Public Spaces, Private Gardens: A History of Designed Landscapes in New Orleans

Public Spaces, Private Gardens

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Public Spaces,Private Gardens a history of DesIGneD L a nDsCa Pes In

∏ LAKE DOUGLAS AFTERWORD BY JOHN H. LAWRENCE

Louisiana State University Press Baton Rouge

Grateful acknowledgment is made to Furthermore: A Program of the J. M. Kaplan Fund for its generous assistance in publishing this book.

Publication of this book is made possible in part by support from the Zemurray Foundation.

Published by Louisiana State University Press Copyright © 2011 by Louisiana State University Press All rights reserved Manufactured in the United States of America First printing Designer: Laura Roubique Gleason Typefaces: Minion Pro, text; Bodoni SC Itc E, display Typesetter: Thomson Digital Printer and binder: Sheridan Books, Inc. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Douglas, Lake, 1949– Public spaces, private gardens : a history of designed landscapes in New Orleans / Lake Douglas ; afterword by John H. Lawrence. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8071-3837-3 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Landscape architecture—Louisiana—New Orleans—History. 2. Gardens—Louisiana—New Orleans— History. 3. Horticulture—Louisiana—New Orleans—History. I. Title. II. Title: History of designed landscapes in New Orleans. SB470.54.L8D68 2011 712.09763'35—dc22 2010047345 The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources. ∞

For those—past and present—who enjoy the landscapes of New Orleans

Jackson Square, ca. 1861–65. Unknown photographer. Marshall Dunham Photograph Album, Mss. 3241, Louisiana and Lower Mississippi Valley Collections, LSU Libraries, Baton Rouge.

Unidentified man, New Louisiana Jockey Club Garden, ca. 1880. George François Mugnier, photographer. Courtesy of the Collections of Louisiana State Museum

Gardening, in this section of the Union, differs widely, in many respects, from the system practiced in the North and Middle States; this semi-tropical climate affording numerous advantages unattainable in a more northern clime. During the month of February, I visited a vast number of gardens in New Orleans—its vicinity, and for 130 miles up the Mississippi. Even at that unfavorable season, from the mildness of the winter, I found a tolerable display of Flora’s beauties, the gardens, as it were; conjuring up a spring-like appearance in the gloomy season of winter.    —A l e x a n de r G or d on, “Remarks on Gardening and Gardens in ­Louisiana,” 1849 The landscape is both the product of cultural forces and a powerful agent in the production of culture. The landscape appears as the intersecting medium, the place where everything comes together, rather than a site of differentiation. Cultural landscape studies then seek to join and bring together where other disciplines have sometimes tended to fragment and separate.    —D i a n n e H a r r i s , “The Postmodernization of Landscape: A Critical Historiography,” 1999

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Con t e n ts

Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi Introduction: A “Beautiful and Imposing City”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 I. Public Open Spaces in New Orleans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 1. Public Squares . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Jackson Square . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Congo Square . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Lafayette Square . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Coliseum Square . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 2. Linear Open Spaces: Unintended Consequences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Along the Riverfront: The First Levees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Bayou St. John and the Carondelet Canal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Neutral Grounds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 3. Major Urban Parks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 City Park . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Audubon Park . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54 II. Commercial Open Spaces: “For Use and for Pleasure”. . . . . . . 61 4. European and American Precedents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 5. Pleasure Gardens in New Orleans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Lower Garden District . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 Attractions on Bayou St. John . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 Carondelet Canal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 Carrollton Gardens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 Lakeshore Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 III. Domestic Garden Design . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 6. General Trends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Colonial Beginnings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Nineteenth-Century Developments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106 Examples from the Notarial Archives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123 7. Garden Furnishings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126

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IV. Horticultural Content: Plants and Their Uses . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 8. Native American Agricultural Economy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 9. Colonial Agricultural Economy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138 10. Horticultural Economy of Enslaved Populations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144 11. Medicinal Uses of Plants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146 V. Nineteenth-Century Horticultural Commerce . . . . . . . . . . . 149 12. Plants for Sale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Newspaper Advertisements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Nursery Catalogs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 13. Marketplaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159 VI. Workforce Characteristics: Gardeners, Seedsmen, and “Flourist” Planters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 14. “Wanted: A Situation as Gardener”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167 VII. 15. 16. 17.

Horticultural Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181 Books . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 Thomas Affleck and His Almanacs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 Articles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196

III. Compiling Plant Lists for New Orleans Gardens . . . . . . . . . 201 V 18. Fruits and Vegetables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205 19. Ornamental Plants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208 Concluding Comments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214 Afterword: Perceiving the New Orleans Landscape, by John H. Lawrence . . . . 215 Appendix Table 1. Comparative Plant Lists: Fruits, Vegetables, and Herbs . . . . . . . . 219 Table 2-A. Ornamental Plants from Selected Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223 Table 2-B. Compiled Ornamental Plant Inventory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 Notes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273

Pr eface

Up until the 1970s, the history of landscape architecture—or garden design, as it is sometimes known—was about examples as objects in the landscape, an approach rooted in the historiography of art and architecture that had little concern for the larger context in which those examples existed. Often this history was about those privileged by wealth, power, and gender; issues related to economics, commerce, politics, technology, and sociology were rarely discussed. There were few general landscape histories, and for American subjects, little—if any—scholarly attention had been given to areas beyond eighteenth-century colonial communities, nineteenthcentury urban centers, and a handful of first- and second-generation design professionals (most of whom were men). That situation has changed due to the influence of cultural geographers, a new appreciation of vernacular and quotidian expressions, and insight from interdisciplinary academic approaches that include a wide range of inquiry. America’s landscape history contains many stories. These narratives, together with information about those (named and unnamed) who shaped these histories, are now being written. They demonstrate that advances in American landscape awareness, theory, and practice occurred throughout the country and came about through multiple influences. These histories, as varied and complicated as our country, explore multiple perspectives and experiment with new research agendas. They inspire perspectives that are grounded less in “landscape as artifact” and more in “landscape as process” and therefore are constantly evolving and growing. These new approaches, comprising the emerging historiography of landscape design, have informed my work, and I hope will provide insight to my subject not possible through more traditional approaches. My goal has been to write a broadly defined landscape history of one of America’s most interesting cities, a community in which this history, curiously, has not yet been examined. My hope is that this investigation of the “tolerable display of Flora’s beauties” found in yesterday’s public spaces and private gardens will challenge conventional wisdom about the city’s landscape heritage and elucidate a new appreciation for this unique and special place. The genesis of this work lies in a requirement for an independent project, nearly forty years ago, during my final undergraduate semester in a landscape ­architecture xi

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curriculum whose faculty allowed pursuit of an interest in the historic landscapes of New Orleans, a subject about which little was then known. Over time, my interest in the subject grew. Now, as a work of many years reaches the milestone of publication, I teach where once I was a student, and one of my teaching assignments has been to guide students in their final year’s independent project, still a curriculum requirement, returning the encouragement to today’s students that was given to me. The trajectory of this endeavor, from undergraduate studies onward, has included many people, cultural and academic institutions, and life-changing events, planned and unplanned. Thanks go first to my wife, Debbie de la Houssaye, who has been a constant source of encouragement and support. Among my academic mentors have been Robert “Doc” Reich at Louisiana State University; John Brinckerhoff Jackson and Al Fein at Harvard University; and Arnold Hirsch at the University of New Orleans. Their encouragement, advice, and insight gave inspiration and support at critical junctures in my academic training. The staff and resources of The Historic New Orleans Collection have been invaluable. Their invitation to curate the groundbreaking “In Search of Yesterday’s Gardens: Landscapes of 19thCentury New Orleans” exhibit in 2001, the first such examination of the city’s landscape heritage, propelled my research forward, and the generosity on many levels of this remarkable institution and its staff has made this book possible. Thanks also to the anonymous reader who gave insightful observations and helpful comments on the manuscript. Many others have also contributed through their support, encouragement, criticism, and interest. To all go my sincere thanks.

Public Spaces, Private Gardens

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I n t roduc t ion

A “Beautiful and Imposing City” When journalist Frederick Law Olmsted visited New Orleans in the early 1850s for a New York newspaper, he observed that Jackson Square, the city’s main public open space, “was now a public garden, bright with the orange and lemon trees, and roses, and myrtles, and laurels, and jessamines of the south of France.”1 Tempting as it is to speculate on the influence Jackson Square may have had on Olm­sted’s later career as America’s premier landscape architect and the designer of many important public parks in the second half of the nineteenth century, this is not my purpose.

Barrits, Jackson Square, ca. 1850. Lithograph. State Library of Louisiana

Instead, this investigation examines the public and private open spaces of New Orleans and those who made them. Assembling more than two centuries of written accounts, archival data, and images, this examination aims to uncover the roots of these spaces, to identify those involved in their creation, and to investigate the factors that contributed to their use. Looking at horticultural content, urban context, workforce characteristics, marketplace components, printed material, and spatial organizations, this work presents new information about the urban history of one of America’s most interesting cities. And by noting relevant national and 1

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i­ nternational connections, I place New Orleans landscape history within a broader urban narrative and thereby provide a new perspective on the evolution of open spaces in America. Only recently have landscape-based phenomena become legitimate topics for scholarly investigations in America. Such pursuits, often initiated without benefit of established protocol or precedent, draw from related fields and wrestle with investigative strategies and untested methodologies in efforts to extract useful data. Contemporary landscape historians, many of whom are grounded in cultural geography, vernacular studies, and even professional practice, have demonstrated that landscape histories are better understood from approaches that include multiple disciplines such as sociology, literature, environmental science, economics, gender studies, and horticultural history rather than from the narrow “artifact-centered” perspective employed in earlier studies. Herein, we find discoveries that paint a more complex, nuanced picture of people and developments involved in the evolution of American landscape design, a history defined less by singular “heroes” or iconic examples and characterized more by contributions from anonymous actors and heretofore unnoticed cultural, economic, and social forces. This is the history we do not yet know, but it is the context from which we can learn far more about the evolution of American concepts, uses, and designs of open spaces. Recent works by today’s landscape historians show that it is from diverse perspectives that new understandings of landscape history will emerge. It is hoped that such a ­multifaceted research strategy, employed here, will generate new insights into the landscape history of New Orleans and help explain how this city’s multicultural residents created and used open spaces as the common ground on which they built a unique ­community. For many reasons, New Orleans is unique among American cities. Its history has been examined in numerous ways, but, until now, an investigation of its landscape history has not appeared. As elsewhere in America, this community’s landscapes have been seen mainly as the settings in which other activities took place. An early assessment of the local landscape comes from the horticultural historian Ulysses Prentiss Hedrick, who, in 1950, wrote that locals could boast of a lavish horticultural environment, but “there was almost no landscape gardening worthy of note,” a sentiment that curiously echoes an account from 1851.2 Without giving examples, Hedrick concludes that there were “a few exceptionally fine places that showed well what could be done in the soil and climate that produced in nature magnificent forests and wild gardens.” 3 Subsequent studies have been limited in scope and content, inspired more by anecdotal accounts than the broader perspective presented here. The evolution of the designed landscapes of New Orleans is unlike any other within American landscape history, even though the cultural contributions of immigrants, introductions of plants, acquisition of information, transference of technologies, and evolution of business practices in New Orleans may well resemble similar activities in other cities. Gathering threads from more than two centuries of information about New Orleans open spaces and horticultural commerce, this



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study seeks to weave a tapestry that describes the evolution of this community’s open-space history and acknowledges the contributions of people and events that have influenced this segment of the community’s urban life. While the colonial period is the obvious point of departure for this investigation, an ending point is less apparent. I have elected to bring important landscape-related projects or trends forward from their origins to chronological points relevant to the discussions at hand. Extending this examination into contemporary times enables limited discussion of the landscape and its relationship to phenomena such as interest in the community’s artistic and cultural heritage, changing demographic and social conditions, new patterns of civic investment in community spaces, and public interest in outdoor recreation. These and other issues of the modern urban landscape deserve examination in greater detail than is possible here, and my hope is that what is here will situate New Orleans within the larger perspective of the evolution of designed landscapes in America and provide a historical context for those future discussions. Over time, three overlapping and defining factors have given the city its distinctive personality and contributed to making local expressions of its landscape unique: first, its geographic location; second, its environmental characteristics; and third, the cultural diversity of people who lived here. Located at the terminus of one of the world’s major rivers and a short distance from the Gulf of Mexico, the city occupies a place of strategic geographic importance, an observation that Spanish explorers, French monarchs, American presidents, and numerous entrepreneurs understood. Commercial activity began early in the colony’s history, and even with devastating fires in the late eighteenth century and periodic hurricanes, the community expanded and prospered in the nineteenth century through regional agricultural enterprises and trade facilitated by technological advances in rail and nautical transportation. And as a major agricultural entrepôt during much of this period, the city attracted international commerce and became the destination for immigrants from throughout the world. From its beginning and throughout its history, New Orleans, like other port cities, has been an international city whose residents and their customs are multinational, multicultural, and multiethnic. Second, the community’s unique environmental conditions contributed substantially to the evolution of human intervention and manipulation of exterior spaces. Early settlers found lush, seemingly impenetrable landscapes of exotic flora with abundant fauna. Environmental challenges, however, abounded. Swamplands were difficult to drain, clear, and build on, and insects were constant irritations and deadly hazards. Heat and humidity were often oppressive; frequent torrential downpours created flooding, and tropical storms brought destruction from winds and rising waters. Construction was difficult in the New Orleans area because local soils are high in organic content and the water table is close to the surface, thereby making knowledge of materials and technical expertise specific to local conditions

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necessary, even for the simplest of structures. The agricultural knowledge of early European settlers, based on homeland experiences, proved ineffective in New Orleans as well. In both architecture and agriculture, success with practices suitable to the local climate and environmental conditions came through trial and error or from the expertise of Native American or enslaved laborers brought from Africa or the Caribbean. In spite of these obstacles, lands in the region, when cleared and cultivated, proved profitable for growing crops for food and commerce, and lengthy growing seasons allowed for the cultivation of many different crops. Agricultural endeavors within the community and in surrounding areas, barring occasional natural disasters caused by storms or insect infestations, were sufficient to sustain the community and facilitate its survival throughout the eighteenth century and well into the nineteenth century. The region’s landscape was green most of the year, and almost everything would grow there with minimal attention, an observation frequently made by eighteenth- and nineteenth-century visitors. Local residents, confronted daily with a verdant but often unruly landscape, became immune to the beauty of the environment. For them, the landscape became something to be tamed and subdued rather than something to be enjoyed and protected. The third strong influence on the evolution of New Orleans was the international character and cultural diversity of its residents. Throughout most of the eighteenthcentury, the community evolved as a French colonial outpost populated with French, Spanish, Africans, West Indians, and Native Americans, and out of their inevitable intermingling came the distinctive social structures and conventions that would shape the attitudes and urban life of New Orleans. From 1803 onward, the community grew with the arrival of new residents from elsewhere in America and immigrants from Germany, Ireland, Italy, and other parts of the world. In the first half of the nineteenth century, New Orleans became an increasingly important American city, while retaining its international character. Those who settled in New Orleans brought with them cultural patterns and traditions from their homelands, and these practices, shaped by immutable local environmental conditions, influenced attitudes about the use, design, and content of open spaces. In this study, I divide open spaces into two categories, public and private, and over two centuries, several open-space models emerge in each. Public open spaces include neighborhood squares, linear green spaces, and urban parks—spaces that all relate to a city’s urban fabric. Private open spaces have two examples: entrepreneurial venues where external forces control public access, and domestic gardens that reflect different degrees of utility and ornament. These spaces are diverse in character and chronology, and their significance lies in their content, community ­impact, and cultural origins. Each open-space model evolved in its own way, influenced by various social factors including cultural values, economic status, available leisure time, and access to new concepts of urban life. Some models show direct relationships to their physical environments and contemporary fashions while others respond more to commerce, market conditions, advancing technologies, and social structures. An awareness of relevant influences enhances an understanding



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of these spatial models and demonstrates the degree to which they were integral to the fabric of the community and the lives of its residents. I begin with the early settlers’ efforts to establish an outpost for commercial enterprise in the swamplands adjacent the Mississippi River. Useful information about local plants and planting techniques often came from the resident Native Americans, whose existence depended on their active engagement with this landscape. Urban form in colonial Louisiana originated from military precedents ­related to protection or utility rather than to aesthetics or ornament. When subsequent settlements expanded beyond fortifications, land-use patterns re-created French practices of organizing agricultural fields in linear plots along waterways for commerce, patterns that continued in both rural and urban areas long after French Louisiana became part of the United States in 1803. Throughout the early days in New Orleans, as well as elsewhere in colonial America, settlers were more concerned with clearing land, taming the wilderness (and often its native inhabitants), and staying alive than they were interested in creating ornamental gardens or places for leisure-time activities. Exterior spaces, once cleared of trees and other plants, became sites for public activities such as military gatherings and other communal events and for private uses such as housing and domestic gardens. In eighteenth-century New England, open communal spaces became town greens, “commons” shared by all. Two such public spaces in New Orleans were the Place d’Armes, inside the colonial boundaries, and Congo Square, just outside the ramparts. The Place d’Armes was in front of the colony’s main governmental and ecclesiastical structures, and it was the colony’s central gathering place, the local militia’s parade ground, and the community’s bazaar for goods and services. Congo Square, outside the original fortifications of the colonial community, was the site of periodic public spectacles and legally sanctioned weekly congregations of enslaved Africans and free people of color. Among the activities here were musical performances, dancing, and a marketplace for an alternative agricultural economy, and such a venue may well be unique in the history of American open spaces. Both open spaces have remained significant in the community from the eighteenth century to the present. As the community grew following its acquisition by the United States, public open-space models advanced or receded over time in proportion to their usefulness, economic viability, and social acceptance among community residents. ­Exterior spaces reflected local environmental situations, newly defined aesthetic considerations, and the social conditions of a complex, multiracial community. As the nineteenth century unfolded, critical issues of the organization and function of public open spaces related more to dictates of economy, fashion, and prevailing social customs than to the previous century’s concerns with safety and survival. Communities stabilized, residential areas expanded out from urban commercial centers, and community leaders realized the potential open spaces had to attract new residents. In the first decades of nineteenth-century New Orleans, plantation lands ­upriver and downriver from the Vieux Carré were subdivided for residential developments, often with community open spaces. Coliseum Square, for instance, featured an ir-

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regularly shaped central park surrounded by lots designated for residences, educational facilities, and cultural activities. A subsequent development from the 1830s, now known as the Garden District, included a central square devoted to a cemetery, surrounded by generously proportioned lots for residential structures, the physical characteristic that, according to conventional wisdom, suggested the neighborhood’s name.4 Later developments throughout the city often had odd-shaped green spaces that evolved when large tracts, adjacent to developed neighborhoods, were subdivided into residential plots and new streets were created with little regard for existing or future transportation patterns. With no legislation in place to govern how new neighborhoods were laid out, streets sometimes met at strange angles, and unbuildable plots became de facto public open spaces scattered like remnants of green cloth on the tailor’s floor. Later in the nineteenth century, these small spaces often acquired names and features such as plantings, sidewalks, water basins, iron planters, and benches. Adjacent neighbors adopted these small parks as extensions of their own front yards, practices that continue today. Early in the nineteenth century, privately owned “pleasure gardens” appear in American cities, including New York and New Orleans, as venues that offered food, drink, musical and theatrical entertainment, sports and other leisure activates in an outdoor setting. Patterned on models from eighteenth-century London and other European cities, these attractions arguably are the precursors of the amusement parks of the early twentieth century and the theme parks of the mid-twentieth century onward. English examples have been examined at some length, almost exclusively from their role in the evolution of English traditions in theater and music, but thus far, nineteenth-century American examples have not attracted much attention among landscape historians. The most thorough examination of New York pleasure gardens thus far suggests that they were related more to taverns and theaters than to parklike open spaces. New Orleans examples, found from the beginning of the nineteenth century onward, were early and enduring venues for musical and theatrical events, balloon launches, eating and drinking, sports, socializing, and other recreational activities. Later such recreational attractions, developed as components of new public transit systems, were removed from the centers of nineteenth-century cities. Investors who owned local rail lines built their routes to terminate at popular features such as ­hotels, natural attractions, pleasure gardens, and “resorts” that would attract customers to pay the fare for access to the attraction. Having an attractive outdoor destination to which access was both convenient and affordable, of course, encouraged transit ridership and provided novel recreation opportunities for local residents. Here, as in other American cities from the mid-nineteenth century onward, public transit systems encouraged access to open spaces for recreation and leisure activities and facilitated subsequent residential expansion. The numbers and the activities of such entrepreneurial open spaces in New Orleans suggest that they deserve recognition in the evolution of American ­open-space awareness, design, and content. New Orleans examples also offer



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i­ mportant ­evidence about how local patterns of racial identity determined access to open spaces and how these privately controlled open spaces were often created to appeal—through their activities, food, and events—to specific cultural ­segments of the community. These characteristics, if not unique in American open-space history, are certainly important in understanding open spaces as venues for social and economic exchange within the urban context. And while rules of admission, social constraints, and economic conditions may have defined access, New Orleans pleasure gardens nevertheless were venues in which multiple segments of the community could interact. The presence in early-nineteenth-century New Orleans of public neighborhood squares and privately owned pleasure gardens, two public open-space models that predate the midcentury American urban park movement, suggests that local openspace examples occupy important places in the evolution of the country’s landscape heritage and that they make significant contributions to the origins of open-space awareness in America. Following the economic and political disruptions of the Civil War and Reconstruction, the city slowly recovered to experience a period of demographic expansion, infrastructure growth, economic development, and political reform similar to other late-nineteenth-century American cities. Public spaces, now expanded to a greater urban scale, related to new interests in recreation and leisure activities, and interest developed among decision makers in acquiring trained guidance in creating such spaces. New architectural styles created new residential spatial patterns, and exterior domestic spaces reflected increasing interest in aesthetics and horticultural variety. The realization of municipal initiatives for large, urban-scale parks would not come to New Orleans, however, until the last decades of the nineteenth century, well after other American cities had developed, with professional expertise, public parks and municipal park systems. From the mid-nineteenth century onward, progressive American cities increasingly followed the lead of New York, Boston, and other urban centers in creating large urban-scaled public parks and open-space systems modeled on New York’s Central Park (1850s), Brooklyn’s Prospect Park (1860s), and Boston’s “Emerald Necklace” system (1880s), projects of Frederick Law Olmsted, often called the father of American landscape architecture. Recall that Olmsted visited New Orleans on his trips through the South in the 1850s as a journalist. His descriptions of the landscape give us insight into what he observed, which, arguably, shaped how he approached later projects. His lengthy career as a landscape architect began in 1857 in partnership with the English architect Calvert Vaux (a protégé of the journalist Andrew Jackson Downing, America’s leading horticulturist and tastemaker) for a new public park in New York, a project that had been proposed for the expanding urban center as early as 1844 by Downing and other influential intellectuals. Olmsted’s professional practice ended with his participation on the design team for the Chicago World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893. During the span of his professional activity, Olmsted and his firm carried out more than five hundred commissions, including approximately one hundred

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public parks and recreation grounds, two hundred private estates, fifty ­residential communities and subdivisions, and campus designs for forty academic institutions.5 Following Olmsted’s retirement, his office continued under the direction of his stepson, John Charles Olmsted (1851–1920), and his son, Frederick Law Olmsted Jr. (1870–1957), and through them and their work, Olmsted’s multifaceted career and professional philosophy continued to shape landscape architecture practice and pedagogy throughout twentieth-century America. The city’s first efforts at creating large urban parks were in what is now City Park (1870s) and Audubon Park (1890s). Although Olmsted participated in the ­design of neither, his influence hovers in the local atmosphere: a professional associate who had been involved in the construction of both Central Park and Prospect Park was engaged to submit a plan for what would become City Park and later submitted a plan for Audubon Park that does not survive. The Olmsted Brothers office worked on Audubon Park from late 1890s into the 1940s, and the firm was involved in the 1920s and 1930s in designs for a section of City Park. Judging from printed accounts, the approaches taken in these twentieth-century projects reflect design strategies first developed by the senior Olmsted in the previous century. By the beginning of the twentieth century, most urban streets in New Orleans were paved, an extensive public transit system laced old and new neighborhoods together, and new technology drained low-lying areas, facilitating in-fill residential development. The city’s new infrastructure created the modern urban landscape. Major public park initiatives that began in the late nineteenth century advanced in the early decades of the twentieth century, and, by the 1920s, New Orleans had two major public parks, Audubon Park and City Park. Work continued on these parks during the 1930s through government-sponsored public works programs, creating facilities with well-developed features and attractions for both active and passive recreation activities. Complementing these large parks were multiple smaller squares and neighborhood green spaces that related in scale and function to adjacent residential areas. Altogether, these spaces gave local residents reasonably convenient access to open spaces, even with the Jim Crow laws of the early twentieth century that defined when and to what degree all citizens could make use of such facilities. Interest in the city’s architectural history and its environmental heritage gained strength, creating important artistic expressions (notably in pottery and paint) based on the community’s cultural heritage and the content of local landscapes. Local evidence of international Beaux-Arts city-planning trends is seen in sculptural references to the “Lost Cause” in prominent urban locations, and some domestic garden designs reinforced lingering misconceptions about French hegemony by re-creating garden parterres. Improved economic situations permitted outdoor recreational activities for many, though racial barriers defined access to public spaces for others. Ever-expanding commercial resources provided increasing horticultural variety to local gardeners and promoted contemporary public and private garden customs associated with patterns elsewhere. New Orleans began to resemble other American cities in terms of its commerce, urban infrastructure, and public open-space inventory, but its social systems and cultural heritage continued



