Myths and Marvels of Astronomy

The year 1000 a.d. was by all but common consent regarded as the date assigned for the end of the world. For a thousand years Satan had been chained, and now he was to be loosened for a while. So that when a comet made its appearance, and, terrible to relate, continued visible for nine days, the phenomenon was regarded as something more than a nine days' wonder. Besides the comet, a very wonderful meteor was seen. 'The heavens opened, and a kind of flaming torch fell upon the earth, leaving behind a long track of light like the path of a flash of lightning. Its brightness was so great that it frightened not only those who were in the fields, but even those who were in their houses. As this opening in the sky slowly closed men saw with horror the figure of a dragon, whose feet were blue, and whose head' [like that of Dickens's dwarf] 'seemed to grow larger and larger.' A picture of this dreadful meteor accompanies the account given by the old chronicler. For fear the exact likeness of the dragon might not be recognised (and, indeed, to see it one must 'make believe a good deal'), there is placed beside it a picture of a dragon to correspond, which picture is in turn labelled 'Serpens cum ceruleis pedibus.' It was considered very wicked in the year 1000 to doubt that the end of all things was at hand. But somehow the world escaped that time.

In the year 1066 Halley's comet appeared to announce to the Saxons the approaching conquest of England by William the Norman. A contemporary poet made a singular remark, which may have some profound poetical meaning, but certainly seems a little indistinct on the surface. He said that 'the comet had been more favourable to William than nature had been to Cæsar; the latter had no hair, but William had received some from the comet.' This is the only instance, so far as I know, in which a comet has been regarded as a perruquier. A monk of Malmesbury spoke more to the purpose, according to then received ideas, in thus apostrophising the comet: 'Here art thou again, cause of tears to many mothers! It is long since I saw thee last, but I see thee now more terrible than ever; thou threatenest my country with complete ruin.'

Halley's comet, with its inconveniently short period of about seventy-seven years, has repeatedly troubled the nations and been regarded as a sign sent from Heaven:

Ten million cubic miles of head,Ten billion leagues of tail,

all provided for the sole purpose of warning one petty race of earth-folks against the evils likely to be brought against them by another. This comet has appeared twenty-four times since the date of its first recorded appearance, which some consider to have been 12 b.c., and others refer to a few years later. It may be interesting to quote here Babinet's description of the effects ascribed in 1455 to this comet, often the terror of nations, but the triumph of mathematicians, as the first whose motions were brought into recognisable obedience to the laws of gravity.42

'The Mussulmans, with Mahomet II. at their head, were besieging Belgrade, which was defended by Huniade, surnamed the Exterminator of the Turks. Halley's comet appeared and the two armies were seized with equal fear. Pope Calixtus III., himself seized by the general terror, ordered public prayers and timidly anathematised the comet and the enemies of Christianity. He established the prayer called the noon Angelus, the use of which is continued in all Catholic churches. The Franciscans (Frères Mineurs) brought 40,000 defenders to Belgrade, besieged by the conqueror of Constantinople, the destroyer of the Eastern Empire. At last the battle began; it continued two days without ceasing. A contest of two days caused 40,000 combatants to bite the dust. The Franciscans, unarmed, crucifix in hand, were in the front rank, invoking the papal exorcism against the comet, and turning upon the enemy that heavenly wrath of which none in those times dared doubt.'

The great comet of 1556 has been regarded as the occasion of the Emperor Charles V.'s abdication of the imperial throne; a circumstance which seems rendered a little doubtful by the fact that he had already abdicated when the comet appeared—a mere detail, perhaps, but suggesting the possibility that cause and effect may have been interchanged by mistake, and that it was Charles's abdication which occasioned the appearance of the comet. According to Gemma's account the comet was conspicuous rather from its great light than from the length of its tail or the strangeness of its appearance. 'Its head equalled Jupiter in brightness, and was equal in diameter to nearly half the apparent diameter of the moon.' It appeared about the end of February, and in March presented a terrible appearance, according to Ripamonte. 'Terrific indeed,' says Sir J. Herschel, 'it might well have been to the mind of a prince prepared by the most abject superstition to receive its appearance as a warning of approaching death, and as specially sent, whether in anger or in mercy, to detach his thoughts from earthly things, and fix them on his eternal interests. Such was its effect on the Emperor Charles V., whose abdication is distinctly ascribed by many historians to this cause, and whose words on the occasion of his first beholding it have even been recorded—

