The minute history of Audubon's remarkable work, from its conception to its completion, would involve the recital of some of the most exalted and interesting traits of character ever recorded. Audubon has slightly touched upon one or two incidents of discouragement that would, of themselves, have been sufficient to dishearten a less energetic being; but the years of toil and sacrifice he endured, and the ten thousand obstacles he overcame besides those he alluded to, will never be known. The fair ladies who have, in the luxurious library, admired the feathered songsters of our continent, that so gracefully sped their way over the nature-illuminated page—who have seen so cunningly illustrated the domestic life of the house wren and the wild home of the eagle—will not be less interested if they know that to the enlightened assistance of one of their own sex is the world greatly indebted for Audubon's ornithology.
The early history of Audubon seems to be this: He grew up unconscious of his powers, save as they were displayed in a genuine love of nature; arriving at manhood's estate, he married a lady of rare accomplishments and liberal fortune. With a growing family, he desired, through active business, to increase his estate, and in a few years found himself the victim of profitless mercantile speculations, and, pecuniarily, a ruined man. At an age when others think of retiring from the active scenes of life, Audubon started, not only anew, but upon an enterprise of doubtful success, and one that demanded wealth and years of industry to accomplish. Misfortune seemed to awaken the latent fire within him, and his mind suddenly overflowed with spirit-images of the feathered race, and his then comparatively unskilled fingers grasped the pencil to give form and shape to the struggling thought—but alas! the possibility. Where was the patron to cheer the seer upon this dreary pilgrimage? Who would care for his beloved family through the long years of his unfinished venture? Let the answer be found in our imperfect story.
Many years since, we were standing at the door of a country post office, listening, with others, to the reader of the only "latest paper" that had come to hand. He delivered the news, social and political, with a loud voice, and finally, under the head of "items," struck upon something as follows: "The Emperor of Russia, on his recent trip from England homewards, took extreme pleasure in looking over Audubon's great work upon the birds of America, and, as a token of his admiration, sent the author a gold snuff-box studded with diamonds."
"What's that?" inquired an old but plain citizen. "The Emperior Roosia give Audubon a diamond snuff-box studded with gold! Well, that is a good one, and comes up to my understanding of these aristocrats. Why, I knew Audubon for years, and a lazier, good-for-nothing, little bird, double-bar'l shot-gun shooting fellow I never knew;" and, with another broadside at the want of appreciation of character displayed by the Emperor of Russia, and by royal personages generally, our well-meaning friend walked away.
This familiar allusion to Audubon, for the first time, informed me of the fact that, in the vicinity of my own home in Louisiana, had Audubon and his family resided for years; and, as I became better acquainted with his works, I could readily perceive that the rich and undulating lands of the Felicianas, their primitive forests, their magnolia groves, and ever-blooming gardens, suited well the taste and pursuits of the naturalist; for the merry descendants of many of those immortalized beauties that grace his book still, in congregated thousands, fill the air with song and flight.
From few did Audubon attract attention; there was nothing in his seeming wastefulness of time to command respect. The sportsmen with whom he was surrounded seldom "sighted" their weapons on anything less than a lordly buck, and as they saw nothing in Audubon but what appeared before their eyes, they measured their own ambition with no little sarcasm against one who "found game in the chickadee and humming-bird." But Audubon lived in a world of his own; for weeks he slept in the forest, that he might make himself acquainted with the habits of some, but for him unknown, bird. For days, he hung like a spectre upon the margin of the Dismal Swamp, until the flamingo, swan, and wild duck heeded not his familiar presence. Placing a powerful telescope under the broad, spreading tree, he drew the laborious and tiny birds, as they built their nests, within his visual grasp, and counted each stick, and twig, and moss, and hair, until the little fabric was complete. In time, he returned to his charge, and, by the same artificial means, watched and admired the growing family, saw the food that reared the young, admired the tender endearments of the married birds, and recorded the whole with the faithfulness of a Pepys, and with the pastoral sweetness of a Collins or Shenstone.
"I remember, as if it were but yesterday, Audubon's first appearance in New Orleans," said a now widely-distinguished gentleman to me; "and I shall never forget," he continued, "his industry and enthusiasm, his utter devotion to his favorite pursuit. In those days, many Indians brought game to the city to sell, and Audubon soon had these wild sons of the forest in his employ. Every farthing that the most self-sacrificing economy could save went to purchase birds; and it was a picturesque sight to see the then unknown naturalist surrounded by his wild confederates, who, by the gratification of their natural habits, brought him many of the rich-plumaged aquatic birds that first formed subjects of his pencil. At this time, the courtly language of the Tuileries was his familiar tongue; and although, with the heartfelt approbation of the literary world, Audubon has placed himself among the most pleasing and original of the 'prose writers of America,' yet his first written descriptions were in a language foreign to that identical with his fame, and many of these earliest and most happy essays were so complete, that the finished student easily rendered them into our common language, and, without effort, retained that freshness and beauty that have since distinguished the English compositions of Audubon himself."
"In everything," said another of Audubon's most observing friends, "did Audubon follow nature. If he shot a duck, the grasses and the weeds among which it was found formed the accessories of his drawing. If he brought an eagle down from his eyrie, the very deadened limb that last bore the impress of his talons was secured at any sacrifice, and the bird reappeared just as he first attracted the eye of the naturalist. This care extended to the humblest of the feathered tribe; the apple-tree blossom, the thorn, the ripe fruit, the gigantic caterpillar, the variegated spider, the interlaced horse-hair, the soft down, the fragrant woodbine, myrtle, and jasmine, the honeysuckle and sweet pea, and a thousand other hints of rural life crowd in profusion the drawings of his birds, until they appear complete pictures, stories perfectly told."
Audubon, in jotting down his thoughts, has sometimes gone beyond the office of ornithologist, and given us glimpses of life in the backwoods that many have deemed exaggerations. Respectable authorities in other matters have cautioned too ready credence to these strange tales, and denied the truth of them, because not in the circle of his favorite pursuit. Let these skeptics come to Louisiana and visit, as we have done, among those who now remember his habits, and they will admit that Audubon, by his solitary journeys, his long residence in the forests, his keen eyes, and his intense industry, would unfold phases of the great book of creation unrevealed to the less studious mass of mankind.
In the hospitable mansion of W. G. J., in the parish of West Feliciana, if one will look into the parlor, they will see over the piano a cabinet-sized portrait, remarkable for a bright eye and intellectual look. The style of it is free, and there is an individuality about the whole that gives security of a strong likeness. Opposite hangs "a proof impression" of "the bird of Washington," a tribute of a grateful heart to an old friend. The first is a portrait of Audubon, painted by himself; the other is one of the first engravings that ever reached the United States of that immortal series that now make up the great work of the unsurpassed naturalist.