Chapter M: R. a (14)

_September 30._ I saw Constant, the great engraver, Rue Percie, No. 12; he was at work, and I thought he worked well. I told him the purpose of my visit, and he dropped his work at once to see mine. How he stared! how often he exclaimed, "Oh, mon Dieu, quel ouvrage!" I showed him all, and he began calculating, but did so, far too largely for me, and we concluded no bargain. Old Redoute visited me and brought me a letter from the Duc d'Orleans, whom I was to call upon at one o'clock. Now, dearest friend, as I do not see Dukes every day I will give thee a circumstantial account of my visit. The Palais of the Duc d'Orleans is actually the entrance of the Palais-Royal, where we often go in the evening, and is watched by many a sentinel. On the right, I saw a large, fat, red-coated man through the ground window, whom I supposed the porter of his Royal Highness. I entered and took off my fur cap, and went on in an unconcerned way towards the stairs, when he stopped me, and asked my wishes. I told him I had an engagement with his master at one, and gave him my card to take up. He said Monseigneur was not in (a downright lie), but that I might go to the antechamber. I ordered the fat fellow to have my portfolio taken upstairs, and proceeded to mount the finest staircase my feet have ever trod. The stairs parted at bottom in rounding form of about twenty-four feet in breadth, to meet on the second floor, on a landing lighted by a skylight, which permitted me to see the beauties of the surrounding walls, and on this landing opened three doors, two of which I tried in vain to open. The third, however, gave way, and I found myself in the antechamber, with about twelve servants, who all rose and stood, until I had seated myself on a soft, red-velvet-covered bench. Not a word was said to me, and I gazed at all of them with a strange sensation of awkwardness mingled with my original pride. This room had bare walls, and a floor of black and white square marble flags. A man I call a sergeant d'armes, not knowing whether I am right or wrong, wore a sword fastened to a belt of embroidered silk, very wide; and he alone retained his hat. In a few minutes a tall, thin gentleman made his entrance from another direction from that by which I had come. The servants were again all up in a moment, the sergeant took off his hat, and the gentleman disappeared as if he had not seen me, though I had risen and bowed. A few minutes elapsed, when the same thing occurred again. Not knowing how long this might continue, I accosted the sergeant, told him I came at the request of the Duke, and wished to see him. A profound bow was the answer, and I was conducted to another room, where several gentlemen were seated writing. I let one of them know my errand, and in a moment was shown into an immense and superbly furnished apartment, and my book was ordered to be brought up. In this room I bowed to two gentlemen whom I knew to be members of the Legion d'Honneur, and walked about admiring the fine marble statues and the paintings. A gentleman soon came to me, and asked if perchance my name was Audubon? I bowed, and he replied: "Bless me, we thought that you had gone and left your portfolio; my uncle has been waiting for you twenty minutes; pray, sir, follow me." We passed through a file of bowing domestics, and a door being opened I saw the Duke coming towards me, to whom I was introduced by the nephew. Lucy, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama have furnished the finest men in the world, as regards physical beauty; I have also seen many a noble-looking Osage chief; but I do not recollect a finer-looking man, in form, deportment, and manners, than this Duc d'Orleans. He had my book brought up, and helped me to untie the strings and arrange the table, and began by saying that he felt a great pleasure in subscribing to the work of an American, for that he had been most kindly treated in the United States, and should never forget it. The portfolio was at last opened, and when I held up the plate of the Baltimore Orioles, with a nest swinging amongst the tender twigs of the yellow poplar, he said: "This surpasses all I have seen, and I am not astonished now at the eulogiums of M. Redoute." He spoke partly English, and partly French; spoke much of America, of Pittsburgh, the Ohio, New Orleans, the Mississippi, steamboats, etc., etc., and added: "You are a great nation, a wonderful nation."

The Duke promised me to write to the Emperor of Austria, King of Sweden, and other crowned heads, and asked me to write to-day to the Minister of the Interior. I remained talking with him more than an hour; I showed him my list of English subscribers, many of whom he knew. I asked him for his own signature; he took my list and with a smile wrote, in very large and legible characters, "Le Duc d'Orleans." I now felt to remain longer would be an intrusion, and thanking him respectfully I bowed, shook hands with him, and retired. He wished to keep the set I had shown him, but it was soiled, and to such a good man a good set must go. At the door I asked the fat porter if he would tell me again his master was out. He tried in vain to blush.

