“Now turn your head,” said the shepherd, “you will see the Chicken-coop twinkling, or, if you like it better, the Brood of Chickens.”
“Which the learned have named the Pleiades, and the Gascon, the Dog’s Cart.”
“That’s so,” he allowed. “A little lower shine the Signalmen, specially appointed to mark the hours for the shepherds. Some call them the ‘Three Kings,’ others the ‘Three Bells.’”
“Just so, it is Orion and his Belt.”
“Very well,” conceded my friend, “now still lower, always towards the meridian, shines Jean de Milan.”
“Sirius, if I mistake not.”
“Jean de Milan is the torch of the stars,” he continued. “Jean de Milan had been invited one day, with the Signalmen and the Young Chicken, so they say, to a wedding, the wedding of the beautiful Maguelone, of whom we will speak again. The Young Chicken set out, it appears, early, and took the high road. The Signalmen, having taken a lower cut, at last arrived there also. Jean de Milan slept on, and when he rose took a short cut, and to stop them, threw his stick flying in the air—which caused them to be called ever since, by some people, the Stick of Jean de Milan.”
“And that one, far away, which is just showing its nose above the mountain?” I inquired.
“That is the Cripple,” he replied. “He also was asked to the wedding, but as he limps, poor devil, he goes but slowly. Also, he gets up late and goes to bed early.”
“And that one going down, over there, in the west, and shining like a bride?” I asked.