very curious, somewhat resembling that of the State of Louisiana tipped
on its side. The broader part of it runs down toward Fomalhaut, and the
northern part extends westward, like an L added to a house, between
Equuleus and Capricornus. The latter, the constellation of the “Goat,”
is relatively small and compact. Its two most interesting stars are
Alpha (α), or Algedi, the “Goat,” and Beta (β), or Dabih (signification
uncertain), both in one of the horns of the imaginary animal. Each of
these stars is a wide double. The distance between the Alphas is 373″,
and that between the Betas 205″, the latter being more than a tenth
of the apparent diameter of the moon. A good eye sees at once that
Alpha is double; but the two stars in Beta cannot be seen without a
glass, because one of them is below the sixth magnitude, the _minimum
visible_ for the naked eye. Each of the stars in Beta is a telescopic
double. The Goat heads westward, and the stars Delta (δ) and Gamma
(γ) are in his tail. This constellation has given us our Tropic of
Capricorn, because the place of the winter solstice was once within its
boundaries, although now we find it far west, in Sagittarius.
Above the head of Capricornus we recognize our old acquaintance Altair,
in the Eagle, and east of this the singular little constellation of
Delphinus, the “Dolphin,” often called “Job’s Coffin,” a name for
which I have never been able to find any explanation. Like all small
constellations whose stars are comparatively close together, it
immediately attracts the eye. None of its stars exceeds the fourth
magnitude; but three of them, Alpha, Beta, and Gamma, are telescopic
doubles, the last named being particularly beautiful on account of the
contrast of colors, gold and green; distance 11″.
Directly north of Altair is the very small constellation of Sagitta,
the “Arrow,” interesting when viewed with an opera-glass for its row of
little stars from which, as from a maypole lying horizontally, depend
loops of still smaller stars looking like garlands. In ancient times
this was sometimes called “Cupid’s Arrow,” but they did not venture to
represent the little god himself. Above Sagitta are the small stars
constituting the double constellation of Vulpecula et Anser, the
“Little Fox and the Goose.”
Simply pausing to recognize the presence of the Northern Cross, we
turn to the eastern side of the meridian, where we find Pegasus, with
his Great Square. This is one of the most conspicuous figures in the
sky. The star at the northeastern corner of the square is Alpheratz,
of which I have spoken in the Introduction, as belonging in common to
Andromeda and Pegasus. When we come to Cassiopeia I shall point out
a remarkable fact relating to Alpheratz and its twin, Gamma Pegasi,
about 15 degrees directly south. Every lover of the “classics” of
course feels a thrill of pleasure in seeing Pegasus in the sky, “in
wild flight and free.” One can spare many of the heroes for the sake
of giving him room. Shakespeare’s references to the constellations are
much less frequent and definite than one could wish, but he has clearly
mentioned one or two, and it may be that he had the starry eidolon of
the Winged Horse in his eye when he wrote, in _Troilus and Cressida_:
“But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
The strong-ribbed bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements
Like Perseus’ horse.”
The constellation extends far westward from the Square, and in the
imaginative sky pictures that illustrate old charts of the heavens the
star Epsilon (ε) is in the nose of Pegasus, as he stretches out his
neck to reach his foal, Equuleus. But the horse, with his feet toward
the north, is shown upside down, unless you turn your back to the south
when looking at him. The star Beta (β) is attractive on account of its
neighbors forming a striking triangle with it; but the space within the
Square is relatively vacant. Alpha (α) and Beta (β) are respectively
Markab, the “Saddle,” and Scheat (signification uncertain).
South of the Square of Pegasus we see the western part of the
constellation of Pisces, whose small stars run in streams toward the
eastern horizon. Pisces furnishes one of the most remarkable examples
of this phenomenon, in which the stars are seen arrayed in long,
winding lines, like buttercups following a brook. Cetus is also seen
rising south of Pisces; but we shall deal with these constellations
later. Meanwhile we return to Alpheratz, at the northeast corner of
the Square of Pegasus. The name is derived from an Arabic phrase
meaning the “Horse’s Navel”; but the star is now generally associated
with Andromeda, and is, indeed, the Alpha of that constellation, and
shines on the maiden’s head. The star Delta (δ), in Andromeda, marks
her breast, and her extended arms and chained hands are shown by
rows and groups of small stars on the north and south. Beta (β), or
Mirach, is in her girdle, and the two small stars northwest of it lead
the eye to one of the most wonderful objects in the sky--the Great
Andromeda Nebula. You may detect it as a misty speck with the naked
eye; an opera-glass will show you plainly that it is a little luminous
cloud. In Chart X its position is indicated by a little circle near
the star Nu (ν). In a telescope it appears of a spindle shape, with
a bright axis, but the best views of it are afforded by photography.
On the photographic plate, exposed continuously for hours to its
rays, it gradually builds up its marvellous form--the great central
condensation, with the encircling spirals, emerging in all their
strange splendor. It resembles a whirlwind of snow, and the appearance
of swift motion and terrific force is startling. Its spectrum, instead
of being that characteristic of gases, indicates that it consists
principally of matter in a star-like state of condensation, and some
have imagined that it is an outside universe, composed of stars too
distant to be separately distinguished, and arrayed in mighty spirals,
which recall the form of the Milky Way. The latest investigations show
evidence, however, that it is partly nebular in constitution. These
things once known, the contemplative eye is drawn to that misty speck
as to a magnet.
The star Gamma (γ), or Almaack, the “Badger,” is in Andromeda’s foot.