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to reflect the complexities and peculiarities of its residents. Janus-like, it was a community that inched forward while it looked backward. After World War II, substantial changes in residential patterns emerged, and the social changes of the 1950s and 1960s dramatically affected uses of public spaces in the community. Significant new park projects were undertaken in the 1970s, only to recede in impact with declining urban populations and diminishing municipal budgets in the 1980s and 1990s. And, of course, the cataclysmic ­impact of Hurricane Katrina in 2005 wreaked havoc in the urban landscape and surrounding environment, the magnitude of which has yet to be understood fully, addressed, or mitigated. Like elsewhere in colonial America, domestic open spaces in New Orleans were first concerned with providing food for the table. But as increasingly wider swaths of land were cleared and developed into the urban community, functions related to domestic food production were transferred to locations removed from domestic structures. At the end of the colonial period, the community was established, the immediate environment was reasonably controlled, and the colony’s economy was expanding through agricultural and maritime commerce. By this time, agricultural experimentation had resulted in knowledge of what could be successfully grown on a commercial scale (cotton, tobacco, and sugarcane) and what was not feasible (indigo and mulberry for silkworms, for instance). Farmers on the German Coast west of the city had productive farms for vegetables and other foodstuffs, and they regularly brought fresh produce and fish from the Northshore and Lake Pontchartrain through Bayou St. John and the Carondelet Canal into the city at Congo Square and the nearby French Market on the Mississippi River. Domestic gardens began to be relieved of their initial responsibility of providing for the owner’s table and gradually became less utilitarian and more decorative. Commensurate with this slow but steady shift in the domestic realm were factors brought about by local economic growth. An expanding economy led to the creation of new markets; they, in turn, created new demands that were met by bringing in new products from outside the community. Bringing in new products meant that the local community began to resemble the communities from which these new products came. This economic model can easily be seen in the growth and expansion of ornamental plant materials, from the earliest newspaper notices in the 1820s through detailed descriptions of gardens in the 1840s on to later nineteenthcentury seed and plant catalogs. By the 1920s, local nurseries and seed houses were supplying vegetable seeds and ornamental plants to customers throughout the Gulf South region. Three features, evident in written and graphic accounts from this period, characterize local domestic gardens and distinguish them from other American gardens. One was the rich palette of available plants here, attributable to the access local gardeners had to materials from elsewhere in the world and the ease with which such exotics could be acclimated to local conditions. Many plants came into the community from the Caribbean, Central and South America, and Asia, and

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they quickly became part of the local landscapes, both private and public. Another characteristic of local gardens is their widespread appearance in domestic developments. Judging from available material, domestic gardens were almost universal throughout nineteenth-century New Orleans, and designs show a variety of influences from those rooted in small-scale domestic production to more ornamental developments reflecting mid nineteenth-century decorative trends proposed by Downing and his contemporaries. Finally, the symbiotic relationship between local domestic architecture and its setting create a distinctive environmental character. Domestic structures often had deep galleries with cast iron from local foundries, windows that reached from floor to ceiling, attached wooden trellises for shade and privacy, and enclosed rear courtyards. Through these features, interior spaces often merged seamlessly with exterior areas. Fences usually separated domestic spaces from public spaces, but residential structures had strong and direct relationships with sidewalks and streets through physical proximity and visual access facilitated by fence materials of wooden pickets or cast-iron elements. Shade was important, as were fragrances; therefore gardens often included broadleaf evergreens and flowering shrubs. Often utilitarian plants, such as figs and citrus, were installed in small orchard plantings, and herbs and vegetables were planted in linear beds, usually in side or rear areas of the property. Domestic gardens were sometimes grandiose, such as the Robb garden, but most were modest, such as many represented in the Notarial Archives. Although none remains intact from the nineteenth century, what does remain are multiple images of nineteenth-century gardens, together with documentation from a variety of other sources, and these resources allow presentday garden historians to imagine what previous gardens may have been. According to newspaper notices from 1818–19, skilled workers in the community looked for work as gardeners and advertised skills in “laying out Pleasure Grounds.” Nevertheless, the account from 1851, mentioned earlier, states that “Landscape Gardening [in New Orleans] is half a century behind the age,” and that “there is not much true horticultural taste here.”6 On one hand, we might interpret these observations more as expressions of the anonymous author’s personal preferences than as descriptions of how locals approached their gardens, or perhaps these comments reflect the horticultural chaos and exuberance inherent in a subtropical environment. Yet, on the other hand, landscape architecture as a profession was firmly established in numerous American cities by the end of the nineteenth century, but not so in New Orleans. While the Olmsted Brothers firm had work here, it was accomplished without a local office. It was not until the 1930s that an academically trained landscape architect practiced here, and not until the 1970s that professional offices with more than one or two members became established in the community.7 Looking at the designed exterior spaces of New Orleans and the cultural, social, and economic structures that influenced them facilitates a better understanding of their importance within the community and, in turn, contributes to ­fi xing local landscape developments in the larger, national picture. Ample evidence among archival



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examples and published accounts confirms there are stories there that give new information about local landscape practices, provide new insight into how local residents perceived and used public and private open spaces, and inform a deeper understanding of the horticultural commerce that supported these endeavors. Moreover, this evidence points the way toward future investigations. New ­Orleans reveals its historical complexities and cultural contradictions slowly, and the community resists comparison with others. There are countless stories yet to tell about the cultural landscape of this unique community, and these, in turn, will contribute to a better understanding of America’s landscape history. Writing an early guidebook in 1845 for visitors, the local publisher Benjamin Moore Norman described views of New Orleans as being “beautiful and imposing” and “a panorama at once magnificent and surprising.”8 His accounts of the community’s urban condition, together with contemporary images, provide the context for a better understanding of Olmsted’s description, from a few years later, of the city’s main public space. Inspired by such narrative and pictorial vignettes, this work creates a mosaic of observations about open spaces and those who made them. While each open-space example offers insight into the community’s interaction with its landscape, bringing all together enables a richer understanding of this “beautiful and imposing” city and allows us to see its urban history in new and ­different ways.

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I Public Open Spaces in New Orleans When Americans think of public open spaces, we generally envision eighteenthcentury New England village “commons” or nineteenth-century parks and park systems such as New York’s Central Park and Boston’s Emerald Necklace. These early American open-space models evolved from the functional considerations of small communities, while urban open-space developments later in the nineteenth century, such as parks and park systems, are rooted in religious, Romantic, and didactic notions represented in the “rural” cemeteries that began in the 1830s. These influences had little to do with the evolution of open spaces in New Orleans and may account for the general absence of New Orleans from general discussions of the history of open spaces in American cities. Within the realm of public space, three open-space models occur in New Orleans: neighborhood-oriented “squares” (though many were not geometric squares) related to adjacent military, residential, and commercial land uses; linear spaces, such as levees and “neutral grounds,” 1 resulting from infrastructure of new streets, flood protection, or advances in rail transit; and large-scale urban public parks, a phenomenon of the late nineteenth century. These open-space categories did not evolve chronologically, and each grew organically and independently. Our discussion begins with the settlement’s first open space, the Place d’Armes (now Jackson Square) and concludes with the establishment of the city’s two major urban parks (City Park and Audubon Park) and their development in the early decades of the twentieth century.

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1 Pu bl ic Squa r e s

Public open space, as a component of the community’s fabric, begins early in the city’s history and continues, with varying degrees of public interest and civic attention, to the present. Eighteenth-century maps indicate that spaces devoted to public areas were strategically placed throughout the colony. As the city grew during the early nineteenth century, new public spaces developed to coincide with commercial and residential developments. Early colonial maps record what is now Jackson Square, and Congo Square is shown in the Jacques Tanesse map of 1812. Many more examples, such as Lafayette Square, Washington Square, and Annunciation Place, appear on the Zimpel map of 1834, which also shows neighborhood open spaces in subdivisions that were never realized.1 Nineteenth-century printed sources give early evidence of civic attention to public spaces. The New-Orleans Directory and Register, 1822–23 includes a listing for a “John B. Hine, gardener of the City,” who lived on “St. Ann, below Rampart,” and the 1824 Supplement includes a listing for “Jean Ruelle, city gardener, jardinière de la ville.” 2 While his qualifications, the circumstances of his hiring, and the nature of his job are not known, we might speculate that his work involved management of public green spaces, and, if so, this would be the earliest notice yet found of the city’s attention to the maintenance of public space. On November 11, 1830, an article appeared in the Courrier reporting that the city council had given approval for the mayor to “pay nine thousand dollars for the lot of ground” behind St. Louis Cathedral “for the purpose of a public square.” The report suggests that residents of the “central and lower parts of the city will be glad to learn that an improvement so conducive to beauty as the opening of the contemplated square . . . will be effectuated.” Judging from early colonial maps, this open space had been a garden or green space much earlier in the eighteenth-century community, and since then, it had seen many uses. The significance of this notice is as a record of an early municipal action to purchase land for a “public square” amen­ity for residents of the “central and lower parts of the city.” By the early 1830s, there were several such public squares scattered throughout New Orleans in both commercial districts and residential neighborhoods: the Place d’Armes (later Jackson Square) in the Vieux Carré; Congo Square in Tremé; Washington Square in Marigny; Lafayette Square in the American Sector; Annunciation Place and Coliseum Square in what is now the Lower Garden District. Writing in 1845, the journalist Benjamin Moore Norman notes that these “public squares” 15

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were “neither numerous, nor upon a very extended scale,” but that they were “located with good taste, and are exceedingly convenient.” 3 These spaces are related in scale to their immediate surroundings (as opposed to urban parks later in the nineteenth century that are much larger), and were not necessarily square. Open spaces associated with adjacent residential developments existed elsewhere in America from the seventeenth-century onward in communities such as Philadelphia (1682), Savannah (1733), Boston (1793), New York City (1803), and Baltimore (1827). According to Phebe Goodman’s recent investigation of “garden squares” in Boston, precedents for those spaces are found in eighteenth-century London, yet they have received little notice from scholars, who have instead focused attention on the public-park movement of the mid-nineteenth century.4 As later discussion of local pleasure gardens reveals, urban squares are not the only open-space model that has escaped the attention of American landscape historians. The presence of both urban squares and pleasure gardens in New Orleans suggests that there are open spaces other than “rural cemeteries” and urban parks that hold value for an understanding the evolution of American open spaces. The functions of local squares responded to the character of their immediate surroundings. Squares held ceremonial, military, and civic activities when adjacent to government and commercial buildings, and their character was primarily ornamental when adjacent areas were residential. In the case of Congo Square, the space functioned as a meeting ground for different ethnic and cultural groups, a marketplace wherein free exchange took place, and a place for amusement, dance, and social interaction. Writing about local squares, Benjamin Moore Norman notes that plants and “other ornaments are in progress, and they already begin to assume a beauty that does much credit to the city authorities.” Furthermore, “nothing is more conducive to health than these pleasure resorts for wholesome exercise.” Everyone, he continues, including the “toil-work citizen, the wearied scholar, and the confined artisan,” is able to “breathe the fresh air, enjoy a delightful morning or evening promenade, and catch an imaginary enjoyment, in miniature, of the blessed country.” 5 Given the social convention of the period, these open spaces were a common ground for urban residents. Discussion follows on four such spaces, selected for the different roles they played in the community.

Jackson Square The settlement’s first open space was the Place d’Armes (later Jackson Square), created for military drills, parades, and public ceremonies. Part of the plan for the new colony laid out by the engineer Pierre Le Blond de la Tour and his assistant Adrien de Pauger in 1721, it is based on eighteenth-century military models and Le Blond’s Elements of Fortification. The Place d’Armes should be square, and its size should relate to “the town, to the garrison, to the number of inhabitants and to the amount of land” available: “A large and spacious place d’armes is in several ways more agreeable than a small one. It is an ornament for the town. Moreover, the principal buildings, like the great church, the town hall, the Government House or the house of the Governor ordinarily have their principal doorway on the place



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d’armes. All this attracts there a large concourse of people; it ought to have enough space to be adequate for all that, without difficulty.”6 The central open space, around which the colony developed, is clearly seen in the Veüe et perspective de la Nouvelle Orléans, 1726, by Jean-Pierre de Lassus. The colony developed around the Place d’Armes much as Le Blond’s instructions indicate: St. Louis Cathedral and the government buildings faced one side of the square; residential and commercial buildings were on the upriver and downriver sides; and the city filled the simple gridiron pattern that the early engineers designed. A view of the Place d’Armes from 1803, by J. L. Boqueta de Woiseri, shows an open field with diagonal paths, and a drawing dated 1808 by Joseph Pilié shows three rows of sycamores on the upriver and downriver sides of the square, a design that would last until midcentury. The architect Benjamin Henry Latrobe came to New Orleans in 1819 and recorded his impressions of the Place d’Armes: The public square, which is open to the river, has an admirable general effect & is infinitely superior to anything in our Atlantic cities as a water view of the city. This square extends along the river about—feet, and is—feet deep. The whole of the side parallel to the river is occupied by the Cathedral in the center & by two symmetrical buildings on each side. That to the West is called the Principal, & contains the public offices & council chamber of the city. That on the East is called the Presbytery, being the property of the Church. . . . The square itself is neglected, the fences ragged, & in many places open. Part of it is let for a depot of firewood, paving stones are heaped up in it, and along the whole of the side next the river is a row of mean booths in which dry goods are sold, by yellow, black & white women, who dispose, I am told, of incredible quantities of slops & other articles fit for sailors & boatmen, to those sort of customers. Thus a square, which might be made the handsomest in America, is really rather a nuisance than otherwise.7

About this time, Latrobe submitted plans and drawings for a fence and fountain for the square, but these were rejected by the city council as too expensive. A fence, probably built to the designs and specifications of the city surveyor, Joseph Pilié, was erected instead. In 1822, the Philadelphia journalist John Adems Paxton reported: “The spacious streets which bound the city, i.e. Canal, Rampart, and Esplanade streets and the Levée, have lately been planted with four rows of the sycamore or butter-wood tree, which in the course of a few years will afford a fine shade, contribute to the health of the city, and present one of the most elegant promenades in the United States. There are several large public squares, one of which, The Place of Arms, 350 feet on Levee, by 330 in depth on Chartres street, is very handsome, being planted with trees, and enclosed with an iron Palisade, having beautiful ornamented gate-ways of the same metal.” 8 This description of sycamore plantings on the streets defining the community is revealing on several levels. Whether a conscious decision by local authorities or not, such plantings of fast-growing, native trees along the street in double rows at the upriver and downriver sides of the Place d’Armes, and at Congo Square, would have established unity among public spaces, a significant amount of shade for the

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community, together with a strong sense of visual order in the community’s landscape. These are landscape contributions not often found in other American cities of the period. Paxton’s mention of the health and ornamental benefits of the tree plantings is also significant because it suggests that such values were obvious and noteworthy to this observer from Philadelphia, even if they had not necessarily motivated the plantings. A later plan of Jackson Square by Pilié, ca. 1830, shows the two rows of trees with an elaborate scheme of walkways around a central fountain. This scheme, judging from later elevations, was not carried out at the time, though a central fountain was installed in 1836.9 In 1845, Norman describes the Place d’Armes (or “Parade Square”) as “embellished with fine trees,” but he notes that, as the center of the first municipality was bordered on one side by public buildings and on the other by the levee, “it is a matter of surprise that it has not been improved in a style worthy of the inhabitants.” 10 By the late 1840s, the square, now called the Public Square, had fallen into disrepair, along with the adjacent buildings. This report appeared in the Daily Picayune on November 26, 1848:11 What a queer neighborhood is that in the immediate vicinity of the Place d’Armes . . . ! A stranger can scarce realize that he is in an American city so foreign an air pervades the vicinage. There one beholds the time-worn buildings of the old Spanish architects of the last century, crumbling and mouldering slowly away. . . . Even the old Place d’Armes itself has a queer, ancient, foreign look. The tall and aged sycamores, with the brown bark peeled off in great blotches from their trunks leaving white, bald places; the dead and crackling branches, the dying leaves changed by the approach of winter, but still clinging tenaciously to the parent stock as if loath to fall and perish, seem to mourn as the wind whistles through them at the desolation which has crept into the old square. Where are the once well-kept walks, where its neat benches on which many a lover has uttered his devotion to his mistress and received from her lips his judgment? Where those gay promenaders, full of life and hope, uttering soft nothings and prattlings in foreign tongues of la belle France or deeds in old Spain! . . . Where is the little fountain that sprouted so gaily in the center of the Square? Where those tiny denizens of the basin? Fish or fountain no longer exist. . . . The basin is filled up and the next generation can only learn that there was a fountain there.

Work had begun by this time to add fashionable mansard roofs to the Presbytere and the Cabildo, and construction had started on the redesign of the cathedral. Michaëla, Baroness de Pontalba, owned property facing the square on its upriver and downriver sides, and in the 1840s she decided to demolish existing structures and replace them with identical brick row houses containing commercial uses at the street level and residential units above.12 In 1846, when she sought concessions to build her new structures, she also submitted a plan for the square, and soon a municipal committee was formed to direct improvements. This committee (which included the city surveyor, Louis H. Pilié, son of Joseph), found the space “at present rather an eyesore than an ornament to the neighborhood; its surface is covered



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with a rude grass, known as ‘smut grass,’ a dirty, unsightly plant. The trees are, unfortunately, almost all sycamores, which are among the first to lose their leaves in the fall. These trees afford some shade for a short season of the year, but the place, in its present situation, is rather a resort for loafers and vagabonds, who are seen lying drunk under the trees, than as a place of agreeable resort for families and for the amusement and exercise of children.” 13 Huber and Wilson speculate that the plan eventually used in the square’s redesign was the one suggested by Baroness Pontalba. The sycamores were removed in late 1850; in early 1851, the square’s name was officially changed to Jackson Square in honor of local hero Gen. Andrew Jackson, and work started on the redesign of the space. Major improvements began: a new fence, designed by Pilié, was installed; the fountain was moved to the rear of the cathedral; grass was planted; subsurface drains and gas lines were installed; 450 shrubs, plants, and trees were set; and four marble statues representing the four seasons were added.14 Jackson Square had now become the city’s urban center and a focal point for both social and commercial activities. Public auctions were held here, and street venders sold flowers, coffee, fruits, and confections.15 When he came to New Orleans in the early 1850s, Frederick Law Olmsted noted that the square was “now a public garden, bright with the orange and lemon trees, and roses, and myrtles, and laurels, and jessamines of the south of France.” He adds that the “ancient Hotel de Ville, . . . the city court-house” is “the most picturesque and historic-looking public building, except the highly preserved, little old court-house at Newport, that I can now think of in the United States.16 On May 23, 1854, the architect Thomas K. Wharton wrote in his diary that, being in the French Quarter, he “was struck with the extreme beauty of the shrubbery and flowers that embellished the Square opposite the Cathedral.” Everything is in order, he continues, and he notices “the hand of improvement [as] busy in the rear of the Cathedral as well as in front.” He notes that this neighborhood has changed more than any other in the city since his arrival in 1845, and, in general, the changes are for the better. “The breeze blows fresh from the river,” he continues, “over a garden of lovely plants in place of the parched sterile square of former years.17 The square’s new design and planting would complement the installation of the equestrian statue by Clark Mills (1815–1883) honoring Andrew Jackson and his role in winning the War of 1812 at the Battle of Chalmette, near New Orleans. This statue, a second casting of the original in Washington, D.C., is significant for two reasons: it is the first equestrian statue in American art history, and its 15-ton weight is directed to the back of the horse, allowing it to stand balanced on its hind legs, an artistic feat never before accomplished. The piece was installed in Jackson Square late in 1855 and unveiled in early 1856. Several images of Jackson Square from the mid-1850s depict many of the elements previously described and show an urban scene more related to midcentury Paris than to any other American city. Facing away from the Mississippi River, the Pissou and Simon view shows Jackson Square with curvilinear walks around a central sculpture of Jackson; possibly the statue’s installation inspired publication of

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this lithograph.18 Heavy plantings of trees and shrubs are evident. Conical plant forms suggest evergreens, and a clipped hedge in the central circle is apparent, but there is not enough detail to ascertain the plant varieties. While one side remains open to the levee, identical brick buildings enclose two sides, and the city’s main cathedral and two government buildings face the fourth side. The architecture of the structures clearly resembles both Spanish and French precedents, and the urban design scheme of the tout ensemble is unique in America. What started out in the 1720s as an open space based on French military precedents evolved, over time, into an urban (and urbane) park, similar in scale and design to urban parks in Paris and other European centers.

Pissou and Simon, View of Jackson Square, ca. 1855. Lithograph. Courtesy The Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1948.4

Photographs from the 1860s to the 1880s show that plantings in Jackson Square had grown, and while trees had been planted, they were still immature. The Pontalba Apartments formed a strong boundary on two sides, and the park had an open and spacious character. Judging from the quantity of images that exist of Jackson Square from pioneer photographers such as Theodore Lilienthal and William McPherson in the 1860s to George François Mugnier, Charles Franck, Frank Moore, and others later in the nineteenth century, one might safely say that this urban space, the center of the city, continued to be a favorite subject of photographers. These images allow us to see how the space evolved over time, and how it remained important to the city’s identity, even today. In 1879, the city leased river frontage at Jackson Square to the Louisiana and Texas Railroad for a warehouse. By 1882, over the objections of some residents, a structure was built that closed off the view and physical access to the river, a situation that remained in place for almost one hundred years until changes in the



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Aerial view, Jackson Square, ca. 1861–65. William D. McPherson, photographer. Marshall Dunham Photograph Album, Mss. 3241, Louisiana and Lower Mississippi Valley Collections, LSU Libraries, Baton Rouge

Jackson Square, view upriver toward Pontalba Apartments, ca. 1880. George François Mugnier, photographer. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library

river-oriented commerce, together with increased demands for physical and visual access to the river, contributed to public interest in returning the riverfront to pedestrian-oriented activities in the early 1970s. Writing late in the nineteenth century, the jurist Henry Castellanos gives this description of Jackson Square: In the center [of the town], and directly fronting the river, was a public park, or, more properly speaking, a Place d’Armes, surrounded by an iron railing erected on a granite coping. The enclosure originally consisted of a fancy wooden fence, the gates being flanked by imitations of cannon, cut out or carved from the same

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material. . . . A triple row of sycamores encircled the grounds, and the weeds were ­a llowed to grow rank and tall, except where wide swaths had been cut by ­pedestrians on their way to the markets, the church or the public buildings. . . . The façade of the square—that toward the river—was perfectly open, there being no railroads in those times to obstruct the view or breezes from the Mississippi with their unsightly freight depots. Each of the lateral streets . . . was covered by a block of buildings . . . used as stores . . . for the sale of tropical fruits, the trade being mostly controlled by hardy Austrians and Slovenians. . . . [F]ruit seemed to be the staple commodity in that quarter. Along the iron railings, on the opposite side, were to be seen booths for the sale of oranges, bananas, ice-cream, peanuts, ginger beer (bière douce) . . . and the inevitable esomac mulâtre (ginger cake). . . . Lining the river, small huts were erected along the water front for the sale of oysters by the wholesale or on the half-shell. These establishments were well patronized by families and respectable society, for the luggers engaged in the trade were wont to tie to the posts opposite the markets with their daily loads of fresh and luscious bivalves. On Sunday afternoons, the scene around the square was more than picturesque. Greek ice cream vendors in tasseled fez; Choctaws reeling drunk in Father Adam’s costume, a well worn, diaphanous blanket being substituted for the fig leaf; mulatresses decked with gaudy colored tignons; children in holiday attire romping over the weeds in innocent glee; spectacled gentlemen, sporting their gold-headed walking sticks and dainty gold snuff-boxes, groups of City Guards in gala uniforms and with formidable cutlasses; fashionable loungers—the dudes of the period—discussing the rival claims of Calve or Bamberger, the favorite prima donnas of the Opera—all these commingled together and in incessant motion, offered the ever varying and dissolving views of the kaleidoscope. . . . I can assure my readers that those days were happier far than ours, in this particular, at least, that citizens could gather together in social entertainments and exchange the amenities of life in peace and amity, free from the intrusion of drunken hoodlums or Workhouse rowdies.19

This account, coinciding with others, describes Jackson Square as, from its earliest days, the center of the community and a place that encouraged social interaction and urban exchange among the community’s diverse residents through the governmental, religious, military, residential, and commercial activities it contained. These activities, together with the distinct architectural character of the space, have contributed to the city’s lasting reputation as a cosmopolitan center. While other squares would be added to the community’s inventory into the nineteenth century, Congo Square, Lafayette Square, and Coliseum Square correspond with Jackson Square in their urban importance. Other squares developed, and while they may not have been as significant, they nevertheless served as important public parks for adjacent commercial and residential neighborhoods and contributed to the ambiance of the nineteenth-century community. That such a relatively small community had, by the middle of the nineteenth century, four public open spaces of such community importance is significant and suggests the value residents placed on public open spaces as a part of urban life.



