fiery train along the sky. Wherefore a certain monk of our monastery, by name Elmer, bowing down with terror at the sight of the brilliant star, wisely exclaimed, 'Thou art come! a matter of lamentation to many a mother art thou come; I have seen thee long since; but I now behold thee much more terrible, threatening to hurl destruction on this country.'"[1]
The superstitious dread in which comets were held in the Middle Ages is well exemplified in the case of what happened with respect to the Comet of 1456 (Halley's). There was a story long afloat that the Pope of the period, Calixtus III. excommunicated the comet, and took various steps of the necessary consequential character. This story has been proved to be a myth so far as regards its special point, and the whole incident must apparently be regarded as a remarkable instance of the way in which mountains grow out of mole-hills—to use a common simile. What happened appears to have been this. The comet was visible. The astrologers (I dare not call them astronomers) suggested that there would follow "a grievous pestilence, death, or some great calamity". At that time the Turks were making great headway in Central Europe. Inspired, no doubt, by these facts, Calixtus "ordered supplications that if evils were impending for the human race, the Almighty would turn them all upon the Turks, the enemies of the Christian name. He likewise ordered, to move God by continual entreaty, that notice should be given by the Church bells to all the Faithful, at midday, to aid by their prayers those engaged in battle with the Turk".
The foregoing sentence is translated from Platina's Lives of the Popes,[2] and it will be seen that there is no reference to any bull, or exorcism, or excommunication, or imprecation against the comet joined with the Turk. I suppose that what follows is history, but I give it under the shelter of Admiral Smyth's name. "By the way, while the cometa monstriferus was still in sight, Hunniades, the Pope's general, gained an
