Volume I Part 3 (2/2)
This, as we know, was no empty boast, but the principle on which Audubon proceeded numberless times in his life. His own courage, or persuasions, brought his wife, as has been said, to join him in the Crescent City, and here as elsewhere that n.o.ble woman proved her courage and endurance fully equal to his, although perhaps in another line.
Under the date of January 1, 1822, Audubon writes: ”Two months and five days have elapsed before I could venture to dispose of one hundred and twenty-five cents to pay for this book, that probably, like all other things in the world, is ashamed to find me so poor.” On March 5th of the same year: ”During January my time was princ.i.p.ally spent in giving lessons in painting and drawing, to supply my family and pay for the schooling of Victor and Johnny at a Mr. Branards', where they received notions of geography, arithmetic, grammar, and writing, for six dollars per month each. Every moment I had to spare I drew birds for my ornithology, in which my Lucy and myself alone have faith. February was spent in drawing birds strenuously, and I thought I had improved much by applying coats of water-color under the pastels, thereby preventing the appearance of the paper, that in some instances marred my best productions. I discovered also many imperfections in my earlier drawings, and formed the resolution to redraw the whole of them; consequently I hired two French hunters, who swept off every dollar that I could raise for specimens. I have few acquaintances; my wife and sons are more congenial to me than all others in the world, and we have no desire to force ourselves into a society where every day I receive fewer bows.”
This winter (1821-1822) in New Orleans, proved to Audubon that his wife's judgment was correct; it was not the place for them to make either a permanent income or home. True, they had been able to live with extreme simplicity, and to send the boys to school; they had had their own pleasures, as the worn, brown volume, the journal of 1822-24, with its faded entries, bears witness. There are accounts of walks and of musical evenings when they were joined by one or two friends of like tastes and talents. Both played well, she on the piano, and he on a variety of instruments, princ.i.p.ally the violin, flute, and flageolet. For over two months a fifth inmate was added to the home circle in Mr. Matabon, a former friend, whom Audubon found one morning in the market, in a state of great poverty. He at once took him to his house and kept him as a guest, till, like Micawber, ”something turned up” for him to do. When this gentleman left, this entry is made: ”Mr. Matabon's departure is regretted by us all, and we shall sorely miss his beautiful music on the flute.”
Summer approaching, when those who purchased pictures and took drawing-lessons were about to leave the city, Audubon accepted a position as tutor in the household of a Mr. Quaglas near Natchez. Mrs.
Audubon, who had for some time been teaching in the family of Mr.
Brand, removed to that gentleman's house with her sons; they, however, were almost immediately sent to school at Was.h.i.+ngton, nine miles from Natchez, Audubon's salary enabling him to do this, and in September he was joined by his wife.
While at Natchez, the long summer days permitted the drawing of birds as well as the teaching, which was conscientiously performed, and the hope of eventually publis.h.i.+ng grew stronger. In the autumn of this year (1822), Audubon met a portrait painter named John Steen or Stein, from Was.h.i.+ngton, Pa., and thus writes, December, 1822: ”He gave me the first lesson in painting in oils I ever took in my life; it was a copy of an Otter from one of my water-colors. Together we painted a full length portrait of Pere Antonio, which was sent to Havana.”
January, 1823, brought fresh changes. Mrs. Audubon, with her son John, went to Mrs. Percy's plantation, Beechwoods, to teach not only Marguerite Percy, but also the daughters of the owners of the neighboring plantations, and Audubon, with Victor and Mr. Steen, started on a tour of the Southern States in a dearborn, intending to paint for their support. The journal says, March, 1823; ”I regretted deeply leaving my Natchez friends, especially Charles Carre and Dr.
Provan. The many birds I had collected to take to France I made free; some of the doves had become so fond of me that I was obliged to chase them to the woods, fearing the wickedness of the boys, who would, no doubt, have with pleasure destroyed them.” So it would seem boys then were much the same as now. Jackson and other places were visited, and finally New Orleans, whence Audubon started for Louisville with Victor, May 1. The whole of this summer (1823) was one of enjoyment in many ways to the naturalist. He felt his wife was in a delightful home (where she remained many years), beloved by those around her; Victor now was nearly fourteen, handsome, strong, and very companionable, old for his years, and as his father was always young for his, they were good comrades, and till both were attacked by yellow fever, the days pa.s.sed smoothly on. Nursed through this malady by the ever devoted wife and mother, who had come to them at once on hearing they were ill, some time was spent at the Beechwoods to recuperate, and on October 1, 1823, Audubon with Victor departed for Kentucky by boat. The water being low, their progress was greatly delayed; he became impatient and at Trinity left the boat with his son and two gentlemen, and walked to Louisville. This walk, of which we have a full published account[28] began on October 15, and on the 21st they reached Green River, when Victor becoming weary, the remaining distance was performed in a wagon. It was on this journey, which Audubon undertook fearing, so he says, that he should not have enough money to provide for himself and Victor in Louisville beyond a few weeks, that he relates this incident: ”The squatter had a Black Wolf, perfectly gentle, and completely under the control of his master; I put my hand in my pocket and took out a hundred-dollar bill, which I offered for it, but it was refused. I respected the man for his attachment to the wolf, for I doubted if he had ever seen a hundred dollars before.”