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Congo Square Congo Square dates from the eighteenth century and is just outside the Vieux Carré on Rampart Street between St. Ann and St. Peter streets. It is on axis with and corresponds in size to the Place d’Armes. In the colony’s early years, this site was a cemetery. Later, as a venue for periodic traveling entertainments and circus shows, it became known as Place du Cirque or Circus Square. Writing in 1895, Castellanos notes that “here it was that the Señor Cayetano held high revel with his menagerie of wondrous animals, and retinue of clowns and daring horsemen.”20 In the late eighteenth century, this space evolved into the place where those of African descent, free and enslaved, could, according to the stipulations of the Code Noir, freely congregate on Sunday afternoons, sell produce they had grown, play games, dance, and drum.21

Jacques Tanesse, map showing Congo Square (“Place Publique”) and its relationship to the community, ca. 1812. Facsimile copied by Jules D’Hemecourt, 1870s. Watercolor and ink. Courtesy The Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1966.33.30

Adjacent to the terminus of the Old Basin Canal, Congo Square was located at the community’s back door, through which construction materials, foodstuffs, and other supplies entered the city via Bayou St. John and the Carondelet Canal from Lake Pontchartrain to the north and from other communities along the Gulf coast

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to the east and the German Coast to the west. As a point of entry for maritime workers and laborers, this area became the site of saloons, music halls, and other entertainment venues that evolved, by the end of the nineteenth century, into the brothels of Storyville along Rampart Street. The music historian Henry Kmen cites accounts as early as 1804 of blacks drumming and dancing in Congo Square. He notes that, in 1817, a law restricted “Negroes” from congregating and dancing except on Sundays before sundown, and that could occur in only one site, Congo Square, where such activities could be supervised by local police.22 This association between Congo Square and music, established early in the city’s history, would continue well into the twentieth century. Writing in 1819, the Baltimore architect Benjamin Henry Boneval Latrobe gives a vivid impression of activities in Congo Square, having accidentally stumbled upon the assembly of negroes which I am told every Sunday afternoon meets on the Common in the rear of the city. My object was to take a walk . . . on the bank of the Canal Carondelet as far as the Bayou St. John. In going up to St. Peters Street & approaching the common I heard a most extraordinary noise, which I supposed to proceed from some horse mill, the horses trampling on a wooden floor. I found, however, on emerging . . . onto the Common, that it proceeded from a crowd of 5 or 600 persons assembled in an open space or public square. I went to the spot & crowded near enough to see the performance. All those who were engaged in the business seemed to be blacks. . . . They were formed into circular groupes in the midst of four of which . . . was a ring, the largest not 10 feet in diameter. In the first were two women dancing. They held each a coarse handkerchief extended by the corners in their hands & set to each other in a miserably dull & slow figure, hardly moving their feet or bodies. The music consisted of two drums and a stringed instrument. An old man sat astride of a cylindrical drum about a foot in diameter, & beat it with incredible quickness with the edge of his hand & fingers. The other drum was an open staved thing held between the knees & beaten in the same manner. They made an incredible noise. The most curious instrument, however, was a stringed instrument which no doubt was imported from Africa. On the top of the finger board was the rude figure of a man in a sitting posture, & two pegs behind him to which the strings were fastened. The body was a calabash. It was played upon by a very little old man, apparently 80 or 90 years old. The women squalled out a burthen to the playing at intervals, consisting of two notes, as the negroes, working in our cities, respond to the song of their leader. Most of the circles contained the same sort of dancers. . . . A man sung an uncouth song to the dancing which I suppose was in some ­ African language, for it was not French, & the women screamed a detestable burthen on one single note. The allowed amusements of Sunday have, it seems, perpetuated here those of Africa among its inhabitants. I have never seen anything more brutally savage, and at the same time dull & stupid, than this whole exhibition. . . . There was not the least disorder among the crowd, nor do I learn on enquiry, that these weekly meetings of the negroes have ever produced any mischief.23



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This account is commonly used as evidence to support the assertion that Congo Square is the birthplace of jazz.24 Writing in the 1820s, John Adems Paxton gives another description of Congo Square: “The Circus public square is planted with trees, and inclosed, and is very noted on account of its being the place where the Congo, and other negroes dance, carouse and debauch on the Sabbath, to the great injury of the morals of the rising generation; it is a foolish custom, that elicits the ridicule of most respectable persons who visit the city.” 25 This description describes a pattern of activities that continued throughout the nineteenth century. In 1845, Norman describes Congo Square as being the “place where the negroes, in olden times, were accustomed to meet to while away the cares of servitude.” Many older residents, he continues, can remember seeing “these thoughtless beings dancing . . . with such a hearty gusto, upon the green sward, that the very ground trembled beneath their feet.” And though these activities have ceased, he notes, “the spot remains, with all its reminiscences, as original as ever, with its capabilities of improvement still unimpaired.” 26 Later in the nineteenth century, Castellanos gives a rich and lengthy description of Congo Square (the “favorite rendezvous” for slaves) and its activities “such as I knew it and saw it.” While anecdotal, his recollections coincide with earlier accounts: There are hundreds yet living . . . who remember what a gala day for these people was the Sabbath, and with what keen sense of relish and anxiety they awaited it coming. Attired in their picturesque and holiday dresses, they would gather by thousands in the afternoon under the shade of the old sycamores, and romp in African revelries to the accompaniment of the tam-tam and jaw-bones. Nothing could be more interesting than to see their wild and grotesque antics, their mimicry of courtly dames in the act of making an obeisance, and the dances peculiar to their country. In the midst of the ludicrous contortions and gyrations of the Bamboula, not unlike those performed in the equally famous Voudou dance, they would sing with a pleasing though somewhat monotonous rhythm strange Creole songs. . . .  . . . The victor of the “Papegaud” prize, a tournament in which a wooden rooster, decorated with floating ribbons, was the target, was here also made the recipient of boisterous applause. Everything was tumult, motion and hilarity. Children romped over the grass plats, and nurses looked complacently on their gambols, while listening perhaps to the honeyed words of some dusky swains. Taken altogether, it was a scene well worth visiting and the like of which we shall never seen again. . . . White people, from motives of curiosity or fun, invariably attended these innocent pastimes. Their presence alone was sufficient to repress any serious disorder— an occurrence extremely rare. Along the edges of the sidewalks and of the iron inclosure, rude deal tables were set out, screened from the sun by overhanging cotton slips. From their tops long streamers fluttered in the breeze. Upon these improvised counters was to be seen an imposing array of tumblers, pies, roasted peanuts and cakes, the estomac mulâtre usually predominating among the latter. Nor was coffee wanting—pure, fragrant, and steaming—such as the Creoles alone can prepare. . . . There was then a pillory

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and whipping-post, which did more toward maintaining good order than all the fines administered to-day in our so-called courts of justice. Congo Square . . . was at one time used for public executions also. On its grounds several balloon ascensions took place. . . . But to the circus man, with his side show of animals and monsters, this sport was always an object of preference. It was, in every respect, the chosen ground for popular exhibitions.27

Elements of this recollection coincide with other accounts of activities in Congo Square. For instance, a newspaper advertisement from the Daily True Delta, March 12, 1859, announces: Grand and Novel Entertainment At the Place D’Armes (Congo Square) on Sunday, March 13—Magnificent balloon ascension, and great Debate on women’s rights. Miss mary way will make a splendid ascent in her Balloon, paul morphy, at 4 o’clock PM. At 8 o’clock, the great Debate between Miss Way and a Kentucky gentleman of the Bar on the subject of Women’s Rights, will commence. All persons who are fond of an intellectual treat, and admire female courage, will not fail to attend. Good Music and seats will be provided. Doors open at 12 m, debate at 8 pm, and the Ascension at 4 o’clock pm. Tickets, 50 cents; Children and Servants 35 cents.

A spectacle indeed, this event would certainly have been worth the price of ad­ mission. In the 1880s, following the ouster of elected carpetbag officials and the rise of political dominance by white elites during the Jim Crow era, the name of this square was changed to honor Confederate Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard, a Louisiana native.28 This remained more or less official until the 1970s, when the name “Congo Square” was restored in conjunction with the design and construction of the adjacent park, now Louis Armstrong Park. In Congo Square, much more so than perhaps in any other public open space in New Orleans, there is an amazing confluence of social, economic, musical, spatial, agricultural, and leisure-time influences. Arguably unique in the history of American open spaces because of how many activities happened here, Congo Square demonstrates how open space in New Orleans, from the late eighteenth century forward, provided a venue for community definition and collective interaction among all segments of the population. While it may have been an unremarkable, small space shaded with sycamores and enclosed with a fence, Congo Square was nevertheless a significant place because of its uses: for gathering and social interchange among community residents; for music and dancing that kept immigrants’ traditions alive and facilitated their integration into the fabric of the local community; for itinerant entertainment and local games that demonstrate how residents used open spaces for leisure-time activities; for selling food, drink, and local produce demonstrating how exotic plants and local customs began unique foodway traditions; and even for public executions (in fact, the community’s jail was



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nearby). Worth noting is the progression of names for this place over time—Place des Negres, Place Publique, Circus Place, Place Congo, Congo Square, Beauregard Square, Congo Square—and how they reflect the community’s social and political histories and the collective understanding of its past.29 That so many activities could take place in a space of about three acres is remarkable; equally notable is that these activities had a lasting impact on so much of the community’s evolution. Together, these facts demonstrate the importance of urban spaces to this community’s urban character and multicultural identity.

Congo Square, ca. 1880. George François Mugnier, photographer. Courtesy of the Collections of Louisiana State Museum

Lafayette Square Lafayette Square was laid out on St. Charles Street in 1788 by the Spanish engineer Carlos Trudeau. Americans settled in this part of the city following the Louisiana Purchase, and, as the “American counterpoint of the Creole Place d’Armes,” it soon became the city’s center for banking, commercial, and legal activities.30 Known earlier as “Place Publique” and “Mr. Gravier’s Square,” this open space acquired its current name in 1825 in commemoration of a visit to New Orleans by General Lafayette. During the third and fourth decades of the nineteenth century, adjacent ­commercial and residential neighborhoods expanded rapidly, and by the midnineteenth century, important civic, religious, commercial, and educational buildings faced the square. Gallier Hall (1845–53), one of the South’s finest Greek revival buildings, faces Lafayette Square across St. Charles Street, and until the early 1950s,

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this imposing structure housed city hall. Today it is the only nineteenth-century structure facing the square. Important churches included the Gothic revival St. Patrick’s, erected by Irish immigrants in the late 1830s, and the First Presbyterian Church, an English Gothic structure dedicated in 1857 (demolished in the 1930s) that replaced an earlier structure that had burned in 1854. Residential structures, often attached townhouses with rear dependencies, were built in Federal, late Greek revival, and Italianate styles, but as residential areas expanded upriver to newer subdivisions, the structures around Lafayette Square were converted to commercial uses or divided into rooming houses. Commercial areas between the square and the Mississippi River filled in with two- and three-story brick warehouses that serviced nearby docks, but the blocks immediately adjacent continued to house commercial, legal, and civic uses. In 1914, the federal government built the city’s main post office opposite the square, and, over the twentieth century, other federal offices and courts located here. Today, this area retains many of its nineteenth­century uses, with adjacent office buildings, federal activities, St. Patrick’s Church, and Gallier Hall, the ceremonial center for City of New Orleans. Accounts of the mid-nineteenth-century square come from several written and visual sources. Norman’s account from 1845 notes the square was “decidedly the handsomest in the city” and that it was enclosed in a “handsome and substantial iron railing . . . based on well laid blocks of granite . . . well laid off in regular walks, and is ornamented with beautiful and rare shrubbery, set out with geometrical accuracy on a raised surface, calculated to make it dry and pleasant.” 31 Writing in the late nineteenth century, the jurist Henry Castellanos recalls that “nearly a half century ago,” the Delta newspaper reported that “we may well call for a benison [blessing] on him who originated Lafayette Square, and on the Council which tends and beautifies it.” But, he notes, the prophecy of a park with “founts of crystal waters . . . and marble statues of art’s finest sculpture” was never realized. Nevertheless, he notes, the park has “many improvements” including plantings of “exotic and acclimated trees” and an “artesian well, whose limpid waters have unfortunately ceased to flow.” Castellanos then describes the sculpture of Benjamin Franklin in the square, by noted American sculpture Hiram Powers.32 Later sculptures include commemorative statues to the local philanthropist John McDonogh (1779–1850), who left his fortune to build public schools in Baltimore and New Orleans, and the local hero Henry Clay (1777–1852), erected in 1860. Castellanos gives a lengthy and characteristically florid description of a day in the life of this space, unique among descriptions of open space for its attention to those who used the space. He recalls that Lafayette Square in 1836 was a “rural patch of the motley quilt of brick and mortar, stone, wood and mud . . . a small but pretty landscape picture, set in a frame composed of various an ill-assorted materials.” But, he notes, it was one of the city’s few places “which greeted the eye of spring’s ­approach in all its verdure and vitality; of summer’s advent in the luxuriance of its foliage; of autumn’s days of haze and subdues sunshine, and of winter’s cheerless nudity.” It was the only place “with a picture of the shiftings of the seasons.” This was, he claims, particularly welcomed given the prevailing “mania” for turning “every spot . . . to purposes of business or uses of thrift.” Furthermore, Castellanos observes



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that Lafayette Square is a “resort of citizens of all ages and of all classes. It was the Parnassus of poets, the Mecca of loafers, the Elysian Fields of juveniles, the Sylvan Shade of lovers, and the Academic Grove of peripatetic philosophers.” He then describes a day in the square’s life. In the morning, it reverberated with the “cheery laughter of hundreds of the merry babes who . . . made the square a scene of juvenile contentment, while others, gamboling under the sycamores, in the tall, rank grass, chased gaudy-winged butterflies or played a thousand of those fantastic pranks from which childhood derives such interest and amusement.” Often there were a “few dyspeptic gentlemen and ladies of an uncertain age promenading along the few graveled walks of the resort, some perusing a work on dietetics, others reading James’ last novel, or perhaps a work on woman’s rights.” At midday, the square was “all life, hilarity, animation. . . . when noisy children just let loose from school made it their play-ground, and when with all the hearty joyousness of uncaged birds, or the sportiveness of lambkins, they frisked, leaped, romped and capered till their hour’s recess called them back to study.” But in the afternoon, the square was “deserted” save for an occasional “poor, fatigued laborer” who “might be seen taking his siesta under the shadow of one of its trees, or a loafing habitué lying on his back in the dense grass, contemplating the blue firmament.” In the evening, “the nurses and their interesting young charges would again make their appearance and move about the square, enlivening the scene with their merry shouts and joyous dancing.” He notes this was a picturesque scene, and “hundreds of staid old denizens, reclining on the old, worn-out rustic benches . . . would view the blithesome capers with unalloyed peals of laughter.” As night falls, however, Lafayette Square became something altogether different: a venue for “whispering lovers,” the place where “scheming politicians . . . met,” and the homeless (“poor creatures, the exhausted state of whose finances made it inconvenient for them to seek a private lodging”) sought a “cozy spot for the night.” The square might also accommodate “a couple of sagacious ‘Ousel Owls’ ”—a mysterious organization much in vogue during the latter part of the 40s” who “might be seen concerting their schemes for the approaching ‘buffalo hunt’ in the Sierra Madre regions.” And it was in the evening that “Cupid . . . sat concealed among the branches of almost every tree, fixing arrows into the bosoms of votaries, who sat on the benches underneath” and “many an Anglo-Saxon Othello upbraided his Desdemona with inconstancy . . . many a Romeo, under the guise of a brawny Celtic drayman, poured . . . the story of his love into the ear of a gentle Juliet . . . who had but just escaped from a neighboring kitchen!” All of these activities, however, ceased at 9 o’clock with the firing of a cannon, the “curfew signal for honest people to repair to their homes, [and] the crows would begin perceptibly to thin.” Round midnight, Castellanos continues, “nothing was heard in the deserted park save the lively chirruping of the katydid or the hoarse, nasal breathing of some poor houseless vagrant, asleep on a bench.” Castellanos concludes his chapter on “this beautiful little park, so admired by strangers” by noting “the place is daily improving, and the gay flower sh[r]ubs, together with the tropical plants that are to be added, will soon offer us a picture most grateful to the eye.” 33

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One of the most informative views of mid-nineteenth-century New Orleans is New Orleans from St. Patrick’s Church, by lithographers Benjamin F. Smith Jr. (1830–1927) and John William Hill (1812–1879), from 1852. Drawn from the vantage point of St. Patrick’s steeple, the lithograph depicts Lafayette Square with a trimmed lawn and paved sidewalks. Trees, relatively large but not yet mature, and an iron fence line the square’s perimeter. People are visible in the square as well as on adjacent sidewalks; the commercial nature of the neighborhood is implied by the wagons and other activities in the foreground. Notable architectural features include Gallier Hall and the First Presbyterian Church (lower left corner); the Odd Fellow’s Hall (center foreground, with the dome); residential structures (note dependencies attached to those in the left-center foreground); and commercial buildings (right corner). Also clearly shown are riverfront activities (right), together with nearby swampy areas not yet drained or developed (left horizon). This view, as well as other such bird’s-eye perspectives, provides a comprehensive image of mid-nineteenth-century life in New Orleans, and from it, we can conclude that Lafayette Square was well integrated into the life and fabric of the community.

Benjamin F. Smith Jr. and John William Hill, New Orleans from St. Patrick’s Church, 1852. Bird’s-eye lithograph. Courtesy The Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1954.3

A mid-nineteenth-century image from Ballou’s Pictorial Drawing-Room Com­ panion confirms Castellanos’s recollections and adds additional information about the character of Lafayette Square. Note all the activity in the square: the unusually large number of people (more than thirty), including well-dressed men with tophats and walking sticks; women with hats and parasols; and children playing, one with an African American companion, another with an African American nurse; there is even a dog.34 Young trees are planted in rows



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(as seen in the ­Smith-Hill lithograph); some are encircled by wooden stakes either for protection or as supports because they have just been planted. A lamp provides nighttime illumination, and the space is enclosed with a fence. Visible through the trees are St. Patrick’s Cathedral (left) and the First Presbyterian Church (center).

Lafayette Square, New Orleans, Louisiana, 1859. Lithograph. From Ballou’s Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion, April 30, 1859. Louisiana Research Collection, Tulane University

Photographs from the 1860s give views of Lafayette Square and details of its fence and plantings. Similar to others in the city, the square's fence was cast iron with gas lights at the St. Charles Street entrance, opposite Gallier Hall (seen in the Edwards image, following), and lights at each corner. Local legend has it that iron fences surrounding public squares such as Washington, Jackson, Annunciation, and Lafayette were removed during the Civil War to be made into ammunition, and such a fence still exists around Washington Square in Marigny. A photographic image of Lafayette Square from 1867 by Theodore Lilienthal shows a double row of trees on two sides of the park with an open green area in the center, similar to the configuration seen in the Smith-Hill lithograph. Trees are shown without the wooden tree guards seen in the 1859 lithograph. In the Edwards image (next page), we see a similar line of trees across the St. Charles Street face of the square, and we have a sense of the square’s interior space. Like elsewhere in the city, tree trunks are painted white.35 A later view toward city hall, from the beginning of the twentieth century, shows how the square continued to be a major civic open space. By now, a statue of Benjamin Franklin (by Hiram Powers, foreground, facing Camp Street) had been erected, and a statue of Henry Clay (barely visible in the square’s center) had been moved from the intersection of St. Charles and Canal streets. Cast-iron planters, palms, oaks, and other trees had also been added. The First Presbyterian Church (left) was destroyed by a hurricane in 1915.

Lafayette Square interior looking toward Gallier Hall (right), ca. 1858–61. Salted paper photo print. Jay Dearborn Edwards, photographer. Courtesy The Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1982.167.7

Lafayette Square, ca. 1910. Frank B. Moore, photographer. MSS 145-472, Frank B. Moore Collection, Earl K. Long Library, University of New Orleans



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From these written and visual sources, we gather indications of what an urbane and civilized open space Lafayette Square was from the mid-nineteenth century into the early twentieth century. It was a green foreground for adjacent commercial and residential buildings as well as a place for public socializing and for enjoying the pleasure of urban life.

Coliseum Square Coliseum Square, while not a square, is part of the elaborate Greek revival–inspired early-nineteenth-century neighborhood planned to have residences, educational and cultural buildings, open spaces, and streets named for the nine muses. Its urban importance lies in its integral relationship with adjacent residential neighborhood developments. Following the Louisiana Purchase, Americans flooded New Orleans to take advantage of new opportunities. Rather than settle in the Vieux Carré, a neighborhood dominated by established French and Spanish residents, the newcomers looked to land upriver as locations for development. The first parcels to be settled above Canal Street became known as the “American Sector” and were the commercial center for the growing American business community. Residential subdivisions followed in 1806–7, when Barthélémy Lafon (1769–1820), a French architect, engineer, and surveyor, was engaged to develop plans for a residential suburb about a mile above Canal Street that had earlier been a Jesuit plantation. A classicist, Lafon named the streets for the muses and proposed classical buildings and features for its residents. His plans show a development that included tree-lined streets and a tree-lined triangular-shaped park with a drainage basin. The proposed structures were never built, but surrounding residences reflected Greek revival architecture; major streets were named “Coliseum” and “Prytania,” and cross-streets bore the names of the nine muses. This land was swampy, and Lafon devised a drainage scheme that included treelined canals that converged in a semi-circular “bassin”; these canals, later filled, follow what are now Coliseum and Camp streets. Drainage was always a problem, however, and several times in the 1840s the Second Municipality had to regrade and fill to alleviate drainage problems.36 Norman’s 1845 account of public squares in New Orleans neglects to mention Coliseum Square, but a mid-nineteenth-century sketch and a written account by Thomas K. Wharton, an architect who lived on Coliseum Square ca. 1853–62, suggest a bucolic space. Wharton reported that the open space is carpeted with close smooth grass, and planted with luxuriant trees. It is more that one fourth mile long, and four or five hundred feet wide, surrounded with beautiful houses, and gardens filled with the choicest flowers, roses blooming all the year round, and at this particular season the air is almost oppressive with the luscious fragrance of the orange bloom and the different species of Jessamine, especially the “Grand Duke” and “Arabian.” Then at night we are entertained by the song of the “Southern nightingale” among the beautiful trees at Judge Slidell’s, whose grounds are a few yards from our house. All of the children of the neighbourhood with their nurses &c. and some of larger growth, too, gather on the Square in the evenings,

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and form the liveliest and prettiest groups imaginable, playing at different games, jumping the rope, and chasing one another among the sweet clover blooms.37

Thomas K. Wharton, Coliseum Square, May 24, 1855. Sketch. Thomas Kelah Wharton Diaries and Sketchbook, Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations

As the city’s fortunes declined later in the century, the conditions of Congo Square, Lafayette Square, Coliseum Square, and other public squares deteriorated as well. One guidebook from the 1870s describes Coliseum Place as being “a long irregular triangle . . . planted with shade trees, and . . . provided with seats. A drainage canal extends along the Camp Street side and flows into the large Melpomene Canal. Many fine buildings surround this Park (usually called a ‘Square’).” 38 Another guidebook from 1875 noted that Coliseum Place has “no noticeable features.” 39 A tree inventory from 1878, cited in a historic report prepared for the restoration of Coliseum Square in the mid-1970s, shows that “Colyseum Square” had 122 trees, including 20 China trees (likely chinaberry [Melia azedarach]), 72 water oaks, 25 tallow trees, and 5 “unknown” trees.40 An impression of the impact of this inventory, together with a sense of the interior space itself can be seen in photographic images from the late nineteenth century. In the closing decades of the nineteenth century, many public spaces in New Orleans were neglected, victims of economic and political circumstance. There was no administrative structure to oversee municipal parks and open spaces. The city’s debt was large and its tax base small, and citizens, weary of graft and corruption, regularly rejected proposed tax increases. Yet there was civic interest in public open spaces, and during the 1880s several citizens’ groups formed to improve neighborhood squares, and their efforts at raising money were supplemented by the city council. The first square to be improved (or “beautified”) was Lafayette Square in 1881; other improvements followed at Lee Circle, Jackson Square, Congo Square, and Washington Square.41 Coliseum Square was renovated in the 1895 with the addition



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Coliseum Square, ca. 1880–90. George François Mugnier, photographer. Note the whitewashed tree trunks. Courtesy of the Collections of Louisiana State Museum

of curbing, pavement drain pipe, fill, a fish pond, and two pools with fountains. A plan from this date shows curving walkways connecting the three basins, which were brick covered with plaster. A later plan by Alfred Theard, ca. 1897, shows linear pathways connecting the basins.42 Local folklore suggests such water basins were added to open spaces throughout the city following the 1884–85 World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exhibition, held in what would later become Audubon Park, where they held exotic goldfish and aquatic plants. They were drained and filled with dirt following the last yellow-fever epidemic in 1905.43 Two tourist guidebooks from the early twentieth century describe Coliseum Square. The 1903 edition of The Picayune’s Guide to New Orleans reports it is “a large, irregular park, almost a half a mile long, and beautifully laid out and shaded with trees. It is a great playground for children and a fashionable promenade in the summer.”44 The 1913 edition also mentions its irregular shape, and notes it is “a large irregular piece of ground . . . [that] covers 3 acres, and is attractively laid out. The curious large, raised circular flower beds were originally fountains.”45 For the next six decades, Coliseum Square remained more or less the same, although the surrounding neighborhood gradually declined. A major park overhaul was initiated in the mid-1970s as a result of renewed interest in the Coliseum Square neighborhood and its architecture. During this restoration, new walks, paved areas, lighting, benches, and two water features were installed, one of which, a large fountain in a circular basin, remains. In both use and design, Coliseum Square today ­reflects its nineteenth-century counterpart.