"His ergo indiciis me mea fata vocant"—

the language and the metrical form of which exclamation afford no ground for disputing its authenticity, when the habits and education of those times are fairly considered.' It is quite likely that, having already abdicated the throne, Charles regarded the comet as signalling his retirement from power—an event which he doubtless considered a great deal too important to be left without some celestial record. But the words attributed to him are in all probability apocryphal.

The comet of 1577 was remarkable for the strangeness of its aspect, which in some respects resembled that of the comet of 1858, called Donati's. It required only the terror with which such portentous objects were witnessed in the Middle Ages to transform the various streamers, curved and straight, extending from such an object, into swords and spears, and other signs of war and trouble. Doubtless, we owe to the fears of the Middle Ages the strange pictures claiming to present the actual aspect of some of the larger comets. Halley's comet did not escape. It was compared to a straight sword at one visit, to a curved scimitar in 1456, and even at its last return in 1835 there were some who recognised in the comet a resemblance to a misty head. Other comets have been compared to swords of fire, bloody crosses, flaming daggers, spears, serpents, fiery dragons, fish, and so forth. But in this respect no comet would seem to have been comparable with that of 1528, of which Andrew Paré writes as follows: 'This comet was so horrible and dreadful, and engendered such terror in the minds of men, that they died, some from fear alone, others from illness engendered by fear. It was of immense length and blood-red colour; at its head was seen the figure of a curved arm, holding a large sword in the hand as if preparing to strike. At the point of this sword were three stars; and on either side a number of axes, knives, and swords covered with blood, amongst which were many hideous human faces with bristling beards and hair.'

Such peculiarities of shape, and also those affecting the position and movements of comets, were held to be full of meaning. As Bayle pointed out in his 'Thoughts about the Comet of 1680,' these fancies are of great antiquity. Pliny tells us that in his time astrologers claimed to interpret the meaning of a comet's position and appearance, and that also of the direction towards which its rays pointed. They could, moreover, explain the effects produced by the fixed stars whose rays were conjoined with the comet's. If a comet resembles a flute, then musicians are aimed at; when comets are in the less dignified parts of the constellations, they presage evil to immodest persons; if the head of a comet forms an equilateral triangle or a square with fixed stars, then it is time for mathematicians and men of science to tremble. When they are in the sign of the Ram, they portend great wars and widespread mortality, the abasement of the great and the elevation of the small, besides fearful droughts in regions over which that sign predominates; in the Virgin, they imply many grievous ills to the female portion of the population; in the Scorpion, they portend a plague of reptiles, especially locusts; in the Fishes, they indicate great troubles from religious differences, besides war and pestilence. When, like the one described by Milton, they 'fire the length of Ophiuchus huge,' they show that there will be much mortality caused by poisoning.

