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 more than a mile distant, we concluded, as the morning 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 from the very midst of Naples; while its interesting neighbour reminds one of the quaker-like 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 are truly and especially French. The glimpses one 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 this edifice is the foot of Ursuline-street, up which 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. Nowhere 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 situation, redolent of these Stygian exhalations. 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," "Appartement 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." Crossing rue Royale, we first visited those 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 is to be finished in the same manner, and when completed, 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 it fell with a tremendous crash upon the pavement. 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,
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, and covered with a light yellow stucco, in imitation 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 stair-case 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 schools, when properly qualified, the pupils are removed 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, spoke both languages (French and English,) with 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.
