It is now time to pause, amid the eventful scenes through which we are
passing, in order to consider this new fear of the end of the world with
others which have preceded it, and to pass rapidly in review the
remarkable history of this idea, which has reappeared again and again in
the past. At the time of which we are speaking, this subject was the
sole theme of conversation in every land and in every tongue.
As to the dogma “Credo Resurrectionem Carnis,” the addresses of the
fathers of the Church before the council assembled in the Sistine chapel
at Rome, were, on the whole, in accord with the opinion expressed by the
cardinal archbishop of Paris. The clause “et vitam æternam” was tacitly
ignored, in view of the possible discoveries of astronomy and
psychology. These addresses epitomized, as it were, the history of the
doctrine of the end of the world as held by the Christian Church in all
ages.
This history is interesting, for it is also the history of the human
mind face to face with its own destiny, and we believe it of sufficient
importance to devote to it a separate chapter. For the time being,
therefore, we abandon our role as the chronicler of the twenty-fourth
century, and return to our own times, in order to consider this doctrine
from an historical point of view.
The existence of a profound and tenacious faith is as old as the
centuries, and it is a notable fact that all religions, irrespective of
Christian dogma, have opened the same door from this mortal life upon
the unknown which lies beyond, it is the door of the Divine Comedy of
Dante, although the conceptions of paradise, hell and purgatory peculiar
to the Christian Church, are not universal.
Zoroaster and the Zend-Avesta taught that the world would perish by
fire. The same idea is found in the Epistle of St. Peter. It seems that
the traditions of Noah and of Deucalion, according to which the first
great disaster to humanity came by flood, indicated that the second
great disaster would be of an exactly opposite character.
The apostles Peter and Paul died, probably, in the year 64, during the
horrible slaughter ordered by Nero after the burning of Rome, which had
been fired at his command and whose destruction he attributed to the
Christians in order that he might have a pretext for new persecutions.
St. John wrote the Apocalypse in the year 69. The reign of Nero was a
bloody one, and martyrdom seemed to be the natural consequence of a
virtuous life. Prodigies appeared on every hand; there were comets,
falling stars, eclipses, showers of blood, monsters, earthquakes,
famines, pestilences, and above all, there was the Jewish war and the
destruction of Jerusalem. Never, perhaps, were so many horrors, so much
cruelty and madness, so many catastrophes, crowded into so short a
period as in the years 64–69 A.D. The little church of Christ was
apparently dispersed. It was impossible to remain in Jerusalem. The
horrors of the reign of terror of 1793, and of the Commune of 1871, were
as nothing in comparison with those of the Jewish civil war. The family
of Jesus was obliged to leave the holy city and to seek safety in
flight. False prophets appeared, thus verifying former prophecies.
Vesuvius was preparing the terrible eruption of the year 79, and
already, in 63, Pompeii had been destroyed by an earthquake.
There was every indication that the end of the world was at hand.
Nothing was wanting. The Apocalypse announced it.
But a calm followed the storm. The terrible Jewish war came to an end;
Nero fell before Galba; under Vespasian and Titus, peace (71) succeeded
war, and—the end of the world was not yet.
Once more it became necessary to interpret anew the words of the
evangelists. The coming of Christ was put off until after the fall of
the Roman empire, and thus considerable margin was given to the
commentator. A firm belief in a final and even an imminent catastrophe
persisted, but it was couched in vague terms, which robbed the spirit as
well as the letter of the prophecy of all precision. Still, the
conviction remained.
St. Augustine devotes the XXth book of the City of God (426) to the
regeneration of the world, the resurrection, the last judgment, and the
New Jerusalem; in the XXIst book he describes the everlasting torments
of hell-fire. A witness to the fall of Rome and the empire, the bishop
of Carthage believed these events to be the first act of the drama. But
the reign of God was to continue a thousand years before the coming of
Satan.
St. Gregory, bishop of Tours (573), the first historian of the Franks,
began his history as follows: “As I am about to relate the wars of the
kings with hostile nations, I feel impelled to declare my belief. The
terror with which men await the end of the world decides me to chronicle
the years already passed, that thus one may know exactly how many have
elapsed since the beginning of the world.”
