_Euripides_.--'Androm'.
'Eiros'.
Why do you call me Eiros?
'Charmion'.
So henceforward will you always be called. You must forget, too, _my_
earthly name, and speak to me as Charmion.
'Eiros'.
This is indeed no dream!
'Charmion'.
Dreams are with us no more;--but of these mysteries anon. I rejoice to
see you looking life-like and rational. The film of the shadow has
already passed from off your eyes. Be of heart, and fear nothing. Your
allotted days of stupor have expired, and to-morrow I will myself
induct you into the full joys and wonders of your novel existence.
'Eiros'.
True--I feel no stupor--none at all. The wild sickness and the
terrible darkness have left me, and I hear no longer that mad,
rushing, horrible sound, like the "voice of many waters." Yet my
senses are bewildered, Charmion, with the keenness of their perception
of _the new_.
'Charmion'.
A few days will remove all this;--but I fully understand you, and
feel for you. It is now ten earthly years since I underwent what you
undergo--yet the remembrance of it hangs by me still. You have now
suffered all of pain, however, which you will suffer in Aidenn.
'Eiros'.
In Aidenn?
'Charmion'.
In Aidenn.
'Eiros'.
O God!--pity me, Charmion!--I am overburthened with the majesty of all
things--of the unknown now known--of the speculative Future merged in
the august and certain Present.
'Charmion'.
Grapple not now with such thoughts. To-morrow we will speak of this.
Your mind wavers, and its agitation will find relief in the exercise
of simple memories. Look not around, nor forward--but back. I am
burning with anxiety to hear the details of that stupendous event
which threw you among us. Tell me of it. Let us converse of familiar
things, in the old familiar language of the world which has so
fearfully perished.
'Eiros'.
Most fearfully, fearfully!--this is indeed no dream.
'Charmion'.
Dreams are no more. Was I much mourned, my Eiros?
'Eiros'.
Mourned, Charmion?--oh, deeply. To that last hour of all there hung a
cloud of intense gloom and devout sorrow over your household.
'Charmion'.
And that last hour--speak of it. Remember that, beyond the naked fact
of the catastrophe itself, I know nothing. When, coming out from among
mankind, I passed into Night through the Grave--at that period, if I
remember aright, the calamity which overwhelmed you was utterly
unanticipated. But, indeed, I knew little of the speculative
philosophy of the day.
'Eiros'.
The individual calamity was, as you say, entirely unanticipated; but
analogous misfortunes had been long a subject of discussion with
astronomers. I need scarce tell you, my friend, that, even when you
left us, men had agreed to understand those passages in the most holy
writings which speak of the final destruction of all things by fire as
having reference to the orb of the earth alone, But in regard to the
immediate agency of the ruin, speculation had been at fault from that
epoch in astronomical knowledge in which the comets were divested of
the terrors of flame. The very moderate density of these bodies had
been well established. They had been observed to pass among the
satellites of Jupiter without bringing about any sensible alteration
either in the masses or in the orbits of these secondary planets. We
had long regarded the wanderers as vapory creations of inconceivable
tenuity, and as altogether incapable of doing injury to our
substantial globe, even in the event of contact. But contact was not
in any degree dreaded; for the elements of all the comets were
accurately known. That among _them_ we should look for the agency of
the threatened fiery destruction had been for many years considered an
inadmissible idea. But wonders and wild fancies had been of late days
strangely rife among mankind; and, although it was only with a few of
the ignorant that actual apprehension prevailed, upon the announcement
by astronomers of a _new_ comet, yet this announcement was generally
received with I know not what of agitation and mistrust.
The elements of the strange orb were immediately calculated, and it
was at once conceded by all observers that its path, at perihelion
would bring it into very close proximity with the earth. There were
two or three astronomers of secondary note who resolutely maintained
that a contact was inevitable. I cannot very well express to you the
effect of this intelligence upon the people. For a few short days they
would not believe an assertion which their intellect, so long employed
among worldly considerations, could not in any manner grasp. But the
truth of a vitally important fact soon makes its way into the
understanding of even the most stolid. Finally, all men saw that
astronomical knowledge lies not, and they awaited the comet. Its
approach was not at first seemingly rapid, nor was its appearance of
very unusual character. It was of a dull red, and had little
perceptible train. For seven or eight days we saw no material increase
in its apparent diameter, and but a partial alteration in its color.
Meantime, the ordinary affairs of men were discarded, and all interest
absorbed in a growing discussion instituted by the philosophic in
respect to the cometary nature. Even the grossly ignorant aroused
their sluggish capacities to such considerations. The learned _now_
gave their intellect--their soul--to no such points as the allaying of
fear, or to the sustenance of loved theory. They sought--they panted
for right views. They groaned for perfected knowledge. _Truth_ arose
in the purity of her strength and exceeding majesty, and the wise
bowed down and adored.
