THE SOUTHWORTH PLANETARIUM 70 Falmouth Street Portland, Maine 04103 (207) 780-4249 usm.maine.edu/planet 43.6667° N 70.2667° W Founded January 1970 2022-2023: XXXVII Sunrise: 6:27 a.m. Sunset: 4:22 p.m. Civil twilight ends: 4:52 p.m. Sun's host constellation: Libra the Scales Moon phase: Waning Gibbous (98% illuminated) Moonrise: 4:58 p.m. Moonset: 8:49 a.m. (11/10/2022) Julian date: 2459892.21 "Life isn't about finding yourself; it's about creating yourself." -George Bernard Shaw THE DAILY ASTRONOMER Wednesday, November 9, 2022 Pyramus and Thisbe It is perhaps the most compelling of all love story scenarios: two people so enamored of one another it seems they share one soul between them. They needn't forsake others, for others are of no interest whatsoever. Alas, some external influence precludes their coupling: most often, they're members of families or tribes locked in fierce conflict. These families naturally forbid them from seeing one another and in so doing intensify the love they're seeking to eradicate. The two star-crossed lovers thereby conspire to defy their respective kin and flee together away from the strife that separates them. More often than not, such actions rarely produce the blissful result the lovers desire. And, so, it was in the ancient city of Babylon with two children who lived in adjacent neighborhoods separated by an ancient edifice of eroding stone. Such was the extent of the erosion, that a small hole had been burrowed through, so that one could look through one side and see a small segment of the other side. One could not see much, of course, apart from part of a house and a little of the lush grasses. In one neighborhood, a small boy often lingered around the wall as he loved to observe the seemingly distant realm beyond his reach. He was told that only evil lurked beyond the wall and therefore he should never venture close to it, for evil could take the form of reveling monsters, hideously disfigured. child-eating women or even enveloping smoke. This warning inspired him to visit it whenever he felt it safe: just after dinner, usually, when his parents and siblings reclined in their digestion and the darkening twilight afforded him concealment. Every time he stood on his tiptoes to peer through the hole, he always saw the same thing: part of a home and verdant topsoil, Never did he see monsters, old women, or even smoke. (He couldn't even smell that.) Every so often, he'd spy the legs of people wandering across his view and once, he observed an entire person in the distance. But, it wasn't a monster nor a ghastly crone. He thought that maybe they wandered out to feed at a different time of day. One day. just after sunset. he returned to this hole, and instead of seeing the home, he noticed an eye looking back at him. He just barely stopped himself from yelping out and attracting the attention of his whole neighborhood. Here, finally, he thought, a monster arrived who might bring him to an old woman to be cooked. Fearing that it would transform itself into smoke and pursue him through the hole, he knelt down and murmured. "I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me. Please don't eat me. I promise I won't come back." THISBE Who are you? PYRAMUS Pyramus. I live here with my parents and brothers. I meant no harm. Please, please don't eat me! THISBE It's ok. I already ate today, though the food wasn't very good. I didn't like it, but I had to eat it. PYRAMUS You, um, you sound like a girl. THISBE I am a girl PYRAMUS You're not a monster? THISBE You're silly, like all boys. No, I'm not a monster. There are no such things as monsters.They're just made up. PYRAMUS I was told your world was full of monsters and bad smoke and old women who eat children. THISBE No, boy. I haven't seen a monster. The smoke from the fires has never hurt me. We have a really old woman next door. She's never eaten me. She once told me that my father was a mountain cloud and my mother was a summer wind, which is why I can never sit still. She's silly, too. PYRAMUS You won't hurt me? THISBE No. Will you hurt me? PYRAMUS (rising) No, I won't. THISBE That's good. You sound like a nice boy, Pyramus. PYRAMUS I am...I think. What is your name? THISBE Thisbe. Can...can...you put your eye up to the hole again? PYRAMUS (slowly putting his eye to the hole) Ok. Here, it is THISBE (moving away from the hole to allow the diminishing light to strike Pyramus' eye) Your eye is blue. Like water. PYRAMUS I have two of them. The other one is blue, too THISBE I think your parents were a sea wave and a morning sky. PYRAMUS I'll ask them when I go home. But, I need to go now, before it's dark. THISBE Ok. Come back again, Pyramus, some other day. PYRAMUS Ok. I will. I promise. Pyramus did not mention meeting Thisbe to anybody in his family. He knew he would be in trouble for traveling near the wall and they would keep a very careful watch on him after that. He liked Thisbe and wanted to talk to her again. The problem was that he didn't know when she would return. She only asked him to return another day, but didn't tell him what day. Much of that night he thought of her. Even as he drifted off to sleep, he remembered seeing a part of her face in profile when he pushed his eye against the hole the second time. He remembered a friendly smile and a lot of black hair. These pleasant recollections sent him off to sleep. He returned to the hole promptly the next twilight, but to his disappointment, she wasn't there. He waited for awhile, but then left dejected. Each twilight for more than a week he returned, but still no sign of her. He wondered if he had really seen her. A more frightful part of him thought that she wasn't a girl at all, but maybe the evil smoke that looked like a girl. He didn't know much about smoke, so he didn't know what powers it possessed. After a fortnight, he only ventured close to the wall every other day. After a month, only once a week. His sorrow deepened, because she was still fresh in his memory. Maybe she told her family about meeting him and they told her to stay away. Whatever it was, her absence occasioned him such sadness. Then, in the late summer, he was near the wall and his heard a girl's voice whispering "Pyramus...Pyramus.." He rushed to the hole and saw the girl's eye looking back at him. He was overjoyed at finding her again and felt such a rush of exhilaration, it almost exhausted him. She seemed equally happy to see him. They talked again, that time for a longer period, until well after dark. They both then rushed to their