This tradition was perpetuated from year to year and from century to
century, notwithstanding that nature failed to confirm it. Every
catastrophe, earthquake, epidemic, famine and flood, every phenomenon,
eclipse, comet, storm, sudden darkness and tempest, was looked upon as
the forerunner and herald of the final cataclysm. Trembling like leaves
in the blast, the faithful awaited the coming judgment; and preachers
successfully worked upon this dread apprehension, so deeply rooted in
every heart.
But, as generation after generation passed, it became necessary to
define again the widespread tradition, and about this time the idea of a
millennium took form in the minds of commentators. There were many sects
which believed that Christ would reign with the saints a thousand years
before the day of judgment. St. Irenus, St. Papias, and St. Sulpicius
Severus shared this belief, which acquired an exaggerated and sensual
form in the minds of many, who looked forward to a day of general
rejoicing for the elect and a reign of pleasure. St. Jerome and St.
Augustine did much to discredit these views, but did not attack the
central doctrine of a resurrection. Commentators on the Apocalypse
continued to flourish through the somber night of the middle ages, and
in the tenth century especially the belief gained ground that the year
1000 was to usher in the great change.
This conviction of an approaching end of the world, if not universal,
was at least very general. Several charters of the period began with
this sentence: Termino mundi appropinquante: “The end of the world
drawing near.” In spite of some exceptions, it seems difficult not to
share the opinion of historians, notably of Michelet, Henry Martin,
Guizot, and Duruy, regarding the prevalence of this belief throughout
Christendom. Doubtless, neither the French monk Gerbert, at that time
Pope Sylvester II., nor King Robert of France, regulated their lives by
their superstition, but it had none the less penetrated the conscience
of the faint-hearted, and many a sermon was preached from this text of
the Apocalypse:
[Illustration:
VICTIMS OF THE PLAGUE.
]
“And when the thousand years are expired, Satan shall be loosed out of
his prison, and shall go out to deceive the nations which are in the
four quarters of the earth ... and another book was opened, which is the
Book of Life ... and the sea gave up the dead which were in it: and
death and hell gave up the dead which were in them: and they were judged
every man according to his works ... and I saw a new heaven and a new
earth.”
Bernard, a hermit of Thuringia, had taken these very words of Revelation
as the text of his preaching, and in about the year 960 he publicly
announced that the end of the world was at hand. He even fixed the fatal
day itself, as that on which “The Annunciation” and Holy Friday should
fall on the same day, a coincidence which really occurred in 992.
Druthmar, a monk of Corbie, prophesied the end of the world for the 24th
of March in the year 1000. In many cities popular terror was so great on
that day that the people sought refuge in the churches, remaining until
midnight, prostrate before the relics of the saints, in order to await
there the last trump and to die at the foot of the cross.
From this epoch date many gifts to the Church. Lands and goods were
given to the monasteries. Indeed, an authentic and very curious document
is preserved, written in the year 1000 by a certain monk, Raoul Glaber,
on whose first pages we find: “Satan will soon be unloosed, as
prophesied by St. John, _the thousand years having been accomplished_.
It is of these years that we are to speak.”
The end of the tenth century and the beginning of the eleventh century
was a truly strange and fearful period. From 980 to 1040 it seemed as if
the angel of death had spread his wings over the world. Famine and
pestilence desolated the length and breadth of Europe. There was in the
first place the “mal des ardents,” the flesh of its victims decaying and
falling from the bones, was consumed as by fire, and the members
themselves were destroyed and fell away. Wretches thus afflicted
thronged the roads leading to the shrines and besieged the churches,
filling them with terrible odors, and dying before the relics of the
saints. The fearful pest made more than forty thousand victims in
Acquitania, and devastated the southern portions of France.
Then came famine, ravaging a large part of Christendom. Of the
seventy-three years between 987 and 1060, forty-eight were years of
famine and pestilence. The invasion of the Huns, between 910 and 945,
revived the horrors of Attila, and the soil was so laid waste by wars
between domains and provinces that it ceased to be cultivated. For three
years rain fell continuously; it was impossible either to sow or to
reap. The earth became barren and was abandoned. “The price of a ‘muid’
of wheat,” writes Raoul Glaber, “rose to sixty gold sous; the rich waxed
thin and pale; the poor gnawed the roots of trees, and many were in such
extremity as to devour human flesh. The strong fell upon the weak in the
public highways, tore them in pieces, and roasted them for food.
