The spirit of the age in which they lived must, in most cases, account for the superstitious turn of mind of many sovereigns in the past. The fact that we are now acquainted with the laws which determine the movements of comets, so that we are able to predict their appearance, has caused us to cease to pray that we may be preserved from their malevolent influence; and no longer now, as happened in the tenth century, would an European army flee in terror before one of them.[170] But from their movements not being understood, and hence regarded of supernatural character, they were a source of fear. They were dreaded as the precursors of calamity, because it was shown that comets had preceded the death of such rulers as C?sar, or Constantine the Great, or Charles V. It was demonstrated that comets had been seen before the invasion of Greece by Xerxes, before the Peloponnesian War, before the Civil Wars of C?sar and Pompey, before the fall of Jerusalem, before the invasion of Attila, and before the greatest number of famines and pestilences that{396} have afflicted mankind. Hence it is not surprising that Louis the Debonnaire was frightened by the comet which appeared during Holy Week of 837. The first morning after it had been seen he sent for his astrologer. “Go,” said he, “on to the terrace of the palace, and come back again immediately and tell me what you have noticed, for I have not observed that star before, and you have not shown it to me; but I know that this sign is a comet: it announces a change of reign and the death of a prince.” Nor was this all, for the son of Charlemagne was convinced that the comet was sent for him, and accordingly “he passed his nights in prayer, gave large donations to the monasteries, and finally had a number of masses performed out of fear for himself and forethought for the Church committed to his care.”[171] But, whilst this comet was a source of fear in France, the Chinese were observing it astronomically. It was no other than Halley’s comet, which appeared again in 1066, and was regarded as a presage of the conquest under William of Normandy, a representation of which occurs in Matilda’s Bayeux tapestry. And it has been traditionally said that one of the jewels of the British crown was taken from the tail of this comet. But William neither believed in omens, nor encouraged fortune-telling, and, when he heard how a certain soothsayer—who had thought proper to join himself to the armament—had lost his life, he shrewdly remarked, “Little could he have{397} known of the fate of others who could not foresee his own.”
The same comet made its appearance again in 1456, when Europe was filled with dread of the Turks, who had lately become masters of Constantinople, and a line was then added to the litanies of the Church praying for deliverance from “the Devil, the Turk, and the Comet.” At this time Pope Calixtus III. was engaged in a war with the Saracens, and he declared that the comet “had the form of a cross,” and indicated some great event; whereas Mahomet maintained that the comet, “having the form of a yataghan,” was a blessing of the Prophet’s.
A comet which attained its greatest altitude at the hour of Edward I.’s birth was much discussed, and Eleanor eagerly inquired of the astrologers what it portended to her babe. They replied that the bright flames which preceded it promised brilliant fortunes to her new-born son; but the long train of smoke great calamity to his son and successor. And once, it is said, when Queen Elizabeth’s attendants tried to dissuade her from looking at a comet, which was supposed to predict evil to her, she ordered the window of her apartment to be set open, and pointing to the comet, she exclaimed, “Jacta est alea (the die is cast); my steadfast hope and confidence are too firmly planted in the providence of God to be blasted or affrighted by these beams.” And yet it was Elizabeth who preferred Dr. Dee to the chancellorship of St. Paul’s Cathedral.{398}
Another comet which caused some consternation at Court was seen in 1680, and was said to be the same as that which had preceded C?sar’s death. Hence it is said that when the brother of Louis XIV. saw the courtiers discussing the matter in an unconcerned manner, he sharply rebuked them: “Ah, gentlemen, you may talk at your ease, if you please; you are not princes.” It was this comet which gave rise to a curious story, how at Rome a hen had laid an egg on which was depicted the comet—a fact which was attested by his Holiness, by the Queen of Sweden, and by some of the leading persons in Rome.