_October 1._ Received to-day the note from the Minister of the Interior asking me to call to-morrow at two. At eight in the evening I was ready for M. Valenciennes to call for me to go with him to Gerard. I waited till ten, when my gentleman came, and off we went; what a time to pay a visit! But I was told Gerard[168] keeps late hours, rarely goes to bed before two, but is up and at work by ten or eleven. When I entered I found the rooms filled with both sexes, and my name being announced, a small, well-formed man came to me, took my hand, and said, "Welcome, Brother in Arts." I liked this much, and was gratified to have the ice broken so easily. Gerard was all curiosity to see my drawings, and old Redoute, who was present, spoke so highly of them before the book was opened, that I feared to discover Gerard's disappointment. The book opened accidentally at the plate of the Parrots, and Gerard, taking it up without speaking, looked at it, I assure thee, with as keen an eye as my own, for several minutes; put it down, took up the one of the Mocking-Birds, and, offering me his hand, said: "Mr. Audubon, you are the king of ornithological painters; we are all children in France and in Europe. Who would have expected such things from the woods of America?" My heart thrilled with pride at his words. Are not we of America men? Have we not the same nerves, sinews, and mental faculties which other nations possess? By Washington! we have, and may God grant us the peaceable use of them forever. I received compliments from all around me; Gerard spoke of nothing but my work, and requested some prospectuses for Italy. He repeated what Baron Cuvier had said in the morning, and hoped that the Minister would order a good, round set of copies for the Government. I closed the book, and rambled around the rooms which were all ornamented with superb prints, mostly of Gerard's own paintings. The ladies were all engaged at cards, and money did not appear to be scarce in this portion of Paris.

_October 2._ Well, my Lucy, this day found me, about two o'clock, in contemplation of a picture by Gerard in the salon of the Minister of the Interior. Very different, is it not, from looking up a large decaying tree, watching the movements of a Woodpecker? I was one of several who were waiting, but only one person was there when I arrived, who entered into conversation with me,--a most agreeable man and the King's physician, possessed of fine address and much learning, being also a good botanist. Half an hour elapsed, when the physician was called; he was absent only a few minutes, and returning bowed to me and smiled as my name was called. I found the Minister a man about my own age, apparently worn out with business; he wore a long, loose, gray surtout, and said, "Well, sir, I am glad to see you; where is your great work?" I had the portfolio brought in, and the plates were exhibited. "Really, monsieur, it is a very fine thing;" and after some questions and a little conversation he asked me to write to him again, and put my terms in writing, and he would reply as soon as possible. He looked at me very fixedly, but so courteously I did not mind it. I tied up my portfolio and soon departed, having taken as much of the time of M. de Marignac as I felt I could do at this hour.

_October 4._ Went with Swainson to the Jardin du Roi to interpret for him, and afterwards spent some time with Geoffroy de St. Hilaire, hearing from him some curious facts respecting the habits and conformation of the Mole. He gave me a ticket to the distribution of the Grand Prix at the Institut. I then ascended four of the longest staircases I know, to reach the cabinet of M. Pascale, the director of the expenses of S.A.R. the Duc d'Orleans. What order was here! Different bookcases contained the papers belonging to the forests--horses--furniture--fine arts--libraries--fisheries--personal expenses, and so on. M. Pascale took out M. Redoute's letter, and I perceived the day of subscription, number of plates per annum, all, was noted on the margin. M. Pascale sent me to the private apartments of the Duchesse. Judge of my astonishment when I found this house connected with the Palais-Royal. I went through a long train of corridors, and reached the cabinet of M. Goutard. He took my name and heard my request and promised to make an appointment for me through M. Redoute, who is the drawing-master of the daughters of the Duchesse. With Parker I went to see the distribution of prizes at L'Institut Francais. The entrance was crowded, and, as in France pushing and scrambling to get forward is out of the question, and very properly so, I think, we reached the amphitheatre when it was already well filled with a brilliant assemblage, but secured places where all could be seen. The members dress in black trimmed with rich green laces. The youths aspiring to rewards were seated round a table, facing the audience. The reports read, the prizes were given, those thus favored receiving a crown of laurel with either a gold or silver medal. We remained here from two till five.

_Sunday, October 5._ After a wonderful service at Notre Dame I wandered through Les Jardins des Plantes, and on to Cuvier's, who had promised me a letter to some one who would, he thought, subscribe to my book; but with his usual procrastination it was not ready, and he said he would write it to-morrow. Oh, cursed to-morrow! Do men forget, or do they not know how swiftly time moves on?

_October 6._ Scarce anything to write. No letter yet from the Minister of the Interior, and I fear he too is a "To-morrow man." I went to Cuvier for his letter; when he saw me he laughed, and told me to sit down and see his specimens for a little while; he was surrounded by reptiles of all sorts, arranging and labelling them. In half an hour he rose and wrote the letter for me to the Duke of Levis, but it was too late to deliver it to-day.

