University of Virginia Library

11. XI.

I have endeavoured to give you, in my hastily
written letters, some notion of this city—its streets,
buildings, inhabitants and various novelties, as they
first struck my eye; and I apprehend that I have
expanded my descriptions, by minuteness of detail,
to a greater length than was necessary or desirable.
But the scenes, individuals, and circumstances I

meet with in my erranting expeditions through the
city, are such as would attract, from their novelty,
the attention of a traveller from the North, and,
consequently, a description of them is neither unworthy
a place in his letters, nor too inconsiderable
to detain the attention of an inquisitive northern
reader, vegetating “at home.”

On entering, from the dimly lighted lobby, the
spacious and brilliant hall, illuminated with glittering
chandeliers, where the beauty, and fashion, and
gallantry of this merry city were assembled, I was
struck with the spirit, life, and splendour of the
scene. From alcoves on every side of the vast
hall, raised a few steps from the floor, and separated
from the area for dancing by an estrade of
slender columns which formed a broad promenade
quite around the room, bright eyes were glancing
over the lively scene, rivalling in brilliancy the
glittering gems that sparkled on brow and bosom.

There were at least five hundred persons in the
hall, two-thirds of whom were spectators. On
double rows of settees arranged around the room,
and bordering the area, were about one hundred
ladies, exclusive of half as many, seated in the
alcoves. In addition to an almost impenetrable
body of gentlemen standing in the vicinity of the
grand entrance, the promenade above alluded to
was filled with them, as they lounged along, gazing
and remarking upon the beautiful faces of the
dark-eyed Creoles,[3] as their expressive and lovely

features were lighted up and instinct with the animation
of the moment; while others, more enviable,
were clustered around the alcoves—most of which
were literally and truly “bowers of beauty,”—gayly
conversing with their fair occupants, as they gracefully
leaned over the balustrade. There were
several cotillions upon the floor, and the dancers
were young masters and misses—I beg their pardon—young
gentlemen and ladies, from four years
old and upward—who were bounding away to the
lively music, as completely happy as innocence
and enjoyment could make them. I never beheld
a more pleasing sight. The carriage of the infantile
gentlemen was graceful and easy: and they
wound through the mazes of the dance with an air
of manliness and elegance truly French. But the
tiny demoiselles moved with the lightness and
grace of fairies. Their diminutive feet, as they
glided through the figure, scarcely touched the
floor, and as they sprang flying away to the livelier
measures of the band, they were scarcely visible,
fluttering indistinctly like humming birds' wings.
They were dressed with great taste in white frocks,
but their hair was so arranged as completely to
disfigure their heads. Some of them, not more
than eight years of age, had it dressed in the extreme
Parisian fashion; and the little martyrs'
natural deficiency of long hair was amply remedied
by that sovereign mender of the defects of nature,
Monsieur le friseur. The young gentlemen were
dressed also in the French mode; that is, in elaborately
embroidered coatees, and richly wrought
frills. Their hair, however, was suffered to grow
long, and fall in graceful waves or ringlets (French
children always have beautiful hair) upon their
shoulders; very much as boys are represented in
old fashioned prints. This is certainly more becoming
than the uncouth round-head custom now
prevalent in the United States, of clipping the hair
short, as though boys, like sheep, needed a periodical
sheering; and it cannot be denied that they
both—sheep and boys—are equally improved in
appearance by the operation.

Turning from the bright and happy faces of the
children, we met on every side the delighted looks
of their parents and guardians, or elder brothers
and sisters, who formed a large portion of the
spectators.

As I promenaded arm in arm with Monsieur D.
through the room, I noticed that at one end of the
hall many of the young misses (or their guardians)
were so unpardonably unfashionable as to suffer
their hair to float free in wild luxuriance over their
necks, waving and undulating at every motion like
clouds; and many of the cheerful joyous faces I
gazed upon, forcibly reminded me of those which
are to be met with, trudging to and from school,
every day at home.

“These are the American children,” observed
my companion; “one half of the hall is appropriated
to them, the other to the French.” “What!”
I exclaimed, “is there such a spirit of rivalry,
jealousy, or prejudice, existing between the French
and American residents here, that they cannot meet
even in a ball-room without resorting to so singular
a method of expressing their uncongeniality of
feeling, as that of separating themselves from each
other by a line of demarcation?”

“By no means,” he replied; “far from it. There
is, I believe, a universal unanimity of feeling among
the parties. There is now no other distinction,
whatever may have existed in former days, either
known or admitted, than the irremediable one of
language. This distinction necessarily exists, and I
am of opinion ever will exist in this city in a greater

or less degree. It is this which occasions the separation
you behold; for, from their ignorance of
each other's language,—an ignorance too prevalent
here, and both inexcusable and remarkable, when
we consider the advantages mutually enjoyed for
their acquisition,—were they indiscriminately mingled,
the result would be a confusion like that of
Babel, or a constrained stiffness and reserve, the
natural consequence of mutual inability to converse,
—instead of that regularity and cheerful harmony
which now reign throughout the crowded hall.”

During our promenade through the room I had
an opportunity of taking my first survey of the
gay world of this city, and of viewing at my leisure
the dark-eyed fascinating Creoles, whose peculiar
cast of beauty and superb figures are everywhere
celebrated. Of the large assembly of ladies
present,—and there were nearly two hundred,
“maid, wife, and widow,”—there were many very
pretty, if coal-black hair, regular features, pale,
clear complexions, intelligent faces, lighted up by

and graceful figures, all of which are characteristic
of the Creole, come under this definition.
There were others who would be called “handsome”
anywhere, except in the Green Mountains,
where a pretty face and a red apple, a homely face
and a lily, are pretty much synonymous terms.
A few were eminently beautiful; but there was
one figure, which, as my eye wandered over the
brilliant assembly, fixed it in a moment. I soon
learned that she was the most celebrated belle of
New-Orleans.

