to go to it I first crossed the New Town into the Old, over the north
bridge, went down many flights of winding steps, and when at the
desired spot was positively _under_ the bridge that has been built to
save the trouble of descending and mounting from one side of Edinburgh
to the other, the city being mostly built on the slopes of two long
ranges of high, broken hills. The vegetable market was well arranged,
and looked, as did the sections for meats and fruits, attractive; but
the situation, and the narrow booths in which the articles were
exhibited, was, compared with the Liverpool market, nothing. I
ascended the stairs leading to the New Town, and after turning to the
right, saw before me the monument in honor of Nelson, to which I
walked. Its elevated situation, the broken, rocky way along which I
went, made it very picturesque; but a tremendous shower of rain
accompanied by a heavy gust of cold wind made me hurry from the spot
before I had satisfied myself, and I returned _home_ to breakfast. I
was struck with the resemblance of the women of the lower classes to
our Indian squaws. Their walk is precisely the same, and their mode of
carrying burdens also; they have a leather strap passed over the
forehead attached to large baskets without covers, and waddle through
the streets, just like the Shawanees, for instance. Their complexion,
if fair, is beyond rosy, partaking, indeed, of purple--dull, and
disagreeable. If dark, they are dark indeed. Many of the men wear long
whiskers and beards, and are extremely uncouth in manners, and still
more so in language. I had finished breakfast when Messrs. Patison
came to see my drawings, and brought with them a Miss Ewart, who was
said to draw beautifully. She looked at one drawing after another, but
remained mute till I came to the doves; she exclaimed at this, and
then told me she knew Sir Walter Scott well, "and," she added, "he
will be delighted to see your magnificent collection." Later I called
again at Dr. Thompson's, but as he was not at home, left the letter
and my card; the same at Professor Duncan's. I then walked to the fish
market, where I found Patrick Neill, Esq.,[88] at his desk, after
having passed between two long files of printers at their work. Mr.
Neill shook hands cordially, gave me his home address, promised to
come and see me, and accompanied me to the street, begging me not to
visit the Museum until Professor Jameson had sent me a general ticket
of admission. I went then to the Port of Leith, distant not quite
three miles, but missing my way, reached the Frith of Forth at
Trinity, a small village on the bay, from whence I could see the
waters of the German Ocean; the shore opposite was distant about seven
miles, and looked naked and hilly. During my walk I frequently turned
to view the beautiful city behind me, rising in gradual amphitheatre,
most sublimely backed by mountainous clouds that greatly improved the
whole. The wind was high, the waters beat the shore violently, the
vessels at anchor pitched,--all was grand. On inquiry I found this was
no longer an admiral's station, and that in a few more weeks the
steamboats that ply between this and London, and other parts of the
north of this island, would stop their voyages, the ocean being too
rough during the winter season. I followed along the shores, and
reached Leith in about twenty minutes. I saw a very pretty iron jetty
with three arches, at the extremity of which vessels land passengers
and freight. Leith is a large village apparently, mostly connected
with Hamburg and the seaports of Holland. Much business is going on. I
saw here great numbers of herring-boats and the nets for capturing
these fishes; also some curious drags for oysters, clams, and other
shellfish. The docks are small, and contain mostly Dutch vessels, none
of them large. An old one is fitted up as a chapel for mariners. I
waited till after sunset before returning to my lodgings, when I told
my landlady I was going to the theatre, that I might not be locked
out, and went off to see "Rob Roy." The theatre not opening till
half-past six, I spent some little time in a bookseller's shop,
reading an account of the Palace and Chapel of Holyrood. The pit,
where I sat, was crowded with gentlemen and ladies; for ladies of the
second class go to the pit, the superior classes to the boxes, and
those of neither class way above. The house is small but well
lighted. "God save the King" was the overture, and every one rose
uncovered. "Rob Roy" was represented as if _positively_ in the
Highlands; the characters were natural, the scenery perfectly adapted,
the dress and manners quite true to the story. I may truthfully say
that I saw a good picture of the great outlaw, his Ellen, and the
unrelenting Dougal. I would, were it possible, always see "Rob Roy" in
Edinburgh, "Le Tartuffe" in Paris, and "She Stoops to Conquer" in
England. "Rob Roy," as exhibited in America, is a burlesque; we do not
even know how the hardy mountaineer of this rigid country throws on
his plaid, or wears his cap or his front piece, beautifully made of
several tails of the red deer; neither can we render the shrill tone
of the horn bugle that hangs at his side, the merry bagpipe is wanted,
also the scenery. I would just as soon see "Le Tartuffe" in broken
French, by a strolling company, as to see "Rob Roy" again as I have
seen it in Kentucky. It is almost to be regretted that each country
does not keep to its own productions; to do otherwise only leads to
fill our minds with ideas far different from the truth. I did not stay
to see "Rosina;" though I liked Miss Stephens pretty well, yet she is
by no means equal to Miss Foote.
