pyramids of Egypt, which, according to Diodorus Siculus, had been in
existence during 3600 years, terminated in a platform upon which the
priests made their celestial observations. The last-named historian
alleges, also (Biblioth. Hist. Lib. I.), that the Egyptians, who claimed
to be the most ancient of men, professed to be acquainted with the
situation of the earth, the risings and settings of stars, to have
arranged the order of days and months, and pretended to be able to
predict future events, with certainty, from their observations of
celestial phenomena. I think that it is in this association of astrology
with astronomy that we find the explanation of what, after all, remains
the great mystery of the pyramid--the fact, namely, that all the
passages, ascending, descending, and horizontal, constructed with such
extreme care, and at the cost of so much labour, in the interior of the
great pyramid, were eventually (perhaps not very long after their
construction) to be closed up. I reject utterly the idea that they could
have been constructed merely as memorials. Sir E. Beckett, who seems
willing to admit this conception, rejects the notion that the builders
of the pyramid recorded "standard measures by hiding them with the
utmost ingenuity." Is it not equally absurd to imagine that they
recorded the date of the great pyramid, by construction, by those most
elaborately concealed passages? Why they should have concealed them
after constructing them so carefully, may not be clear. For my own part,
I regard the theory that the Pyramid of Suphis was built for
astrological observations, relating to the life of that monarch only, as
affording the most satisfactory explanation yet advanced of the
mysterious circumstance that the building was closed up after his death.
Supposing the part of the edifice (fifty layers in all), which includes
the ascending and descending passages, to have been erected during his
lifetime, it may be that some reverential or superstitious feeling
caused his successors, or the priesthood, to regard the building as
sacred after his death--to be closed up therefore and completed as a
perfect pyramid, polished _ad unguem_ from its pointed summit to the
lines along which the four faces met the smooth pavement round its base.
We might thus explain why each monarch required his own astrological
observatory afterwards to become his tomb. Be this as it may, it is
certain that the pyramids were constructed for astronomical
observations; and it would, I conceive, be utterly unreasonable to
imagine that the costly interior fittings and arrangements, "not
inferior, in respect of curiosity of art or richness of materials, to
the most sumptuous and magnificent buildings," were intended to subserve
no other purpose but to be memorials; and that, too, not until, in the
course of thousands of years, the whole mass of the pyramid had begun to
lose the exactness of its original figure.
R. A. PROCTOR.
FOOTNOTES:
[43] It seems to me not improbable that the level was determined by
simply flooding (though to a very small depth only, of course) the
entire area to be levelled--not only the pavement level, but higher
levels as the pyramid was raised layer by layer. By completing the
outside of each layer first, an enclosed space capable of receiving the
water would be formed (the flooding being required once only for each
layer), and when the level had been taken the water could be allowed to
run off by the interior passages to the well which Piazzi Smyth
considers to be symbolical of the bottomless pit.
[44] The irregular descending passage long known as the well, which
communicates between the ascending passage and the underground chamber,
enables us to ascertain how high the rock rises into the pyramid at this
particular part of the base. We thus learn that the rock rises in this
place, at any rate, thirty or forty feet above the basal plane.
[45] There is a statement perfectly startling in its inaccuracy, in a
chapter of Blake's "Astronomical Myths," derived from Mr. Haliburton's
researches, asserting that in the year 2170 B.C. the Pleiades were
"_exactly at that height that they could be seen in the direction of the
Southward-pointing passage of the pyramid_." The italics are not mine.
As this passage pointed 33-2/3°, or thereabouts, below (that is south
of) the equator, and the Pleiades were then some 3-2/3° north of the
equator, the passage certainly did not then point to the Pleiades. Nor
has there been any time since the world began when the Pleiades were
anywhere near the direction of the southward pointing passage. In fact
they have never been more than 20° south of the equator. The statement
follows immediately after another to the surprising effect that in the
year 2170 B.C. "the Pleiades _really_ commenced the spring by their
midnight culmination." The only comment an astronomer can make on this
startling assertion is to repeat with emphasis the word italicized by
Mr. Haliburton (or Mr. Blake?). The Pleiades being then in conjunction
with what is now called the first point of Aries, culminated at noon,
not at midnight, at the time of the vernal equinox.
[46] This date is sometimes given earlier, but when account is taken of
the proper motion of these stars we get about the date above mentioned.
