Volume I Part 16 (2/2)

The country seems _very poor_; the cottages of the peasants are wretched mud huts. We pa.s.sed through the Departments of Artois and Picardy, the country giving now and then agreeable views. We dined at Amiens, where the cathedral externally is magnificent. After travelling all night again, we found ourselves within forty miles of Paris, and now saw patches of vineyards and found fruit of all kinds cheap, abundant, and good. We were put down at the Messagerie Royale rue des Victoires, and I found to my sorrow that my plates were not among the luggage; so I did what I could about it, and we went to lodgings to which we had been recommended, with M. Percez. Mrs.

Swainson's brother, Mr. Parkes, came to see us at once, and we all went to the Jardin des Plantes, or Jardin du Roi, which fronts on a very bad bridge, built in great haste in the days of Napoleon, then called Le pont d'Austerlitz, but now Le pont Ste. Genevieve. I thought the gardens well laid out, large, handsome, but not everywhere well kept. We saw everything, then walked to the entrance of the famous Musee; it was closed, but we knocked and asked for Baron Cuvier.[160]

He was in, but, we were told, too busy to be seen. Being determined to look at the Great Man, we waited, knocked again, and with a certain degree of _firmness_ sent our names. The messenger returned, bowed, and led the way upstairs, where in a minute Monsieur le Baron, like an excellent good man, came to us. He had heard much of my friend Swainson and greeted him as he deserves to be greeted; he was polite and kind to me, though my name had never made its way to his ears. I looked at him, and here follows the result: age about sixty-five; size corpulent, five feet five, English measure; head large; face wrinkled and brownish; eyes gray, brilliant and sparkling; nose aquiline, large and red; mouth large, with good lips; teeth few, blunted by age, excepting one on the lower jaw, measuring nearly three-quarters of an inch square. Thus, my Lucy, have I described Cuvier almost as if a _new species of man_. He has invited us to dine with him next Sat.u.r.day at six, and as I hope to have many opportunities of seeing him I will write more as I become acquainted with him. After dinner Mr. Parker and I went roving anywhere and everywhere, but as it grew dark, and Paris is very badly lighted, little can I say, more than that we saw the famous Palais Royal, and walked along each of its four avenues.

The place was crowded, and filled with small shops, themselves filled with all sorts of bagatelles.

_September 5._ After breakfast, which was late but good, consisting of grapes, figs, sardines, and _French_ coffee, Swainson and I proceeded to Les Jardins des Plantes, by the side of the famous river Seine, which here, Lucy, is not so large as the Bayou Sara, where I have often watched the Alligators while bathing. Walking in Paris is disagreeable in the extreme; the streets are paved, but with scarcely a sidewalk, and a large gutter filled with dirty black water runs through the centre of each, and the people go about without any kind of order, in the centre, or near the houses; the carriages, carts, etc., do the same, and I have wondered that so few accidents take place. We saw a very ugly bridge of iron called the Pont Neuf, and the splendid statue of Henri Quatre. We were, however, more attracted by the sight of the immense numbers of birds offered for sale along the quays, and some were rare specimens. A woman took us into her house and showed us some hundreds from Bengal and Senegal, and I a.s.sure thee that we were surprised. We proceeded to our appointment with Baron Cuvier, who gave us tickets for the Musee, and promised all we could wish. At the Musee M. Valenciennes[161] was equally kind. Having a letter for M. Geoffroy de St. Hilaire,[162] we went to his house in the Jardins, and with him we were particularly pleased. He proved to me that he understood the difference in the ideas of the French and English perfectly. He repeated the words of Cuvier and a.s.sured us my work had not been heard of in France. He promised to take us to the Academie des Sciences on Monday next. I left Swainson at work in the Musee, and went to the Louvre. There, entering the first open door, I was shown into the public part of the King's _Appartement_, a thing I have never been able to accomplish in England. I saw the room where the grand councils are held, and many paintings ill.u.s.trating the horrors of the French Revolution. Then to the galleries of painting and sculpture, where I found Parker, and saw a number of artists copying in oil the best pictures. This evening we went to the Theatre Francais, where I saw the finest drop curtain I have yet beheld, and a fine tragedy, Fiesque, which I enjoyed much.

