His next letter is dated June 3rd, 1782. “I pass my time,” he informed “Lina,” “between Greenwich and London agreeably enough, but am rather at a loss for work that I like. Company is not always pleasing, and I would much rather be polishing a speculum. Last Friday I was at the King’s concert to hear George play. The King spoke to me as soon as he saw me, and kept me in conversation for half an hour. He asked George to play a solo-concerto on purpose that I might hear him.... I am introduced to the best company. To-morrow I dine at Lord Palmerston’s, next day with Sir Joseph Banks, etc. Among opticians and astronomers nothing now is talked of but what they call my great discoveries. Alas! this shows how far they are behind, when such trifles as I have seen and done are called great. Let me but get at it again! I will make such telescopes and see such things—that is, I will endeavour to do so.”
A comparison of his telescope with those at the Royal Observatory showed its striking superiority, although among them was one of Short’s famous Gregorians, of 9½ inches aperture. It had thus a reflecting surface above twice that of Herschel’s seven-foot, the competition with which was nevertheless so disastrous to its reputation that Dr. Maskelyne fell quite out of conceit with it, and doubted whether it deserved the new stand constructed for it on the model of Herschel’s.
In the midst of these scientific particulars, we hear incidentally that influenza was then so rife in London that “hardly one single person” escaped an attack.
On July 2nd he made his first appearance as showman of the heavens to royalty. The scene of the display was Buckingham House (now Buckingham Palace). “It was a very fine evening,” he wrote to his sister. “My instrument gave general satisfaction. The King has very good eyes, and enjoys observations with telescopes exceedingly.”
Next night, the King and Queen being absent at Kew, the Princesses desired an exhibition. But, since they objected to damp grass, the telescope, Herschel says, “was moved into the Queen’s apartments, and we waited some time in hopes of seeing Jupiter or Saturn. Meanwhile I showed the Princesses and several other ladies the speculum, the micrometers, the movements of the telescope, and other things that seemed to excite their curiosity. When the evening appeared to be totally unpromising, I proposed an artificial Saturn as an object, since we could not have the real one. I had beforehand prepared this little piece, as I guessed by the appearance of the weather in the afternoon we should have no stars to look at. This being accepted with great pleasure, I had the lamps lighted up, which illuminated the picture of a Saturn (cut out in pasteboard) at the bottom of the garden wall. The effect was fine, and so natural that the best astronomer might have been deceived. Their royal highnesses seemed to be much pleased with the artifice.” From a somewhat prolonged conversation, he judged them to be “extremely well instructed,” and “most amiable characters.”
Shortly afterwards Herschel received the appointment of royal astronomer, with the modest salary of £200 a year. “Never,” exclaimed Sir William Watson on being made acquainted with its amount, “bought monarch honour so cheap!” The provision was assuredly not munificent; yet it sufficed to rescue a great man from submergence under the hard necessities of existence. The offer was critically timed. It was made precisely when teaching and concert-giving had come to appear an “intolerable waste of time” to one fired with a visionary passion. “Stout Cortes” staring at the Pacific, Ulysses starting from Ithaca to “sail beyond the sunset,” were not more eager for experience of the Unknown.
CHAPTER II.
THE KING’S ASTRONOMER.
William Herschel was now an appendage to the court of George III. He had to live near Windsor, and a large dilapidated house on Datchet Common was secured as likely to meet his unusual requirements. The “flitting” took place August 1, 1782. William was in the highest spirits. There were stables available for workrooms and furnaces; a spacious laundry that could be turned into a library; a fine lawn for the accommodation of the great reflector. Crumbling walls and holes in the roof gave him little or no concern; and if butcher’s meat was appallingly dear (as his sister lamented) the family could live on bacon and eggs! In this sunny spirit he entered upon the career of untold possibilities that lay before him.
Nevertheless the King’s astronomer did not find it all plain sailing. His primary duty was to gratify the royal taste for astronomy, and this involved no trifling expenditure of time and toil. The transport of the seven-foot to the Queen’s lodge could be managed in the daylight, but its return-journey in the dark, after the conclusion of the celestial raree-show, was an expensive and a risky business; yet fetched back it should be unless a clear night were to be wasted—a thing not possible to contemplate. This kind of attendance was, however, considerately dispensed with when its troublesome nature came to be fully understood. Herschel’s treatment by George III. has often been condemned as selfish and niggardly; but with scant justice. In some respects, no doubt, it might advantageously have been modified. Still, the fact remains that the astronomer of Slough was the gift to science of the poor mad King. From no other crowned head has it ever received so incomparable an endowment.