part ii of iii: Shakespeare & the royal science
The Carta Marina of Olaus Magnus (16th century) showing the “horrenda caribdis,” i.e., the Maelstrom. Original copyright Tall Tree Library, Jenkintown, Pa. Re-worked by Aztlan Times.
Chapter IV
Lear, of the Sea, of the Stars
“Summer sea-steeds leapt and ran
Far as reach the eyes of Bran.
Rivers run with honey clear
In the fair land of Mac Lir.”
The Mythology of the British Isles. Charles Squire, 1905
Perhaps the most varied source for the background of King Lear is Edward Godfrey Cox’s King Lear in Celtic Tradition, from his essay in Modern Language Notes, Vol. XXIV, January, 1909. Godfrey begins his work with the Ossianic ballad Dan Luir, printed by J.F. Campbell in his Leabhar na Feinne, Vol. I, Gaelic Texts: Heroic Gaelic Ballads, the poem itself from a collection made by Duncan Kennedy in 1774. This Scotch-Gaelic Leabhar na Feinne, it should be noted, is a fairly controversial text, in the regard there is a distinct lack of peer congruity regarding its origins and factuality. The main problem seems to be in the occasional instances where it varies widely from Welsh and Irish traditional myth. Nonetheless, the stories are obviously of the same pantheon, and offer some interesting perspectives.
Of note are the opening lines of the poem, which set the stage:
“The wife of Liur sat at the shoulder of Finn,
Finn sat at the side of Liur;
King Art sat at the side of Aodh,
By the side of Aodh of mirthful mien.”
Here, the long-standing importance of Lear is once again established. He is there with King Arthur, one of the premiere British icons; yet, as Cox notes, Lear is reduced to a petty kinglet from a sea-god at one point, no one knows when, for Lear’s origins, according to Cox:
“are enveloped in an obscurity as baffling as a druidic mist. From the failure of the few meagre references to him in Irish literature to body him forth with well-defined features, we know little of him beyond that his name means the sea, and that he belongs to the Tuatha de Danaan, or folk of the goddess Danu.”
We do know that at one point he was stripped of his association with the sea, which was then promptly conferred on his son, Manannan mac Lir. However, in the Irish poem, Song of the Sea, For the Sea-Kings of Dublin, by Rumann, (d.749), who is referred to as the “Irish Virgil,” there are still vestiges of the ocean:
“Storm is on the plain of Lir (i.e., the sea)
Bursting o’er its borders here.”
As well as this,
“The ploughing of Lir’s vast plain
Brings to brave hosts pride and pain.”
(Cox, King Lear in Celtic Tradition, p. 3)
Incidentally, there’s a rumor that Rumann was the one who originally penned The Tempest, purportedly in a tavern, under the influence. It makes for a great story, however, it’s probably apocryphal.
In 1909, at the time of the article’s writing, Cox could only refer to the Tuatha de Danaan as part of the “mythological period of Irish history,” where it’s believed they descended from heaven from some unknown Northern land where they had learned Druidery, or, as it was referred to back then: magic.
By way of this magic, it’s said they obscured the sun for three days after their arrival (in reality, they had burned the ships upon which they had arrived in order to cover their tracks from their pursuers, the ensuing smoke providing the obstruction).
Yet, regardless of how, or when, Lear came to be associated with the British Isles, is unknown. His appearance in different forms speaks to the development of his story over time. However, in typical Northern form; where Lear appears most vividly, is when he is frequently feuding with his brother chiefs.
In perhaps the most intriguing scenario, he seeks revenge for the slaughter of his “baleful bird” by Cailte, one of the Fianna, who was enjoying the hospitality of Ilbreac mac Manannan of Easa Ruaid.
Lir gathers his troops, and as their armies approach one another on the field, Cailte, who is renowned as a vicious warrior, asks who’s the fiercest fighter on the other side; all reply it is Lir, and Cailte resolves to kill him, which he does after a vicious battle.
However, whether he’s identified with the sea, as a doomed chieftain, or with the Tuatha de Danaan, its evident Lear’s identity is as baffling as a druidic mist; much like the Danaan, themselves.
Even Cox, himself, admits the name Llyr, itself is a source of confusion. This primarily due to the initial translation, where the Welsh took the Latin Leir of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and changed it to Llyr, which, according to Cox, is derived from legr of Legraceaster, now referred to as Leicester; though Cox ultimately summarizes the root of the name by claiming it must have come from the Loire.