That material injury to our globe or to its inhabitants would result
from the apprehended contact was an opinion which hourly lost ground
among the wise; and the wise were now freely permitted to rule the
reason and the fancy of the crowd. It was demonstrated that the
density of the comet's _nucleus_ was far less than that of our rarest
gas; and the harmless passage of a similar visitor among the
satellites of Jupiter was a point strongly insisted upon, and which
served greatly to allay terror. Theologists, with an earnestness
fear-enkindled, dwelt upon the biblical prophecies, and expounded them
to the people with a directness and simplicity of which no previous
instance had been known. That the final destruction of the earth must
be brought about by the agency of fire, was urged with a spirit that
enforced everywhere conviction; and that the comets were of no fiery
nature (as all men now knew) was a truth which relieved all, in a
great measure, from the apprehension of the great calamity foretold.
It is noticeable that the popular prejudices and vulgar errors in
regard to pestilences and wars--errors which were wont to prevail upon
every appearance of a comet--were now altogether unknown, as if by
some sudden convulsive exertion reason had at once hurled superstition
from her throne. The feeblest intellect had derived vigor from
excessive interest.
What minor evils might arise from the contact were points of elaborate
question. The learned spoke of slight geological disturbances, of
probable alterations in climate, and consequently in vegetation; of
possible magnetic and electric influences. Many held that no visible
or perceptible effect would in any manner be produced. While such
discussions were going on, their subject gradually approached, growing
larger in apparent diameter, and of a more brilliant lustre. Mankind
grew paler as it came. All human operations were suspended.
There was an epoch in the course of the general sentiment when the
comet had attained, at length, a size surpassing that of any
previously recorded visitation. The people now, dismissing any
lingering hope that the astronomers were wrong, experienced all the
certainty of evil. The chimerical aspect of their terror was gone. The
hearts of the stoutest of our race beat violently within their bosoms.
A very few days suffered, however, to merge even such feelings in
sentiments more unendurable. We could no longer apply to the strange
orb any _accustomed_ thoughts. Its _historical_ attributes had
disappeared. It oppressed us with a hideous _novelty_ of emotion. We
saw it not as an astronomical phenomenon in the heavens, but as an
incubus upon our hearts and a shadow upon our brains. It had taken,
with unconceivable rapidity, the character of a gigantic mantle of
rare flame, extending from horizon to horizon.
Yet a day, and men breathed with greater freedom. It was clear that we
were already within the influence of the comet; yet we lived. We even
felt an unusual elasticity of frame and vivacity of mind. The
exceeding tenuity of the object of our dread was apparent; for all
heavenly objects were plainly visible through it. Meantime, our
vegetation had perceptibly altered; and we gained faith, from this
predicted circumstance, in the foresight of the wise. A wild
luxuriance of foliage, utterly unknown before, burst out upon every
vegetable thing.
Yet another day--and the evil was not altogether upon us. It was now
evident that its nucleus would first reach us. A wild change had come
over all men; and the first sense of _pain_ was the wild signal for
general lamentation and horror. The first sense of pain lay in a
rigorous construction of the breast and lungs, and an insufferable
dryness of the skin. It could not be denied that our atmosphere was
radically affected; the conformation of this atmosphere and the
possible modifications to which it might be subjected, were now the
topics of discussion. The result of investigation sent an electric
thrill of the intensest terror through the universal heart of man.
It had been long known that the air which encircled us was a compound
of oxygen and nitrogen gases, in the proportion of twenty-one measures
of oxygen and seventy-nine of nitrogen in every one hundred of the
atmosphere. Oxygen, which was the principle of combustion, and the
vehicle of heat, was absolutely necessary to the support of animal
life, and was the most powerful and energetic agent in nature.
Nitrogen, on the contrary, was incapable of supporting either animal
life or flame. An unnatural excess of oxygen would result, it had been
ascertained, in just such an elevation of the animal spirits as we had
latterly experienced. It was the pursuit, the extension of the idea,
which had engendered awe. What would be the result of a _total
extraction of the nitrogen_? A combustion irresistible, all-devouring,
omni-prevalent, immediate;--the entire fulfilment, in all their
minute and terrible details, of the fiery and horror-inspiring
denunciations of the prophecies of the Holy Book.
Why need I paint, Charmion, the now disenchained frenzy of mankind?
That tenuity in the comet which had previously inspired us with hope,
was now the source of the bitterness of despair. In its impalpable
gaseous character we clearly perceived the consummation of Fate.
Meantime a day again passed--bearing away with it the last shadow of
Hope. We gasped in the rapid modification of the air. The red blood
bounded tumultuously through its strict channels. A furious delirium
possessed all men; and with arms rigidly outstretched towards the
threatening heavens, they trembled and shrieked aloud. But the nucleus
of the destroyer was now upon us;--even here in Aidenn I shudder while
I speak. Let me be brief--brief as the ruin that overwhelmed. For a
moment there was a wild lurid light alone, visiting and penetrating
all things. Then--let us bow down, Charmion, before the excessive
majesty of the great God!--then, there came a shouting and pervading
sound, as if from the mouth itself of HIM; while the whole incumbent
mass of ether in which we existed, burst at once into a species of
intense flame, for whose surpassing brilliancy and all-fervid heat
even the angels in the high Heaven of pure knowledge have no name.
Thus ended all.
* * * * *