 | XV. The South-west |  |
15. XV.
An old friend—Variety in the styles of building—Love for flowers—The
basin—Congo square—The African bon-ton of New-Orleans—City
canals—Effects of the cholera—Barracks—Guard-houses—The
ancient convent of the Ursulines—The school for
boys—A venerable edifice—Principal—Recitations—Mode of instruction—Primary
department—Infantry tactics—Education in
general in New-Orleans.
A quondam fellow-student, who has been some
months a resident of this city, surprised and gratified
me this morning with a call. With what strong
—more than brotherly affection, we grasp the hand
of an old friend and fellow-toiler in academic groves!
No two men ever meet like old classmates a year
from college!
After exchanging congratulations, he kindly offered
to devote the day to the gratification of my
curiosity, and accompany me to all those places invested
with interest and novelty in the eye of a
stranger, which I had not yet visited.
On my replying in the negative to his inquiry,
“If I had visited the rail-way?” we decided on
making that the first object of our attention. Though
was uncommonly fine, to proceed thither on foot,
that we might, on the way, visit the venerable convent
of the Ursulines, the old Spanish barracks, and
one or two other places of minor interest.
Sallying from our hotel, we crossed to the head
of Chartres-street, and threaded our way among the
busy multitude, who, moving in all directions, on
business or pleasure, thronged its well-paved side-walks.
On both sides of the way, for several squares,
the buildings were chiefly occupied by wholesale
and retail dry goods dealers, who are mostly northerners;
so that a Yankee stranger feels himself
quite at home among them; but before he reaches
the end of the long, narrow street, he might imagine
himself again a stranger, in a city of France. The
variety of the streets, here, is almost as great as the
diversity of character among the people. New-Orleans
seems to have been built by a universal
subscription, to which every European nation has
contributed a street, as it certainly has citizens.
From one, which to a Bostonian looks like an old
acquaintance, you turn suddenly into another that
reminds you of Marseilles. Here a street lined with
long, narrow, grated windows, in dingy, massive
buildings, surrounded by Moorish turrets, urns, grotesque
ornaments of grayish stone and motley arabesque,
would bring back to the exiled Castilian the
memory of his beloved Madrid. In traversing the
next, a Parisian might forget that the broad Atlantic
rolled between him and the boasted city of his nativity.
Here is one that seems to have been transplanted
interesting neighbour reminds one of the quakerlike
plainness of Philadelphia. There are not, it is
true, many which possess decidedly an individual
character; for some of them contain such a heterogeneous
congregation of buildings, that one cannot
but imagine their occupants, in emigrating from
every land under heaven, to have brought their own
houses with them. The most usual style of building
at present, is after the Boston school—if I may
so term the fashion of the plain, solid, handsome
brick and granite edifices, which are in progress
here, as well as in every other city in the union; a
style of architecture which owes its origin to the
substantial good taste of the citizens of the goodly
“city of notions.” The majority of structures in
the old, or French section of New-Orleans, are after
the Spanish and French orders. This style of
building is not only permanent and handsome, but
peculiarly adapted, with its cool, paved courts, lofty
ceilings, and spacious windows, to this sultry climate;
and I regret that it is going rapidly out of
fashion. Dwellings of this construction have, running
through their centre, a broad, high-arched passage,
with huge folding-doors, or gates, leading from
the street to a paved court in the rear, which is
usually surrounded by the sleeping-rooms and offices,
communicating with each other by galleries
running down the whole square. In the centre of
this court usually stands a cistern, and placed around
it, in large vases, are flowers and plants of every
description. In their love for flowers, the Creoles
has now and then, in passing through the streets,
and by the ever-open doors of the Creoles' residences,
of brilliant flowers and luxuriantly blooming
exotics, are delightfully refreshing, and almost sufficient
to tempt one to a “petit larceny.” You may
know the residence of a Creole here, even if he resides
in a Yankee building, by his mosaic-paved
court-yard, filled with vases of flowers.