_September 6._ The strange things one sees in this town would make a mountain of volumes if closely related; but I have not time, and can only speak to thee of a few. After our breakfast of figs and bread and b.u.t.ter, Swainson and I went down the Boulevard to the Jardins Royaux.

These boulevards are planted with trees to shade them, and are filled with shops containing more objects of luxury and of necessity than can well be imagined. The boulevard we took is a grand promenade, and the seat of great bargains. I mean to say that a person unacquainted with the ways of the French _pet.i.t marchand_ may be cheated here, with better grace, probably, than anywhere else in the world; but one used to their tricks may buy cheap and good articles. In the afternoon we went again to the Louvre, and admired the paintings in the splendid gallery, and lunched on chicken, a bottle of good wine, vegetables and bread, for thirty-five sous each. Evening coming on, we proceeded, after dressing, to Baron Cuvier's house to dine. We were announced by a servant in livery, and received by the Baron, who presented us to his only remaining daughter,--a small, well-made, good-looking lady, with sparkling black eyes, and extremely amiable. As I seldom go anywhere without meeting some one who has met me, I found among the guests a Fellow of the Linnaean Society, who knew me well. The Baroness now came in--a good-looking, motherly lady, and the company, amounting to sixteen, went to dinner. The Baroness led the way with a gentleman, and the Baron took in his daughter, but made friend Swainson and me precede them; Swainson sat next mademoiselle, who, fortunately for him, speaks excellent English. I was opposite to her, by the side of the Baron. There was not the show of opulence at this dinner that is seen in the same rank of life in England, no, not by far, but it was a good dinner, served _a la francaise_. All seemed happy, and went on with more simplicity than in London. The dinner finished, the Baroness rose, and we all followed her into the library. I liked this much; I cannot bear the _drinking matches_ of wine at the English tables. We had coffee, and the company increased rapidly; amongst them all I knew only Captain Parry, M. de Condolleot (?), and Mr. Lesson,[163] just returned from a voyage round the world. Cuvier stuck to us, and we talked ornithology; he asked me the price of my work, and I gave him a prospectus. The company filled the room, it grew late, and we left well satisfied with the introductory step among _les savans francais_.

_Sunday, September 7._ The traveller who visits France without seeing a fete, such as I have seen this day at St. Cloud, leaves the country unacquainted with that species of knowledge best adapted to show the manners of a people. St. Cloud is a handsome town on the Seine, about five miles below Paris, built in horseshoe form on the undulating hills of this part of the country. These hills are covered with woods, through which villas, cottages, and chateaux emerge, and give life to the scene. On the west side of the village, and on its greatest elevation, stands the Palace of the Kings, the Emperors, and the people. I say the people, because they are allowed to see the interior every day. With Parker, I took a cab directly after breakfast to the _barriere des bons hommes_, and walked the remaining distance, say three miles. We had the Seine in view most of the way, and crossed it on a fine iron bridge, one end of which forms the entrance to St.