Louisville was speedily quitted for s.h.i.+ppingport, where Audubon engaged a room for Victor and himself, and painted all winter (1823-24) at birds, landscapes, portraits, and even signs.
s.h.i.+ppingport was then a small village with mills, and was largely owned by the Tarascons and Berthouds, the latter living in the mansion of the place, and possessed of a very beautiful garden. Steamers and boats for the river traffic were built here, and it was a stirring place for its size, situated on the Falls of the Ohio, about two miles from Louisville then, but now part of that city. With forests and river to solace his anxieties, another season was pa.s.sed by the man whose whole energies were now bent on placing his work before the best judges in Europe. This winter too, he lost one of his best and dearest friends, Madame Berthoud; how he felt this parting his own words best tell: ”January 20, 1824. I arose this morning by that transparent light which is the effect of the moon before dawn, and saw Dr.
Middleton pa.s.sing at full gallop towards the white house; I followed--alas! my old friend was dead! What a void in the world for me! I was silent; many tears fell from my eyes, accustomed to sorrow.
It was impossible for me to work; my heart, restless, moved from point to point all round the compa.s.s of my life. Ah, Lucy! what have I felt to-day! how can I bear the loss of our truest friend? This has been a sad day, most truly; I have spent it thinking, thinking, learning, weighing my thoughts, and quite sick of life. I wished I had been as quiet as my venerable friend, as she lay for the last time in her room.”
As I turn over the pages of this volume[29] from which only a few extracts have been taken, well do I understand the mental suffering of which it tells so constantly. Poverty for himself, Audubon did not mind, but for those he loved it was a great and bitter trial to him.
His keenly sensitive nature was wounded on every hand; no one but his wife, from whom he was now absent, had any faith in him or his genius.
He never became indifferent, as most of us do, to the coldness of those who had in earlier days sought him, not for what he _was_, but for what he _had_. Chivalrous, generous, and courteous to his heart's core, he could not believe others less so, till painful experiences taught him; then he was grieved, hurt, but never imbittered; and more marvellous yet, with his faith in his fellows as strong as ever, again and again he subjected himself to the same treatment. This was not stupidity, nor dulness of perception; it was that always, even to the end, Audubon kept the freshness of childhood; he was one of those who had ”the secret of youth;” he was ”old in years only, his heart was young. The earth was fair; plants still bloomed, and birds still sang for him.”[30] It has been hard for me to keep from copying much from this journal, but I have felt it too sacred. Some would see in it the very heart of the man who wrote it, but to others--and the greater number--it would be, as I have decided to leave it, a sealed book.
Early in March, 1824, Audubon left s.h.i.+ppingport for Philadelphia, Victor remaining in the counting-house of Mr. Berthoud. He had some money, with which he decided to take lessons in painting either from Rembrandt Peale or Thomas Sully. He much preferred the latter both as artist and friend, and he remained in Philadelphia from April until August of the same year. This visit was marked by his introduction to Charles Lucien Bonaparte[31] and Edward Harris, both of whom became life-long friends, especially Mr. Harris, with whom he corresponded frequently when they were separated, and with whom he made many journeys, the most prolonged and important being that to the Yellowstone in 1843. To copy again: ”April 10, 1824. I was introduced to the son of Lucien Bonaparte, nephew of Napoleon, a great ornithologist, I was told. He remained two hours, went out, and returned with two Italian gentlemen, and their comments made me very contented.” That evening he was taken to the Philosophical Academy[32]
where the drawings were greatly admired, and their author says: ”_I_ do not think much of them except when in the very act of drawing them.” At this meeting Mr. George Ord met Audubon and objected strongly to the birds and plants being drawn together, ”but spoke well of them otherwise.” Mr. Ord was one of those (of the very few, I might say) who disliked the naturalist from first to last,[33] who was perhaps, his bitterest enemy. In later years Dr. John Bachman resented his conduct, and wrote a very trenchant reply[34] to one of Mr. Ord's published articles about Audubon; but there is no word of anger anywhere in the letters or journals, only of regret or pain.[35]
Of Mr. Harris we find this: ”July 12, 1824. I drew for Mr. Fairman a small grouse to be put on a bank-note belonging to the State of New-Jersey; this procured me the acquaintance of a young man named Edward Harris of Moorestown, an ornithologist, who told me he had seen some English Snipes[36] within a few days, and that they bred in the marshes about him.” And also: ”July 19th. Young Harris, G.o.d bless him, looked at the drawings I had for sale, and said he would take them _all_, at my prices. I would have kissed him, but that it is not the custom in this icy city.”
Other friends were made here, almost as valuable as Mr. Harris, though not as well _loved_, for these two were truly congenial souls, who never wearied of each other, and between whom there was never a shadow of difference. Thomas Sully, the artist, Dr. Richard Harlan,[37]
Reuben Haines, Le Sueur,[38] Dr. Mease, and many another honored name might be given.
