1847-1854
MISS MITCHELL'S COMET--EXTRACTS FROM DIARY--THE COMET
Miss Mitchell spent every clear evening on the house-top "sweeping" the
heavens.
No matter how many guests there might be in the parlor, Miss Mitchell
would slip out, don her regimentals as she called them, and, lantern in
hand, mount to the roof.
On the evening of Oct. 1, 1847, there was a party of invited guests at
the Mitchell home. As usual, Maria slipped out, ran up to the telescope,
and soon returned to the parlor and told her father that she thought she
saw a comet. Mr. Mitchell hurried upstairs, stationed himself at the
telescope, and as soon as he looked at the object pointed out by his
daughter declared it to be a comet. Miss Mitchell, with her usual
caution, advised him to say nothing about it until they had observed it
long enough to be tolerably sure. But Mr. Mitchell immediately wrote to
Professor Bond, at Cambridge, announcing the discovery. On account of
stormy weather, the mails did not leave Nantucket until October 3.
Frederick VI., King of Denmark, had offered, Dec. 17, 1831, a gold medal
of the value of twenty ducats to the first discoverer of a telescopic
comet. The regulations, as revised and amended, were republished, in
April, 1840, in the "Astronomische Nachrichten."
When this comet was discovered, the king who had offered the medal was
dead. The son, Frederick VII., who had succeeded him, had not the
interest in science which belonged to his father, but he was prevailed
upon to carry out his father's designs in this particular case.
The same comet had been seen by Father de Vico at Rome, on October 3, at
7.30 P.M., and this fact was immediately communicated by him to
Professor Schumacher, at Altona. On the 7th of October, at 9.20 P.M.,
the comet was observed by Mr. W.R. Dawes, at Kent, England, and on the
11th it was seen by Madame Rümker, the wife of the director of the
observatory at Hamburg.
The following letter from the younger Bond will show the cordial
relations existing between the observatory at Cambridge and the smaller
station at Nantucket:
CAMBRIDGE, Oct. 20, 1847.
DEAR MARIA: There! I think that is a very amiable beginning,
considering the way in which I have been treated by you! If you
are going to find any more comets, can you not wait till they
are announced by the proper authorities? At least, don't kidnap
another such as this last was.
If my object were to make you fear and tremble, I should tell
you that on the evening of the 30th I was sweeping within a few
degrees of your prize. I merely throw out the hint for what it
is worth.
It has been very interesting to watch the motion of this comet
among the stars with the great refractor; we could almost see it
move.
An account of its passage over the star mentioned by your father
when he was here, would make an interesting notice for one of
the foreign journals, which we would readily forward.... [Here
follow Mr. Bond's observations.]
Respectfully,
Your obedient servant,
G. P. BOND.
Hon. Edward Everett, who at that time was president of Harvard College,
took a great interest in the matter, and immediately opened a
correspondence with the proper authorities, and sent a notice of the
discovery to the "Astronomische Nachrichten."
The priority of Miss Mitchell's discovery was immediately admitted
throughout Europe.
The King of Denmark very promptly referred the matter to Professor
Schumacher, who reported in favor of granting the medal to Miss
Mitchell, and the medal was duly struck off and forwarded to Mr.
Everett.
Among European astronomers who urged Miss Mitchell's claim was Admiral
Smyth, whom she knew through his "Celestial Cycle," and who later, on
her visit to England, became a warm personal friend. Madame Rümker,
also, sent congratulations.
Mr. Everett announced the receipt of the medal to Miss Mitchell in the
following letter:
CAMBRIDGE, March 29, 1849.
MY DEAR MISS MITCHELL: I have the pleasure to inform you that
your medal arrived by the last steamer; it reached me by mail,
yesterday afternoon.
I went to Boston this morning, hoping to find you at the Adams
House, to put it into your own hand.
As your return to Nantucket prevented this, I, of course, retain
it, subject to your orders, not liking to take the risk again of
its transmission by mail.
Having it in this way in my hand, I have taken the liberty to
show it to some friends, such as W.C. Bond, Professor Peirce,
the editors of the "Transcript," and the members of my
family,--which I hope you will pardon.
