LONDON, _April, 1926_.
CHAPTER ONE
COMETS AS PORTENTS
“Lo! from the dread immensity of Space,
Returning with accelerated pace,
The rushing comet to the sun descends:
And, as he shrinks below the shading Earth,
With awful train projected o’er the Heavens,
The guilty nations tremble.”
—THOMSON.
Can there be anything more awe-inspiring to the superstitious than the
stealthy approach of a comet as it wends its way among the stars,
finally blazing out with a marvelous train as it draws near to the sun
to pay homage? As a distant relative of that luminary, it comes for an
occasional visit from far-off realms, and after a brief display during
which it adorns itself with a splendor befitting the momentous occasion,
it withdraws into the obscurity from which it emerged. In these
enlightened days a comet is greeted with enthusiasm, and the camera
keeps a faithful record of its varying appearance, but in olden times it
was regarded as a portent of evil.
Comets have sometimes been pictured as dragons, and according to Pliny
the shape of a comet indicated its character as a portent. Thus, some
were shown as arrow heads, sea monsters, swords, lances, and flames. In
A.D. 69, according to Josephus, several signs appeared in the sky
announcing the destruction of Jerusalem.
“Amongst other warnings, a comet, one of the kind called Xiphias,
because their tails appear to represent the blade of a sword, was
seen above the city for the space of a whole year.”
Regarding the comet of A.D. 79, it is said to have preceded the death of
the Roman Emperor Vespasian. When the physicians reproved the emperor
for continuing to live as usual, attending to the business of the state,
although attacked by a serious malady, he replied, “It is fitting that
an emperor should die standing.” Then perceiving some courtiers who were
conversing together in a low tone of voice about the comet, gazing
significantly in his direction meanwhile, he remarked: “This hairy star
does not concern me; it menaces rather the King of the Parthians, for he
is hairy and I am bald.” Feeling his end approach, he observed, “I think
that I am becoming a god.”
Virgil compares a hero in his shining armor to a comet, and makes
another allusion to these objects at the end of the first Georgic (Bk.
I, 487–488) in the couplet thus rendered by the Rev. Canon Newbolt:
“At no other time did more thunderbolts fall in a clear sky, nor so
often did dread comets blaze.”
In the natural history of Pliny we find several passages relating to the
significance attached to comets by the ancients. For instance, when
referring to the comet of 48 B.C., he observes:
“We have in the war between Cæsar and Pompey an example of the
terrible effects which follow the apparition of a comet.... That
fearful star, which overthrows the powers of the earth, showed its
terrible locks.”
The superstitious dread in which comets were held in the Middle Ages is
exemplified in the gloomy forebodings of disaster, such as wars,
pestilence, and the death of kings, when these apparitions were seen in
the heavens. Well known is Shakespeare’s allusion to comets in Act II,
Sc. 2 of “Julius Cæsar”:
“When beggars die, there are no comets seen;
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.”
In “Henry VI” we find the following passage in Part I, Act I, Sc. 1:
“Comets, importing change of times and states
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky;
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
That have consented unto Henry’s death.”
The comet of A.D. 451 or A.D. 453 announced the death of Attila, and the
comet of A.D. 455 that of the Emperor Valentinian. So widely spread was
the belief in the connection between the death of the great, and these
menacing signs in the heavens, that the chroniclers of old appear to
have recorded comets which were never seen, such as the comet of A.D.
814, which was supposed to have presaged the death of Charlemagne.
When the end of the world was expected in A.D. 1000, the most simple
phenomena assumed terrible proportions. We are told of earthquakes, and
a comet visible for nine days.
“The heavens having opened, a kind of burning torch fell upon the
earth, leaving behind it a long train of light similar to a flash of
lightning. Such was its light that it frightened not only those who
were in the open country, but those who were within doors. As this
opening in the heavens closed imperceptibly there became visible the
figure of a dragon, whose feet were blue, and whose head seemed
continually to increase.”
However, this was more likely the momentary appearance of a shooting
star or fireball, than the comet which the chronicler records as
remaining visible for nine days.
A terrible picture accompanies the description, showing a meteor track
so arranged as to resemble the outline of a dragon, and lest the
resemblance might not seem convincing enough, a fearsome looking dragon
to match is set beside the celestial apparition labeled “_Serpens cum
ceruleis pedibus_.”
Fortunately, people were too busy in those “good old times” fighting and
plundering one another to pay much heed to these omens in the sky.
Moreover, with regard to the threatened end of the world, many contented
themselves with the reflection that they could not be much worse off,
even if the world should perish at that period. Consequently, a comet
scare was averted, and we have clear evidence that, as far as the
predicted catastrophe was concerned, everything went on as usual. A.D.
1000 came and went, and still the world endured.
Great importance has been attached to the seeming connection between
Halley’s famous comet and the portent theory, with striking events which
have occurred upon the occasion of its several returns. For instance, at
its return in A.D. 66 it was probably the sword of fire described by
Josephus as suspended over Jerusalem not long before the destruction of
that city by Titus. Its appearance in A.D. 451 coincided with the defeat
of Attila at Châlons, and it was pictured in the _Nuremberg Chronicle_
for A.D. 684.
It is well known in connection with the famous Bayeux tapestry into
which Queen Matilda wove the story of William the Conqueror’s defeat of
Harold on the memorable occasion of the battle of Hastings, A.D. 1066.
People are shown pointing to an object in the sky, which is labeled
_Isti Mirant Stellam_, the wonderful so-called “hairy star” which
supposedly heralded the success of the Conqueror.
On an adjoining panel is pictured the dejected Harold about to topple
off his throne, and a solitary attendant expressing alarm at the
defeated monarch’s precarious position, but apparently offering no
assistance of value. Thus the comet on this occasion served the double
purpose, it would seem, of announcing success on the one hand and defeat
on the other. Undoubtedly it caused great alarm on account of its
brightness and rapid motion.
In 1456 it returned at a period of great anxiety, when the Turks, having
taken possession of Constantinople three years before, now turned their
attention to Belgrade, which they were besieging. It happened that the
moon was passing through the crescent phase at the time, and Halley’s
comet presented the appearance of a sword. The crescent moon, resembling
the Turkish emblem, is said to have been considered an evil omen by the
Turks, contributing eventually to their defeat.
Coming to our own times, it is surprising the amount of fear and
distress which was caused at the return of Halley’s comet in 1910.
Insanity and even cases of suicide followed at its approach, and there
is a well-authenticated case of an enthusiastic young lady in New
Jersey, U. S. A., who declared her intention of following the comet
wheresoever it went, but was restrained by her friends, and temporary
seclusion in an asylum, from this perilous pursuit.
As the time drew near for the comet to pass from the morning to the
evening sky, when, according to calculations, it would cross the plane
of the earth’s orbit at a point exactly between the earth and the sun,
fresh alarm was caused lest the earth, in plunging through the débris of
the comet’s train, might come to grief in consequence. A report that we
should be asphyxiated by the poisonous gases, such as cyanogen, of which
the train was said to be partly composed, did not tend to lessen the
alarm. Cautious folk laid in a supply of bottles of oxygen to sustain
life during the fatal night, and one or two of a pessimistic turn of
mind actually forestalled the expected tragedy by committing suicide.
Yet nothing happened, for the simple reason that on the night of the
great adventure the comet obligingly spread its tail so widely apart,
that we passed unharmed between two sections thereof.
[Illustration:
_Drawn by M. Proctor_