The next was in every particular a contrast to this genial, rosy-faced Nestor of the city bar. He was tall, thin, sallow, cadaverous. His habitual expression seemed saturnine; he had less to say; indulged in fewer compliments; told fewer stories. This was Mr. Thos. J. Durant, the leader of the Radical Free-State party in the State, and an orator whom Northern men pronounce not unworthy of mention in the same connection with Wendell Phillips.
Judge Whittaker, the third of the party (reported to be now an aspirant for the Supreme Bench, to fill the vacancy caused by the death of Judge Catron), though an emigrant to New Orleans from South Carolina, looked rather like one of the free-and-easy Kentucky lawyers in the mountain districts. His collar was carelessly turned down; his tall, loose-jointed figure matched well with his careless toilet, and his hearty ways, and irregular features, lit up with a smile of Western rather than Southern cordiality, all bespoke a different origin.
These three men stand in the foremost rank of Louisiana lawyers, and typify various grades of Louisiana Unionism. Mr. Durant is an intense Radical. In Boston he would be an Abolitionist of the Abolitionists. He speaks at negro meetings, demands negro suffrage, unites with negroes in educational movements, champions negroes in the courts. The resident Rebels hate him with an intensity of hatred due only to one whom they regard as an apostate; but all are glad to avail themselves of his legal abilities, and he is daily compelled to reject business he has no time for. Judge Whittaker is far more cautious. He may be as innocent as the dove; but, at any rate, under all his hearty, warm manner there is a good deal of the wisdom of the serpent. He was always a Union man, but he took pains not to make himself personally offensive to the Rebels, and was not disturbed by them during their control of the city. Now that the Union cause has triumphed, he would move very slowly. Negro suffrage may become necessary, but he would wait and see. If there were any possible way of avoiding it, he would avoid it. Mr. Roselius is at once, through age and by temperament, still more cautious. His conservative tendencies led him to oppose secession; the same tendencies lead him to want now a return as nearly as possible to the old condition of affairs—the veritable status in quo ante bellum. Slavery, of course, can not be restored, nor would he desire it; but he would have the abolition of slavery work just as few attendant changes as possible. Above all, treat the returning Rebels well; dine them, and wine them; tell them it’s high time they would quit making fools of themselves, and that you’re glad to see them back.
In the cool of the evening, Mr. May drove us out to see the city. It recalls no other town in the South; reminds one more of Havana than of any of them, and is very much unlike even it. “A town where all their drains are above ground; where a cellar would be a cistern; where the river is as high as the roofs of the houses, and where, when you die, instead of burying you like a Christian, they tuck you away on a shelf, and plaster you in with lath and mortar—that’s New Orleans.” Such was the description once given by an energetic Yankee, and it conveys as accurate an idea as whole pages might. He should have added that it is a town where half the inhabitants think of Paris as their home, and feel as much interest in the Tuilleries as the White House; that of the other half, the most are cotton factors or commercial men of some sort, with principles not infrequently on sale with their goods; that it is at once the most luxurious, the most unprincipled, the most extravagant, and, to many, the most fascinating city in the Union—the only place that, before the war, could support the opera through an entire winter; the only place where the theaters are open on Sunday evening; where gambling is not concealed, and keeping a mistress is not only in no sense discreditable, but is even made legal. What Boston is to the North, Charleston and Richmond are, in a diminished sense, to the South; what New York is to the North, New Orleans is, in an exaggerated sense, to the South.
The city itself showed no traces of war. Mounted orderlies dashed along the streets; and in front of a few palatial residences guards in uniform paced slowly to and fro. But the superb shrubbery of the Garden District had not suffered as had that of Charleston. The spacious and airy wooden residences in the upper part of the city never looked more attractive; below Canal Street, the quaint, projecting roofs, and curious green-barred doors and windows of the French quarter remained as in the days when Napoleon sold out to the United States, and the inhabitants woke up to find their allegiance transferred. Even the levee began to be crowded again, and business seemed quite as active as could have been expected in June.
In the evening our host took me down to the office of the principal newspaper of the city. It has been started since the national occupation, on the ruins of old Rebel papers; is, in shape and size, a fac simile of leading New York journals, is crowded with advertisements, and is paying a net profit of eight to ten thousand dollars a month. Yet, with such a start, its proprietors, though strong Unionists, are afraid to take any decided political stand. Its main rival, the Picayune, was already appealing to the returning Rebels, and there was danger, they thought, of their being “cut under.” It was the old, sad story of making principles as little offensive as possible, and softening them away, point by point, to conciliate imperious patrons. “You call our course hard names,” said one of the proprietors. “But look at our condition. We have the largest circulation and the business lead. The interior is just being opened up to us, and we want to occupy this new field in advance of any rival. If we denounce Rebels, or advocate negro suffrage, we lose what we have here, and throw away, at the same time, all chance of extending our circulation in the country; for, the moment we say anything particularly displeasing to the Rebels, the Picayune stands ready for the chance, and steps into our business. No, no. Our only chance is to make a good news paper, and politically drift with the tide!”
[29]. Since elected Congressman from one of the New Orleans districts, in the hope that his position and age might help to secure the admission of himself and his colleagues. The House, however, proved unimpressible, and he soon gave up an effort after such barren honors, and returned.