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[Illustration:
_By Jean Paul Laurens._
]
OMEGA:
THE LAST DAYS OF THE WORLD
BY
CAMILLE FLAMMARION
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
JEAN PAUL LAURENS, SAUNIER, MÉAULLE, VOGEL, ROCHEGROSSE, GERADIN,
CHOVIN, TOUSSAINT, GUILLONNET, SCHWABE, AND OTHERS
NEW YORK:
THE COSMOPOLITAN PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1894,
BY
J. B. WALKER
PRESS OF
THE COSMOPOLITAN PUBLISHING COMPANY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
SECOND PART.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
EPILOGUE.
[Illustration]
OMEGA:
THE LAST DAYS OF THE WORLD.
CHAPTER I.
The magnificent marble bridge which unites the Rue de Rennes with the
Rue de Louvre, and which, lined with the statues of celebrated
scientists and philosophers, emphasizes the monumental avenue leading to
the new portico of the Institute, was absolutely black with people. A
heaving crowd surged, rather than walked, along the quays, flowing out
from every street and pressing forward toward the portico, long before
invaded by a tumultuous throng. Never, in that barbarous age preceding
the constitution of the United States of Europe, when might was greater
than right, when military despotism ruled the world and foolish humanity
quivered in the relentless grasp of war—never before in the stormy
period of a great revolution, or in those feverish days which
accompanied a declaration of war, had the approaches of the house of the
people’s representatives, or the Place de la Concorde presented such a
spectacle. It was no longer the case of a band of fanatics rallied about
a flag, marching to some conquest of the sword, and followed by a throng
of the curious and the idle, eager to see what would happen; but of the
entire population, anxious, agitated, terrified, composed of every class
of society without distinction, hanging upon the decision of an oracle,
waiting feverishly the result of the calculations which a celebrated
astronomer was to announce that very Monday, at three o’clock, in the
session of the Academy of Sciences. Amid the flux of politics and
society the Institute survived, maintaining still in Europe its
supremacy in science, literature and art. The center of civilization,
however, had moved westward, and the focus of progress shone on the
shores of Lake Michigan, in North America.
This new palace of the Institute, with its lofty domes and terraces, had
been erected upon the ruins remaining after the great social revolution
of the international anarchists who, in 1950, had blown up the greater
portion of the metropolis as from the vent of a crater.
[Illustration:
THE STREETS OF PARIS BY NIGHT
]
On the Sunday evening before, one might have seen from the car of a
balloon all Paris abroad upon the boulevards and public squares,
circulating slowly and as if in despair, without interest in anything.
The gay aerial ships no longer cleaved the air; aeroplanes and aviators
had all ceased to circulate. The aerial stations upon the summits of the
towers and buildings were empty and deserted. The course of human life
seemed arrested, and anxiety was depicted upon every face. Strangers
addressed each other without hesitation; and but one question fell from
pale and trembling lips: “Is it then true?” The most deadly pestilence
would have carried far less terror to the heart than the astronomical
prediction on every tongue; it would have made fewer victims, for
already, from some unknown cause, the death-rate was increasing. At
every instant one felt the electric shock of a terrible fear.
A few, less dismayed, wished to appear more confident, and sounded now
and then a note of doubt, even of hope, as: “It may prove a mistake;”
or, “It will pass on one side;” or, again: “It will amount to nothing;
we shall get off with a fright,” and other like assurances.
But expectation and uncertainty are often more terrible than the
catastrophe itself. A brutal blow knocks us down once for all,
prostrating us more or less completely. We come to our senses, we make
the best of it, we recover, and take up life again. But this was the
unknown, the expectation of something inevitable but mysterious,
terrible, coming from without the range of experience. One was to die,
without doubt, but how? By the sudden shock of collision, crushed to
death? By fire, the conflagration of a world? By suffocation, the
poisoning of the atmosphere? What torture awaited humanity? Apprehension
was perhaps more frightful than the reality itself. The mind cannot
suffer beyond a certain limit. To suffer by inches, to ask every evening
what the morning may bring, is to suffer a thousand deaths. Terror, that
terror which congeals the blood in the veins, which annihilates the
courage, haunted the shuddering soul like an invisible spectre.
[Illustration:
THE OBSERVATORY ON GAURISANKAR.
]
For more than a month the business of the world had been suspended; a
fortnight before the committee of administrators (formerly the chamber
and senate) had adjourned, every other question having sunk into
insignificance. For a week the exchanges of Paris, London, New York and
Pekin, had closed their doors. What was the use of occupying oneself
with business affairs, with questions of internal or foreign policy, of
revenue or of reform, if the end of the world was at hand? Politics,
indeed! Did one even remember to have ever taken any interest in them?