Cloud, in front of which the river winds. We reached the gates of the palace, and found they were not opened till twelve o'clock; but a sergeant offered to show us the King's garden,--an offer we accepted with pleasure. The entrance is by an avenue of fine trees, their tops meeting over our heads, and presenting, through the vista they made, a frame for a beautiful landscape. We pa.s.sed several pieces of water, the peaceful abode of numerous fish, basking on the surface; swans also held their concave wings unfurled to the light breeze--orange trees of fair size held their golden fruit pendent--flowers of every hue covered the borders, and a hundred statues embellished all with their well-modelled forms. So unmolested are the birds that a Green Woodp.e.c.k.e.r suffered my inspection as if in the woods of our dear, dear America. At the right time we found ourselves in the King's antechamber, and then pa.s.sed through half a dozen rooms glittering with richest ornaments, painted ceilings, large pictures, and lighted by immense windows; all, however, too fine for my taste, and we were annoyed by the _gens d'armes_ watching us as if we were thieves. It was near two o'clock when we left, the weather beautiful, and heat such as is usually felt in Baltimore about this season. The population of Paris appeared now to flock to St. Cloud; the road was filled with conveyances of all sorts, and in the princ.i.p.al walk before the Palace were hundreds of _pet.i.ts marchands_, opening and arranging their wares. Music began in different quarters, groups lay on the gra.s.s, enjoying their repasts; every one seemed joyous and happy. One thing surprised me: we were at St. Cloud ten hours,--they told us fifty thousand (?) were there, and I saw only three women of noticeable beauty; yet these short brunettes are animated and apparently thoughtless, and sing and dance as if no shadow could ever come over them. At four o'clock all was in full vigor; the sounds of horns and bugles drew us towards a place where we saw on a platform a party of musicians, three of whom were Flemish women, and so handsome that they were surrounded by crowds. We pa.s.sed through a sort of turnstile, and in a few minutes an equestrian performance began, in which the riders showed great skill, jugglers followed with other shows, and then we left; the same show in London would have cost three s.h.i.+llings; here, a franc. We saw people shooting at a target with a crossbow. When the marksman was successful in hitting the centre, a spring was touched, and an inflated silken goldfish, as large as a barrel, rose fifty yards in the air,--a pretty sight, I a.s.sure thee; the fins of gauze moved with the breeze, he plunged and rose and turned about, almost as a real fish would do in his element. Shows of everything were there; such a medley--such crowds--such seeming pleasure in all around us, I never remarked anywhere but in France. No word of contention did I hear; all was peace and joy, and when we left not a disturbance had taken place. We had an excellent dinner, with a bottle of Chablis, for three francs each, and returning to the place we had left, found all the fountains were playing, and dancing was universal; the musicians were good and numerous, but I was surprised to remark very few fine dancers. The woods, which were illuminated, looked extremely beautiful; the people constantly crossing and re-crossing them made the lights appear and disappear, reminding me of fireflies in our own woods in a summer night. As we pa.s.sed out of the gates, we perceived as many persons coming as going, and were told the merriment would last till day. With difficulty we secured two seats in a cart, and returned to Paris along a road with a double line of vehicles of all sorts going both ways. Every few rods were guards on foot, and _gens d'armes_ on horseback, to see that all went well; and we at last reached our hotel, tired and dusty, but pleased with all we had seen, and at having had such an opportunity to see, to compare, and to judge of the habits of a people so widely different from either Americans or English.

_September 8._ We went to pay our respects to Baron Cuvier and Geoffroy St. Hilaire;[164] we saw only the first, who told us to be at the Academie Royale des Sciences in an hour. I had _hired_ a portfolio, and took my work. As soon as we entered, Baron Cuvier very politely came to us, ordered a porter to put my book on a table, and gave me a seat of honor. The seance was opened by a tedious lecture on the vision of the Mole; then Cuvier arose, announcing my friend Swainson and me and spoke of my work; it was shown and admired as usual, and Cuvier requested to review it for the ”Memoires of the Academy.” Poor Audubon! here thou art, a simple woodsman, among a crowd of talented men, yet kindly received by all--so are the works of G.o.d as shown in His birds loved by them. I left my book, that the librarian might show it to all who wished to see it.