On arriving at Toulouse-street, which is the fifth
intersecting Chartres-street, we turned into it, and
pursued our way to the basin, in the rear of the city,
which I was anxious to visit. A spectator in this street,
on looking toward either extremity, can discover
shipping. To the east, the dense forest of masts,
bristling on the Mississippi, bounds his view; while,
at the west, his eye falls upon the humbler craft,
which traverse the sluggish waters of Lake Pontchartrain.
This basin will contain about thirty
small vessels. There were lying along the pier,
when we arrived, five or six miserable-looking
sloops and schooners, compared to which, our
“down easters” are packet ships. These ply regularly
between New-Orleans and Mobile, and by
lading and discharging at this point, have given to
this retired part of the city quite a business-like and
sea-port air. The basin communicates with the
lake, four miles distant, by means of a good canal.
A mile below the basin, a rail-way has been lately
constructed from the Mississippi to the lake, and
has already nearly superseded the canal; but of this
more anon.
Leaving the basin, we passed a treeless green,
which, we were informed by a passer-by, was dignified
by the classical appellation of “Congo Square.”
Here, our obliging informant gave us to understand,
the coloured “ladies and gentlemen” are accustomed
to assemble on gala and saints' days, and to
the time of outlandish music, dance, not the “Romaika,”
alas! but the “Fandango;” or, wandering
in pairs, tell their dusky loves, within the dark shadows,
not of jungles or palm groves, but of their own
sable countenances. As the Congoese élite had
not yet left their kitchens, we, of course, had not the
pleasure of seeing them move in the mystic dance,
upon the “dark fantastic toe,” to the dulcet melody
of a Congo banjo.
From the centre of this square, a fine view of the
rear of the Cathedral is obtained, nearly a mile distant,
at the head of Orleans-street, which terminates
opposite the square. In this part of the town the
houses were less compact, most of them of but one
story, with steep projecting roofs, and graced by
parterres; while many of the dwellings were half
embowered with the rich green foliage of the fragrant
orange and lemon trees. At the corner of
rues St. Claude and St. Anne, we passed a very
pretty buff-coloured, stuccoed edifice, retired from
the street, which we were informed was the Masonic
lodge. There are several others, I understand,
in various parts of the city. A little farther,
on rue St. Claude, in a lonely field, is a small plain
building, denominated the College of Orleans, which
has yet obtained no literary celebrity. Opposite to
we turned, in our ramble over the city, and proceeded
toward the river. It may appear odd to you, that
we should ascend to the river; but such is the case
here. You are aware, from the descriptions in one
of my former letters, that the surface of the Mississippi,
at its highest tide, is several feet higher than
the surrounding country; and that it is restrained
from wholly inundating it, only by banks, or levées,
constructed at low stages of the water. No where
is this fact so evident as in New-Orleans. For the
purpose of cleansing the city, water is let in at the
heads of all those streets which terminate upon the
river, by aqueducts constructed through the base of
the Levée, and this artificial torrent rushes from the
river down the gutters, on each side of the streets,
with as much velocity as, in other places, it would
display in seeking to mingle with the stream. Sometimes
the impetus is sufficient to carry the dirty torrents
quite across the city into the swamps beyond.
But when this is not the case, it must remain in the
deep drains and gutters along the side-walks, impregnated
with the quintessence of all the filth encountered
in its Augean progress, exhaling its noisome
effluvia, and poisoning the surrounding atmosphere.
All the streets in the back part of the city are bordered
on either side with a canal of an inky-coloured,
filthy liquid, (water it cannot be termed)
from which arises an odour or incense by no means
acceptable to the olfactory sensibilities. The streets
running parallel with the river, having no inclination
either way, are, as a natural consequence of their
Why New-Orleans is not depopulated to a man,
when once the yellow fever breaks out in it, is a
miracle. From the peculiarity of its location, and
a combination of circumstances, it must always be
more or less unhealthy. But were the police, which
is at present rather of a military than a civil character,
regulated more with a view to promote the comfort
and health of the community, the evil might be
in a great measure remedied, and many hundred
lives annually preserved.