The courts themselves had no cases; one does not murder when one expects
the end of the world. Humanity no longer attached importance to
anything; its heart beat furiously, as if about to stop forever. Every
face was emaciated, every countenance discomposed, and haggard with
sleeplessness. Feminine coquetry alone held out, but in a superficial,
hesitating, furtive manner, without thought of the morrow.
The situation was indeed serious, almost desperate, even in the eyes of
the most stoical. Never, in the whole course of history had the race of
Adam found itself face to face with such a peril. The portents of the
sky confronted it unceasingly with a question of life and death.
But, let us go back to the beginning.
Three months before the day of which we speak, the director of the
observatory of Mount Gaurisankar had sent the following telephonic
message to the principal observatories of the globe, and especially to
that of Paris:[1]
Footnote 1:
For about 300 years the observatory of Paris had ceased to be an
observing station, and had been perpetuated only as the central
administrative bureau of French astronomy. Astronomical observations
were made under far more satisfactory conditions upon mountain summits
in a pure atmosphere, free from disturbing influences. Observers were
in direct and constant communication by telephone with the central
office, whose instruments were used only to verify certain discoveries
or to satisfy the curiosity of savants detained in Paris by their
sedentary occupation.
“A telescopic comet discovered tonight, in 290°, 15´ right ascension,
and 21°, 54´ south declination. Slight diurnal motion. Is of greenish
hue.”
Not a month passed without the discovery of telescopic comets, and
their announcement to the various observatories, especially since the
installation of intrepid astronomers in Asia on the lofty peaks of
Gaurisankar, Dapsang and Kanchinjinga; in South America, on Aconcagua,
Illampon and Chimborazo, as also in Africa on Kilimanjaro, and in
Europe on Elburz and Mont Blanc. This announcement, therefore, had not
excited more comment among astronomers than any other of a like nature
which they were constantly receiving. A large number of observers had
sought the comet in the position indicated, and had carefully followed
its motion. Their observations had been published in the
Neuastronomischenachrichten, and a German mathematician had calculated
a provisional orbit and ephemeris.
Scarcely had this orbit and ephemeris been published, when a Japanese
scientist made a very remarkable suggestion. According to these
calculations, the comet was approaching the sun from infinite space in a
plane but slightly inclined to that of the ecliptic, an extremely rare
occurrence, and, moreover, would traverse the orbit of Saturn. “It would
be exceedingly interesting,” he remarked, “to multiply observations and
revise the calculation of the orbit, with a view to determining whether
the comet will come in collision with the rings of Saturn; for this
planet will be exactly at that point of its path intersected by the
orbit of the comet, on the day of the latter’s arrival.”
[Illustration:
THE YOUNG LAUREATE.
]
A young laureate of the Institute, a candidate for the directorship for
the observatory, acting at once on this suggestion, had installed
herself at the telephone office in order to capture on the wing every
message. In less than ten days she had intercepted more than one hundred
despatches, and, without losing an instant, had devoted three nights and
days to a revision of the orbit as based on this entire series of
observations. The result proved that the German computor had committed
an error in determining the perihelion distance and that the inference
drawn by the Japanese astronomer was inexact in so far as the date of
the comet’s passage through the plane of the ecliptic was concerned,
this date being five or six days earlier than that first announced; but
the interest in the problem increased, for the minimum distance of the
comet from the earth seemed now less than the Japanese calculator had
thought possible. Setting aside for the moment, the question of a
collision, it was hoped that the enormous perturbation which would
result from the attraction of the earth and moon would afford a new
method of determining with exhaustive precision the mass of both these
bodies, and perhaps even throw important light upon the density of the
earth’s interior. It was, indeed, established that the celestial visitor
was moving in a plane nearly coincident with that of the ecliptic, and
would pass near the system of Saturn, whose attraction would probably
modify to a sensible degree the primitive parabolic orbit, bringing it
nearer to the belated planet. But the comet, after traversing the orbits
of Jupiter and of Mars, was then to enter exactly that described
annually by the earth about the sun. The interest of astronomers was not
on this account any the less keen, and the young computor insisted more
forcibly than ever upon the importance of numerous and exact
observations.