_Edinburgh, October 28, 1826._ To-day I have visited the Royal Palace
of Holyrood; it is both interesting and curious, especially the chapel
and the rooms where the present King of France resided during his
exile. I find Professor Jameson is engaged with Mr. Selby[89] and
others in a large ornithological publication, and Mr. Ed. Roscoe has
written, suggesting that I try to connect myself with them; but my
independent spirit does not turn to the idea with any pleasure, and I
think if my work deserves the attention of the public, it must stand
on its own legs, not on the reputation of men superior in education
and literary acquirements, but possibly not so in the actual
observation of Nature at her best, in the wilds, as I certainly have
seen her.
_October 29, Sunday._ With the exception of the short walk to the
post-office with my letters, I have been as busy as a bee all day, for
I have written much. Yesterday at ten Messrs. Patison brought twelve
ladies and the Messrs. Thomas and John Todd of this city to see my
drawings; they remained full two hours. Professor Duncan came in and
was truly a kind friend. After my company had left, and I had been
promised several letters for Sir Walter Scott, I took a walk, and
entered a public garden, where I soon found myself a prisoner, and
where, had I not found a pretty maid who took pity on my _etourderie_,
I certainly would have felt very awkward, as I had neither letter nor
pocket-book to show for my identification. I then went in search of a
Scotch pebble; one attracted me, but a boy in the shop said his father
could make one still handsomer. I wanted not pebbles made by man, I
wanted them the result of nature, but I enquired of the lad how they
were made. Without hesitation the boy answered: "by fire-heat, and
whilst the pores of the pebbles are open colored infusions are
impregnated." Now what will not man do to deceive his brother? I
called on Mr. Jeffrey,[90] who was not in; he comes from his Hall, two
and a half miles off, every day for two hours, from two to four
o'clock; therefore I entered his sanctum sanctorum, sealed the letter,
and wrote on my card that I would be happy to see him. What a mass of
books, papers, portfolios, dirt, beautiful paintings, engravings,
casts, with such parcels of unopened packages all directed "Francis
Jeffrey, Esq." Whilst I looked at this mass I thought, What have _I_
done, compared with what this man has done, and has to do? I much long
to see the famous critic. As I came away my thoughts reverted to
Holyrood Palace. What a variety of causes has brought king after king
to that spot; what horrors have been committed there! The general
structure is not of a defensive nature; it lies in a valley, and has
simply its walls to guard it. I was surprised that the narrow stairs
which led to the small chamber where the murder was committed,
communicated at once with the open country, and I was also astonished
to see that the mirrors were positively much superior to those of the
present day in point of intrinsic purity of reflection; the plates
cannot be less than three-fourths of an inch in thickness. The
furniture is all decaying fast, as well as the paintings which are set
into the walls. The great room for the King's audience contains a
throne by no means corresponding with the ideas _de luxe_ that I had
formed. The room, however, being hung in scarlet cloth, had a very
warm effect, and I remember it with pleasure. I also recall the view I
then had from a high hill, of the whole city of Edinburgh and the
country around the sea; the more I look on Edinburgh the better I like
it. To-day, as I have said, I have been in my rooms constantly, and
after much writing received Dr. Knox and a friend of his. The former
pronounced my drawings the finest of their kind in the world. No light
praise this. They promised to see that I was presented to the
Wernerian Society, and talked very scientifically, indeed quite too
much so for the poor man of the woods. They assured me the
ornithological work now about being published by Messrs. "Selby,
Jameson, and Sir Somebody[91] and Co.," was a "job book." It is both
amusing and distressing to see how inimical to each other men of
science are; and why are they so?