_October 7._ While with M. Lesson to-day, he spoke of a Monsieur d'Orbigny[169] of La Rochelle; and on my making some inquiries I discovered he was the friend of my early days, my intimate companion during my last voyage from France to America; that he was still fond of natural history, and had the management of the Musee at La Rochelle. His son Charles, now twenty-one, I had held in my arms many times, and as M. Lesson said he was in Paris, I went at once to find him; he was out, but shortly after I had a note from him saying he would call to-morrow morning.

_October 8._ This morning I had the great pleasure of receiving my god-son Charles d'Orbigny. Oh! what past times were brought to my mind. He told me he had often heard of me from his father, and appeared delighted to meet me. He, too, like the rest of his family, is a naturalist, and I showed him my work with unusual pleasure. His father was the most intimate friend I have ever had, except thee, my Lucy, and my father. I think I must have asked a dozen times to-day if no letter had come for me. Oh, Ministers! what patience you do teach artists!

_October 11._ This afternoon, as I was despairing about the ministers, I received a note from Vicomte Simeon,[170] desiring I should call on Monday. I may then finish with these high dignitaries. I saw the King and royal family get out of their carriages at the Tuileries; bless us! what a show! Carriages fairly glittering--eight horses in each, and two hundred hussars and outriders. A fine band of music announced their arrival. Dined at Baron Cuvier's, who subscribed to my work; he being the father of all naturalists, I felt great pleasure at this. I left at eleven, the streets dark and greasy, and made for the shortest way to my hotel, which, as Paris is a small town compared to London, I found no difficulty in doing. I am astonished to see how early all the shops close here.

_October 13._ At twelve o'clock I was seated in the antechamber of the Vicomte Simeon; when the sergeant perceived me he came to me and said that M. Simeon desired me to have the first interview. I followed him and saw a man of ordinary stature, about forty, fresh-looking, and so used to the courtesy of the great world that before I had opened my lips he had paid me a very handsome compliment, which I have forgot. The size of my work astonished him, as it does every one who sees it for the first time. He told me that the work had been under discussion, and that he advised me to see Baron de la Brouillerie and Baron Vacher, the secretary of the Dauphin. I told him I wished to return to England to superintend my work there, and he promised I should have the decision to-morrow (hated word!) or the next day. I thought him kind and complaisant. He gave the signal for my departure by bowing, and I lifted my book, as if made of feathers, and passed out with swiftness and alacrity. I ordered the cab at once to the Tuileries, and after some trouble found the Cabinet of the Baron de Vacher; there, Lucy, I really waited like a Blue Heron on the edge of a deep lake, the bottom of which the bird cannot find, nor even know whether it may turn out to be good fishing. Many had their turns before me, but I had my interview. The Baron, a fine young man about twenty-eight, promised me to do all he could, but that his master was allowed so much (how much I do not know), and his expenses swallowed all.

_October 14._ Accompanied Parker while he was painting Redoute's portrait, and during the outlining of that fine head I was looking over the original drawings of the great man; never have I seen drawings more beautifully wrought up, and so true to nature. The washy, slack, imperfect messes of the British artists are _nothing_ in comparison. I remained here three hours, which I enjoyed much.

_October 15._ Not a word from the minister, and the time goes faster than I like, I assure thee. Could the minister know how painful it is for an individual like me to wait nearly a month for a decision that might just as well have been concluded in one minute, I am sure things would be different.

_October 18._ I have seen two ministers this day, but from both had only promises. But this day has considerably altered my ideas of ministers. I have had a fair opportunity of seeing how much trouble they have, and how necessary it is to be patient with them. I arrived at Baron de la Brouillerie's at half-past eleven. A soldier took my portfolio, that weighs nearly a hundred pounds, and showed me the entrance to a magnificent antechamber. Four gentlemen and a lady were there, and after they had been admitted and dismissed, my name was called. The Baron is about sixty years old; tall, thin, not handsome, red in the face, and stiff in his manners. I opened my book, of which he said he had read much in the papers, and asked me why I had not applied to him before. I told him I had written some weeks ago. This he had forgot, but now remembered, somewhat to his embarrassment. He examined every sheet very closely, said he would speak to the King, and I must send him a written and exact memorandum of everything. He expressed surprise the Duc d'Orleans had taken only one copy. I walked from here to Vicomte Simeon. It was his audience day, and in the antechamber twenty-six were already waiting. My seat was close to the door of his cabinet, and I could not help hearing some words during my penance, which lasted one hour and a half. The Vicomte received every one with the same words, "Monsieur (or Madame), j'ai l'honneur de vous saluer;" and when each retired, "Monsieur, je suis votre tres humble serviteur." Conceive, my Lucy, the situation of this unfortunate being, in his cabinet since eleven, repeating these sentences to upwards of one hundred persons, answering questions on as many different subjects. What brains he must have, and--how long can he keep them? As soon as I entered he said: "Your business is being attended to, and I give you _my word_ you shall have your answer on Tuesday. Have you seen Barons Vacher and La Brouillerie?" I told him I had, and he wished me success as I retired.

