Aries was originally the leader of the zodiac, but the Precession of the Equinoxes has now thrown it into second place, and brought Pisces to the front, the twelve signs of the zodiac being like a fixed circular framework through which the constellations drift toward the east. The sign Aries remains the first of the zodiac, but is occupied by the constellation Pisces. Is there in any language a word more mysteriously impressive than “zodiac”? Astrological superstition, perhaps, partly accounts for this. The word comes from the Greek for “animal,” because nearly all the constellations of the zodiacal circle are representations of animals. It surrounds the sky with a great menagerie of starry phantasms, through the midst of which the sun pursues his annual round. When he enters the sign of Aries spring commences; when he enters Cancer summer reigns; when he reaches Libra it is the beginning of autumn, and when he is in Capricorn winter is at hand. We have nothing quite equal to the old Greek story of Phaeton begging from his father, Phœbus Apollo, the privilege of driving the Chariot of the Sun, and losing his way through terror of the threatening forms amid which lay his course—the “Scorpion,” with his fiery sting uplifted to strike; the huge “Crab,” sprawling across the way; the fierce “Ram,” with lowered head; the great “Bull,” charging headlong upon him; the terrible “Lion,” with bristling mane; the “Archer,” with bow bent and arrow aimed; the “Goat,” with crooked, threatening horns; the sturdy “Waterman,” emptying his vast urn in a raging flood; the balance of “Libra” extended as if to weigh his fate—even the benign aspect of the “Twins” and the gentle look of the sedate “Virgin” could not restore his equanimity. It was the wildest of all wild rides, and Phaeton was the precursor of the modern chauffeur gone mad with the speed of his flight, and crazed by the pursuit of phantoms which rise remorselessly in his path. It was probably in Aries that the inventors of the story imagined the beginning of the adventure.
Below the feet of Andromeda, in the northeast, appears Perseus, her rescuer, hurrying to the combat with the oncoming Sea Monster, and carrying the blood-freezing head of Medusa in one hand and his diamond-hilted sword in the other. He wraps the glory of the Milky Way around him like a flying mantle, and brandished in the direction of Cassiopeia, the maiden’s mother, and of King Cepheus, her father, is seen his magic blade, made splendid in the sky by one of the finest assemblages of small stars that can anywhere be seen. This beautiful star-swarm, visible to the naked eye as a glowing patch in the Milky Way, is indicated in [Chart X] by a double cluster of dots above the star Eta (η). Seen with a powerful opera-glass, or better with a small telescope, it is an object that one can never cease to admire and wonder at. It is so bright that the unassisted eye sees it as soon as it is directed toward that part of the sky. It seems to throw a halo over the surrounding sky, as if at that point the galaxy had been tied into a gleaming knot. It is popularly called the “Sword Hand of Perseus.” But how inadequate seems such terrestrial imagery when we reflect that here a vast chaotic nebula has been, through æons of evolution, transformed into a kingdom of starry beauty.
The star Alpha (α) Persei, also known as Algenib (Arabic Al Janib, the “Side”), is the centre of a bending row following the curve of the Milky Way. The appearance of this curve of stars is very attractive to the eye. Algenib is a beautiful star, allied to our sun in spectroscopic character, and approaching us at the rate of about 560,000 miles per day.
But the greatest marvel of Perseus is the “Demon Star,” Algol, in the head of Medusa, which is represented depending from the hero’s right hand. Algol bears the Greek letter Beta (β). It is the most wonderful of variables, and its variations can be watched without any instrumental assistance. For the greater part of the time it is of nearly the second magnitude; but once every two days, twenty hours, and forty-nine seconds it begins suddenly to lose light, and in about four hours or less it fades to nearly the fourth magnitude, being then no brighter than some of the faint stars around it. Almost immediately it begins to brighten again, and in the course of about three hours is seen shining with its pristine splendor. The cause of these singular variations is believed to be the existence of a dark star, or a mass of meteors, revolving round Algol at such close quarters that a distance of only 3,000,000 miles separates the centres of the two. Algol itself is demonstrably considerably larger than our sun, but of less density. The Arabic name for this star was Al Ghul, the “Demon,” or “Fiend of the Woods,” and our word ghoul comes from it. The imagination of a Poe could not have represented a more startling thing—a sun that winks like a gloating demon! One may easily cultivate an uncanny feeling while watching it. No one need be surprised that the astrologers make much of the malign influence of Algol. If one had faith in them, one might as well be born with the millstone of fate tied to his neck as to have Algol in his nativity.