_September 9._ Went to the Jardin du Roi, where I met young Geoffroy, who took me to a man who stuffs birds for the Prince d'Essling, who, I was told, had a copy of my work, but after much talk could not make out whether it was Wilson's, Selby's, or mine. I am to call on him to-morrow. I took a great walk round the Boulevards, looking around me and thinking how curious my life has been, and how wonderful my present situation is. I took Mrs. Swainson to the Louvre, and as we were about to pa.s.s one of the gates of the Tuileries, the sentinel stopped us, saying no one could pa.s.s with a _fur cap_; so we went to another gate, where no such challenge was given, and reached the Grand Gallery. Here amongst the Raphaels, Correggios, t.i.tians, Davids, and thousands of others, we feasted our eyes and enlarged our knowledge. Taking Mrs. Swainson home, I then made for L'Inst.i.tut de France by appointment, and gave my prospectus to the secretary of the library. Young Geoffroy, an amiable and learned young man, paid me every attention, and gave me a room for Swainson and myself to write in and for the inspection of specimens. How very different from the public societies in England, where instead of being bowed to, you have to bow to every one. Now, my Lucy, I have certainly run the gauntlet of England and Paris, and may feel proud of two things, that I am considered the first ornithological painter, and the first practical naturalist of America; may G.o.d grant me life to accomplish my serious and gigantic work.

_September 10._ Breakfast over, I made for the Boulevards to present the letters from good friends Rathbone and Melly. I saw Mr. B----, the banker, who read the letter I gave him, and was most polite, but as to ornithology, all he knew about it was that large feathers were called _quills_, and were useful in posting ledgers. From there to the Jardin du Roi, where I called on Monsieur L. C. Kiener, bird stuffer to the Prince of Ma.s.sena (or Essling),[165] who wished me to call on the Prince with him at two, the Prince being too ill to leave the house.

Mr. and Mrs. Swainson were to go with me to see the collection he had made, of many curious and beautiful things, and when we reached the house we were shown at once to the museum, which surpa.s.ses in magnificence and number of rare specimens of birds, sh.e.l.ls, and books, all I have yet seen. This for a while, when I was told the Prince would receive me. I took my _pamphlet_ in my arms and entered a fine room, where he was lying on a sofa; he rose at once, bowed, and presented his beautiful wife. As soon as I had untied my portfolio, and a print was seen, both exclaimed, ”Ah! c'est bien beau!” I was asked if I did not know Charles Bonaparte, and when I said yes, they again both exclaimed, ”Ah! c'est lui, the gentleman of whom we have heard so much, the man of the woods, who has made so many and such wonderful drawings.” The Prince regretted very much there were so few persons in France able to subscribe to such a work, and said I must not expect more than six or eight names in Paris. He named all whom he and his lady knew, and then said it would give him pleasure to add his name to my list; he wrote it himself, next under that of the Duke of Rutland. This prince, son of the famous marshal, is about thirty years of age, apparently delicate, pale, slender, and yet good-looking, entirely devoted to Natural History; his wife a beautiful young woman, not more than twenty, extremely graceful and polite. They both complimented me on the purity of my French, and wished me all success.

My room at the hotel being very cramped, I have taken one at L'Hotel de France, large, clean, and comfortable, for which I pay twenty-five sous a day. We are within gun-shot of Les Jardins des Tuileries. The _retraite_ is just now beating. This means that a few drummers go through the streets at eight o'clock in the evening, beating their drums, to give notice to all soldiers to make for their quarters.

_September 12._ I went early to Rue Richelieu to see the librarian of the King, Mr. Van Praet, a small, white-haired gentleman, who a.s.sured me in the politest manner imaginable that it was out of the question to subscribe for such a work; he, however, gave me a card of introduction to M. Barbier, a second librarian, belonging to the King's private library at the Louvre. On my way I posted my letters for London; the inland postage of a single letter from Paris to London is twenty-four sous, and the mail for London leaves four days in the week. M. Barbier was out, but when I saw him later he advised me to write to the Baron de la Bouillerie, intendant of the King's household. So go my days.--This evening we went to the Italian Opera; it was not open when we arrived, so we put ourselves in the line of people desirous to enter, and at seven followed regularly, with no pus.h.i.+ng or crowding (so different from England), as the arrangements are so perfect. We received our tickets, the change was counted at leisure, and we were shown into the pit, which contains three divisions; that nearest the orchestra contains the most expensive seats. The theatre is much less in extent than either Drury Lane or Covent Garden, but is handsome, and splendidly decorated and lighted.