I cannot understand how Dr. Ball, Astronomer Royal for Ireland, has
obtained the date 2248 B.C., unless he has taken the proper motion of
Alcyone the wrong way. The proper motion of this star during the last
4000 years has been such as to increase the star's distance from the
equinoctial colure; and therefore, of course, the actual interval of
time since the star was on the colure is less than it would be
calculated to be if the proper motion were neglected.
CONSPIRACIES IN RUSSIA UNDER THE REIGNING CZAR.
I.
Much astonishment has been expressed of late, by those who are too apt
to forget the main facts even of contemporary history, that under "so
benevolent a prince as Alexander II." the most fearful conspiracies
should have become rife. This view of the situation shows a
misconception of the whole system of government in Russia, and more
especially of the character of the ruling Autocrat, as it has been
formed by his education and by the ever-worsening course of his reign.
For the proper understanding of what has occurred within the last twelve
years or so, we must consequently go back for a moment to Alexander's
early training and antecedents. No despotic system can be judged without
a knowledge of personal facts relating to its bearer. A sketch of the
character of Alexander II. and of his strange acts of "benevolence,"
will make it clear to the commonest comprehension why his antagonists
should at last have met him by wild deeds of conspiracy.
Alexander's arbitrary bias may be said to have been inherited in his
blood. A disposition, originally, perhaps, less severe than that of
Nicholas, was darkened and vitiated in him from his early days. Custine
already remarked the expression of deep melancholy in the Grand Duke;
and all those who have seen Alexander II. since have been struck with
his sour and sullen morosity. No smile ever lights up this "humane"
Czar's face. His uneasy glance is that of the misanthrope; his brow
seems overcast as with the lowering shadow of a tragic fate. The harsh
way in which he was brought up by his martinet father, without the
slightest regard for his somewhat delicate health, no doubt laid a
foundation for this pensive sadness, which, under a pernicious Court
atmosphere, and with the terrible recollections crowding about his
family history, gradually changed into the fierceness of the Tyrant.
Poor royal humanity is sometimes strangely led up to its task in life.
Almost from infancy the sickly boy had to don the soldier's uniform. All
joyous sprightliness was crushed out of the infantine heir of a
barbarous Imperialism. His education by the crowned corporal who
happened to be his parent, appeared to aim mainly at making him
physically and in character as rigid as a ramrod. By nature of a
sensuous bent, he had to undergo all the ordeals of barrack-room
practices, which Nicholas held to be the proper sum and substance of
human life.
The stern nature and teaching of that typical tyrant came out one day in
a striking manner during the early boyhood of Alexander. Even Imperial
children do not seem to be able to shake off the dark historical
recollections that hang about the Winter Palace. In the manner of
children they will make a ghastly sport of them. Once, when they were in
a specially jocular mood, Alexander, in company with his brother
Constantine and some comrades in play, enacted--as youngsters in their
apishly imitative mood will do--one of the most hideous scenes that
concluded a previous reign. The throttling of the Emperor Paul was the
subject! Alexander, standing for Paul, was assaulted and thrown down by
his brother, who knelt upon his chest. With the aid of the sportive
accomplices, a cord was passed round the victim's throat. It is said
that young Constantine took a malicious pleasure in putting into this
semblance of strangulation rather an unexpected deal of energy.
"For mercy's sake! For mercy's sake!" Alexander cried, with half-stifled
voice, and at last with a fearful yell.
Nicholas, hurrying out from his room, beheld the spectacle before him in
deep consternation. When the matter was explained to him, he severely
reproved and actually punished his eldest-born. "It is not worthy of an
Emperor," he said, "to call out for mercy!"
This well-authenticated anecdote has been told by writers who expressed
the most adulatory sentiments towards the present Czar. It is to be
found in Castille's highly flattering biography of Alexander II.,
published about the time of his accession to the throne. The incident,
loathsome as it must appear to every sensitive mind, strikingly paints
both the gloom that always hangs about the Russian Court, and the kind
of education given by Nicholas to his offspring.
The youthful despotic propensities of Alexander may be seen from an
account given by another of his admiring biographers, Mr. J. G.
Hesekiel. This writer enthusiastically swings the censer before Nicholas
as the "Iron Knight of Legitimacy" and the "Invincible Champion of
Government by the Grace of God." (I may mention in passing that Mr.