_October 30._ Mr. Neill took me to a Mr. Lizars,[92] in St. James
Square, the engraver for Mr. Selby, who came with us to see my work.
As we walked along under an umbrella he talked of nothing else than
the astonishing talent of his employer, how quickly he drew and how
well, until we reached my lodgings. I lost hope at every step, and I
doubt if I opened my lips. I slowly unbuckled my portfolio, placed a
chair for him, and with my heart like a stone held up a drawing. Mr.
Lizars rose from his seat, exclaiming: "My God! I never saw anything
like this before." He continued to be delighted and astonished, and
said Sir William Jardine[93] must see them, and that he would write to
him; that Mr. Selby must see them; and when he left at dark he went
immediately to Mr. Wm. Heath, an artist from London, who came at once
to see me. I had gone out and missed him; but he left a note. Not
knowing who he might be, I went to see him, up three pairs of stairs,
_a l'artisan_; met a brunette who was Mrs. Heath, and a moment after
the gentleman himself. We talked together, he showed me some of his
work and will call on me to-morrow.
_October 31._ So at last Professor Jameson has called on me! That
warm-hearted Mr. Lizars brought him this morning, just as I was
finishing a letter to Victor. He was kind to me, very kind, and yet I
do not understand the man clearly; he has a look quite above my reach,
I must acknowledge, but I am to breakfast with him to-morrow at nine.
He says he will, with my permission, announce my work to the world,
and I doubt not I shall find him an excellent friend. Dr. Thompson's
sons came in, tall, slender, and well-looking, made an apology for
their father, and invited me to breakfast on Thursday; and young Dr.
Henry called and also invited me to breakfast. Mr. Patrick Symes, a
learned Scotchman, was with me a long time, and my morning was a very
agreeable one within, though outside it was cold and rained.
Edinburgh even in the rain, for I took a walk, is surprisingly
beautiful, picturesque, romantic; I am delighted with it. Mr. Lizars
has invited me to call at _nine_ to spend the evening with him; now I
call it much more as if going to spend the night. I met Mrs. Lizars
when I stopped at his house for a moment to-day; she is the first lady
to whom I have been introduced here, and is a very beautiful one.
Eleven and a half o'clock and I have just returned from Mr. Lizars,
where my evening has been extremely pleasant. I have seen some of Mr.
Selby's original drawings, and some of Sir William Jardine's, and I no
longer feel afraid. But I must to rest, for I hate late hours and love
to be up before daylight.
_November 1._ I breakfasted at Professor Jameson's. A most splendid
house, splendid everything, breakfast to boot. The professor wears his
hair in three distinct, different courses; when he sits fronting the
south, for instance, the hair on his forehead bends westwardly, the
hair behind eastwardly, and the very short hair on top mounts directly
upward, perhaps somewhat like the quills of the "fretful porcupine."
