In the late 1700s and early 1800s, siblings William and Caroline Herschel turned heads and entered the history books due to their contributions to the field of astronomy. This episode of Footnoting History looks at their lives, their discoveries, and their enduring legacy. Hey everyone, Christine here, to talk to you about a pair of astronomer siblings. The Herschel siblings are a topic I learned about quite by accident, when I was reading about when the
planets in our solar system were discovered. As I read about them, I quickly realized that elements of their story would also appeal to you, dear listeners. So, I am excited to cover it. I also compiled a pretty huge Further Reading list for this episode on FootnotingHistory.com, I say that because if you have any interest in the Herschels or astronomy, there is bound to be something there
for you, so you might want to check it out. Also, as always, we have captioned versions of this and every Footnoting History episode available, for everyone, both at FootnotingHistory.com, through the audio player, and on our YouTube channel, YouTube.com/FootnotingHistory. Anyway, to the stars we go. One of my favorite things about the Herschels is that initially, it did not look like the siblings would become astronomers. In fact, they were set
up for very different careers. Their story starts in Hanover, located in modern-day Germany. Their parents, Isaac and Anna Ilse, had ten children, six of which lived beyond childhood. Of those six, the two we are most concerned with are William and Caroline. William was born Friedrich Wilhelm on November 15, 1738 and Caroline was born on March 16, 1750. As their father was a musician for the Hanoverian foot guards, he ensured that his children had a music-centric education,
or at least the boys. William excelled at playing instruments and, as a teenager, was able to join the guards’ band. His position took him first to England, where he began to learn English, then back to Hanover in the mid-1750s. However, at this time, Hanover was caught up in the Seven Years’ War, and, his family recognized this could be bad news for William, who was of fighting age.
So, he was encouraged to return to England where he would be safe. He did just that, and it was there he dropped the name Friedrich Wilhelm in favor of the more English-sounding William. William used his musical talent to establish himself. He was able to get a job running a Durham militia band then segued that into teaching and performing. It didn’t take too long before some music he composed was published and in the mid-1760s he settled in Bath as an
organist at the Octagon Chapel, a music teacher, and an in-demand musician. William’s family back in Hanover knew of his successes and several relatives came over to see him for extended periods of time. None of them were Caroline. Caroline’s childhood was much different from her brother’s. She was kept closer to home, learning to perfect the domestic skills that would aid her mother. These skills did include reading and writing in addition to cooking, needlework,
and dressmaking. To paraphrase Emily Winterburn, who wrote extensively on the Herschels, the men in the family were educated to become experts in a field while Caroline was educated to be able to gain and execute a wide variety of useful skills. In 1772, William returned to Hanover and was able to bring Caroline back with him to Bath. There, William took her under his educational wing and also enlisted the help of others to educate his sister. She learned English and gained
extensive training in presentation to help her fit in with English society. Most importantly, though, is that she was trained in music. William enabled Caroline to become a sought-after singer. In addition to taking care of the domestic duties, Caroline performed continuously around the area. However, in the midst of all this, a change was brewing. William and Caroline’s father
had always encouraged the boys to be curious, particularly about science and philosophy. As such, William began reading about the parts of science that interested him, and quickly the focus of that interest became astronomy. William made use of all the avenues open to him for educating himself–reading, meeting others with the same interests, etc. He was a musician with an amateur-level astronomy obsession and Caroline initially found
it annoying. William didn’t care and continued to educate himself, and by extension, Caroline, not just by reading and talking but by doing. William developed a love of reflector telescopes, that is, telescopes that use mirrors to concentrate and focus light instead of lenses. With the help of his brother Alexander, who was great with technical things, and Caroline, who was often assigned tasks to aid the process, William became extremely
good at making reflectors. His most-recognized skill was his creation of phenomenal mirrors. He became so good at it that he attracted the attention of astronomy heavyweights—after all, better telescopes meant better ability to study the sky. He would spend years building telescopes for people as a stream of income. When he wasn’t working as a musician or working on his telescope craftsmanship, he was also studying the night sky. In 1774, William began to note down
his observations in earnest, and he focused on the Orion nebula. A nebula (or nebulae in the plural) is a gigantic gas-and-dust cloud, often either made from the explosion of a dying star or serving as a place where new stars are formed. I suggest looking nebulae up. They’re pretty fabulous. Then, in March of 1781, William’s hours and hours staring at the night sky paid off in a major way. He was studying the constellation Gemini when he noticed a nearby star that piqued his interest.