Hesekiel has done the life of Prince Bismarck into similar adulatory
prose). At the age of fourteen--he relates--the boy-prince, Alexander,
in going through a state room of the Palace, was respectfully greeted by
the assembled high dignitaries of the Empire, senators, generals, and
so forth. They all rose and bowed before the Heir-Apparent. The boy's
vanity being flattered, he purposely came back several times, expecting
the grey-beards on each occasion to rise and salaam before him. When he
found that they thought they had done their duty by the first
salutation, he angrily complained against them to his father. Nicholas,
however, blamed the son for his unreasonable exaction. This vicious
arrogance of the boy ripened afterwards into the haughtiness of the
despot, being but slightly mitigated by a naturally melancholy
disposition, which sometimes gave the appearance of comparative
softness.
Of Constantine, the second son of Nicholas, there is a further
characteristic anecdote on record. It is to be found even in
publications otherwise marked by servile feelings towards the Court. We
all know at what a supernaturally early age the purple-born are
appointed to high titular positions in the State Administration or in
the army. In Russia, where the "right divine of kings to govern wrong"
is pushed to its most logical or illogical consequences, this royal
custom flourishes to excess. At the mature age of eight, Alexander was
appointed Chancellor of the University of Finland. His brother
Constantine was nominated in early youth High Admiral of the Fleet. One
day, Constantine, between whom and his elder brother there was little
love lost, had Alexander arrested because he had come on board ship
without special authorization. Something of the sentiment of Franz Moor,
in Schiller's _Robbers_, seems to have animated Constantine in his
youth. He was often heard to utter a malediction against the law of
heredity. He declared that, being born when his father (Nicholas) was
already on the throne, he (Constantine) had a better right of succession
than Alexander, who had been born when Nicholas was only a Grand Duke.
He further said that, after the death of Nicholas, he would contend
against Alexander with the object of partitioning the Empire.
These may seem trifling occurrences--mere freaks of childhood. They
would certainly be so regarded in countries where the nation practically
possesses self-government and the Crown is mainly an ornamental cipher,
or where the sovereign privilege is at least largely circumscribed by
the parliamentary power. It is different in an Empire like Russia, with
its murderous dynastic antecedents. There, the personal character of the
princely personages is of the utmost importance; for a youthful freak or
hideous trick may point to a coming horrible event. In olden times,
previous to the Tatar dominion, Russia passed through the so-called
Appanage Period of Separate Principalities, when the Empire was actually
partitioned. The feuds which then tore the various branches of the Rurik
family greatly facilitated the Mongol conquest that weighed upon the
country for centuries. With the condition of Russia such as it was until
lately, and still is for that matter, a bold attempt on the part of a
Prince second in birth could not be said to be beyond the range of
possibility. Even now we hear of a deep estrangement between the ruling
Autocrat and the Czarewitch, reaching even to such an extent that for a
moment there was an intention of arresting the latter.
Nothing has come of the childish threat of the Grand Duke Constantine,
who to this day fills the post of Admiral-General of the Russian Fleet.
Still, the incident alluded to has its value. When a whole nation is
disinherited from political rights, a younger member of the ruling
House, of violent and ambitious temper, may easily take the idea into
his head of altering, by a palace plot, the very basis of the Empire for
his own special benefit. What looks like boyish play may in time to come
turn into a tragedy. These dangers, characteristic of all autocracies,
can only be done away with by the introduction of a settled order of
Constitutional law, conferring the chief power in the State upon
representative bodies.
II.
The death of Nicholas, shortly before the end of the Crimean War,
remains to this day enshrouded in darkness and doubt.
His proud spirit had been deeply humiliated by a series of defeats. He
who once posed as the arbiter of the destinies of Continental Europe had
been beaten, not only by the Western Allies, but, before that, even by
the Turks single-handed. He wrathfully avowed that "he had been deceived
as to the state of public opinion in England." The messengers of the
Peace Society, the language held by the organs of the Manchester school,
had emboldened him to try to realize the secular dream of Russian
despots,--namely, the conquest of Constantinople. The disenchantment he
experienced gave even his iron frame a terrible shock. Yet his haughty
temper forbade him to entertain offers of, still more to sue for, peace.
Those surrounding him, including his nearest by kinship, were afraid of
angering the ruthless man by unwelcome counsel.