Children were enticed by an egg or some fruit into byways, where they
were devoured. This frenzy of hunger was such that the beast was safer
than man. Famished children killed their parents, and mothers feasted
upon their children. One person exposed human flesh for sale in the
market place of Tournus, as if it were a staple article of food. He did
not deny the fact and was burned at the stake. Another, stealing this
flesh by night from the spot where it had been buried, was also burned
alive.”
[Illustration:
THE HUT IN THE FOREST OF MÂCON.
]
This testimony is that of one who lived at the time and in many cases
was an eye witness to what he relates. On every side people were
perishing of hunger, and did not scruple to eat reptiles, unclean
animals, and even human flesh. In the depths of the forest of Mâcon, in
the vicinity of a church dedicated to St. John, a wretch had built a hut
in which he strangled pilgrims and wayfarers. One day a traveller
entering the hut with his wife to seek rest, saw in a corner the heads
of men, women and children. Attempting to fly, they were prevented by
their host. They succeeded, however, in escaping, and on reaching Mâcon,
related what they had seen. Soldiers were sent to the bloody spot, where
they counted forty-eight human heads. The murderer was dragged to the
town and burned alive. The hut and the ashes of the funeral pile were
seen by Raoul Glaber. So numerous were the corpses that burial was
impossible, and disease followed close upon famine. Hordes of wolves
preyed upon the unburied. Never before had such misery been known.
War and pillage were the universal rule, but these scourges from heaven
made men somewhat more reasonable. The bishops came together, and it was
agreed to establish a truce for four days of each week, from Wednesday
night to Monday morning. This was known as the truce of God.
It is not strange that the end of so miserable a world was both the hope
and the terror of this mournful period.
[Illustration:
“BANDS OF WOLVES PREYED UPON THE UNBURIED.”
]
The year 1000, however, passed like its predecessors, and the world
continued to exist. Were the prophets wrong again, or did the thousand
years of Christendom point to the year 1033? The world waited and hoped.
In that very year occurred a total eclipse of the sun; “The great source
of light became saffron colored; gazing into each others faces men saw
that they were pale as death; every object presented a livid appearance;
stupor seized upon every heart and a general catastrophe was expected.”
But the end of the world was not yet.
It was to this critical period that we owe the construction of the
magnificent cathedrals which have survived the ravages of time and
excited the wonder of centuries. Immense wealth had been lavished upon
the clergy, and their riches increased by donations and inheritance. A
new era seemed to be at hand. “After the year 1000,” continues Raoul
Glaber, “the holy basilicas throughout the world were entirely
renovated, especially in Italy and Gaul, although for the most part they
were in no need of repair. Christian nations vied with each other in the
erection of magnificent churches. It seemed as if the entire world,
animated by a common impulse, shook off the rags of the past to put on a
new garment; and the faithful were not content to rebuild nearly all the
episcopal churches, but also embellished the monasteries dedicated to
the various saints, and even the chapels in the smaller villages.”
The somber year 1000 had followed the vanished centuries into the past,
but through what troubled times the Church had passed! The popes were
the puppets of the rival Saxon emperors and the princes of Latium. All
Christendom was in arms. The crisis had passed, but the problem of the
end of the world remained, and credence in this dread event, though
uncertain and vague,—was fostered by that profound belief in the devil
and in prodigies which was yet to endure for centuries in the popular
mind. The final scene of the last judgment was sculptured over the
portals of every cathedral, and on entering the sanctuary of the church
one passed under the balance of the archangel, on whose left writhed the
bodies of the devils and the damned, delivered over to the eternal
flames of hell.
[Illustration]
But the idea that the world was to end was not confined to the Church.
In the twelfth century astrologers terrified Europe by the announcement
of a conjunction of all the planets in the constellation of the scales.
This conjunction indeed, occurred, for on September 15th all the planets
were found between the 180th and 190th degrees of longitude. But the end
of the world did not come.
