Part 4

Perhaps, however, as an exception to this, may be considered the “Old Spanish Cathedral,” or Church of St. Louis. It stands in the centre of the “Crescent” and also of the City, overlooking the “Place d’Armes” or Parade Square. This unique and singular structure forcibly impresses the stranger by its ancient and venerable appearance, and is calculated to excite in the beholder, suspicion, that within its cold and gloomy walls have been perpetrated, dark and damning deeds, on which will dawn no light, until that time shall come when the crimes which have been committed within pent up walls, and in the dark haunts of vice, and under the fall of midnight, shall be spread out upon the long scroll that eternity has been rolling up. But the suspicion, that wrong or an impious act has been done within these consecrated doors, or within view of those sacred altars, would be sacrilege indeed, although it has stood here for more than half a century, and is now bearing upon its floor the footprints of three generations who have daily assembled here, and bowed in humble reverence and adoration before the image of their Savior. Yet could it reveal and unfold the records of the “confessional,” what tales of bleeding penitence--what strange and incomprehensible impulses of the human heart, would here be developed. But all these things are locked in the silent chambers of death, and rest with that venerable old man, Pere Antonio de Sedella, who was Curate of the parish for nearly fifty years. His image will live in the memory of succeeding generations, for the story of his virtues and the overflowings of his warm and generous heart will be told by the happy recipients of his favors, and impressed upon the records of every age. He was gathered to the home of his fathers in 1837, in the fullness of days, at the age of ninety years. His remains were deposited within these sacred walls, and lie buried at the foot of the altar where for half a century he daily knelt, presenting the case of some wayward and wandering child, who had poured into his ear, confessing the deeds and errors of the carnal heart, beseeching him, in the spirit of true penitence, to ask for mercy at the throne of grace.

PUBLIC GROUNDS.

Of public grounds, or places for promenade, there are none in New Orleans, and yet in no place in this country could beautiful walks and promenade grounds be made so enchanting as in that city. The climate and soil are such that every thing necessary to make such places desirable, and even charming, would come up, as by magic, if a beginning was only made. But as yet there has scarcely been a “picayune” devoted for any thing of this purpose. There are, however, inclosures of considerable extent, which no doubt were designed for this purpose. One of these is the “_Place d’Armes_,” inclosing about six acres of ground by a strong and well constructed iron fence. Although this place has long been noted, yet it is without ornament of any description, and has no attractions at any time, except on every _Sabbath_ day, when it is filled with the military of the city, who assemble here, under their respective officers, for inspection and review. This is also the place of reception for distinguished men, on all occasions of public demonstration in their behalf. And it was here, within this inclosure, four days after the “battle of New Orleans,” that General Jackson assembled the heroes of the 8th of January, and bade them farewell. And yet below, and in full view of this place, which on that memorable day, to all human conception, was a doomed city, to be given up to rapine and robbery, lay the “Plains of Chalmetta,” the “Battle ground,” the Waterloo of America, that field of glory and of arms, and not a stone, or a memento, meets the eye of the passer by, to tell where our brave soldiers, with their hearts on their bayonets, fought against such fearful odds, and the deeds of noble daring of those fathers and brothers, who there faced the cannon’s mouth, to save their homes, their wives and daughters, their mothers and sisters, from the grasp of an infuriated and brutal soldiery. But here, within the “Place d’Armes,” and in the very place, is fixed a stone, about eighteen inches square, where stood that “iron nerved old man,” and like an “infant wept,” when he received the warm grasp, and bade each soldier adieu, as the long line in single file passed before him. The stone is fixed deep in the ground, and is a “silent and impressive lecturer” on the records of the past; yet it is here simply as a memento of the footprints of the savior of his country. And here too, again and again, has the soldier, the statesman, and the civilian, met the warm embrace, and received the gratitude of the grey-haired old man, the mother, the son and daughter, presenting a monument more splendid and magnificent and enduring, than the lofty structure of granite or marble.

Of this somewhat interesting place, I cannot present a more graphic description, than the following, from a New Orleans paper.

THE PLACE D’ARMES.

