The fact of having recourse to a process of divination was sufficient for an accusation against a man.
Theodosius II. thought that the continuation of idolatrous practices had drawn down the wrath of heaven, and brought upon them the recent calamities that had afflicted his empire—the derangement of the seasons and the sterility of the soil—and he thundered out terrible threats when his faith and his anger united themselves into fanaticism.
He wrote as follows to Florentius, prefect of the prætorium in 439, the year that preceded his death:—
"Are we to suffer any longer from the seasons being upset by the effect of the divine wrath, on account of the atrocious perfidy of the pagans, which disturbs the equilibrium of nature? For what is the cause that now the spring has no longer its ordinary beauty, that the autumn no longer furnishes a harvest to the laborious workman and that the winter, by its rigour, freezes the soil and renders it sterile?"
Perhaps we are unduly amused with these ideas of Theodosius so long as we retain the custom of asking the special intervention of Providence for the presence or absence of rain!
In the middle ages, when astrology took such a hold on the world, several philosophers went so far as to consider the celestial vault as a book, in which each star, having the value of one of the letters of the alphabet, told in ineffaceable characters the destiny of every empire. The book of Unheard-of Curiosities, by Gaffarel, gives us the configuration of these celestial characters, and we find them also in the writings of Cornelius Agrippa. The middle ages took their astrological ideas from the Arabians and Jews. The Jews themselves at this epoch borrowed their principles from such contaminated sources that we are not able to trace in them the transmission of the ancient ideas. To give an example, Simeon Ben-Jochai, to whom is attributed the famous book called Zohar, had attained in their opinion such a prodigious acquaintance with celestial mysteries as indicated by the stars, that he could have read the divine law in the heavens before it had been promulgated on the earth. During the whole of the middle ages, whenever they wanted to clear up doubts about geography or astronomy, they always had recourse to this Oriental science, as cultivated by the Jews and Arabians. In the thirteenth century Alphonse X. was very importunate with the Jews to make them assist him with their advice in his vast astronomical and historical works.
Nicholas Oresmus, when the most enlightened monarch in Europe was supplying Du Guesclin with an astrologer to guide him in his strategical operations, was physician to Charles V. of France, who was himself devoted to astrology, and gave him the bishopric of Lisieux. He composed the Treatise of the Sphere, of which we have already spoken. A few years later, a learned man, the bishop Peter d'Ailly, actually dared to take the horoscope of Jesus Christ, and proved by most certain rules that the great event which inaugurated the new era was marked with very notable signs in astrology.
Mathias Corvin, King of Hungary, never undertook anything without first consulting the astrologers. The Duke of Milan and Pope Paul also governed themselves by their advice. King Louis XI., who so heartily despised the rest of mankind, and had as much malice in him as he had weakness, had a curious adventure with an astrologer.
It was told him that an astrologer had had the hardihood to predict the death of a woman of whom the king was very fond. He sent for the wretched prophet, gave him a severe reprimand, and then asked him the question, "You, who know everything, when will you die?" The astrologer, suspecting a trick, replied immediately, "Sire, three days before your Majesty." Fear and superstition overcame the monarch's resentment, and the king took particular care of the adroit impostor.
It is well known how much Catherine de Medicis was under the influence of the astrologers. She had one in her Hôtel de Soissons in Paris, who watched constantly at the top of a tower. This tower is still in existence, by the Wool-Market, which was built in 1763 on the site of the hotel. It is surmounted by a sphere and a solar dial, placed there by the astronomer Pingré.