On ascending Ursuline-street, we remarked what
I had previously noticed in several other streets,
upon the doors of unoccupied dwellings, innumerable
placards of “Chambre garnie,” “Maison à louer,”
“Apartement à louer,” &c. On inquiry, I ascertained
that their former occupants had been swept
away by the cholera and yellow fever, which have
but a few weeks ceased their ravages. Four out
of five houses, which we had seen advertised to let,
in different parts of the city, were French, from
which I should judge that the majority of the victims
were Creoles. The effects of the awful reign
of the pestilence over this devoted city, have not
yet disappeared. The terrific spirit has passed by,
but his lingering shadow still casts a funereal gloom
over the theatre of his power. The citizens generally
are apparelled in mourning; and the public
places of amusement have long been closed.
The old Ursuline convent stands between Ursuline
and Hospital streets, and opposite to the barracks,
usually denominated the “Old Spanish Barracks.”
on the south side of Hospital-street. On inquiring
of an old, gray-headed soldier, standing in front of
a kind of guard-house, if the long, massive pile of
brick, which extended from the street more than
two hundred feet to the rear, “were the barracks?”
he replied, with genuine Irish brogue, “Which barracks,
jintlemen?” Ignorant of more than one place
of the kind, we repeated the question with emphasis.
“Why yes, yer 'onours, its thim same they
are, an' bad luck to the likes o' them.” We inquired
“if the regiment was quartered here?” “The rigiment
is it, jintlemen! och, but it's not here at all,
at all; divil a rigiment has been in it (the city meaning)
this many a month. The sogers, what's come
back, is quarthered, ivery mother's son o' them, in
the private hoose of a jintleman jist by.”
“Why did they leave the city?”
“For fear o' the cholery, sure. But there's a rigiment
ixpicted soon, and they'll quarther here, jintlemen;
and we're repeerin' the barracks to contain
thim, till the new ones is ericted; 'cause these is
not the illigant barracks what's goin' to be ericted,
sure.”
Finding our Milesian so communicative, we questioned
him farther, and obtained much interesting
information. From the street, the barracks, which
are now unoccupied, present the appearance of a
huge arcade, formed by a colonnade of massive brick
pillars, running along its whole length. Some portion
of the front was stuccoed, giving a handsome
appearance to that part of the building. The whole
the structure will be a striking ornament to
New-Orleans: probably a rival of the “splendid
new edifice” about to be erected in a lower part of
the city. Though called the “Spanish Barracks,”
I am informed that they were erected by the Duke
of Orleans, when he governed this portion of the
French possessions. Immediately opposite to the
barracks, in the convent yard, are two very ancient
wooden guard-houses, blackened and decayed with
age, about thirty feet in height, looking very much
like armless windmills, or mammoth pigeon-houses.
The convent next invited our notice. It has, till
within a few years, been very celebrated for its
school for young ladies, who were sent here from
all the southern part of the Union, and even from
Europe. A few years since, a new convent was
erected two miles below the city, whither the Ursuline
ladies have removed; and where they still
keep a boarding-school for young ladies, which is
highly and justly celebrated. The old building is
now occupied by the public schools. Desirous of
visiting so fine a specimen of cis-atlantic antiquity,
and at the same time to make some observation of
the system of education pursued in this city, we
proceeded toward the old gateway of the convent,
to apply for admittance.
We might have belaboured the rickety gate till
doomsday, without gaining admittance, had not an
unlucky, or rather, lucky stroke which we decided
should be our last, brought the old wicket rattling
about our ears, enveloping us in clouds of dust, as
At this very alarming contre temps, we had not
time to make up our minds whether to beat a retreat,
or encounter the assault of an ominously
sounding tongue, which thundered “mutterings
dire,” as with anger in her eye, and wonder in
her mien, the owner rushed from a little porter's
lodge, which stood on the right hand within the
gate,
To crack her lugs with such a ponderous clatter.”
We succeeded in appeasing the ire of the offended
janitress, and proceeded across a deserted court
covered with short grass, to the principal entrance
of the convent, which stands about seventy feet
back from the street.