2 L i n e a r Ope n Space s

Unintended Consequences The second category of public open space includes those spaces created as unintended consequences of other urban actions, including waterfronts on the ­Mississippi River, Bayou St. John, and Lake Pontchartrain, and neutral grounds ­created in the last decades of the nineteenth century along major streets. These open spaces resulted from urban infrastructure improvements related to flood protection and paved streets with subsurface drainage and sanitary sewerage. They facilitated public mobility and the development of public transit, encouraged urban expansion, and added green spaces to the city, and they also helped to establish the city’s unique urban fabric of distinct neighborhoods of small lots and compact structures bordered by wide major streets with generous open spaces.

Along the Riverfront: The First Levees Early examples of waterfront spaces emerged in colonial New Orleans as levees built to protect the community from the periodic flooding of the Mississippi River. The colony, though built on relatively high ground adjacent to the river, was susceptible to periodic floods, and prior to the construction of man-made ­levees, natural sedimentary formations contained the Mississippi River. The first man-made levee system, constructed by Bienville’s military engineer Pierre Le Blond de la Tour in the early days of the colony, was 5,400 feet long and between two and three feet high. By 1726, artificial levees ranged in height from four to six feet. The drawing from 1807 by the surveyor Hyacinthe Laclotte (1765/66–1828/29) shows existing and proposed profiles of the levee at Faubourg Ste. Mary, above Canal Street. In 1810, a municipal ordinance set minimum requirements at three feet above waterline, one foot above high-water levels, and five or six feet in width at the base for each foot of height. By 1812, Mississippi River levees in Louisiana began below New Orleans and extended upriver more than 150 miles on the east bank and 180 miles on the west bank. Following a disastrous flood in 1816, the city widened and raised its levees.1 The drawing (page 38) from 1823 of the levee near Elysian Fields (right side) by the city surveyor, Joseph Pilié, indicates what the levees looked like in plan view. This is at a bend in the river; note how the levee widens to withstand the added pressure of the river’s current water at that critical point. 36



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Hyacinthe Laclotte, Coupes du plan relative au nievellement de la bature du Fouxbourg Ste. Marie . . . (Cross-Section of the Plan Relative to the Survey of the Batture of the Faubourg Ste. Marie . . .), 1807. Manuscript map mounted on fabric. Louisiana Division/City Archives New Orleans Public Library

According to several nineteenth-century accounts, residents used levees to view riverfront activities on late-afternoon walks. One urban historian suggests that the levees served as a major “promenade and public living room” as well, where ­“ ladies paraded the newest Parisian fashions while merchants conducted public auctions, peddlers hawked their goods, prostitutes negotiated their exchanges, children played, sailors made port, dock workers made their living, and New Orleanians together created their renowned urban ambiance.”2 Orange trees and sycamores were planted on the levee, providing strollers with pleasant fragrance and shade (note the trees indicated in the lower section of Laclotte’s drawing). Visible just behind the ­levees were small orchards and domestic gardens, common features in spaces adjacent to residential structures. Features such as these are seen in J. L. Boqueta de Woiseri’s aquatint of the city, A View of New Orleans Taken from the Plantation of Marigny (1803), the earliest pictorial view of an American city (see page 107). It shows a broad, flat riverfront; trees (perhaps sycamores) growing on the levee; and, in the left ­foreground, a fenced garden with geometric planting areas bordered with what appears to be hedge plantings. This early view provides visual clues to how New Orleans open spaces, both public and domestic, were organized in the early nineteenth century. One of the most detailed descriptions of the social life along the levees comes from Thomas Ashe, an Irishman, writing in 1806.3 Commenting at length on the community’s complicated culturally based social hierarchy by discussing its ­female population (discussed later), Ashe describes liaisons between the community’s men and women, particularly those of mixed race, as happening on the levee at ­sunset, the “principal market for all this traffic de coeur.” It is there, he continues, that

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Joseph Pilié, Plan for a new levee between St. Philip Street and the Marigny Canal, 1823. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library

“all the beauties assemble, and there those who need the kind companion, joyfully ­repair: all walk up and down for a considerable time, or sit under orangetrees occasionally, with the objects of their separate choice. Such an expression of reserve, morals, and decency, reigns over the women of every sort, that a stranger passes and repasses, before he can assume sufficiently to tell the one he admires the most qu’ulle est belle comme une ange, and so forth.” He continues, describing subsequent negotiations with the young woman’s mother or an older female relative regarding living arrangements between partners. As a result of these encounters, local men often had more than one family and residence, all within the boundaries of the community’s moral standards and legal codes. Other unintentional open spaces include those created along Bayou St. John, the Carondelet Canal,4 the New Basin Canal, and along the southern shore of Lake Pontchartrain, all of which were popular waterfront promenades throughout the nineteenth century for pedestrians and horse-drawn traffic. Commercial water traffic continued in the canals, and adjacent corridors became rail lines as rail streetcar systems extended throughout the city.

Bayou St. John and the Carondelet Canal When European settlers arrived in what is now coastal Louisiana in the early eighteenth century, they established their colony near a large river and a small bayou, and it was here, in a location defined by the natural levees of these waterways, that the French initially built a fortified community and staked their claim to the ­region. The river was the main maritime corridor to and from the interior, and the bayou, a small natural waterway of about three miles that flows into Lake Pontchartrain, was



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a portage and trading artery used first by Native Americans and later by ­European and American settlers to get into the colony from points north, east, and west. In addition to the French settlers who came to this region in the eighteenth century, German immigrants, many of whom were farmers, were lured to the French colony by financier John Law’s speculative endeavor of 1719–20, and they settled upriver and west from New Orleans in what then became known as the “German Coast” (Côte des Allemands).5 Stranded here when Law’s “Mississippi Bubble” burst in 1720, many remained and continued to work on the small farms they had established, sending the vegetables and produce they grew via Lake Pontchartrain and Bayou St. John into the colonial community. The destination of this trading route was a lively marketplace on the banks of the Mississippi River that became known in the nineteenth century as the French Market, described at length by the architect Benjamin Henry Boneval Latrobe in 1819.6 Other gathering spots were established along the natural ridges of the bayou between the lake and the city for agricultural trade and commerce, and these sites evolved into smaller markets that were active well into the twentieth century.7 Work on a canal to extend Bayou St. John to the rear of the community began during the regime of the Spanish governor Francisco Luis Hector, Baron de ­Carondelet (1792–1797). Just over one mile in length, the canal served the dual purposes of draining adjacent land, thereby facilitating new development, and establishing a convenient—if shallow—navigable route connecting urban areas with Lake Pontchartrain and beyond. Dug by slave and convict labor, the canal, linked to Bayou St. John, became an important commercial link between New Orleans and the region. Carondelet said that “should this drainage not be executed, it will be necessary to abandon the town in three or four years, for the inundation of the Mississippi or the breaking of any of its levees . . . will cover almost all the streets . . . and thus make the town a sort of sink which will have no outlet for its waters.”8 By the eighteenth century’s end, a shallow and narrow channel with adjacent dirt walkways extended from Bayou St. John into the rear of the community. Besides removing, in the words of the nineteenth-century Creole historian Charles Gayarré, “one great source of annoyance and disease proceeding from the generation of innumerable swarms of mosquitoes and marsh miasma from the stagnant pools,” the ­commercial benefits of this corridor were soon obvious as well.9 Initially the canal’s channel ranged from three to six feet deep and was about six feet wide, with an embankment of about eight feet. The corridor became known as the Carondelet Canal, and its embankment, facilitating maritime traffic and allowing for pedestrian promenading, became known as the Carondelet Walk. Its urban terminus was a turning basin located near the present corner of Rampart Street and St. Peter. The canal was subsequently deepened, but the route was not well maintained after Carondelet’s departure in 1797, and by 1803, according to one source, it was an “open sewer,” clogged with debris and grasses and relatively useless for ­navigation.10 Though the canal itself was poorly maintained at first, the corridor’s importance as a route for foodstuffs, maritime commerce, building supplies, and other materials increased, and areas along the bayou, separated from the city but easily

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a­ ccessible by both water and land, became desirable for residential development. In 1803, the diarist C. C. Robin noted houses were of “the most varied form. Some built of wood, surrounded by galleries, in the Chinese fashion, others built of brick and surmounted by a gallery in the Italian manner. . . . There are among them some that would do credit to the suburbs of Paris. All of them have a garden in the front. Avenues of magnificent orange trees can be seen, especially those which bear a sour fruit which rejuvenates itself.”11 Writing about the colony’s Spanish period, James Pitot (1784–1831), the city’s second mayor, complained about how Carondelet, “under the general subject of . . . improving its waterways . . . started some projects . . . that are today only in ruins or neglect” and later that “a canal that Carondelet had opened to provide a more convenient, safer, and less costly access to the lakes north of New Orleans and to West Florida deteriorates from day to day; and its course . . . is filling up so rapidly that soon pirogues will hardly be able to enter it.”12 Pitot recognized the commercial promise offered by the canal and its connection to Bayou St. John and Lake Pontchartrain, and in 1805, he organized the New Orleans Navigation Company to take advantage of this opportunity.13 This private company was one of several chartered to provide community services that the city could not afford to finance, and in 1806 it started building dikes at the mouth of Bayou St. John, working slowly along the bayou to the Carondelet Canal to clear obstructions in the canal and shore the waterway’s sides. Tolls levied among users would repay investors. Progress was slow, and there were legal issues to resolve regarding the collection of tolls and land ownership. In fact, political disputes between the city and the Navigation Company over work on Bayou St. John and the Carondelet Canal often led to litigation, even though elected officials commonly served on boards of private companies chartered to provide services to the community.14 Even before improvements were completed, the navigation channel proved successful. Maj. Amos Stoddard noted in 1812 that the canal “is of great advantage to the city, particularly as the products of the lake and back country, such as fish, lime, tar, pitch, and various other articles, find an easy water access to the inhabitants; whereby a difficult and expensive cartage of three miles from the bridge is avoided.”15 Work on the canal was interrupted by the War of 1812, but by 1817, the passageway from Lake Pontchartrain to the turning basin was opened and commercially viable. As John Adems Paxton reported in the 1820s, “Where there was formerly a filthy ditch and noisy frog-pond, we find a beautiful canal, with a good road and walks on each side, with gutters to drain off the water, and a large and secure Basin where vessels can lie in perfect safely at all seasons.”16 More than twenty years after first conceived, the Carondelet Canal finally ­became a vital commercial corridor for small, flat-bottomed vessels that brought in “cotton, tobacco, lumber, wood, lime, brick, tar, pitch, bark, sand, oysters, marketing . . . furs, and peltries” from nearby communities and shipped out goods ­unavailable in rural communities.17 There was even discussion of extending the navigation canal to the Mississippi River, and a route was selected, present-day Canal Street. A plan was drawn for this extension in 1812, and it included a ­“promenade publique” and



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street tree plantings planted on 20-foot centers (see below). This plan was approved and signed by Mayor James Mather (1750–1821), providing evidence early in the American city’s history of an elected official’s approval of what today we would call urban design. Political and legal disputes prevented full realization of this extension; nevertheless, community discussions of a major transportation corridor to the river along the Vieux Carré’s upriver side facilitated Canal Street’s subsequent planning and design. As a consequence, this unrealized project left a significant mark on the urban fabric of the community.

Promenade publique, Rue de Canal avec une allée de 12 pieds de large formant 2 lignes d’arbres a 20 pieds de distance les uns des autres (Public Promenade, Canal Street with an Allée 12 Feet Wide with 2 Rows of Trees Planted 20 Feet from One Another), 1812. Note the apparent discrepancies between the graphic and written descriptions. The area shown is between Royal and Chartres streets. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library

In another such dispute, the city government claimed that improvements along the bayou and canal interfered with existing city drainage patterns. Earlier in 1810, Pitot, president of the New Orleans Navigation Company, informed the city council that the city’s drainage system should be rebuilt and proposed that the Navigation Company would do this work at its own expense, but that offer was rejected. Later, the city was compelled by a decision of the Louisiana Superior Court to share expenses for digging new drainage ditches with the Navigation Company and bear the whole cost of their maintenance. Courts of the era generally favored private capital over public interests. These legal defeats, together with the general hostility between the city and the judiciary and state authorities, produced periodic ­financial crises for the city and frustration in the city’s efforts to define its “proper role and

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sphere of authority,”18 indirectly having an impact on civic attention to public open spaces. The Bayou St. John/Carondelet Canal corridor, in addition to being a physical place, was an agent through which the community’s commerce evolved and a means that enhanced development of the postcolonial city; it also became one of the legal crucibles through which the city’s legal precedents and political structures were discussed, litigated, and defined. Eventually the canal became 30 feet wide with a 64-foot embankment on each side. Due to physical limitations and urban constraints, the Carondelet Canal would never expand into a commercial corridor to rival maritime development along the Mississippi River. Its commercial importance reached a plateau in the nineteenth century and remained there as maritime commerce expanded in other directions with the larger New Basin Canal across town, dug in the 1830s to connect American sectors of the community with Lake Pontchartrain.19 With the emergence of railroads in the mid-nineteenth century, the Carondelet Canal corridor became the rail line for the New Orleans Terminal Company. The Carondelet Walk remained a popular route for recreational strolling, and public attractions such as “pleasure gardens” were built on adjacent private land, providing recreational opportunities for local residents. I examine these developments later in detail. Limited maritime use continued along the Carondelet Canal until the end of the nineteenth century, but by the early twentieth century, this canal’s role as a commercial corridor had given way to more numerous rail lines entering the city and to the deeper and more efficient New Basin Canal located across town. The Carondelet Canal bed and its turning basin, fragments of the city’s colonial beginning, were filled between 1927 and 1938. The area of the Old Turning Basin became the site for the city’s Municipal Auditorium, and the Carondelet Canal corridor became Lafitte Street. A rail line remained along the canal route to a terminal on Canal Street (designed by Daniel Burnham, demolished in the 1950s), but by the mid-twentieth century, all rail lines were consolidated into the new Union Passenger Terminal (built on the site of the New Basin Canal and its turning basin), individual rail terminals became redundant, and rail lines such as that lining the old Carondelet Canal corridor were abandoned. The economic importance and cultural history of Bayou St. John and the Caron­ delet Canal are hardly celebrated today. What remains even more obscure is their importance to the development of open-space awareness in nineteenth-century New Orleans. The Bayou St. John/Carondelet Canal corridor is one of the earliest locations in the nineteenth-century community where residents could experience public and private outdoor spaces created for recreational and leisure activities, unrelated to residential uses and military or ceremonial activities. Two examples, discussed later in detail, demonstrate this observation. First is the Pontchartrain Hotel, with its designed grounds, at the intersection of Bayou St. John and Lake Pontchartrain. It was built in the 1820s on the foundations of early-eighteenth-century French fortifications that had been improved by the Spanish in the late eighteenth century and by the Americans in the early nineteenth century. Later in the nineteenth century, this site became a lakefront amusement park and streetcar destination. Second is the Carondelet Walk along the Carondelet Canal, a nineteenth-century venue for social interaction among all classes and the route by which the public gained access to adjacent



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private properties developed into pleasure gardens in the mid-nineteenth century. These pleasure gardens differ from public squares, the other major type of nineteenth-century public open space, in two ways: first, in their ownership, and, second, in the activities they contained. Pleasure gardens were commercial developments on private property, and, as such, were susceptible to forces of the marketplace. While pleasure gardens had programmed recreational and amusement-oriented activities, squares were associated with ceremonial or military activities or were open spaces related to adjacent residential neighborhoods. In addition, the emergence of open-space activities in the ­Carondelet Canal/Bayou St. John area of the community, opposite from the upriver direction of residential expansion, suggests that the market-driven forces ­included—perhaps ­unconsciously—different approaches to the design and use of open spaces throughout the community and not just in the open spaces related to residential districts expanding along the St. Charles Avenue corridor. While the significance of the Bayou St. John/Carondelet Canal area to the economic and cultural life of New Orleans has yet to be fully realized or appreciated, efforts are now under way to preserve what is left of the corridor for a linear greenway, connecting numerous neighborhoods and celebrating this corridor’s impact on the community’s cultural history.

Neutral Grounds By today’s standards, general urban conditions throughout nineteenth-century New Orleans were deplorable. There were no municipal ordinances governing how newly developed residential tracts related to existing neighborhoods, and streets often met at odd angles that had less to do with logic or municipal governance and more to do with property ownership or the path of the Mississippi River.

Esplanade Avenue neutral ground, 1858–61. Salted paper photo print. Jay Dearborn Edwards, photographer. Note that the tree protectors resemble those in Lafayette Square and that tree trunks are painted white. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1982.167.5

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Wide streets often separated adjacent neighborhoods, and sometimes these spaces were planted with trees and became pedestrian areas. As neighborhoods evolved, residents came to associate these in-between spaces with being “neutral”— belonging to neither but used by all. This curious bit of urban nomenclature has remained to the present. Streets, for the most part, were mud: according to the Tenth Census, Report on the Social Statistics of Cities (1887), there were approximately 566 miles of streets in New Orleans, and 472 (over 83 percent) were unpaved, as seen in the Edwards image of Polymnia and Felicity streets below.

Intersection of Polymnia and Felicity streets, 1858–61. Salted paper photo print. Jay Dearborn Edwards, photographer. Note the unpaved street, ditch gutters, and plank sidewalks. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection 1982.32.14

Many streets were often impassable, and bridges were in constant need of repair. Open gutters and sewers lining streets collected storm runoff together with refuse and by-products from residences, stables, slaughterhouses, gas and ammonia works, soap factories, and hospitals but carried these toxic wastes off with varying degrees of efficiency. Urban garbage collection was sporadic and unreliable. Stray animals and livestock roamed the streets and lived in public squares. Conditions in urban streets and public spaces up to the late nineteenth century in New Orleans were appallingly bad, with mud, deep ruts, stagnant water, open sewers, noxious wastes, trash, and related pestilence everywhere.20 During the 1890s, this situation began to change, and by the beginning of the twentieth century, most major streets were paved. Adjacent drainage canals (often between lanes of traffic) had been filled as a comprehensive citywide drainage system was developed. Public interest and stewardship of open spaces had begun, and trees were being planted along streets and boulevards, resulting in a lengthy network of green spaces throughout the community. While some of these civic ­improvements



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had an immediate effect, the urban impact of mature trees and green spaces would not be fully realized until much later. Curiously, this linear network of public open spaces never coalesced in the public’s mind as a unified open-space system comparable to those developed elsewhere in America by Frederick Law Olmsted (1822–1903) and his contemporaries in the late nineteenth century.21 While the Olmsted Brothers’ firm was engaged in the ­design of Audubon Park from the late 1890s until the 1940s and of one area of City Park in the 1930s, there is no evidence of discussion between city officials and the Olmsted office about developing a linear park system for New Orleans similar to those in other communities. This seems odd, since newly paved avenues with wide neutral grounds were just beginning to define the city’s urban fabric when the Olm­ steds began work there, and urban parks and parkway systems had been a major part of the practice the Olmsted Brothers had inherited from their father. While the physical spaces and opportunities for an ambitious linear park scheme certainly were present in New Orleans at this time, other factors, such as public demand, civic leadership, political impetus, municipal resources, and a professional design presence were all conspicuously absent. Skilled tradesmen, the equivalent of today’s design professionals, had built fortifications and urban infrastructure, constructed buildings, and created gardens in the city since the early colonial times, but professionally trained architects did not appear until the early nineteenth century. And unlike other urban areas such as Boston, New York, Chicago, and even Kansas City, New Orleans did not have professional landscape architects until much later in the twentieth century. One of the earliest trained landscape architects—perhaps the first—was William Wiedorn (1896–1990), who came to New Orleans from Florida in 1932 to work on WPA projects in City Park, including the park’s Botanical Garden and golf courses. He stayed in New Orleans and maintained a relatively minor practice.22 Outside of residential work, the profession did not reach public prominence or acceptance until the 1970s. Progressive civic and political leadership, when it existed in late-nineteenthcentury New Orleans, did not focus on designing parks but instead was connected with reform measures such as improving drainage, streets, public utilities, and other tasks usually performed by engineers.23 Graft and corruption were common in civic life, leading to a lack of confidence in publicly funded civic endeavors. The city’s tax base was small, and there was little public demand for open-space improvements because there was little interest in raising tax revenues to support these efforts. Generally, when nineteenth-century park improvements did occur, they were initiated by single-interest support groups composed of adjacent property owners and, for the most part, were independent of municipal control or oversight. A city agency responsible for open spaces was not organized until the early years of the twentieth century. The absence of design imagination, civic leadership, public demand, municipal financial resources, and administrative structure meant that New Orleans residents, while blessed with a salubrious climate and a wealth of horticultural material, would not think of their open space resources as a desirable urban amenity or in a unified or comprehensive way. Many would conclude this situation remains today.

3 M a jor U r ba n Pa r k s

The last public open-space model includes the city’s two large-scale urban parks dating from the late nineteenth century. Earlier, public open spaces in New Orleans were related in their sizes and activities to adjacent neighborhoods rather than to the expanding scale of the urban community, and there was little interest in adding large parks to the city’s inventory of open spaces. This situation began to change in the last decades of the nineteenth century, owing both to national trends and local developments. Cities across America began to add large parks and park systems to their communities based on the popularity of urban parks such as New York’s Central Park (1850s) and Brooklyn’s Prospect Park (1860s) and park systems such as Boston’s (1890s). With increasing populations moving into urban areas from rural ­America and Europe and rapidly expanding municipal economies, progressive civic ­reformers regarded the addition of parks and infrastructure (paved streets, sanitary sewerage, electric lights, and transit systems) as necessary parts of civic ­reform agendas. The firm of Frederick Law Olmsted (1822–1903) and his successors was ­responsible for more urban parks and park systems in North America than any other office.1 Olmsted cast a long shadow over the American environment in the second half of the nineteenth century, and his career, in length, content, and influence, defined the profession of landscape architecture as it passed at the century’s end, literally and figuratively, from its first generation to the second. Progressives knew that urban parks and park systems had many benefits. As the “lungs of the city,” parks brought open spaces and fresh air to city dwellers and provided welcome relief to the increasingly crowded and dirty tenements in urban centers.2 In addition, parks offered opportunities for immigrants to learn about American democracy, a concept advocated by Olmsted père and his circle of social reformers.3 Here all could mingle and take advantage of the benefits that open spaces provided regardless of race, class, educational, or economic status; here one could participate in team sports where accepted rules and fair play prevailed, and skill, rather than anything else, was what mattered. In the last decades of the nineteenth century, parks became examples of economic gain and progressive development on one hand and symbols of urbanity and civic pride on the other. Clearly the increase of parks in American cities ­related to efforts among urban leaders, elected officials, entrepreneurs, and real ­estate ­developers to promote their communities and to keep up with what was happening 46



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e­ lsewhere in America, much as convention centers, downtown aquaria, and sports arenas have become associated with late-twentieth-century urban progress. And if, in the process, adjacent real estate values increased and wealth grew among property owners, that was good, too.4 Finally, urban parks were also civic responses to increasing public interest in recreation among urban residents. The growth and popularity of team and individual sports played a significant, and perhaps underappreciated, role in the development and uses of large urban parks in America in general and in New Orleans in particular. All these civic reform measures contributed to the eventual development in New Orleans of City Park and Audubon Park in what had formerly been known, respectively, as Lower (or Old) City Park and Upper (New) City Park.5 Over time, both parks were improved with features that reflected contemporary American attitudes about public parks, open spaces, and outdoor recreation as well as local customs related to racial segregation.6

City Park For much of the first half of the nineteenth century, the site that would later become Lower City Park was the Allard Plantation. In 1850, its owner, John McDonogh, died and left the property jointly to the cities of Baltimore, from whence he came, and New Orleans, where he made his fortune. The City of New Orleans acquired clear title to the property in 1858, when it accepted Baltimore’s share of the property in lieu of property taxes. The property was reserved for a park, but it remained untended, undeveloped, and unused for years. An English visitor, writing in 1868, observed that City Park, two miles from the city’s center, was “at present undrained and uncared for. Near the entrance are some fine ‘live’ or evergreen oaks, and in fifty years it may be a pleasant place enough; now it is a mere wilderness.”7 Over time, the city subdivided and sold parcels for development, then later reacquired many of them, undeveloped, to create a park of approximately 1,300 acres, one of the largest urban parks in America. The T. S. Hardee map of 1878 shows a small parcel of less than 12½ acres named “City Park” extending approximately 600 feet along a “canal” (now Orleans Avenue) and 900 feet along “Metairie Road” (now City Park Avenue). One history of City Park states that “in 1872, with the city expansions toward the lake, under the prodding of Mayor Crossman and surveyor Louis Pilié, the city contracted with Bogart and Cutler [sic], designers of New York’s Central Park, to draw plans to landscape the grounds.”8 This statement repeats inaccuracies that appeared in a newspaper account of the park from 1892.9 The designers of New York’s Central Park were Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux (1824–1895). John Bogart (1836– 1920) began working as an engineering assistant to Olmsted and Vaux during the construction of Central Park in 1858, and John Yapp Culyer (1835–1924) later joined the practice. As important members of the firm, both worked as staff civil engineers on Central Park (1850s–1860s), Brooklyn’s Prospect Park (1866–1870s), and other projects in the firm at that time.10 Because they worked closely with Olmsted in construction of large public parks, it is understandable that they might attempt