But if comets were a source of superstition, other phenomena of the heavens were also supposed to influence the destinies of royalty; and hence Queen Catherine de Medicis, though a woman of strong mind, was deluded with the more ignorant by the vanity of astrological judgments. The professors of the science were so much consulted in her Court that the most trivial act was not done without an appeal to the stars. One of the most noted astrologers under her patronage was Nostradamus, a physician of Provence, who to medicine joined astrology, which soon augmented his income. He was summoned to Paris by Catherine in 1556, and one of his predictions—which turned out hopelessly wrong—was contained in a small book issued in the year 1572, under this title, “Prognostication touching the Marriage of the very honourable and beloved Henry, by the grace of God King of Navarre, and the very illustrious Princess Mar{399}guerite of France, calculated by Master Bernard Abbatio, Doctor in Medicine, and Astrologer to the very Christian King of France.” In this astrological calculation he professed to show that the couple would “love one another intensely all their lives,” whereas they always hated each other; and he further declared that they would “approach a hundred years,” but Henry IV. died before he was sixty. Many children were to be the outcome of the marriage, whereas there were none, for the marriage was broken off, and Henry married to Marie de Medicis.
But speaking of Catherine de Medicis, there is probably no sovereign in history “of whose persevering addiction to the occult arts so many singular traditions are preserved.” Anecdotes might be told of the amulets and talismans which she wore; of the observatories and laboratories which she fitted up in the Louvre; of the enchanted mirror in which she beheld the fortunes of her descendants; “and, above all, that singular and sudden change in her disposition which history attributes to the cruel insults of her dissolute husband, but which popular superstition ascribed to the malign influence of her supernatural allies.”[172]
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{400} 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{401} 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,{402} 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-{403}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{404} 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 re{405}putation 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”—
the Queen dying on her birthday, February 11, 1502-3, the very day when she completed her thirty-seventh year.
Another delusion which excited an extensive and long-continued interest was alchemy, and in the splendid Courts of Almansor and Haroun-al-Raschid the professors of the mystic art found “patronage, disciples, and emolument.” Frederick II., in a letter to his friend Baron von de Horst, thus writes concerning the rage of making gold which has deceived so many: “Fredersdorf firmly believed in it, and was soon connected with all the adepts in Potsdam. Speedily the report spread through the whole garrison, so that there was{406} not an ensign who did not hope to pay his debts by means of the philosopher’s stone. Swindling adepts crowded from all quarters, and under all sorts of characters, to Potsdam. From Saxony came a certain Madame von Pfuel with two very handsome daughters, who did the thing in quite a professional style, so that they were considered great prophetesses. I wished to put it down by authority, but I did not succeed. An offer was made to give in my presence every imaginable proof, so that I might convince myself with my own eyes. Considering this the best means to expose the folly, I made this lady alchemist perform her operations under my strict surveillance. To throw gold in the crucibles, or the like clumsy tricks, would not have done; yet Madame von Pfuel gave the affair such a specious appearance that I could not prove any of the experiments to have failed.” Indeed, the most eminent of the alchemic philosophers were not only the companions of princes, but many of them were even kings themselves, who “chose this royal road to wealth and magnificence.”
But in England the dreams of the alchemists never met with much favour, although there seems reason to believe that Raymond Lully—one of the most illustrious of the alchemists—visited this country about the year 1312, on the invitation of Edward II., and was employed here in refining gold and coining rose nobles. In 1455 Henry VI., by the advice of his council and parliament, issued four patents in succession to “certain knights, London citizens, chemists, monks, mass-priests, and others,{407} with leave and licence to attempt the discovery of the philosopher’s stone, to the great benefit of the realm, and the enabling of the King to pay all the debts of the crown in real gold and silver.” Prynne afterwards satirically remarked upon the issue of this patent to ecclesiastics as well as laymen, that the King included them because they were “such good artists in transubstantiating bread and wine in the Eucharist, and therefore the more likely to be able to effect the transmutation of baser metals into better.”
