XX.

Scenes in a bar-room--Affaires d'honneur--A Sabbath morning

--Host--Public square--Military parades--Scenes in the

interior of a cathedral--Mass--A sanctified family--Crucifix

--Different ways of doing the same thing--Altar--Paintings--

The Virgin--Female devotees.

The spacious bar-room of our magnificent hotel, as I descended to it on

Sabbath morning, resounded to the footsteps of a hundred gentlemen, some

promenading and in earnest conversation--some hastening to, or lounging

about the bar, that magnet of attraction to thirsty spirits, on which

was displayed a row of rapidly disappearing glasses, containing the

tempting, green-leaved, mint-julep--while, along the sides of the large

room, or clustered around the tall, black columns, which extended

through the centre of the hall, were others, some _tete a tete_, and

others again smoking, and sipping in quiet their morning potation. A

few, with legs _a la Trollope_, upon the tables, were reading stray

papers, and at the farther extremity of the hall, standing around a

lofty desk, were ranks of merchants similarly engaged. My northern

friend, with whom I had planned a visit to the cathedral, met me at the

door of the hotel, around which, upon the side-walk, was gathered a knot

of fashionably dressed, cane-wearing young men, talking, all together,

of a duel that had taken place, or was about to "come off," we could not

ascertain exactly which, from the few words heard in passing to the

street. This, by the by, is a frequent theme of conversation here, and

too often based upon facts to be one of light moment.[10]

The morning was cloudless and beautiful. The air was mild, and for the

city, elastic and exhilarating. The sun shone down warm and cheerfully,

enlivening the spirits, and making all things glad with its brightness.

The whole city had come forth into the streets to enjoy it; and as we

passed from Camp-street across Canal, into Chartres-street, all the gay

inhabitants, one would verily believe, had turned out as to a gala. The

long, narrow streets were thronged with moving multitudes, and flashing

with scarfs, ribbons, and feathers. Children, with large expressive

eyes, and clustering locks, their heads surmounted with tasselled caps

and fancy hats, arrayed in their "brightest and best," bounded along

behind their more soberly arrayed, but not less gay parents, followed by

gaudily dressed slaves, who chattered incessantly with half-suppressed

laughter to their acquaintances on the opposite trottoir. Clerks, just

such looking young men as you will meet on Sabbath mornings in Broadway,

or Cornhill--released from their six days' confinement--lounged by us

arm in arm, as fine as the tailor and hair-dresser could make them.

Crowds, or gangs of American and English sailors, mingling most

companionably, on a cruise through the city, rolled jollily along--the

same careless independent fellows that they are all the world over. I

have observed that in foreign ports, the seamen of these once hostile

nations link together like brothers. This is as it should be. The good

feeling existing generally among all classes of Americans toward the

mother country, must be gratifying both to reflecting Americans and to

Englishmen. These sons of Neptune were all dressed nearly alike in blue

jackets, and full white trowsers, with black silk handkerchiefs knotted

carelessly around their necks, and confined by some nautical breast-pin,

in the shape of a foul anchor, a ship under her three top-sails, or

plain gold hearts, pierced by arrows. Sailors are very sentimental

fellows on shore! In direct contrast to these frank-looking, open-browed

tars, who yawed along the side-walk, as a landsman would walk on a

ship's deck at sea, we passed, near the head of Bienville-street, a

straggling crew of some Spanish trader, clothed in tarry pantaloons and

woollen shirts, and girt about with red and blue sashes, bucanier

fashion, with filthy black whiskers, and stealthy glowing eyes, who

glided warily along with lowering brows. The unsailor-like French

sailor--the half horse and half alligator Kentucky boatman--the

gentlemanly, carelessly-dressed cotton planter--the pale valetudinarian,

from the north, whose deep sunken eye told of suicidal vigils over the

midnight lamp--a noble looking foreigner, and a wretched beggar--a troop

of Swiss emigrants, from the grand sire to the infant, and a gang of

Erin's toil-worn exiles--all mingled _en masse_--swept along in this

living current; while, gazing down upon the moving multitude from lofty

balconies, were clusters of bright eyes, and sunny faces flashed from

every window.

As we approached the cathedral, a dark-hued and finely moulded quadroon,

with only a flowing veil upon her head, glided majestically past us. The

elegant olive-browned Louisianese--the rosy-cheeked maiden from _La

belle riviere_--the Parisian gentilhomme--a dignified, light-mustachoed

palsgrave, and a portly sea-captain--the haughty Englishman and prouder

southerner--a blanketed Choctaw, and a negro in uniform--slaves and

freed-men of every shade, elbowed each other very familiarly as they

traversed in various directions the crowded side-walks.