I remain, my dear Miss Mitchell, with great regard,
Very faithfully yours,
EDWARD EVERETT.[Footnote: See Appendix.]
In 1848 Miss Mitchell was elected to membership by the "American Academy
of Arts and Sciences," unanimously; she was the first and only woman
ever admitted. In the diploma the printed word "Fellow" is erased, and
the words "Honorary Member" inserted by Dr. Asa Gray, who signed the
document as secretary. Some years later, however, her name is found in
the list of Fellows of this Academy, also of the American Institute and
of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. For many
years she attended the annual conventions of this last-mentioned
association, in which she took great interest.
The extract below refers to one of these meetings, probably that of
1855:
"August 23. It is really amusing to find one's self lionized in a city
where one has visited quietly for years; to see the doors of fashionable
mansions open wide to receive you, which never opened before. I suspect
that the whole corps of science laughs in its sleeves at the farce.
"The leaders make it pay pretty well. My friend Professor Bache makes
the occasions the opportunities for working sundry little wheels,
pulleys, and levers; the result of all which is that he gets his
enormous appropriations of $400,000 out of Congress, every winter, for
the maintenance of the United States Coast Survey.
"For a few days Science reigns supreme,--we are fêted and complimented
to the top of our bent, and although complimenters and complimented must
feel that it is only a sort of theatrical performance, for a few days
and over, one does enjoy acting the part of greatness for a while! I was
tired after three days of it, and glad to take the cars and run away.
"The descent into a commoner was rather sudden. I went alone to Boston,
and when I reached out my free pass, the conductor read it through and
handed it back, saying in a gruff voice, 'It's worth nothing; a dollar
and a quarter to Boston.' Think what a downfall! the night before, and
'One blast upon my bugle horn
Were worth a hundred men!'
Now one man alone was my dependence, and that man looked very much
inclined to put me out of the car for attempting to pass a ticket that
in his eyes was valueless. Of course I took it quietly, and paid the
money, merely remarking, 'You will pass a hundred persons on this road
in a few days on these same tickets.'
"When I look back on the paper read at this meeting by Mr. J---- in his
uncouth manner, I think when a man is thoroughly in earnest, how
careless he is of mere _words!_"
In 1849 Miss Mitchell was asked by the late Admiral Davis, who had just
taken charge of the American Nautical Almanac, to act as computer for
that work,--a proposition to which she gladly assented, and for nineteen
years she held that position in addition to her other duties. This, of
course, made a very desirable increase to her income, but not
necessarily to her expenses. The tables of the planet Venus were
assigned to her. In this year, too, she was employed by Professor Bache,
of the United States Coast Survey, in the work of an astronomical party
at Mount Independence, Maine.
"1853. I was told that Miss Dix wished to see me, and I called upon her.
It was dusk, and I did not at once see her; her voice was low, not
particularly sweet, but very gentle. She told me that she had heard
Professor Henry speak of me, and that Professor Henry was one of her
best friends, the truest man she knew. When the lights were brought in I
looked at her. She must be past fifty, she is rather small, dresses
indifferently, has good features in general, but indifferent eyes. She
does not brighten up in countenance in conversing. She is so successful
that I suppose there must be a hidden fire somewhere, for heat is a
motive power, and her cold manners could never move Legislatures. I saw
some outburst of fire when Mrs. Hale's book was spoken of. It seems Mrs.
Hale wrote to her for permission to publish a notice of her, and was
decidedly refused; another letter met with the same answer, yet she
wrote a 'Life' which Miss Dix says is utterly false.
"In her general sympathy for suffering humanity, Miss Dix seems
neglectful of the individual interest. She has no family connection but
a brother, has never had sisters, and she seemed to take little interest
in the persons whom she met. I was surprised at her feeling any desire
to see me. She is not strikingly interesting in conversation, because
she is so grave, so cold, and so quiet. I asked her if she did not
become at times weary and discouraged; and she said, wearied, but not
discouraged, for she had met with nothing but success. There is
evidently a strong will which carries all before it, not like the sweep
of the hurricane, but like the slow, steady, and powerful march of the
molten lava.
