New Orleans. — Surviving Traces of Spanish and French Occupation. — Jackson Square. — Cathedral of St. Louis. — The Cemeteries. — Melancholy Perspectives. — Audubon Park. — Graves for Sale. — The French Market. — Mobile and New Orleans as Seen Nearly Thirty Years Ago. — St. Charles Hotel. — A Dinner at Dr. Mercer's.
The train moved along leisurely over bridges and trestle work, and through flowery forests, until, we scarcely knew how, we found ourselves at our temporary destination.
One could see very little of New Orleans in the short space of our stay, but we made the most of it. The city itself, in its historic and social aspects, is one of the most interesting in America and the least American. It has on it yet the traces of former Spanish and French ownership and occupation, but the equestrian statue of Old Hickory in Jackson Square, still known by its ancient name, the Place d'Armes, crowns all the past with the American idea. The monument of General Jackson is directly in front of the Cathedral of St. Louis of France. We entered this edifice and noted the reredos back of the high altar, emblazoned with the arms of St. Louis and the record of his virtues.
While we were there, a large class of boys were being catechized, in the French tongue; again and again the answers would come in loud monotone. We noted, also, with interest, the unmistakable Gallic type, in head and eyes and hair, of the restless young scholars upon the benches.
Some of our party took carriage drives, and some preferred the ubiquitous street cars. In various ways we each sought our pleasure. We went to the cemeteries, with their overground, oven-like tombs, necessitated by the water-soaked condition of the soil. The French burial places had that sombre effect which straight lines and extended alleys ever produce. Why this disposition of line should so impress the mind is very curious, but I have always found it so. One feels it at Versailles, as well as in the most up-to-date of places, like Chicago. The vanishing points of long distances, where, as it were, one can never hope to reach, produce in the mind a kind of sorrow; while the curve, which conceals the unseen, urges on to pursue and attain to that which is beyond. Audubon Park, which we visited, and the Arboretum produce more pleasing effects by the winding walks and constant variety of beautiful trees and flowers. It is rather a doleful thing to make even the very best kept cemeteries places for lounging pleasure.
In the incongruity of such a situation, the frequent little green lizards flashing over the marble tombstones were a diversion. We caught one of them, and it was most curious to see it change color in its nervous alarm. From the most vivid green it became a dull blood red, and then brown, panting as if its heart would break; and not until it was well away from us did it return to its normal emerald tint.
It must be confessed that the ludicrous ever lurks near one in such places, and often, also, that which is sadder than sad. For instance, in the midst of the silent sombreness of the French cemeteries it was a dreary incident in the drama of life to see the placards of "For sale" on monuments whose occupation was gone, for they who were enclosed therein were, for some cause or another, to be ousted from their rest.
After we left the cemeteries some of our party had an al fresco lunch under some live-oak trees, where an honest German catered to our wants with the well-known products of the Fatherland. It was hot even there, but we wiled away an hour or so of rest in most satisfactory fashion.
We did the French market early in the morning, but possibly we were not early enough; for the whole place, display, and everything there seemed tame and commonplace. I found, however, pleasant study in some of the people, especially the poor, but aristocratic looking women with blue jean sunbonnets on, market baskets on their arms, and wearing dresses of most uncrinoline proportions.
We visited the new "St. Charles," where we all had dinner. The stay at this hotel brought back to mind the time, so long ago, when I first saw New Orleans. It was in January, 1870, shortly after the close of the War of the Rebellion. We were at the consecration of Bishop Pierce, at Mobile, Alabama, and visited New Orleans ere returning home. What memories came to me of the journey south through the historic battle-fields of the "Lost Cause"! I remember the long stretch of burnt locomotives standing on the tracks at Mobile; of Christ Church, where the consecration of Dr. Pierce was held, with its decoration of orange branches in fruit and flower; of the brilliant reception held at the residence of our hostess, Mrs. Perry; and the drawing-room, filled with flowers and elegantly dressed women; while a wood fire, all aglow, gave us a reminder that we must make believe it was winter, because it was January. Then there was the steamboat ride from Mobile via Lake Pontchartrain, and thence to New Orleans. The city has changed much in these years. We stayed then at the old St. Charles, surely an old fire trap, as events proved, but stately for all that. The culmination of each day was the hotel dinner; and a daily parade, well worth seeing, was the progress of the ladies across the huge rotunda, through the lounging crowd, to the dining-room. All that is now gone, and the new St. Charles gets along without this primitive and, I must say, pleasing display.