My wife joins in love to yours and you; will be likely to write when she can.
From Geneva the old journey of 1850 was nearly repeated, and Dr. Gray came down the Rhine, by rail this time, to Brussels, Amsterdam, the Hague, back to Antwerp and Brussels, and so to Paris. Besides meeting old friends, the object of the journey, he said, was to have one more good look at picture-galleries and churches and cathedrals; and great was his enjoyment of them, unwearied his wanderings about the places where he stopped. The new galleries at Amsterdam and Brussels, and their superb collections, delighted him, and the grand music of the cathedrals and their noble interiors seemed a new source of pleasure.
He missed his old friends in Paris; Decaisne was gone, and Lavallée, etc. He went to a meeting at the Institute, and saw Chevreuil, who had passed his hundredth birthday, but spoke a few words with life and animation. There were some excursions in the neighborhood, and some work in the herbarium, where he received every kind attention.
TO ——,
Paris, June, 1887.
... The views on the garden and park side of the Palace of Fontainebleau, and over the carp pond, which came up to the walls, were very pretty; partly clipped and trimmed trees made into green walls, partly more English.
... At half past one, in an open light carriage with a canopy overhead, keeping off the hot sun, and letting through the fresh air, we were off for our two hours’ drive through the famous forest. The main avenues, long and straight, and formal; but the forest was voted very handsome. A change came when we reached the ruin of the hermitage of Franchard, and the extensive region of rocks and dells. We were taken through by an old guide, who, with much pride, paraded the little and queer English he had picked up, and showed off all the sights, the most important to him being those in which bits of rock could be likened to a lion’s head, a beef’s tongue, a turtle, and the like. First and foremost, in a sort of over-arched grotto, was “La roche qui pleure,” a great disappointment! A sort of crack or joint between two layers of the rock exuded a little moisture in one spot; voilà tout. We shed about as many tears in our laughter at the sight; more indeed, for we could see not a drop. I dare say at some seasons there may be a little drip. But the dells among the rocks were fine, and the stories of the boar hunts, and all that, by the kings and queens and courtiers, could be made fairly real on the spot, and the famous points of view, one of Maria Theresa, one of Eugénie, were effective. A drive back by another route took us through some older forest; occasionally a really old tree, and one truly old and large linden. There may be parts in which there are trees as large and venerable as in old English parks, but we saw only this one old tree. The forest is very large, and we had to be content with this one drive. We might have had one hour more of it, for we had all that to wait for our train back to Paris, very pleasant as it cooled at evening.
June 9, I at work at Jardin des Plantes, but back at noon, and at half past twelve we drive across Paris to the Gare de Sceaux and out to Vilmorin’s. At Massy, where we leave the railway, Henry de Vilmorin awaited us, with his nice carriage, and took us to the charming place at Verrières, so full to us of recollections. It is prettier than ever, the house enlarged and so full of very nice things. V. and I were most of the time in the grounds, looking at plants, back to afternoon tea and cake, which we much enjoyed, being hungry, and to accommodate us they put forward the dinner hour to six. Besides the children and English governess, we had at dinner a very interesting abbé, with a charming, intellectual face, and a manner to match—a Monsignor; for he takes that title as a member of the Pope’s household or personal staff. He had passed a portion of his life at Moscow, as the curé of a French Catholic church there, had seen a good deal of the Roman Catholic bishop of Chicago and other American brothers; was a good deal interested in America, and after the ice was broken and he found he could understand J.’s French, and even mine, which amused as well as instructed him, we had much chat. We had to break off. Vilmorin drove us back a few miles to Fontenay-la-Rose, to take a particular train, and so we were at our quarters in Rue St. Roche before dark. That need not mean very early, for the days here are wonderfully protracted.
He crossed to England June 14, passed a day or two in London, and then went to the Camp, quite glorious with the rhododendrons in blossom; and with Sir Joseph and Lady Hooker, on the 18th, went to Cambridge, where they were the guests of Mrs. Darwin. A delightful Sunday was spent in meeting old friends, and on Monday were all the ceremonies, new and strange, of conferring of degrees. The great sensation of the day was the presence of the Lord Mayor with all his train; he also was to have a degree.... No one can surpass Dr. Sandys in the felicity with which he presents the distinguished men whom Cambridge University honors with its highest degrees. In his presentation of Dr. Gray, he said (we translate from the exquisite Latin):
“And now we are glad to come to the Harvard professor of Natural History, facile princeps of transatlantic botanists. Within the period of fifty years, how many books has he written about his fairest science; how rich in learning, how admirable in style! How many times has he crossed the ocean that he might more carefully study European herbaria, and better know the leading men in his own department! In examining, reviewing and sometimes gracefully correcting the labors of others, what a shrewd, honest and urbane critic has he proved himself to be! How cheerfully, many years ago, among his own western countrymen was he the first of all to greet the rising sun of our own Darwin, believing his theory of the origin of various forms of life demanded some First Cause, and was in harmony with a faith in a Deity who has created and governs all things! God grant that it may be allowed such a man at length to carry to a happy completion that great work, which he long ago began, of more accurately describing the flora of North America! Meanwhile, this man who has so long adorned his fair science by his labors and his life, even unto a hoary age, ‘bearing,’ as our poet says, ‘the white blossom of a blameless life,’ him, I say, we gladly crown, at least with these flowerets of praise, with this corolla of honor (his saltem laudis flosculis, hac saltem honoris corolla, libenter coronamus). For many, many years may Asa Gray, the venerable priest of Flora, render more illustrious this academic crown.”