Eclipses and comets

Her aðeostrade se mona on dagunge on xiii kl' Jañr. and Beornmod wæs ge halgod to b' to Rofeceastre þy ilcan geare.

In this year the moon went dark at dawn on December 20. And the same year Beornmod was consecrated bishop of Rochester.

And þrie Scottas cuomon to Ælfrede cyninge. on anum bate butan ælcum gereþrum. of Hibernia. þonon hi hi bestælon. forþon þe hi woldon for Godes lufan on elþiodignesse beon. hi ne rohton hwær. se bat wæs geworht of þriddan healfre hyde þe hi on foron. and hi namon mid him þæt hi hæfdun to seofon nihtum mete. and þa comon hie ymb vii niht to londe on Corn walum. and foron þa sona to Ælfrede cyninge. þus hie wæron genemnde. Dubslane and Macc bethu and Maelinmun. And Swifneh se betsta lareow þe on Scottum wæs gefor.

And þy ilcan geare ofer Eastron. ymbe gang dagas oþþe ær. æt eowde se steorra þe mon on boc læden hæt cometa. same men cweþaþ on Englisc þæt hit sie feaxede steorra. forþæm þær stent lang leoma of. hwilum on ane healfe. hwilum on ælce healfe.

Three Irishmen came to King Alfred in a boat with no one to row or steer it. They had slipped away from Ireland because, for the love of God, they wanted to live in exile, and they did not care where. The boat they traveled in was made of two and a half hides. They took with them enough food for seven nights, and after seven nights they came ashore in Cornwall. They went straight to King Alfred. Their names were Dubslane, Macc bethu, and Maelinmun. And Swifneh, the best teacher among the Irish, died. And the same year, after Easter, around Rogation Days or a little before, the star appeared that is called cometa in the Latin of books. In English, too, people call it the long-haired star, because a long ray stands out from it, sometimes on one side, sometimes on every side.

And her Eadward Eadgares sunu feng to rice. and þa sona on þam ilcan geare on herfeste æteowde cometa se steorra. and com þa on þam eaftran geare swiðe mycel hungor. and swyðe mænig fealde styrunga geond Angel cyn. [...]

And in this year Edward, Edgar’s son, came to the throne. Soon after, in the same year, at harvest time, the star called a comet appeared. And in the next year came a very great famine, and a great many troubles across England.

On þissum geare com Harold cyng of Eoferwic to Westmynstre. to þam Eastran þe wæron æfter þam middan wintre þe se cyng forðferde. and wæron þa Eastran on þone dæg xvi kl' Mai. Ða wearð geond eall Engla land swylc tacen on heofenum gesewen swylce nan man ǽr ne geseah. Sume men cwedon ꝥ hit cométa se steorra wære. þone sume men hatað þone fæxedon steorran. and he æteowde ærest on þone æfen Letania Maior. viii kl' Mai. and Swa scan ealle þa seofon niht. [...]

In this year King Harold came from York to Westminster for the Easter after the midwinter when King Edward died. Easter fell that year on April 16. Then a sign was seen in the sky all over England, such as no one had ever seen before. Some people said it was the star called a comet, which some call the long-haired star. It first appeared on April 24, the eve of the Greater Litany, and it shone like this for seven nights.

[...] Ða uppon sc̃e Michael' mæssan iv non' Octobr'. ætywde án selcuð steorra on æfen scynende and sona to setle gangende. He wæs gesewen suð weast. and se leoma þe hī of stód. wæs swiðe lang geþuht suð east scinende. and for neah ealle þa wucan on þas wisan ætywde. manige men leton ꝥ hit cometa wære.

Then, after Michaelmas, on October 4, a strange star appeared. It shone in the evening and soon set. It was seen in the southwest, and the ray that stood out from it looked very long, shining toward the southeast. It appeared like this for almost the whole week. Many people thought it was a comet.