_October 19._ About twelve walked to the plains d'Issy to see the review of the troops by the King in person. It is about eight miles from that portion of Paris where I was, and I walked it with extreme swiftness, say five and a half miles per hour. The plain is on the south bank of the Seine, and almost level. Some thousands of soldiers were already ranged in long lines, handsomely dressed, and armed as if about to be in action. I made for the top of a high wall, which I reached at the risk of breaking my neck, and there, like an Eagle on a rock, I surveyed all around me. The carriage of the Duc d'Orleans came first at full gallop, all the men in crimson liveries, and the music struck up like the thunder of war. Then the King, all his men in white liveries, came driving at full speed, and followed by other grandees. The King and these gentry descended from their carriages and mounted fine horses, which were in readiness for them; they were immediately surrounded by a brilliant staff, and the review began, the Duchesses d'Orleans and de Berry having now arrived in open carriages; from my perch I saw all. The Swiss troops began, and the manoeuvres were finely gone through; three times I was within twenty-five yards of the King and his staff, and, as a Kentuckian would say, "could have closed his eye with a rifle bullet." He is a man of small stature, pale, not at all handsome, and rode so bent over his horse that his appearance was neither kingly nor prepossessing. He wore a three-cornered hat, trimmed with white feathers, and had a broad blue sash from the left shoulder under his right arm. The Duc d'Orleans looked uncommonly well in a hussar uniform, and is a fine rider; he sat his horse like a Turk. The staff was too gaudy; I like not so much gold and silver. None of the ladies were connections of Venus, except most distantly; few Frenchwomen are handsome. The review over, the King and his train rode off. I saw a lady in a carriage point at me on the wall; she doubtless took me for a large black Crow. The music was uncommonly fine, especially that by the band belonging to the Cuirassiers, which was largely composed of trumpets of various kinds, and aroused my warlike feelings. The King and staff being now posted at some little distance, a new movement began, the cannon roared, the horses galloped madly, the men were enveloped in clouds of dust and smoke; this was a sham battle. No place of retreat was here, no cover of dark woods, no deep swamp; there would have been no escape here. This was no battle of New Orleans, nor Tippecanoe. I came down from my perch, leaving behind me about thirty thousand idlers like myself, and the soldiers, who must have been hot and dusty enough.

_October 20._ Nothing to do, and tired of sight-seeing. Four subscriptions in seven weeks. Slow work indeed. I took a long walk, and watched the Stock Pigeons or Cushats in the trees of Le Jardin des Tuileries, where they roost in considerable numbers, arriving about sunset. They settle at first on the highest trees, and driest, naked branches, then gradually lower themselves, approach the trunks of the trees, and thickest parts, remain for the night, leave at day-break, and fly northerly. Blackbirds do the same, and are always extremely noisy before dark; a few Rooks are seen, and two or three Magpies. In the Jardin, and in the walks of the Palais-Royal, the common Sparrow is prodigiously plenty, very tame, fed by ladies and children, killed or missed with blow-guns by mischievous boys. The Mountain Finch passes in scattered numbers over Paris at this season, going northerly, and is caught in nets. Now, my love, wouldst thou not believe me once more in the woods, hard at it? Alas! I wish I was; what precious time I am wasting in Europe.

_October 21._ Redoute told me the young Duchesse d'Orleans had subscribed, and I would receive a letter to that effect. Cuvier sent me one hundred printed copies of his _Proces verbal_.

_October 22._ The second day of promise is over, and not a word from either of the ministers. Now, do those good gentlemen expect me to remain in Paris all my life? They are mistaken. Saturday I pack; on Tuesday morning farewell to Paris. Redoute sent me three volumes of his beautiful roses, which thou wilt so enjoy, and a compliment which is beyond all truth, so I will not repeat it.