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to parlay their experiences into professional assignments elsewhere, as did others involved in ­Olmsted’s projects, and perhaps with (or without) Olmsted’s blessing, they took projects the office did not have time for or want to pursue. There is no evidence to date that Bogart and Culyer had a design office, although there is mention that, in May 1869, they were appointed “landscape architects” by the Washington Park commissioners in Albany, New York, and replaced in 1872.11 Bogart and Culyer were partners, however, at least on paper and for legal purposes, for the design of this park in New Orleans. The drawing opposite, entitled Study for Improvements to City Park, New Orleans, was preserved as evidence in a legal case heard by the Louisiana Supreme Court.12 According to testimony given and evidence entered, the president of the New Orleans Park Board communicated with Bogart about completing plans for City Park, and on June 15, 1872, that board entered into a contract with Bogart and Culyer, “landscape architects and engineers,” at “$5,000 per annum plus 5% of the amount expended in the improvement of the New Orleans Park during said period.” Bogart visited the site, met with board members, and made field notes of site conditions and conversations with board members. Bogart and Culyer received half of their fee and produced a “Study Plan” but apparently nothing more. In late December 1873, they sued the New Orleans Park Board for the remainder of their fee, which the board had refused to pay. Though a lower court sided with the city, the plaintiffs appealed and prevailed in the ­Louisiana State Supreme Court. In December 1876, judgment was found in the amount requested plus 5 percent interest from June 15, 1873, plus all applicable court costs from both courts.13 The importance of this episode is less in the legal precedent it may have set but more in the fact that some decision makers in the community, early in the 1870s, had taken steps to obtain “professional” design services for a local urban park from those in the office responsible for New York’s Central Park. The 1892 newspaper article suggests that “during an access [sic] of enterprise, or it may be to oblige some ward boss, the administration of New Orleans bought of the landscape gardener who designed the beautiful Central park of New York City a plan for the improvement of the City Park of New Orleans.”14 Perhaps initial communications from local officials, now lost, went to Olmsted’s office, and for whatever reason, the job was passed to Bogart and Culyer. This date for interest in designing a local park (1872) precedes later involvement by the Olmsted Brothers firm in Audubon Park by more than two decades and documents local interest in having “landscape architects” from New York design an urban park much earlier than generally known. The insubstantial plan and resulting legal activity must have dampened the enthusiasm among New Orleans Park Board members for initiating any improvements. As the 1892 newspaper article continues, following the lawsuit, “nothing more was heard of the park. People forgot where it was. Once in a while a stealthy suicide crept out to its coverts and nourished the roots of its great oaks with his blood. Then the weeds grew higher to hide his crime.”15 In their defense, board members unsuccessfully claimed the City of New Orleans had reneged on a promise of providing them funding, and, they claimed, since the board had “dissolved” and plaintiffs produced nothing that could be used, it could not be held ­responsible



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Bogart and Culyer, Study for Improvements to City Park, New Orleans . . ., 1874. MSS 106, Supreme Court of Louisiana Historical Archives, Earl K. Long Library, University of New Orleans

for upholding its contract. Following resolution of the case in late 1876, there is no record of additional contact between City Park officials and Bogart and Culyer. In 1887, board representatives of Audubon Park communicated briefly with Bogart and Culyer regarding plans for Audubon Park, but there is no evidence that they were actively involved in this or any other local project. The City Park area remained undeveloped until 1891, when Victor Anseman and other prominent civic leaders organized the City Park Improvement Association, a private, nonprofit corporation that acquired permission from the State of Louisiana to manage the park, which by this time, had grown substantially in size.16 Significant improvements began during the last years of the nineteenth century and continued into the first decades of the twentieth century. Architectural features and classically inspired structures characteristic of the City Beautiful movement were built, including a peristyle (1907), what is now the New Orleans Museum of Art (1911), the Casino (1913), and a bandstand (1917). All were designed by local architects.17 A large equestrian statue (1915) by Alexander Doyle of Confederate general P. G. T. Beauregard, for whom Congo Square was renamed, stands at the main entrance into the park on axis with the terminus of Esplanade Avenue and the museum, framed by the pylons and columns that mark the entrance to the park. This urban ensemble is perhaps the most powerful statement of the City Beautiful movement in New Orleans.

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Map from 1941 showing tracts assembled over time to form City Park. Not shown is the largest tract (600 acres), which was added in the 1930s and improved by the WPA. The rectangle in the lower left, part of the Allard Plantation, is the original parcel left to the cities of New Orleans and Baltimore in 1859 by John McDonogh; it corresponds to the parcel designed by Bogart and Culyer in the 1870s. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library

By the 1920s, the park had increased to 1,300 acres, and in 1929, the firm Bennett, Parsons, and Frost of Chicago was selected over the Olmsted Brothers to develop an overall plan.18 Between 1934 and 1940, projects of the Works Progress Administration totaling $13 million were completed here, with over fourteen thousand men building projects such as golf courses, lagoons (in the shapes of Lake Pontchartrain and Lake Borgne), roads, bridges, and a stadium. Much of the work was done in cast concrete, allowing workers to create streetlight standards, benches, fountains, and sculptural elements with distinctive art deco details. With expansive open spaces, naturalistic plantings, lagoons, and new road, bridges, and architectural features, the park began to resemble Romantic parks of the previous century. While the Olmsted Brothers did not get the larger contract for City Park, the firm was selected by a local philanthropist to develop plans for Popp’s Fountain, a project that lasted from 1929 to 1937. Their designs included a classical pergola and fountain, built by local craftsmen who altered the firm’s drawing in situ during construction. Since the work at City Park was Louisiana’s largest WPA project, it is odd that the WPA Guide to New Orleans of 1938 gives only scant information about the WPA work in City Park. It mentions “a lovely formal rose garden with a recently constructed



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Entrance to City Park, 1936. View toward the Delgado Museum of Art (now the New Orleans Museum of Art). The trees lining the outer side of the road were oaks; by 2009, most had died from old age or storm damage. Those remaining were removed in 2009 and replaced with crepe myrtles and live oaks, giving a prospect completely different from this planting scheme of palm trees. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library

Undated view of City Park, ca. 1930s. Frank B. Moore, photographer. MSS 145-421, Frank B. Moore Collection, Earl K. Long Library, University of New Orleans

pool and fountain enclosing a symbolic statue by Enrique Alferez, local sculptor, and the City Park Conservatories, where a large variety of tropical, semi-tropical and exotic plants are grown.” and, almost as an afterthought, mentions that the “celebrated ‘Dueling Oaks,’ giant live oaks, are also to be seen in the park.”19 The “lovely formal rose garden” is in the Botanical Garden, one of the few WPA public gardens remaining in America. This garden displayed the work of three local talents: architect Richard Koch (1889–1971), landscape architect William Wiedorn (1896–1988), and artist Enrique Alferez (1901–1999). Koch was a guiding force in pioneering efforts to record and preserve historic Louisiana architecture and a

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Popp Fountain, 1936. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library

leader in the WPA efforts to document historic American architecture through the Historic American Building Survey.20 Koch designed many of the structures that remain in the Botanical Garden, such as bridges, benches, maintenance buildings, potting sheds, and cold frames, together with golf sheds scattered on the golf courses modeled on pigeonniers from a River Road plantation, now relocated to the Botanical Garden. Wiedorn trained at Cornell University and practiced in ­Boston (in the Olmsted Brothers firm), Toledo, Cleveland, and St. Petersburg, where he opened an office prior to moving to New Orleans.

Rose Garden, City Park Botanical Garden, 1937. William Wiedorn, landscape architect; Enrique Alferez, sculptor. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library



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William Wiedorn, City Park Rose Garden plan. William S. Wiedorn Oἀ ce Records, Southeastern Architectural Archive, Special Collections Division, Tulane University Libraries

Koch came to New Orleans—and stayed—to work on the City Park project, revising and reworking plans drawn by Bennett, Parsons, and Frost.21 Working with Koch, Wiedorn designed the rose garden and the “garden rooms” (as he called them) that compose the Botanical Garden. He worked on projects at City Park from his arrival in the 1930s to the 1970s.22 Alferez was a colorful, if enigmatic, ­Mexican sculptor who claimed to have ridden with Pancho Villa. A prolific sculptor with a distinctive stylized art deco vocabulary, he worked on public and private projects throughout the community. He created numerous sculptures, fountains, benches, metal gates, bronze fence medallions, and other features for locations in the ­Botanical Garden as well as throughout City Park. More than any other elements, Alferez’s works characterize the period in which they were constructed and continue to be an attraction in the park.23 City Park suffered extensive damage during Hurricane Katrina, when most of the park was underwater for weeks. As soon as the water receded, Botanical Garden officials developed a scheme to completely replant the entire botanical garden and replace its irrigation and lighting systems, tasks that were accomplished largely with volunteers and donated supplies. Of the garden’s trees, only the live oaks survived. Yet within weeks, the Botanical Garden had become a green oasis in an otherwise devastated city where people went to reconnect with neighbors and get away from the overwhelming damage in adjacent neighborhoods. More than anything else, the ­Botanical Garden became a place of healing and inspiration for a devastated c­ ommunity.

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Audubon Park What is now Audubon Park was part of a sugarcane plantation dating from the late eighteenth century where Etienne de Boré developed an early method for granulating sugar. During the Civil War, Union troops camped here, and by the 1870s, it was probably an open, grassy field with volunteer trees and weeds. In 1871, the city purchased a large tract of land fronting the Mississippi River and designated it “New City Park” to distinguish it from what had become known as “City Park” across town. For years, however, it remained undeveloped, much like its crosstown counterpart.24 As the city emerged from post–Civil War problems and economic recovery began in the 1880s, residential developments filled in adjacent areas. Civic leaders, interested in advertising the city’s new prosperity and eager to show off its newly built port facilities, proposed an international exposition for the site. While popular with local residents, the World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition of 1884–85 was not a financial success, yet it left a lasting impact on the horticultural awareness in the community.25 Its main structure was Horticulture Hall, modeled after Sir Joseph Paxton’s Crystal Palace for the Great Exhibition of 1851 in London. Local residents attended the fair in droves and saw the horticultural displays of fruits, exotic plants, cactus, palms, and other exotic plants from faraway places, and soon these plants appeared in local gardens.

Horticulture Hall interior, World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition of 1884–85. Frank B. Moore, photographer. MSS 145-405, Frank B. Moore Collection, Earl K. Long Library, University of New Orleans

One particularly notable plant introduction into the local landscape was the water hyacinth (Eichhornia crassipes), which, according to local legend, first appeared in America at the 1884 exhibition.26 This curious floating plant, with rounded, waxy foliage, bulbous stems, and a pastel lavender-blue flower similar in



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form to hyacinths, multiplies quickly and will quickly completely cover water bodies and slow-moving streams. Like many other introduced species, it escaped cultivation and has become a pest in swamps throughout the Gulf Coast.27 The local fascination with “exotic” plants—mainly tropicals from Central and South America, Asia, and the Caribbean—corresponded with national trends. As early as the 1830s, local suppliers offered plants from Europe, and the availability of exotics increased through the nineteenth century. One newspaper advertisement from 1840, for instance, offers “a great collection of Exotics from ­Mexico, Brazil, New Holland, the Indies, and China.”28 As elsewhere in America and Europe, a fascination with exotics, notably tropical plants, was expressed in both public and private gardens, adding multiple layers of cultural influences to the local landscape. More important than the immediate exposure to exotic plants or scientific ­advances showcased at the exhibition were post-fair developments that are attributable, directly or indirectly, to the event. For instance brothers William (­ 1859–1939) and Ellsworth (1861–1939) Woodward of Massachusetts came to New Orleans for the event and stayed. William started the architecture school at Tulane, and ­Ellsworth directed the art school at Newcomb College. Both talented artists and prime examples of the American Arts and Crafts movement, these two dynamic forces had a profound influence on local arts and were instrumental in developing a passionate interest among locals in Louisiana arts, architecture, and culture that, in turn, ­activated the local preservation movement and led to increased awareness and appreciation of the Louisiana cultural environment. In fact, drawing the local landscape was required in Newcomb’s art program, and Newcomb Pottery is known ­primarily for its depictions of the local landscape and its native plants. Horticulture Hall, the exhibition’s main structure, remained after the event. Until it was destroyed by a hurricane in the early twentieth century, it housed an exhibition of animals, the city’s first zoo. Houses along Exposition Boulevard used materials from the exhibition buildings, and what is now the Gayarré Monument (relocated to Bayou Road at Esplanade Avenue) was one of the fair’s features, displaying the versatility of terra-cotta as a building material. Other remnants of the fair, according to local legend, were water basins placed throughout the city—one remains at DeSoto Street and Esplanade Avenue—stocked with goldfish and water hyacinths. Less obvious than these physical relics but of greater value is the speculation that the fair demonstrated the civic value of a large public park to locals. Up to this point, public open spaces in New Orleans were small “squares” scattered throughout the city and oriented more toward adjacent neighborhoods than the whole community. This pattern, with precedents in both the New England “common” and in Savannah’s original design, defined American open spaces until the mid-1850s, when Central Park was created in New York City, an open space inspired by the scale of the entire urban community rather than a park meant just for its i­ mmediate surroundings. By the nineteenth century’s end in America, technological advances in transportation, communications, sanitary engineering, and architecture organized ­cities and made them bigger, cleaner, taller, more functionally coherent, and more ­efficient. At the same time, most cities had large public parks and even open-space

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Gayarré Place, Esplanade Avenue and Bayou Road, ca. 1890. George François Mugnier, photographer. Note the pedestal with the owl (origin and current location unknown) and the basin (now gone), one of several throughout the city, with its fountain. Courtesy of the Collections of Louisiana State Museum

systems where emerging middle and working classes could spend leisure time outside the home, office, and factory. There was growing interest in organized spectator and team sports, creating demands that increased spaces to accommodate them. Popular intellectual concepts maintained that public parks would generally improve public health through access to clean air and recreation, demonstrate civic virtues (particularly to immigrants), and encourage democratic principles among all, regardless of race, economic, ethnic, or social status. In addition, the profession of landscape architecture, now moving into its second generation with nationally known names and urban examples in major cities, produced designers who could supply expertise to meet new civic demands for parks, open-space systems, and other urban improvements. Obviously these elements occurred in varying degrees and with differing results throughout urban America, but by 1900, they had all combined with other urban conditions to transform American cities. Public parks and open spaces now had value in urban currency, and their numbers increased throughout the country. The open-space paradigm in urban America had shifted in both size and content. Open spaces now were the physical manifestations of the democratic ideal; parks were opportunities to learn about and experience fair play and appropriate social behavior, social patterns and lessons that Olmsted, his circle, and their followers felt were necessary for living in an American city. Evidence of the social-reform approach to urban space is not as apparent in New Orleans as it was elsewhere. The genesis for Audubon Park was the 1884–85 exposition, and its purposes were rooted in post–Civil War civic boosterism and economic initiatives based in the desire among community and business leader to



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prove that New Orleans and its port had recovered from the war. As ­perhaps an unintended consequence, the exposition became the first opportunity for local residents to experience a large urban open space, and that experience proved a lasting one. After the exposition closed, the space was renamed Audubon Park in honor of the Haitian-born naturalist and artist John James Audubon (1785–1851). Early interest in securing a plan for the park dates to June 5, 1887, when, according to minutes of the Audubon Park Association, “the meeting was addressed by Mr. St. Amant, on how to improve the park & [he] offered to make a Model Plan for $20.” In August 1887, the minutes indicate that “Mr. Wallis reported what had been done to securing a plan of the Park & read correspondence with Mr. Bogart of New York who had made it.”29 Communication continued with John Bogart, and later in 1887 the board authorized raising five hundred dollars for Bogart to “come out to locate trees, roads &c.” There is no record of whether he came or what his plan contained, and nothing happened until July 1893, when the minutes record a presentation to the board of a new plan for the park by a Mr. Earle, who based his plan on Bogart’s plan (“a good one . . . making only a few minor changes”). The board did not act on Earle’s plan, and instead, its president, J. Ward Gurley, reported in August 1883 that “he had written to Mr. Bogard [sic] & Mr. Olmsted for plans of a Park, to be executed upon a basis of $1,000,000, total cost.”30 As previously mentioned, Bogart worked with ­Olmsted from 1858 onward on the execution of New York’s Central Park and Brooklyn’s Prospect Park, and he was the firm’s chief engineer from 1866 to 1871. It is possible that Bogart was still involved with Olmsted’s office in some capacity at this time, though by then he had become New York’s chief engineer for parks. In November 1883, the board communicated that “when sufficient appropriation for the Park can be obtained the Commission will again correspond with them.”31 Interest in a permanent plan resumed by 1895, when a municipal appropriation materialized, but Olmsted’s health had declined by then, and he had retired from professional activities. Board minutes from February 1898 indicate the Plan Committee had received an “outline drawing from Mr. Manning, embracing his ideas of the proper embellishments of Audubon Park,” together with the “suggestions of Mr. Olmsted” and a forthcoming “outline map.”32 By this time, the Olmsted practice was led by Olmsted’s stepson John and Frederick Jr. (“Rick”). In June 1898, the board signed a contract for the park’s design with the Olmsted Brothers, a professional relationship that continued into 1941.33 Announcements of the Olmsted Brothers’ participation in the design for ­Audubon Park was reported in the Daily Picayune’s coverage of the monthly meeting of the park’s commission on March 7, 1899, with banner headlines: audubon park’s dream of beauty . . . With Bayous, Lawns, Forest Stretches and Play Places . . . And While the Project is Not Formally Adopted, It Will Probably be the Basis Along Which Work Will be Carried On. The main things before the meeting were the plans submitted by Mr. Olmsted, of Boston, for the improvement of the park, and the decision regarding the topographical

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survey. A sketch of the proposed improvements was exhibited, and President Gurley made a little speech explaining it. . . . Mr. Gurley thought that the plans ­submitted by Mr. Olmsted were the most artistic and practical yet submitted. He said that the central part of the park would, if they were carried out, look as large as the whole park does now; the system of long vistas was better than he had through possible, and the whole arrangement gives the impression of a vast expanse of land. . . . [T]he general sentiment seemed to be that they were about what was wanted for the park.

The Olmsted Brothers produced a presentation portfolio that showed several views of the park, signed by the pioneer landscape architect Arthur A. Shurtleff (later Shurcliff).34 This format resembles visual presentations pioneered in the “Red Books” of English garden designer Humphry Repton in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, in which existing conditions (“Before”) are shown with suggested improvements (“After”).35

Arthur A. Shurtleff, Audubon Park (before) and Audubon Park (after), both ca. 1900. Drawings. MSS 56-191, Audubon Park Commission Collection, Earl K. Long Library, University of New Orleans



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Local newspapers continued to report on progress at the park, and on November 13, 1899, an article stated: “The keynote of Mr. Olmsted’s design is to make the park truly southern. The foliage of Louisiana vegetation is in itself extremely beautiful and luxuriant, and naturally assumes, where it is grouped, the most picturesque forms. . . . In a letter from him [Olmsted] to members of the Park Board, he has expressed the idea that the structures . . . be built to conform to the history and traditions of the city, and be made characteristic of the races that founded and built it. Therefore it is suggested such constructions be in the French and Spanish styles of the time of the founding, and even touches characteristic of Mexico would not be out of place.” The elder ­Olmsted’s spirit is clearly evident in the design concepts for Audubon Park through the recognition and use of the indigenous environment and local architecture. His hand posthumously guided the park’s subsequent development through the work of his stepson, John Charles, who proposed that the relatively flat site feature lagoons, open green spaces, and native plants and regional architecture. The park had a baseball diamond and a running track, and a nine-hole golf course was built in 1898, when several local golfers brought Scotsman William E. Stoddart from Brookline, ­Massachusetts, down to lay out the course and give instructions.36 Popular features of the 1884 exposition were displays of animals, and coinciding with Olmsted’s emphasis on highlighting local flora and fauna, a swamp exhibit opened in the park in 1913. A cage for birds was added in 1916, followed by an aquarium in 1924 and a sea lion pool surrounded by a classical colonnade. Other structures included monumental entrance pylons (1921) and an oval bandstand (1921). These features, in the prevailing City Beautiful style, were not necessarily specified by the Olmsted Brothers firm but instead were civic contributions originated by local philanthropists, designed by local architects, and constructed in locations suggested by the Olmsted Brothers.

Audubon Park entrance on St. Charles Avenue, ca. 1921. Charles L. Franck, photographer. Courtesy The Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1979.325.5718

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In the 1920s, the Louisiana Sugar Experiment Station, a facility dating from 1890 and used to study sugarcane, closed, and its site became exhibit spaces for ­animals. The redesigned zoo, a local WPA project, opened in 1938. Like the WPA work in City Park, the Audubon Park Zoo’s structures were designed by local architects and artists. Structures and plantings reflected local styles and materials, recalling the advice from the Olmsted Brothers earlier in the century.

Unidentified local artists chiseling figures on a wall of the tropical birdhouse at the Audubon Park Zoo, 1939. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library

By the late 1970s, the zoo had deteriorated to the point where either closure or complete overhaul was necessary. The city elected to renovate. Existing WPA-era buildings were kept and renovated for new uses. Under the partnership of the local landscape architects Cashio Cochran, zoo administrators and a powerful community-based constituency, the zoo expanded to fifty acres, though not without lengthy controversy and a divisive legal battle waged with adjacent property owners. Ultimately, an extremely successful facility has emerged that is popular today with both locals and tourists.

II Commercial Open Spaces “For Use a n d for Pl e a su r e” Commercial open spaces, designed for public recreation and leisure activities but built and operated by entrepreneurs on private property, responded to the everpresent desire for amusement in the expanding nineteenth-century city. These ­developments occupied a realm between the privacy of the domestic sphere and the civic life of street and square. Advertisements for attractions such as “pleasure garden,” “pleasure ground,” and “house and garden of entertainment and recreation” appear in local newspapers beginning in 1810, and descriptions of what they offered suggest a resemblance to European precedents. These attractions existed throughout the city, and while all share basic characteristics, each contributes something different to our understanding of the community’s growing use and awareness of open spaces. Examining these open spaces in New Orleans is important for four reasons. First, they show how local market forces affected the organization and uses of open spaces for commercial gain. Second, cultural structures associated with local pleasure gardens provide insight into social influences on open-space access, content, and activities. Third, these spaces demonstrate the impacts of European design patterns and program offerings in the evolving American city. And finally, an understanding of how local residents used pleasure gardens contributes new information to how openspace use and awareness evolved in nineteenth-century America. Pleasure gardens such as those found in New Orleans have thus far occupied an ill-defined role in discussions of American landscape history. Landscape historians, past and present, have given scant attention to European pleasure gardens, let alone those in America. In fact, there is hardly consensus about the term’s definition, and thus far, little discussion about what role these spaces may have played in the evolution of American urban open spaces. Perhaps this is attributable to the commonplace nature of the spaces (though European precedents started out being spaces for the aristocracy), the popular activities they included, or the clientele they attracted. Nevertheless, local examples offered New Orleans residents access to leisure activities, food and beverages, musical and theatrical spectacles, and venues for social interaction. As such, they deserve examination and analysis.