The orchestra contains more than double the number of musicians, and when the music began, not another sound was heard, all was silence and attention. Never having been at the opera since my youth, the music astounded me. The opera was Semiramis, and well executed, but I was not much pleased with it; it was too clamorous, a harmonious storm, and I would have preferred something more tranquil. I remarked that persons who left their seats intending to return laid on their seats a hat, glove, or card, which was quite sufficient to keep the place for them. In London what a treat for the thieves, who are everywhere. I walked home; the pure atmosphere of Paris, the clear sky, the temperature, almost like that of America, make me light-hearted indeed, yet would that I were again in the far distant, peaceful retreats of my happiest days. Europe might whistle for me; I, like a free bird, would sing, ”Never--no, never, will I leave America.”

_September 13._ I had to take my portfolio to Baron Cuvier, and I went first to Geoffroy de St. Hilaire, who liked it much, and retracted his first opinion of the work being too large. Monsieur Dumesnil, a first-rate engraver, came to see me, sent by Prince de Ma.s.sena, and we talked of the work, which he told me honestly could not be published in France _to be delivered in England_ as cheaply as if the work were done in London, and probably not so well. This has ended with me all thoughts of ever removing it from Havell's hands, unless he should discontinue the present excellent state of its execution. Copper is dearer here than in England, and good colorers much scarcer. I saw Cuvier, who invited us to spend the evening, and then returned to the Pont des Arts to look for bird-skins. I found none, but purchased an engraved portrait of Cuvier, and another of ”Phidias and the Thorn.” I have just returned with Swainson from Baron Cuvier's, who gives public receptions to scientific men every Sat.u.r.day. My book was on the table; Cuvier received me with special kindness, and put me at my ease.

Mademoiselle Cuvier I found remarkably agreeable, as also Monsieur de Condillot. The first very willingly said he would sit to Parker for his portrait, and the other told me that if I went to Italy, I must make his house my home. My work was seen by many, and Cuvier p.r.o.nounced it the finest of its kind in existence.

_September 14, Sunday._ Versailles, where we have spent our day, is truly a magnificent place; how long since I have been here, and how many changes in my life since those days! We first saw the orangerie, of about two hundred trees, that to Frenchmen who have never left Paris look well, but to me far from it, being martyrized by the hand of man, who has clipped them into stiff ovals. One is 407 years old.

They produce no golden fruit, as their boxes are far too small to supply sufficient nourishment, and their fragrant blossoms are plucked to make orange-flower water. From this spot the woods, the hunting-grounds of the King, are seen circling the gardens, and are (we are told) filled with all kinds of game. The King's apartments, through which we afterwards went, are too full of gilding for my eyes, and I frequently resorted to the large windows to glance at the green trees. Amongst the paintings I admired most little Virginia and Paul standing under a palm-tree with their mothers; Paul inviting the lovely child to cross a brook. In the stables are a hundred beautiful horses, the choice of Arabia, Australasia, Normandy, Limousin, etc., each the model of his race, with fiery eyes, legs sinewy and slender, tails to the ground, and manes never curtailed. Among them still remain several that have borne the great Napoleon. From here we walked again through woods and gardens; thus, my Lucy, once more have I been at Versailles, and much have I enjoyed it.

