Philarète-Chasles, a well known French critic of the period, has left the following record[330] of the effect which this exhibition made on his impressionable mind:
We have admired in the rooms of the Royal Society of Edinburgh the public exhibition of [Audubon's] original watercolor drawings. A magic power transported us into the forests which for so many years this man of genius has trod. Learned and ignorant alike were astonished at the spectacle, which we will not attempt to reproduce.
Imagine a landscape wholly American, trees, flowers, grass, even the tints of the sky and the waters, quickened with a life that is real, peculiar, trans-Atlantic. On twigs, branches, bits of shore, copied by the brush with the strictest fidelity, sport the feathered races of the New World, in the size of life, each in its particular attitude, its individuality and peculiarities. Their plumages sparkle with nature's own tints; you see them in motion or at rest, in their plays and their combats, in their anger fits and their caresses, singing, running, asleep, just awakened, beating the air, skimming the waves, or rending one another in their battles. It is a real and palpable vision of the New World, with its atmosphere, its imposing vegetation, and its tribes which know not the yoke of man. The sun shines athwart the clearing in the woods; the swan floats suspended between a cloudless sky and a glittering wave; strange and majestic figures keep pace with the sun, which gleams from the mica sown broadcast on the shores of the Atlantic; and this realization of an entire hemisphere, this picture of a nature so lusty and strong, is due to the brush of a single man; such an unheard of triumph of patience and genius!—the resultant rather of a thousand triumphs won in the face of innumerable obstacles!"
Another French writer[331] remarked that Audubon produced the same sensation among the savants of England that Franklin had made at the close of the eighteenth century among the politicians of the Old World; his works, he added, should be translated into his native tongue, and produced in a form which would enable them to reach the library of every naturalist in France.
One after another the scientific, literary, and arts societies of the modern Athens elected Audubon to honorary membership; Combe, the phrenologist and author of The Constitution of Man, examined the naturalist's head and modeled it in plaster, for of course it proved to be a perfect exemplification of his system; Syme, the artist, did his portrait for Lizars to engrave. Meanwhile the press was giving such flattering accounts of the man and his work that Audubon confessed that he was quite ashamed to walk the street. At the annual banquet of the Royal Institution, held at the Waterloo Hotel and presided over by Lord Elgin, Audubon was toasted, and it required all his resolution to rise and, for the first time in his life, address a large assembly; this, however, he managed to do in the following words: "Gentlemen; my command of words in which to reply to your kindness is almost as limited as that of the birds hanging on the walls of your Institution. I am truly obliged for your favors. Permit me to say; may God bless you all, and may this society prosper." On the 10th of December he wrote: "My situation in Edinburgh borders on the miraculous," and he felt that his reception in that city was a good augury for the future. But the life that he was compelled to lead was extremely fatiguing, and he often longed to return to his family and to his favorite magnolia woods in Louisiana. "I go to dine," he wrote, "at six, seven, or even eight o'clock in the evening, and it is often one or two when the party breaks up; then painting all day, with my correspondence, which increases daily, makes my head feel like an immense hornet's nest, and my body wearied beyond all calculation; yet it has to be done; those who have my best interests at heart tell me I must not refuse a single invitation." But notwithstanding the tax which society always levies upon the lion's strength, he wrote almost daily in his journal or diary,[332] and its pages, from which we have been quoting, became a mirror of all that he saw, heard, or did. Audubon was generous with his time, as with everything else, and would never hesitate to lay aside his own work for the sake of a friend who was eager to acquire his method of drawing. But when his entertainment commenced with an invitation to breakfast, he began to be alarmed at the large share of his working hours which had to be surrendered to his friends. "I seem, in a measure," he said, "to have gone back to my early days of society and fine dressing, silk stockings and pumps, and all the finery with which I made a popinjay of myself in my youth.... It is Mr. Audubon here, and Mr. Audubon there, and I can only hope they will not make a conceited fool of Mr. Audubon at last."
In response to urgent appeals he began at this time to contribute to the scientific journals of the Scottish capital, a step which only served to remind him that the rose was more prolific in thorns than flowers. Dr. Brewster, however, in his Journal of Science, and John Wilson in Blackwoods, sang pæans in his praise, and there is no doubt that "Christopher North," so like and yet so unlike the American woodsman, did much to smooth his path in his own country as well as in Europe. Though keenly feeling the need of literary advice in those early contributions, Audubon was quite shocked at the alterations which Dr. Brewster had made in one of these articles, for though the editor had "greatly improved the style," he had quite "destroyed the matter."
On December 21, 1826, Audubon wrote to Thomas Sully that he would send him a copy of the first number of his Birds, with the request that he forward it in his name "to that Institution which thought me unworthy to be a member.... There is no malice in my heart," he continued, "and I wish no return or acknowledgment from them. I am now determined never to be a member of that Philadelphia Society." Let it be noted, however, that Audubon was elected to membership in the American Philosophical Society, when their recognition could no longer be withheld and when mutual animosities had died down. Three days later he recorded that all of his drawings had been taken from the walls of the Royal Institution, where they had been on exhibition a month, and that he was intending to present to the Society his large canvas of the Wild Turkeys, for which Galley, the picture dealer, had offered him a hundred guineas on the previous day.[333]
Among Audubon's early patrons were Lord and Lady Morton, and more than once he was invited to visit them in their beautiful country seat of "Dalmahoy," where a large, square, half-Gothic building, crowned with turrets and adorned with all the signs of heraldry, overlooked a beautiful landscape to Edinburgh, marked by its famous castle, seen in miniature on the horizon, eight miles away. Being somewhat apprehensive of meeting the former Chamberlain to the late Queen Charlotte, Audubon had imagined the Earl to be "a man of great physical strength and size"; instead, however, he saw
a small, slender man, tottering on his feet, weaker than a newly hatched partridge; he welcomed me with tears in his eyes, held one of my hands, and attempted speaking, which was difficult to him, the Countess meanwhile rubbing his other hand. I saw at a glance the situation, and begged he would be seated ... and I took a seat on a sofa that I thought would swallow me up, so much down swelled around me. It was a vast room, at least sixty feet long, and wide in proportion, let me say thirty feet, all hung with immense paintings on a rich purple ground; all was purple about me. The large tables were covered with books, instruments, drawing apparatus, a telescope, with hundreds of ornaments.
After luncheon Audubon's "Book of Nature" was produced, and his drawings spread out and admired. Next day the Countess, who was "a woman of superior intellect and conversation," was given "a most unnecessary lesson" in drawing, for, said the naturalist, "she drew much better than I did; but I taught her to rub with cork, and prepare for water-color." Before he left the Countess wrote her name in his subscription book, and arranged that he should return and resume his instruction.