However, Lear is also important in a manner rarely discussed when mentioning his many manifestations; that is as Duir, the god of the oak month. From his post at the ending of one year and beginning of another he can look both ways; future and past.
This Oak god is of the Hercules myth, where he is the keeper of the door, or, the stout guardian of the door.
Robert Graves, in his The White Goddess tells us:
“What I take for a reference to Llyr as Janus occurs in the closing paragraph of Merlin’s prophecy to the heathen King Vortigern and his Druids, recorded by Geoffrey of Monmouth:
“After this Janus shall never have priests again. His door will be shut
And remain concealed in Ariadne’s crannies.”
(The White Goddess, p. 173.)
And, so, the ancient Druidic oak-Cult was forever closed by the “door” of Christianity; in effect, the end of paganism. This act put Lear in the Castle of Arianrhod, or the Corona Borealis, where he is lost to the mists of time.
In addition to the “closing” of this Druidic door, traces of the culture and history of the Druids were also swept away; including the fact that Apollonian Hyperborean Priests visited Tempe in Northern Greece, engaging in a religious peregrination to the end of the dissemination of their cult.
However, for now, let’s pivot away from this abstract astronomical speech and ground our tale in the annals of the past, specifically to 1130-1140 CE, where The History of the Kings of Britain, by Geoffrey of Monmouth -- the purported origins of the Lear tale, are first put in print.
In Chapter 10 of said work, we learn Lear’s father, Bladud reigned for twenty years, built the hot baths which gave the town of Bath its name, and, incidentally, he dedicates to the goddess Minerva; in whose temple he kept fires that never went out nor consumed to ashes; it’s also said he practiced and taught necromancy and was considered an ‘ingenious’ man.
That is, until one day, he attempted, in Daedalus-like fashion, “to fly to the upper region of the air with wings which he had prepared, and fell upon the temple of Apollo, in the city of Trinovantum, where he was dashed to pieces.”
In Bladud’s dedication to Minerva, we find a long-lost clue to the Shakespeare mystery; for the Goddess Minerva is the Goddess Pallas Athena; who guards the stage of mysteries with her male counterpart, Apollo. So, Bladud, the father of Lear, exhibits the belief in Apollo in the British Isles at the time, yet, the real key to the story is in the translation of Pallas Athena, which is, Shake-speare.
This lets us know De Vere wisely chose Pallas Athena as the ideal conveyor for his project of preserving what lie beyond the stage of mysteries.
With that crucial clue in mind, and with Lear and Shakespeare now inextricably tied to one another through de Vere, we’d like to add that, for the record, it’s noted Shakespeare purportedly knew King Lear from a version of the play that’s said to have been performed during the 1590’s by the Queen’s and Sussex’s Men at the Rose Theatre, called The True Chronicle History of King Leir.
This seems ludicrous on several levels. Firstly, as we’ve firmly established, the story of Lear is as old as the Isles itself. Secondly, for any of Shakespeare’s contemporaries to have not remembered any of its mythic elements, and accept the one-dimensional Lear currently in use as something of value, disregarding centuries of poetic knowledge, particularly as educated men of court; seems far-fetched.
To our point, in a preserved copy of the True Chronicle play there is the signature of a ‘Wm Sheakespear’, which has been crossed out and Anonymous written in its place; this seems an obvious attempt to create confusion regarding authorship.
However, this is not merely an Elizabethan problem, but one of history, as well; the peopling of the British Isles being primary example. What’s written in such histories is invariably what the Royal court at the time wants to be known and disseminated, i.e., they are a deft blend of raw facts and censorship. They seek to establish holy power with its country’s leaders, in the process arranging crucial symbols to their favor.
Prime example of such a work is The New Chronicles of England and France: In Two Parts by Robert Fabyan, (Pynson’s edition, 1516), on the surface a seemingly pedestrian work, but one which serves our purposes here well, particularly in the regard it shows how one might fictionally present factual occurrences; the editorializing done on behalf of the author and their patron to the end of legitimizing the ruse.
We understand as much by the tentative nature Fabyan takes in the Incipit Prologus; here, it reads:
“Of France and other I might likewise report
To their great honor, as of them doth appear,
But to England, if I shall resort
Right misty stories, doubtful and unclear,
Of names and times, and of the Durant year
That Kings or Princes ruled that famous Isle,
Almost uncertain how I should guide my style.”
(Fabyan, The New Chronicles of England and France, Incipit Prologus, p.2; my translation.)