At the same time vague murmurs were heard in society against the
absolutistic _régime_ which had led Russia to the brink of utter ruin.
From the southern part of the Empire, where opinion, since the days of
Cossack and Ukraine independence, had always been the most advanced,
threatening tales came up of a spirit of rebellion among the peasantry,
upon whom the relay duties and other hardships connected with the war
weighed most heavily. There was a universal feeling that the removal of
Nicholas from this world's stage would be a blessing.
In the midst of this darkening situation men learnt that the Czar was
slightly indisposed; immediately afterwards, that he was--_dead_. He had
only taken a cold; but the illness--as the manifesto of Alexander II.
afterwards said--"developed itself with incredible rapidity." The
manifesto added:--"Let us bow before the mysterious decrees of
Providence!"
Was the mystery a real or merely an apparent one?
Abroad a rumour quickly spread of foul play having once more taken
place in the Winter Palace. In the German and the Danish press--for
instance, in the Copenhagen _Faedrelandet_, and the Berlin _National
Zeitung_ and _Volks-Zeitung_--surmises were openly uttered that the
Russian Emperor had died from poison. Not a few thought he had fallen a
victim to a palace plot in the interest of the maintenance of the
dynasty which was endangered by his obstinacy. In a medical journal of
this country it was shown that the bulletins concerning the course of
his illness were, at all events, quite at variance with well-known
physiological laws. In a lithographed pamphlet--attributed to Dr. Mandt,
the physician-in-ordinary to Nicholas--it was alleged that the Czar, in
a fit of life-weariness, had himself asked for strychnine, and forced
his physician to prepare it for him. A noted Russian writer, Mr. Ivan
Golovin, in a book published at Leipzig about eight years ago,[47]
refers to the statement of this pamphlet. He himself remarks that the
reason for the head of the Emperor having been covered up, when lying in
state, was, that his features were so terribly disfigured by the poison
as to render it advisable to conceal the face.
It is impossible to unravel the truth. This much can, however, be said
beyond mere probability, that, if Nicholas had not been suddenly taken
away, the contrast between his iron rule at home and his continued
defeats on the field of battle would have roused a spirit of rebellion
and mutiny very similar to that against which he had to contend in the
ensanguined streets of the capital at the beginning of his reign. As it
was, men expected that his successor would prove more pliant. The
prevailing feeling of dissatisfaction did not, therefore, at first
assume a revolutionary shape.
Perhaps it was a consciousness of being surrounded by men who watched
him closely which made Alexander II. speak out in rather a peremptory
tone in his manifesto of March 2, 1855. Monarchs who fear an attack upon
their sovereign privileges often seek to terrify their would-be
antagonists by bold language. "I hereby declare solemnly," Alexander
said, "that I will remain faithful to all the views of my father, and
_persevere in the line of political principles_ which have served as
guiding maxims both to my uncle, Alexander I., and to him. These
principles are those of the Holy Alliance. If that Alliance no longer
exists, it is certainly not the fault of my august father." The fling
against Austria, which had half taken the side of the Western Allies in
the Crimean War, and the covert reference to Prussia, which had refused
making common military cause with Russia, was unmistakable.
So far as public opinion existed then, or could make itself heard in the
Czar's Empire, the impression of this manifesto was a highly
unfavourable one. Its allusions to the maintenance of the political
principles of Nicholas and to the maxims of the Holy Alliance were
little relished--all the less so, because there was not a word about
coming reforms. Military preparations were continued. The whole country
seemed to be destined to become a military camp. No prospects were held
out either of the emancipation of the serfs, or of the admission of any
section of the nation to a share in the Government.
Soon, however, Alexander II. had to alter his tone. The wave of public
discontent rising ever higher, whilst the Russian arms suffered defeat
after defeat, peace had to be concluded, and the full stringency of the
despotic rule could no longer be maintained. Gortschakoff was
substituted for Nesselrode in the Chancellorship. At that time this was
almost considered progress--so unspeakably degrading was the slavery of
the nation, and so apt are men in their despair to catch at a straw.
Gortschakoff, nevertheless, pronounced the famous saying, "_La Russie ne
boude pas; elle se recueille!_" The old war policy had been scotched,
not killed. Scarcely had the army returned from the campaign, before
Government busied itself with a well-studied plan for a network of
railways, not in the commercial, but in the strategical interest. With
the same object of an ulterior return to the aggressive war policy,
Alexander II. sought an interview with Napoleon III. soon after the
conclusion of the Crimean War. Piedmont, also, was diplomatically
approached in a remarkably friendly manner. England was to be isolated.
