The banking-house of Brown and Co. was in Canal Street. From the Saint
Louis Exchange, Canal Street may be approached by the Rue Conti, or the
parallel street of the Rue Royale. The latter is the favourite
promenade of the gay Creole-French, as Saint Charles Street is for the
fashionable Americans.
You will wonder at this _melange_ of French and English in the
nomenclature of streets. The truth is, that New Orleans has a
peculiarity somewhat rare. It is composed of two distinct cities--a
French and an American one. I might even say _three_, for there is a
Spanish quarter with a character distinct from either, and where you may
see on the corner the Spanish designation "Calle," as the _Calle de
Casacalvo, Calle del Obispo_, etcetera. This peculiarity is explained
by referring to the history of Louisiana. It was colonised by the
French in the early part of the eighteenth century, New Orleans being
founded in 1717. The French held Louisiana till 1762, when it was ceded
to Spain, and remained in her possession for a period of nearly fifty
years--till 1798, when France once more became its master. Five years
after, in 1803, Napoleon sold this valuable country to the American
government for 15,000,000 of dollars--the best bargain which Brother
Jonathan has ever made, and apparently a slack one on the part of
Napoleon. After all, Napoleon was right. The sagacious Corsican, no
doubt, foresaw that it could not have long remained the property of
France. Sooner or later the American flag would wave over the Crescent
City, and Napoleon's easy bargain has no doubt saved America a war, and
France a humiliation.
This change of masters will explain the peculiarity of the population of
New Orleans. The characteristics of all three nations are visible in
its streets, in its houses, in the features, habits, and dress of its
citizens. In nothing are the national traces more distinctly marked
than in the different styles of architecture. In the American quarter
you have tall brick dwellings, several stories in height, their shining
fronts half occupied with rows of windows, combining the light and
ornamental with the substantial and useful. This is typical of the
Anglo-American. Equally typical of the French character are the light
wooden one-storey houses, painted in gay colours, with green verandah
palings; windows that open as doors, and a profusion of gauzy curtains
hanging behind them.
Equally a type of the grand solemn character of the Spaniard, are the
massive sombre structures of stone and lime, of the imposing Moorish
style, that is still seen in many of the streets of New Orleans. Of
these, the Great Cathedral is a fine specimen--that will stand as a
monument of Spanish occupancy, long after both the Spanish and French
population has been absorbed and melted down in the alembic of the
Anglo-American propagandism. The American part of New Orleans is that
which is highest on the river--known as the Faubourgs Saint Mary and
Annunciation. Canal Street separates it from the French quarter--which
last is the old city, chiefly inhabited by Creole-French and Spaniards.
A few years ago, the French and American populations were about equal.
Now the Saxon element predominates, and rapidly absorbs all the others.
In time the indolent Creole must yield to the more energetic American--
in other words, New Orleans will be Americanised. Progress and
civilisation will gain by this, at the expense--according to the
sentimental school--of the poetic and picturesque.
Two distinct cities, then, are there in New Orleans. Each has its
Exchange distinct from the other--a distinct municipal court and public
offices--each has its centre of fashionable resort--its favourite
promenade for the _flaneurs_, of which the South-western metropolis can
boast a large crowd--its own theatres, ballrooms, hotels, and cafes. In
fact, a walk of a few paces transports one into quite a different world.
The crossing of Canal Street is like being transferred from Broadway to
the Boulevards.
In their occupations there is a wide difference between the inhabitants
of the two quarters. The Americans deal in the strong staples of human
life. The great depots of provisions, of cotton, of tobacco, of lumber,
and the various sorts of raw produce, will be found among them. On the
other hand, the finer fabrics, the laces, the jewels, the modes and
modistes, the silks and satins, and all articles of _bijouterie_ and
_virtu_, pass through the lighter fingers of the Creoles--for these
inherit both the skill and taste of their Parisian progenitors. Fine
old rich wine-merchants, too, will be found in the French part, who have
made fortunes by importing the wines of Bordeaux and Champagne--for
claret and champagne are the wines that flow most freely on the banks of
the Mississippi.
A feeling of jealousy is not wanting between the two races. The strong
energetic Kentuckian affects to despise the gay pleasure-loving
Frenchman, while the latter--particularly the old Creole noblesse--
regard with contempt the _bizarrerie_ of the Northern, so that feuds and
collisions between them are not infrequent. New Orleans is, _par
excellence_, the city of the duello. In all matters of this kind the
Kentuckian finds the Creole quite his equal--his full match in spirit,
courage, and skill. I know many Creoles who are notorious for the
number of their duels. An opera-singer or _danseuse_ frequently causes
half a score or more--according to her merits, or mayhap her demerits.
The masqued and quadroon-balls are also frequent scenes of quarrel among
the wine-heated bloods who frequent them. Let no one fancy that life in
New Orleans is without incident or adventure. A less prosaic city it
would be hard to find.
These subjects did _not_ come before my mind as I walked towards the
banking-house of Brown and Co. My thoughts were occupied with a far
different theme--one that caused me to press on with an agitated heart
and hurried steps.
The walk was long enough to give me time for many a hypothetic
calculation. Should my letter and the bill of exchange have arrived, I
should be put in possession of funds at once,--enough, as I supposed,
for my purpose--enough to buy my slave-bride! If not yet arrived, how
then? Would Brown advance the money? My heart throbbed audibly as I
asked myself this question. Its answer, affirmative or negative, would
be to me like the pronouncement of a sentence of life or death.
And yet I felt more than half certain that Brown would do so. I could
not fancy his smiling generous John-Bull face clouded with the
seriousness of a refusal. Its great importance to me at that moment--
the certainty of its being repaid, and in a few days, or hours at the
farthest--surely he would not deny me! What to him, a man of millions,
could be the inconvenience of advancing five hundred pounds? Oh! he
would do it to a certainty. No fear but he would do it!
I crossed the threshold of the man of money, my spirits buoyant with
sweet anticipation. When I recrossed it my soul was saddened with
bitter disappointment. My letter had not yet arrived--Brown refused the
advance!
I was too inexperienced in business to comprehend its sordid
calculations--its cold courtesy. What cared the banker for my pressing
wants? What to him was my ardent appeal? Even had I told him my
motives, my object, it would have been all the same. That game cold
denying smile would have been the reply--ay, even had my life depended
upon it.
I need not detail the interview. It was brief enough. I was told, with
a bland smile, that my letter had not yet come to hand. To my proposal
for the advance the answer was blunt enough. The kind generous smile
blanked off Brown's ruddy face. It was not business. It could not be
done. There was no sign thrown out--no invitation to talk farther. I
might have appealed in a more fervent strain. I might have confessed
the purpose for which I wanted the money, but Brown's face gave me no
encouragement. Perhaps it was as well I did not. Brown would have
chuckled over my delicate secret. The town, over its tea-table, would
have relished it as a rich joke.
Enough--my letter had not arrived--Brown refused the advance. With Hope
behind me and Despair in front, I hurried back to the hotel.