CHAPTER V.
THE CATHEDRAL.—ORPHAN'S ASYLUM.—THE SISTERS OF CHARITY, ETC.
Immediately opposite the Place d'Armes, and fronting the levee, rises in solemn grandeur, the celebrated Cathedral. It must be very old, and was said to have been erected through the zealous munificence of Don Andre Almonoster. Connected with the building is a story curious and romantic, and from all I could learn no less true. When Don Andre died, he exacted of the priesthood the positive injunction, that every Saturday evening prayer should be offered up for his soul, and in default thereof the property was to pass into other hands. From that day to this, in fulfilling these extraordinary stipulations, not a solitary omission has been made. And as you stand about sundown at the Cathedral, you will hear the doleful bell mournfully recalling the memory of the departed Don Andre! I was there at that hour. The dark and frowning church towered far above me. The deep-toned bell echoed its mournful sound until twilight began to mantle the city with her sable curtains. I thought of Don Andre. I thought of his injunction; I thought of his soul, and I turned from the consecrated place with feelings the most singular and solemn.
The edifice in appearance is grand, antique and venerable. Judging from the disregard to repairs, I should conclude it was designed for it to remain so. Built of brick, with very thick walls and stuccoed, it nevertheless looks black and dingy, all which assists to make it more imposing to the stranger. A large door in the middle will let you into the ante-chamber, and from this by a door on the right and one on the left, you enter the immense chapel. Passing by two large marble basins filled with holy water, where devotees sprinkle and cross themselves upon entering; you are by the side of the "confession boxes." There are three on each side, each about ten feet high and eight feet square, with three apartments or stalls; the middle one for the priest, the other two for those wishing to lay down their burden of sins. The priest standing in the middle hears an account of the transgressions of the one on the right through a small grated window, while the one on the left is kneeling until his fellow-sufferer gets through. All that can be heard is a low whispering and murmuring throughout all the confessional boxes, where six priests are continually officiating. When the penitent is dismissed by the holy father, he appears to be a happier man, and on coming out of the box immediately kneels before the altar, and another person takes his place.
This system of confession is often denounced; I do not pretend to defend it, but there is much excuse for it. What Protestant is there who in deep trouble, does not find relief in disclosing those troubles to an old confidential person in whom he can confide, and who gives him good advice? Are not the cases somewhat similar?
I watched and listened attentively to see or hear the settlement between the father and sinner, but I made no discoveries and heard no money jingle. All classes unite here in the services, and as you cast your eye over this devout assembly, the elegant young lady may be seen kneeling on the hard stone floor, beside the negro or mulatto. And still further on, the well-attired gentleman prostrates himself with the ragged beggar in worshipping the same common and universal God! All appear to be deeply engaged, and in no church can there be found so much profound silence, awe and veneration. The three altars are so far distant that the fathers are seldom heard, and the worshippers are governed in their devotions by the ringing of bells. There is nothing very imposing in the interior, some very fine paintings representing incidents in the Bible, hang around the walls.
In regard to the public buildings, "there is probably no city in the United States that has so many benevolent institutions as New Orleans, in proportion to its population. Certainly it has not an equal in those voluntary contributions which are sometimes required to answer the immediate calls of distress. Here assembled a mixed multitude, composed of almost every nation and tongue, from the frozen to the torrid zone, and whether it be the sympathy of strangers, or the influence of the "sunny south," their purses open and their hearts respond like those of brothers, to the demands of charity."[A]
The Female Orphan Asylum is a fine building on the corner of Camp and Prytania streets, and the visitor who has never seen any thing of the kind will be well repaid by an examination. He will be met at the door by one of the Sisters of Charity, (known as Nuns,) a lady about forty years old, rather stooping, but mild and holy, dressed in black, with a hood of the same, partly covering her head. Her dress is gathered around her waist by a black belt made of bombazine, to which is attached some keys and Catholic relics. She beckons you in the house, and proceeds on before you with a gait as noiseless and nimble as a cat. The first room you enter is the school for small girls, numbering about fifty, who all rise simultaneously on your entrance. You then pass into a room of fifty girls, generally from twelve to sixteen years of age. Here they exhibit specimens of needle work, painting, etc., all well executed. These schools are under the especial care and management of the good sisters, and nothing can exceed the orderly, neat and well-behaved deportment of the girls. We next visited the kitchen; if a clean, neat, ungreased apartment can bear that appellation. There we found the Lady Superior up to her elbows in dough, and busily assisted by several charity girls in cooking dinner. She was a fat, healthy looking lady, about forty years old, and looked like she had more of the good things of this life at her command, or rather appeared to have made better use of them than her sisters. The dining-room is well arranged, so are the dormitories, which are composed of four spacious rooms, very airy and commodious. Each school has its dormitory, and every girl has a separate bed, neat and comfortable, exactly corresponding to her size and length. Just as the good sister (our conductress) opened the door of the chapel, she dropped upon her knees and repeated something to herself. On opening the door, we saw another sister "solitary and alone," kneeling, rising and prostrating herself before the altar. She was deeply engaged in her devotions, and never once turned her head to look at us.
Being struck with the infinite degree of trouble which the Sisters must daily encounter in nursing and rearing over one hundred orphan girls from a month to sixteen years of age, I alluded to it, she replied, "That is what we are here for. We give up the allurements of the world to devote our days exclusively in doing good, and what you call troubles are our pleasures."
This immense building, with four school rooms, four dormitories, dining rooms and many other apartments, are all under the management of seven Sisters, who attend to every thing, even wash and scour the floors, dress and teach the children. But the most interesting apartment was that of the infants. Here we found about thirty children about four years old, clean and well dressed and sending up their innocent and sweet little voices in singing praises to God! It was almost impossible to notice any difference in the sizes of this interesting little circle. Not one of the little sweets had father or mother alive. No one could look upon them with feelings other than those of pity and love. Like so many young birds holding their little heads above their nests, would these sweet little children ask us, "Have you any candy for me?"
Footnote A:[ (return) ]
"Norman's New Orleans and Environs."