The New Astronomy

by S. P. Langley

We will take as the subject of our illustration the beautiful comet which those of us who are middle-aged can remember seeing in 1858, and which is called Donati’s from the name of its discoverer. We choose this one because it is the subject of an admirable monograph by Professor Bond of the Harvard College Observatory, from which our engravings have, by permission, been made.

Let us take the history of this comet, then, as a general type of others; and to begin at the beginning, we must make the very essential admission that the origin of the comet’s life is unknown to us. Where it was born, or how it was launched on its eccentric path, we can only guess, but do not know; and how long it has been traversing it we can only tell later. On the 2d of June, 1858, this one was discovered in the way most comets are found, that is, by a comet-hunter, who detected it as a telescopic speck long before it became visible to the naked eye, or put forth the tail which was destined to grow into the beautiful object many of us can remember seeing. For over a century now there has been probably no year in which the heavens have not been thus searched by a class of observers who make comet-hunting a specialty.

FIG. 82.—COMET OF DONATI, SEPT. 24, 1858. (TELESCOPIC VIEW OF HEAD.)

The father of this very valuable class of observers appears to have been Messier, a Frenchman of the last century and of the purest type of the comet-hunters, endowed by Nature with the instinct for their search that a terrier has for rats. In that grave book, Delambre’s “History of Astronomy,” as we plod along its dry statements and through its long equations, we find, unexpected as a joke in a table of logarithms, the following piece of human nature (quoted from Messier’s contemporary, La Harpe):—

“He [Messier] has passed his life in nosing out the tracks of comets. He is a very worthy man, with the simplicity of a baby. Some years ago he lost his wife, and his attention to her prevented him from discovering a comet he was on the search for, and which Montaigne of Limoges got away from him. He was in despair. When he was condoled with on the loss he had met, he replied, with his head full of the comet, ‘Oh, dear! to think that when I had discovered twelve, this Montaigne should have got my thirteenth.’ And his eyes filled with tears, till, remembering what it was he ought to be weeping for, he moaned, ‘Oh, my poor wife!’ but went on crying for his comet.”

Messier’s scientific posterity has greatly multiplied, and it is rare now for a comet to be seen by the naked eye before it has been caught by the telescope of one of these assiduous searchers. Donati had, as we see, observed his some months before it became generally visible, and accordingly the engraving on page 201 shows it as it appeared on the evening of September 16, 1858, when the tail was already formed, and, though small, was distinct to the naked eye, near the stars of the Great Bear. The reader will easily recognize in the plate the familiar “dipper,” as the American child calls it, where the leading stars are put down with care, so that he may, if he please, identify them by comparison with the originals in the sky, even to the little companion to Mizar (the second in the handle of the “dipper,” and which the Arabs say is the lost Pleiad). We would suggest that he should note both the length of the tail on this evening as compared with the space between any two stars of the “dipper” (for instance, the two right-hand ones, called the “pointers”) and its distance from them, and then turn to page 209, where we have the same comet as seen a little over a fortnight later, on October 3d. Look first at its new place among the stars. The “dipper” is still in view, but the comet has drifted away from it toward the left and into other constellations. The large star close to the left margin of the plate, with three little stars below and to the right, is Arcturus; and the western stars of the Northern Crown are just seen higher up. Fortunately the “pointers,” with which we compared the comet on September 16th, are still here, and we can see for ourselves how it has not only shifted but grown. The tail is three times as long as before. It is rimmed with light on its upper edge, and fades away so gradually below that one can hardly say where it ends. But,—wonderful and incomprehensible feature!—shot out from the head, almost as straight as a ray of light itself, but fainter than the moonbeam, now appears an extraordinary addition, a sort of spur, which we can hardly call a new tail, it is so unlike the old one, but which appears to have been darted out into space as if by some mysterious force acting through the head itself. What the spur is, what the tail is, even what the nucleus is, we cannot be said really to know even to-day; but of the tail and of the nucleus or speck in the very head of the comet (too small to be visible in the engraving), we may say that the hairy tail (comes) gives the comet its name, and is the comet to popular apprehension, but that it is probably the smallest part of the whole mass, while the little shining head, which to the telescope presents a still smaller speck called the nucleus, contains, it now seems probable, the only element of possible danger to the earth.

While admitting our lack of absolute knowledge, we may, if we agree that meteorites were once part of a comet, say that it now seems probable that the nucleus is a hard, stone-like mass, or collection of such masses, which comes from “space” (that is, from we don’t know how far) to the vicinity of the sun, and there is broken by the heat as a stone in a hot fire. (Sir Isaac Newton calculates, in an often quoted passage of the Principia, that the heat which the comet of 1680 was subjected to in its passage by the sun was two thousand times that of red-hot iron.) We have seen the way in which meteoric stones actually do crack in pieces with heat in our own atmosphere, partly, perhaps, from the expansion of the gases the stone contains, and it seems entirely reasonable to suppose that they may do so from the heat of the sun, and that the escaped gases may contribute something toward the formation of the tail, which is always turned away from the sun, and which always grows larger as that is approached, and smaller as it is receded from. However this may be, there is no doubt that the original solid which we here suppose may form the nucleus is capable of mischief, for it is asserted that it often passes the earth’s orbit with a velocity of as much as one hundred times that of a cannon-ball; that is, with ten thousand times the destructive capacity of a ball of the same weight shot from a cannon.

FIG. 83.—COMET OF DONATI, OCT. 3, 1858.