[...] On þære fiftan nihte on Maies monðe. ætywde se mona on æfen beorhte scinende. and syððan litlan and litlan his leoht wanode. swa ꝥ he sona nihtes to þā swiðe mid ealle acwanc. ꝥ naþer ne leoht ne trændel ne nan þing mid ealle of hī wæs gesæwen. and swa þurh wunode fullneah oð dæg. and syðþan full and beorhte scinende ætywde. he wæs þæs ylcan dæges feowertyne nihta eald. Ealle þa niht wæs seo lyft swiðe clene. and þa steorran ofer eall þa heofon swiðe beorhte scinende. and treow wæstmas wurdon þære nihte þurh forste swiðe for numene. Ðær æft' on Junies monðe ætywde an steorra norðan eastan. and his leoma stod toforan hī on þet suð west. and þus manega niht wæs gesæwen. and furðor nihtes syððan he ufor astah. he wæs g'sewen on bǽc on ꝥ norð west gangende. [...] Ðis wæs swiðe gedeorfsū gear her on lande þurh gyld þe se cyng nam for his dohter gyfte. and þurh un gewædera. for hwan eorð westmas wurdon swiðe amyrde. and treow westmas ofer eall þis land for neah eall for wurdon. Ðises geares me began ærost to weorcenne on þā niwan mynstre on Ceortes æge.

On the fifth night of May the moon rose in the evening, shining brightly, and then little by little its light faded. As soon as night came, it went out so completely that neither its light nor its disk nor anything of it could be seen. It stayed that way almost until day, and then it appeared full and shining brightly. It was fourteen nights old that day. All that night the air was very clear, and the stars shone very brightly all over the sky. The fruit on the trees was badly ruined by frost that night. After that, in June, a star appeared in the northeast, with its ray standing out in front of it toward the southwest. It was seen like this for many nights. Later in the night, as it climbed higher, it was seen moving backward toward the northwest. This was a very hard year here in the land, because of the tax the king took for his daughter’s marriage and because of bad weather. The crops were badly damaged, and the fruit on the trees all over this land was almost all lost. This year work began on the new minster at Chertsey.

[...] Ðises geares on æfteward Mai wæs gesewen an selcuð steorra mid langan leoman manege niht scinende. Eac on þis ylcan geare wæs swa mycel ebba æghwær anes dæges swa nan man æror ne g'munde. and swa ꝥ man ferde ridende and gangende ofer Tæmese be eastan þære brigge on Lunden. Þises geares wæron swiðe mycele windas on Octob'r monðe. ac he wæs or mæte mycel on þa niht Octab' sc̃i Martini. and ꝥ gehwær on wudan and on tunan gecydde. [...]

This year, at the end of May, a strange star was seen with a long ray, shining for many nights. Also in this same year there was such a low tide everywhere on one day as no one had ever remembered before. People went riding and walking across the Thames east of the bridge in London. This year there were very strong winds in October. But the wind was beyond measure on the night of the octave of St. Martin, and the damage showed everywhere, in the woods and in the villages.

On þis geare wæs se king Heanri on Cristes mæssan on Norhtwic. and on Pasches he weas on Norht hamtune. And on þone lenten tyde þær toforen for bearn se burch on Gleawe ceastre. þa hwile þe þa munecas sungen þære messe. and se dæcne hafde ongunnan þone godspel P'teriens Ih̄c. þa cō se fir on ufen weard þone stepel. and for bearnde ealle þe minstre. and ealle þa gersumes þe þær binnen wæron foruton feawe bec. and iii messe hakeles. þet wes þes dæies viii id' Mr'. And þær æfter þe Tywesdæi æfter Palmes Sunendæi wæs swiðe micel wind on ꝥ dæi xi k' Apr'. þær æfter comen feale tacne wide hwear on Engla land and feole dwild wearen geseogen and geheord. And þes niht viii k' Aug' wæs swiðe micel eorð dyne ofer eal Sumer sete scire and on Gleawe cestre scire. Siððon on þæs dæi vi id' Sept' þet wæs on sc̃e Marie messe dæi. þa wearð swiðe mycel wind frā þa undern dæies to þa swarte nihte. [...] Þær æfter wæron feole scip men on sæ. and on wæter. and sædon ꝥ hi sægon on norð east fir mycel and brad wið þone eorðe. and weax on lengþe up on an to þam wolcne. and se wolcne un dide on fower healfe and faht þær togeanes. swilc hit scolde á cwencen. and se fir weax na þa ma up to þe heouene. Þæt fir hi seagon in ðe dæi rime and læste swa lange ꝥ hit wæs liht ofer eall. þet wæs þæs dæies vii idus Decembr'.