But never mind the ornamental, external appendages of his skull, the
sense _within_ is great, and full of the nobleness which comes from a
kind, generous heart. Professor Jameson to-day is no more the man I
took him to be when I first met him. He showed me an uncommon degree
of cordiality, and promised me his powerful assistance so forcibly
that I am sure I can depend upon him. I left him and his sister at
ten, as we both have much to do besides talking, and drinking hot,
well creamed coffee; but our separation was not long, for at noon he
entered my room with several gentlemen to see my drawings. Till four I
was occupied showing one picture after another, holding each one at
arm's-length, and was very tired, and my left arm once I thought had
an idea of revolutionizing. When my guests had gone I walked out, took
plenty of needed exercise, often hearing remarks about myself such as
"That's a German physician;" "There's a French nobleman." I ended my
walk at Mr. Lizars', and while with him expressed a wish to secure
some views of beautiful Edinburgh; he went to another room and brought
in a book of views for me to look at, which I did with interest. He
then asked me to draw something for him, and as I finished a vignette
he pushed the book of superb Edinburgh towards me; on the first leaf
he had written, "To John J. Audubon, as a very imperfect expression of
the regard entertained for his abilities as an artist, and for his
worth as a friend, by William H. Lizars, engraver of the 'Views of
Edinburgh.'" I saw--though by gas-light--some of Mr. Lizars' work,
printing from copper, coloring with water-color and oils, etc., on the
same, for the first time in my life. How little I know! how ignorant I
am! but I will learn. I went to bed after reading Sir Walter's last
novel till I was so pleased with the book that I put it under my
pillow to dream about, as children do at Christmas time; but my dreams
all went another way and I dreamed of the beech woods in my own dear
land.
_November 2, Thursday._ I drew the bell at the door of No. 80 George
Street, where lives Dr. Thompson, just as the great bell of St.
Andrews struck nine, and we soon sat down to breakfast. Dr. Thompson
is a good, and good-looking man, and extremely kind; at the table were
also his wife, daughter, son, and another young gentleman; and just as
my second cup of coffee was handed to me a certain Dr. Fox entered
with the air of an old friend, and at once sat down. He had been
seventeen years in France, and speaks the language perfectly, of
course. After having spoken somewhat about the scrubbiness of the
timber here, and the lofty and majestic trees of my country dear, I
rose to welcome Mrs. Lizars, who came in with her husband and some
friends. Mr. Lizars had not seen one of my largest drawings; he had
been enamoured with the Mocking-birds and Rattle-snake, but, Lucy,
the Turkeys--her brood, the pose of the Cock Turkey--the Hawk pouncing
on seventeen Partridges, the Whooping Crane devouring alligators newly
born--at these he exclaimed again and again. All were, he said,
wonderful productions; he wished to engrave the Partridges; but when
the Great-footed Hawks came with bloody rags at their beaks' ends, and
cruel delight in the glance of their daring eyes, he stopped mute an
instant, then said, "_That_ I will engrave and publish." We were too
numerous a party to transact business then, and the subject was
adjourned. Fatigued and excited by this, I wrote for some hours, and
at four walked out and paid my respects to young Dr. Henry at the
Infirmary,--a nice young man,--and at five I found myself at Mr.
Lizars', who at once began on the topic of my drawings, and asked why
I did not publicly exhibit them. I told him how kind and generous the
Institution at Liverpool had been, as well as Manchester, and that I
had a letter of thanks from the Committees. He returned with me to my
lodgings, read the letter, and we marched arm in arm from Mrs.
Dickie's to Professor Jameson, who kept the letter, so he said, to
make good use of it; I showed Mr. Lizars other letters of
recommendation, and as he laid down the last he said: "Mr. Audubon,
the people here don't know who you are at all, but depend upon it they
_shall_ know." We then talked of the engraving of the Hawks, and it
seems that it will be done. Perhaps even yet fame may be mine, and
enable me to provide all that is needful for my Lucy and my children.
Wealth I do not crave, but comfort; and for my boys I have the most
ardent desire that they may receive the best of education, far above
any that I possess; and day by day science advances, new thoughts and
new ideas crowd onward, there is always fresh food for enjoyment,
study, improvement, and I must place them where all this may be a
possession to them.
