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| French Market Levee. Barracks Card, 1888. New Orleans (Wiki Commons) |
Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]
A wealthy man, whom I had met at Alleghany Springs and who had bought several of my pictures, now sent me a photo of a favorite horse and wanted me to make a painting from it. I practically rode that horse to New Orleans.
I'd always wanted to see that city and thought I'd probably never be that near again. So I took the money for that picture and made a little trip down to the Crescent city.
Aunt Sue knew a lady there, Mrs. Lemmon, of a distinguished family who kept a very exclusive boarding-house on St. Charles Street where I could stay. In those days a Southern gentlewoman who found it necessary to support herself could do but two things. She could teach, if she were competent. If not, there was but one alternative. Southern women were usually notable housewives, so she could keep a boarding-house.
When I got on the train for New Orleans, I had [taken] a lower berth and the Pullman conductor turned out to be a young man. He was very polite. He told me that if no one had taken the drawing room by dark, he was allowed to give it as usual rates and he'd then give me the drawing room.
No one took it so he ushered me in, and I traveled in such state as I'd never known before. But his attentions were so profuse and he regaled me with the story of his life, and I became much bored. I finally got rid of him by saying I had to write a letter. I wrote one to Aunt Sue, and in it told about the absurd conductor and how ridiculous he'd made himself. He was hovering around and offered to mail the letter for me, assuring me that he'd be on hand next morning to help me off the train.
I woke about daylight next morning and looked out my window at the most enchanting scene. The train seemed to be running along the surface of Lake Ponchartrain [Pontchartrain]. There must have been a causeway under the water, but it didn't show at all. In the sky the silver sickle of a moon in its last quarter. When we reached New Orleans a few hours later, the conductor, to my relief, did not appear. As I got off I caught a glimpse of him in the distance, but he promptly turned his back when he saw me. I [chuckled] to myself. He had evidently read my letter.
I met some very nice young men at Mrs. Lemmon's and they took me around sightseeing. I had a wonderful time in that fascinating old city.
There was a charming Englishman named Nicholls, and a picturesque young Mexican named Arturo Paz. I had never met a Mexican before, and was much intrigued by his gorgeous dark eyes -- like a deer's eyes. But his only idea for entertaining a girl was to make love to her in the most poetical and extravagant way -- not at all convincing. (Evidently not meant to be).
Then there were several nice young Americans. And there was one American of a different type. A cousin of Mrs. Lemmon's came to call one evening and I met him. He was a very handsome man, dark, about forty, [with languid] manners and a superior air. Considered very eligible, No doubt spoiled by feminine adulation. He was called Colonel, but I don't know that he was ever in the Army. When a gentleman in the Deep South gets along in his thirties, he automatically becomes a Colonel. I was accustomed to men making some effort to be agreeable. When he just sat there expecting to be entertained, I too just sat there expecting to be entertained. So nothing happened. Impasse. Mrs. Lemmon had gone out for a moment and looked surprised when she returned to find a dead silence.
I loved the French Quarter with its lacelike ironwork and its verandas on every story of the houses -- they call them galleries there. It looked so [incredible] to see bananas growing on trees and oranges growing on trees, too. And live orange blossoms! I never saw any but artificial ones before.
One of the men took me out to Spanish Fort. He got me a brick of ice cream and one for himself. (This was before the day of cones.) I never saw one before, nor did he, being a Northern man. So we didn't know how to manage it. We should have opened the paper wrapper at one end. But we opened it half way down, with disastrous results. The grass got most of it.
I did not have time for the French Market, but saw it after all. As I started back to La Grange [LaGrange], our train got as far as the French Market and was held up by a train wreck farther up the road. We stood there for several hours till the tracks were cleared. Passengers got out and walked around in the market. And I think every one of us bought a whole bunch of bananas. Our car racks were choked with them. But they came in very handy to eat, our train being so late.
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| Banana Trees in bloom in New Orleans in 1880s. George Francois Mugnier |
[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.
Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940).
Mrs. Lemmon = not sure who this is yet. Contemporary newspapers mention a Mrs. Lemmon "of California," and Mrs. Lemmon connected to cultural events in New Orleans. Remotely possible connection to: The John and Sara (Plummer) Lemmon papers, 1863-1911 | University and Jepson Herbaria Archives, University of California, Berkeley. Link here.]
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