Below Perseus, and not very high above the horizon, sparkles the brilliant Capella, but that is for the next chapter. We turn to Cassiopeia. Her “W,” or “Laconian Key,” is a familiar asterism to all who know anything at all of the starry heavens. The five stars forming this figure are also represented as marking the Chair in which the unfortunate though beautiful queen sits. There is a delightful reference to this “Chair” in Xavier de Maistre’s Expédition Nocturne autour de ma Chambre. When the hero discovers the slipper of his fair neighbor of the upper flat visible on the balcony above, he wishes “to compare the pleasure that a modest man may feel in contemplating a lady’s slipper with that imparted by the contemplation of the stars.” Accordingly, he chooses the first constellation that he can see. “It was, if I mistake not, Cassiopeia’s Chair which I saw over my head, and I looked by turns at the constellation and the slipper, the slipper and the constellation. I perceived then that these two sensations were of a totally different nature; the one was in my head, while the other seemed to me to have its seat in the region of the heart.”
The names of three of the five stars forming the “Chair” are: Alpha (α) Schedar (from Al Sadr, the “Breast”); Beta (β) Caph (Arabic Kaff, “Hand”); and Delta (δ) Ruchbah or Rucbar, the “Knee.” Caph and Ruchbar are of particular interest, the first because, together with Alpheratz and Gamma Pegasi (often called Algenib, although that name belongs to Alpha Persei), it lies almost exactly on the Equinoctial Colure, or First Meridian of the Heavens; and Ruchbah, because, as explained in Chapter I, it lies in a line with Polaris and the true pole, thus serving to indicate the position of Polaris with regard to the pole at any time. Caph, Alpheratz, and Gamma Pegasi are often called the “Three Guides,” because, as just explained, they graphically show the line of the Equinoctial Colure, which is a great circle passing through the pole and cutting the equator at the Vernal and Autumnal Equinoxes. On the opposite side of the pole this line passes between the stars Gamma (γ) and Delta (δ) in Ursa Major.
The star Eta (η) is an extremely beautiful binary, period about two hundred years, distance at present more than 6″. The combination of colors is especially remarkable, the larger component being orange, and the smaller purple. Piazzi Smyth saw the color of the smaller star as “Indian red,” and others have variously called it “garnet,” “violet,” and, curiously enough, considering the general opinion to the contrary, “green.” There is no doubt, whatever the exact hue may be, that this star wears a livery distinguishing it from any other in the sky. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that there is as great a variety of color tones among stars as among flowers. Although the great majority of stars approximate to white, there are, nevertheless, red stars, green stars, blue stars, lilac stars, yellow stars, orange stars, indigo stars, and violet stars, and stars of other tints and shades. All of those which are deeply colored are linked together in close pairs, but the colors they exhibit are not an effect of contrast. It is wonderful to think of suns of such hues, but there they are! And, after all, it would be no more difficult to account for the colors of stars than for those of flowers. But to live under a purple or an emerald sun might not be as agreeable as life in the rays of our white orb, whose light splits into rainbows, as light of a single primary color could not do. A flower-garden under a green sun would not be the marvel of prismatic hues that it is in our world.[1]
Cassiopeia is memorable for being the scene of one of the greatest astronomical occurrences on record. Near the star Kappa (κ), in 1572, appeared the most splendid new star that has ever been seen. It is known as “Tycho’s Star,” the Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe having been an assiduous student of the wonderful phenomenon during the sixteen months that it remained visible. There is a red variable star of less than the tenth magnitude quite close to the spot where Tycho recorded the appearance of his nova, and it has been thought that this may be the mysterious object itself. In 1901 a new star, almost equal in brilliance to Tycho’s, suddenly burst out in Perseus, between Algol and Algenib, and these two so similar phenomena occurring in the same quarter of the heavens are usually linked together in the discussion of new stars. The reader who wishes more particulars about these stars may consult Curiosities of the Sky.
The background of the sky around Cassiopeia is a magnificent field for the opera-glass and the telescope. In sweeping over it one is reminded of Jean Paul Richter’s Dream of the Universe:
“Thus we flew on through the starry wildernesses; one heaven after another unfurled its immeasurable banners before us and then rolled up behind us; galaxy behind galaxy towered up into solemn altitudes before which the spirit shuddered; and they stood in long array, through which the Infinite Beings might pass in progress. Sometimes the Form that lightened would outfly my weary thoughts, and then it would be seen far off before me like a coruscation among the stars, till suddenly I thought to myself the thought of 'There,’ and then I was at its side. But as we were thus swallowed up by one abyss of stars after another, and the heavens above our eyes were not emptier, neither were the heavens below them fuller; and as suns without intermission fell into the solar ocean like waterspouts of a storm which fall into the ocean of waters, then at length the human heart within me was overburdened and weary, and yearned after some narrow cell or quiet oratory in this metropolitan cathedral of the universe. And I said to the Form at my side: 'O Spirit! has then this universe no end?’ And the Form answered and said, 'Lo! it has no beginning!’”