The celebrated alchemist, Arnauld de Villeneuve, foretold it again for
the year 1335. In 1406, under Charles VI., an eclipse of the sun,
occurring on June 16th, produced a general panic, which is chronicled by
Juvénal of the Ursuline Order: “It is a pitiable sight,” he says, “to
see people taking refuge in the churches as if the world were about to
perish.” In 1491 St. Vincent Ferrier wrote a treatise entitled, “De la
Fin du Monde et de la Science Spirituelle.” He allows Christendom as
many years of life as there are verses in the psalter, namely, 2537.
Then a German astrologer, one Stoffler, predicted that on February 20,
1524, a general deluge would result from a conjunction of the planets.
He was very generally believed, and the panic was extreme. Property
situated in valleys, along river banks, or near the sea, was sold to the
less credulous for a mere nothing. A certain doctor, Auriol, of
Toulouse, had an ark built for himself, his family and his friends, and
Bodin asserts that he was not the only one who took this precaution.
[Illustration]
There were few sceptics. The grand chancellor of Charles V. sought the
advice of Pierre Martyr, who told him that the event would not be as
fatal as was feared, but that the conjunction of the planets would
doubtless occasion grave disasters. The fatal day arrived ... and never
had the month of February been so dry! But this did not prevent new
predictions for the year 1532, by the astrologer of the elector of
Brandenburg, Jean Carion; and again for the year 1584, by the astrologer
Cyprian Lëowitz. It was again a question of a deluge, due to planetary
conjunctions. “The terror of the populace,” writes a contemporary, Louis
Guyon, “was extreme, and the churches could not hold the multitudes
which fled to them for refuge; many made their wills without stopping to
think that this availed little if the world was really to perish; others
donated their goods to the clergy, in the hope that their prayers would
put off the day of judgment.”
In 1588 there was another astrological prediction, couched in
apocalyptic language, as follows: “The eighth year following the fifteen
hundred and eightieth anniversary of the birth of Christ will be a year
of prodigies and terror. If in this terrible year the globe be not
dissolved in dust, and the land and the sea be not destroyed, every
kingdom will be overthrown and humanity will travail in pain.”
[Illustration]
As might be expected, the celebrated soothsayer, Nostradamus, is found
among these prophets of evil. In his book of rhymed prophecies, entitled
Centuries, we find the following quatrain, which excited much
speculation:
Quand Georges Dieu crucifiera,
Que Marc le ressuscitera,
Et que St. Jean le portera,
La fin du monde arrivera.
The meaning of which is, that when Easter falls on the twenty-fifth of
April (St. Mark’s day), Holy Friday will fall on the twenty-third (St.
George’s day), and Corpus Christi on the twenty-fourth of June (St.
John’s day), and the end of the world will come. This verse was not
without malice, for at this time (Nostradamus died in 1556) the calendar
had not been reformed; this was not done until 1582, and it was
impossible for Easter to fall on the twenty-fifth of April. In the
sixteenth century, the twenty-fifth of April corresponded to the
fifteenth; the day following November 4, 1582, was called the fifteenth.
After the introduction of the Gregorian calendar, Easter might fall on
the twenty-fifth of April, its latest possible date, and this was the
case in 1666, 1734, 1886, as it will be again in 1942, 2038, 2190, etc.,
the end of the world, however, not being a necessary consequence of this
coincidence.
[Illustration]
Planetary conjunctions, eclipses and comets were alike the basis for
prophecies of evil. Among the comets recorded in history we may mention,
as the most remarkable from this point of view, that of William the
Conqueror, which appeared in 1066, and which is pictured on the tapestry
of Queen Matilda, at Bayeux; that of 1264, which, it is said,
disappeared the very day of the death of Pope Urban IV.; that of 1327,
one of the largest and most imposing ever seen, which “presaged” the
death of Frederick, king of Sicily; that of 1399, which Juvénal, the
Ursuline, described as “the harbinger of coming evil;” that of 1402, to
which was ascribed the death of Gian Galeazzo, Visconti, duke of Milan;
that of 1456, which filled all Christendom with terror, under Pope
Calixtus III., during the war with the Turks, and which is associated
with the history of the Angelus; and that of 1472, which preceded the
death of the brother of Louis XI. There were others, also, associated
like the preceding, with catastrophes and wars, and especially with the
dreaded last hours of the race. That of 1527 is described by Ambroise
Paré, and by Simon Goulart, as formed of severed heads, poignards and
bloody clouds. The comet of 1531 was thought to herald the death of
Louise of Savoy, mother of Francis I., and this princess shared the
popular superstition in reference to evil stars: “Behold!” she exclaimed
from her bed, on perceiving the comet through the window, “behold an
omen which is not given to one of low degree. God sends it as a warning
to us. Let us prepare to meet death.” Three days after, she died. But
the famous comet of Charles V., appearing in 1556, was perhaps the most
memorable of all. It had been identified as the comet of 1264, and its
return was announced for 1848. But it did not reappear.