_September 15._ France, my dearest friend, is indeed poor! This day I have attended at the Royal Academy of Sciences, and had all my plates spread over the different large tables, and they were viewed by about one hundred persons. ”Beau! bien beau!” issued from every mouth, but, ”Quel ouvrage!” ”Quel prix!” as well. I said that I had thirty subscribers at Manchester; they seemed surprised, but acknowledged that England, the little isle of England, alone was able to support poor Audubon. Poor France! thy fine climate, thy rich vineyards, and the wishes of the learned avail nothing; thou art a dest.i.tute beggar, and not the powerful friend thou wast represented to be. Now I see plainly how happy, or lucky, or prudent I was, not to follow friend Melly's enthusiastic love of country. Had I come first to France my work never would have had even a beginning; it would have perished like a flower in October. It happened that a gentleman who saw me at Versailles yesterday remembered my face, and spoke to me; he is the under secretary of this famous society, and he wrote for me a note to be presented to the Minister of the Interior, who has, I am told, the power to subscribe to anything, and for as many copies of any work as the farmers of France can well pay for through the enormous levies imposed on them. Cuvier, St. Hilaire, and many others spoke to me most kindly. I had been to Cuvier in the morning to talk with him and Parker about the portrait the latter is to paint, and I believe I will describe Cuvier's house to thee. The footman asked us to follow him upstairs, and in the first room we caught a glimpse of a slight figure dressed all in black, that glided across the floor like a sylph; it was Mlle. Cuvier, not quite ready to see gentlemen: off she flew like a Dove before Falcons. We followed our man, who continually turned, saying, ”This way, gentlemen.” Eight rooms we pa.s.sed filled with books, and each with a recessed bed, and at last reached a sort of laboratory, the _sanctum sanctorum_ of Cuvier; there was nothing in it but books and skeletons of animals, reptiles, etc. Our conductor, surprised, bid us sit down, and left us to seek the Baron. My eyes were fully employed, and I contemplated in imagination the extent of the great man's knowledge. His books were in great disorder, and I concluded that he read and studied them, and owned them for other purposes than for show. Our man returned and led us back through the same avenue of bed-chambers, lined with books instead of satin, and we were conducted through the kitchen to another laboratory, where the Baron was found. Politeness in great men is shown differently from the same quality in fas.h.i.+onable society: a smile suffices to show you are welcome, without many words, and the work in hand is continued as if you were one of the family. Ah! how I delight in this! and how pleased I was to be thus welcomed by this learned man. Cuvier was looking at a small lizard in a tiny vial filled with spirit. I see now his sparkling eye half closed, as if quizzing its qualities, and as he put it down he wrote its name on a label. He made an appointment with Mr.

Parker, and went on quizzing lizards. Being desirous of seeing a gambling house, young Geoffroy took me to one in the Palais Royal, a very notorious one, containing several roulette tables, and there we saw a little of the tactics of the gentlemen of the trade. The play, however, was not on this occasion high. The _banquiers_, or head thieves, better call them, are lank and pale, their countenances as unmoved as their hearts. From here we went to the establishment of Franconi, where I saw wonderful feats of horsemans.h.i.+p.

_September 17._ There is absolutely nothing to be done here to advance my subscription list, and at two o'clock I went with Swainson to a _marchand naturaliste_ to see some drawings of birds of which I had heard. They were not as well drawn as mine, but much better painted.

_September 18._ I went to install Parker at Baron Cuvier's. He had his canvas, etc., all ready and we arrived at half-past nine, too early quite. At ten, having spent our time in the apartment of the Giraffe, Parker went in to take a second breakfast, and I to converse with Mlle. Cuvier. The Baron came in, and after a few minutes to arrange about the light, sat down in a comfortable arm-chair, quite ready.