I have certainly beheld far more beauty among
the same number of ladies in a northern ball-room,
than I discovered here. Almost every young lady
in New-England appears pretty, with her rosy
cheeks, intelligent face, and social manners. The
style of beauty at the south is of a more passive
kind, and excitement is requisite to make it speak
to the eye; but when the possessor is animated,
then the whole face, which but a few moments before
was passionless and quiet, becomes radiant and
illuminated with fire and intelligence; and the indolent
repose of the features becomes broken by
fascinating smiles, and brilliant flashes from fine
dark eyes. Till this change is produced, the faec
of the southern lady appears plain and unattractive;
and the promenader through a New-Orleans assembly-room,
where there was no excitement, if such
could be the case, would pronounce the majority of
the ladies decidedly wanting in beauty; but let him
approach and enter into conversation with one of
them, and he would be delighted and surprised at
the magical transformation,

It is certain, that beauty of features and form is
more general in New-England; though in grace
and expression, the south has the superiority.

The difference is usually attributed to climate;
but this never has been demonstrated, and the cause

is still inexplicable. You are probably aware that
the human form, more particularly the female, is
here matured three or four years sooner than at the
north. At the age of thirteen or fourteen, before
their minds are properly developed, their habits
formed, or their passions modified, the features of
young girls become regular, their complexions delicate,
and their figures attain that tournure and womanly
grace, though “beautifully less” in their persons,
found only in northern ladies, at the age of
seventeen or eighteen. The beauty of the latter,
though longer in coming to maturity, and less perfect,
is more permanent and interesting than the
infantile and bewitching loveliness of the former.
In consequence of this early approach to womanhood,
the duration of their personal loveliness is of
proportional limitation. Being young ladies at an
age that would entitle them to the appellation of children
in colder climates, they must naturally retire
much sooner than these from the ranks of beauty.
So when northern ladies are reigning in the full
pride and loveliness of their sex—every feature expanding
into grace and expression—southern ladies,
of equal age, are changing their premature beauty
for the faded hues of premature old age.

The joyous troops of youthful dancers, before ten
o'clock arrived, surrendered the floor to the gentlemen
and ladies, who, till now, had been merely spectators
of the scene, and being resigned into the
hands of their nurses and servants in waiting, were
carried home, while the assembly-room, now converted
into a regular ball-room, rang till long past

the “noon of night” with the enlivening music,
confusion, and revelry of a complete and crowded
rout. Introductions for a partner in the dance
were not the “order of the day,” or rather of the
night. A gentleman had only to single out some
lady among the brilliant assemblage, and though a
total stranger, solicit the honour of dancing with
her. Such self-introductions are of course merely
pro tem., and, like fashionable intimacies formed at
Saratoga, never after recognised. Still, to a stranger,
such absence of all formality is peculiarly pleasant,
and, though every face may be new to him,
he has the grateful satisfaction of knowing that he
can make himself perfectly at home, and form innumerable
delightful acquaintances for the evening,
provided he chooses to be sociable, and make the
most of the enjoyments around him. We left the
hall at an early hour on our return to the hotel.

Crowds of mulatto, French and English hack-drivers
were besieging the door, shouting in bad
French, worse Spanish, and broken English—

“Coachee, massas! jontilhomme ridee!” “Caballeros,
voulez vous tomer mé carriage?” “Wooly
woo querie to ride sir?” “Fiacre Messieurs!” “By
St. Patrick jintilmen—honie, mounseers, woulee
voo my asy riding coach?”—et cetera, mingled with
execrations, heavy blows, exchanged in the way of
friendship, laughter, yells and Indian whoops, composing
a “concord of sweet sounds” to be fully appreciated
only by those who have heard similar
concerts. We, however, effected our escape from
these pupils of Jehu, who, ignorant of our country,

in a city where all the nations of the earth are represented,
wisely addressed us in a Babelic medley
of languages, till we were out of hearing.

Returning, as we came through Rues Royale and
St. Pierre, past the quarter of the “gens d'armes,”
we entered Chartres-street, which was now nearly
deserted. Proceeding through this dark, narrow
street on our way home, meeting now and then an
individual pursuing his hasty and solitary way along
the echoing pavé, we arrived at the new Exchange
alluded to in my first letter, which served the double
purpose of gentlemen's public assembly-room
and café. As we entered from the dimly lighted
street, attracted by the lively crowd dispersed
throughout the spacious room, our eyes were dazzled
by the noon-day brightness shed from innumerable
chandeliers. Having lounged through the
room, filled with smokers, newspaper-readers, promenaders,
drinkers, &c. &c., till we were stunned
by the noise of the multitude, who were talking in
an endless variety of languages, clattering upon the
ear at once, and making “confusion worse confounded,”
my polite friend suggested that we should ascend
to “the rooms,” as they are termed. As I
wished to see every thing in New-Orleans interesting
or novel to a northerner, I readily embraced the
opportunity of an introduction into the penetralium
of one of the far-famed temples which the goddess
of fortune has erected in this, her favourite city.
We ascended a broad flight of steps, one side of
which exhibited many lofty double doors, thrown
wide open, discovering to our view an extensive

hall, in which stood several billiard tables, surrounded
by their “mace and cue” devotees.

But as my letter is now of rather an uncharitable
length, I will defer till my next, farther description
of the deeds and mysteries and unhallowed sacrifices
connected with these altars of dissipation.