It was at the observatory of Gaurisankar especially that the study of
the comet’s elements was prosecuted. On this highest elevation of the
globe, at an altitude of 8000 meters, among eternal snows which, by
newly discovered processes of electro-chemistry, were kept at a distance
of several kilometers from the station, towering almost always many
hundred meters above the highest clouds, in a pure and rarified
atmosphere, the visual power of both the eye and the telescope was
increased a hundred fold. The craters of the moon, the satellites of
Jupiter, and the phases of Venus could be readily distinguished by the
naked eye. For nine or ten generations several families of astronomers
had lived upon this Asiatic summit, and had gradually become accustomed
to its rare atmosphere. The first comers had succumbed; but science and
industry had succeeded in modifying the rigors of the temperature by the
storage of solar heat, and acclimatization slowly took place; as in
former times, at Quito and Bogota, where, in the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries, a contented population lived in plenty, and young
women might be seen dancing all night long without fatigue; whereas on
Mont Blanc in Europe, at the same elevation, a few steps only were
attended with painful respiration. By degrees a small colony was
installed upon the slopes of the Himalayas, and, through their
researches and discoveries, the observatory had acquired the reputation
of being the first in the world. Its principal instrument was the
celebrated equatorial of one hundred meters focal length, by whose aid
the hieroglyphic signals, addressed in vain for several thousand years
by the inhabitants of the planet Mars to the earth, had finally been
deciphered.
While the astronomers of Europe were discussing the orbit of the new
comet and establishing the precision of the computations which foretold
its convergence upon the earth and the collision of the two bodies in
space, a new phonographic message was sent out from the Himalayan
observatory:
“The comet will soon become visible to the naked eye. Still of greenish
hue. Its course is earthward.”
The complete agreement between the astronomical data, whether from
European, American, or Asiatic sources, could leave no further doubt of
their exactness. The daily papers sowed broadcast this alarming news,
embellished with sinister comments and numberless interviews in which
the most astonishing statements were attributed to scientists. Their
only concern was to outdo the ascertained facts, and to exaggerate their
bearing by more or less fanciful additions. As for that matter, the
journals of the world had long since become purely business enterprises.
The sole preoccupation of each was to sell every day the greatest
possible number of copies. They invented false news, travestied the
truth, dishonored men and women, spread scandal, lied without shame,
explained the devices of thieves and murderers, published the formulæ of
recently invented explosives, imperilled their own readers and betrayed
every class of society, for the sole purpose of exciting to the highest
pitch the curiosity of the public and of “selling copies.”
Everything had become a pure matter of business. For science, art,
literature, philosophy, study and research, the press cared nothing. An
acrobat, a runner or a jockey, an air-ship or water-velocipede, attained
more celebrity in a day than the most eminent scientist, or the most
ingenious inventor—for these two classes made no return to the
stockholders. Everything was adroitly decked out with the rhetoric of
patriotism, a sentiment which still exercised some empire over the minds
of men. In short, from every point of view, the pecuniary interests of
the publication dominated all considerations of public interest and
general progress. Of all this the public had been for a long time the
dupe; but, at the time of which we are now speaking, it had surrendered
to the situation, so that there was no longer any newspaper, properly
speaking, but only sheets of notices and advertisements of a commercial
nature. Neither the first announcement of the press, that a comet was
approaching with a high velocity and would collide with the earth at a
date already determined; nor the second, that the wandering star might
bring about a general catastrophe by rendering the atmosphere
irrespirable, had produced the slightest impression; this two-fold
prophecy, if noticed at all by the heedless reader, had been received
with profound incredulity, attracting no more attention than the
simultaneous announcement of the discovery of the fountain of perpetual
youth in the cellars of the Palais des Fées on Montmartre (erected on
the ruins of the cathedral of the Sacré-Cœur).
[Illustration:
A SHOWER OF STARS.
]
Moreover, astronomers themselves had not, at first, evinced any anxiety
about the collision, so far as it affected the fate of humanity, and the
astronomical journals (which alone retained any semblance of authority)
had as yet referred to the subject simply as a computation to be
verified. Scientists had treated the problem as one of pure mathematics,
regarding it only as an interesting case of celestial mechanics. In the
interviews to which they had been subjected they had contented
themselves with saying that a collision was possible, even probable, but
of no interest to the public.
Meanwhile, a new message was received by telephone, this time from Mount
Hamilton in California, which produced a sensation among the chemists
and physiologists:
“Spectroscopic observation establishes the fact that the comet is a body
of considerable density, composed of several gases the chief of which is
carbonic-oxide.”
