Multimedia Mania/abacus-multimedia-mania.iso/dp/0140/01401.txt

Text File | 1993-07-27 | 8KB | 141 lines

$Unique_ID{bob01401}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{Life On The Mississippi
Chapter XLI}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Twain, Mark}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{new
orleans
city
architecture
now

}
$Date{1917}
$Log{}
Title:       Life On The Mississippi
Author:      Twain, Mark
Date:        1917

Chapter XLI

The Metropolis Of The South

     The approaches to New Orleans were familiar; general aspects were
unchanged.  When one goes flying through London along a railway propped in the
air on tall arches, he may inspect miles of upper bedrooms through the open
windows, but the lower half of the houses is under his level and out of sight.
Similarly, in high-river stage, in the New Orleans region, the water is up to
the top of the inclosing levee-rim, the flat country behind it lies low -
representing the bottom of a dish - and as the boat swims along, high on the
flood, one looks down upon the houses and into the upper windows.  There is
nothing but that frail breastwork of earth between the people and destruction.

     The old brick salt-warehouses clustered at the upper end of the city
looked as they had always looked: warehouses which had had a kind of Aladdin's
lamp experience, however, since I had seen them; for when the war broke out
the proprietor went to bed one night leaving them packed with thousands of
sacks of vulgar salt, worth a couple of dollars a sack, and got up in the
morning and found his mountain of salt turned into a mountain of gold, so to
speak, so suddenly and to so dizzy a height had the war news sent up the price
of the article.

     The vast reach of plank wharves remained unchanged, and there were as
many ships as ever: but the long array of steamboats had vanished; not
altogether, of course, but not much of it was left.

     The city itself had not changed - to the eye.  It had greatly increased
in spread and population, but the look of the town was not altered.  The dust,
waste-paper-littered, was still deep in the streets; the deep troughlike
gutters along the curbstones were still half full of reposeful water with a
dusty surface; the sidewalks were still - in the sugar and bacon region -
encumbered by casks and barrels and hogsheads; the great blocks of austerely
plain commercial houses were as dusty- looking as ever.

     Canal Street was finer and more attractive and stirring than formerly,
with its drifting crowds of people, its several processions of hurrying
street-cars, and - toward evening - its broad second-story verandas crowded
with gentlemen and ladies clothed according to the latest mode.

     Not that there is any "architecture" in Canal Street: to speak in broad,
general terms, there is no architecture in New Orleans, except in the
cemeteries.  It seems a strange thing to say of a wealthy, far- seeing, and
energetic city of a quarter of a million inhabitants, but it is true.  There
is a huge granite United States custom-house - costly enough, genuine enough,
but as to decoration it is inferior to a gasometer.  It looks like a state
prison.  But it was built before the war.  Architecture in America may be said
to have been born since the war.  New Orleans, I believe, has had the good
luck - and in a sense the bad luck - to have had no great fire in late years.
It must be so.  If the opposite had been the case, I think one would be able
to tell the "burnt district" by the radical improvement in its architecture
over the old forms.  One can do this in Boston and Chicago.  The "burnt
district" of Boston was commonplace before the fire; but now there is no
commercial district in any city in the world that can surpass it - or perhaps
even rival it - in beauty, elegance, and tastefulness.

     However, New Orleans has begun - just this moment, as one may say. When
completed, the new Cotton Exchange will be a stately and beautiful building:
massive, substantial, full of architectural graces; no shams or false
pretenses or uglinesses about it anywhere.  To the city it will be worth many
times its cost, for it will breed its species.  What has been lacking hitherto
was a model to build toward, something to educate eye and taste: a suggester,
so to speak.

     The city is well outfitted with progressive men - thinking, sagacious,
long-headed men.  The contrast between the spirit of the city and the city's
architecture is like the contrast between waking and sleep.  Apparently there
is a "boom" in everything but that one dead feature.  The water in the gutters
used to be stagnant and slimy, and a potent disease-breeder; but the gutters
are flushed now two or three times a day by powerful machinery; in many of the
gutters the water never stands still, but has a steady current.  Other
sanitary improvements have been made; and with such effect that New Orleans
claims to be (during the long intervals between the occasional yellow-fever
assaults) one of the healthiest cities in the Union.  There's plenty of ice
now for everybody, manufactured in the town.  It is a driving place
commercially, and has a great river, ocean, and railway business.  At the date
of our visit it was the best-lighted city in the Union, electrically speaking.
The New Orleans electric lights were more numerous than those of New York, and
very much better.  One had this modified noonday not only in Canal and some
neighboring chief streets, but all along a stretch of five miles of
river-frontage.  There are good clubs in the city now - several of them but
recently organized - and inviting modern-style pleasure resorts at West End
and Spanish Fort.  The telephone is everywhere.  One of the most notable
advances is in journalism.  The newspapers, as I remember them, were not a
striking feature.  Now they are.  Money is spent upon them with a free hand.
They get the news, let it cost what it may.  The editorial work is not
hack-grinding, but literature.  As an example of New Orleans journalistic
achievement, it may be mentioned that the Times- Democrat of August 26, 1882,
contained a report of the year's business of the towns of the Mississippi
valley, from New Orleans all the way to St. Paul - two thousand miles.  That
issue of the paper consisted of forty pages; seven columns to the page; two
hundred and eighty columns in all; fifteen hundred words to the column; an
aggregate of four hundred and twenty thousand words.  That is to say, not much
short of three times as many words as are in this book.  One may with sorrow
contrast this with the architecture of New Orleans.

     I have been speaking of public architecture only.  The domestic article
in New Orleans is reproachless, notwithstanding it remains as it always was.
All the dwellings are of wood - in the American part of the town, I mean - and
all have a comfortable look.  Those in the wealthy quarter are spacious;
painted snow-white usually, and generally have wide verandas, or double
verandas, supported by ornamental columns.  These mansions stand in the center
of large grounds, and rise, garlanded with roses, out of the midst of swelling
masses of shining green foliage and many-colored blossoms.  No houses could
well be in better harmony with their surroundings, or more pleasing to the
eye, or more homelike and comfortable-looking.

     One even becomes reconciled to the cistern presently; this is a mighty
cask, painted green, and sometimes a couple of stories high, which is propped
against the house-corner on stilts.  There is a mansion-and- brewery
suggestion about the combination which seems very incongruous at first.  But
the people cannot have wells, and so they take rainwater. Neither can they
conveniently have cellars or graves, ^1 the town being built upon "made"
ground; so they do without both, and few of the living complain, and none of
the others.

[Footnote 1: The Israelites are buried in graves - by permission, I take it,
not requirement; but none else, except the destitute, who are buried at public
expense.  The graves are but three or four feet deep.]