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4 Eu rope a n a n d A mer ic a n Pr ece de n ts

The origin of the term “pleasure garden” as a type of open space lies in European sources and likely comes from the term used to describe estate grounds of the aristocracy. Seeking perhaps to capitalize on associations with aristocracy, scale, and frivolity, eighteenth-century entrepreneurs in urban centers (notably London) ­appropriated the term for privately owned open spaces designed for spectacle and entertainment, with features such as structures (often temporary, like stage sets), minimal plantings, fountains and water attractions, food and beverages, art exhibitions, theatrical events, and musical attractions for the public who could afford the price of admission. Over the eighteenth century, potential audiences expanded beyond the aristocracy to include the newly affluent middle classes, who were attracted to spaces and experiences their forebearers had been denied. By the end of the eighteenth century, the term “pleasure garden” had evolved from the earlier association with large, private domestic spaces to a term that described nonresidential parklike spaces accessible by an admission fee. This definition has remained. Examples were found throughout major European cities in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. According to a late-nineteenth-century source, London had more than sixty such attractions during the eighteenth century, and they ­appealed to a wide range of classes.1 Among the most popular were Vauxhall Gardens ­(1661–1859), Marleborne Gardens (1738–1779), and Ranelagh Gardens ­(1742–1895). In a general exploration of European pleasure gardens, the historian Isabelle ­Auricoste suggests that they were an “elsewhere” meant to evoke a “paradise” and a means of escape from ordinary life in order to experience “another world.” She suggests that throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in London, Paris, and Vienna, “balls, musical entertainments, menageries, equestrian circuses, ­exotic plants, shady groves and fountains” offered “escape and oblivion, duly planned and financed,” and a “mingling of social classes and the relaxed behaviour” that encouraged “new ideals of equality and liberty” among visitors.2 Conventional wisdom about pleasure gardens among landscape historians may best be summarized in Elizabeth Barlow Rogers’s one-sentence Eurocentric definition: “In eighteenth-century England, a commercial establishment consisting of grounds with walks and groves of trees and offering food, drink, and music.”3 For her and for other contemporary landscape historians, pleasure gardens merit brief mention in European landscape history, and they are missing altogether as either an open-space category or a model in discussions of American public open spaces. 63

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Ranelagh Gardens, London, mid-eighteenth century. From Views of Some of the Most Celebrated By-gone Pleasure Gardens of London (London: H. A. Rogers, 1896). Author’s collection

Their absence from discussions of garden history to date does not mean, however, that such open spaces were not present in urban centers and that, in America, such spaces were not influential in shaping national attitudes about open spaces and local opportunities for public recreation. The impetus for the creation of pleasure gardens, regardless of their locations, was economic, and their purpose was to provide a venue for social activities and ­entertainment. Entrepreneurial profit-seeking encouraged new ideas that ­resulted in multiple nineteenth-century developments such as the Crystal Palace in ­London, seaside amusements in England, Copenhagen’s Tivoli, and large-scale international exhibitions. Auricoste claims that the “proliferation of specialized amusement grounds seemed to wane at the turn of the [nineteenth] century,” and the only ­“notable creation of any size was the American park at Coney Island,” but the facts do not support this view.4 As obvious precursors of later-nineteenth­century amusement parks and twentieth-century theme parks, pleasure gardens demonstrate unseen links between European precedents and American open spaces and constitute an unacknowledged evolutionary influence in American public open-space theories and uses. Histories of American landscape architecture generally propose that nineteenth-century public open-space concepts originated in the rural cemetery movement of the early 1830s and then, influenced by Transcendental teachings and ­urban-reform agendas, evolved into the urban park movement from the mid1850s onward.5 Leaders in these movements were among the country’s intellectuals, and notable examples of these influences could be found in urban centers such as Boston and New York.6 Over time, conventional wisdom among landscape historians about the origins of American public open spaces coalesced around these East Coast influences (both people and places) to the exclusion of other motivating factors involving unknown designers, economic forces, vernacular trends,



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and understanding of commonplace leisure activities, and open-space models that may have occurred elsewhere in America.7 Studies have noted examples of pleasure gardens in at least two American ­cities, New York and New Orleans, and anecdotal evidence suggests examples may well have existed in other nineteenth-century American cities as well.8 Here, arguably, is the genesis of the numerous amusement parks that developed in the opening years of the twentieth century and that, in turn, have evolved into today’s theme parks. Since Disneyland opened in 1955 (followed by Disney World in 1971, Tokyo Disney Resort in 1983, and Euro Disney, Paris, in 1992), such developments have become significant recreational open spaces throughout the world from cultural, economic, and social perspectives, and they are major influences in the design professions as well.9 Mid-nineteenth-century American pleasure gardens, like other expressions of the vernacular landscape, are curious and eclectic commercial places whose clientele included both the unsophisticated and unenlightened lower classes as well as the elites. The influence of nineteenth-century pleasure gardens on contemporary spatial uses and open-space attitudes is largely unacknowledged, and whatever influence they may have had on America’s landscape heritage remains largely unexplored. Pleasure gardens appear in New York in the late eighteenth century and in New Orleans in the first decade of the nineteenth century, well before the development of both rural cemeteries and municipal urban parks elsewhere in America. Examples in both cities correspond with European precedents in many respects including name and content: for instance “Vauxhall Gardens” existed in eighteenth-­century London, nineteenth-century New York, and nineteenth-century New Orleans (in at least three different locations). Eighteenth-century Paris, nineteenth-century Copenhagen, and nineteenth-century New Orleans each had an attraction named “Tivoli.” Like their European counterpoints, American examples, at least those in New Orleans, offered musical and theatrical performances, spectacles and amusements, and food and drink. Thus far, New York pleasure gardens have been explored as venues for the ­performing arts, in relationship to the development of Central Park, and as “historic background for contemporary cultural analysis of theme parks.”10 The feminist scholar Kathy Peiss notes the existence, from the mid-nineteenth century onward, of “picnic groves” in metropolitan New York City and defines them as “commercial enterprises linked to saloons, roadhouses, or hotels . . . run along the lines of German beer gardens, with bands, singers and fireworks,” a definition that mirrors descriptions of pleasure gardens. She characterizes them as ­recreation and ­entertainment venues for working-class women who had limited recreational ­options elsewhere, noting that “entertainment at the . . . picnic ground often ­included athletic competitions, games of chance, shooting matches, and fireworks.”11 Writing about New York and mid-nineteenth-century Central Park, Rosenzweig and Blackmar describe pleasure gardens as places where proprietors “constructed stages and circus rings and entertained their visitors with elaborate theater programs, concerts, equestrian acts, and fireworks. Variety, flexibility, and unpredictability in ­arrangement and use of space similarly characterized the eclectic aesthetic of larger pleasure grounds

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such as Hoboken’s Elysian Fields or Harlem Gardens, where lively crowds engaged in picnics, festivals, and sports in the shady groves and open pastures of former farms or gentlemen’s country seats.”12 Though information is scant, it appears that, with ­notable exceptions, pleasure gardens in New York were located on small urban parcels, adjacent to developed areas and easily accessible to prospective clients.13 All ­accounts agree that New York pleasure garden attractions frequently included ­musical content (orchestras, bands, soloists, choral ensembles, etc.), theatrical performances, games, fireworks displays, exotic plantings, caged animals, and other spectacles. Most offered alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages, ice cream and pastries, and other food. The public-park historian Galen Cranz makes no distinction between the terms “pleasure gardens” and “pleasure grounds,” using them interchangeably in her discussion of the evolution of public urban parks in America. She suggests that urban reformers “hoped to eradicate the amusement park, the tavern, and the beer garden altogether,” but those efforts proved unsuccessful due to the popularity of these ­establishments. Other historians, without exploring what New York pleasure gardens were, cite nineteenth-century newspaper sources that argue pleasure gardens were what progressive civic leaders and open space advocates did not want in the public parks they envisioned with the onset of municipal park systems in the second half of the nineteenth century. In other words, for many urban reformers, pleasure gardens were corrupt and evil places where bad things happened, while new civic parks were healthy and wholesome places where democratic ideals conducive to citizenship would be learned and practiced.14 As the only other examples examined thus far in America, New York pleasure gardens give background for an investigation of New Orleans examples. While there are similarities in some areas between the two, there are also important ­differences worth noting. In content, organization, and activities, New Orleans pleasure gardens are reflections of the social eccentricities, marketplace forces, and cultural identities of this unique multicultural, racially diverse, nineteenth-century community. Their examination offers important new information about how local residents interacted with the landscape and hew avenues of influence on the evolution of American public open spaces.

5 Pl e a su r e Ga r de ns i n N e w Or l e a ns

The suburban resorts of the city are rapidly assuming their summer importance. The Lake end will soon be itself again, and the Carrollton cars are already bearing many pleasure seekers on their afternoon trips to that pleasant locality. . . . [W]e intend to take a prospecting tour round the adjacent rural districts, and report their condition—whether the flowers are in bloom, the trees have leaved out, pleasure gardens are in order, the larders of eating houses are stocked, the bars have decent goods, and ­everything necessary to getting up country enjoyment is in line.    —New Orleans Daily True Delta, March 26, 1858

Pleasure gardens, as commercial endeavors, are one of five open-space models identified in nineteenth-century New Orleans. The earliest newspaper advertisement appears in 1810, and between then and the end of the nineteenth century, nearly twenty examples have surfaced in various sources. Knowing exactly how many existed, however, is difficult to ascertain for at least two reasons. First, a variety of terms (“pleasure garden,” “pleasure grounds,” “pleasure resort,” and “house and gardens of entertainment and recreation”) appears in contemporary advertisements, but information about what was contained in these spaces and their organization is inconsistent. Second, it is impossible to determine if all venues with the word “garden” actually referred to an outside space. Nevertheless, pleasure gardens, as the music historian Henry Kmen notes, were places where “city people” went in the “expectation of pleasure”; furthermore, in his analysis, that “pleasure” often carried a cultural association relating to the performances presented, whether song, opera, dance, band/orchestra, or theater.1 With a broad geographical distribution throughout the nineteenth-century community and its suburbs, these privately owned commercial developments evolved from modest beginnings to large beer gardens, amusements parks, and jazz clubs near Lake Pontchartrain in the last years of the nineteenth century. Arguably the trajectory of this open-space type continued into the twentieth century as well, with midcentury examples at Pontchartrain Beach and Lincoln Beach. Nationally, pleasure gardens are open-space precursors to later “concert ­saloons,” theme and amusement parks, and even private country clubs by virtue of the activities they offered and because of the policies in place regarding admission.2 Local pleasure gardens, like examples elsewhere, were commercial places of public amusement, eating and drinking, sport, spectacle, theatrics, and musical entertainment. 67

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Early ­examples reveal that patrons were admitted through policies that reflected prevailing community social structures regarding race and gender, making these commercial spaces unique in the context of American open-space history. Information about local examples comes from multiple sources (newspaper advertisements, written accounts, photographic images, engravings, and contemporary plan views), and from this evidence we know that pleasure gardens were widely distributed throughout nineteenth-century New Orleans. In what is now the Lower Garden District were Eliza Gardens (1810–30s), the Pleasure Garden in the suburb La Course on Tchoupitoulas Street at Orange Street (1825–26), and Fasnacht’s Garden at Poeyfarre and Annunciation (1852); also above Canal Street in the American Sector were the New Vauxhall Garden (1835) and Kossuth Gardens (1852), and uptown at the terminus of St. Charles Avenue was the Carrollton Gardens (1835–91). Below Canal, the Vieux Carré had Rasch’s Garden on Chartres Street (1826). The Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène (1844–48), Tivoli Garden (1849–52), and Vauxhall Gardens (1850–52) were on the Carondelet Canal, and nearby on Bayou St. John were Large Oaks (1812), an unnamed example (1830), and the Magnolia Garden (1870–87). Across the Mississippi River in Algiers were the Pavilion Garden (1848) on St. Anthony’s Square and the New Southern Confederation Garden (1861). Suburban examples were found in Kenner (Jacob Sieban’s Pleasure Garden, 1881) and near Lake Pontchartrain at Spanish Fort (1820s–1932) and West End (1880s–1920s).3 This study presents examples from throughout the city (the Lower Garden District, Bayou St. John, the Carondelet Canal, the upriver end of St. Charles Avenue, and near Lake Pontchartrain) through evidence in four general categories: administrative structure (admissions policies and codes of conduct expected of patrons); activities offered (sports; musical and theatrical events; spectacles); “collations” provided (food and beverage); and design content (plant materials, structures and other built amenities). Early examples demonstrate how accessibility was defined by complicated and ambiguous attitudes about gender and race in early-nineteenth-century New ­Orleans. Several pleasure gardens show relationships with New York and ­L ondon through choice of name, content, and activities, while others display strong ­European cultural connections long after the city became an American territory in 1803, confirming Kmen’s undocumented assessment. For instance, the Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène demonstrates French cultural influences in name, design, and activities, and it became a venue for those interested in celebrating French heritage in a booming American city. The Tivoli Garden and later examples on Lake Pontchartrain display German influences in entertainment and food offered. Through attractions offered, other examples on the ­Carondelet Canal and at West End illustrate the growing influence of immigrants and ­i ncreased leisure time. The Carrollton Gardens, described in a contemporary account as being “laid out in the English style,” illustrates how an early ­public-transit venture included leisure space as a commercial attraction, a business model that would occur elsewhere in the city (and throughout America) during the nineteenth century.4 While information about local examples is inconsistent, and each example may show something different, unifying factors exist. All were private spaces opened to



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the public as business ventures that offered some form of entertainment; therefore their existence, content, and longevity are responses to market forces of capital, opportunity, and clientele. Entrepreneurial characteristics explain the often short life span of some examples and differentiate them from other public open-space models. The content they offered indicates what the public would pay for in terms of dancing, musical events and theatrical spectacles, recreational games and activities, food, and drink. When considered over time, these developments illustrate unique interpretations of public space in terms of organization, access, and content, and their characteristics demonstrate prevailing but evolving practices concerning commodification of private property for public consumption, leisure activities, cultural influences, and open-space design, thereby giving new relevance to their importance in nineteenth-century urban life.

Lower Garden District The first public notice of pleasure gardens in New Orleans located thus far is an ad in the July 11, 1810, Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane for the Eliza Gardens: To the Public. luc maugé has the honor of informing the public that the Eliza Gardens will be open two days in the week (Wednesday and Friday) for the reception of persons of colour. He further informs, that no person will be admitted without paying one bit at the door, for which a ticket will be given, and on presenting it at the bar an equivalent will be given in refreshment. No children can be admitted unless accompanied by their parents or some grown person, and should any injury be done to the garden, those who brought them must be accountable. July 9.

In the early 1970s, the local architectural historian Sam Wilson located this pleasure garden in what is now the Lower Garden District, “between the two DelordSarpy houses, the older one at Annunciation and Poeyfarre and the other on ­Howard Avenue near Camp,” suggesting this “amusement park of some sort” existed until 1831, when Poeyfarre Street was extended. He noted that in 1832 lots were advertised for sale “being part of that fine property lately called Eliza Gardens.”5 In addition to the early date of this notice, other observations worth noting are the following: first, that on two days of the week (Wednesdays and Fridays), the garden would receive “persons of colour,” a term with several meanings6 that, by its use, suggests the influence race had on spatial organization; second is mention of an admission fee (“one bit”), redeemable in liquid “refreshment” at the bar; and finally, the warning that children must be supervised and that those who might cause “injury  .  .  . to the garden” will be held “accountable.” Any of these observations might be the subject of lengthy discussion from the perspectives of openspace history, race relations, recreation history, and family sociology, suggesting that these landscapes have something to say, even if, as in this case, we are deprived of specific contents and design.

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The Pleasure Garden at the Faubourg La Course existed not far from the Eliza Gardens on Orange Street between Tchoupitoulas Street and the Mississippi River. Between July 1825 and April 1826, four lengthy advertisements for this enterprise appear, and they give detailed and interesting information on both organizational structure and design. The first notice appears in the July 22, 1825, edition of the Courier. Subscribers, men only, financed this development (initially there were twenty-five, and the operators hoped eventually for sixty), and, judging from their names, they were of both French and non-French heritage.7 Subscribers were encouraged to bring “friends of both sexes” together with children to what appears to be an event held in their honor. Food (a “light collation,” as well as “peaches, figs and raisins” for children) was provided with the admissions fee (one dollar), together with musical entertainment and dancing. The entire family could attend, and the garden’s operator engaged a skiff to ferry people from “the city” (the Vieux Carré) “to the garden and back” at a rate of twenty-five cents per round trip. Later in the same week (July 29) another advertisement appears, expanding on information provided in the previous announcement and outlining procedures for admission. This notice gives an extraordinary glimpse into the social life of New Orleans in the mid-1820s and demonstrates how racial issues influenced spatial issues as well as other parts of urban life. Simon Laignel, the operator, secured regular boat transportation between the Vieux Carré and his attraction, increasing public accessibility via river transit since “bad roads” prohibited those from “coming down or going up.” He wished to open his facility to “all classes of society” with specific days reserved for whites, free women of color (with “white gentlemen”), and free people of color. Here is evidence that, on certain days in the early decades of the nineteenth century, community open space was a “common ground” that allowed cross-cultural associations and diverse access conforming to existing social conventions and accepted practices of the day. Subscribers were urged to enlist their friends to join so that each day there would be crowds of people known to them. Games, “amusing” but not hazardous, were offered. Laignel suggests the beneficial qualities of his garden to “sick persons or convalescents.” Finally, some plantings were mentioned, suggesting the garden currently had fig and peach trees and grape arbors, and, “next spring,” he hoped to have “a collection of the finest flowers.” Fourteen organizational rules and subscription policies were published in an advertisement in the Courier the next year, on March 30, 1826, covering the duration of subscriptions, rules for admission by days, price, accommodation for horses, activities offered, hours of operation, and which public conveyances served the garden. Perhaps this admissions structure proved commercially unsuccessful or the product offered did not meet owner expectations or market demands; in any case, just a month later, Mr. Laignel (the pleasure garden’s “keeper”) and Mr. Gary (its owner) had had enough of their venture, and on April 26, 1826, this pleasure garden was advertised for sale. The property and its buildings are described as being “well calculated for a place of public resort: the Gardens are well arranged and planted with a number of trees and flowers.”



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These notices, from July 22, 1825, to March 30, 1826, give evidence of an earlynineteenth-century use in New Orleans of designed open space as an attraction for which people would pay admission and abide by the rules of conduct established by the property’s owner. Significantly, they also reveal other important information concerning: who had access and how admission policies reflected the social order of the community (families; men with free women of color; free people of color); how the space was used (“no hazard games [sic] shall be tolerated”; “amusing games, such as swings, balls, nine pins, cards, &c. &c.”); what plants the space contained (“figs, peaches and grapes may still be found on the trees or vines”); and what the perceived value of the “pleasure garden” was to the community (“the advantage of having a place of re-union”; “How many sick persons or convalescents, during the excessive heat, to whom their physicians prescribe a morning airing, might avail themselves of the garden”). Visual records of this garden’s content or spatial organization have not yet surfaced; but according to the advertisement, the space was “well arranged and planted with a number of trees and flowers.” Ultimately, however, the design of this pleasure garden is of less importance than its detailed admissions policies, which serve as evidence of the community’s complicated social order as it was imposed on physical space, a situation possibly unique in nineteenth-century American open-space history. Rules concerning admission, based on racial identity and gender, should not escape notice, and their relevance in explaining how physical space accommodated social order cannot be underestimated. Initially the egalitarian entrepreneur Laignel “informs the public, that he is anxious of making his garden useful for all classes of society” and therefore establishes rules for admission: three days are for subscribers, “only for white persons of both sexes;” one day for “white gentlemen and free women of color”; and one day for “free people of color of both sexes.” The structure of admission to this pleasure garden clearly arises from the intricate and complicated tripartite social organization that existed in multiethnic New Orleans society. Significant, too, is the fact that the pleasure garden was not spatially divided into separate sections for different races; legally enforced racial segregation came much later, in the early twentieth century, during Jim Crow times.8 While separations among races certainly existed (“white persons” and “free women of color” are allowed; servants are not mentioned and presumably are not included unless as personal attendants to their owners)9, accommodation to the realities of social structure existed as well, presumably enabling all concerned to maintain, where necessary, appropriate levels of separation and, when convenient, accommodations for union. An examination of local conventions of race and society reveals the ambiguity of Laignel’s description of an attraction “useful for all classes of society”: while it may be an accurate description within the context of its period, these words are inconsistent with today’s definitions. African Americans, as slaves, were routinely ­excluded (except as attendants) from public accommodations. But in these two early pleasure gardens, separate days were designated for “people of color,” and plaçage arrangements, recognized throughout all realms of the community, facilitated public social interaction among racial groups.

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Plaçage allowed men of European descent to openly establish families and maintain relationships with women, particularly those of African American and mixedrace origin, other than their wives. Progeny of these arrangements, distinguished often by their striking physical features, were often sent abroad to be educated and returned to be aristocratic, educated, and cosmopolitan “Creoles of color,” a distinct stratum of local society. They could—and often did—inherit property from their fathers and usually took their fathers’ name, leading to subsequent genealogical novelties.10 Many were craftsmen and professionals in the building trades, leaving a lasting imprint on the city’s architectural fabric. Members of this unique community, neither Caucasian nor African American but distinctly separate, are historically connected with one geographic neighborhood, the Seventh Ward. They contributed substantially to the racial complexity and cultural richness of New Orleans from the nineteenth-century onward, and they remain significant and influential today in political, cultural, economic, religious, and educational circles. Public access to commercial attractions such as pleasure gardens was ironically more accommodating during the early years of the nineteenth century, when these private open-space amenities first appeared, than later, after slavery had been abolished, Reconstruction had ended, and Jim Crow laws were in full effect. While access earlier in the century had been articulated by owners, legal constraints later in the century banned African Americans from public spaces and private attractions enjoyed by whites, notably on Sundays.11 And though access defined (and therefore limited) may well have been access denied, an understanding of the social complexities of early-nineteenth-century plaçage arrangements that permitted white men to have concubines and mixed-race families illustrates how pleasure gardens operated here within that complicated social structure and sheds new light on the later political ironies of Plessy v. Ferguson and its subsequent impact on twentieth­century American life.12 Accommodations that acknowledged the multiracial composition of New Orleans had existed since colonial times. Unlike other communities in the South, New Orleans, from the eighteenth century onward, had at least three distinct groups based on race: free (usually Europeans), enslaved (usually Africans but sometimes Native Americans), and those somewhere in between (often the progeny of the first two groups), known as “free people of color,” often designated as “FMC” (free man of color) or “FWC” (free woman of color) in legal documents, and generally described today as “Creole.”13 Free people of color enjoyed a unique place in the colonial community because of their unique social and legal situation between freedom and slavery, a position recognized by local laws. In New Orleans during the late eighteenth century and into the nineteenth century, free people of color associated with everyone else, including Native ­Americans, Europeans, Africans, and white Americans. While each group had distinct notions and well-established ideas about religion, education, and social organization, all groups mingled in several spheres of common interest: economically in daily commerce; physically in urban open spaces; and uniformly in activities that involved horticulture, food, and celebrations. What remains murky, however, are specifics concerning access: when access was defined by race, who were the ­gatekeepers,



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and how did racial schemes determine access? While we have rules published concerning local pleasure gardens, we do not have corroborating evidence to explain ­exactly how those rules were enforced. Louisiana historians and urban-space scholars have, thus far, not fully explored this topic.14 Nevertheless, the Eliza and Faubourg La Course pleasure gardens demonstrate that conventions of race played a part in the organization and use of commercial open space in the first two decades of nineteenth-century New Orleans. Here is ­evidence of how cultures intertwined, boundaries dissolved, and, over time, the community’s unique cultural character, social landscape, and physical environment evolved.

Attractions on Bayou St. John Bayou St. John is a shallow, natural waterway northwest of the Vieux Carré that served first as a Native American portage between Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River. With the creation of the Carondelet Canal in the 1790s, Bayou St. John became the commercial route connecting the developing community with Lake Pontchartrain and communities beyond.15 In 1810 James Pitot, an early mayor of the newly incorporated city, moved from his townhouse on Royal Street in the Vieux Carré and bought a house on Bayou St. John on land that had been cleared and divided into plantation tracts for agricultural purposes. Though sparsely populated, the Bayou St. John area had recreational ex-urban attractions for city residents, and throughout the nineteenth century, it was the location of several pleasure gardens. The music historian Henry Kmen notes that as early as 1805 there was a “new place” for dancing on Bayou St. John “called the Tivoli,” where “men and ladies ‘of the best families’ trudge two miles and back to dance every Sunday through July and August.”16 An account from 1806 by Irish traveler Thomas Ashe elaborates on one of the city’s earliest “places of amusement.”17 Every Sunday evening, “all the beauty of the country concentrates, without any regard to birth, wealth, or colour. . . . The room is spacious and circular; well painted and adorned, and surrounded by orange trees and aromatic shrubs, which diffuse through it a delightful odour. I went to Tivoli, and danced in a very brilliant assembly of ladies.” Ashe’s description “without any regard to birth, wealth, or colour” is significant and must be seen within the context of his larger discussion of the community’s social customs because it provides other observations on the complicated structures relating to race, class, and gender in early-nineteenth-century New Orleans, proving that such classifications were part of the community’s consciousness of the time. Without moralizing or judgment, Ashe describes at length the people in the community and their amusements, starting with this general comment about women: ”The women, who in point of manners and character have a very marked superiority over the men, are divided into two ranks—the white and the brown. They have two separate ballrooms in the city. At the white ballroom no lady of colour is admitted.” He starts with “White ladies” and discusses physical characteristics and dress (“plain and simple.”). He next discusses French and Spanish women, then the “women of Colour,” whom he notes,

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“stand next to the White in society. They are very beautiful, of a light copper colour, and tall and elegant persons.” Later, he discusses how gradations of skin color affect social standing: A distinction subsists between ladies of colour of a very singular sort; those who are but one remove from the African cast, are subordinate to those who are from  two or three, or more, and are interdicted, by custom, from intermarrying with the Whites; but they are allowed, by the same authority, to become mistresses of the Whites without being dishonored in the eyes of society: that is, they are esteemed honorable and virtuous while faithful to one man; but if, in their amours, they at any time become indiscriminate, they lose the advantage of ranking among the virtuous, and are classed in the city-books among prostitutes and slaves. . . . [T]hough infidelity is punished among them, they are no sooner disengaged from one attachment than they are at liberty to form another. The introduction of strangers to them is attended with some ceremony, and must always be through the means of the mother, or female adopted to supply her place. The inhabitants of the town never break down their regulations, or treat them abruptly, and strangers are instructed by their acquaintance how to proceed.