This edifice presents nothing remarkable, except
its size, it being about one hundred feet in front, by
forty deep. Its aspect is venerable, but extremely
plain, the front being entirely destitute of ornament
or architectural taste. It is stuccoed, and apparently
was once white, but it is now gray with rust
and age. It may be called either a French or Spanish
building, for it equally evinces both styles of
architecture; presenting that anomaly, characteristic
of those old structures which give a fine antiquated
air to that part of the city. Massive pilasters with
heavy cornices, tall, deep windows, huge doorways,
and flat roofs, are the distinguishing features of this
style of building. Never more than two, the dwellings
are usually but one very lofty story in height,
of dingy-white, rough hewn marble. In internal
arrangement and decorations, and external appearance,
they differ but little from each other. As we
passed under the old, sunken portal, the confused
muttering of some hundred treble tongues, mingled,
now and then, with a deep bass grumble of authority,
burst upon our ears, and intimated our proximity
to the place where “young ideas are taught
to shoot.” Wishing to gratify our curiosity by
rambling through the convent's deserted halls and
galleries, before we entered the rooms whence the
noise proceeded, we ascended a spacious winding
stairway; but there was nothing to be seen in the
second story, except deserted rooms, and we ascended
yet another staircase to a low room in the
attic, formerly the dormitory of the nunnery. While
on our return to the first floor, a gentleman, M.
Priever, who was, as we afterward ascertained,
principal of the public schools of the city, encountered
us on the stairs, and politely invited us to visit
the different school-rooms within the building. We
first accompanied him to the extremity of a long
gallery, where he ushered us into a pleasant room,
in which a dozen boys were sitting round a table,
translating Latin exercises into French. This class,
he informed us, he had just taken from the primary
school below stairs, to instruct in the elementary
classics. From this gentleman we ascertained that
there were in the city two primary schools, one
within the convent walls, and the other a mile distant,
in the northern faubourg. From these two
into the high, or classic school, kept within
the convent. He observed that he had the supervision
of these three schools—the high, and two
primary—though each had its own particular teacher.
The principals of the two convent schools are
gentlemen distinguished both for urbanity and literary
endowments. In the classical school, pupils
can obtain almost every advantage which a collegiate
course would confer upon them. The
French and Spanish languages form a necessary
part of their education; and but few young men resort
to northern colleges from New-Orleans. It is
the duty of the principal often to visit the primary
schools—select from their most promising pupils,
those qualified to enter the high school—form them
into classes by daily recitations in his own room,
(in which employment he was engaged when we
entered,) and then pass them over to the teacher of
the school they are prepared to enter.
With Mons. P. we visited the classical school,
where fifty or sixty young gentlemen were pursuing
the higher branches of study. The instructer
was a Frenchman, as are all the other teachers.
In this, and the other departments, the greater portion
of the students also are of French descent;
and probably about one-third, in all the schools, are
of American parentage. Mons. P. informed me
that the latter usually acquired, after being in the
school six weeks, or two months, sufficient French
for all colloquial purposes. He observed that the
majority of the scholars, in all the departments,
great fluency. After hearing two or three classes
translate Greek and Latin authors into French, and
one or two embryo mathematicians demonstrate
Euclid, in the same tongue, we proceeded to the
opposite wing of the building, and were ushered
into the rattle, clangor, and confusion of the primary
department. We were politely received by Mons.
Bigot, a Parisian, a fine scholar, and an estimable
man. You have visited infant schools for boys, I
believe; recall to mind the novel and amusing scenes
you there beheld, and you will have an idea of this
primary school. The only difference would be, that
here the pupils are rough, tearing boys, from fifteen
years of age to three. Here, as in the former, they
marched and counter-marched, clapped their hands,
stamped hard upon the floor, and performed various
evolutions for the purpose of circulating the blood,
which by sitting too long is apt to stagnate, and
render them, particularly in this climate, dull and
sleepy. We listened to some of their recitations,
which were in the lowest elementary branches, and
took our leave under infinite obligations to the politeness
and attention of the gentlemanly superintendents.
Besides these, there are private schools for both
sexes. The majority of the young ladies are educated
by the Ursulines at the convent, in the lower
faubourg. Some of the public schools are exclusively
for English, and others exclusively for French
children. Many pupils are also instructed by private
tutors, particularly in the suburbs.
| XV. The South-west | |