In this year King Henry was at Norwich for Christmas and at Northampton for Easter. Before that, in Lent, the town of Gloucester burned. The monks were singing their mass, and the deacon had begun the Gospel reading “Jesus, passing by,” when the fire caught the top of the tower. It burned the whole minster and all the treasures in it, except a few books and three mass vestments. That was on March 8. After that, on the Tuesday after Palm Sunday, March 22, there was a very great wind. After that many signs appeared far and wide in England, and many uncanny things were seen and heard. On the night of July 25 there was a very great earthquake over all Somerset and Gloucestershire. Then on September 8, the feast of St. Mary, a very great wind blew from morning until black night. After that, many sailors at sea and on inland waters said they had seen a great, broad fire in the northeast, close to the earth. It grew taller and taller, right up to the clouds. The clouds opened on four sides and fought against it, as if to put it out, and the fire grew no higher toward heaven. They saw that fire at daybreak, and it lasted until it was light everywhere. That was on December 7.

Ðis gear æfter Cristesmesse on an Mone niht æt þe forme slæp wæs se heouene oðe norð half eall swilc hit wære bærnende fir. swa ꝥ ealle ðe hit sægon wæron swa of færed swa hi næfre ær ne wæron. ꝥ wæs on iii id' Janr'. Ðes ilces geares wæs swa micel orf cwalm swa hit næfre ær ne wæs on manne gemynd ofer eall Engle land. ꝥ wæs on næt and on swin. swa ꝥ on þa tun þa wæs tenn ploges oðer twelfe gangende ne be læf þær noht an. and se man þa heafde twa hundred oðþe ðre hundred swin ne beleaf him noht an. Þær æft' swulten þa henne fugeles. þa scyrte ða flescmete and se ceose and se butere. God hit bete þa his wille beð. [...]

This year, after Christmas, on a Monday night, in the first sleep, the whole northern sky looked as if it were burning fire. Everyone who saw it was more frightened than they had ever been. That was on January 11. This same year there was a cattle plague worse than any in living memory, all over England. It struck cattle and pigs. In a village where ten or twelve plows had been working, not one was left. A man who had had two or three hundred pigs had not one left. After that the hens died. Then meat ran short, and cheese and butter. God mend it, when it is his will.

On þis gære for se king H' ouer sæ æt te Lāmasse. ⁊ ð oþer dei þa he lai an slep in scip. þa þestrede þe dæi ouer al landes and uuard þe sunne suilc als it uuare thre niht ald mone. an st'res abuten hī at mid dæi. [...]

In this year King Henry crossed the sea at Lammas. And the next day, while he lay asleep on the ship, the day grew dark over all lands. The sun became like a moon three nights old, with stars around it at midday.

[...] Þer eft' in þe lengten þestrede þe sunne ⁊ te dæi. abuton non tid dæies. þa men eten. ð me lihtede candles to æten bi. and þat was xiii k' Ap'l. wæron men suythe of wundred. [...]

After that, in Lent, the sun and the day grew dark around noon, when people eat, so that they lit candles to eat by. That was on March 20. People were greatly astonished.

