was kindly received by his friends Nicholas Berthoud, who was also his
brother-in-law, and the Tarascon family. Here he was joined by his
wife and two sons, Victor Gifford and John Woodhouse, and again I
quote from Audubon's own words: "As we were straitened to the very
utmost, I undertook to draw portraits at the low price of five dollars
per head, in black chalk. I drew a few gratis, and succeeded so well
that ere many days had elapsed I had an abundance of work; and being
industrious both by nature and habit I produced a great number of
those black-chalk sketches."[26] This carried him on for some months,
but the curse, or blessing, of the "wandering foot" was his, and as
soon as money matters were a little ahead, off he went again to the
forests. It was during these years, that is from 1811 to 1819, that
many months were passed hunting with the Indians, the Osage tribe
being the one whose language Audubon spoke. Late in life he wrote: "Of
all the Indian tribes I know, the Osage are by far the superior." With
them he delighted to track the birds and quadrupeds as only an Indian
or one of like gifts, can; from them he learned much woodcraft; with
them he strengthened his already iron constitution; and in
fearlessness, endurance, patience, and marvellously keen vision, no
Indian surpassed him.
He had a wonderful gift of making and retaining friends, and even in
these days of poverty and depression he never seemed too poor to help
others; and certainly from others he received much kindness, which he
never ceased to remember and acknowledge. Through one of these
friends--I believe a member of the Tarascon family--he was offered a
position in the Museum at Cincinnati. Without delay, or any written
agreement, Audubon and his family were again (1818) in new
surroundings, and the work being congenial, he entered heartily into
it with Mr. Robert Best. The promised salary was large, but being
never paid Audubon began drawing classes to support his modest
household. In Cincinnati he first met Mr. Daniel Mallory (whose second
daughter afterwards married Victor G. Audubon) and Captain Samuel
Cummings. This latter gentleman had many tastes similar to Audubon's,
and later went with him to New Orleans.
[Illustration: John J. Audubon
FROM THE MINIATURE BY F. CRUIKSHANK, PUBLISHED BY ROBERT HAVELL,
January 12, 1835.]
The life at Cincinnati was one of strict economy. Mrs. Audubon was a
woman of great ability and many resources, and with one less gifted
her unpractical husband would have fared far worse than he did. To
quote again: "Our living here [Cincinnati] is extremely moderate; the
markets are well supplied and cheap, beef only two and a half cents a
pound, and I am able to provide a good deal myself; Partridges are
frequently in the streets, and I can shoot Wild Turkeys within a mile
or so; Squirrels and Woodcock are very abundant in the season, and
fish always easily caught."
Even with these advantages, Audubon, receiving no money[27] from Dr.
Drake, president of the Museum, decided on going to New Orleans. He
had now a great number of drawings and the idea of publishing these
had suggested itself both to him and his wife. To perfect his
collection he planned going through many of the Southern States, then
pushing farther west, and thence returning to Cincinnati. On Oct. 12,
1820, he left Cincinnati with Captain Samuel Cummings for New Orleans,
but with a long pause at Natchez, did not reach that city before
mid-winter, where he remained with varying success until the summer of
1821, when he took a position as tutor in the family of Mrs. Charles
Percy of Bayou Sara. Here, in the beloved Louisiana whose praises he
never wearied of singing, whose magnolia woods were more to him than
palaces, whose swamps were storehouses of treasures, he stayed till
autumn, when, all fear of yellow fever being over, he sent for his
wife and sons. Many new drawings had been made in this year of
separation from them, and these were by far the greater part of the
furniture in the little house in Dauphine St., to which he took his
family on their arrival in December, 1821.
The former life of drawing portraits, giving lessons, painting birds,
and wandering through the country, began again, though there was less
of this last, Audubon realizing that he _must_ make money. He had had
to use strong persuasions to induce Mrs. Audubon to join him in New
Orleans. She had relatives in Cincinnati, as well as many friends, and
several pupils brought her a small income. Who, recalling her early
married life, can wonder that she hesitated before leaving this home
for the vicissitudes of an unknown city? She and her husband were
devotedly attached to each other, but she thought more of the
uncertainty for her sons than for herself. They were now boys of
twelve and nine years old, and their mother, whose own education was
far beyond the average, realized how unwise a thing for them the
constant change was. Audubon was most anxious also that his "Kentucky
lads," as he often called them, should be given every advantage, but
he had the rare quality of being able to work equally well in any
surroundings, in doors or out, and he failed to understand why others
could not, just as he failed to see why his wife should ever doubt the
desirability of going anywhere, at any time, under any conditions. He
thus writes to her in a letter, dated New Orleans, May 3, 1821: "Thou
art not, it seems, as daring as I am about leaving one place to go to
another, without the means. I am sorry for that. I never will fear
want as long as I am well; and if God will grant me health with the
little talents I have received from Nature, I would dare go to England
or anywhere, without one cent, one single letter of introduction to
any one."
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 noble 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 principally
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, principally 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 Washington, 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 publishing grew stronger. In the autumn of this
year (1822), Audubon met a portrait painter named John Steen or Stein,
from Washington, 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 passed 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 Shippingport, where Audubon
engaged a room for Victor and himself, and painted all winter
(1823-24) at birds, landscapes, portraits, and even signs.
Shippingport 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 passed 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 passing 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 compass 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 Shippingport 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, God 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 classes in drawing, music, and dancing, to make
money for the European journey, for which he never ceased to
accumulate 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 Saturday
of each week, and here he had over sixty pupils. From the account of
this class I take the following: "I marched to the hall with my violin
under my arm, bowed to the company assembled, 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
hoarded 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 pass 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 assisted 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 ship Columbia after an agreeable passage 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 circumstances 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 accumulated 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.
"I returned yesterday from Mauch Chunk; after all, there is nothing
perfect but _primitiveness_, and my efforts at copying nature, like
all other things attempted by us poor mortals, fall far short of the
originals. Few better than myself can appreciate this with more
despondency than I do."