What a queer neighborhood is that in the immediate vicinity of the _Place d’Armes_, in the First Municipality! A stranger can scarce realize that he is in an American city, so foreign an air pervades the vicinage. There one beholds the time-worn buildings of the old Spanish architects of the last century, crumbling and mouldering slowly away. In a few short years they will be numbered among the things which were, and in their places will soon spring up smart rows of brand new brick buildings, rejoicing in all the freshness of newly moulded clay and coatings of bright fresh paint, looking as if age could never creep on them and sap their foundations, loosen the mortar, rot the heavy beams and joists, cause great chinks and cracks to open in the walls and the roof, letting the rain and wind in to assist in the work of ruin and decay. Even the old _Place d’Armes_ itself has a queer, ancient, foreign look. The tall and aged sycamores, with the brown bark peeled off in great blotches from their trunks, leaving white-bald places; the dead and crackling branches, the dying leaves, changed by the approach of winter, but still clinging pertinaciously to the parent stock as if loth to fall and perish, seem to moan and mourn as the wind whistles through them, at the desolation which has crept into that old square. Where are its trim well-kept walks, where its neat benches, on which many a lover has uttered his devotion to his mistress and received from her lips his judgment? Where those gay promenaders, full of life and hope, uttering soft nothings and prattling in foreign tongues of _la Belle France_, or of deeds in old Spain! Where those children, rosy cheeked and cherry lipped, lightly bounding over the smooth grass and indulging in the pure and innocent sports of childhood, known only to that happy state of existence? Generations have slipped away while those old trees have been growing there--death has gathered them in by scores, and the cemeteries still tell the time when they retired to their quiet homes from the cares of the world forever. Bright wreaths of gay flowers sometimes may be seen upon the final receptacles of some of those old frequenters; evergreens growing around their graves, wetted by the tears of those in whose breasts the memory of the departed dwells ever. Where is the little fountain that once spouted so gaily in the centre of the square? where those funny, finny little denizens of the basin, in whose sportiveness the children took so much delight? Fish or fountain exist no longer; the little dolphins who never wagged their little tails, and who kept continually blowing little jets of water from their mouths--the plaster naiads, who watched over all, with a perpetual smile upon their lips, are gone also. The basin is filled up, and the next generation can only learn that there was once a fountain there! There is one old relic left yet--the black old gun which has bellowed forth from its great round throat a command to all blacks to get home as soon as possible, night after night, for many a long year. There stands the stout and hale old fellow yet, with iron constitution, affected but slightly by the hand of Time, and looking like some weather-beaten old veteran of the wars, who has been banged about a good deal, stood fire in frequent campaigns, but is still as rough and tough as the best youngster in the service.

Then there is the old cathedral, with its old towers and turrets frowning--all old places are by special poetical license invested with the power of frowning--over all, flanked on each side by the Court House and Municipal Hall, built in the olden time, and though furbished up, and whitewashed, and painted, still bearing the date of their origin upon them as plainly as the black looking ancient Cathedral. Those bells, too, in what time they first tolled a knell or rang for the quiet rest of some departed soul we cannot now tell. For many a year they have been cracked, but still are made to perform their office morning, noon and night, in obedience to the will of the founder of the Cathedral. No ghosts would infest those belfries or their neighborhood. In front stand a string of crazy old hacks and cabs, jingling jarvies and barouches, built long and long ago; the horses have a dejected air, and exhibit many points of a character which would indicate that they subsisted, like chameleons, upon very thin air, or dragged on a miserable existence in hopes of better days, living upon the force of imagination merely. You will be told, though, that these nags, “rum ’uns to look at though they be,” are “reg’lar good ’uns to go.” The drivers are mostly negroes who indulge in bad French and drink root beer at the stand of the fat old black woman at the corner. On one side of the square we have drinking houses, _cafes_ and _restaurants_--scarce any thing else. The corner is the resort of all the inhabitants of the region, a well kept place, where persons can indulge in dominoes, strong _cafe_ and all sorts of drinks from orange flower water and _eau sucre_ up to Cogniac. Every afternoon it is thronged, and a babel like confusion prevails from the mixture of languages, French, Spanish, German, Italian and English. In the same row of buildings is the well known _Cafe de Quatre Saisons_, and Victor’s _restaurant_, one of the crack places of resort in the city, where _bon vivants_ and _epicures_ have a decided propensity to congregate. On the opposite side is the queerest combination of trades. Here is a depot of the fruits of Pomona, with stacks of apples, piles of oranges, strings of bananas, baskets of pecans, walnuts and shell-barks; little monuments of guava jelly and pyramids of cocoa nuts, piled up like cannon balls. Presiding over all is a stout, olive colored Spaniard, in a striped guernsey shirt and fur cap--he is the deputy of the goddess, handles her luscious offerings and pockets the proceeds. Side by side with this is a hardware store, with long-legged spiders, and griddles, and sprawling gridirons; podgy, apopleptic looking iron pots and wide-mouthed copper kettles; casks of spike, coils of wire, shelves of knives and forks; packages of locks and bolts and bars and hooks, mute commentators upon the dishonesty of mankind. Then comes another fruit depot, another and another, all looking exactly alike, arranged the same and all attended by individuals of the same pattern. Hardware, perishable fruits and spirits are the commodities exclusively dealt in in this row. How the second story is occupied no one can say. The balcony railings are usually hung with damp and dingy looking clothes, sheets, towels, stockings, gowns, pants, and vests. Broken flower pots with starvling rose bushes and blighted geraniums, dragging out a miserable existence, may occasionally be seen, and pale, attenuated females with uncombed hair and drabbled dresses, deluging them with soap suds. An old man sometimes smokes his short clay pipe moodily, silent and alone, leaning over the balcony and listlessly watching the passers-by; and now and then a child will clamber upon the railings and terrify the beholder by demonstrations of descending head foremost to the pavement below. The inhabitants by day are few, but at night the place swarms--it is alive. Fiddles, flutes, tamborines, grinding organs are going it at a great rate; busy feet are toeing and heeling it, but whereaway it is hard to tell. The sounds issue through the chinks of the window shutters, creep out beneath the doors, curl out of the chimney tops with the smoke; a strange jumble of queer sounds, half expressed notes, abridged cachinations, bits of German glees, replete with consonants melodiously uttered, pervades the atmosphere with the indistinctness of a dream, till the Cathedral clock sonorously peals forth the hour of 12. Then the noise which has been gradually growing less and less distinct, suddenly subsides entirely--the lights fade away and the quiet of the night is disturbed no more.