After considering it at length he realized that the star moved. After contacting two much more experienced astronomers who did their own investigations, it was determined that William had discovered something that was a Very Big Deal indeed, it was a new planet! In fact, the other planets that were known at the time (Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn) had been part of
the general consciousness for so long that no one knew who actually discovered them. So, William is the first person whose name got attached to the discovery of a planet–even if he did originally think it was a star, and then a comet, before his more experienced contemporaries convinced him of the truth. The planet he discovered? Uranus [Ur-ahn-us]. Now, you might be like me and you grew up saying it as Uranus [Ur-anus], despite the jokes that pronunciation naturally invites…well,
Uranus [Ur-ahn-us] is more scientifically acceptable these days. Still, there are literally whole videos on the internet of people discussing how to pronounce this planet’s name. Uranus [Ur-ahn-us] actually appears to be the most popular but whether you say that or Uranus [Ur-anus], it’s okay by me and hopefully you’ll be okay rolling with me on how I say it, too. Regardless, William’s discovery attracted attention from many quarters. For example,
he was awarded the Copley medal from the Royal Society. Today, the Royal Society describes the medal as its “oldest and most prestigious award” which “was initially awarded for the most important scientific discovery or for the greatest contribution made by experiment.” My fellow Americans might appreciate that this award had once been given to Benjamin Franklin. William was also made a fellow of the society. Inarguably, though, the most significant person
to take an interest in this news was King George III. William was invited to meet the king and, as a result of that meeting, his and Caroline’s lives changed forever. William was granted an annual pension of £200, so long as he lived near Windsor Castle and was willing to be at the beck and call of the Royal Family when they wanted personal viewings of the night skies through
one of William’s telescopes. To William, the move was a no brainer. The money was nowhere near what he was making as a musician but the clout was real and, even if he had to tighten his financial belt a bit, the legitimacy it gave him as an astronomer meant he could justify turning away from music for astronomy full-time. Fun fact about Uranus though. William never wanted it to be called that. He wanted the planet to be called something honoring the king, like George’s
Star or The Georgian Planet. But all the other planets had names rooted in Greek mythology. Eventually, another astronomer suggested Uranus, the God of the sky. That became the commonly accepted name over time, but there’s no way William would have ever liked it. I will call it George’s Star in my head for the rest of time. Anyway, Caroline was not nearly as impressed with this royal opportunity as William surely wanted her to be. She was not a fan of the decrease in
her brother’s finances by any stretch of the imagination. Plus, his desire to leave music behind as they left Bath for the Windsor environs necessitated her doing the same. She was no longer a singer; she was now a full-time astronomer’s assistant with all that came with it. Thankfully, she was an avid learner who picked up significant skills for science and its required calculations. The early 1780s saw William and Caroline develop a process for studying the sky and, in particular,
nebulae. According to historian Michael Hoskin, the telescope was “directed to the south, at a particular elevation, and at the eyepiece William watched the sky drift past, waiting for a nebula to come into view. He then shouted out a description to Caroline, who was seated at a desk in a room nearby, next to an open window.” She would listen for her
brother’s observations and note down information like the description and position. Each pass of the sky was called a ‘sweep’ and it is believed they covered a segment about 2° wide each time. Was it tedious? Absolutely. Did it take forever? You bet. They were at this for years, but the result was that they were able to add about 2400 nebulae to the previously-identified roughly 100. William liked to theorize about nebulae, what made them, what they were, where they were,
and all sorts of related things. He also liked to publish about them. He did so regularly, even if some of his publications were off the mark and he later had to abandon his initial theories. His beliefs about elements in astronomy evolved as he gained new perspectives through continued experiences and education. In 1788, the Herschels experienced another life-changing event, but this one wasn’t scientific, nor was it a guaranteed source
of joy for both siblings. You see, it was at this point that William, who was knocking on 50, decided to get married. His bride was Mary Baldwin Pitt, a recently-widowed neighbor. She reportedly had a good disposition and came to the union with enough money that, for once in his life, William wasn’t constantly overworking in order to stay afloat. Their marriage resulted in one son, John Frederick Hershel, born in 1792. This new domestic life meant that William could
