Gazing up at the night sky, we often feel a connection to the ancients who charted the same stars, weaving myths and legends around the familiar patterns. We see Orion the Hunter, Taurus the Bull, and the graceful Swan, Cygnus. Yet, the celestial tapestry is not as static as it might seem. Over centuries, astronomers have proposed, drawn, and occasionally discarded, numerous constellations. Some were fleeting, others enjoyed a brief vogue, only to fade from our star maps. One such phantom of the northern skies is a tiny, unassuming constellation once known as Musca Borealis, the Northern Fly, which hovered near the more prominent figure of Aries, the Ram.
A Faint Buzz from the Past: Introducing Musca Borealis
Imagine a time when the sky was still being meticulously mapped, when gaps between the ancient, grand constellations offered opportunities for new celestial artistry. It was in this spirit that Musca Borealis came into being. Unlike the grand figures of Greek and Roman mythology, this was a humble insect, a fly. Its designated territory was a small patch of sky that now officially belongs entirely to the constellation Aries. For a period, however, this little fly had its own distinct place, a testament to the evolving nature of our understanding and depiction of the cosmos.
The origins of Musca Borealis are a little tangled, as is common with many of these now-obsolete star patterns. The initial concept seems to have begun not as a fly, but as a cluster of bees. The Dutch theologian and cartographer Petrus Plancius is credited with first grouping these stars around 1612, calling them Apes (Latin for Bees). He placed them on a celestial globe he produced, fitting them into a sparse area. A few years later, in 1624, German astronomer Jakob Bartsch, who was Plancius’s son-in-law, included this grouping in his star atlas but referred to it as Vespa, or the Wasp. The insect theme was clearly established, buzzing its way into celestial cartography.
Later in the 17th century, another intriguing, though possibly distinct, figure appeared in a similar region. French Jesuit scientist Ignace-Gaston Pardies depicted a constellation called Lilium (the Lily or Fleur-de-lis) in his 1674 star charts, occupying roughly the same stellar neighborhood. This highlights the somewhat fluid boundaries and interpretations of minor star groupings during this era. Whether this was a direct influence or a separate creation is debated, but it adds another layer to the history of this patch of sky.
The Fly Takes Shape: Hevelius and Bode
The constellation most directly recognizable as our Northern Fly, however, was solidified by the renowned Polish astronomer Johannes Hevelius. In his influential 1690 star atlas, Firmamentum Sobiescianum, Hevelius depicted these stars simply as Musca, The Fly. Hevelius was a meticulous observer and a skilled artist, and his atlas was a significant work of its time. He introduced several constellations, some of which, like Scutum (the Shield) and Lacerta (the Lizard), are still recognized today. Musca, however, was destined for a different fate.
It was the German astronomer Johann Elert Bode who, in his monumental Uranographia atlas of 1801, gave it the name by which it is most commonly remembered: Musca Borealis. The addition of “Borealis” (Northern) was crucial. By this time, another, entirely separate “Fly” was well-established in the southern skies – Musca Australis (the Southern Fly), cataloged by earlier explorers of the southern hemisphere like Keyser and de Houtman, and popularized by Bayer. Bode’s distinction helped avoid confusion between the two celestial insects flitting across different hemispheres. Bode’s atlas was incredibly detailed and became a standard reference, thus popularizing the Northern Fly for a time.
Musca Borealis was primarily composed of a small group of fourth and fifth-magnitude stars now recognized within the boundaries of Aries. These are principally 33 Arietis, 35 Arietis, 39 Arietis, and 41 Arietis. These stars form a noticeable, albeit faint, triangle or small crooked line just north of the main, brighter stars of Aries, specifically above the Ram’s back.
The stars themselves are relatively unremarkable to the naked eye, which is perhaps why the area was considered “empty” enough to accommodate a new, small constellation. 41 Arietis (also known as c Arietis or Nair al Butain) is the brightest of the quartet, shining at an apparent magnitude of about 3.6. The others, 33, 35, and 39 Arietis, are fainter, typically between magnitudes 4.5 and 5.5. Together, they form a subtle pattern that, with a bit of imagination and the guidance of an old star chart, could certainly evoke the image of a small insect.
