Looking to the Stars

A while ago on my ongoing series about nineteenth century heroines, we talked about Caroline Herschel, who learned astronomy from her famous brother, William Herschel (he discovered the planet Uranus, though he wanted to name it George), and went on to make many discoveries of her own. The nineteenth century was the time of the Grand Amateur—men and women who, by interest, ability, and fortune, made major contributions to the sciences like astronomy. There was something noble about discovering something new, whether it was a planet or the internal workings of a combustion engine. Discovery wasn’t, however, easy.

In astronomy in particular, the tools were still plagued with difficulties. Many astronomers still studied the heavens through little more than spy glasses. Most available telescopes involved refracting light through carefully crafted glass lenses rather than reflecting it through mirrors. These lenses sometimes gave their images a colored glow about the edges, making it hard to observe some celestial phenomena. Telescopes that did reflect the light used speculum, metal made from bronze and silver to create a mirror-like substance. Unfortunately, it tarnished easily and distorted the image.

In his quest for better viewing equipment, William Herschel learned to grind his own lenses, coat his own mirrors, and make his own telescopes. He started with smaller scopes, like this 7-footer . . .

then graduated to larger ones like this 20-foot goliath.


His skill was so great that other amateurs, including the King of Spain, commissioned scopes from him. Through a grant from King George III, he built a 40-foot-long telescope with a 49-inch mirror at his home in Slough, near Windsor, in what would be called Observatory House. It was the largest telescope in the world at the time, and a source of many visitors, until the Earl of Roth, an Irish peer, build a larger scope in 1845.

But even these mammoth scopes had problems. They were often mounted in such a way that turning them was difficult. If you were lucky, the dais on which they were built could be hand-cranked to swivel the telescope both horizontally and vertically, but this positioning could take hours or days. So basically you could watch a single slice of sky on a given night with a larger scope, which was not conducive to scanning the skies for anomalies or hunting comets.

And why would you want to hunt comets, you ask? That was one of the most exciting aspects of astronomy, your chance to make a name for yourself, to go down in history. All comets discovered during the early nineteenth century were first sighted with the naked eye, so anyone could get into the game. Next Friday marks the 200 anniversary of the sighting of the Great Comet, one of the brightest and largest comets ever seen on earth. Guess what I’m blogging about on that day.

Nineteenth Century Heroines: Reach for the Stars

We’ve talked about how young ladies in the nineteenth century were encouraged to learn the housewifely arts. That was certainly true in the beginning for Caroline Herschel. She was born in Hanover (what is now Germany) in 1750, the daughter and sister of amateur astronomers. Her brother William moved to England in 1757 at age 19 to teach music. By 1766, he was an organist in Bath and often served as choir master. However, at night, he studied the stars. In 1781, he discovered the planet Uranus, which earned him the title of King's Astronomer, a knighthood, and a pension of 200 pounds per year. Such patronage from King George III was not surprising when you consider that the king was also a Hanoverian by birth and that Herschel had originally suggested naming the new planet after him. (Can you imagine: “What are the names of the three largest planets, children?” “Jupiter, Saturn, and George.”)

Caroline’s father tried to teach her astronomy too, but her mother would have none of it. Women, according to Mother Herschel, should only learn household tasks and be generally helpful. But Caroline got her chance to be helpful when, at 22, she moved to England to help her brother. I don’t know whether she hoped to be an astronomer right away, but her brother insisted that she learn to sing so she could help pay the bills. From 1773 until he was knighted, she sang with his choir up to five times a week in Bristol and Bath.

But somehow dear William was persuaded to train her in astronomy and math. It may be because Caroline begged; it may be because he desperately needed an assistant. In any event, within the next 2 years of his knighting, Caroline had not only learned about astronomy but was making discovering of her own. In 1783, she discovered three nebulae; her first comet followed in 1786. A year later, in recognition of her work, King George awarded her a salary of 50 pounds a year to officially serve as an assistant to her brother. She went on to discover another seven comets before 1797, then began cross-referencing and correcting England’s star catalog.

After William married at the ripe old age of 51, Caroline helped educate his son John and assisted in his astronomical work as well. She became a close friend of the Royal family and visited them in 1816, 1817, and 1818. When William died in 1822, she returned to Hanover, but continued her observations. While many reports today tout her as one of the first women to be awarded membership in the Royal Society, it was an honorary membership only and not until 1835 (when she was 85). However, at age 86 she was elected a full member of the Royal Irish Academy and at 96 was awarded the Prussian Gold Medal for Science. She died in 1848 at 98 years of age.

Now, that’s what I call a star!