do things like properly rest once in a while. However, you also heard me say that it wasn’t a guaranteed joy maker for both siblings…and that’s true. As much as Caroline became a doting aunt to John, William’s new family life meant a massive upheaval for her. William didn’t need her to take care of all the domestic duties. Eventually, Caroline no longer shared a home with her brother, but her scientific work continued. We can hope that Caroline found this shift to be a good one,
but it is impossible to know her thoughts for sure. The familial change coincided with what was arguably her biggest period of scientific discovery. It is also the time where we know the least about what she thought. Biographers have tried to fill in the gaps, but they regularly say that Caroline destroyed about a decade’s worth of her journals. So, starting with the year her brother got married and going to nearly the end of the 1790s,
we don’t have access to her inner thoughts. All we can do is recognize that Caroline wanted to keep her feelings about this period private. But her discoveries speak for themselves. Between 1786 and 1797, Caroline discovered approximately eight comets. Although Caroline was devoted to helping her brother, when he was otherwise engaged it left her with more time to make her own discoveries. As such, it isn’t surprising that her first comet spotting was
when William was away. To some, it was more exciting that a woman was now credited with discovering comets than that new comets were being discovered. For example, Fanny Burney, herself a celebrated writer, commented that she wanted to see the comet as it was the “first lady’s comet.” The comet discovery caused Caroline’s work to be noticed by the Royal Family. Like her brother,
she now received a royal pension. Hers was £50 per year and has caused her to be commemorated by places like Royal Museums Greenwich as “the first female in Britain to earn an income for the pursuit of science as well as the first woman to earn a living from astronomy.” But she was hardly resting on her laurels. At the same time that she was sweeping the skies and looking for comets, she was working on a massive project of the written variety. In the 1720s, a catalogue of thousands
of stars, known as the British Catalogue, had been published by astronomer John Flamsteed. It took Caroline nearly two years, but she combed through that famous work, correcting numerous errors and omissions. The publication of her updated version of the Catalogue was highly praised. Caroline’s discoveries and cataloging abilities assured that she became a known figure
in the field, even as she remained determined to let her brother keep the spotlight. Heck, she was even invited to Greenwich to spend time at the observatory with the Astronomer Royal. Overlapping with all of this were William’s continued attempts at discoveries and increasing dedication to building larger and larger reflectors. In the late 1780s, he discovered two moons of Uranus, known as Titania and Oberon, and two of Saturn, called Mimas and Enceladus.
At one point, William successfully built a large telescope for the King of Spain, but when he sought to basically double the size of that telescope for himself (the mirrors alone were 4 feet!) it became an issue. The skill he showed with building wonderful telescopes of other sizes had its limits. William aimed too large in his dreams and the massive telescope he envisioned
would never be as renowned as his prior (still large, but not as large) projects. While not everything William attempted was a success, he did continue to make scientific strides, such as when he discovered infra-red rays in the year 1800. He did this by looking at the visible spectrum (think, the colors of the rainbow) and measuring their temperatures. He recognized that blue–one end of the spectrum–was cooler than red–the other end of the spectrum–and just beyond the red,
where no color was visible, it was even warmer. That spot? That’s what we call infra-red light. Unfortunately, no number of accomplishments could cause William to live forever. As the 1800s went on, his health began to deteriorate. In the latter half of the 1810s, William’s son, John, began to take up the mantle of the family business. He trained under his father, preparing
to continue William’s work. On August 25, 1822, after a period of extremely frail health, William passed away at his home, Observatory House, and was buried at nearby St. Lawrence’s. As you might imagine, William’s death was devastating for Caroline. For so long, her life had been intricately tied to his–even if it had been slightly less so following his marriage. With
William gone, Caroline soon decided to return to Hanover. Writing to William’s son, John, not too long after her move, Caroline revealed that she was not in the best state, saying, “I am still unsettled, and cannot get my books and papers in any order, for it is always noon before I am well enough to do anything, and then visitors run away with the rest of the day till the dinner hour (which is two o’clock). Two or three evenings in each week are spoiled by company.”