_October 26._ I received a letter from Baron de la Brouillerie announcing that the King had subscribed to my work for his private library. I was visited by the secretary of the Duc d'Orleans, who sat with me some time, a clever and entertaining man with whom I felt quite at ease. He told me that I might now expect the subscriptions of most of the royal family, because none of them liked to be outdone or surpassed by any of the others.[171] Good God! what a spirit is this; what a world we live in! I also received a M. Pitois, who came to look at my book, with a view to becoming my agent here; Baron Cuvier recommended him strongly, and I have concluded a bargain with him. He thinks he can procure a good number of names. His manners are plain, and I hope he will prove an honest man. He had hardly gone, when I received a letter from M. Simeon, telling me the Minister of the Interior would take six copies for various French towns and universities, and he regretted it was not twelve. So did I, but I am well contented. I have now thirteen subscribers in Paris; I have been here two months, and have expended forty pounds. My adieux will now be made, and I shall be _en route_ for London before long.

_London, November 4._ I travelled from Paris to Boulogne with two nuns, that might as well be struck off the calendar of animated beings. They stirred not, they spoke not, they saw not; they replied neither by word nor gesture to the few remarks I made. In the woods of America I have never been in such silence; for in the most retired places I have had the gentle murmuring streamlet, or the sound of the Woodpecker tapping, or the sweet melodious strains of that lovely recluse, my greatest favorite, the Wood Thrush. The great poverty of the country struck me everywhere; the peasantry are beggarly and ignorant, few know the name of the _Departement_ in which they live; their hovels are dirty and uncomfortable, and appear wretched indeed after Paris. In Paris alone can the refinements of society, education, and the fine arts be found. To Paris, or to the large cities, the country gentleman must go, or have nothing; how unlike the beautiful country homes of the English. I doubt not the "New Monthly" would cry out: "Here is Audubon again, in all his extravagance." This may be true, but I write as I think I see, and that is enough to render me contented with my words. The passage from Calais was short, and I was free from my usual seasickness, and London was soon reached, where I have been busy with many letters, many friends, and my work. I have presented a copy of my birds to the Linnaean Society, and sold a little picture for ten guineas. And now I must to work on the pictures that have been ordered in France.

_November 7._ To-day is of some account, as Mr. Havell has taken the drawings that are to form the eleventh number of my work. It will be the first number for the year 1829. I have as yet had no answer from the Linnaean Society, but thou knowest how impatient my poor nature always is.

_November 10._ I have been painting as much as the short days will allow, but it is very hard for me to do so, as my Southern constitution suffers so keenly from the cold that I am freezing on the side farthest from the fire at this very instant. I have finished the two pictures for the Duc d'Orleans; that of the Grouse I regret much to part with, without a copy; however, I may at some future time group another still more naturally.

_November 15._ We have had such dismal fog in this London that I could scarcely see to write at twelve o'clock; however, I did write nearly all day. It has been extremely cold besides, and in the streets in the middle of the day I saw men carrying torches, so dark it was.

_November 17._ I anticipated this day sending all my copies for Paris, but am sadly disappointed. One of the colorers employed brought a number so shamefully done that I would not think of forwarding it. It has gone to be washed, hot pressed, and done over again. Depend upon it, my work will not fail for the want of my own very particular attention.

_December 23._ After so long neglecting thee, my dear book, it would be difficult to enter a connected account of my time, but I will trace the prominent parts of the lapse. Painting every day, and I may well add constantly, has been the main occupation. I have (what I call) finished my two large pictures of the Eagle and the Lamb, and the Dog and the Pheasants, and now, as usual, can scarce bear to look at either. My friends the Swainsons have often been to see me, and good Bentley came and lived with me for a month as a brother would. I parted from him yesterday with pain and regret. Several artists have called upon me, and have given me _false praises_, as I have heard afterwards, and I hope they will keep aloof. It is charity to speak the truth to a man who knows the poverty of his talents and wishes to improve; it is villanous to mislead him, by praising him to his face, and laughing at his work as they go down the stairs of his house. I have, however, applied to one whom I _know_ to be candid, and who has promised to see them, and to give his opinion with truth and simplicity; this is no other, my Lucy, than the president of the Royal Academy, Sir Thomas Lawrence. The steady work and want of exercise has reduced me almost to a skeleton; I have not allowed myself the time even to go to the Zoological Gardens.

_December 26._ I dined yesterday (another Christmas day away from my dear country) at a Mr. Goddard's; our company was formed of Americans, principally sea-captains. During my absence Sir Thomas Lawrence came to see my paintings, which were shown to him by Mr. Havell, who reported as follows. On seeing the Eagle and Lamb he said, "That is a fine picture." He examined it closely, and was shown that of the Pheasants, which I call "_Sauve qui peut_." He approached it, looked at it sideways, up and down, and put his face close to the canvas, had it moved from one situation to two others in different lights, but gave no opinion. The Otter came next, and he said that the "animal" was very fine, and told Havell he would come again to see them in a few days. I paid him my respects the next morning, and thought him kinder than usual. He said he would certainly come to make a choice for me of one to be exhibited at Somerset House, and would speak to the Council about it.