homes and hoped they wouldn't be in trouble for being out so late. During this second meeting, they agreed to meet at the beginning of each month at twilight. As it turns out, Thisbe's parents were very strict and she could only venture out at the beginning of each month, when her parents tended to some business somewhere else and she was under the care of her kindly, older sister, Though somewhat sad that he'd only visit Thisbe once a month, Pyramus was at least assured that they'd have this one monthly encounter. And, they did. At the first of every month, at twilight, Pyramus and Thisbe gathered at the wall to speak of everything. They often talked about the constellations that would appear in the sky as they prepared to leave. They both liked Gilgamesh, who loomed sentinel-like above them on a cold early winter twilight. They spoke about his adventures and wondered what it would be like to travel to other places to see strange lands. Pyramus often talked about slaying monsters and Thisbe laughingly reminded him that there were no such things as monsters. On the many nights when they weren't together, Pyramus often found himself looking up at Gilgamesh and wondering if Thisbe was seeing the large constellation at the same moment from her side of the wall. These thoughts engendered in him boundless joy alloyed but a subtle disquiet. The heightening affections made him feel almost desperate, but he didn't know why. Despite the dangers, they continued these meetings for many months and then, in the course of time, a few years. As they aged, their conversations assumed a deeper character: they spoke of each other and of their families. During one of these encounters, they learned that families in Pyramus' neighborhood had been embroiled in a battle with those families in Thisbe's neighborhood. Hence, the necessity of the wall: erected to maintain a tense peace. However, despite the truce, the ancient animosities were as fresh as ever and no contact between the members of the adjacent neighborhoods was permitted. Knowing of this prohibition, they agreed to meet at every new moon, as the sky was darkest and would provide the greatest concealment. The new moon didn't always occur at the beginning of the month, but as she was older, Thisbe was allowed more freedom: a freedom that would be rescinded at once were her parents to know what she was doing. This decision distressed Pyramus, for though he knew it was safer when Phoebe's chariot was immersed in the sea, he wouldn't be able to see Thisbe, whom he regarded, despite his limited view, to be the most beautiful girl he ever saw. During one of these new moons, while they has been murmuring to each other in intense earnest, that Pyramus, having immersed himself in Thisbe's voice as though it were a gentle woodwind, pushed his finger through the hole and asked Thisbe to do the same. She consented, but could not reach his finger with her own. As she strained vainly to touch his finger, Pyramus whispered through the hole; whispered a profession of love that had been as molten rock inside him. Its release almost stole his breath and he waited in the deepest anxiety to hear her say the same. To his grief, she merely wept and fled. He passed a miserable month, waiting for the next new moon. Each day, he was tormented by the notion that she wouldn't be there. That his last encounter with her would be in such grief. Finally, after the interminable passage of 29 days, the new moon arrived and he waited by the wall as soon as it was dark. He whispered her name every minute, and waited to hear her voice saying his in return. An hour passed in the deepening cold and he even prayed up to Gilgamesh to have her return . As he prepared to leave, in the deepest depression, he finally heard her voice. Pyramus almost collapsed with relief and she told him the very words that he spoke and that induced her to flee. They resolved to meet the next night at a nearby tomb. They didn't care about ancient strife, obstructing walls, austere parents, or even the rest of the world that endeavored to keep them apart. They had both passed the worst month of their lives, for Thisbe believed that Pyramus, affronted by her quick departure, wouldn't return at the next new moon, as well. The next night, just as the Sun was about to set, they both left their fortified neighborhoods for their clandestine meeting. They didn't know precisely what they would do upon their meeting, but they knew they'd be together and, they'd finally touch one another. Thisbe was the first to arrive at the specified location. She sat down, both exhausted and elated, for she was worried that someone would stop her from reaching this tomb, but was overjoyed at the prospect of finally seeing Pyramus. Within a minute of her arrival, Thisbe was startled by a lioness who had just slain some quarry. The creature's mouth was still dripping with fresh blood. Terrified, Thisbe ran to safety and in her haste, dropped a scarf she had worn as protection against the cold. The lioness didn't pursue the horrified woman, but instead sniffed the scarf and then left, Pyramus had just about reached the tomb as the Lioness sauntered off in the distance. At first, Pyramus watched it leave and then noticed a bloodied scarf crumpled on the ground. He fell to his knees in the profoundest despair, for he knew that his one love had just been devoured by the lion: a monster that did exist. Without a word, he withdrew the sword and plunged it into his chest. He died even before he hit the ground. A moment later, Thisbe returned from hiding, for she assumed the lioness would by then be gone. As she ran to the tomb, she happened upon Pyramus's corpse, peacefully in repose. She looked down onto the most beautiful man she had ever beheld. She drew her hand across his face, still warm. She was touching him at last and in a desperate moment whispered "Awaken....please..." Having heard no response, she clasped the sword handle protruding from his chest and withdrew it from his body. Without wiping away his blood, she pushed the sword into herself and fell next to him. The blood pouring out from their wounds coated a nearby mulberry bush and forever after, mulberries have grown out of the ground blood dark. And, the Lioness was cast into the sky as the form often seen as Leo: the Lion of deep winter who stands as a testament to the purest love between the two people who touched only in death. To subscribe or unsubscribe from the Daily Astronomer: https://lists.maine.edu/cgi-bin/wa?SUBED1=DAILY-ASTRONOMER&A=1