Ashe describes where these liaisons transpire (the levee) and the terms of such arrangements: The mothers always regulate the terms and make the bargain. The terms allowed the parents are generally fifty dollars a month; during which time the lover has the exclusive right to the house, where fruit, coffee, and refreshments may at any time be had, or where he may entirely live with the utmost safety and tranquility. Many do live in this manner, notwithstanding which, I have never heard a complaint against these interesting females. In proportion as they advance in age they enter into service, &c. and are respected as much as when in their virgin state.

Then follows Ashe’s discussion of “Negresses and female Mestizes”: “the first are principally employed as servants, of which every family has a considerable number; the second perform all kinds of laborious work, such as washing, and retailing fruit through the city in the hottest weather; and being considered as a cast[e] too degraded to enter into the marriage state, they follow a legal kind of prostitution, without deeming it any disparagement to their virtue or to their honor.” It is within the context of this complicated racial hierarchy that early-nineteenth-century public open spaces, including pleasure gardens and the levees, must be viewed. Ashe orders the women in New Orleans in a hierarchy that begins with “White” followed by French, Spanish, “women of Colour,” the Negresses and “Mestizes.”18 He discusses their societal roles and notes where intermingling among ethnic groups did—and did not—happen. And though, as he notes, “the places of amusement are separate in the city for the distinctions in society, still there is an assembly held every Sunday evening at the Bayou . . . where all the beauty of the country concentrates, without any regard to birth, wealth, or colour . . . called Tivoli.” This pleasure garden and others like it in the city became venues for public gatherings and social activities defined first by social customs and later by law.19



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Not much is known about this example, though it likely is the pleasure garden Kmen cites from 1805. This may well have been the property offered for sale in an ad from the May 13, 1808, edition of the Courier, described an “elegant House with a Lot, Containing several acres. . . . Pleasantly situated for a . . . family, but its superior advantages for a Tavern, or Gardening, are too well known to need comment.” It is offered for sale again five times between May 11, 1811, and January 12, 1824, when it was described, also in the Courier, as a “Handsome Property” that consisted of a “Dwelling House, Kitchen and servant’s room, three negro cabins, two large stables, coach houses, a brick well, and a flower and kitchen garden.” Such a description characterizes a property outside the immediate urban area, large enough to include small, detached structures. Worth noting too is the mention of both “flower and kitchen garden” as a feature that might appeal to a prospective buyer. Properties such as these commonly existed on the fringes of urban areas, and as developmental pressures increased, these properties were sold and redeveloped into denser residential or commercial parcels. Notice of the availability of property on Bayou St. John that clearly fits the description of a pleasure garden appeared on April 22, 1812, in the Courier. Large Oaks, a “house of pleasure,” offered “every day and at every hour refreshments of every kind at moderate prices.” There were “commodious rooms” for “pastime plays . . . and a good billiard table.” Apparently this new establishment merged with an existing facility, now improved with “fine plants and trees.” Sports, such as “seesaws, bowling-greens, ninepins &c” are offered, and, they will “shot [sic] at the wooden bird, and climb up the cocagne [sic] mast, as it is practiced in France.” On Sundays, “symphonies will be executed by a numerous and well selected orchestra.” The proprietors, Tessier and Bouquier, offer to provide any food and entertainment “after a previous notice of 24 hours,” assuring their clientele that they will do their best to unite “conveniences with pleasure” and “secure good order and decency” in the activities offered. This casual reference documents the use of suburban open space for recreation. The combined picture of this reference with descriptions of similar developments elsewhere in the community suggests that leisure-oriented open spaces, privately owned and developed but publicly accessible, were commercially viable commodities throughout the community less than ten years after New Orleans became an American city. As such, these privately owned open spaces were subject to the social, political, and economic pressures of the local marketplace. Responding to these pressures, open spaces in nineteenth-century New Orleans expanded in different ways and took different forms. A mid-nineteenth-century pleasure garden on Bayou St. John is the Magnolia Gardens, mention of which first appeared in the succession of George Merz Sr., in 1866.20 According to the early-twentieth-century historian Henry Castellanos, it was located “midway between the river front and the lake, on the Bayou St. John. The tourist who will take the street car will soon reach this interesting locality, now enlivened by beautiful villas and a spacious park. Across the draw or spring bridge that spans the bayou near that point he will see a historic spot, once known as the ‘Magnolia Garden,’ in front of which Bienville first set foot ashore.”21

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On September 25, 1870, a notice for an unnamed attraction appears in the New Orleans Times indicating the proprietor, in response to a “great want experienced in the city for a respectable family garden,” has consented to open a “beautiful place as a public resort for families.” A “Band of accomplished musicians” from Europe will perform every afternoon, and “liberal inducements will be offered” for “Associations” who wish to have “exclusive use . . . for a few days.” Worth noting is the attraction being a “family garden,” with emphasis, perhaps, suggesting an effort by the proprietor to distinguish this attraction from others that were less family-oriented. On July 6, 1875, the property, advertised as “the most attractive pleasure resort in the vicinage of New Orleans,” was offered at auction, and it was described as having a “choice suburban home” together with all buildings and improvements including “a Bar, a ­Dancing Hall, two-story Brick House, two Cottage Houses and other convenience, four cisterns, two wells, the grounds tastefully laid out as a pleasure resort, shade, fruit and ornamental trees, etc., located between two bridges, and accessible by four lines of city cars. . . . . The portion of the property now used as a pleasure garden, rifle range, etc. is leased.” By the mid-1870s, neighborhoods around Bayou St. John had become more residential in character and, with service from “four lines of city cars,” less removed from urban life. These changes in land use, together with other changes in urban life, may have contributed to the disappearance of this “pleasure resort.” The last reference to Magnolia Gardens occurs in January 1887, when a newspaper account mentions that a fire destroyed the barroom building at Magnolia Gardens.

Carondelet Canal At least three pleasure gardens were located along the Carondelet Walk adjacent to the Carondelet Canal, a late-eighteenth-century man-made extension of Bayou St. John: the Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène (1840s); Tivoli Gardens (1840s–66, not to be confused with the Tivoli previously discussed on Bayou St. John); and Vauxhall Gardens (1850s). The Carondelet Walk was a popular paved promenade for late-afternoon strolls (and perhaps activities similar to those along the Mississippi River levee described by Ashe), and this popular pastime may have led to the development of other commercial ventures nearby. Vauxhall was next to the Jardin du Rocher, and Tivoli Gardens was three blocks away. The Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène was offered at public auction in September 1844, and as a result, a detailed written description of the garden exists together with a watercolor plan showing its spatial organization. As a result, we have detailed written and visual evidence of both content and organization of a pleasure garden in mid-nineteenth-century New Orleans. In addition, there is added local importance to this development because its name, the French notations of its contents, and at least one political event transpired there that reflected lingering French influences in the city beyond those connected to open-space design or recreation. Altogether, these elements document the capacity of an urban open space to contain cultural and political associations beyond more obvious open-space functions and activities.

Jean Antoine Bourgerol, delineator, Plan du Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène, September 5, 1844, Plan Book 35, folio 16. Watercolor, 31.5" × 29". New Orleans Notarial Archives

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Affixed to the watercolor plan is the property’s description as it appeared in the newspaper advertising its auction: Two lots of ground, situate in the same square No. 31, designated by the Nos. 5 and 6, and adjoining each other, as per plan aforesaid. Lot No. 5 measuring 30 feet front on Miro street, by 158 feet 6 lines deep on the separating line of lot Nos. 1, 2, 3 and 4, 168 feet 8 inches deep on the separating line of lot No. 6, and 32 feet 10 inches and 4 lines in the rear, and lot No. 6 measuring 30 feet front on Miro street, 168 feet 8 inches deep on the separating line of lot No. 5, one hundred and seventy-nine feet 3 inches and 3 lines deep on the separating line of lot No 7, 13 and 14, and 32 feet 10 inches and 4 lines on the rear—all English measure, together with all the buildings, improvements, rights, ways and privileges thereunto belonging.—Said lots compose the garden known by the name of Rocher de St. Hélène.

This garden was not particularly large (a rectangle roughly 120 × 176 × 179 × 180 feet, or, at approximately 26,500 square feet, about a half acre), yet it has many features, organized generally into three horizontal bands. The front of the garden is enclosed by what appears to be an iron fence, similar to those used around public squares,22 separating this privately owned space from the public sidewalk (the ­Carondelet Walk) and the Carondelet Canal. Upon entry, the visitor would see a long reflecting pool with an island of grass in its center, in which a statue is placed. At the terminus of the canal axis is a raised platform, approximately six feet in height, faced with rockery and a statue (presumably representing the “Rock of St. Helena”), and to either side of the entrance and along the sides are small garden rooms (“cabinet”) with tables and benches, enclosed by shrubbery or hedges, the height of which is impossible to discern (it appears to be less than waist-high). Walkways leading to tables, statues, and benches punctuate rectangular beds of lawn. The second band includes two identical buildings (two rooms each, with front and rear galleries) with cisterns; off of one building is a kitchen (cuisinaire). Between the two structures is a large court area, enclosed by a grass strip that includes a statue and a set of seesaws (balançoires). The third band includes a pistol range with three lanes (tir ou pistolet), a long vine-covered arbor, an area with two unidentified elements (seesaws?), a structure for billiards, and a small privy shed. Comparing the plan of Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène with contemporary French schemes from Traité de la composition et de l’ornement des jardins suggests a possible inspiration for this design.23 Note the use and strongly directional character of walks leading the visitor to features; the irregular shapes of planted areas within the confines of geometric spaces, and the garden features enclosed within densely planted spaces. The Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène is notable for several reasons: the variety of different activities it could accommodate; its geometric areas of grass, punctuated by pathways, tables, and benches; the large circulation expanses of sand or gravel; the apparent absence of any trees or flowering plant material; the presence of enclosed structures apparently meant for eating or other activities. Recreational ­activities here are similar to those mentioned in the description of another such pleasure garden, Large Oaks on Bayou St. John. In the Jardin du Rocher de Ste.



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Garden plans. From L. E. Audot’s Traité de la composition et de l’ornement des jardins . . ., 6th ed. (1859, facsimile repr., n.d.). Author’s collection

­ élène, we see a well-delineated example of mid-nineteenth-century landscape deH sign in an urban setting and learn more about the activities such gardens offered. Evidently this garden continued in operation after being sold in 1844 because it figured prominently in events in the local French community on April 10 and 11, 1848, that celebrated the birth of the Second Republic in France.24 An article in the Courier from April 10 reported on the “Funeral Ceremony” held in St. Louis Cathedral by members of the local French community “in honor of the brave men who fell in effecting the late revolution in France” (removing Louis Philippe), ­followed by a twenty-one-gun salute in the Place d’Armes, and a parade to the “Garden of St. Helena” for a banquet. A report the next day (April 11) reported a “splendid repast” awaited the crowd of “about 400 gentlemen,” but it seems unlikely that four hundred men could sit in one of the two structures shown on the 1844 plan of the Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène. Each structure is about 15 × 30 feet with two rooms about 15 feet square. According to this account, the event was a lengthy ordeal with food and “speechifying,” held outside and lasting for hours. This leads one to conclude that a larger structure had been built by this time, the events took place in another setting, or the reporter embellished the facts. Various dignitaries gave speeches “before good things on the table were attacked.” A ball followed the dinner, and at 10:00 p.m., the “party returned to the city, halting in front of the Consul’s residence, the band playing the Marseillaise Hymn.” The day’s events, “entirely devoted to the glorification of the events which have just transpired in France,” were held in three

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venues with strong French connections: the St. Louis Cathedral, the Place d’Armes, and the Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène. Holding an important political event in the Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène suggests a connection between the local French community and an open space as well as a continuing French presence in New Orleans more than four decades after the city had become American. This parklike space may have played an important role in the mid-nineteenth-century city’s French community, but like other remnants of French heritage here, by the century’s end that influence had dissolved. The Sanborn Insurance map of 1893 shows the property occupied by the Commercial Cooperage Company, with “stave piles,” “storage,” “stave cutting engineers,” and an “iron refuse burner” where the Jardin du Rocher once was. Similar cultural associations are evident between those of African descent and Congo Square (which continues into the twenty-first century), with Americans in Lafayette Square, and later in the nineteenth century, with Germans and beer gardens in the West End. By the end of the nineteenth century, cultural correlations between ethnic communities and physical spaces—tenuous, perhaps, and not always immediately apparent—shifted here under the weight of increasing public mobility, changing economic circumstances and social conditions, and changing concepts of open space, becoming defined less by culture and, with the introduction of Jim Crow laws in the early twentieth century, more by race. Looking at connections between ethnicity and space in an evolutionary way, we may conclude that different ethnic communities brought certain activities and uses for open spaces into the public arena, and these models ultimately found physical expression throughout the community. Activities in these spaces were defined by cultural traditions, and while these traditions of use existed long enough to make open-space contributions to the community, as the community evolved and cultural boundaries dissolved, the exclusive nature of the open spaces eroded as well. What started as separate cultural threads expressed through open-space examples becomes, by the century’s end, a whole cloth of diverse open spaces, varied in both use and design. Another pleasure garden along the Carondelet Canal was Tivoli Garden, between Roman and Prieur streets, described in a newspaper account from 1849 and depicted in the only known perspective view of a local pleasure garden, a lithograph from ca. 1850 by Xavier Magny.25 An article in the New Orleans Picayune on October 30, 1849, describes pleasure gardens on the Carondelet Canal and indicates that Tivoli “fronted . . . the Old Canal in Faubourg Treme” and was of a scale not often seen. . . . Nearest the city was the “Vauxhall Garden,” across the street the largest, the “Tivoli Garden,” and several squares on, an unnamed establishment26 which charged a dime, but gave a glass of refreshment to each guest. The gardens were thickly planted with choice trees and shrubbery beneath which were benches and tables, and amid which were latticed bowers and arbors. There were buildings for barrooms, ice cream cakes, coffee, etc. The capacious ballrooms, bare of furniture, were almost entirely open at the sides. In galleries far above, musicians poured forth German waltzes, to which couples danced for a half dime each



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ten minutes. The gentlemen dancers mostly wore their hats; the ladies’ attire was plain and modest. Chilly winter did not eliminate attendance. German beer, quite bitter and strongly flavored with hops, was the favorite beverage, accompanied by a curious German Dough-nut, and ginger cakes. Good order, a spirit of mutual accommodation, and intense vivacity prevailed. Sunday afternoons and evenings drew the largest crowds, of old, young, and middle-aged—French, German, Irish, Spanish and Italian in race or extraction.

This description is the most detailed narrative yet found with regard to both content and location, including mention of plantings, furnishings, and buildings for eating and dancing. Noteworthy is the explicit mention of German content (“waltzes,” “beer,” and “Dough-nut”), indicating the German presence in the community and its influence on leisure activities, eating, and the spaces that accommodated these activities.27

Xavier Magny, Tivoli Garden, ca. 1850. Lithograph. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1974.42

Shortly after the newspaper narrative is a remarkable lithograph of the Tivoli Garden by Xavier Magny, ca. 1850, later used on the cover of sheet music published in New Orleans for “Valse de Tivoli.”28 It shows numerous people, including children, enjoying various activities in the garden, perhaps on a Sunday afternoon like the one described above. There are at least three structures, including what appears to be a hexagonal wooden pavilion with lattice sides and bunting. Nearly twenty

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tables, located under mature trees, accommodate people eating and drinking. A large rectangular structure has rooms that open out, apparently serving as a bar; note the small bar on the side of the structure, perhaps to accommodate servants.29 People are well-dressed, with both sexes wearing full dress, with hats, and in some cases carrying parasols. Trees appear to have been pruned to facilitate movement and visibility, and there is a suggestion in the lower left corner of structural protections around planted areas. The third pleasure garden along the Carondelet Canal was Vauxhall Garden (not to be confused with the earlier New Vauxhall Garden on upper Common Street, below Rampart Street, or the Vauxhall Gardens in the St. Charles Theater) located below Canal Street on the Carondelet Canal at the corner of Roman Street. A ­“Special notice” appeared on May 8, 1850, in the Daily Crescent that reminded patrons that the facility is open daily, with “ice cream and soda, etc. always ready.” There was a ballroom for dancing, and the proprietor, H. Corri, apologizes for recent conduct of the band who “played a tune or two—then walked off with the money I advanced . . . causing . . . disappointment.” He promises now to have musicians on whom he can depend, and “there shall be no disappointment.” Another advertisement for this attraction appeared in the Daily Orleanian on May 9, 1852, announcing that the new proprietor, Charles Devereaux, intends to make this “the most pleasant place of recreation in the neighborhood of New ­Orleans.” He encourages “fathers and mothers with their children” to “walk about my quiet and clean paths, to enjoy a cool breeze and freedom from dust, and partake of my cake and fruit, and ice and creams,” and he suggests that merchants “come to my quiet tables and make your bargains, either with a bottle of good Claret, or something . . . a little stronger.” There is a pistol gallery, an archery area for “cross-bow and strong bow,” and “all are conducted with such taste and correctness, that they who come once will desire to come again.” This notice describes a family-­oriented place where the public walked and enjoyed fresh air, where a variety of food and beverages were served, where business was conducted, and where ­recreational activities were offered.

Carrollton Gardens As elsewhere in America, the growth of public transit, the new interest in recreational and leisure activities, the increasing affluence among residents, and the expanding community led to the creation of new recreational venues in New Orleans. The first rail lines were horse-driven cars connecting downtown New Orleans with the uptown communities of Lafayette and Carrollton in the early 1830s, and over time, steam locomotive rail lines extended from downtown to Milneburg, Spanish Fort, and West End on the southern shore of Lake Pontchartrain. By the end of the nineteenth century, New Orleans had one of the country’s most extensive networks of public transportation, with an intricate network of lines throughout the city. In New Orleans, as in other American cities, such transit lines facilitated the development of popular attractions with hotel and restaurant accommodations, amusement parks, and beer gardens that enticed city residents for weekend excursions,



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encouraged public use of new transit systems, and contributed to subsequent real estate developments.30 The St. Charles Avenue streetcar line, one of the first passenger railroads in the United States, was incorporated by the state legislature in 1833 as the New Orleans and Carrollton Rail Road Company (NO&CRR) and began operations in 1835 as a passenger line. Unlike the two other rail lines in Louisiana at the time, the NO&CRR did not have its own right-of-way and shared the street with other vehicular and pedestrian traffic. Its route extended along St. Charles Avenue from Canal Street to Jackson Avenue, giving transit access to those who had settled in the new community of Lafayette (now the Garden District). Also in January 1835, the railroad’s board of directors authorized construction of a depot in Carrollton, a community about five miles upriver from the center of New Orleans, and transit service began to Carrollton in September of that year. Initially, there were double-deck cars drawn by two horses in tandem. Steam engines followed, with electric service coming in 1893. The Carrollton terminus featured a hotel with four acres of gardens developed by the rail line’s owners. There was a steamboat landing nearby on the Mississippi River, and this destination soon became a popular midcentury ex-urban resort for New Orleans residents.31 Accounts of this hotel and garden development come from multiple sources, including newspaper articles and advertisements, magazine ­articles, maps, the Notarial Archives, and lithographs. Obviously this was a popular open-space attraction, and these accounts give snapshots of its content and evolution over nearly six decades. From the September 28, 1835, edition of the Bee/L’Abeille comes this description: The railroad from the city to Carrollton on the Mississippi, distant about four and a half miles, was opened for travel on Saturday last. The route passes through a level and beautiful country; very high, dry and arable land; and affording one of the most pleasant drives in the southern states. It passes through the limits of an ancient forest of live oaks, peculiarly interesting as being one of the very few of its kind now remaining in the south. . . . [C]ertainly the drive to Carrollton is much more pleasant for those whose business does not compel them to go to the lakes. Cultural and other improvements have been already made round the hotel; and a jet d’eau is placed in front. But when the gardens and walks are afforded; and when refreshments can be given of all kinds throughout the day for visitors, we think this line must, as it should, acquire extensive support.

A later notice in the Bee on May 20, 1840, gives the “Summer arrangements” for horse car and locomotive rail service: from Carrollton, service left on the even hours, and departed from New Orleans on odd hours; Sunday hours were the same, with expanded service hourly in the afternoons, “thereby allowing them [persons visiting Carrollton] one hour to enjoy the pleasant walks of one of the most beautiful gardens in the United States.” From the Daily Picayune of June 9, 1840, comes this reporter’s account of a Sunday excursion to the garden: The galleries run all round the house and upon the side overlooking the garden the scene presented is much the same as in front. . . . But observe the beautiful flower garden below, where every variety of bud, blade, tint and odor that ever delighted

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the eye, ravished the nose, adorned the hair or the bosom of beauty, or the button hole of man, is flourishing in luxurious perfection. If the existence of this beautiful garden was known among European bees, there would be an immediate rage for emigration, and they would all become native Americans at once. Observe how the white shell paths contrast with the bright green grass, curving, winding and meandering like the walls of china, leading you into shade intricacies, where perhaps you stumble upon a pair of cooing lovers. . . . Every variety of description of tree and plant is around you. . . . Bowers, benches and alcoves, all redolent of sweets, are arranged with admirable elegance of taste all about the plants and flowers. . . . Upon the green in front of this gallery you see a large double swing in motion, and near it a fleet of ships are sailing in the air, making a successful voyage around the pole. It was probably in such aerial vessels that Macbeth’s witches were riding when they sung their delight “To sail in the air, When the moon shines fair.”

The hotel burned to the ground in 1842, but it was rebuilt and its popularity continued. In the Daily Picayune, April 29, 1848, appears this advertisement: Carrollton Hotel and Gardens The public is respectfully informed that this most delightful place of resort and amusement is now open under the management of the subscriber. In the extensive grounds, bouquets of all kinds will be furnished by the gardener, and at the saloon and in the gardens, ice cream, lemonade, sherbets, soda water and confectionery. The Hotel department is undergoing extensive alterations and improvements; meantime preparation is made to furnish dinner parties with all the delicacies of the season, and the best of wines and liquors. And last though not least attentive and polite bar-keeping will be found at their posts to administer the comfort to his friends and the public generally whose patronage he solicits. James Durno

Published perhaps to announce new management, this notice suggests the garden’s horticultural attractions the public might enjoy (and purchase) and specifies what food and drink would be available. There are two lengthy mid-nineteenth-century narratives of this attraction, both of which appeared in American periodicals with a national circulation. ­“Random Notes on Southern Horticulture” appeared in the Horticulturist, and Journal of Rural Art and Rural Taste 6 in a letter dated March 20, 1851. Its author, “Sylvanus,” reported on a “public garden about six miles” from the city’s center, “easily accessible by railroad,” that was particularly popular on Sundays, when “thousands flock to it to get a little fresh air and a nosegay.” He notes that while it “is laid out in the English style,” and is a “pleasant place of retreat from the heat and stench of this dirtiest of all cities,” it has no “horticultural or botanical” attractions. And even though the “garden is a source of profit from its flowers,” the author suspects that “more money is made from the sale of liquor” in the nearby hotel, which is owned by the railroad line and the “only attraction at that terminus of the line.”



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The “English style” the author mentions referred, in general, to the “natural” or “picturesque” manner in which large rural estates were arranged in England at the time. There were large expanses of grass; walks, when they existed, were curvilinear; and plantings were clustered in irregularly shaped beds. This style emerged from the eighteenth-century works of Lancelot “Capability” Brown, Humphrey Repton in the early nineteenth century, and their followers. Often, a reference to the “English style” also suggested implicit opposition to the “French style” (based on seventeenth- and eighteenth-century precedents), in which gardens were geometric, ordered, and controlled. Actually, both styles were highly artificial and structured. English and French gardens of the mid-nineteenth century were often quite similar in content and appearance; comparing nineteenth-century English, French, and American manuals of garden theory and practice, we see more similarities in designs than differences.32 The relative merits of both the “English” and “French” styles, in relation to ­Louisiana examples, are discussed in Alexander Gordon’s “Remarks on Gardening and Gardens in Louisiana,” which appeared in the Magazine of Horticulture, Botany, and All Useful Discoveries and Improvement in Rural Affairs.33 Gordon notes that “the French style in the ornamental department of gardening is the most frequently adopted, particularly among the Creole portion of the population, and there are some very unique and judiciously arranged gardens laid out and kept according to that system, which, however much it may be repudiated by some, possesses a fascination under peculiar circumstances.” Another reference to Carrollton Gardens comes from the architect Thomas K. Wharton, who mentions the gardens in his journal on May 2, 1854: After dinner I took Emily & Ellen and little Prescott to Carrollton. The trip was delightful and the cool fresh breeze on the river bank quite invigorating after the heat and dust of a day in town. We met pleasant friends in the gardens and found every thing much changed, and not improved, since last May. . . . The abrasions of the River have made a new Levee, far within the old one, absolutely necessary, obliterating entirely one of the beautiful and far-famed gardens. The shade lane, too, of lofty oleander which last year was covered at this time with a perfect waste of blossoms. The pleasant walk on the river bank arched over with China trees.34 The lovely alleys of Cape jessamines,35 and the white bell flowered Yucca, from which years ago I derived my first impressions of the exuberance of southern vegetation, all, all, have vanished and in their place nothing but a long, bald, earthy, embankment, a wind dusty road, immense piles of cord wood (for supplying the steamboats), with rail tracks in every direction to facilitate their transmission from point to point. ­Stagnant pools of muddy water between the old Levee and the new. In short, deformity for beauty, utility for poetry, but the grand river still redeems it all, and the fresh green woods on the distant bank, and the fresh pure air blowing across its restless current.36

An image of the first Carrollton Hotel appears in the Notarial Archives (book 61, folio 32), and its general location is seen in the Zimpel map (1834) and the T. S. Hardee map (1878). Two engravings appear later in the nineteenth century, the first

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of which, from 1875, shows lush plantings and wide, curving walks with a figure seated on a bench. Specific plants are indiscernible, but note the variety of plant forms shown and their composition.