* * * * *

The remaining three months before Audubon sailed for America, April 1, 1829, were passed in preparations for his absence from his book, and many pages of his fine, close writing are filled with memoranda for Mr. Havell, Mr. J. G. Children, and Mr. Pitois. Audubon writes: "I have made up my mind to go to America, and with much labor and some trouble have made ready. My business is as well arranged for as possible; I have given the agency of my work to my excellent friend Children, of the British Museum, who kindly offered to see to it during my absence. I have collected some money, paid all my debts, and taken my passage in the packet-ship 'Columbia,' Captain Delano. I chose the ship on account of her name, and paid thirty pounds for my passage. I am about to leave this smoky city for Portsmouth, and shall sail on April 1." The voyage was uneventful, and America was reached on May 1. Almost immediately began the search for new birds, and those not delineated already, for the continuation and completion of the "Birds of America."

FOOTNOTES:

[65] This sounds involved, but is copied verbatim.

[66] Mr. Wm. Rathbone, of the firm of Rathbone Bros. & Co., to whom Audubon had a letter from Mr. Vincent Nolte. To Messrs. Wm. and Richard Rathbone, and their father Wm. Rathbone, Sr., Audubon was more deeply indebted than to any other of his many kind friends in England. Their hospitality was only equalled by their constant and valuable assistance in preparing for the publication of the "Birds," and when this was an assured fact, they were unresting in their efforts to aid Audubon in procuring subscribers. It is with pleasure that Audubon's descendants to-day acknowledge this indebtedness to the "family Rathbone," which is ever held in grateful remembrance.

[67] William Roscoe, historical, botanical, and miscellaneous writer, 1753-1831.

[68] In a charming letter written to me by Mr. Richard R. Rathbone, son of this gentleman, dated Glan y Menai, Anglesey, May 14, 1897, he says: "To us there was a halo of romance about Mr. Audubon, artist, naturalist, quondam backwoodsman, and the author of that splendid work which I used to see on a table constructed to hold the copy belonging to my Uncle William, opening with hinges so as to raise the bird portraits as if on a desk. But still more I remember his amiable character, though tinged with melancholy by past sufferings; and his beautiful, expressive face, kept alive in my memory by his autograph crayon sketch thereof, in profile, with the words written at foot, 'Audubon at Green Bank. _Almost_ happy, 9th September, 1826.' Mr. Audubon painted for my father, as a gift, an Otter (in oils) caught by the fore-foot in a steel trap, and after vainly gnawing at the foot to release himself, throwing up his head, probably with a yell of agony, and displaying his wide-open jaws dripping with blood. This picture hung on our walls for years, until my mother could no longer bear the horror of it, and persuaded my father to part with it. We also had a full-length, life-sized portrait of the American Turkey, striding through the forest. Both pictures went to a public collection in Liverpool. I have also a colored sketch by Mr. Audubon of a Robin Redbreast, shot by him at Green Bank, which I saw him pin with long pins into a bit of board to fix it into position for the instruction of my mother."

[69] At Green Bank.

[70] Vincent Nolte, born at Leghorn, 1779, traveller, merchant, adventurer.

[71] William Henry Hunt (1790-1864).

[72] Mrs. Alexander Gordon was Mrs. Audubon's sister Anne.

[73] Thomas Stewart Traill, M.D., Scottish naturalist, born in Orkney, 1781; edited the eighth edition of the "Encyclopaedia Britannica," was associated with the Royal Institute at Liverpool; he died 1862.

[74] The Swiss historian, born at Geneva, 1773, died 1842.

[75] Daughter of Mr. William Rathbone, Sr.; married Dr. William Reynolds.

[76] Edward, fourteenth Earl of Derby, 1799-1869. Member of Parliament, Chief Secretary for Ireland, Secretary for the Colonies, First Lord of the Treasury, and Prime Minister. Translated Homer's Iliad into blank verse. His was a life of many interests: literature, art, society, public affairs, sportmanship, and above all "the most perfect orator of his day."

[77] Mrs. Wm. Rathbone, Sr., whom Audubon often calls "Lady Rathbone," and also "The Queen Bee."

[78] Muzio Clementi, composer and pianist, born in Rome, 1752, died in London, 1832. Head of the piano firm of that name.

[79] Relative of Mr. Wm. Rathbone, Sr.

[80] The Irwell.

[81] William Smyth, 1766-1849, poet, scholar, and Professor of Modern History at Cambridge.

