The Romance of Comets

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.

Drawn by M. Proctor

DAYLIGHT COMET 1910 A

As seen at Newcastletown Moor, January 28, by the author ]

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