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A New Audubon Biography Reveals Not Only Its Subject, But Our Evolution In Conservationist Ethics.
By Gregory McNamee
Audubon: Life and Art in the American Wilderness, by
Shirley Streshinsky (University of Georgia Press). Paper, $17.95.
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON is better known today for the conservation
society that
bears his name than for his singular contributions to American
science. Even when he is remembered, it's as something of a backwoods
nobleman rather than, in many of his ventures, as a nearly destitute
failure who somehow managed to beat the odds and survive--and
even prosper--in the New World.
In her account of the much-documented artist, historian and novelist
Shirley Streshinsky aims to layer blood and flesh on a man wrapped
in romantic mystery--much of it supplied by Audubon himself. She
is particularly successful in gathering some of the lesser-known
facts about the young Audubon, the well-traveled but somewhat
wild son of a French career naval officer who found his calling
in the pages of the scientist George Louis Leclerc's Natural
History, and in life studies by the painter Jean-Baptiste
Oudry. Until his 11th year, John James--or, rather, Jean Rabin,
the name under which his birth was recorded--had the freedom of
the woods and fields, until his father, sensing that the boy needed
discipline, impressed him into service as a cabin boy.
The younger Audubon had little talent for the military, and he
failed the entrance exam for admission to the regular navy. His
obliging father, who must have been a rarity, allowed him to return
to a state of nature, so to speak, until he reached the age of
17, whereupon Jean Rabin was sent to America to attend to the
elder Audubon's business interests. His departure was made all
the more hasty by Napoleon's rise to power and the new imperial
army's need for conscripts to make the long trek to Moscow, and
he soon found himself not far from New York City, managing a lead
mine--a job he did badly, to the point of ruining his father's
company.
That would be the first time John James, as he now called himself,
failed financially in the New World. It would not be the last.
His naiveté was matched by an unscrupulous business partner,
and in any event the young man gave his waking hours only to wandering
abroad with gun and easel, shooting and then painting the great
American aviary that lay before him.
When the United States declared war on Great Britain in 1812,
the newly wed Audubon traveled to Philadelphia to swear allegiance
to his new country, then quit the seaboard on the other side of
the Appalachians, founding a trading post and small farm with
a new wife. Audubon enjoyed married life, Streshinsky writes,
but he yearned to head for the deeper woods. Streshinsky does
not make quite enough of his strange wanderlust, which seems unusually
pronounced even for so footloose a society as the one in which
he lived.
In early middle age, John James elected to divide his time between
a townhouse in New Orleans--where he could paint likenesses of
society ladies and tutor youngsters in art and French--and the
bayous of the Mississippi delta. The arrangement seems to have
worked well enough, for although the Audubons were in constant
danger of pennilessness, he was still able somehow to complete
the work for and see to the publication of his monumental Birds
of America. Just how much time he was now spending in the
field is anyone's guess, although his famous study of a mockingbird
imperiled by a tree-climbing rattlesnake suggests that he was
not above inventing incidents.
Birds of America, Streshinsky writes, brought Audubon
European fame, and he sailed off to England to enjoy it. He must
have been quite a sight: a tall, long-haired, angular man dressed
in buckskins and moccasins on High Street, could not help but
excite attention. He might have been forgiven for falling into
indolence--yet another frontier celebrity--but Audubon soon grew
impatient with the company of fellow hunters like Sir Walter Scott
and returned to America, noting to himself, "I must put myself
in a train of doing...and thereby keep the machine in motion."
For the rest of his days (he lived to the age of 68), John James
Audubon worked to revise Birds of America and to complete
its ongoing companion, Ornithological Biography.
In Audubon: Life and Art in the American Wilderness,
a fine and balanced biography now available in paperback, Streshinsky
doesn't shy away from criticizing Audubon--notably for his having
slaughtered thousands of birds to serve as subjects for his palette.
She reminds her readers, however, that it does us little good
to judge past actions by contemporary morals, and that Audubon
came to note the error of his ways when the birds came fewer and
fewer. For all his faults, John James Audubon looms large over
the American frontier. His brilliance as an artist and naturalist
merits him a permanent place in the national memory, and Streshinsky's
book is worthy testimony.
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