Flowers of the Sky

by Richard A. Proctor

XII.
FANCIED FIGURES AMONG THE STARS.

I THINK that every thoughtful student of the stars must have wondered how the figures of the various objects now pictured in our star-maps came to be imagined in the heavens themselves. It is a convenient answer to inquiries of the sort to say that it became necessary at an early stage in the progress of astronomy to have some means of identifying and naming star-groups, and that the arrangement into constellations was as suitable as any other that could have been desired. But it seems to me altogether unlikely that, in the infancy of a science, a mere arbitrary arrangement, such as this explanation supposes, should have been adopted. If we try to imagine the position of the first observers of the stars, what they wanted, and what they were likely to do,—and this a priori method of dealing with such questions is, I believe, the only safe one,—we perceive that the division of the stars into sets named after animals and other objects, without any real resemblance to suggest such nomenclature, is as unlikely a course as could possibly be conceived. Beyond all question, I think, the first watchers of the skies (they can scarcely be called astronomers) would have taken advantage of imagined similarity, more or less close, between each remarkable group of stars and some known object, to identify the group, and to obtain a name by which to speak of it.

Yet it must be admitted that, as the constellations are at present arranged and figured, it is very difficult, in the great majority of cases, to imagine the least resemblance between a constellation and the object from which it derives its name. This is not only true of the modern constellations, the preposterous pneumatic machines, printing presses, microscopes, and so forth, with which Hevelius and his successors foolishly crowded the heavens. Even the oldest of the old constellations of Ptolemy, nay, some even of those which are found among all nations, present, according to their present configuration, scarce any resemblance to their antitypes. For instance, it is well known that the Great Bear was recognised by many nations besides the Greeks and those, whoever they may have been, from whom the Greeks derived the constellation. We learn that when America was discovered the Iroquois Indians called this constellation Okouari, or the Bear. So the inhabitants of Northern Asia, the Phœnicians, the Persians, and others, called this constellation the Bear. The Egyptians, not knowing the bear, called the constellation the Hippopotamus, an animal resembling the bear in several respects, as in its heavy body, short inconspicuous tail, small head, and short ears. Yet the constellation, as at present figured, is certainly not in the remotest degree like a bear. Apart from the enormous tail given in the pictures to the bear (almost tailless in reality), it is impossible for the liveliest imagination to recognise a bear as the constellation is at present formed. Flammarion says that, "even if we take in the smaller stars that stand in the feet and head, no ingenuity can make it in this or any other way resemble a bear," adding the absurd explanation given by Aristotle, "that the name is derived from the fact that of all human animals the bear was thought to be the only one that dared to venture into the frozen regions of the north, and tempt their solitude and cold." As though the shepherds and tillers of the soil, who first gave names to the stars, were likely to consider such far-fetched reasons, even if they had known either the habits of the polar bears or had considered the relation of the northern star-groups to the polar regions of the earth.

Now the question whether any real resemblance attracted the attention of the earlier observers in such cases as this is by no means without interest. If such a resemblance formerly existed, and does not now exist, it would follow that quite a considerable proportion of the stars have changed in brightness. Considering that each star is a sun, the centre, most probably, of a system like that which circles around our own sun, such a conclusion would be very startling indeed. It would have a special interest for ourselves, somewhat in the same way that the news that many railway accidents occur has an interest for those who travel much by rail. If accidents frequently happen to those other suns, in such sort that they either lose or gain greatly in brightness, an accident of one or other kind might well happen to our own sun, in which case the inhabitants of this earth would perish. For many of the stars, by our supposition, would have changed so much as either to lose their character as the defining stars of a constellation or by accession of brightness to acquire that character which in old times they had not possessed. Now, assuredly, a change of brightness competent to affect our sun's character (as viewed from any remote star system) in equal degree, would be destructive to the inhabitants of the earth. None at least of the higher races of animals or plants could bear the intense cold resulting from a change of the former kind, or the intense heat resulting from a change of the latter kind. Yet, if the constellations were once named because of their imagined resemblance to various objects, and if no such resemblance can now be even imagined, a change of one or other kind in the condition of our sun must be regarded as probable,—much in the same way that a regular traveller by train on any line must be regarded as exposed to danger, if accidents are known to be continually happening on that line.

What I now propose to do is to inquire whether we may not find the true figures and proportions of the ancient constellations in another way—viz., not by looking for them among the constellations as at present bounded and figured in our star-maps, but by searching the heavens themselves for them. This general method of search occurred to me very long ago while I was preparing various star-atlases, but the special mode of illustration here adopted occurred to me lately, while preparing for young astronomers in the United States a series of monthly maps showing the skies towards the north, south, east, and west, at different times of the night all the year round, and in various latitudes within the limits of the States. When I was in America I noticed, as I travelled about over a tolerably wide range of latitude, that the varying attitudes assumed by several of the constellations suggested features of resemblance to different objects. In constructing maps, simple in appearance, but based in reality on careful calculations, this characteristic came out more clearly. Adopting a particular way of presenting the connection between the various stars of a constellation, I often found the figure suggested which had actually been associated with the group of stars thus connected. Lastly, the idea of extending this method to other cases naturally occurred to me, and some of the results are presented in the present essay.

The method of delineation referred to is simply that of connecting the stars of a group by lines, ad libitum, that is, not merely introducing so many lines as will connect all the stars into a single set, but where necessary to complete the delineation of the imagined figure, adding other lines connecting pairs of stars belonging to the group, yet not so many that every pair of stars is connected by a line. The lines, again, need not be straight. On the contrary, where a group of stars forms a stream, the natural way of joining them is by lines so curved as to follow the serpentine course thus suggested. And in other cases a slight curvature of the lines joining pairs of stars will seem permissible, because corresponding to a configuration suggested by the stars themselves.

It is easily seen that in some of the simplest cases, the figure associated with a constellation is at once suggested by this method of delineation. For instance, take the case of the Northern Crown.