DWELLING HOUSES.

The dwelling houses in New Orleans, at least seven-tenths of them, are the most miserable apologies for the comfort and convenience of a family that can be imagined, and there are but very few modern built, and well arranged, and completed, with a view to make a house desirable for a residence. The reason for this, doubtless, is the excessively _high price for building lots_; and the enormous expense of building obliges those who build, to erect as cheap buildings as possible. A house designed for renting, also, is built as cheap as can be done, for such an one will command nearly as much rent as the most splendid mansion, if it has equally as much room and as favorable location. Hence you will find, in every part of the city, in the best locations, the miserable old Spanish house, only one story high, renting from eight to twelve hundred dollars a year, and the building is not worth twenty dollars. And yet these buildings will remain where they are until swept away, either by fire or water. The excessively high price of rents for buildings, for any purpose, together with the enormous expense of living, will very much retard the rapid improvement, and permanent advancement of New Orleans.

“GOING SOUTH TO SEEK A FORTUNE.”

The impression prevails very generally, in almost every section of this country, that wealth can be accumulated with great ease, and quite rapidly here, and this has caused a great excess of business men, and much competition. Consequently profits are small, and but very few make annually more than enough to meet expenses, and many very soon become satisfied with the experiment of “going South” to make a fortune. You will not, therefore, find but very few “_old merchants_,” in New Orleans. And with this view also, “to seek their fortunes,” will you find hundreds of young men, in the fall of the year, wending their way South, to look up a way of business for themselves, and yet not one in every fifty obtain employment, or meet with any thing to do. I have seen many such come into New Orleans, with letters of introduction and recommendation of the highest character, and failing to get business, and too proud to return home, and being on expense, and without any income, would soon spend all their means in hand, and finally, from necessity as it were, would drop into the floods and whirlpools of dissipation, and be taken as straitway down to ruin and destruction, as if they were forced by the irresistible laws of gravitation. I have also watched the bright hopes and cheerful countenance of many a young man when he first looked in upon the wild and animating scenes which are here presented. He feels at once a new impulse stealing over him, and the bright visions of his fancy, which have led him on, he imagines will be more than realized, for the _substance_ and the _life_ before him he believes to be real, and in which he will soon participate. But little does he dream that all he witnesses is as false and groundless as the baseless fabric of his own wild fancy. I have thus followed him, a few short months, moving among the busy throng that fill up these streets, and finally night after night have left him in the low roofless hovel, feeding at the table with the most miserable and degraded herd of Slaves in human form. This is no sketch of scenes drawn out in vivid colors of fancy, for it is stern, living reality, and language contains no power to embellish them, for they are before you, in the history of thousands, who have been buried here, and gone down to a premature grave. And here let me say to the young man of the north, if you should have a desire, or an idea come up, of “_going South_,” check it at once,--crush the thought, ere it brings before you treasures of a golden harvest, which you may imagine is in store for you there; for let me assure you that the day has long since passed when fortunes can be easily gathered at the “_South_,” or in New Orleans; and no other place in this widespread country can be found, where so few realize the anticipations which urge them on to engage in the pursuits and business of the day and when the hour of trial comes, and blasted hopes gather thick around, so many sink away into the vortex of irretrievable ruin, and if ever known again it is amid the scenes of vice and dissipation, herding with vagabonds and gamblers. And this is the fate of hundreds of the business men of New Orleans. And this too is no fancy sketch, but the reality of every day life. And yet these men are worthy of a better fate.