The comet of 1680, which led Bayle to write the treatise to which reference has just been made, was one well calculated to inspire terror. Indeed, if the truth were known, that comet probably brought greater danger to the inhabitants of the earth than any other except the comet of 1843—the danger not, however, being that derived from possible collision between the earth and a comet, but that arising from the possible downfall of a large comet upon the sun, and the consequent enormous increase of the sun's heat. That, according to Newton, is the great danger men have to fear from comets; and the comet of 1680 was one which in that sense was a very dangerous one. There is no reason why a comet from outer space should not fall straight towards the sun, as at one time the comet of 1680 was supposed to be doing. All the comfort that science can give the world on that point is that such a course for a comet is only one out of many millions of possible courses, all fully as likely; and that, therefore, the chance of a comet falling upon the sun is only as one in many millions. Still, the comet of 1680 made a very fair shot at the sun, and a very slight modification of its course by Jupiter or Saturn might have brought about the catastrophe which Newton feared. Whether, if a comet actually fell upon the sun, anything very dreadful would happen, is not so clear. Newton's ideas respecting comets were formed in ignorance of many physical facts and laws which in our day render reasoning upon the subject comparatively easy. Yet, even in our time, it is not possible to assert confidently that such fears are idle. During the solar outburst witnessed by Carrington and Hodgson in September 1859, it is supposed that the sun swallowed a large meteoric mass; and, as great cornets are probably followed by many such masses, it seems reasonable to infer that if such a comet fell upon the sun, his surface being pelted with such exceptionally large masses, stoned with these mighty meteoric balls, would glow all over (or nearly so) as brightly as a small spot of that surface glowed upon that occasion. Now that portion was so bright that Carrington thought 'that by some chance a ray of light had penetrated a hole in the screen attached to the object-glass by which the general image is thrown in shade, for the brilliancy was fully equal to that of direct sunlight.' Manifestly, if the whole surface of the sun, or any large portion of the surface, were caused to glow with that exceeding brilliancy, surpassing ordinary sunlight in the same degree that ordinary sunlight surpassed the shaded solar image in Carrington's observations, the result would be disastrous in the extreme for the inhabitants of that half of the earth which chanced to be in sunlight at the time; and if (as could scarcely fail to happen) the duration of that abnormal splendour were more than half a day, then the whole earth would probably be depopulated by the intense heat. The danger, as I have said, is slight—partly because there is small chance of a collision between the sun and a comet, partly because we have no certain reasons for assuming that a collision would be followed by the heating of the sun for a while to a very high temperature. Looking around at the suns which people space, and considering their history, so far as it has been made known to us, for the last two thousand years, we find small occasion for fear. Those suns seem to have been for the most part safe from any sudden or rapid accessions of heat; and if they travel thus safely in their mighty journeys through space, we may well believe that our sun also is safe. Nevertheless, there have been catastrophes here and there. Now one sun and now another has blazed out with a hundred times its usual lustre, gradually losing its new fires and returning to its customary brightness; but after what destruction among those peopling its system of worlds who shall say? Spectroscopic analysis, that powerful help to the modern astronomical inquirer, has shown in one of these cases that just such changes had taken place as we might fairly expect would follow if a mighty comet fell into the sun. If this interpretation be correct, then we are not wholly safe. Any day might bring us news of a comet sailing full upon our sun from out the depths of space. Then astronomers would perhaps have the opportunity of ascertaining the harmlessness of a collision between the ruler of our system and one of the long-tailed visitors from the celestial spaces. Or possibly, astronomers and the earth's inhabitants generally might find out the reverse, though the knowledge would not avail them much, seeing that the messenger who would bring it would be the King of Terrors himself.

It was well, perhaps, that Newton's discovery of the law of gravitation, and the application of this law to the comets of 1680 and 1682 (the latter our old friend Halley's comet, then properly so called as studied by him), came in time to aid in removing to some slight degree the old superstitions respecting comets. For in England many remembered the comets of the Great Plague and of the Great Fire of London. These comets came so closely upon the time of the Plague and the Fire respectively, that it was not wonderful if even the wiser sort were struck by the coincidence and could scarcely regard it as accidental. It is not easy for the student of science in our own times, when the movements of comets are as well understood as those of the most orderly planets, to place himself in the position of men in the times when no one knew on what paths comets came, or whither they retreated after they had visited our sun. Taught as men were, on the one hand, that it was wicked to question what seemed to be the teaching of the Scriptures, that changes or new appearances in the heavens were sent to warn mankind of approaching troubles, and perplexed as they were, on the other, by the absence of any real knowledge respecting comets and meteors, it was not so easy as we might imagine from our own way of viewing these matters, to shake off a superstition which had ruled over men's minds for thousands of years.