From the outset, Mr. Fabyan admits he is unclear as to how he might unpack such a diverse and strange history. He is absolutely correct in his apprehension, for, as we know, this path is rather convoluted.
Still, we persevere. With the New Chronicles still in hand, we turn to Page 8. Here, the title reads: HERE BEGYNNETH OF THE STORYE. It tells us:
“Brute, of the Auncyēt and Noble blode of Troyans, descended of Eneas a Troyan, and of doughter of Pryam kynge of the Troyans…”
Curious that the chronicles of England and France should begin with the story of Brutus…in any event, the story really starts when it is learned that:
Brute, beyng of age of xv yeres, slewe his Fader in shotynge at a wylde beest. And as some Auctours haue, he slewe also his moder in tyme of his byrth,” i.e., Brutus, at the age of fifteen, accidentally killed his father while shooting at a wild beast (read Boar), and that his mother died in childbirth.
After this he lands in a province of Greeks ruled by a Pandrasius. There are many Trojan captives there. He takes Pandrasius’ daughter Iunegen as his wife and he is given a fleet of ships to sail on an adventure. North of Africa he comes upon an Isle with an old temple dedicated to Diana, looking for inspiration, he enters and kneels before the altar and says:
“Celestial Goddess, that weldest frith and wode,
The wild boar & beasts, thou fearest by thy might:
Guider of shipmen passing the raging flood,
The infernal houses, for and the Earth of right
Behold & search, and show where I shall light.
Tell the certain place where everlastingly
A temple of virgins to thee I shall edify.”
(Ibid, Prima Pars Bruti, p.9; my translation).
This divine inspiration Brutus sought from the Goddess, the one that welds the relationship between a king and his people with a frenetic madness (weldest frith and wode), in conjunction with the image of the Boar, precessional time, and the era-changing image of the flood; perfectly set the stage for his founding of Albion, or, England.
However, first, we learn that after other pagan observances, he falls into a deep sleep; and as he lays sleeping, the Goddess appears to him and says:
“Brutus, far out West, over the land of France,
An Isle in Ocean there is, all closed with the sea;
This Isle, with Giants, by whom inhabit by chance,
Now being desert as appetite for thy people & thee.
In thus of thy body Kings born shall be,
And of this Isle thou shalt Lord and King.
And here to thy children a new Troy shall spring.”
(Ibid; my translation)
Brutus awakes and brings together his closest, wisest advisors, and with them he shares his vision. Upon hearing it, they all rejoice and go about brewing wine and liqueurs of diverse aromats & spyces, in order to celebrate; just as prescribed in the Pagan laws and rites.
After the celebration, they embark west, sailing for thirty days, until they come upon a Tyrrhen (modern-day Corsica & Sardinia) ship, serendipitously captained by Brutus’ kinsman Corneus. They happily greet each other, then sail off in the same direction until they reach the coast of Gaul, where Prince Groffarius rules.
Groffarius, keen to defend his land, promptly sets out against them in battle, yet they easily defeat him, although Brutus loses his nephew, Turon, in the battle, and supposedly dedicates a city to him there.
Then he and Corneus set sail for three days, land at Totness in Cornwall; their entire journey, it’s said, transpired:
“Before the building of Rome, following the foresaid accomplishments, etc…
Before the incarnation of Christ,
And before Alexander the Great conquered the world.
Also before any King reigned over the Frenchmen, or that they were quite aware of
Their tribute to Romans.”
(my translation).
And, so, as we’ve gratuitously shown, the ideas surrounding the plays of Shakespeare, as demonstrated by two of his historical works, Hamlet, and The History of King Lear, are rife with common themes in British Isles history, and also contain crucial symbols which might divulge their sources to the attentive, well-informed reader.
However, now that we’ve broadened the scope of King Lear and freed him from his unfortunate historical bonds, let’s turn once again to a much-quoted source, that of Sir Israel Gollancz, and his crucial Hamlet in Iceland, in order to tie them together, and in the process wrap-up our Chapter.
Here, Gollancz, after summarizing the Hamlet tale’s origins and its connection to the mill, comes to the conclusion that:
“the Nine Maidens of the Island-Mill” are the nine daughters of Ægir, the Ocean-god. One of these, at least, to judge by her name, “the Dove,” must have had kinship with the gentle daughter of Ægir’s Celtic brother-monarch, the much-harassed Lear.”