Great men as well as great women have their share of vanity, and I soon discovered that the Baron thinks himself a fine-looking man. His daughter seemed to know this, and remarked more than once that her father's under lip was swelled more than usual, and she added that the line of his nose was extremely fine. I pa.s.sed my fingers over mine, and, lo! I thought just the same. I see the Baron now, quite as plainly as I did this morning; an old green surtout about him, a neck-cloth, that might well surround his body if unfolded, loosely tied about his chin, and his silver locks like those of a man more bent on studying books than on visiting barbers. His fine eyes shot fire from under his bushy eyebrows, and he smiled as he conversed with me. Mlle. Cuvier, asked to read to us, and opening a book, read in a clear, well accentuated manner a comic play, well arranged to amuse us for a time, for sitting for a portrait is certainly a great bore. The Baroness joined us; I thought her looks not those of a happy person, and her melancholy affected me. The Baron soon said he was fatigued, rose and went out, but soon returned, and I advised Parker not to keep him too long. The time was adjourned to Sunday next. In Connecticut this would be thought horrible, in England it would be difficult to effect it, and in Paris it is considered the best day for such things. Again I went to the Louvre, and this evening went with young Geoffroy to the celebrated Frascati. This house is a handsome hotel, and we were introduced by two servants in fine livery into a large wainscoted room, where a roulette table was at work. Now none but _gentlemen_ gamble here. We saw, and saw only! In another room _rouge et noir_ was going on, and the double as well as the single Napoleons easily changed hands, yet all was smiling and serene. Some wealthy personage drew gold in handsful from his pockets, laid it on a favorite spot, and lost it calmly, more than once. Ladies also resort to this house, and good order is always preserved; without a white cravat, shoes instead of boots, etc., no one is admitted. I soon became tired of watching this and we left.

_September 19._ Friend Swainson requested me to go with him this morning to complete a purchase of skins, and this accomplished I called on M. Milbert, to whom I had a letter from my old friend Le Sueur,[166] but he was absent. I now went to the Jardin du Roi, and at the library saw the so-called fine drawings of Mr. H----. Lucy, they were just such drawings as our boy Johnny made before I left home, stiff and dry as a well-seasoned fiddle-stick. The weather and the sky are most charming. This evening M. Cainard, whom I have met several times, asked me to play billiards with him, but the want of practice was such that I felt as if I never had played before. Where is the time gone when I was considered one of the best of players? To-morrow I will try to see M. Redoute.[167]

_September 20._ I had the pleasure of seeing old Redoute this morning, the flower-painter _par excellence_. After reading Le Sueur's note to him, dated five years ago, he looked at me fixedly, and said, ”Well, sir, I am truly glad to become acquainted with you,” and without further ceremony showed me his best works. His flowers are grouped with peculiar taste, well drawn and precise in the outlines, and colored with a pure brilliancy that depicts nature incomparably better than I ever saw it before. Old Redoute dislikes all that is not _nature alone_; he cannot bear either the drawings of stuffed birds or of quadrupeds, and evinced a strong desire to see a work wherein nature was delineated in an animated manner. He said that as he dined every Friday at the Duke of Orleans', he would take my work there next week, and procure his subscription, if not also that of the d.u.c.h.ess, and requested me to give him a prospectus. I looked over hundreds of his drawings, and found out that he sold them well; he showed me some worth two hundred and fifty guineas. On my way to the Comte de Lasterie, I met the under secretary of the King's private library, who told me that the Baron de la Bouillerie had given orders to have my work inspected and if approved of to subscribe to it. I reached the Comte de Lasterie's house, found him half dressed, very dirty, and not very civil. He was at breakfast with several gentlemen, and told me to call again, which I will take into _consideration_. I must not forget that in crossing the city this morning I pa.s.sed through the flower market, a beautiful exhibition to me at all times. This market is abundantly supplied twice a week with exotics and flowers of all sorts, which are sold at a cheap rate.