No sect had been free from this superstition. Popes and priests had taught their followers to pray against the evil influences of comets and other celestial portents; Luther and Melanchthon had condemned in no measured terms the rashness and impiety of those who had striven to show that the heavenly bodies and the earth move in concordance with law—those 'fools who wish to reverse the entire science of astronomy.' A long interval had elapsed between the time when the Copernican theory was struggling for existence—when, but that more serious heresies engaged men's attention and kept religious folk by the ears, that astronomical heresy would probably have been quenched in blood—and the forging by Newton of the final link of the chain of reasoning on which modern astronomy is based; but in those times the minds of men moved more slowly than in ours. The masses still held to the old beliefs about the heavenly bodies. Defoe, indeed, speaking of the terror of men at the time of the Great Plague, says that they 'were more addicted to prophecies and astrological conjurations, dreams, and old wives' tales, than ever they were before or since.' But in reality, it was only because of the great misery then prevailing that men seemed more superstitious than usual; for misery brings out the superstitions—the fetishisms, if we may so speak—which are inherent in many minds, but concealed from others in prosperous times, out of shame, or perhaps a worthier feeling. Even in our own times great national calamities would show that many superstitions exist which had been thought extinct, and we should see excited among the ill-educated that particular form of persecution which arises, not from zeal for religion and not from intolerance, but from the belief that the troubles have been sent because of unbelief and the fear that unless some expiation be made the evil will not pass away from the midst of the people. It is at such times of general affliction that minds of the meaner sort have proved 'zealous even to slaying.'

The influence of strange appearances in the heavens on even thoughtful and reasoning minds, at such times of universal calamity, is well shown by Defoe's remarks on the comets of the years 1664 and 1666. 'The old women,' he says, 'and the phlegmatic, hypochondriacal part of the other sex, whom I could almost call old women too, remarked that those two comets passed directly over the city' [though that appearance must have depended on the position whence these old women, male and female, observed the comet], 'and that so very near the houses, that it was plain they imported something peculiar to the city alone; and that the comet before the Pestilence was of a faint, dull, languid colour, and its motion very heavy, solemn, and slow; but that the comet before the Fire was bright and sparkling, or, as others said, flaming, and its motion swift and furious: and that accordingly one foretold a heavy judgment, slow but severe, terrible and frightful, as was the Plague; but the other foretold a stroke, sudden, swift, and fiery, as was the Conflagration. Nay, so particular some people were, that, as they looked upon that comet preceding the Fire, they fancied that they not only saw it pass swiftly and fiercely, and could perceive the motion with their eye, but even that they heard it; that it made a mighty rushing noise, fierce and terrible, though at a distance and but just perceivable. I saw both these stars, and must confess had I had so much the common notion of such things in my head, that I was apt to look upon them as the forerunners and warnings of God's judgments, and especially when, the Plague having followed the first, I yet saw another of the same kind, I could not but say, God had not yet sufficiently scourged the city' [London].

The comets of 1680 and 1682, though they did not bring plagues or conflagrations immediately, yet were not supposed to have been altogether without influence. The convenient fiction, indeed, that some comets operate quickly and others slowly, made it very difficult for a comet to appear to which some evil effects could not be ascribed. If any one can find a single date, since the records of history have been carefully kept, which was so fortunately placed that, during no time following it within five years, no prince, king, emperor, or pope died, no war was begun, or ended disastrously for one side or the other engaged in it, no revolution was effected, neither plague nor pestilence occurred, neither droughts nor floods afflicted any nation, no great hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanic outbursts, or other trouble was recorded, he will then have shown the bare possibility that a comet might have appeared which seemed to presage neither abrupt nor slow-moving calamities. But it is not possible to name such a date, nor even a date which was not followed within two years at the utmost by a calamity such as superstition might assign to a comet. And so closely have such calamities usually followed, that scarce a comet could appear which might not be regarded as the precursor of very quickly approaching calamity. Even if a comet had come which seemed to bring no trouble, nay, if many such comets had come, men would still have overlooked the absence of any apparent fulfilment of the predicted troubles. Henry IV. well remarked, when he was told that astrologers predicted his death because a certain comet had been observed: 'One of these days they will predict it truly, and people will remember better the single occasion when the prediction will be fulfilled than the many other occasions when it has been falsified by the event.'