_November 3, Friday._ My birds were visited by many persons this day,
among whom were some ladies, artists, of both ability and taste, and
with the numerous gentlemen came Professor James Wilson,[94] a
naturalist, an agreeable man, who invited me to dine at his cottage
next week. Mr. Lizars, who is certainly _mon bon cheval de bataille_,
is exerting himself greatly in my behalf. At half-past three good Mr.
Neill came, and together we walked towards his little hermitage, a
sweet spot, quite out of town; nice garden, hot-house filled with
exotics, and house-walls peopled by thousands of sparrows secure in
the luxuriant masses of ivy that only here and there suffer the eye to
see that the habitat is of stone. The Heron's sharp lance lay on his
downy breast while he balanced on one leg, silent and motionless; the
Kittiwake Gull screamed for food; the Cormorant greedily swallowed it;
whilst the waddling Gannet welcomed her master by biting his foot, the
little Bantams and the great rooster leaped for the bread held out,
the faithful Pigeon cooed to his timid mate, and the huge watch-dog
rubbed against the owner's legs with joy. We entered the house, other
guests were there, and full of gayety we sat down to a sumptuous
dinner. Eyes sparkled with wit, sense, knowledge. Mr. Combe[95] who
was present has a head quite like our Henry Clay. My neighbor, Mr.
Bridges,[96] is all life; but after a few observations concerning the
birds of our woods he retired to let the world know that many of them
are arrived in Scotland. It is unanimously agreed that I must sit for
my portrait to Mr. Syme,[97] and that friend Lizars must engrave it to
be distributed abroad. On my return to my lodgings I was presented
with some pears and apples of native growth, somewhat bigger than
green peas; but ah! this is both ungrateful and discourteous.
To-morrow I am to meet Lord Somebody, and Miss Stephens; she was
called "that delicious actress" so fervently and so frequently by my
learned friends that I reverse my judgment, or will at least suspend
it, until I see more of her.
_November 4, Saturday._ Now had I the faculties of my good friend Mr.
Bridges, I should be able to write all that I feel towards him and the
good people of this romantic Edina's Academic Halls; I would set to,
and write long accounts of all I have enjoyed this day. But, alas!
poor me! I can only scratch a few words next to unintelligible, and
simply say that my little room has been full all day of individuals
good, great, and friendly, and I am very wearied to-night; it is now
past one. I dined at Mr. Lizars', where were beauties, music,
conviviality, and wit. I am working hard withal; I do with four hours'
sleep, keep up a great correspondence, keep up my journal, and write
many hours on the letter-press for my "Birds" which is almost done.
_November 5, Sunday._ At ten o'clock my room was filled with visitors.
Friend Bridges came, and stayed a long time. Miss Stephens the actress
and her brother also paid me a visit. Mr. Bridges insisted on my going
home to dine with him at four, and I never perceived I was in my
slippers till I reached the port of destination. A Mr. Hovey dined
with us. Mrs. Bridges is a stately, handsome lady, and the _diner en
famille_ pleased me exceedingly. I saw quite a stock of pictures and
engravings, well selected by my knowing friend. I returned home early
and found a note from Mr. John Gregg, who came himself later bringing
me a _scrubby_ letter from Charles Waterton,[98] and a sweet little
sketch from fair Ellen of Quarry Bank. I was delighted to see him; it
seemed like _old times_ to me. With all this I am by no means in
spirits to write, I am so alone in this strange land, so far from
those I love the best, and the future rises ofttimes dark before me.
_Monday, November 6._ The same sad heart to-day, and but little work
and much company. I was glad, however, to see those who came, among
others my coach companion from Manchester, Mr. Walton, who invited me
in a very friendly manner to see him often. It snowed this morning,
and was quite a new sight to me, for I have not seen any for about
five years--I think. The papers give such accounts of my drawings and
of myself that I am quite ashamed to walk the streets; but I am
dispirited and melancholy.