"It is sad to see a woman sacrificing the ties of the affections even to
do good. I have no doubt Miss Dix does much good, but a woman needs a
home and the love of other women at least, if she lives without that of
man."
The following entry was made many years after:--
"August, 1871. I have just seen Miss Dix again, having met her only once
for a few minutes in all the eighteen years. She listened to a story of
mine about some girls in need, and then astonished me by an offer she
made me."
"Feb. 15, 1853. I think Dr. Hall [in his 'Life of Mary Ware'] does wrong
when he attempts to encourage the use of the _needle_. It seems to me
that the needle is the chain of woman, and has fettered her more than
the laws of the country.
"Once emancipate her from the 'stitch, stitch, stitch," the industry of
which would be commendable if it served any purpose except the
gratification of her vanity, and she would have time for studies which
would engross as the needle never can. I would as soon put a girl alone
into a closet to meditate as give her only the society of her needle.
The art of sewing, so far as men learn it, is well enough; that is, to
enable a person to _take the stitches_, and, if necessary, to make her
own garments in a strong manner; but the dressmaker should no more be a
universal character than the carpenter. Suppose every man should feel it
is his duty to do his own mechanical work of _all_ kinds, would society
be benefited? would the work be well done? Yet a woman is expected to
know how to do all kinds of sewing, all kinds of cooking, all kinds of
any _woman's_ work, and the consequence is that life is passed in
learning these only, while the universe of truth beyond remains
unentered.
"May 11, 1853. I could not help thinking of Esther [a much-loved cousin
who had recently died] a few evenings since when I was observing. A
meteor flashed upon me suddenly, very bright, very short-lived; it
seemed to me that it was sent for me especially, for it greeted me
almost the first instant I looked up, and was gone in a second,--it was
as fleeting and as beautiful as the smile upon Esther's face the last
time I saw her. I thought when I talked with her about death that,
though she could not come to me visibly, she might be able to influence
my feelings; but it cannot be, for my faith has been weaker than ever
since she died, and my fears have been greater."
A few pages farther on in the diary appears this poem:
"ESTHER
"Living, the hearts of all around
Sought hers as slaves a throne;
Dying, the reason first we found--
The fulness of her own.
"She gave unconsciously the while
A wealth we all might share--
To me the memory of the smile
That last I saw her wear.
"Earth lost from out its meagre store
A bright and precious stone;
Heaven could not be so rich before,
But it has richer grown."
"Sept. 19, 1853. I am surprised to find the verse which I picked up
somewhere and have always admired--
"'Oh, reader, had you in your mind
Such stores as silent thought can bring,
Oh, gentle reader, you would find
A tale in everything'--
belonging to Wordsworth and to one of Wordsworth's simple, I am almost
ready to say _silly_, poems. I am in doubt what to think of Wordsworth.
I should be ashamed of some of his poems if I had written them myself,
and yet there are points of great beauty, and lines which once in the
mind will not leave it.
"Oct. 31, 1853. People have to learn sometimes not only how much the
heart, but how much the head, can bear. My letter came from Cambridge
[the Harvard Observatory], and I had some work to do over. It was a
wearyful job, but by dint of shutting myself up all day I did manage to
get through with it. The good of my travelling showed itself then, when
I was too tired to read, to listen, or to talk; for the beautiful
scenery of the West was with me in the evening, instead of the tedious
columns of logarithms. It is a blessed thing that these pictures keep in
the mind and come out at the needful hour. I did not call them, but they
seemed to come forth as a regulator for my tired brain, as if they had
been set sentinel-like to watch a proper time to appear.
"November, 1853. There is said to be no up or down in creation, but I
think the _world_ must be _low_, for people who keep themselves
constantly before it do a great deal of stooping!
"Dec. 8, 1853. Last night we had the first meeting of the class in
elocution. It was very pleasant, but my deficiency of ear was never more
apparent to myself. We had exercises in the ascending scale, and I
practised after I came home, with the family as audience. H. says my ear
is competent only to vulgar hearing, and I cannot appreciate nice
distinctions.... I am sure that I shall never say that if I had been
properly educated I should have made a singer, a dancer, or a painter--I
should have failed less, perhaps, in the last. ... Coloring I might have
been good in, for I do think my eyes are better than those of any one I
know.
