Miss Herschel began in 1796, and finished in about twenty months, an Index to Flamsteed’s observations of the stars in the “British Catalogue.” A list of “errata” was added, together with a catalogue of 561 omitted stars. The work, one of eminent utility, was published in 1798, at the expense of the Royal Society. In August, 1799, she paid a visit to the Astronomer Royal, with the object of transcribing into his copy of Flamsteed’s Observations some memoranda upon them made by her brother. “But the succession of amusements,” we hear, “left me no alternative between contenting myself with one or two hours’ sleep per night during the six days I was at Greenwich, and going home without having fulfilled my purpose.” Needless to say that she chose the former.
The Royal family paid her many attentions, partly, no doubt, because of her intimacy with one of the ladies-in-waiting to the Queen. This was Madame Beckedorff, who although of “gentle” condition, had attended the same dressmaking class with the bandmaster’s daughter at Hanover, in 1768. The distant acquaintanceship thus formed developed, at Windsor, into a firm friendship, transmitted in its full cordiality to a second generation. An entry in Caroline’s Diary tells of a dinner at Madame Beckedorff’s, February 23, 1801, when the “whole party left the dining-room on the Princesses Augusta and Amelia, and the Duke of Cambridge coming in to see me.” In May, 1813, during a visit to London, she passed several evenings at Buckingham House, “where I just arrived,” she says, on May 12, “as the Queen and the Princesses Elizabeth and Mary, and the Princess Sophia Matilda of Gloucester, were ready to step into their chairs, going to Carlton House, full dressed for a fête, and meeting me in the hall, they stopped for near ten minutes, making each in their turn the kindest inquiries how I liked London, etc. On entering Mrs. Beckedorff’s room, I found Madame D’Arblay (Miss Burney), and we spent a very pleasant evening.”
Such Royal condescensions were frequent, and on occasions inconvenient. The Princesses Sophia and Amelia, in especial, took a strong liking for Miss Herschel’s conversation, and often required her attendance for many hours together. She was graciously singled out for notice at the Frogmore assemblages, and became quite inured to the reception at Slough of dignitaries and savants. Nothing deranged the simple composure of her deportment. One would give much to know what were her private impressions about the notabilities who crossed her path; but her memoranda are, in this respect, perfectly colourless. Names and dates are jotted down with the same brevity as her entries of “work done.” Even the personal troubles of years are curtly disposed of. Her brother Dietrich’s stay in England from 1809 to 1813, left her not a day’s respite from accumulated trouble and anxiety. Yet it occasioned only one little outburst, penned long afterwards.
“He came,” she wrote, “ruined in health, spirit, and fortune, and, according to the old Hanoverian custom, I was the only one from whom all domestic comforts were expected. I hope I acquitted myself to everybody’s satisfaction, for I never neglected my eldest brother’s business” (Jacob Herschel died in 1792), “and the time I bestowed on Dietrich was taken entirely from my sleep, or what is generally allowed for meals, which were mostly taken running, or sometimes forgotten entirely. But why think of it now?”
Her later journal is overshadowed with the fear of coming bereavement. Recurrences to the state of William’s health become ominously frequent. “He is not only unwell, but low in spirits,” she notes in February, 1817; and the following account of his departure for Bath, April 2, 1818, betrays her deep trouble:—
“The last moments before he stepped into the carriage were spent in walking through his library and workrooms, pointing with anxious looks to every shelf and drawer, desiring me to examine all, and to make memorandums of them as well as I could. He was hardly able to support himself, and his spirits were so low, that I found difficulty in commanding my voice so far as to give him the assurance he should find on his return that my time had not been misspent.”
“May 1st.—But he returned home much worse than he went, and for several days hardly noticed my handiworks.”
His last note to her, indited with an uncertain hand on a discoloured slip of paper, July 4, 1819, she put by with the inscription: “I keep this as a relic. Every line now traced by the hand of my dear brother becomes a treasure to me.”
“Lina,” it ran, “there is a great comet. I want you to assist me. Come to dine and spend the day here. If you can come soon after one o’clock we shall have time to prepare maps and telescopes. I saw its situation last night—it has a long tail.”
Through that long tail the earth had, eight days previously—according to Olbers’s calculations—cut its way; but the proposed observations at Slough, if made, were never published.