[82] Henry Clay.

[83] John Randolph of Roanoke, 1773-1833, American orator and statesman.

[84] William S. Roscoe, son of William Roscoe, 1781-1843.

[85] I believe Mr. Robert Bentley, the publisher.

[86] Robert Jameson, the eminent Scotch naturalist, 1774-1854. Regius Professor of Natural History in the University of Edinburgh. Founder of the Wernerian Society of that city, and with Sir David Brewster originated the "Edinburgh Philosophical Review." Wrote many works on geology and mineralogy.

[87] Andrew Duncan, M.D., 1745-1828. Lecturer in the University of Edinburgh.

[88] Patrick Neill, 1776-1851, Scottish naturalist and horticulturalist. Was a printer in Edinburgh at this time.

[89] Prideaux John Selby, English ornithologist, author of "British Birds" and other works; died 1867.

[90] Lord Francis Jeffrey, 1773-1850, the distinguished Scottish critic and essayist.

[91] Sir William Jardine.

[92] W. H. Lizars, the engraver who made a few of the earliest plates of the "Birds of America."

[93] Scottish naturalist, 1800-1874. Published "Naturalists' Library" and other works.

[94] James Wilson, brother of Professor John Wilson (Christopher North), naturalist and scientific writer, 1795-1856.

[95] George Combe, an eminent phrenologist and author on that subject. Born and died in Edinburgh, 1788-1856.

[96] David Bridges, editor of one of the Edinburgh newspapers.

[97] John Syme. His portrait of Audubon was the first one ever engraved.

[98] Charles Waterton, English naturalist and traveller, 1782-1865,--always an enemy of Audubon's.

[99] This seal Audubon always used afterwards, and it is still in the possession of the family.

[100] Robert Graham, Scottish physician and botanist, born at Stirling, 1786, died at Edinburgh, 1845.

[101] David Brewster, author, scientist, and philosopher, Edinburgh, 1781-

[102] Dugald Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy, author, etc., Edinburgh, 1753-1828.

[103] Thomas Bruce, seventh Earl of Elgin. 1777-1841.

[104] Wm. Forbes Skene, Scottish historian.

[105] Afterwards Sir William Allan, historical painter; in 1833 was elected president of the Scottish Royal Academy, Edinburgh. 1782-1850.

[106] An eminent divine 1784-1858; father of Dr. John Brown, author of "Rab and his Friends," etc.

[107] William Nicholson, First Secretary of the Scottish Academy and portrait painter. 1784-1844.

[108] Traveller and author. 1788-1844.

[109] Robert Kaye Greville, author of "Plants of Edinburgh" and other botanical works, 1794-1866.

[110] This entry begins a new blank book, in shape and size like a ledger, every line of which is closely written.

[111] Spencer Perceval, born 1762, assassinated in the lobby of the House of Commons, May 11, 1812.

[112] "Jan. 22, 1827. A visit from Basil Hall with Mr. Audubon the ornithologist, who has followed that pursuit by many a long wandering in the American forests. He is an American by naturalization, a Frenchman by birth, but less of a Frenchman than I have ever seen,--no dash, no glimmer or shine about him, but great simplicity of manners and behaviour; slight in person and plainly dressed; wears long hair which time has not yet tinged; his countenance acute, handsome, and interesting, but still simplicity is the predominant characteristic." (Journal of Sir Walter Scott, vol. i., p. 343.)

[113] "January 24. Visit from Mr. Audubon, who brings some of his birds. The drawings are of the first order--the attitudes of the birds of the most animated character, and the situations appropriate.... This sojourner of the desert had been in the woods for months together. He preferred associating with the Indians to the company of the settlers; very justly, I daresay, for a civilized man of the lower order when thrust back on the savage state becomes worse than a savage." (Journal of Sir Walter Scott, vol. i., p. 345.)

[114] Sir John Leslie, 1766-1832, Scottish geometer and natural philosopher and voluminous author on these subjects.

[115] Joseph B. Kidd, who later copied many of Audubon's birds.

[116] James Baillie Fraser, 1783-1856, Scottish writer of travels.

[117] Mrs. Anne Grant, poetess and miscellaneous writer. Born 1755, died 1838.

[118] This entry is the only one on a large page, of which a facsimile is given. It is written in the centre, and all around the edge of the paper is a heavy black border, an inch in depth.

[119] A distinguished ornithologist said of the book in 1895: "It is one of the few illustrated books, if not the only one, that steadily increases in price as the years go on."

[120] One of the greatest metaphysicians of modern times. Born at Glasgow 1788, died in Edinburgh, 1856.