The troubles connected with the comets of 1680 and 1682 were removed farther from the dates of the events themselves than usual, at least so far as the English interpretation of the comets was concerned. 'The great comet in 1680,' says one, 'followed by a lesser comet in 1682, was evidently the forerunner of all those remarkable and disastrous events that ended in the revolution of 1688. It also evidently presaged the revocation of the edict of Nantes, and the cruel persecution of the Protestants, by the French king Louis XIV., afterwards followed by those terrible wars which, with little intermission, continued to ravage the finest parts of Europe for nearly twenty-four years.'

If in some respects the fears inspired by comets have been reduced by modern scientific discoveries respecting these bodies, yet in other respects the very confidence engendered by the exactness of modern astronomical computations has proved a source of terror. There is nothing more remarkable, for instance, in the whole history of cometary superstition, than the panic which spread over France in the year 1773, in consequence of a rumour that the mathematician Lalande had predicted the occurrence of a collision between a comet and the earth, and that disastrous effects would inevitably follow. The foundation of the rumour was slight enough in all conscience. It had simply been announced that Lalande would read before the Academy of Sciences a paper entitled 'Reflections on those Comets which can approach the Earth.' That was absolutely all; yet, from that one fact, not only were vague rumours of approaching cometic troubles spread abroad, but the statement was definitely made that on May 20 or 21, 1773, 'a comet would encounter the earth.'43 So great was the fear thus excited, that, in order to calm it, Lalande inserted in the 'Gazette de France' of May 7, 1773, the following advertisement:—'M. Lalande had not time to read his memoir upon comets which may approach the earth and cause changes in her motions; but he would observe that it is impossible to assign the epochs of such events. The next comet whose return is expected is the one which should return in eighteen years; but it is not one of those which can hurt the earth.'

This note had not the slightest effect in restoring peace to the minds of unscientific Frenchmen. M. Lalande's study was crowded with anxious persons who came to inquire about his memoir. Certain devout folk, 'as ignorant as they were imbecile,' says a contemporary journal, begged the Archbishop of Paris to appoint forty hours' prayer to avert the danger and prevent the terrible deluge. For this was the particular form most men agreed that the danger would take. That prelate was on the point, indeed, of complying with their request, and would have done so, but that some members of the Academy explained to him that by so doing he would excite ridicule.

Far more effective, and, to say truth, far better judged, was the irony of Voltaire, in his deservedly celebrated 'Letter on the Pretended Comet.' It ran as follows:—

'Grenoble, May 17, 1773.

'Certain Parisians who are not philosophers, and who, if we are to believe them, will not have time to become such, have informed me that the end of the world approaches, and will occur without fail on the 20th of this present month of May. They expect, that day, a comet, which is to take our little globe from behind and reduce it to impalpable powder, according to a certain prediction of the Academy of Sciences which has not yet been made.

'Nothing is more likely than this event; for James Bernouilli, in his "Treatise upon the Comet" of 1680, predicted expressly that the famous comet of 1680 would return with terrible uproar (fracas) on May 19, 1719; he assured us that in truth its perruque would signify nothing mischievous, but that its tail would be an infallible sign of the wrath of heaven. If James Bernouilli mistook, it is, after all, but a matter of fifty-four years and three days.

'Now, so small an error as this being regarded by all geometricians as of little moment in the immensity of ages, it is manifest that nothing can be more reasonable than to hope (sic, espérer) for the end of the world on the 20th of this present month of May 1773, or in some other year. If the thing should not come to pass, "omittance is no quittance" (ce qui est différé, n'est pas perdu).