"Feb. 18, 1854. If I should make out a calendar by my feelings of
fatigue, I should say there were six Saturdays in the week and one
Sunday.
"Mr. ---- somewhat ridicules my plan of reading Milton with a view to
his astronomy, but I have found it very pleasant, and have certainly a
juster idea of Milton's variety of greatness than I had before. I have
filled several sheets with my annotations on the 'Paradise Lost,' which
I may find useful if I should ever be obliged to teach, either as a
schoolma'am or a lecturer. [Footnote: This paper has been printed since
Miss Mitchell's death in "Poet-lore," June-July, 1894.]
"March 2, 1854. I 'swept' last night two hours, by three periods. It was
a grand night--not a breath of air, not a fringe of a cloud, all clear,
all beautiful. I really enjoy that kind of work, but my back soon
becomes tired, long before the cold chills me. I saw two nebulae in Leo
with which I was not familiar, and that repaid me for the time. I am
always the better for open-air breathing, and was certainly meant for
the wandering life of the Indian.
"Sept. 12, 1854. I am just through with a summer, and a summer is to me
always a trying ordeal. I have determined not to spend so much time at
the Atheneum another season, but to put some one in my place who shall
see the strange faces and hear the strange talk.
"How much talk there is about religion! Giles [Footnote: Rev. Henry
Giles.] I like the best, for he seems, like myself, to have no settled
views, and to be religious only in feeling. He says he has no piety, but
a great sense of infinity.
"Yesterday I had a Shaker visitor, and to-day a Catholic; and the more I
see and hear, the less do I care about church doctrines. The Catholic, a
priest, I have known as an Atheneum visitor for some time. He talked
to-day, on my asking him some questions, and talked better than I
expected. He is plainly full of intelligence, full of enthusiasm for his
religion, and, I suspect, full of bigotry. I do not believe he will die
a Catholic priest. A young man of his temperament must find it hard to
live without family ties, and I shall expect to hear, if I ever hear of
him again, that some good little Irish girl has made him forget his
vows.
"My visitors, in other respects, have been of the average sort. Four
women have been delighted to make my acquaintance--three men have
thought themselves in the presence of a superior being; one offered me
twenty-five cents because I reached him the key of the museum. One woman
has opened a correspondence with me, and several have told me that they
knew friends of mine; two have spoken of me in small letters to small
newspapers; one said he didn't see me, and one said he did! I have
become hardened to all; neither compliment nor quarter-dollar rouses any
emotion. My fit of humility, which has troubled me all summer, is
shaken, however, by the first cool breeze of autumn and the first walk
taken without perspiration.
"Sept. 22, 1854. On the evening of the 18th, while 'sweeping,' there
came into the field the two nebulae in Ursa Major, which I have known
for many a year, but which to my surprise now appeared to be three. The
upper one, as seen from an inverting telescope, appeared double-headed,
like one near the Dolphin, but much more decided than that, the space
between the two heads being very plainly discernible and subtending a
decided angle. The bright part of this object was clearly the old
nebula--but what was the appendage? Had the nebula suddenly changed? Was
it a comet, or was it merely a very fine night? Father decided at once
for the comet; I hesitated, with my usual cowardice, and forbade his
giving it a notice in the newspaper.
"I watched it from 8.30 to 11.30 almost without cessation, and was quite
sure at 11.30 that its position had changed with regard to the
neighboring stars. I counted its distance from the known nebula several
times, but the whole affair was difficult, for there were flying clouds,
and sometimes the nebula and comet were too indistinct to be definitely
seen.
"The 19th was cloudy and the 20th the same, with the variety of
occasional breaks, through which I saw the nebula, but not the comet.
"On the 21st came a circular, and behold Mr. Van Arsdale had seen it on
the 13th, but had not been sure of it until the 15th, on account of the
clouds.
"I was too well pleased with having really made the discovery to care
because I was not first.
"Let the Dutchman have the reward of his sturdier frame and steadier
nerves!