It is a wonderful triple star, whose largest member is orange in color,
the second emerald-green, and the third blue. The two larger stars are
easily seen with an ordinary telescope, the distance between them
being about 10″, but the third is difficult, the distance from the
second being, in 1908, only 0″.45. The last two form a binary, with a
period of about fifty-four years. When they are nearest to each other
no telescope can separate them. The colors of the two largest stars
are very striking, and yet some eyes seem incapable of appreciating
them. This is also true of many separate stars in the sky which possess
distinctive tints. It is a fine test of the chromatic capacity of the
eye to be able to enjoy the differences among the hues of the stars.
Color-blindness is far more common than is usually suspected, and is
apt to manifest itself in this way when not otherwise noticed. From
theoretical considerations Holmgren has shown that three varieties of
color-blindness may exist: first, where the sense is defective for only
one color, either red, green, or violet; second, where two colors,
either red and green or red and violet, are not perceived; and third,
where the defect extends to three colors, including red, green, and
violet. A person suffering from either of these forms of blindness
would lose much of the peculiar beauty exhibited by certain stars and
combinations of stars.
To the right of Almaack, as one faces north, is the little
constellation of Triangulum, and beyond that, in the same direction,
Aries, the “Ram,” clearly marked by three stars, the two smaller
of which are quite close together. The largest star, Alpha (α), is
called Hamal, the “Ram,” or “Sheep”; and the next largest, Beta (β),
Sheratan, the “Sign,” this name being due to the fact that in the days
of Hipparchus Sheratan marked the place of the Vernal Equinox, and
consequently the point of beginning of the year, of which it was the
sign. Gamma (γ), the companion of Sheratan, sometimes called Mesarthim
(signification uncertain), is a beautiful telescopic double whose
components are 8″.8 apart. The smaller one has a curious tint which
Webb and others have described as “gray.”
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!’”
Westward from Cassiopeia, directly over the pole, and lying athwart the
meridian, is the constellation of Cepheus, the King, less conspicuous
than that of his queen, Cassiopeia, but equally ancient. Its leading
star, Alpha (α), also called Alderamin, the “Right Arm,” is a
candidate for the great office of Pole-star, which it will occupy in
about 5500 years. Beta (β), the second in rank, is named Alfirk, the
“Flock” or “Herd.” If you are sweeping here with an opera-glass you
will perceive, about half-way between Alpha (α) and Zeta (ζ), a small
star which will at once arrest your attention by its color. It is the
celebrated “Garnet Star” of Sir William Herschel, who was greatly
impressed by its brilliant hue, declaring it to be the most deeply
colored star that the naked eye can find in the sky. But its color is
not so striking unless a glass be used.
Low down in the north-northwest we see the Great Dipper, above it the
coiling form and diamond head of Draco, and then, still higher, the
Northern Cross and Vega, bright as a jewel. Hercules and the Northern
Crown are near setting in the northwest.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The reader who is curious concerning such matters is advised
to consult a paper by Dr. Louis Bell on “Star Colors,” in the
_Astrophysical Journal_ (vol. xxi, No. 3, April, 1910). Dr. Bell’s
experiments with artificial stars seem to show that physiological
effects play a great part in producing the pronounced colors of the
small stars in many telescopic doubles. The paper is very interesting,
especially in its description of a startling imitation of the singular
cluster, Kappa (κ) Crucis, which Sir John Herschel described as
resembling a gorgeous piece of colored jewelry. But, whatever part
physiological optics may play in the phenomena of colored doubles, it
is certain that many single stars, including some of great magnitude,
possess distinctive tints. Compare, for instance, Castor and Pollux or
Rigel and Betelgeuse. Aldebaran and Betelgeuse are both reddish, yet
the color tones that they exhibit are clearly different.
IV
THE EVENING SKY AT THE WINTER SOLSTICE
The magic of the starry heavens does not fail with the decline of
the sun in winter, but, on the contrary, increases in power when the
curtains of the night begin to close so early that by six o’clock the
twilight is gone and the firmament has become a dome of jet ablaze with
clusters of living gems. And when the snows arrive, mantling the hills
with glistening ermine, the coruscating splendor of the sky seems to be
redoubled. If I were to choose a time most suitable for interesting a
novice in the beauties and wonders of uranography, I would select the
winter, and I would lead my acolyte, on a clear, frosty night, when the
landscape was glittering with crusted snow, upon some eminence where
the curve of the horizon was broken only by the leafless tops of a few
trees, through which the rising stars would flash like electric lamps.
The accord between the stars and the seasons is never more evident than
at such a time and in such a place, and the psychology of the stars is
then most strongly felt. When the earth is locked fast in the bonds
of winter the sparkling heavens seem most alive. I would have, if it
were possible, a clump of dark pines or hemlocks near the place of
observation, throwing their shadows on the snow, while Sirius in all
its wild beauty blazed above them, and Aldebaran, Rigel, and Betelgeuse
filled the vibrant air about them with jewelled lances of prismatic
light. Then the sound of sleigh-bells in the resonant atmosphere would
seem an aerial music shaken from the scintillant sky, and a lurking
fox, stealing from his den in the edge of the shadows, would appear
timorously conscious of the splendor over his head. The nocturnal
animals know a day more glorious than ours, but it is never so glorious
as when its multi-colored rays splinter upon crystalled hills at the
winter solstice.
Now the greatest of the constellations reign in the sky. Orion is
high up in the southeast, and around him are arrayed his brilliant
attendants and companions--toward the west Taurus, with Aldebaran and
the glittering Pleiades; above, Auriga and Gemini dipping their feet in
the Milky Way; in the east, Canis Minor, with great, steady Procyon,
and Canis Major proclaiming his precedence with flaming Sirius, the
King of the Stars. We cannot do better than begin with this starry
monarch and his constellation.
[Illustration: CHART IV--THE WINTER EVENING SKY]