is a star so splendid and famous that it cannot be passed in silence the first time the beginner catches sight of it. There is a standing dispute concerning the relative rank in brightness of Arcturus among the leading stars of the northern hemisphere. Its principal rivals are Vega in the Lyre, and Capella in Auriga. But all three differ in color, and that makes it more difficult to decide upon their relative brilliance, since different eyes vary in their sensitiveness to color. The Harvard Photometric _Durchmusterung_ gives Vega the first and Arcturus the third rank among these three; but many eyes recognize rather a pre-eminence of Arcturus. My own impression has usually been that Arcturus looms larger than either Vega or Capella, but that Vega is the most penetratingly brilliant. It is very curious to notice the effect of the colors of these stars. The sharp blue ray in the light of Vega gives it a diamond-like quality which is lacking in Capella, whose light is white with just a suspicion of amber. Arcturus is a very pale topaz when high in the sky, and a ruddy yellow, sometimes flaming red, when near the horizon. It is a thrilling recollection of the writer’s early boyhood that he felt an undefined fear of Arcturus when seen rising ominously red and flashing through the leafless boughs of an apple orchard in the late evenings of February. All the ancients feared Arcturus for its supposed influence in producing storms and bad harvests.