She was born on March 16, 1750, one of 10 children, in the Electorate of Hanover. She was the eighth child. This might explain the dearth of money in the Herschel household. That and the fact the pater familias had no formal education. He and Mrs. Herschel named their 8th baby Caroline Lucretia.

Although a Christian, Isaac Herschel had a Jewish background. The surname Herschel is derived from the Hebrew word “Hirsch,” meaning “deer.” Either a Jewish ancestor looked like a deer, took care of deer, or lived in a house with a sign of a deer attached to it, such as a tavern or a bakery named after the animal. Hirsch was actually a male first name. But, like so many other given names, mostly male, it grew into a last name.

Luckily, Father Herschel’s educational deficit had not put a dent in his innate intelligence. He was a self-taught musician who had obtained a position as an oboist with the Hanoverian Foot Soldiers military band. He trained four of his sons in music as well. In fact, the entire Herschel brood grew into a group of highly talented, home-trained musicians, including Caroline who had a lovely singing voice.

Mrs. Herschel, because of her upbringing or because of the attitudes of times, or because of a sour disposition held the opinion that girl children were destined for housework and nothing other. In her estimation, Caroline had been born to look after and care for her brothers, her parents and “help” with the housework. Mr. Herschel disagreed, quietly. He trained Caroline in music and other arts on the sly. The girl showed brilliance in every area. She took to astronomy in particular.

Caroline never forgot the night her kindhearted father took her outside and pointed upward at a comet that hung among the stars. Isaac also directed his daughter’s gaze to several of the season’s constellations. The night was frigid and still; the sky was amassed with starry magnificence. In the young girl’s heart, she became overcome with the exquisiteness of the night heavens. Her curiosity and intellect became enmeshed with the stars.

When Caroline was seven years, old war, in the form of French soldiers came to her family’s doorstep in Hanover. The French, with whom Prussia was at war in 1757, managed to seize Hanover and hold it for several years. History considers this Seven Years War as the first “Global War.” It started in North America with the French and Indian War, which was actually a French and English War and spread throughout Europe.

During the occupation of Hanover Isaac Herschel was rarely able to be at home. He went away with other able bodied men to defend Prussia. Caroline’s older and favorite brother, William, escaped to England thereby avoiding his father’s bad luck. Isaac returned from the war in 1760, a broken man who lingered in illness for seven years.

Caroline was handed her father’s care, as well as the household chores. In reality, she was a servant in her own home. Isaac died in 1767. His death, it seems, brought about Caroline’s recognition that she must take hold of herself, get out of her childhood and gain control of her life. She took lessons in dressmaking and studied for governess qualification. Her mother never lifted her demands, even while Caroline tried to fit her studies into her load of housework.

Brother William, in the meantime, had become an organist and choir master at the Octagon Chapel in Bath, England. In 1772 he wrote his sister and invited her to join him in England. Despite Mother Herschel’s vocal protests, the young woman went. She and William had always been close as siblings. William recalled Caroline’s beautiful voice and made certain that after she had settled in with him in Bath she would be given voice lessons.

The lessons came from William himself. But he also taught her mathematics, music reading, English and astronomy. Despite her frail health and miniature size, Caroline learned to be an impressive soprano. She gave many successful concerts in Bath’s society, among them solo roles in The Messiah and Judas Maccabeus. Imagine the boost of self-confidence this must have given the tiny lady.

It was during this time in Bath that William turned his brilliant mind toward astronomy and mathematics. The unsuitability and lack of availability of good telescopes turned William to building his own with Caroline as his apprentice. By 1781 they had made a 7 foot long telescope on the Newtonian model. With a six inch diameter and its length, the telescope allowed William and Caroline to study stars down to the 8th magnitude. One night in the back garden of the house on New King Street, Bath, William, searching the skies alone, thought he saw a comet. However, his mathematical calculations told him the object had a round orbit. This could not be a comet.

The point of light turned out to be an unknown planet in orbit outside of Saturn’s. William, in an attempt to butter up King George III named the new planet the “Georgian Star.” The tribute worked well but the name didn’t take. The King appointed William Royal Astronomer. The planet was renamed Uranus after the ancient Greek god, Ouranus, the sky god. Ouranus was the guy who held up the brass dome of the sky, according to the old Greeks.