As for her past dogged pursuits of studying the night skies, that wasn’t happening anymore either, due to, well, architecture. The letter continued, “And at the heavens is no getting, for the high roofs of the opposite houses.” Caroline remained in Hanover for the rest of her life, and while it was a slower existence, it was certainly not an idle one, as she continued to keep herself busy–both socially and with continuing work in the field of astronomy.
Caroline’s big project now was to revise and revamp the catalogue of nebulae into a series of categories that would be more easily used by astronomers like John. Caroline undertook the responsibility for completely reorganizing the catalogue and, when she did, it earned her a gold medal from the Royal Astronomical Society. She was the first woman
to receive it and it would be a long time before there was a second. As Caroline aged, even if she wasn’t personally as active in astronomy as she had once been, she continued to be recognized for her life’s work, including receiving the King of Prussia’s gold medal for science. On January 9, 1848, Caroline passed away in Hanover at the age of 97. Some years later her family published a book that was part memoir and part a collection of Caroline’s correspondence.
It included a portion of a letter written by Caroline’s niece, about her passing. It said, “I felt almost a sense of joyful relief at the death of my aunt, in the thought that now the unquiet heart was at rest. All that she had of love to give was concentrated on her beloved brother…Time did indeed lessen and soften the overpowering weight of her grief, and then she would regret that she had ever left England, and condemned herself to live in a country where
nobody cared for astronomy.” Caroline’s niece further noted, “She lived altogether in the past, and she found the present not only strange but annoying. Now, thank God, she has gone to where she will find again all that she loved.” We can but hope that Caroline was, in fact, at peace, because it is undeniable that living so long after her brother passed was difficult for her.
She was buried, as per her personal request, with her parents, and in her coffin was both an almanac that had once belonged to her father and a lock of her brother’s hair. As one might expect, the Herschels’ legacy lives on. For example, the home William and Caroline shared in Bath has since become the Herschel Museum of Astronomy. In 2009, the European Space Agency (with NASA) launched the Herschel Space Observatory, named for the siblings.
It has been described by historian Asif Siddiqi as “the largest infrared telescope ever launched into space” which “was designed to study the origin and evolution of stars and galaxies, the chemical composition of atmospheres and surfaces of solar system bodies, and molecular chemistry across the universe.” The observatory was active until 2013, and its mission was deemed “highly successful”,
providing a wealth of data for scientists to comb through. Not too shabby. Plus, of course, William will forever be known as the man who discovered Uranus, even if he didn’t approve of the name, and Caroline will always be touted as Britain’s first paid woman astronomer. But still, there’s more to the Herschel family’s influence on astronomy and science as a whole.
William’s son, John, was basically a science rockstar. Not only did his extensive astronomical studies in South Africa and publications gain him fame, but he served as president of both the mathematics section of the British Association for the Advancement of
Science and the Royal Astronomical Society and became Master of the Royal Mint. Plus, he is credited with being at the forefront of the creation of cyanotypes–which you might have heard also called ‘blueprints’–and bringing terms like ‘positive’, ‘negative’, and ‘snap-shot’ into the photographic language lexicon. He was considered so important that he was buried in
Westminster Abbey, near Isaac Newton. Beyond that, one of John’s sons, named William James, regularly gets credit for being a pioneer in the realm of developing and implementing fingerprinting to fight crime. When researching for this episode, I felt like everywhere I turned I was discovering another family member who did something worth noting. But, of course, to us, in this moment, we tip our hats primarily to William and Caroline, the phenomenal astronomer
siblings, and their dedication to the skies. Thank you for joining me for this episode of Footnoting History. I hope you’ll take a look at my epic Further Reading list on FootnotingHistory.com to expand your knowledge about the siblings, astronomy, and whether the planet’s name is pronounced Uranus [Ur-anus] or Uranus [Ur-ahn-us]. As always, we are so very glad to have you with us and we hope that you remember, the best stories are in the footnotes.