Audubon the Naturalist: A History of His Life and Time. Vol. 2 (of 2)

The Story

The narrative picks up as the renowned naturalist finds himself at a precarious crossroads, having achieved international acclaim while navigating the near-constant threat of financial ruin. Following an obituary erroneously published in London, he arrives in New York, determined to press forward with his monumental Birds of America. He forms a vital alliance with the clergyman and naturalist John Bachman in Charleston, whose support becomes a cornerstone for both his scientific work and his domestic peace. The story follows the artist as he organizes expeditions into the mud and marshes of East Florida, often struggling against the inhospitable terrain and the skepticism of local planters regarding the future of the region. Despite the "stiffness" of his limbs and the "vilest thickets" of scrub-palmetto, he persists, documenting the land’s natural history with a relentless, driving curiosity.

As the scope of his work expands, the narrative tracks his northern explorations. He journeys to Boston and the rugged coast of Labrador, where his team faces heavy expenses and the physical toll of constant travel. Despite the "disappointing" nature of some of the Labrador findings, he returns with dozens of new drawings and bird skins, bolstered by the thrill of discovering rare warblers. He manages his life like a military campaign, constantly balancing his creative output with the need to solicit support from government officials and wealthy patrons. He faces legal suits for old debts and remains embroiled in long-running scientific disputes—most notably a biting, public conflict with Charles Waterton over the anatomy of the rattlesnake—which highlights his combative commitment to his own observations.

By the mid-1830s, the focus shifts to the final push to complete his publication in London. He takes a house in Wimpole Street, surrounding himself with family and friends like the surgeon Benjamin Phillips, who provides medical care for his ailing wife. Yet, the work is never static. He constantly plans for new forays into the American West, hoping to reach the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific, driven by a desire to render his work as "complete as possible." His sons, Victor and John, take on increasingly central roles as agents and assistants, helping to manage the immense burden of engraving and distributing the massive folios.

The later years see a transition from the nomadic life of the explorer to the settled, if no less busy, existence at "Minnie’s Land," a riverfront estate on the Hudson. Here, he turns his attention toward his final project: The Quadrupeds of North America. Even as he approaches the end of his life, he is haunted by the volatility of fortune. A major fire in New York destroys the warehouse containing many of his original copperplates, a blow that threatens to erase years of labor. Yet, he continues, supported by his family, though the financial strain of his projects persists. The final chapters trace the quiet, somber fading of his strength and the eventual survival of his legacy through his widow, Lucy, who lives into her eighties, still managing the remnants of his estate and the lingering, often painful, memories of their life of constant, ambitious motion.

The People

• John James Audubon: The central figure, characterized by a restless, eagle-like intensity. He is a man who treats the wilderness as his primary home, willing to wade through endless swamps to catch a glimpse of a rare bird. He is deeply devoted to his life’s work, often prioritizing the completion of his scientific volumes over his own financial stability.
• Lucy Audubon: The naturalist’s wife and the moral and practical anchor of his life. She endures long separations and the erratic nature of her husband’s career with stoicism. In her later years, she becomes the guardian of his memory, reflecting on their shared sacrifices and the difficulties of a life lived largely in the shadow of his immense, consuming projects.
• John Bachman: A Charleston clergyman who serves as a vital collaborator and friend. He provides not only scientific expertise and local knowledge but also the emotional support and social connections that help the naturalist navigate the complexities of his later career.
• Victor and John Audubon: The naturalist's sons, who evolve from assistants into essential business partners. They manage the logistics of distribution and the pressures of the family’s finances, allowing their father to focus on the art and science that define his identity.
• Edward Harris: A steadfast friend and supporter whose backing facilitates several expeditions. He is a constant presence in the naturalist’s correspondence, representing the network of patronage and friendship that sustains the long-term production of the folios.

In Its Own Voice

While reflecting on the extreme physical challenges of his expedition into the Florida interior, the naturalist captures the grueling reality of his work:

"All hands returned alive; refreshments and good care have made us all well again, unless it be the stiffness occasioned in my left leg, by nearly six weeks of daily wading through swamps and salt marshes, or scrambling through the vilest thickets of scrubly live oaks and palmitoes that appear to have been created for no other purpose but to punish us for our sins."

In a letter to the naturalist William Swainson, the author reveals the personal nature of his dedication to his work and his hope for a future of peace:

"My inserting your name was not a matter merely of duty but of great pleasure and believe when I say that I never will be ungrateful to anyone who has been kind to me."

Reflecting on the inevitable end of his career and his desire for completeness, he notes the drive that pushed him to continue even when subscribers began to falter:

"What! said I, shall the last volume of the 'Birds of America' be now closed, at a time when new species are in my hands? No!"

What It's Really About

The text is fundamentally an exploration of the cost of genius and the fragile intersection between scientific ambition and commercial reality. It argues, through the slow, methodical accumulation of details, that the production of The Birds of America was as much a triumph of sheer, stubborn endurance as it was of artistic talent. The book meticulously dismantles the romantic image of the solitary "naturalist" by showing that the creation of such a work required a complex, often fragile web of assistants, financiers, and family members. It examines the "thorns on the rose" of such a career: the physical toll of the wilderness, the bitter rivalry of intellectual combat, and the ever-present danger of bankruptcy.

A deeper, more melancholic theme emerges regarding the tension between the transient nature of human life and the desire for permanence. The naturalist spends his life documenting the natural world—the "winged things"—that, like his own career, are subject to the caprices of fate. The recurring motif of the fire that consumes the copperplates serves as a powerful metaphor for the precariousness of his legacy. He and his family act as stewards of a history that is constantly threatened by accident, debt, and death.

Furthermore, the book offers a critique of the period’s scientific culture, where personal reputation and petty squabbles often clouded the pursuit of truth. The controversy over the "climbing rattlesnake" is not merely an anecdote; it serves as a case study in how scientific authority was contested in the 19th century, where observation was often pitted against accepted dogma. The author does not shy away from the contradictions of his subject, noting that while the naturalist could be visionary and generous, he was also capable of being fiercely protective of his own discoveries, even to the point of vanity. Ultimately, the work asks what it means to dedicate one’s life to capturing the essence of the natural world, only to find that the world itself—and the records we make of it—are inherently mortal, requiring constant effort to maintain against the encroaching silence of history.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of science, the rigors of 19th-century exploration, or the intimate biography of a man driven by a singular, consuming passion will find much to admire here. The narrative provides an unvarnished look at the realities of the period, from the difficult, often archaic language and spelling of the original documents to the stark, sometimes jarring attitudes toward the environment and the economic structures of the time. It is a slow, deeply detailed reading experience—not one to be rushed—that rewards the reader with a profound sense of the weight of the naturalist’s task.

What stays with you is the humanity of the portrait. This is not the mythic, idealized figure of the explorer, but a man who suffered from "stiffness" in his legs, who worried about his wife’s health in a boarding house, and who faced the "smoldering piles" of his ruined work with a gaze as cold and steady as an eagle’s. The prose is warm and precise, lacking the frantic energy of modern biographies, and it forces you to slow down and consider the sheer magnitude of the labor involved.

You will encounter the difficulties of the text—the long lists of citations, the periodic inclusion of dense financial agreements, and the sometimes repetitive nature of the correspondence—but these are precisely what anchor the book in reality. They serve as a testament to the fact that this life was built not just on inspiration, but on thousands of small, exhausting, and necessary acts of business, travel, and negotiation. It is a book that demands patience, but it returns that investment by offering a window into a life that was lived in total service to a vision. You come away from it with a renewed appreciation for the fragility of what we leave behind and a deep, empathetic understanding of the cost of an extraordinary life.