Elizabeth amused herself with the chimeras of alchemy. Cecil, in his diary, has noted that in January 1567, “Cornelius Lannoy, a Dutchman, was committed to the Tower for abusing the Queen’s Majesty in promising to make the elixir.” This impostor had been permitted to have his laboratory at Somerset House, where he had deceived many by promising to convert any metal into gold. To the Queen a more flattering delusion had been held forth, even the draught of perpetual life and youth, and her strong intellect had been duped into the persuasion that it was in the power of a foreign empiric to confer the boon of immortality upon her. That Elizabeth was a believer in the occult sciences, and an encourager of those who practised the arts of divination and transmutation, is evident from the diary of her conjurer, Dr. Dee. On one occasion she condescended with her whole Court and Privy Council to visit him at Mortlake; but, as his wife had only been buried four hours, she contented herself with a peep into his magic{408} mirror. Dr. Dee flattered Elizabeth with promises of perennial youth and beauty from his anticipated discovery of the elixir of life, and the prospect of unbounded wealth as soon as he had matured his secret of transmuting the baser metals into gold. But the encouragement given by Elizabeth to conjurers and star-gazers was inconsistent with her disbelief in the prevailing superstitions of the age.
Turning to sorcery and magic, Charlemagne, it is said, had a talisman, to which frequent allusion is made in traditional history, and which the late Emperor Napoleon III., when Prince Louis Napoleon, was stated to have in his possession. This curiosity, which was described in the Parisian journals as “la plus belle relique de l’Europe,” has long excited much interest in the arch?ological circles on the Continent. It is of fine gold, of a round form, set with gems, and in the centre are two sapphires, and a portion of the Holy Cross. This talisman was found on the neck of Charlemagne when his tomb was opened, and was presented to Bonaparte, and by him to Hortense, the former Queen of Holland, at whose death it descended to her son Prince Louis, late Emperor of the French.
Similarly, Henry VIII. had so great a superstitious veneration for the traditional virtues of a jewel which had for ages decked the shrine of Thomas à Becket at Canterbury, that he had it set in a ring, which he constantly wore on his thumb. The jewel was known as the “royal of France,{409}” having been presented to the shrine of the murdered archbishop by Louis VII. in the year 1179. Indeed, amulets in one form or another have from early times been used by royalty; and we read in the old French chronicles how Gondebaud, King of Burgundy, in the fifth century sought as a talisman the aid of St. Sergius’s thumb—which, fastened to the right arm of a certain Eastern king, had always made him victorious—and how, when his request was not granted, he took by force a piece of the saint’s finger. And, likewise, on the death of Tippoo Saib, in the assault on his capital by the English troops, an English officer who was present at the discovery of his body among the slain, by permission of General Baird, took from the Sultan’s right arm the talisman which contained—sewed upon pieces of fine flowered silk—an amulet of a brittle, metallic substance of the colour of silver, and some magic words in Arabic and Persian characters. And, as a further instance of the superstitious tendency of Queen Elizabeth, Lady Southwell relates, “that the Queen, not being in very good health one day, Sir John Stanhope, Vice-Chamberlain, came and presented her Majesty with a piece of gold of the bigness of an angel, full of characters, which he said an old woman in Wales had bequeathed to her—the Queen—on her deathbed; and thereupon he discoursed how the said testatrix, by virtue of that piece of gold, had lived to the age of 120 years, and at that age, having all her body withered and consumed, she died, commanding the said piece of{410} gold to be sent to her Majesty, alleging, further, that so long as she wore it on her body she could not die. The Queen, in confidence, took the gold and hung it round her neck.”