(Gollancz, Hamlet in Iceland, Introduction, p. xi)
Re-worked detail from Gerard of Cremona’s Astronomiae Gebri.
Chapter V
The Whirlpool, the Burnt Path, and the Fall of Troy
“…this was the Path
Where Phoebus drove; and that in length of years
The heated track took fire and burnt the Stars
The Colour changed, the ashes strewed the Way,
And still preserve the marks of decay.”
- Manilius. The Five Books of M. Manilius: Containing a System of the Ancient Astronomy.
Previously, we had mentioned the biblical phrase as above, so below. This seems pretty straightforward initially, yet, as one should realize by now, there’s more to this statement than what’s on the surface.
Perhaps the best example of as above, so below is exemplified in the image of the whirlpool, which, as we’ve seen, has many manifestations. In addition to this, at one point in Hamlet’s Mill, our authors come to the following realization:
“We think that the whirlpool stands for the “ecliptical world” marked by the whirling planets, embracing everything which circles obliquely with respect to the polar axis and the equator -- oblique by 23.5 degrees, more or less, each planet having its own obliquity with respect to the others and to the sun’s path, that is the ecliptic proper.”
(Hamlet’s Mill, p.239)
The above paragraph didn’t mean much to me the first time I came across it. My mind was preoccupied with other cryptic thoughts previously alluded to. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized how crucial this clue was.
To my way of thinking, the entire whirlpool phenomenon seemed to consist of three separate components. The first being the whirling of Hamlet’s Mill. Secondly, the whirling of the oceanic whirlpool. Thirdly, we have the static whirlpool of the milky way above. However, to this scheme, De Santillana and Von Dechend also add the component of the ecliptic.
These three whirlpools and the ecliptic have been the source of so many stories throughout time, for what they represent; the sea and ocean; the machinations of the nighttime heavens; the grinder and reanimator of souls; comprise most of the symbols of the ancient pantheon and of the peoples which devised and riddled-out the paradigm as they swept across the globe.
So, what we have is a theme, echoing across time, gaining prominence as it goes. And, as one might have assessed by now, the Celtic and Welsh poems and stories are based on the ocean and seafaring; this serves as a hard boundary between the story of the north and that of the previous southern world from which they came in the aftermath of the fall of Troy.
The Edda begins in Troy, and, as recently shown, so do the histories of France and England. The main difference between the two being the Edda provides more insight into the previous worlds, while claiming to begin at the outset of this one, while the Histories of France and England are expressly written in this age, the Christian one, and shroud the past in the mists of time via Christian symbols.
We have also shown how Shakespeare carefully selected his seminal Northern tales by way of the examples of Hamlet and King Lear, as they complete the northern portion of the cycle. However, we realize we’ve yet to touch upon the obverse, southern, Italian and Roman plays, which obviously complete said cycle; for if they are taken as an aggregate, they far outweigh any singular work of his, and from this perspective, it’s far easier to see how the entire canon mimics the unfolding of time in the British scheme, in the process introducing vital astronomical images.
As part of Royal court, Edward de Vere would have been able to take any of the themes or works offered in our thesis, and expound on them expertly. In other words, he was educated in, and was intimately aware of even the most arcane texts discussed so far. Furthermore, as previously mentioned, Latin and Greek were part of the curriculum of his era, ensuring that southern knowledge formed the basis of northern education.
However, for now, let’s get back to our original theme.
As we began our thesis with the mill, let’s start there. As shown, this device was used on multiple levels, however, when it comes down to how it was interpreted by commoners as well as royals, at the end of the day, it pretty much meant the same thing: it’s the place where one’s soul would wind-up in the afterlife, and there, would be ground into a new substance.
The mill had its own set of rules, though; for its operator, the Demiurge didn’t create all souls equally. There were those exceptional beings that were considered the seed of mankind; who issued originally from the fixed stars; the most virtuous of whom could reincarnate on earth at any time; but the average “flour” of ordinary folk, were made to wait in purgatory for eons.
To put this in perspective, we can assuredly say that by the time the Greeks and Plato arrive on the scene, said knowledge is far removed from the public eye. Regarding how Plato dealt with this arcane, guarded, precessional knowledge, De Santillana and Von Dechend shed light on the subject by stating:
“Plato did not invent his myths, he used them in the right context -- now and then mockingly -- without divulging their precise meaning: whoever was entitled to the knowledge of the proper terminology would understand them. He did not care much for the “flour” after all.”