The comets of 1577, 1607, 1652 and 1665 were the subjects of endless
commentaries, forming a library by themselves. At the last of these
Alphonso VI., king of Portugal, angrily discharged his pistol, with the
most grotesque defiance. Pierre Petit, by order of Louis XIV., published
a work designed to counteract the foolish, and political, apprehensions
excited by comets. This illustrious king desired to be without a rival,
the only sun, “Nec pluribus impar!” and would not admit the supposition
that the glory of France could be imperilled even by a celestial
phenomenon.
One of the greatest comets which ever struck the imagination of men was
assuredly the famous comet of 1680, to which Newton devoted so much
attention. “It issued,” said Lemonnier, “with a frightful velocity from
the depths of space and seemed falling directly into the sun and was
seen to vanish with an equal velocity. It was visible for four months.
It approached quite near to the earth, and Whiston ascribed the deluge
to its former appearance.” Bayle wrote a treatise to prove the absurdity
of beliefs founded on these portents. Madame de Sévigné writing to her
cousin, Count de Bussy-Rabutin, says: “We have a comet of enormous size;
its tail is the most beautiful object conceivable. Every person of note
is alarmed and believes that heaven, interested in their fate, sends
them a warning in this comet. They say that the courtiers of Cardinal
Mazarin, who is despaired of by his physicians believe this prodigy is
in honor of his passing away, and tell him of the terror with which it
has inspired them. He had the sense to laugh at them, and to reply
facetiously that the comet did him too much honor. In truth we ought all
to agree with him, for human pride assumes too much when it believes
that death is attended by such signs from heaven.”
We see that comets were gradually losing their prestige. Yet we read in
a treatise of the astronomer Bernouilli this singular remark: “If the
head of the comet be not a visible sign of the anger of God, _the tail
may well be_.”
Fear of the end of the world was reawakened by the appearance of comets
in 1773; a great panic spread throughout Europe, and Paris itself was
alarmed. Here is an extract from the memoirs of Bachaumont, accessible
to every reader:
“May 6th, 1773. In the last public meeting of the Academy of Sciences,
M. de Lalande was to read by far the most interesting paper of all;
this, however, he was not able to do, for lack of time. It concerned the
comets which, by approaching the earth, may cause revolutions, and dealt
especially with that one whose return is expected in eighteen years. But
although he affirmed that it was not one of those which would harm the
earth, and that, moreover, he had observed that one could not fix, with
any exactness, the order of such occurrences, there exists,
nevertheless, a very general anxiety.
“May 9th. The cabinet of M. de Lalande is filled with the curious who
come to question him concerning the above memoir, and, in order to
reassure those who have been alarmed by the exaggerated rumors
circulated about it, he will doubtless be forced to make it public. The
excitement has been so great that some ignorant fanatics have besought
the archbishop to institute prayers for forty hours, in order to avert
the deluge which menaces us; and this prelate would have authorized
these prayers, had not the Academy shown him the ridicule which such a
step would produce.
“May 14th. The memoir of M. de Lalande has appeared. He says that it is
his opinion that, of the sixty known comets, eight, by their near
approach to the earth, might produce a pressure such that the sea would
leave its bed and cover a part of the world.”
In time, the excitement died away. The fear of comets assumed a new
form. They were no longer regarded as indications of the anger of God,
but their collision with the earth was discussed from a scientific point
of view, and these collisions were not considered free of danger. At the
close of the last century, Laplace stated his views on this question, in
the forcible language which we have quoted in Chapter II.