And it may be remembered how, after the battle of Culloden, the baggage of Prince Charles Edward fell into the hands of the Duke of Cumberland’s army, when many private and curious articles came into the possession of General Bedford—amongst others a stone set in silver attached to a ring which, it has been suggested, “the superstitious prince may have obtained on the Continent as a charm, and carried as a protection in the hazardous enterprise in which he was engaged.” It was a ruby bloodstone, having on one face the figure of Mars, and on the other face was a female naked figure, probably Isis.[174]
And speaking of ring superstitions in connection with royalty, there were the famous “cramp rings” which, when blessed by the sovereign, were regarded as preservatives against the cramp or against epilepsy—the earliest mention of which usage occurs in the reign of Edward II., the ceremonial having been discontinued by Edward VI. These rings were of various kinds—sometimes they were made of silver and of gold; and a MS. copy of the Orders of the King of England’s Household—13th Henry VIII., 1521-1522—preserved in the National Library at Paris, contains “the Order of the Kinges of England, touching his coming to service, hallowing of cramp rings, and offering and creeping to the{411} Cross.”[175] On April 4, 1529, Anne Boleyn sent to Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, who had been despatched to Rome to plead for the divorce of Catherine of Aragon, a present of cramp rings; and the late Cardinal Wiseman had in his possession a manuscript containing both the ceremony for the blessing of the cramp rings, and that for the touching for the king’s evil. At the commencement of the MS. are emblazoned the arms of Philip and Mary, and there is an illumination representing the Queen kneeling, with a dish containing the rings to be blessed on each side of her. It appears that Queen Mary intended to revive the practice, and from this manuscript she probably did so.
Closely allied with the “royal cramp rings” was the practice of “touching for the evil,” which is said to have commenced with Edward the Confessor, and was more or less continued to the reign of Queen Anne, for in Lent 1712 we find Dr. Johnson among the persons actually touched. The custom seems to have been at its height in the reign of Charles II., as in the four first years of his restoration he “touched” nearly 24,000 persons. Pepys, in his “Diary,” under June 23, 1666, records how he waited at Whitehall, “to see the King touch people for the king’s evil.” He did not come, but kept the poor persons waiting all the morning in the rain in the garden; but afterwards he touched them in the banqueting-house. And Evelyn records the fact{412} that in the reign of Charles II. several persons were pressed to death in the crowd that surrounded the doors of the Court surgeon, where individuals applied for tickets in order to present their children for cure to the King. William III., says Macaulay, “had too much sense to be duped, and too much honesty to bear a part in what he knew to be an imposture.” “It is a silly superstition,” he exclaimed, when he heard that at the close of Lent his palace was besieged by a crowd of the sick; “give the poor creatures some money and send them away.” On one occasion he was importuned into laying his hand on a patient. “God give you better health,” he said, “and more sense.” But Queen Anne revived the superstition, and performed the healing-office during her progresses whenever she rested at any provincial city.
At a late period the use of certain coins, known as “royal touch-pieces,” was in common vogue, which, being touched by the King, were supposed to ward off evil or scrofula, several of which are preserved in the British Museum; and Mrs. Bray speaks of a “Queen Anne’s farthing” being a charm for curing the king’s evil in Devonshire.
The belief prevailed in France so lately as the coronation of Louis XVI., who is reported to have touched 2000 persons afflicted with scrofula. Indeed, this gift of healing was dispensed by the early French kings, and Laurentius, first physician to Henry IV. of France, asserts the power to have commenced with Clovis I. Bishop Elphin{413}ston, the founder of King’s College, Aberdeen, before his elevation to the episcopal dignity, while on an embassy from James III., King of Scots, to Louis XI., in a complimentary speech to the French monarch, congratulated him as the only prince to whom God had granted the peculiar gift of healing by the touch.
Evil omens with regard to rings have been occasionally the source of alarm to royalty. Thus Atkinson, in his “Memoirs of the Queen of Prussia,” writes: “The betrothal of the young couple—Frederick and Sophia Charlotte, King and Queen of Prussia—speedily followed. I believe it was during the festivities attendant upon this occasion that a ring worn by Frederick, in memory of his deceased wife, with the device of clasped hands, and the motto ‘à jamais,’ suddenly broke, which was looked upon as an omen that this union was to be of short duration.” And Queen Elizabeth’s coronation ring, which she had worn constantly since her inauguration, having grown into her finger, necessitated the ring being filed off, an incident which was regarded as an unfavourable omen by many. Few, too, were more credulous in such matters than Elizabeth herself, who appears to have been a firm believer in th............