Matters were becoming serious. That a collision with the earth would
occur was certain. If astronomers were not especially preoccupied by
this fact, accustomed as they were for centuries to consider these
celestial conjunctions as harmless: if the most celebrated even of their
number had, at last, coldly shown the door to the many beardless
reporters constantly importuning them, declaring that this prediction
was of no interest to the people at large and was a strictly
astronomical question which did not concern them, physicians, on the
other hand, had begun to agitate the subject and to discuss gravely,
among each other, the possibilities of asphyxia, or poisoning. Less
indifferent to public opinion, so far from turning a cold shoulder to
the journalists, they had welcomed them, and in a few days the subject
suddenly entered upon a new phase. From the domain of astronomy it had
passed into that of philosophy, and the name of every well-known or
famous physician appeared in large letters on the title-pages of the
daily papers; their portraits were reproduced in the illustrated
journals, and the formula, “Interviews on the Comet,” was to be seen on
every hand. Already, even, the variety and diversity of conflicting
opinions had created hostile camps, which hurled at each other the most
grotesque abuse, and asserted that all physicians were “charlatans eager
for notoriety.”
In the mean time the director of the Paris observatory having at heart
the interests of science, was profoundly disturbed by an uproar which
had more than once, on former occasions, singularly misrepresented
astronomical facts. He was a venerable old man who had grown gray in the
study of the great problems of the constitution of the universe. His
utterances were respected by all, and he had decided to make a statement
to the press in which he declared that all conjectures, made prior to
the technical discussion authorized by the Institute, were premature.
It has been remarked, we believe, that the Paris observatory, always in
the van of every scientific movement, by virtue of the labors of its
members, and more especially, of improved methods of observation, had
become, on the one hand, the sanctuary of theoretical research, and on
the other the central telephone bureau for stations established at a
distance from the great cities on elevations favored by a perfectly
transparent atmosphere.
[Illustration:
_By Jean Paul Laurens._
]
It was an asylum of peace, where perfect concord reigned, where
astronomers disinterestedly consecrated their whole lives to the
advancement of science, and mutually encouraged each other, without
experiencing any of the pangs of envy, each forgetting his own merit to
proclaim that of his colleagues. The director set the example, and when
he spoke it was in the name of all.
He published a technical discussion, and he was listened to—for a
moment. For the question appeared to be no longer one of astronomy. No
one denied or disputed the meeting of the comet with the earth. That was
a fact which mathematics had rendered certain. The absorbing question
now was the chemical constitution of the comet. If the earth, in its
passage through it, was to lose the oxygen of its atmosphere, death by
asphyxia was inevitable; if, on the other hand, the nitrogen was to
combine with the cometary gases, death was still certain; but death
preceded by an ungovernable exhilaration, a sort of universal
intoxication, a wild delirium of the senses being the necessary result
of the extraction of nitrogen from the respirable air and the
proportionate increase of oxygen.
The spectroscope indicated especially the presence of carbonic-oxide in
the chemical constitution of the comet. The chief point under discussion
in the scientific reviews was whether the mixture of this noxious gas
with the atmosphere would poison the entire population of the globe,
human and animal, as the president of the academy of medicine affirmed
would be the case.
Carbonic-oxide! Nothing else was talked of. The spectroscope could not
be in error. Its methods were too sure, its processes too precise.
Everybody knew that the smallest admixture of this gas with the air we
breathe meant a speedy death. Now, a later despatch from the observatory
of Gaurisankar had more than confirmed that received from Mount
Hamilton. This despatch read:
“The earth will be completely submerged in the nucleus of the comet,
whose diameter is already thirty times that of the globe and is daily
increasing.”
Thirty times the diameter of the earth! Even then, though the comet
should pass between the earth and the moon, it would touch them both,
since a bridge of thirty earths would span the distance between our
world and the moon.
Then, too, during the three months whose history we have recapitulated,
the comet had emerged from regions accessible only to the telescope and
had become visible to the naked eye. In full view of the earth it
hovered now like a threat from heaven among the army of stars. Terror
itself, advancing slowly but inexorably, was suspended like a mighty
sword above every head. A last effort was made, not indeed to turn the
comet from its path—an idea conceived by that class of visionaries who
recoil before nothing, and who had even imagined that an electric storm
of vast magnitude might be produced by batteries suitably distributed
over that face of the globe which was to receive the shock—but to
examine once more the great problem under every aspect, and perhaps to
reassure the public mind and rekindle hope by the discovery of some
error in the conclusions which had been drawn, some forgotten fact in
the observations or computations. This collision might not after all
prove so fatal as the pessimists had foretold. A general presentation of
the case from every point of view was announced for this very Monday at
the Institute, just four days before the prophesied moment of collision,
which would take place on Friday, July 13th. The most celebrated
astronomer of France, at that time director of the Paris observatory;
the president of the academy of medicine, an eminent physiologist and
chemist; the president of the astronomical society, a skillful
mathematician, and other orators also, among them a woman distinguished
for her discoveries in the physical sciences, were among the speakers
announced. The last word had not yet been spoken. Let us enter the
venerable dome and listen to the discussion.
But before doing so, let us ourselves consider this famous comet which
for the time being absorbed every thought.