"Especially could I be a Christian because the 13th was cloudy, and more
especially because I dreaded the responsibility of making the
computations, _nolens volens_, which I must have done to be able to call
it mine....
"I made observations for three hours last night, and am almost ill
to-day from fatigue; still I have worked all day, trying to reduce the
places, and mean to work hard again to-night.
"Sept. 25, 1854. I began to recompute for the comet, with observations
of Cambridge and Washington, to-day. I have had a fit of despondency in
consequence of being obliged to renounce my own observations as too
rough for use. The best that can be said of my life so far is that it
has been industrious, and the best that can be said of me is that I have
not pretended to what I was not.
"October 10. As soon as I had run through the computations roughly for
the comet, so as to make up my mind that by my own observations (which
were very wrong) the Perihelion was passed, and nothing more to be hoped
for from observations, I seized upon a pleasant day and went to the Cape
for an excursion. We went to Yarmouth, Sandwich, and Plymouth, enjoying
the novelty of the new car-route. It really seemed like railway
travelling on our own island, so much sand and so flat a country.
"The little towns, too, seemed quaint and odd, and the old gray cottages
looked as if they belonged to the last century, and were waked from a
long nap by the railway whistle.
"I thought Sandwich a beautiful, and Plymouth an interesting, town. I
would fain have gone off into some poetical quotation, such as 'The
breaking waves dashed high' or 'The Pilgrim fathers, where are they?'
but K., who had been there before, desired me not to be absurd, but to
step quietly on to the half-buried rock and quietly off. Younger sisters
know a deal, so I did as I was bidden to do, and it was just as well not
to make myself hoarse without an appreciative audience.
"I liked the picture by Sargent in Pilgrim Hall, but seeing Plymouth on
a mild, sunny day, with everything looking bright and pleasant, it was
difficult to conceive of the landing of the Pilgrims as an event, or
that the settling of such a charming spot required any heroism.
"The picture, of course, represents the dreariness of winter, and my
feelings were moved by the chilled appearance of the little children,
and the pathetic countenance of little Peregrine White, who, considering
that he was born in the harbor, is wonderfully grown up before they are
welcomed by Samoset. According to history little Peregrine was born
about December 6 and Samoset met them about March 16; so he was three
months old, but he is plainly a forward child, for he looks up very
knowingly. Such a child had immortality thrust upon him from his birth.
It must have had a deadening influence upon him to know that he was a
marked man whether he did anything worthy of mark or not. He does not
seem to have made any figure after his entrance into the world, though
he must have created a great sensation when he came.
"October 17. I have just gone over my comet computations again, and it
is humiliating to perceive how very little more I know than I did seven
years ago when I first did this kind of work. To be sure, I have only
once in the time computed a parabolic orbit; but it seems to me that I
know no more in general. I think I am a little better thinker, that I
take things less upon trust, but at the same time I trust myself much
less. The world of learning is so broad, and the human soul is so
limited in power! We reach forth and strain every nerve, but we seize
only a bit of the curtain that hides the infinite from us.
"Will it really unroll to us at some future time? Aside from the
gratification of the affections in another world, that of the intellect
must be great if it is enlarged and its desires are the same.
"Nov. 24, 1854. Yesterday James Freeman Clarke, the biographer of
Margaret Fuller, came into the Atheneum. It was plain that he came to
see me and not the institution.... He rushed into talk at once, mostly
on people, and asked me about my astronomical labors. As it was a kind
of flattery, I repaid it in kind by asking him about Margaret Fuller. He
said she did not strike any one as a person of intellect or as a
student, for all her faculties were kept so much abreast that none had
prominence. I wanted to ask if she was a lovable person, but I did not
think he would be an unbiassed judge, she was so much attached to him.
"Dec. 5, 1854. The love of one's own sex is precious, for it is neither
provoked by vanity nor retained by flattery; it is genuine and sincere.
I am grateful that I have had much of this in my life.
"The comet looked in upon us on the 29th. It made a twilight call,
looking sunny and bright, as if it had just warmed itself in the
equinoctial rays. A boy on the street called my attention to it, but I
found on hurrying home that father had already seen it, and had ranged
it behind buildings so as to get a rough position.