In this century, predictions concerning the end of the world have
several times been associated with the appearance of comets. It was
announced that the comet of Biela, for example, would intersect the
earth’s orbit on October 29, 1832, which it did, as predicted. There was
great excitement. Once more the end of things was declared at hand.
Humanity was threatened. What was going to happen?
The orbit, that is to say the path, of the earth had been confounded
with the earth itself. The latter was not to reach that point of its
orbit traversed by the comet until November 30th, more than a month
after the comet’s passage, and the latter was at no time to be within
20,000,000 leagues of us. Once more we got off with a fright.
It was the same in 1857. Some prophet of ill omen had declared that the
famous comet of Charles V., whose periodic time was thought to be three
centuries, would return on the 13th of June of that year. More than one
timid soul was rendered anxious, and the confessionals of Paris were
more than usually crowded with penitents. Another prediction was made
public in 1872, in the name of an astronomer, who, however, was not
responsible for it—M. Plantamour, director of the Geneva observatory.
As in the case of comets, so with other unusual phenomena, such as total
solar eclipses, mysterious suns appearing suddenly in the skies, showers
of shooting stars, great volcanic eruptions accompanied with the
darkness of night and seeming to threaten the burial of the world in
ashes, earthquakes overthrowing and engulfing houses and cities—all
these grand and terrible events have been connected with the fear of an
immediate and universal end of men and things.
The history of eclipses alone would suffice to fill a volume, no less
interesting than the history of comets. Confining our attention to a
modern example, one of the last total eclipses of the sun, visible in
France, that of August 12, 1654, had been foretold by astronomers, and
its announcement had produced great alarm. For some it meant the
overthrow of states and the fall of Rome; for others it signified a new
deluge; there were those who believed that nothing less than the
destruction of the world by fire was inevitable; while the more
collected anticipated the poisoning of the atmosphere. Belief in these
dreaded results were so widespread, that, in order to escape them, and
by the express order of physicians, many terrified people shut
themselves up in closed cellars, warmed and perfumed. We refer the
reader, especially, to the second evening of Les Mondes of Fontenelle.
Another writer of the same century, Petit, to whom we referred a moment
ago, in his Dissertation on the Nature of Comets says, that the
consternation steadily increased up to the fatal day, and that a country
curate, unable to confess all who believed their last hour was at hand,
at sermon time told his parishioners not to be in such haste, for the
eclipse had been put off for a fortnight; and these good people were as
ready to believe in the postponement of the eclipse as they had been in
its malign influence.
[Illustration:
PEOPLE SEEKING REFUGE IN CLOSED CELLARS.
]
At the time of the last total solar eclipses visible in France, namely,
those of May 12, 1706; May 22, 1724, and July 8, 1842, as also of the
partial ones of October 9, 1847; July 28, 1851; March 15, 1858; July 18,
1860, and December 22, 1870, there was more or less apprehension on the
part of the timid; at least, we know, from trustworthy sources, that in
each of these cases these natural phenomena were interpreted by a
certain class in Europe as possible signs of divine wrath, and in
several religious educational establishments the pupils were requested
to offer up prayers as the time of the eclipse drew near. This mystical
interpretation of the order of nature is slowly disappearing among
enlightened nations, and the next total eclipse of the sun, visible in
southern France on May 28, 1900, will probably inspire no fear on the
French side of the Pyrenees; but it might be premature to make the same
statement regarding those who will observe it from the Spanish side of
the mountains.
Among uncivilized people these phenomena excite today the same terror
which they once did among us. This fact is frequently attested by
travellers, especially in Africa. During the eclipse of July 18, 1860,
in Algeria, men and women resorted to prayer or fled affrighted to their
homes. During the eclipse of July 29, 1878, which was total in the
United States, a negro, suddenly crazed with terror, and persuaded that
the end of the world was coming, cut the throats of his wife and
children.