In August Philadelphia was quitted, and another period of travel in search of birds was begun. Of this next year, 1825, no record whatever can be found besides the episodes of ”Niagara” and ”Meadville,” and two detached pages of journal. Audubon went to New York, up the Hudson, along the Great Lakes, then to Pittsburg, and finally to Bayou Sara, where, having decided to go to England, he made up his mind to resume at once his cla.s.ses in drawing, music, and dancing, to make money for the European journey, for which he never ceased to acc.u.mulate pictures of his beloved birds. Reaching Bayou Sara in December, 1825, this work at once began by giving lessons in dancing to the young ladies under my grandmother's care; and Judge Randolph, a near neighbor, had his sons take lessons in fencing. In these branches Audubon was so successful that the residents of the village of Woodville, fifteen miles distant, engaged him for Friday and Sat.u.r.day of each week, and here he had over sixty pupils. From the account of this cla.s.s I take the following: ”I marched to the hall with my violin under my arm, bowed to the company a.s.sembled, tuned my violin; played a cotillon, and began my lesson by placing the gentlemen in a line.
Oh! patience support me! how I labored before I could promote the first appearance of elegance or ease of motion; in doing this I first broke my bow, and then my violin; I then took the ladies and made them take steps, as I sang in time to accompany their movements.”
These lessons continued three months, and were in every sense a success, Audubon realizing about $2000 from his winter's work. With this, and the greater part of the savings of his wife, which she had h.o.a.rded to forward this journey, so long the goal of their hopes, another farewell was taken, the many valued drawings packed up, and on April 26, 1826, the vessel with the naturalist and his precious freight left New Orleans for England.
The journals from this date, until May 1, 1829, are kept with the usual regularity, and fortunately have escaped the destruction which has befallen earlier volumes. They tell of one of the most interesting periods of Audubon's life, and are given beyond,--not entire, yet so fully that I pa.s.s on at once to the last date they contain, which marks Audubon's return to America, May 5, 1829.
His time abroad had seen the publication of the ”Birds of America”[39]
successfully begun, had procured him subscribers enough to warrant his continuing the vast undertaking, and had given him many friends.
His object now was to make drawings of birds which he had not yet figured for the completion of his work, and then to take his wife, and possibly his sons with him to England. During these years Mrs. Audubon was latterly alone, as John had taken a position with Victor and was in Louisville. Victor, meantime, had worked steadily and faithfully, and had earned for himself a position and a salary far beyond that of most young men of his age. Both parents relied on him to an extent that is proof in itself of his unusual ability; these words in a letter from his father, dated London, Dec. 23, 1828, ”Victor's letters to me are highly interesting, full of candor, sentiment, and sound judgment, and I am very proud of him,” are certainly testimony worth having. As the years went on both sons a.s.sisted their father in every way, and to an extent that the world has never recognized.
Great as was Audubon's wish to proceed without delay to Louisiana, he felt it due to his subscribers to get to work at once, and wrote to his wife under date of New York, May 10, 1829: ”I have landed here from on board the packet s.h.i.+p Columbia after an agreeable pa.s.sage of thirty-five days from Portsmouth. I have come to America to remain as long as consistent with the safety of the continuation of my publication in London without my personal presence. According to future circ.u.mstances I shall return to England on the 1st of October next, or, if possible, not until April, 1830. I wish to employ and devote every moment of my sojourn in America to drawing such birds and plants as I think necessary to enable me to give my publication throughout the degree of perfection that I am told exists in that portion already published. I have left my business going on quite well; my engraver[40] has in his hands all the drawings wanted to complete this present year, and those necessary to form the first number of next year. I have finished the two first years of publication, the two most difficult years to be encountered.” To Victor he writes from Camden, N.J., July 10, 1829: ”I shall this year have issued ten numbers, each containing five plates, making in all fifty.[41] I cannot publish more than five numbers annually, because it would make too heavy an expense to my subscribers, and indeed require more workmen than I could find in London. The work when finished will contain eighty numbers,[42] therefore I have seventy to issue, which will take fourteen years more. It is a long time to look forward to, but it cannot be helped. I think I am doing well; I have now one hundred and forty-four subscribers.”
All this summer and early fall, until October 10th, Audubon spent in the neighborhood of New Jersey and Pennsylvania, working as few can work, four hours continuing to be his allowance for sleep. Six weeks in September and October were spent in the Great Pine Swamp, or Forest,[43] as he called it, his permanent lodgings being at Camden, N.J. Here he writes, October 11, 1829: ”I am at work and have done much, but I wish I had eight pairs of hands, and another body to shoot the specimens; still I am delighted at what I have acc.u.mulated in drawings this season. Forty-two drawings in four months, eleven large, eleven middle size, and twenty-two small, comprising ninety-five birds, from Eagles downwards, with plants, nests, flowers, and sixty different kinds of eggs. I live alone, see scarcely any one, besides those belonging to the house where I lodge. I rise long before day and work till nightfall, when I take a walk, and to bed.
<script>