"It was piping cold, but we went to work in good earnest that night, and
the next night on which we could see it, which was not until April.
"I was dreadfully busy, and a host of little annoyances crowded upon me.
I had a good star near it in the field of my comet-seeker, but _what_
star?
"On that rested everything, and I could not be sure even from the
catalogue, for the comet and the star were so much in the twilight that
I could get no good neighboring stars. We called it Arietes, or 707.
"Then came a waxing moon, and we waxed weary in trying to trace the
fainter and fainter comet in the mists of twilight and the glare of
moonlight.
"Next I broke a screw of my instrument, and found that no screw of that
description could be bought in the town.
"I started off to find a man who could make one, and engaged him to do
so the next day. The next day was Fast Day; all the world fasted, at
least from labor.
"However, the screw was made, and it fitted nicely. The clouds cleared,
and we were likely to have a good night. I put up my instrument, but
scarcely had the screw-driver touched the new screw than out it flew
from its socket, rolled along the floor of the 'walk,' dropped quietly
through a crack into the gutter of the house-roof. I heard it click, and
felt very much like using language unbecoming to a woman's mouth.
"I put my eye down to the crack, but could not see it. There was but one
thing to be done,--the floor-boards must come up. I got a hatchet, but
could do nothing. I called father; he brought a crowbar and pried up the
board, then crawled under it and found the screw. I took good care not
to lose it a second time.
"The instrument was fairly mounted when the clouds mounted to keep it
company, and the comet and I again parted.
"In all observations, the blowing out of a light by a gust of wind is a
very common and very annoying accident; but I once met with a much worse
one, for I dropped a chronometer, and it rolled out of its box on to the
ground. We picked it up in a great panic, but it had not even altered
its rate, as we found by later observations.
"The glaring eyes of the cat, who nightly visited me, were at one time
very annoying, and a man who climbed up a fence and spoke to me, in the
stillness of the small hours, fairly shook not only my equanimity, but
the pencil which I held in my hand. He was quite innocent of any
intention to do me harm, but he gave me a great fright.
"The spiders and bugs which swarm in my observing-houses I have rather
an attachment for, but they must not crawl over my recording-paper. Rats
are my abhorrence, and I learned with pleasure that some poison had been
placed under the transit-house.
"One gets attached (if the term may be used) to certain midnight
apparitions. The Aurora Borealis is always a pleasant companion; a
meteor seems to come like a messenger from departed spirits; and the
blossoming of trees in the moonlight becomes a sight looked for with
pleasure.
"Aside from the study of astronomy, there is the same enjoyment in a
night upon the housetop, with the stars, as in the midst of other grand
scenery; there is the same subdued quiet and grateful seriousness; a
calm to the troubled spirit, and a hope to the desponding.
"Even astronomers who are as well cared for as are those of Cambridge
have their annoyances, and even men as skilled as they are make
blunders.
"I have known one of the Bonds,[Footnote: Of the Harvard College
Observatory.] with great effort, turn that huge telescope down to the
horizon to make an observation upon a blazing comet seen there, and when
he had found it in his glass, find also that it was not a comet, but the
nebula of Andromeda, a cluster of stars on which he had spent much time,
and which he had made a special object of study.
"Dec. 26, 1854. They were wonderful men, the early astronomers. That was
a great conception, which now seems to us so simple, that the earth
turns upon its axis, and a still greater one that it revolves about the
sun (to show this last was worth a man's lifetime, and it really almost
cost the life of Galileo). Somehow we are ready to think that they had a
wider field than we for speculation, that truth being all unknown it was
easier to take the first step in its paths. But is the region of truth
limited? Is it not infinite?... We know a few things which were once
hidden, and being known they seem easy; but there are the flashings of
the Northern Lights--'Across the lift they start and shift;' there is
the conical zodiacal beam seen so beautifully in the early evenings of
spring and the early mornings of autumn; there are the startling comets,
whose use is all unknown; there are the brightening and flickering
variable stars, whose cause is all unknown; and the meteoric
showers--and for all of these the reasons are as clear as for the
succession of day and night; they lie just beyond the daily mist of our
minds, but our eyes have not yet pierced through it."