It must be admitted that such phenomena are well calculated to overwhelm
the imagination. The sun, the god of day, the star upon whose light we
are dependent, grows dim; and, just before it becomes extinguished,
takes on a sickly and mournful hue. The light of the sky pales, the
animal creation is stricken with terror, the beast of burden falters at
his task, the dog flees to its master, the hen retreats with her brood
to the coop, the birds cease their songs, and have been seen even to
drop dead with fright. Arago relates that during the total eclipse of
the sun at Perpignan, on July 8, 1842, twenty thousand spectators were
assembled, forming an impressive spectacle. “When the solar disc was
nearly obscured, an irresistible anxiety took possession of everybody;
each felt the need of sharing his impressions with his neighbor. A deep
murmur arose, like that of the far away sea after a storm. This murmur
deepened as the crescent of light grew less, and when it had disappeared
and sudden darkness had supervened, the silence which ensued marked this
phase of the eclipse as accurately as the pendulum of our astronomical
clock. The magnificence of the spectacle triumphed over the petulance of
youth, over the frivolity which some people mistake for a sign of
superiority, over the indifference which the soldier frequently assumes.
A profound silence reigned also in the sky: the birds had ceased their
songs. After a solemn interval of about two minutes, joyous transports
and frantic applause greeted with the same spontaneity the first
reappearance of the solar rays, and the melancholy and indefinable sense
of depression gave way to a deep and unfeigned exultation which no one
sought to moderate or repress.”
Every one who witnessed this phenomenon, one of the most sublime which
nature offers, was profoundly moved, and took away with him an
impression never to be forgotten. The peasants especially were terrified
by the darkness, as they believed that they were losing their sight. A
poor child, tending his flock, completely ignorant of what was coming,
saw the sun slowly growing dim in a cloudless sky. When its light had
entirely disappeared the poor child, completely carried away by terror,
began to cry and call for help. His tears flowed again when the first
ray of light reappeared. Reassured, he clasped his hands, crying, “O,
beautiful sun!”
Is not the cry of this child the cry of humanity?
So long as eclipses were not known to be the natural consequences of the
motion of the moon about the earth, and before it was understood that
their occurrence could be predicted with the utmost precision, it was
natural that they should have produced a deep impression and been
associated with the idea of the end of the world. The same is true of
other celestial phenomena and notably of the sudden appearance of
unknown suns, an event much rarer than an eclipse.
[Illustration:
“O, BEAUTIFUL SUN!”
]
The most celebrated of these appearances was that of 1572. On the 11th
of November of that year, about a month after the massacre of St.
Bartholomew, a brilliant star of the first magnitude suddenly appeared
in the constellation of Cassiopeia. The stupefaction was general, not
only on the part of the public, to which it was visible every night in
the sky, but also on the part of scientists, who could not explain its
appearance. Astrologers found a solution of the enigma in the assertion
that it was the star of the Magi, whose reappearance announced the
return of the Son of God, the last judgment and the resurrection. This
statement made a deep impression upon all classes of society. The star
gradually diminished in splendor, and at the end of about eighteen
months went out, without having caused any other disaster than that
which human folly itself adds to the misery of a none too prosperous
planet. Science records several apparitions of this nature, but the
above was the most remarkable. A like agitation has accompanied all the
grand phenomena of nature, especially those which have been unforeseen.
In the chronicles of the middle ages, and even in more recent memoirs,
we read of the terror which the aurora borealis, showers of shooting
stars and the fall of meteorites have produced among the alarmed
spectators. Recently, during the meteor shower of November 27, 1872,
when the sky was filled with more than forty thousand meteorites
belonging to the dispersed comet of Biela, women of the lower classes,
at Nice especially, as also at Rome, in their excitement sought
information of those whom they thought able to explain the cause of
these celestial fire-works, which they had at once associated with the
end of the world and with the fall of the stars, which it was foretold
would usher in that last great event.
Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions have sometimes attained such
proportions as to lead to the fear that the end of the world was at
hand. Imagine the state of mind of the inhabitants of Herculaneum and of
Pompeii when the eruption of Vesuvius buried them in showers of ashes!
Was not this for them the end of the world? And more recently, were not
those who witnessed the eruption of Krakatoa of the same opinion?
