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 Massena (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 surpasses in
magnificence and number of rare specimens of birds, shells, 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 assured
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
pushing 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 Massena, 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 Saturday. 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
pronounced 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 destitute 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 passed 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 fashionable 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 horsemanship.
_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 passed 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 Duchess,
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 passed 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 shuttlecock, 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 Institute to-morrow at half-past one.
_September 22._ I was at the Institute 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
passed to their seats. My thoughts journeyed to America; I passed 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 shifted 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
manuscript 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.
I have now been nearly three weeks in Paris and have _two_
subscribers--almost as bad as Glasgow. I am curious to see the Baron's
report, and should like to have it in his own handwriting. This is
hardly possible; he seldom writes, Mlle. Cuvier does his writing for
him.
_September 24._ To have seen me trot about from pillar to post, across
this great town, from back of the Palais Royal to the Jardin du
Luxembourg, in search of M. Le Medecin Bertrand and a copy of Cuvier's
report, would have amused any one, and yet I did it with great
activity. Such frailty does exist in man, all of whom are by nature
avaricious of praise. Three times did I go in vain to each place, _i.
e._, to the house in the Rue d'Enfans, and the Globe Office, three
miles asunder. Fatigue at last brought me to bay, and I gave up the
chase. I proceeded to the King's library. My work had had the honor to
have been inspected by the Committee, who had passed a favorable
judgment on its merits. I was informed that should the King subscribe,
I must leave in France a man authorized by act of attorney to receive
my dues, without which I might never have a sol. The librarian, a
perfect gentleman, told me this in friendship, and would have added
(had he dared) that Kings are rarely expected to pay. I, however, cut
the matter short, knowing within myself that, should I not receive my
money, I was quite able to keep the work. In the evening I dressed to
go to M. Gerard's with M. Valenciennes; but he did not come, so there
must have been some mistake--probably mine.
_September 25._ Went with Swainson to the Pantheon, to see if the
interior corresponds with the magnificence of the exterior; it is
fine, but still unfinished. All, or almost all, the public edifices of
Paris far surpass those of London. Then to see Cuvier, who was sitting
for his portrait, while the Baroness was reading to him the life of
Garrick. He had known Mrs. Garrick, and his observations were
interesting. The likeness is good, and Cuvier is much pleased with it;
he gave me a note for M. Vallery the King's librarian. Parker had
received a note from M. Valenciennes, saying he had forgot my address,
and had spent the evening going from place to place searching for me,
and requested I would go with him to Gerard next Thursday. Did he
forget to question the all-knowing police, or did the gentleman at the
Messageries exaggerate?
_September 26._ I spent some time in the Louvre examining _very
closely_ the most celebrated pictures of animals, birds, fruits, and
flowers. Afterwards we all went to the French Opera, or, as it is
called here, L'Ecole de Musique Royale. The play was "La Muette," a
wonderful piece, and the whole arrangement of the performance still
more so. There were at one time two hundred persons on the stage. The
scenery was the finest I have ever beheld,--at the last, Mount
Vesuvius in full and terrific eruption; the lava seemed absolutely to
roll in a burning stream down the sides of the volcano, and the stones
which were apparently cast up from the earth added to the grand
representation. The whole house resounded with the most vociferous
applause, and we enjoyed our evening, I assure thee.
_September 27._ Found old Redoute at his painting. The size of my
portfolio surprised him, and when I opened the work, he examined it
most carefully, and spoke highly of it, and wished he could afford it.
I proposed, at last, that we should exchange works, to which he agreed
gladly, and gave me at once nine numbers of his "Belles fleurs" and
promised to send "Les Roses." Now, my Lucy, this will be a grand treat
for thee, fond of flowers as thou art; when thou seest these, thy eyes
will feast on the finest thou canst imagine. From here to the Globe
office, where I saw the _redacteur_ who was glad to have me correct
the proof sheets as regarded the technical names. I did so, and he
gave me, to my delight, the original copy of Cuvier himself. It is a
great eulogium certainly, but not so feelingly written as the one by
Swainson, nevertheless it will give the French an idea of my work.