THE CHURCHES.

Of the churches in this city, not including those of the Roman order, and the influence of professing christians, there cannot be much said in their favor; yet there has been something done by them, and some influence of a favorable tendency has been quietly and slowly working, which in some degree checks the wild rage of human passion, or at least has driven it back from the public view, and to a great extent from the light of day. And the reason, doubtless, why more has not been done, and why a more salutary influence is not produced by religious efforts, is that the christian standard is as much below the Bible requirements of christian life, as the moral standard is degraded below that point which justly forbids almost every man a character for morality. Hence, when the christian standard falls far below, as it does here, the ordinary estimation of a moral life, it cannot be expected that the influence of professing christians of such a grade, can be very forcible or of much avail. And I apprehend that nothing will ever be done here to crush those monster evils that stalk through these streets at midday, and to indulge and participate in which is not unbecoming a _gentleman_, a _good citizen_, a _moral man_, and a _christian_, unless it is by raising up a proper moral standard, by which men shall be tested who are to be the recipients of patronage and public favor. This, however, would look like a hard beginning, for some _one_ would be called upon “to throw the first stone.” And I fear echo would answer, Where is he?

There are a number of Churches in the City, and many of them of recent organization. The Episcopalians have five, Presbyterians three, Methodists two, Baptists one, Universalists one. The Clergymen who officiate in them are generally men of distinguished talent and ability, and the morning service, on the Sabbath, is usually well attended. In the afternoon the audience is very small, consisting only of a small portion even of the members. No Church could be well sustained in New Orleans, with a second rate preacher. They must be men of popular talent, of forcible and attractive eloquence, and withal not very _close_ preachers. Hence the influence of preaching and of Christian teaching is superficial indeed. The principal cause, and doubtless, the great obstacle in the christian and moral standard of New Orleans, is the total disregard and desecration of the Sabbath. Not only is this done by professed christians, but by those who have been differently educated and early impressed with the benefits and wholesome and salutary influence produced by a due observance of this day.

THE SABBATH.

The Sabbath appears to be regarded by almost every one as a holiday, and its return is as much desired for a day of pleasure, as if no other day was appropriate for such purposes. Military Parades are never on any other day but the Sabbath. Horse racing, when a large purse is at stake on the most famous races, are on the Sabbath. Theatres and circuses have the most attractive bills and greatest display on Sabbath evening. Bull fights also are never on any other day, and in fact, exhibitions of every kind are usually on the Sabbath. And yet, in this enlightened age and against the good sense and judgment of every other section of this country, and in full view of the evils that flow from these examples, the authorities grant permits and licenses for these things, and men in the highest official stations in the State and city favor them by their presence on the Sabbath. And also, against these outrages and other evils that are begotten by them, the pulpit is as silent as if they were in accordance with the rituals of the church. And more than this, will you be astonished to see, not only _good men_, but _professing christians_, mingling in the crowded throng that keep up these rounds of moral pollution and dissipation. But in all these evils the authorities are chargeable with more censure than all others, for they have the power to prevent and suppress entirely these blighting curses that pervade this city. But compared with other causes that seek no hiding place, amidst the whirlwind and rage of human passion that lays desolate every refined and noble impulse of the human heart, the desecration of the Sabbath is but as the breath of the summer breeze, compared to the tornado’s blast.

SOCIAL RELATIONS.