(Ibid. p. 310)
So, as we’ve established; the sea of Lear and the mill of Hamlet signify one another, and are oftentimes used in thematic sequences; the literal whirlpool of the ocean, the corona borealis, and correspondingly, the image of the Milky Way.
Hamlet’s Mill provides us with the following statement:
“Once the precession had been discovered, the Milky Way took on a new and decisive significance. For it was not only the most spectacular band of heaven, it was also a reference point from which the Precession could be imagined to have taken its start. This would have been when the vernal equinoctial sun left its position in Gemini in the Milky Way. When it was realized the sun had been there once, the idea occurred that the Milky Way might mark the abandoned track of the sun - a burnt out area, as it were, a scar in heaven.”
(Hamlet’s Mill, p. 245)
Regarding the Milky Way and its importance to the human story, Ovid seemed to have been aware of this in that he writes the following in Metamorphoses:
“Across the height of heaven there runs a road,
Clear when the night is bare, the Milky Way,
Famed for its sheen of white. Along this way
Come the immortals to the royal halls
Of the great Thunderer.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, trans. by A.D. Melville, p. 6)
In our Introduction, we mentioned the relationship between the young de Vere and one of his educators, who happens to be his Uncle on his Mother’s side; Arthur Golding, specifically regarding his translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, which was extremely popular in the day.
In my copy of Oxford World’s Classics edition of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Translated by A.D. Melville, with an Introduction and Notes by E.J. Kenney (1986, Oxford University Press), Book II of said work relates the story of Phaethon, who was the pride of his father, Jove, and was granted a wish from him for whatever his heart desired; in this instance, he foolishly demands to drive his father’s fabled chariot across the sky.
Jove attempts to warn him this is sheer folly, as there’s absolutely no way the boy will be able to control such a powerful force, in effect, the path of the sun:
“Besides, in constant flux the *sky streams by,
Sweeping in dizzy whirl the stars on high.
I drive against this force, which overcomes
all things but me, and on opposing course
Against its rushing circuit make my way.”
(Ibid, II. 70-75, p. 27)
As way of explanation of this quote, under note #70, Kenney says this:
70. the *sky streams by: the heavens and the fixed stars were thought to rotate against the motions of the sun.
It’s peculiar wording Kenney uses to address the past, “were thought to,” which implies that in the past, such thinking was mistaken. Despite Kenney’s brief and uninformative note, upon reading the above lines, it occurred to me it sounded as if he were inadvertently describing the precessional process, as explained previously by De Santillana and Von Dechend:
“Hence the sun, moving on the ecliptic throughout the year, meets the equator on a point which shifts steadily with the years along the ring of zodiacal signs. This is what is meant by the Precession of the Equinoxes. They “precede” because they go against the order of the signs as the sun establishes this on its yearly march.”
The “Father,” or “Jove,” in the Phaethon tale after all, is the sun, anthropomorphized for our benefit by the poet, but make no mistake, these musings are scientific in nature, describing processes which unfolded over countless years.
Furthermore, from the same section, lines 162-167 state:
“Avoid the road direct through all five zones:
On a wide slanting curve the true course lies
Within the confines of the three zones; beware
Alike the southern pole and northern Bear.
Keep to this route; my wheeltracks there show plain.”
Kenney’s note to the above quote reads as follows:
Note# 133: The commentators receive this remarkable statement in silence. Did Ovid perhaps mean his readers by another witty anachronism to think of the ecliptic as marked on a celestial globe?
Here, we have the most interesting comment by Kenney so far, in that, if what he means by a “witty anachronism,” is in reality merely stating fact, then he’s absolutely correct. However, he seems to be indicating Ovid meant to have a joke on us by claiming to know how the ecliptic works at that early date; as if knowledge of the ecliptic were beyond him somehow.
Kenney fails to mention anything about precession or how it works, or to further comment on the ecliptic. Most importantly, he doesn’t mention the obliquity of the ecliptic; that shifting between the equatorial plane and the ecliptic. Let’s not forget, this is what creates the phenomenon of a constant shifting of the celestial players over the long-established period of Saturn-Jupiter conjunctions.
In a nutshell, here we have the problem of lost poetic meaning. In this instance, it seems to be innocent enough; Mr. Kenney wants to offer some sort of explanation for the strange wording and concepts; and, assuming his readers view the ancients in the manner their meant to these days, i.e., with a regression in mental aptitude and intelligence as a corollary to being of the past -- is quite normal.
