I have of late been very little from home, except two evenings in the week to the play, for I cannot walk the streets without being led, as I cannot trust my eyes to avoid obstacles, besides a total loss of strength; so that the chief connection I keep up with this world depends on what I by imperfect glimpses can gather from the newspaper and a little talk sometimes with Mrs. Beckedorff. But a few weeks ago I exerted myself, fearing if I delayed much longer I might not be able at all to pay my respects to our good Duchess of Cambridge, and I wished to make good a blunder I had committed two years ago, when I was conversing with her at the Landgräfin’s for half an hour together, taking her all the while to be an officer’s lady, as she came accompanied by her brother, the Prince of Hesse, who wore a moustache. It is the case in general, that I do not know my most intimate friends except by their voices. I was, however, very much gratified by my visit. A lady, who is in the habit of going to Court, left my name along with her own with the lady-in-waiting, and the next Sunday we were appointed to be there at half-past one (a very inconvenient hour for me, for I only begin to be alive when other folks go to sleep). But no reception could be more friendly. I was made take my place by her on the sofa, and after some conversation, the little Princess Augusta was called to tell me that she had seen you at Slough; you had shown her the telescope and described how it was moved by the handle round about. I asked her if she had seen the little girls. The Duchess explained that her call had been unexpected, and regretted that she had not had an opportunity of coming to Slough herself. Then the Princess was sent to call her father, whom I presented with your book, and he went to fetch his spectacles, and was much pleased with the subject, saying, “I shall read it, for I like such things.” After I had read the whole book myself—mind, I say the whole, though you recommended me to read only the first and last chapters—and knowing no one who is worthy to look into it, I had it handsomely bound and wrote in the top margin “To His Royal Highness, the Duke of Cambridge.” At the side of Sir Francis Bacon stands “from” and in the margin at the bottom, “Caroline Herschel, aunt of the author.” By this means, I know it secured from contamination in the Duke’s library, where anybody who is desirous of reading it will find it.
1832. Last Illness of Lady Herschel.
December 26th.
My dearest Niece,—
So far I wrote last night, thinking to fill this page to-day, with such news as I should like to communicate to my nephew if he was present; but now all is fled from my memory, for my dear sister is ill, and perhaps still in danger, and my only trust is in your goodness of sending me a speedy account, which may confirm the hope you seem to entertain of her recovery. For there is nothing I so ardently desire as to be spared the pain of mourning for a single individual of those friends I have in England, and how much more it would affect me to lose one so nearly connected, and within a few months of my own age, it may be easily imagined.... Next to listening to the conversation of learned men, I like to hear about them, but I find myself, unfortunately, among beings who like nothing but smoking, big talk on politics, wars, and such like things. Of our German astronomers, I have lately heard nothing; but that, perhaps, is owing to Encke having had the cholera, but of which he soon recovered. Gauss has been long unhappily situated by losing his second wife, who had been long lingering....
... I beg once more for an early assurance of my dear sister’s recovery.
MISS HERSCHEL TO SIR JOHN HERSCHEL.
Hanover, Jan. 20, 1832.
My dearest Nephew,—
My dear niece’s and your letter of January 3rd, have indeed answered your kind intentions, for the painful communication of your last found me prepared, and enabled me to break the black seal with tolerable composure, and I found no small consolation from your description of the easy ending of your dear departed parent.