Letters of Asa Gray; Vol. 2

by Asa Gray

Here we are back at Paris (since twenty hours), and, this being Sunday, having discharged my religious duty and ventilated my patriotism by going in the morning to the American Chapel I am going to discharge upon you a missive which may be of some size,—is sure to be so if I open all my mind. Whence did I write you last? Malaga, I fancy, where I received a letter from you ... which tells us of the conflagration of Charlie’s dog and cat, and the narrow escape of the owner, of horrid weather, while we have had only one rainy day, and that no great impediment (though I did have to examine the Botanic Garden at Valencia under an umbrella and in india-rubbers)....

A good day was occupied in going to Cordova, and the next morning did the Mosque-Cathedral, which I expected to be disappointing, yet it was not. Afternoon began the long journey which there was no escaping, northeast to Valencia: a dull place made duller by rain. Next afternoon to Tarragona, and a most charming day in that interesting old town and its environs, the evening taking us on to Barcelona, of less interest. The next day’s travel, long and delightful, was all by daylight, except the last hour. It took us along either beautiful or picturesque country, much of the way with the Mediterranean on one side and the Pyrenees on the other, out of Spain and as far as Narbonne. A day’s excursion was given to Carcassonne; perfect, and stranded on the shore of time, an excellent example of a Middle Age fortified city, cathedral and all; Visigoth walls and towers on Roman foundations, extended and modernized by the father of St. Louis, and the finishing touches by St. Louis himself.

Here endeth the epistle. The rest is simply getting back to Paris. I had counted on returning by way of Nîmes, Clermont-Ferrand, and a little détour to see the cathedral of Bourges. But the winds from the mountains made Narbonne and Carcassonne cold, the few trains from Nîmes were unseasonable, my wife declared she had so many cathedrals mixed up in her head that she could not endure another, and so, leaving Narbonne in early morning, we reached Cette ten minutes after the express train for Paris had left, and we came on in omnibus train in unbroken journey, through Montpellier, Nîmes, and Avignon (which we had visited, in former years), and via Lyons to Paris. And here we are.

Two months of play, delicious play, are up: we landed two months ago to-morrow. We have had our share, and I have now an appetite for work. I can be usefully busy in Paris for a fortnight, hardly longer. Then what? Much depends on what you can see your way to. The traditional “three courses” seem to be before us, each with its advantages and disadvantages; and we are so balanced that we shall be likely to incline as you push the scale....

Course 3. Bear the English winter, if we can’t avoid it, on the principle that “what can’t be cured must be endured.” And with your good fires and snugness it is not so bad. Secure our lodgings, and we will come over to you about the first of the coming month; and I get a solid piece of work done.

If I can utilize the long evenings nothing can be better. Then in March or early April, when England is apt to be raw and rough, but Italy is smiling, we will rush to meet the spring, and return to England when that, too, is delightful and its days long and sunny. Note also, that even an Italian winter may be chilly and damp, and when it is so, there is no seeing galleries and churches without teeth-chattering and cold-taking, and it is not easy to get warm lodgings and decent fires. This course 3 would suit me best of all; for then we, lingering longer than you might be able to take time for, should return to England via Vienna and Berlin, which Mrs. Gray has never seen, and in the latter I have Willdenow’s herbarium to potter over.

Now, my dear old friend, perpend my words (if you can read them; I write on an awkward bit of table), and then have your say.

Hôtel St. Romain, November 21, 1880.

The correspondence of late has naturally been conducted by our respective better halves. I have at length (after giving Cosson two or three days to name up his American and Mexican plants) got fairly at work at the Jardin des Plantes, and have found (mainly in the herbarium Jussieu) the originals of several of Lamarck’s asters, which gives me happiness. They take every pains to accommodate and assist one at the herbarium. I see old Decaisne at his house; he is not strong.

I think we shall need two weeks more here, and we hope for better weather than we have yet had. Colds one always takes at Paris, and Mrs. Gray now has her share. It took a long while to be clear of the one presented to me on our arrival here in October. But in the south of Spain my throat was as clear as a whistle. We are not bad just now, and are hopeful.