However, to recapitulate; the whirlpool and the milky way signify one another in their symbolic use in the medieval age, and prior to that. They gave an optical range for mythic beliefs in the time before religion existed and were instrumental in formative tales and histories. The ‘burnt path’ of the sun contained in the Milky Way gives a date and time stamp of when the precession became a reality in the mind of humankind.
And now, for Troy. As previously mentioned, Troy represents a dividing line between Occident and Orient. However, within that framework, there also are several points of division. Primary being the ending of a world, or era, and beginning of another. However, the same portents which signaled its end, were likewise recorded in other myths from the globe simultaneously; signaling the event was obviously linked to astrological phenomena.
Thankfully, the voluminous Appendices section in Hamlet’s Mill records this event in detail:
“Proclus informs us that the fox star nibbles continuously at the thong of the yoke which holds together heaven and earth; German folklore adds that when the fox succeeds, the world will come to its end. This fox star is no other than Alcor, the small star g near zeta Ursae Majoris (in India Arundati, the common wife of the seven Rishis, alpha-eta Ursae.
The same star crosses our way again in the Scholia to Aratus where we are told that it is Electra, mother of Dardanus, who left her station among the Pleiades, desperate because of Ilion’s fall, and retired “above the second star of the beam…others call this star ‘fox.’
This small piece of evidence may show the reader two things: (1) that the Fall of Troy meant the end of a veritable world age. (For the time being, we assume that the end of the Pleiadic age is meant; among various reasons, because Dardanos came to Troy after the third flood, according to Nonnos.); (2) that Ursa Major and the Pleiades figuring on the shield of Achilles, destroyer of Troy, have a precise significance, and are not to be taken as testimony for the stupendous ignorance of Homer who knew none but these constellations, as the specialists want us to believe. There are, indeed many traditions connecting Ursa and the Pleiades with this or that kind of catastrophe to be overlooked. Among the many we mention only one example from later Jewish legends, some lines taken out of a most fanciful description of Noah’s flood, quoted by Frazer:
‘Now the deluge was caused by the male waters from the sky meeting the female waters which issued forth from the ground. The holes in the sky by which the upper waters escaped were made by God when he removed stars out of the constellation of the Pleiades; and in order to stop this torrent of rain, God had afterwards to bung up the two holes with a couple stars borrowed from the constellation of the Bear. That is why the Bear runs after the Pleiades to this day; she wants her children back, but she will never get them till after the last day.’”
(Hamlet’s Mill, Appendices, pgs. 385-6)
Original print edition of Snorri Sturluson’s Edda, 1666.
So, Troy falls, and in its wake, we have this new set of heroes which emerge in the aftermath. These heroes -- like Brutus -- founder of Britannia, and Odin of the Norse, relate their version of the new age, the new world; a mish-mash of ancient and recently invented; similar to when characters in Game of Thrones swear, “by the old gods and the new.”
However, it’s important to bear in mind that Babylonian, Egyptian, and Arabian Astrology were the primary sources for such matters in the time of Shakespeare. Fittingly, there were many Astrological texts in circulation at that time with which de Vere undoubtedly would have been acquainted with.
Among them: de Nativitate from Abraham bar Hiyya ha-Nasi (1070-1136), aka, Abraham Judaeus, or De iudiciic astorum (On judging the stars), from Alboazan Haly, (1254), Court Astrologer to a Tunisian prince, or, perhaps Astronomiae Gebri, Gerard of Cremona’s translation (1114-1187), of the Kitab al-haiaa, a treatise which corrects mistakes made by Ptolemy.
Within the pages of such works, de Vere would have discovered what the Arabs called the small conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter, which occurs every twenty years, and was counted for up to a two-hundred-year period, and was then measured through the four elements for a period of 800 years; a small conjunction.
After about 12 of these, the “shift,” or middle conjunction is achieved. Four of those and we have a big conjunction; three of these are required to make up a mighty conjunction of 2400 years.
This is when a flood or deluge occurs, however, in reality, these are but the appearance of stars sinking above and below the astronomical plane over the periods of conjunctions; in their descent, the actors in the star-bound celestial play - the gods - “drown” in the sea of eternity, as a new world rises in its place.
However, for now, it’s time to leave behind these symbols of the end of ages, and return to the era of Shakespeare, of Edward de Vere, and investigate how he took the information of the regals, of the precession of the equinoxes, and incorporated it into the core of his canon.