Impenetrable darkness lasting eighteen hours, an atmosphere like a
furnace, filling the eyes, nose and ears with ashes, the deep and
incessant cannonade of the volcano, the falling of pumice stones from
the black sky, the terrible scene illuminated only at intervals by the
lurid lightning or the fire-balls on the spars and rigging of vessels,
the thunder echoing from cloud and sea with an infernal musketry, the
shower of ashes turning into a deluge of mud—this was the experience of
the passengers of a Java vessel during the night of eighteen hours, from
the 26th to the 28th of August, 1883, when a portion of the island of
Krakatoa was hurled into the air, and the sea, after having first
retreated, swept upon the shore to a height of thirty-five meters and to
a distance of from one to ten kilometers over a coast-line of five
hundred kilometers, and in the reflux carried away with it the four
cities, Tjiringin, Mérak, Telok-Bétong and Anjer, and the entire
population of the region, more than forty thousand souls. For a long
time the progress of vessels was hindered by floating bodies
inextricably interlaced; and human fingers, with their nails, and
fragments of heads, with their hair were found in the stomachs of
fishes. Those who escaped, or who saw the catastrophe from some vessel,
and lived to welcome again the light of day, which had seemed forever
extinguished, relate in terror with what resignation they expected the
end of the world, persuaded that its very foundations were giving way
and that the knell of a universal doom had sounded. One eye-witness
assures us that he would not again pass through such an experience for
all the wealth that could be imagined. The sun was extinguished and
death seemed to reign sovereign over nature. This eruption, moreover,
was of such terrific violence that it was heard through the earth at the
antipodes; it reached an altitude of twenty thousand meters, producing
an atmospheric disturbance which made the circuit of the entire globe in
thirty-five hours (the barometer fell four millimeters in Paris even),
and left for more than a year in the upper layers of the atmosphere a
fine dust, which, illumined by the sun, gave rise to those magnificent
twilight displays admired so much throughout the world.
These are formidable disturbances, partial ends of the world. Certain
earthquakes deserve citation with these terrible volcanic eruptions, so
disastrous have been their consequences. In the earthquake of Lisbon,
November 1, 1755, thirty thousand persons perished; the shock was felt
over an area four times as large as that of Europe. When Lima was
destroyed, October 28, 1724, the sea rose twenty-seven meters above its
ordinary level, rushed upon the city and erased it so completely that
not a single house was left. Vessels were found in the fields several
kilometers from the shore. On December 10, 1869, the inhabitants of the
city of Onlah, in Asia Minor, alarmed by subterranean noises and a first
violent trembling of the earth, took refuge on a neighboring hilltop,
whence, to their stupefaction, they saw several crevasses open in the
city which within a few moments entirely disappeared in the bowels of
the earth. We have direct evidence that under circumstances far less
dramatic, as for example on the occasion of the earthquake at Nice,
February 23, 1887, the idea of the end of the world was the very first
which presented itself to the mind.
[Illustration:
“FLOATING BODIES INEXTRICABLY INTERLACED.”
]
The history of the earth furnishes a remarkable number of like dramas,
catastrophes of a partial character, threatening the world’s final
destruction. It is fitting that we should devote a moment to the
consideration of these great phenomena, as also to the history of that
belief in the end of the world which has appeared in every age, though
modified by the progress of human knowledge. Faith has in part
disappeared; mystery and superstition, which struck the imagination of
our ancestors, and which has been so curiously represented in the
portals of our great cathedrals, and in the sculpture and painting
inspired by Christian traditions, this theological aspect of the last
great day, has given place to the scientific study of the probable life
of the solar system to which we belong. The geocentric and
anthropocentric conception of the universe, which makes man the center
and end of creation, has become gradually transformed and has at last
disappeared; for we know that our humble planet is but an island in the
infinite, that human history has thus far been founded on pure
illusions, and that the dignity of man consists in his intellectual and
moral worth. Is not the destiny and sovereign end of the human mind the
exact knowledge of things, the search after truth?
During the nineteenth century, evil prophets, more or less sincere, have
twenty-five times announced the end of the world, basing their
prophecies upon cabalistic calculations destitute of serious foundation.
Like predictions will recur so long as the race exists.
But this historic interlude, although opportune, has for a moment
interrupted our narrative. Let us hasten to return to the twenty-fifth
century, for we have reached its most critical moment.
[Illustration]