Crossing rue St. Louis, we came in collision with a party of gens

d'armes with drawn swords in their hands, which they used as walking

canes, leading an unlucky culprit to the calaboose--that "black-hole" of

the city. Soldiers in splendid uniforms, with clashing and jingling

accoutrements, were continually hurrying past us to parade. At the

corner of Toulouse-street we met a straggling procession of bare-headed,

sturdy-looking priests, in soiled black surplices and fashionable boots,

preceded by half a dozen white-robed boys, bare-legged and dirty. By

this dignified procession, among which the crowd promiscuously mingled

as they passed along, and whose august approach is usually notified by

the jingling of the "sacring bell," was borne the sacred "host." They

hastily passed us, shoved and jostled by the crowd, who scarcely gave

way to them as they hastened on their ghostly message. These things are

done differently in Buenos Ayres or Rio Janeiro, where such a procession

is escorted by an armed guard, and a bayonet thrust, or a night in a

Spanish prison, is the penalty for neglecting to genuflect, or uncover

the heretical head. As we issued from Chartres-street--where all

"nations and kingdoms and tongues" seemed to have united to form its

pageant of life--upon the esplanade in front of the cathedral, we were

surprised by the sound of martial music pealing clearly above the

confusion of tongues, the tramp of feet, and the rattling of carriages.

On and around the noble green, soldiers in various uniforms, some of

them of a gorgeous and splendid description, were assembling for

parade. Members of the creole regiment--the finest body of military men

I ever beheld, with the exception of a Brazilian regiment of

blacks--were rapidly marshalling in the square. And mounted hussars,

with lofty caps and in glittering mail, were thundering in from the

various streets, their spurs, chains and sabres, ringing and jingling

warlike music, as they dashed up to the rendezvous.

At the head of this noble square, so variegated and tumultuous with its

dazzling mimicry of war, rose in solemn and imposing grandeur the

venerable cathedral, lifting its heavy towers high above the emmet-crowd

beneath. Its doors, in front of which was extended a line of carriages,

were thronged with a motley crowd, whose attention was equally divided

between the religious ceremonies within the temple and the military

display without. We forced our way through the mass, which was composed

of strangers like ourselves--casual spectators--servants--hack-drivers

--fruit sellers, and some few, who, like the publican, worshipped "afar

off."

It was the celebration of the Eucharist. Within, crowds were kneeling

upon the pavement under the corridor and along the aisles--some in

attitudes of the profoundest humility and awe. Others were kneeling, as

nominal Protestants stand in prayer, without intention or feeling of

humility; but merely assuming the posture as a matter of form. Among

these last were many young Frenchmen, whose pantaloons were kept from

soiling by white handkerchiefs as they kneeled, playing with their

watch-guards, twirling their narrow-brimmed silk hats, or gazing idly

about over the prostrate multitude. Here and there kneeled a fine female

figure; and dark eyes from artfully arranged veils wandered every where

but over the missal, clasped in unconscious fingers. At the base of a

massive column two fair girls, kneeling side by side, were laughingly

whispering together. But there were also venerable sires with locks of

snow, and aged matrons, and manly forms of men, and graceful women,

maidens and children, who bowed with their faces to the ground in deep

devotion. As we entered, the solemn peal of an organ, mingled with the

deep toned voices of the priests chanting the imposing mass, rolled over

the prostrate assembly; at the same moment the host was elevated and the

multitude, bowing their foreheads to the pavement, profoundly adored

this Roman _schechinah_, or _visible_ presence of the Saviour.

Having, with some difficulty, worked our way through the worshippers,

who, after the solemn service of the consecration of the bread and wine

was finished, arose from their knees, we gained an eligible situation by

one of the pillars which support the vaulted roof, and there took our

post of observation. A marble font of holy water stood near us on our

right hand, into which all true Catholics who entered or departed from

the church, dipped the tip of a finger, with the greatest possible

veneration; and therewith--the while moving their lips with a brief,

indistinctly-heard prayer--crossed themselves upon both the forehead and

the breast. This ceremony was also performed by proxy. A very handsome

French lady entered the church, while we leaned against the column, and

advancing directly to the font, dipped her ungloved finger into the

consecrated laver, made the sign of the cross first upon her own fine

forehead, and then turning, stooped down and crossed affectionately and

prayerfully the pure, olive brows of two beautiful little girls who

followed her, and the forehead of an infant borne in the arms of a

slave; who, dipping her tawny fingers in the water, blessed her own

black forehead; and then all passed up the aisle toward the altar--a

sanctified family! How like infant baptism, this beautiful and affecting

little scene of a mother thus blessing in the sincerity of her heart,

her innocent offspring! White, black, and yellow--the rich and the poor,

the freeman and slave, all dipped in the same font--were all blessed by

the same water. A beautiful emblem of the undistinguishing blood of the

Saviour of the world!