_September 21._ The weather is still beautiful, and Parker and I took the omnibus at the Pont des Arts, which vehicle, being Sunday, was crowded. I left Parker to make a second sitting with Cuvier, and went to the Jardin du Roi, already filled with pleasure-seekers. I took a seat beside a venerable old soldier, and entered into conversation with him. Soldier during more than thirty years, he had much to relate. The Moscow campaign was spoken of, and I heard from the lips of this veteran the sufferings to which Napoleon's armies had been exposed. He had been taken prisoner, sent to the interior for two years, fed on musty bread by the Cossacks, who forced them to march all day. He had lost his toes and one ear by the frost, and sighed, as he said, ”And to lose the campaign after all this!” I offered him a franc, and to my surprise he refused it, saying he had his pension, and was well fed. The garden was now crowded, children were scrambling for horse-chestnuts, which were beginning to fall, ladies playing battledore and shuttlec.o.c.k, venders of fruit and lemonade were calling their wares, and I was interested and amused by all. Now to Baron Cuvier again. I found him sitting in his arm-chair; a gentleman was translating the dedication of Linne (Linnaeus) to him, as he was anxious that the Latin should not be misconstrued; he often looked in some book or other, and I dare say often entirely forgot Parker, who notwithstanding has laid in a good likeness. The Baron wishes me to be at the Inst.i.tute to-morrow at half-past one.

_September 22._ I was at the Inst.i.tute at half-past one--no Baron there. I sat opposite the clock and counted minutes one after another; the clock ticked on as if I did not exist; I began the counting of the numerous volumes around me, and as my eyes reached the centre of the hall they rested on the statue of Voltaire; he too had his share of troubles. Savants entered one after another; many bowed to me, and pa.s.sed to their seats. My thoughts journeyed to America; I pa.s.sed from the Missouri to the Roanoke, to the Hudson, to the Great Lakes--then floated down the gentle Ohio, and met the swift Mississippi which would carry me to thee. The clock vibrated in my ears, it struck two, and I saw again that I was in an immense library, where the number of savants continually increased, but no Cuvier; I tried to read, but could not; now it was half-past two; I was asked several times if I was waiting for the Baron, and was advised to go to his house, but like a sentinel true to his post I sat firm and waited. All at once I heard his voice, and saw him advancing, very warm and apparently fatigued. He met me with many apologies, and said, ”Come with me;” and we walked along, he explaining all the time why he had been late, while his hand drove a pencil with great rapidity, and he told me that he was actually _now_ writing the report on my work!! I thought of La Fontaine's fable of the Turtle and the Hare; I was surprised that so great a man should leave till the last moment the writing of a report to every word of which the forty critics of France would lend an attentive ear. For being on such an eminence he has to take more care of his actions than a common individual, to prevent his fall, being surrounded, as all great men are more or less, by envy and malice. My enormous book lay before him, and I s.h.i.+fted as swift as lightning the different plates that he had marked for examination. His pencil moved as constantly and as rapidly. He turned and returned the sheets of his ma.n.u.script with amazing accuracy, and noted as quickly as he saw, _and he saw all_. We were both wet with perspiration. It wanted but a few minutes of three when we went off to the Council room, Cuvier still writing, and bowing to every one he met. I left him, and was glad to get into the pure air. At my lodgings I found a card asking me to go to the Messageries Royales, and I went at once, thinking perhaps it was my numbers from London; but no such thing. My name was asked, and I was told that orders had been received to remit me ten francs, the coach having charged me for a seat better than the one I had had. This is indeed honesty. When I asked the gentleman how he had found out my lodgings, he smiled, and answered that he knew every stranger in Paris that had arrived for the last three months, through his line of employees, and that any police-officer was able to say how I spent my time.

_September 23._ The great Gerard, the pupil of my old master, David, has written saying he wishes to see my work, and myself also, and I have promised to go to-morrow evening at nine. To-day I have been to the King's library, a fine suite of twelve rooms, filled with elegant and most valuable copies of all the finest works. I should suppose that a hundred thousand volumes are contained here, as well as portfolios filled with valuable originals of the first masters. The King seldom reads, but he shoots well. Napoleon read, or was read to, constantly, and hardly knew how to hold a gun. I was surprised when I spoke of Charles Bonaparte to notice that no response was made, and the conversation was abruptly turned from ornithologists to engraving.

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