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Authors: Amy Brill
Tags: Historical
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sky. He seemed to gather his words as he went, like acorns.
“Remembering all of this—I am thinking it is not possible.” He looked toward the door, raising his shoulders in a universal gesture of defeat. “I should not be wasting of the time.”
“Wasting whose time?” she asked, trying to ignore the sense of panic that rose in her throat. “It is complex, yes. And you don’t have the benefit of a higher education to support the work. But neither do I.” She folded her own arms across her chest. “You’re not expected to know it all right away. There’s no reason you cannot become competent in a few months’ time. If you choose to give up after so short a trial, though . . . I cannot help you.”
Hannah clamped her jaw shut, feeling as if she’d failed on her very first lesson. It was clear that he could learn; and, she was certain, she could do a decent job of teaching him. His humility was charming, but impractical. If there was any hope of advancing his position, he had to persist.
Isaac hesitated, and Hannah made up his mind for him.
“I have not yet dismissed you,” she said, beckoning him onto the stool beside the telescope. “Please sit down.”
When he obeyed, Hannah was so relieved she slumped down herself, with her back to the railing and her knees pulled up under her skirts, then motioned to the eyepiece of the telescope.
“Look.”
Isaac hesitated for a moment, then leaned in, cautious, as if the telescope were an animal that might snap his eyeball out of its socket and swallow it. Once he had settled, though, he was silent for a full minute.
“Can you describe what you see?” Hannah asked.
“Another world,” he said, not removing his eye from the lens. “Go on.”
“I see stars—many stars. Thousands. Like seashells. Or fl o r e s . Some are very bright, some are pale. Some are coming, going. There, but no there—”
He picked his head up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It is difficult—the language.”
“I understand you,” Hannah said, envisioning the field. “And your observations are correct. The very brightest stars we say are of the first magnitude. The faintest are eighth or ninth magnitude. And the places where you cannot distinguish quite what you’re seeing—those are nebulas. They are the most interesting of all. No one is quite sure what they are. We study them.”
He nodded. “ Nebuloso. I understand.”
“Good.” Hannah glanced up at the sky again. “I’m going to observe now,” she said, and he rose, graceful as a cat. “We can continue next week.”
“Thank you,” he said, bowing his head slightly.
The stool was still warm: she could feel it even through her coat and dress, petticoat and stockings. The sensation gave her a peculiar thrill. She put her eye to the telescope, refocused, and steadied herself, trying to ignore the heat that seemed to have reached her neck and cheek the instant she sat down. With precise motions, she moved the scope in a small arc, her actions so slow and steady that the change in position was barely discernible.
There were so many stars in the region between Pollux and Procyon that new objects were only visible on the clearest nights. The stars that formed the Twins, the Crab, and the Unicorn made passage across her lens. She swept from east to west and back, losing track of everything but each familiar star and the dark sky it swam upon.
When she finally looked up, nearly an hour had elapsed, and she blinked at Isaac, who was still sitting there watching her as if spellbound. She cleared her throat, but couldn’t think of anything to say, and was grateful when he rose to his feet and nodded, then lifted one hand. Whether the gesture was meant to be a salutation or an exhortation to remain at her work, she could not tell. But she was grateful when he disappeared through the door without saying or asking anything more.
* 22 mo. 4, 1845.
3:52 am. Moon transit 7:26 pm. A clear night. All exercises completed. Sweeping SSE of
“Remembering all of this—I am thinking it is not possible.” He looked toward the door, raising his shoulders in a universal gesture of defeat. “I should not be wasting of the time.”
“Wasting whose time?” she asked, trying to ignore the sense of panic that rose in her throat. “It is complex, yes. And you don’t have the benefit of a higher education to support the work. But neither do I.” She folded her own arms across her chest. “You’re not expected to know it all right away. There’s no reason you cannot become competent in a few months’ time. If you choose to give up after so short a trial, though . . . I cannot help you.”
Hannah clamped her jaw shut, feeling as if she’d failed on her very first lesson. It was clear that he could learn; and, she was certain, she could do a decent job of teaching him. His humility was charming, but impractical. If there was any hope of advancing his position, he had to persist.
Isaac hesitated, and Hannah made up his mind for him.
“I have not yet dismissed you,” she said, beckoning him onto the stool beside the telescope. “Please sit down.”
When he obeyed, Hannah was so relieved she slumped down herself, with her back to the railing and her knees pulled up under her skirts, then motioned to the eyepiece of the telescope.
“Look.”
Isaac hesitated for a moment, then leaned in, cautious, as if the telescope were an animal that might snap his eyeball out of its socket and swallow it. Once he had settled, though, he was silent for a full minute.
“Can you describe what you see?” Hannah asked.
“Another world,” he said, not removing his eye from the lens. “Go on.”
“I see stars—many stars. Thousands. Like seashells. Or fl o r e s . Some are very bright, some are pale. Some are coming, going. There, but no there—”
He picked his head up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It is difficult—the language.”
“I understand you,” Hannah said, envisioning the field. “And your observations are correct. The very brightest stars we say are of the first magnitude. The faintest are eighth or ninth magnitude. And the places where you cannot distinguish quite what you’re seeing—those are nebulas. They are the most interesting of all. No one is quite sure what they are. We study them.”
He nodded. “ Nebuloso. I understand.”
“Good.” Hannah glanced up at the sky again. “I’m going to observe now,” she said, and he rose, graceful as a cat. “We can continue next week.”
“Thank you,” he said, bowing his head slightly.
The stool was still warm: she could feel it even through her coat and dress, petticoat and stockings. The sensation gave her a peculiar thrill. She put her eye to the telescope, refocused, and steadied herself, trying to ignore the heat that seemed to have reached her neck and cheek the instant she sat down. With precise motions, she moved the scope in a small arc, her actions so slow and steady that the change in position was barely discernible.
There were so many stars in the region between Pollux and Procyon that new objects were only visible on the clearest nights. The stars that formed the Twins, the Crab, and the Unicorn made passage across her lens. She swept from east to west and back, losing track of everything but each familiar star and the dark sky it swam upon.
When she finally looked up, nearly an hour had elapsed, and she blinked at Isaac, who was still sitting there watching her as if spellbound. She cleared her throat, but couldn’t think of anything to say, and was grateful when he rose to his feet and nodded, then lifted one hand. Whether the gesture was meant to be a salutation or an exhortation to remain at her work, she could not tell. But she was grateful when he disappeared through the door without saying or asking anything more.
* 22 mo. 4, 1845.
3:52 am. Moon transit 7:26 pm. A clear night. All exercises completed. Sweeping SSE of
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