Not far from this holy vessel, behind a table or temporary altar, sat a

man with a scowling brow and a superstitious eye, coarsely dressed,

without vest or cravat. Before him lay a large salver strewed in great

profusion with pieces of silver coin from a _bit_ to a dollar. On the

centre, and only part of the waiter not piled with money, lay a silver

crucifix. At the moment this display caught our eyes, and before we had

time to form any conjectures as to its object, a mulatress gave us the

desired explanation. Crossing from the broad aisle of the church, she

reverently approached the spot and kneeling before the altar, added a

quarter of a dollar to the glittering pile, and bending over, kissed

first the feet, then the knees, hands, and wounded side of the image,

while real tears flowed down her saffron cheeks. Elevating her prostrate

form, she passed to the font, dipped her finger in the holy water and

disappeared amid the crowd at the door. A gay demoiselle tripping

lightly past us, bent on one knee before the waiter, threw down upon it

a heavy piece of silver, and, less humble than the one who had preceded

her, imprinted a kiss upon the metal lips of the image and glided from

the cathedral. She was followed by a lame negro, darker than Othello,

uglier and more clumsy than Caliban, who for a piccaiune, which tinkled

upon the salver, had the privilege of saluting the senseless image from

head to foot in the most devotional and lavish manner. A little child,

led by its nurse, followed, and timidly, at the direction of its

coloured governess, kissed the calm and expansive forehead of the

sculptured idol. During the half hour we remained, there was a continual

flow of the current of devotees to this spot, in their way to and from

the high altar. But I observed that ten blacks approached the crucifix

for every white!

This altar with its enriched salver is merely a Roman Catholic

"contribution-box,"--a new way of doing an old thing. Some of the

Protestant churches resound with a sacred hymn, or the voice of the

clergyman reading a portion of the liturgy or discipline, calculated to

inspire charitable feelings, while the contribution-box or bag makes its

begging tour among the pews. In the cathedral the same feelings are

excited by an appeal to the senses through the silent exhibition of the

sufferings of the Redeemer. With one, the ear is the road to the heart,

with the other, the eye; but if it is only reached, it were useless to

quibble about the medium of application.

I lingered long after the great body of the congregation had departed.

Here and there, before a favourite shrine--the tutelary guardian of the

devotee--kneeled only a solitary individual. Close by my side, before

the pictured representation of a martyrdom, bent a female form enveloped

in mourning robes, her features concealed in the folds of a rich black

veil. Far off, before the distant shrine of the Virgin Mother, knelt a

very old man engaged in inaudible prayer, with his head pressed upon the

cold stone pavement. Slowly and reflectingly I paced the deserted aisles

toward the high altar, which stood in the midst of a splendid and

dazzling creation of gold and silver, rich colouring, architectural

finery, and gorgeous decorations, burning tapers, and candlesticks like

silver pillars; the whole extending from the pavement to the ceiling,

and all so mingled and confused in the religious gloom of the church,

that I was unable to analyse or form any distinct idea of it. But the

_coup d'oeil_ was unrivalled by any display I had ever seen in an

American temple.

At the lower termination of the side aisles of the cathedral, stood dark

mahogany confessionals, with blinds at the sides--reminding one of

sentry boxes. These, however, were deserted and apparently seldom

occupied. Sins must be diminished here, or penitents have grown more

discreet than in former times! In a little while the cathedral, save by

a poor woman kneeling devoutly before a wretched picture, which I took

to be a representation of the martyrdom of saint Peter, became silent

and deserted. While gazing upon the image of the Virgin Mary, arrayed

like a prima donna, and profusely decorated with finery, standing

pensively within an isolated niche, to the left of the grand altar, a

slight noise, and the simultaneous agitation of a curtain, drew my

attention to the entrance of a trio of young ladies, through a side door

hitherto concealed behind the arras, preceded by an elderly

brown-complexioned lady, of the most duenna-like physiognomy and

bearing. Without noticing the presence of a stranger and a heretic--for

I was gazing most undevoutly and heretically upon the jewelled image

before me as they entered--they dipped the tips of their fingers in a

font of holy water which stood by the entrance--passed into the centre

aisle in front of the great crucifix, and kneeling in a cluster upon a

rich carpet, spread upon the pavement over the crypts of the

distinguished dead, by a female slave who attended them, were at once

engaged in the most absorbing devotion. After a short period they

arose--bowed sweepingly to the crucifix, genuflected most gracefully

with a sort of familiar nod of recognition before the shrine of the

Virgin, and moistening the ends of their fingers again in the marble

basin, quietly disappeared.

I was now alone in the vast building. Though the current of human life

flowed around its walls, with a great tumult of mingled sounds, yet only

a noise, like the faintly heard murmuring of distant surf, penetrated

its massive walls, and broke a silence like that of the grave which

reigned within. The illustrious dead slept beneath the hollow pavement,

which echoed to my footfall like a vaulted sepulchre. The ghastly images

of slaughtered men looked down upon me from the walls, with agony

depicted on their pale and unearthly countenances, seen indistinctly

through the dim twilight of the place. The melancholy tapers burned

faintly before the deserted shrines, increasing, rather than

illuminating the gloom of the venerable temple. Gradually, under the

combined influence of these gloomy objects, I felt a solemnity stealing

over me, awed and depressed by the tomb-like repose that reigned around.

Suddenly the clear light of noon-day flashed in through the drawn

curtain, and another worshipper entered. Turning to take a last glance

at the interior of this imposing fabric, so well calculated to excite

the religious feelings of even a descendant of the Puritans, I drew

aside the curtain, and the next moment was involved in the life, bustle,

and tumult of the streets of a large city, whose noise, confusion, and

bright sunshine contrasted strangely with the perfect stillness and "dim

religious light" of the cathedral.