[121] Possibly Charles Heath, engraver, 1784-1848.

[122] Thomas Bewick was at this time nearly seventy-four. He died Nov. 8, 1828, being then past seventy-five.

[123] Probably St. Mary's Abbey.

[124] Mr. Vernon was the president of the Philosophical Society of York.

[125] Mr. John Backhouse.

[126] Nearly every entry in all the journals begins and ends with a morning greeting, and an affectionate good-night. These have been omitted with occasional exceptions.

[127] Mr. Melly.

[128] John George Children, 1777-1852, English physicist and naturalist, at this time secretary of the Royal Society.

[129] Robert Inglis, 1786-1855, of the East India Company.

[130] Nicholas Aylward Vigors, 1787-1840, naturalist, First Secretary of the Zoological Society of London.

[131] Then a boy not fifteen, who was at Bayou Sara with his mother.

[132] When found by Audubon the Havells were in extreme poverty. He provided everything for them, and his publication made them comparatively wealthy.

[133] Benson Rathbone.

[134] The distance between these places is about two miles.

[135] The Duck-billed Platypus, _Ornithorynchus paradoxus_ of Australia.--E. C.

[136] The Andean Eagle is undoubtedly the Harpy, _Thrasaetos harpyia_.--E. C.

[137] Francois Athanase de Charette, a leader of the Vendeans against the French Republic; executed at Nantes, on May 12, 1797.

[138] Children's Warbler. Plate xxxv.

[139] Vigors' Warbler. Plate xxx.

[140] Cuvier's Regulus. Plate lv. No bird was named after Temminck by Audubon.

[141] This decision was made in consequence of various newspaper and personal attacks, which, then as now, came largely from people who knew nothing of the matter under consideration. It was a decision, however, never altered except in so far as regards the Episodes published in the "Ornithological Biography."

[142] David Don, Scottish botanist, 1800-1840; at this time Librarian of Linnaean Society.

[143] Thomas Nuttall, botanist and ornithologist; born in England 1786, died at St. Helen's, England, September 10, 1859.

[144] Of all the twenty-six only three are known to be in existence; the other volumes now extant are all of later date.

[145] Joshua Brookes, 1761-1833, anatomist and surgeon.

[146] Captain (Sir) Edward Sabine accompanied Parry's expedition to the Arctic regions,--a mathematician, traveller, and Fellow of the Royal Society, 1819. Born in Dublin, 1788, died in Richmond, 1883.

[147] Adam Sedgwick, geologist. 1785-1873.

[148] William Whewell, 1795-1866, Professor of Moral Philosophy, Mineralogy, and other sciences.

[149] John Stevens Henslow, botanist, 1796-1861.

[150] Dr. John Kidd, 1775-1851, Professor of Chemistry and Medicine at Oxford.

[151] Edward Burton, D.D., 1794-1836, Professor of Divinity at Oxford.

[152] William Buckland, D.D., 1784-1856, geologist.

[153] John Claudius Loudon, 1783-1843, writer on horticulture and arboriculture. In 1828-1836, editor of the "Magazine of Natural History."

[154] Edward Turner Bennett, 1797-1836, zoologist.

[155] William Swainson, naturalist and writer. Born in England 1789, emigrated in 1841 to New Zealand, where he died 1855.

[156] This picture is still in the family, being owned by one of the granddaughters.

[157] Francois Levaillant, born at Paramaribo, 1753; died in France, 1824.

[158] John Edward Gray, 1800-1875, zoologist.

[159] No trace of this portrait can be found.

[160] George Chretien Leopold Frederic Dagobert Cuvier, Baron, 1769-1832; statesman, author, philosopher, and one of the greatest naturalists of modern times.

[161] Achille Valenciennes, born 1794, French naturalist.

[162] Etienne Geoffroy de St. Hilaire, 1772-1844, French naturalist.

[163] Rene Primevere Lesson, a French naturalist and author, born at Rochefort, 1794, died 1849.

[164] Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 1805-1861, zoologist.

[165] Son of Andre, Prince d'Essling and Duc de Rivoli, one of the marshals of Napoleon.

[166] Charles Alexandre Le Sueur, French naturalist. 1778-1846.

[167] Pierre Joseph Redoute, French painter of flowers. 1759-1840.

[168] Francois Gerard, born at Rome 1770, died 1837; the best French portrait painter of his time, distinguished also for historical pictures.

[169] Charles d'Orbigny, son of Audubon's early friend, M. le docteur d'Orbigny.

[170] Count Joseph Jerome Simeon, French Minister of State. 1781-1846.

[171] The words of the secretary were fully verified within a few months.

THE LABRADOR JOURNAL

1833