Aries’s Ephemeral Companion
For those who studied the heavens using charts from the 17th to the early 20th century, Musca Borealis would have appeared as a distinct, albeit minor, figure just above the back of Aries, the Ram. Aries itself is one of the classical zodiacal constellations, tracing its lineage back to Babylonian astronomy. It’s a relatively compact constellation, often depicted as a reclining ram. The Northern Fly would have been a tiny companion, perhaps seen as an insect buzzing bothersomely around the larger celestial animal.
Unlike the ancient constellations rich with mythology, Musca Borealis, being a relatively modern invention, never accumulated any significant folklore or legends of its own. Its existence was purely cartographic, a way to fill a perceived void and to showcase the astronomer’s ability to organize the heavens. The creation of such constellations was common during the Age of Exploration and the scientific revolution. As explorers charted new seas and lands, astronomers charted new stars, especially in the Southern Hemisphere, and also sought to refine the maps of the familiar northern skies. These newer constellations often bore names of scientific instruments, exotic animals, or, as in this case, common creatures like the fly.
The Fading Buzz: Why Musca Borealis Vanished
So, what happened to the Northern Fly? Why don’t we see it on modern star charts? The answer lies in the need for standardization. By the early 20th century, the celestial sphere was cluttered with numerous proposed constellations, many overlapping, some with conflicting names or boundaries, and others simply too faint or insignificant to be widely recognized. This created considerable confusion among astronomers worldwide.
To address this, the newly formed International Astronomical Union (IAU) took on the monumental task of officially delineating and standardizing the constellations. In 1922, the IAU formally adopted the list of 88 modern constellations that we use today. This list was based largely on the ancient Greek constellations, supplemented by some of the more prominent and well-established newer ones, particularly those in the southern sky. Definite boundaries for these 88 constellations were then precisely defined by Eugène Delporte and published by the IAU in 1930.
The IAU’s standardization effort was essential for scientific consistency in astronomy. However, it meant that dozens of proposed or historical constellations, including Musca Borealis, were officially rendered obsolete. These “forgotten” constellations were effectively absorbed into their larger, officially recognized neighbors. The stars of Musca Borealis were thus formally assigned to Aries.
It’s interesting to note that while the Northern Fly faded into history, its southern counterpart, Musca (Australis), located near Crux (the Southern Cross), *did* make the official IAU list. This was likely due to its earlier establishment by navigators charting the southern skies and its more distinct pattern of brighter stars, making it a more useful and recognized celestial landmark for those in the Southern Hemisphere. The “Australis” was eventually dropped, and it’s known simply as Musca today.
A Legacy in Old Charts and Curious Minds
Today, Musca Borealis exists only as a historical curiosity, a footnote in the annals of astronomy. You won’t find it on contemporary star atlases or planetarium software unless you’re looking at historical reproductions or specialized programs that include obsolete constellations. Yet, its story is a charming reminder of a time when the map of the sky was still being drawn and redrawn with considerable artistic and individual license.
Studying these forgotten constellations offers a fascinating glimpse into the history of astronomy and cartography. They reveal the creative impulses of past sky-watchers and the gradual process through which humanity has sought to impose order on the vast expanse of the cosmos. Each discarded star pattern, like Musca Borealis, tells a small story of discovery, interpretation, and the eventual quest for a universally accepted celestial framework.
While the Northern Fly no longer officially graces our skies, the four main stars that once formed its tiny body – 33, 35, 39, and 41 Arietis – are still there, shining just as they did when Plancius, Hevelius, and Bode first decided to see a small insect among them. Perhaps the next time you find yourself looking towards Aries, you might spare a thought for its once-acknowledged, buzzing little neighbor, a faint echo from a time when the heavens seemed to hold even more creatures, great and small, than we recognize today. The story of Musca Borealis is a quiet tribute to the dynamic and ever-evolving human relationship with the stars above.