Unde eodem anno mcccxlviii in mense augusti, visa fuit quaedam stella supra Parisius, versus partem occidentalem, magna et clara valde, post horam vesperam, adhuc lucente sole et tendente ad occasum; et haec erat non multum longe, sicut sunt caeterae, a nostro hemisphaerio elevata, imo videbatur propinqua satis. Et factum est ut, sole occidente et nocte appropinquante, dicta stella, me et multis aliis fratribus eam aspicientibus, non videbatur de uno loco se movere. Tandem nocte jam veniente, nobis videntibus et multum admirantibus, dicta stella valde grossa in plures et diversos radios est dispersa; quae radios fere Parisius et versus orientem projiciens, totaliter disparuit, et ex integro annullata fuit. Unde an fuerit una cometa, vel alia, aut ex aliquibus exhalationibus formata, et tandem in vaporibus resoluta, astronomorum judicio derelinquo. Possibile tamen est quod ipsa fuit praesagium pestilentiae futurae admirandae, quae satis cito, ut dicam, Parisius et per totam Franciam sicut alibi secuta est.

In August of that same year, 1348, a star was seen over Paris, toward the west. It was very large and bright. It appeared after vespers, while the sun was still shining and going down. It did not seem set high above our part of the sky, as the other stars are, but seemed quite close. As the sun set and night came on, I and many other friars watched it, and it did not seem to move from its place. At last, when night had come, while we watched in great wonder, this very large star broke up into many separate rays. It cast its rays out over Paris and toward the east, then vanished completely and was gone. Was it a comet, or something else? Was it formed from exhalations and finally dissolved into vapors? I leave that to the judgment of astronomers. Still, it may have been a sign of the astonishing pestilence that soon followed, as I will tell, in Paris and all over France, as it did elsewhere.

And other some saide that it was the speciall woorke of God for our sakes, as wee our selues haue cause in some sorte to thinke no lesse, whatsoeuer some doe or maie imagine to the contrarie, specially some Astrologers knowing of the Eclipse of the Sunne which wee saw the same yeere before in our voyage thytherward, which vnto them appeared very terrible. And also of a Comet which beganne to appeare but a few daies before the beginning of the said sicknesse. But to exclude them from being the speciall an accident, there are farther reasons then I thinke fit at this present to bee alleadged.

And others said that it was the special work of God for our sakes, as we ourselves have some cause to think too, whatever some do or may imagine to the contrary. Some astrologers especially think otherwise. They know of the eclipse of the sun which we saw earlier that same year on our voyage there, which seemed very terrible to them. They know also of a comet which began to appear only a few days before the sickness began. But to rule them out as the special causes of so special an event, there are further reasons than I think fit to give at present.

Multæ prætereà occurrunt difficultates, quas longum esset recensere. Nobis nihil admodum evenit mali. Tenebras enim Telluris quam longæ illæ sunt, confertim inhabitamus; quæ ubi LEVANIAM attigerint, præstò sumus, quasi ex navi in terram exscendentes: et ibi nos properè in speluncas et loca tenebrosa recipimus, ne nos Sol in aperto paulò pòst obruturus, optato diversorio ejiciat, umbramque discedentem insequi cogat. Dantur ibi nobis induciæ exercendorum ingeniorum ex animi sententia; conferimus cum ejus provinciæ dæmonibus, initaque societate, ubi primùm locus Sole carere ceperit, junctis agminibus in umbram exspaciamur, et si illa mucrone suo, quod plerumque fit, Tellurem feriat, Terris et nos, socijs exercitibus incumbimus: quod non aliàs nobis licet, quàm cum Solem homines viderint deficere. Hinc evenit, ut defectus Solis adeò metuantur.

Many other difficulties come up, which would take too long to list. Nothing bad at all happens to us. We live crowded together in the darkness of the earth’s shadow, all along its length. When it reaches Levania, we are there at once, as if stepping off a ship onto land. There we hurry into caves and dark places. Otherwise the Sun would soon catch us in the open, drive us out of the lodging we have chosen, and force us to follow the departing shadow. There we have a break, and we can use our minds as we please. We talk with the daemons of that land and make an alliance with them. As soon as a place begins to lose the Sun, we join our troops and march out into the shadow. If its point strikes the earth, as usually happens, we too fall on the earth with our allied armies. We are allowed to do this only when people see the Sun eclipsed. That is why eclipses of the Sun are so feared.