With William’s new appointment Caroline’s duties changed drastically. Rather than looking after William’s personal needs, she now helped him in his scientific endeavors. She wrote:

“Every leisure moment was eagerly snatched at for resuming some work which was in progress, without taking time or changing dress and many a lace ruffle . . . was torn or bespattered by molten pitch. . . . I was even obliged to feed him by putting the vitals by bits into his mouth; - this was once the case when at the finishing of a 7 foot mirror he had not left his hands from it for 16 hours . . .”

Overnight, so to speak, this hobby of William’s turned into a real job. The King gave him a stipend of £200 per year. Although less than munificent, the money allowed him to become a full-time astronomer and made him a happy man.

Whenever her brother was out of town on business Caroline took to the telescope William had given her. She began searching particularly for comets, making systematic sweeps of the night skies. In April 1786 the brother-sister pair moved to a new home called Observatory House in Slough. By August 1st Caroline had found her first comet. Some people called it “The First Lady’s Comet.” The following year, 1787, King George gave her a £50 wage as assistant to her brother. This generosity made her the first woman officially recognized as a working scientist.

In 1788 William married Mary Pitt. Caroline’s life took a sharp turn. In her diary, she admitted that the marriage distressed her dreadfully. The change in her relationship with her dearly loved brother caused her profound pain. She also wrote about the bitterness with which she viewed his wife. However, the two ladies made peace with one another in a fairly short time. Caroline regretted the diatribes in her diary and tore out every page having to do with her sister-in-law.

Between 1786 and 1797 Caroline discovered 8 comets on her own. She took on the onerous task of reworking the existent star catalogue. The publication of her Index to Flamsteed’s Observations of the Fixed Stars included a list of 560 stars that had been left out. After the Index was published, Caroline more or less retired from astronomical research.

For the next 25 years, until William’s death, Caroline became the teacher of William’s only child, John Herschel, who had been born in 1792. She saw him off to Cambridge to make a name for himself as a mathematician and become elected to the Royal Society.

Caroline also continued to help William with his observations which brought him more and more renown. He discovered two of Saturn’s moons – Mimas and Enceladus - , coined the word “asteroid,” figured out that what looked like two stars combined were not just optical doubles but actual binary stars.

William died on August 25th, 1822 at Observatory House on Windsor Street, Slough. He was 84 years old. Caroline returned to Hanover and continued her work on astronomical projects. She completed William’s catalogue of 2500 nebulae. The continued work brought her awards and adulation from the Royal Astronomical Society and Britain’s Royal Society, as well as the Royal Irish Academy and the Gold Medal for Science from the King of Prussia in 1846.

She also kept up with her diary entries and enjoyed a refreshing exchange of letters among other scientists, herself and her nephew, John. On August 8, 1826 she wrote to her “Dearest Nephew:

“The long continuance of the great heat has had so bad an effect on my feeble frame; and considering my advanced age, I ought not put off the making of a sort of a will, which I would set about with the greatest pleasure if I had anything to leave for which you would be the better.” She had discovered her brother Dietrich in poor health when she returned to her childhood home in Hanover. Once again she became housekeeper, nurse, helper and companion. This immensely intelligent scientist, this breaker of barriers for women, worried about helping her older, bedridden brother and his case of “weak nerves” just as she had fretted over her father during the 7 years of his dying.

Caroline wrote her own epitaph. She was 97 years old at her death on January 9th of 1848. Her remaining family had the words engraved on her headstone. It read, “The eyes of her who is glorified here below turned to the starry heavens.”

In 1889 a minor planet was named after the tiny but mighty little lady from Hanover. They called it Lucretia.

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About the author Cate Lane: Born in Minnesota and raised a temperate progressive, I was carried off to Texas 10 years ago by the tsunami that was my husband's retirement. Texas is not Minnesota, not by a long shot. However, I hear that Minnesota isn't Minnesota anymore either.

Writing was always my first choice in life. I began writing at the age of 8, small books about pioneers heading west. Little did I know then that I would be living in the most "western" of all the states, Texas. No one told the Texans that they are simply Southerners who, like Bugs Bunny, took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up here.

I am sneaking up on 70 years of age and now own a vast store of useless knowledge. Happy to share any or all of it with you all.

Email: CthlnLn@aol.com

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