Revenge was to be ultimately taken against her. Between all these
significant, though somewhat weak attempts, the new Czar addressed to
the Marshals of the Polish nobility at Warsaw his threatening
words:--"Before all, no dreams, gentlemen!... If need be, I shall know
how to punish with the utmost severity; and with the utmost severity I
mean to punish!" ("_Avant tout, point de rêveries, messieurs!... Au
besoin, je saurai sévir, et je sévirai!_")
Thus the autocratic vein strongly stood out even in this more sickly
type of a barbarous autocracy. It is the fashion at present, at least
among some who take the name of "philosophical Radicals" in vain when
they curtsy before a Machiavellian tyrant, to dwell with admiring pride
upon the philanthropic character of Alexander the Benevolent. All the
cardinal virtues are his. He is the Liberator of the Serfs, the
Deliverer of Downtrodden Nationalities, the Educator and Friend of the
People--a monstrous paragon of princely perfection. The truth is that
this Czar, albeit lacking the nerve of his sire, has from early youth
shown the full absolutistic bent. Dire necessity only brought him to the
accomplishment of some reforms. But the evidence before us clearly shows
that in this he acted on the well-known lines of despotic calculation,
and that he never did good without the intention of thereby preventing
what to him appeared to be the greater evil for his position as an
irresponsible autocrat, by the so-called "Grace of God."
III.
So deeply shaken was the Empire by the events of 1853-56, that Alexander
did not dare for several years--in fact, not until 1863--to ordain any
fresh recruitment for the army. This necessity greatly diminished the
oppressive power of the Crown. At the same time, public opinion showed
signs of a threatening unrest. An "Underground Literature," as it was
called, began once more to express the ideas of the better-educated,
progressive classes. Among the troops, the "Songs of the Crimean
Soldiers," by Tolstoy, an artillery officer, made a great stir. Count
Orloff, then Minister of the Police, wrote to the Commanding-General in
the South, that he should silence these rebel songs. The General
somewhat bluntly replied, "Please come yourself, and try to silence
them!"
Among the secret publications then in vogue there were some political
poems of Pushkin, hitherto only known in clandestine manuscript form.
Pushkin is often called, with a great deal of exaggeration, the Russian
Byron, whereas others will only let him pass as a Byron travestied,
wanting in originality, like most of his Russian brother-poets of the
end of the last and the beginning of this century. At all events, one of
Pushkin's utterances containing the words,
"I hate thee and thy race,
Thou autocratic villain,"
does not lack in allusive clearness. Secretly printed abroad, his
writings were largely propagated at Alexander the Second's accession.
Again, men like Lawroff--who, ten years later, was imprisoned as a
suspect, after Karakasoff's attempt against the life of the Czar--had
celebrated the advent of the successor of Nicholas with such ironically
questionable sentiments as this:--
"Be proud, ye Russian men,
Of being the slaves of a Czar!"
Writers of comedies, novelists, delineators of the life of the people,
ultra-realistic and cynical describers of the criminal classes arose in
rapid succession, whose tendency, one and all, was to show to what a
state of corruption Russian society, from top to bottom, had come under
the famous "Champion of Order," the dreaded Nicholas. That Czar had been
in the habit of speaking of Turkey as the Sick Man. Russia was now shown
to be the Sick Man. Neither did St. Petersburg, Moscow or the other
chief towns, alone serve as a theme for this kind of semi-political
literature. "Provincial Sketches" also came out in a similar strain.
These publications obtained an ever-increasing success among those
classes--few in number, it is true--which were able to read. A whole
"Revelation Literature" sprang up, dealing with cases of governmental
corruption. The censorship could not be upheld any longer against these
writers with the strict severity of the previous reign. A beaten
Absolutism had to do things a little more cautiously; and the watchful
eyes of men hitherto treated like slaves quickly found out, with the
rapid glance and intuition of the oppressed, that it was safe to "dare
it on" a little more than they would have dreamt of doing before the end
of the Crimean War. Truly, those Liberals in this country who now
denounce that war as a mistake and even a crime, do not know, or do not
care to remember, what a relief it brought to Russian Liberals
themselves.