Louis XI., than whom no man had less of religion or more of superstition, had an amusing adventure with an astrologer. Having heard that one of these prophets had predicted the death of a woman of whom he was very fond, he sent for him and asked him the question, “You, who know everything, when will you die?” The astrologer, somewhat taken aback, and fearing the monarch’s malicious nature, replied, “Sire, three days before your Majesty.” “Fear and superstition,” it is said, “overcame the monarch’s resentment, and he took special care of the adroit impostor.” But this was only one instance of his contradictory character, for, although there was no God in his heaven, strange to say, he “believed in an invisible world of saints, having exclusive power over the events of this life,” and he was ever seeking to propitiate them in the most childish manner. Louis XI. further attributed great superstitious worth to the ceremony of his coronation, and “adored the holy oil brought down from heaven for the anointment of Clovis, showed the greatest satisfaction at being anointed with it, and enjoyed the sanctity more than the splendour of the ceremony.”
Marie de Medicis and Louis XIII. were both remarkable for the same sort of credulity, and it has been commonly said that the supposed skill of the Maréchale d’Ancre in the occult sciences was in a great measure the source of her influence over the princess.
Anne of Austria, eager to satisfy herself in advance of the fate of the infant to which she was about to give birth, determined, with the superstition common to that age, to cause its horoscope to be drawn by an able astrologer at the moment it was born. Having expressed her wish to Louis XIII., he confided the care of discovering the required astrologer to Cardinal Richelieu, who, having some previous knowledge of a certain seer named Campanella, he immediately despatched a messenger to command his presence. He was traced to the dungeons of Milan, where he was awaiting his trial as a sorcerer, having been seized by the Italian Inquisition, and whence he was allowed to obtain his release. On the birth of the Dauphin, Campanella was requested to proceed with his task without delay, and to speak the truth fearlessly. Accordingly, he announced that his combinations had informed him that “the infant would be as luxurious as Henry IV., and of conspicuous haughtiness; that his reign would be long and laborious, although not without a certain happiness; but that his end would be miserable, and entail both religious and political confusion upon the kingdom”—which proved a very fair forecast.[173]
The conquest of Spain by the Moors carried the science of astrology into that country, and, before their expulsion, it was more or less naturalised among the Christian savans. No individual contributed more to the advancement of the study of the stars than Alfonso of Castile, whom his friends called “the Wise,” whereas by his foes he was known as “Alfonso the Astrologer.” It appears that he summoned a council of the wisest mathematicians and doctors of the astral science who were convened in the towers of the fabled Alcazar of Galiana, when five years were spent in discussion. Alfonso usually presided in the assembly, and after the tables which pass under his name were completed, many noble privileges were granted to the sages and their issue, and they returned richly rewarded each to his home. But unfortunately Alfonso endangered his orthodoxy by his opinions; for astrology—when employed as a means of forecasting events—was anathematised by the Church as “a vain, lying, and presumptuous art.” But, despite such denunciations, Alfonso was anxious to protect the dignity of his favourite pursuit by giving it such a legal sanction as would distinguish it from deceit and fraud, and he affirmed that the judgments and predictions which are given by this art are discerned in the natural course of the planets, and “are taken from the books of Ptolemy, and the other wise masters, who have laboured therein.” And then he adds, “The other manner of divining is by soothsayers, sorcerers, and wizards; some take their tokens from birds or from the fate-word; others cast lots; others see visions in water, or in crystal, or in a mirror, or the bright sword-blade; others frame amulets; others prognosticate by the hand of a child, or of a maiden. These ribalds, and such as are like them, are wicked men and lewd impostors, and manifold evils arise from their deeds; therefore we will not allow any of them to dwell in our dominions.”
Eric XIV. of Sweden chafed under annoyance of any kind; and, as he had been told that all his difficulties would be owing to the treachery of a man with fair hair, he lost no time in casting his brother John into prison, who happened to be fair-haired, on which account Eric bitterly hated him. Indeed, the King would probably have assassinated his brother in prison, but for the intervention of Charles de Mornay, a French gentleman, whose good counsel prevailed over the fiendish advice of Goran Persson.
Matthias Corvin, King of Hungary, rarely undertook anything without first consulting the astrologers, and the Duke of Milan and Pope Paul were also very largely governed by their advice. Lord Malmesbury in his “Memoirs” speaks of Frederick II.’s superstition and belief in astrology, and on this point we may quote a communication which the King made to his friend Baron von de Horst: “Being convinced that truth is often arrived at by most irrational ways, and that the most specious syllogisms very often lead to the falsest notions, I made inquiries in all sorts of quarters. I caused all those to be consulted who pretended to know anything about astrology, and even all the village prophets. The result was that I never found anything but old women’s tales and absurdity.” But so firmly did the Turkish divan believe in astrology, that they attributed Frederick’s tide of success to the help of that science. Accordingly, the Sultan Mustapha sent Resmi to Berlin with instructions to induce the King to cede three of his most skilful astrologers to the Sultan. But at an audience Frederick led the Turk to a window and pointed out his troops to the ambassador, remarking that “his three advisers in war and peace were experience, discipline, and economy; these and these only,” he concluded, “are my chief three astrologers.”
Even nowadays the royal astrologer is one of the most important officers at the Court of the Shah, and no Persian minister would venture to conclude a political transaction, or even to arrange a State ceremonial, without obtaining the sanction of the stars.
Among the illustrious believers in astrology who flourished in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries must be added the name of Albert von Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, who was an enthusiast in the cause. Kepler was employed by him in making astrological calculations, and was rewarded by his influence with the Court of Vienna, which procured the settlement of a large demand. Then there was the astrologer John Gadbury, who in the nativity cast for the illustrious Prince of Denmark, informs us that “it is an aphorism nearly as old as astrology itself, that if the lord of the ascendant of a revolution be essentially well placed, it declares the native to be pleasant, healthful, and of a sound constitution of body, and rich in quiet of mind all that year, and that he shall be free from cares, perturbations, and troubles.”
Indeed, the drawers of horoscopes in bygone years had a busy and lucrative time; and one Thurneysser, a famous astrologer, who lived at the electoral Court of Berlin, was at the same time “physician, chemist, drawer of horoscopes, almanack-maker, printer, and librarian.” His reputation was so widespread that scarcely a birth took place in families of any rank in Germany, Poland, Hungary, or England, without his being announced of the precise moment of birth. And it may be remembered how astrologers were consulted on behalf of Elizabeth of York, wife of Henry VII., who had predicted that great good fortune would befall her in 1503; a circumstance to which Sir Thomas More, in an elegy he wrote for the Queen, alludes, at the same time noticing the folly and vanity of such divinations:—
“Yet was I lately promised otherwise
This year to live in weal and in delight;
Lo! to what cometh all thy blandishing promise,
O false astrology and divinitrice,
Of God’s secrets vaunting thyself so wise!
How true for this year is thy prophecy?
The year yet lasteth, and lo! here I lie”—