Carrollton Gardens, ca. 1875. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1974.25.29.64

Carrollton Gardens, ca. 1889. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1974.25.29.61

The 1889 view gives far more detail: mature trees, clipped planting, potted plants, perhaps two fountains, exotic textures (yucca and banana in the lower right corner and a large phoenix palm to the left), together with six figures and the hotel itself. Altogether, this image suggests a well-furnished garden and a popular attraction. The hotel survived until October 1891, when it and the nearby transit car station were demolished to accommodate the relocated Mississippi River levee.37 Adjacent



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property was sold and redeveloped as a residential subdivision, thus ending one of the nineteenth-century city’s major pleasure-garden attractions.

Lakeshore Communities The Milneburg, Spanish Fort, and West End communities on the southern shore of Lake Pontchartrain were small settlements through which trade and commercial routes from communities north and east of New Orleans were linked to the city’s center, following footpaths established earlier by Native Americans and eighteenth-century settlers.38 Throughout the nineteenth century and well into the twentieth, New Orleans residents fled summer heat and seasonal yellowfever epidemics by moving to “resorts,” Coney Island–type amusement parks, camps, and summer homes on Lake Pontchartrain. These communities had docks for the ­excursion boats that sailed Lake Pontchartrain and carried passengers to Mandeville and Pass Manchac on the lake’s north and western shores; to Waveland, Bay St. Louis, and Pass Christian on the Mississippi Gulf coast; and to communities along ­Mobile Bay. Beginning in the early 1830s, access to the lakefront “resorts” was by rail lines. These large-scale infrastructure projects employed German and Irish immigrants, many of whom died of yellow fever and cholera during construction. With the advent of new rail systems and increased opportunities for leisure ­activities, the lakefront communities of West End, Spanish Fort, and Milneburg became popular weekend attractions, though at first, none of these lines had a major public attraction at its terminus like the Carrollton Hotel in uptown New Orleans. Instead, the motivation to go to Lake Pontchartrain was to enjoy lake breezes, boating and other water-related activities, and small camps built on piers in the lake. Milneburg, according to an account from 1900, was the “oldest of the summer pleasure resorts.”39 It remained small in scale and retained many of its private “camps” built on piers in the lake well into the twentieth ­century.40 Later in the nineteenth century, all three communities had restaurants, clubs, and music venues where early jazz greats played. Spanish Fort and West End both had amusement parks, and both claimed to be the “Coney Island of the South.” As early as 1830, rowing and recreational sailing were common in the region, and in 1849, eighteen prominent New Orleans residents summering in Pass ­Christian organized the Southern Yacht Club, still in existence, and built a clubhouse on the Lake near West End.41 The Southern Yacht Club’s members were among the city’s elites, but everyone could enjoy swimming, fishing, and boating activities on Lake Pontchartrain. There were public bathhouse facilities, usually segregated by race and sex, although one English visitor, alarmed to find that in some cases “both sexes bathed together,” wrote: “Creoles often told me how extremely pleasant this sociable way of bathing was, and assured me that the most agreeable moments in the summer were spent in this manner. . . . Whole families walk there together, and young ladies are courted and flirt in the bath with as little inconvenience as in a drawing room.”42

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After a decline during the Civil War and Reconstruction years, interest in recreational boating revived in the 1870s. By the century’s end, at least five sailing and rowing clubs were organized, and their facilities joined restaurants, hotels, pavilions, dance halls, and beer gardens along the lakefront at West End or Bayou St. John. In 1880, a wooden platform was constructed over the water near the Lake Pontchartrain end of the New Basin Canal and named West End Park. A large casino was planned by the Chicago architects Stewart, McClure and Mullgardt (1893), but it was not built; the circumstances around the development of this project remain unknown. Other structures were built for leisure activities, including a hotel, restaurant, and amusements, and these are seen in a series of photographs by Mugnier and others from the early twentieth century. As an important entrance into the rear of the colony, Bayou St. John at Lake Pontchartrain was an obvious site for colonial fortifications. Graphic documentation of the eighteenth-century fortified structures of the French and Spanish period at Bayou St. John and Lake Pontchartrain do not exist; however a watercolor-andink drawing by the engineer Barthélémy Lafon exists from 1814. What remained of the fort in 1935, together with its history, was documented with drawings and photographs in the Historic American Buildings Survey (HABS) report of Spanish Fort, Bayou St. John, and Lake Pontchartrain by the architectural historian Samuel Wilson Jr.43 Wilson does not discuss the Lafon drawing. He notes that no structures from the eighteenth century remain, but he cites a letter from 1779 referring to the fort and containing “instructions to the Commandant of San Juan del Bayou, by which name the fort was known.” He cites documents that indicate that Americans, recognizing the importance of the fort to the protection of the community, strengthened and added to the fort in 1808. Due to its strategic location at the intersection of Lake Pontchartrain and Bayou St. John, the fort figured into military maneuvers related to the War of 1812 and the Battle of New Orleans. However, when forts Pike and Macomb were built in more strategic locations, this fort became redundant and fell into disrepair. In 1823, it was sold to Harvey Elkins by a special act of Congress. Using existing structures, Elkins created a hotel on the site, though, according to Wilson, he demolished the parapets and the powder magazine, portions of the palisades and the moat, and the top of the embankment. Writing in 1825 of his travels to America, the Duke of Saxe-Weimar-­Eisenach describes his entry into New Orleans, passing through the Rigolets into Lake Pontchartrain, then turning at the lighthouse of Fort St. John into the bayou ­leading to New Orleans. The fort, he reports, “has lost its importance . . . [and] is abandoned, and a tavern is now built in its place.” After describing the man-made constructions to stabilize the banks and build a road, he notes that the “public house,” behind the fort, was called the Pontchartrain Hotel, and it was “much frequented by persons from the city during the summer. I recognized the darling amusements of the inhabitants, in a pharo and roulette table.”44 In 1830, the Pontchartrain Hotel was involved in litigation and sold at public auction, and a detailed site plan exists that documents that transaction. By now, the general area had become known as Spanish Fort (note “Walls of the ancient



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­ ortifications” on the plan). The site, easily accessible at the intersection of public F roads that paralleled Lake Pontchartrain and Bayou St. John but somewhat removed from the city, was ideal for uses that capitalized on its geographical situation.

Louis Bringier, delineator, Pontchartrain Hotel on Bayou St. John, July 1, 1830, Plan Book 105, folio 27. Watercolor on linen, 15.75 in. × 20.75 in. New Orleans Notarial Archives

This plan documents one of the community’s earliest commercial developments of private land for public recreational use. It shows two small cabins and four structures: a stable with thirty-one stalls, adjacent the “Public Road” that provides access to the development; a building with kitchen and seven rooms (a footprint of approximately 2,100 square feet); a larger building (a footprint of approximately 4,000 square feet) with eight rooms of varying sizes (one of which includes a billiard table) and a covered gallery overlooking a “Garden” that repeats the configuration of the “ancient Fortifications”; and a privy with six compartments. There are two large gardens, one with linear green stripes suggesting row plantings and another with geometric beds; there are no indications of plants. Several drainage ditches are shown together with indications of “yards” near the structures. The presence of the large stable, together with structures of small rooms, a kitchen, and a billiard room, and a multiple-compartment privy, verify this as an attraction that

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would accommodate large groups for eating, indoor entertainments, and outdoor activities. The development’s location outside the city limits suggests what today would be a suburban attraction where one might seek refuge from city life. As New Orleans grew in the nineteenth century, this site and others along Lake Pontchartrain’s southern shore played increasingly prominent roles in recreation and leisure activities of city residents. The Pontchartrain Hotel was among the first of many commercial spaces ­located on the banks of Bayou St. John and the Carondelet Canal during the nineteenth century. Easily accessible by public roads, waterways, and pedestrian walkways, these developments figured prominently in the social, economic, cultural, and political life of nineteenth-century New Orleans. Removed from the center of expanding community, the Bayou St. John area was attractive to those who wanted to escape urban conditions. As the Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach noted, the Pontchartrain Hotel was “much frequented by persons from the city during the summer,” and its popularity lasted into the early twentieth century. With the construction of the railroad to the nearby Milneburg community on Lake Pontchartrain in 1831, Spanish Fort became a popular “resort” for city residents later in the century. In addition to the hotel, developments here included chairs and tables for outdoor eating and drinking in venues similar to beer gardens (one was named “Over the Rhine”); open pavilions and enclosed areas for bands, orchestras, and opera performances; and an alligator pen.45 There was even a Civil War–era submarine on display that was found submerged in Lake Pontchartrain near Bayou St. John in 1878.

Hotel Pontchartrain, Spanish Fort, ca. 1880–90. George François Mugnier, photographer. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library



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William Henry Buck, Along the Bayou, 1879. Oil on canvas, 12". × 20" Courtesy Neal Auction Company, New Orleans

Spanish Fort scene, ca. 1900–1910. George François Mugnier, photographer. Courtesy of the Collections of Louisiana State Museum

Popularity of the attractions at Spanish Fort declined in the 1890s. One account from 1900 reports that Spanish Fort, still standing, was once “a popular resort,” and many thought that its garden made it “much prettier” than West End. Nevertheless, it is “very little used” for several reasons, including the “defective train service” and the “growing supremacy of West End,” nearer the city. As a consequence, Spanish Fort has been “given over to the negroes, and is a favorite place for negro picnics.”46 The observation that Spanish Fort has been “given over to the negroes” is worth notice, in that it offers another window through which to observe the complicated racial complexities of the community. Writing about Jim Crow laws of the 1890s and jazz in New Orleans, the historian Jerah Johnson notes that, during Reconstruction, “public sector segregation by race was disallowed  .  .  . by various federal and state legislative acts and by the Louisiana constitution of 1868.” But in the private sector, “a crazy-quilt pattern of integration developed and prevailed long

Civil War–era submarine, Spanish Fort, ca. 1900. George François Mugnier, photographer. The origin of this maritime curiosity is uncertain. For many years it was thought to be the Pioneer, built in New Orleans in 1861, but recently discovered maritime documents disprove this assumption. Courtesy of the Collections of Louisiana State Museum

Bird’s-eye view of Spanish Fort, 1880s. George François Mugnier, photographer. Note the Pontchartrain Hotel at the upper right rear. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library



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Spanish Fort Opera House, ca. 1900–1910. George François Mugnier, photographer. Courtesy of the Collections of Louisiana State Museum

after Reconstruction. . . . Some hotels, restaurants, bars, theatres, social clubs and churches remained segregated. . . . Others, indeed most, remained racially mixed until the eve of World War I.” It was between 1900 and 1920 that “a long series of Jim Crow laws and local ordinances” went into effect, calling for “segregation of all hotels, theatres, bars, soda fountains, restaurants, social clubs, whorehouses, churches, streetcars, courts, libraries, parks, playgrounds, drinking foundations restrooms, hospitals insane asylums and cemeteries.”47 It appears, therefore, that open space here and elsewhere in the community being “given over to the negroes” was not the result of legal acts but rather an accepted practice, acknowledged by the community. The buildings at Spanish Fort burned in 1906, but the attractions were rebuilt, with a carousel (now in City Park), a theater, a scenic railroad, and ponds. Visual evidence in Franck’s images of the park after it had been rebuilt suggests it was a popular attraction. Over time, however, its popularity declined, and it closed in 1932, likely a victim of changing economic times, tastes, and community interests.48 From the WPA Guide to New Orleans of 1938 comes this account of Spanish Fort: “A large hotel was built and famous visitors . . . were entertained there. A casino and various amusement concessions, including a theater, were added about 1900, and several seasons of opera were given. Fire and changing conditions have brought about the complete disappearance of all these buildings. Today nothing is left but the foundations of the old fort and the unknown grave within its iron railing under the oak.”49 As this account suggests, the Spanish Fort site was a ruin by the late 1930s, as seen in the documentary photographs made by the Historic American Building Survey, and a tradition of leisure activities that had started on this site more than one hundred years before had ended.

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The Midway, Spanish Fort, ca. 1920. Charles L. Franck, photographer. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1979.325.6363

“The Whip” at Spanish Fort, with the Carousel in the background, ca. 1920. Charles L. Franck, photographer. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1979.325.6364

By the mid-twentieth century, however, this site and the adjacent land ­reclaimed from Lake Pontchartrain had become a residential subdivision ­developed by the Orleans Parish Levee District, a public agency, largely for ­a ffluent whites who, in the 1950s, wanted to leave crowded, older neighborhoods and nineteenth-century houses for suburbia and “modern” ranch houses. Over



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five miles of lake frontage became a linear park, and adjacent neighborhoods became exclusive, upper-class enclaves until Hurricane Katrina (2005), when many houses took on up to fourteen feet of water. At this writing (2010), some homeowners have rebuilt; others have not. While many lakefront structures washed away, the immediate site of Spanish Fort and the lakefront houses to the east did not flood and suffered little damage. Ruins of the fort, together with centuriesold oak trees, remain, though the importance of this place in the history of open spaces in New Orleans is largely unacknowledged. Another popular lakefront attraction was at West End, a development at the northern end of the New Basin Canal that connected downtown New Orleans with Lake Pontchartrain. A rail line made access convenient, and recreation attractions developed here in the late 1800s and the early 1900s. “In summer the population of New Orleans goes to the West End,” according to a 1900 account, with access by “electric cars that start on Canal and Bourbon Streets.”50 Activities at West End resembled those at nearby Spanish Fort: there was music (“some of the bands are of a very high quality”),51 together with stage acts, “vaudeville, restaurants, a scenic railway and sideshows and special attractions on special days.” Attractions here, as well as at Spanish Fort, were similar to those at waterfront amusement parks beginning to develop elsewhere in America, such as Coney Island in New York. Structures were simple and often large and shedlike. There were ample areas of open space and minimal plantings, and activities included eating, drinking, theatrical events, and spectacles.

“West End As It Was,” ca. 1910. Postcard. Courtesy of the Collections of Louisiana State Museum

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A large public park was built on land filled in between the levee and the shore in 1914 at West End. Typical of its time, West End Park was rectangular with rounded ends, surrounded by a drive. It contained symmetrical walkways, minimal plantings, and a central (and currently nonfunctional) fountain, an arrangement typical of the City Beautiful period. Its designer is unknown but likely was an engineer in the city’s department of streets. Situated directly on the water, developments at West End and other lakefront communities were susceptible to periodic hurricanes and storms. When destroyed, these lakefront structures were often not replaced. By the mid-­t wentieth century, new uses such as seafood restaurants and nightclubs characteristic of the city’s permissive attitudes had evolved at West End in place of the amusement park–like attractions from earlier in the century. Strangely, this area has never been developed to its apparent potential, probably because West End Park is located in Orleans Parish, but restaurants and clubs on the western edge of the park (and over the water) are located in Jefferson Parish. This led to internecine governmental bickering in the 1970s about funding civic improvements (like parking and park refurbishment) benefiting establishments (in Jefferson Parish) that do not pay taxes to the government (Orleans Parish) that financed the improvements. Consequently improvements lagged; restaurants struggled to survive, and those few that existed prior to 2005 were washed away by Hurricane Katrina and have not been rebuilt. Throughout the nineteenth century, it was at lakefront communities that New Orleans residents gained physical access to the recreational and entertainment potential of Lake Pontchartrain, first through the Pontchartrain Hotel near Bayou St. John and then, in the late nineteenth century, through the restaurants, beer gardens, and midway attractions at Spanish Fort and West End. Twentiethcentury developments included a public park, a linear open space along Lake Pontchartrain’s southern shore, and two commercial amusement parks for segregated constituencies. Over the centuries, the open-space relationship between local residents and Lake Pontchartrain has changed little. In the twenty-first century, limited swimming has returned to the lake, following abatement of pollution caused by lake dredging and Northshore agricultural runoff; the lake itself remains popular for recreational boating; and the lakefront linear park, more than five miles long between West End and the Inner Harbor Navigation Canal, continues to be a popular source of recreational activities for present-day New Orleans residents. Commercial open spaces, including pleasure gardens and later amusement parks, were scattered throughout the nineteenth-century city. Many took advantage of waterfront settings (the Mississippi River, Bayou St. John, the ­Carondelet Canal, and Lake Pontchartrain), suggesting that their existence, commercial viability, popularity, geographic locations, and consumer appeal were driven by maximizing opportunities of environment, capital, technology, and convenience. Their histories suggest influences rooted in economics (market forces, private enterprise, entrepreneurial ventures, and disposable income), new technologies (from street cars to roller coasters and carousels), social boundaries (local ­racial



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identities and constructs), and popular culture (entertainment, recreation, and leisure activities). These examples represent new avenues for ­exploring the evolution of American open-space theories and uses. Such influences are significantly different from those commonly recognized as stimuli for open-space awareness and examples in other nineteenth-century American cities. In fact, the didactic motivations, spiritual and moral issues, and urban-­reform agendas most often associated with the beginning of open-space awareness elsewhere in America had little impact on open-space design in New Orleans until much later in the nineteenth century, if, indeed at all. Perhaps this explains the emphasis among landscape historians, thus far, on cities where these conventional motives are more obvious, such as in New York and Boston, at the expense of other communities, like New Orleans, where open spaces evolved though different and less conventional paths. Evidence collected thus far establishes the presence of commercial open spaces throughout New Orleans from around 1810 onward. Examples responded to the demands of the marketplace, the physical expansion of the community, and changing times, but as the nineteenth-century city evolved, urban pleasure gardens faded into obsolescence as larger amusement parks emerged, offering easier access, larger spaces, and more varied entertainments. These factors contributed to this shift, not the least of which involves the same marketplace factors that facilitated the emergence of these open spaces as urban features: their locations, on the fringes of developed and residential areas, were susceptible to pressures of development as the city expanded and as real estate became too valuable to remain privately owned open space. Competition from “resorts” and amusement parks on Lake Pontchartrain that were bigger, more attractive, and with more features, such as large covered pavilions, opera stages, and roller coasters, certainly contributed to the demise of smaller-scale pleasure gardens in residential areas. In addition, by the nineteenth century’s end, major urban parks were adding newer and more open-space attractions for the city’s residents. Commercial open spaces associated with social interchange are obviously part of a community whose general approach to life, since its colonial origins, is best expressed as “Laissez les bon temps rouler!”52 As one historian notes, the community’s “reputation as an exotic, erotic hot spot grew out of the demographic, social, and economic conditions that prevailed in the city in the colonial and antebellum periods.”53 This attitude has taken different shapes and forms over time: from the freewheeling days of a lawless river community populated by criminals and gamblers to the brothels of Storyville and the origin of jazz; from early pleasure gardens to the mysteries of carnival parades and masked balls. In all circumstances, there are connections that remain to be explored that link social ­activities with physical space, thereby creating urban identity and cohesiveness among diverse communities. The presence of pleasure gardens early in the nineteenth century as the community’s first example of commercial open spaces adds an important chapter to our understanding of open-space evolution in America. Even while it may be difficult to determine if admission policies, content, and designs uniformly are common

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among these local entrepreneurial spaces, there are enough similarities among local examples to make the following generalizations: • they were all commercial ventures, open by admission or subscription; • food and beverage service usually was offered; • entertainments, including musical offerings, theatrical presentations, and other spectacles, were featured, as were recreational activities such as games and sports attractive to specific clientele; and • pleasure gardens and later amusement parks were spatially organized and ­embellished, to greater or lesser degrees, with horticultural features, though specifics here remain largely unknown. Importantly, these spaces were locations for multilayered social interactions: while some were marketed as “family attractions,” others were venues primarily for adult audiences where local plaçage accommodations enabled unfettered association among different racial groups. Distinguishing features among some examples from the mid-nineteenth century forward were the culturally based food and entertainment they offered, and, as later-nineteenth-century examples expanded in size, features appear that appealed to all ages. Throughout, these public spaces acknowledge the complicated racial situation of their times, either through nineteenth-century plaçage arrangements, in early-twentieth-century musical venues where African American musicians performed for white audiences, by completely segregated facilities in the mid- twentieth century, and now, as public spaces where the restrictions of previous generations have eroded. And even if commercial open spaces such as pleasure gardens and later amusement parks may not have survived into contemporary times, it is significant that they emerged early in the city’s history and evolved over time as private enterprises that predate municipal efforts to create urban-scale public parks. There are three things worth noting about New Orleans commercial open spaces from early references onward: first, how early-nineteenth-century entrepreneurs developed products for which a market existed, therefore making open spaces and the activities they contained a currency of economic exchange and the subject of marketplace forces; second, the presence of activities, including those involving entertainment (music, dancing, events, and theatrical spectacle), food, and sports, in privately owned open spaces and their place in the social fabric of the community and the lives of its residents; and finally, the influence of local conventions of race, gender, and “sexual commerce” in the organization and use of open spaces, adding additional layers of complexity to the character of these nineteenth-century open spaces. These observations of local commercial open spaces suggest that the evolution of American concepts of open space is far more complex than previously thought, and that a more balanced understanding of this subject comes from including previously unrecognized European influences, vernacular examples from multiple communities, and culture-based factors related to economics, race, and gender issues, food, recreation, and entertainment in the discussion.

III Domestic Garden Design Investigating domestic gardens over time facilitates a better understanding of the everyday lives of a community’s residents. Content, design evolutions, and functional relationships show how local gardens, from the early colonial days to the present, were integral to domestic life regardless of one’s economic status, social class, geographic location, or racial identity. A chronological view of domestic gardens shows how they evolved from being entirely functional and oriented toward food production in the eighteenth century to being predominantly ornamental by the beginning of the twentieth century. Is there a “New Orleans style” of domestic garden? Patio and courtyard gardens of the Vieux Carré might come to mind, but these garden styles are mid-twentiethcentury inventions. Trying to define a typical New Orleans garden of the nineteenth century is as elusive as trying to describe a typical New Orleans garden of today. Yet a significant body of the city’s everyday nineteenth-century garden history exists in the Notarial Archives, a rich source of visual documentary information about garden design, architecture, and urban fabric. An examination of these records reveals that domestic gardens shared many characteristics in function and spatial organization regardless of their sizes, their locations in the city, or the architectural ­characteristics of accompanying structures. Certainly there are multiple garden expressions among the community’s different economic and social strata, but distinctions among domestic garden designs relate more to scale than to content. Because local growing conditions such as soil and weather characteristics are constant throughout the community, plant materials were much the same as well, regardless of garden scale or function. As ornamental gardens took root from the mid-nineteenth century forward, differences among domestic gardens become more obvious: prosperous members of the community became less dependent on cultivating food for the table and more interested in gardens as evidence of affluence, access to consumer products, and knowledge of contemporary tastes, all of which made ornamental plants and garden accessories more available. Therefore domestic gardens associated with the affluent were less focused on production and more concerned with ornament,

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while domestic gardens associated with those of lower economic situations and older neighborhoods, when they existed, continued to serve functional purposes. It was only in the early decades of the twentieth century, following new interest in local cultural history, that the community began to understand the architectural and cultural significance of the Vieux Carré. Structures housing multiple families of immigrants were purchased and returned to single-family dwellings, creating opportunities for new residents to turn former service areas into lushly planted patios. In many cases, these new gardens—often in situations where gardens never existed—were reconstructions based more on accommodations to twentieth­century lifestyles than they were grounded in historic accuracy. While many associate these evocative spaces with “old New Orleans gardens,” in general they reflect mid-­twentieth-century spatial concepts and uses rather than features from previous centuries.1 What follows is evidence from various sources of how domestic gardens evolved from colonial times to the twentieth century. First we look at examples from multiple sources; then we turn to multiple examples from a single source, the Notarial Archives. Examining them all together allows a more accurate picture of domestic gardens in New Orleans to emerge.

6 Ge n er a l T r e n ds

Colonial Beginnings In 1698, the French Crown commissioned Pierre le Moyne, Sieur d’Iberville, to establish a base camp near the mouth of the Mississippi River. Close to settlements of nomadic Native Americans, this colony was occupied from its beginning by settlers from Europe, Africa, and the Caribbean Islands, and by 1720, Nouvelle Orléans had become the seat of government for the French colony in the New World. The settlement was laid out by the French military engineer Adrian de Pauger in a grid pattern of forty-four squares, with a public square facing the Mississippi River. Colonial gardens here, as in other outposts in the region, provided food for settlers and were therefore small, modest gardens for kitchen and medicinal uses, sometimes with related orchards. Garden patterns were geometric to facilitate efficient operation. Plants were those brought by colonists from their homelands, and enclosed pens held chickens or farm animals. Descriptions of these early gardens appear throughout the colonial period in narrative form, and depictions exist as components of military documents, as crude drawings in written accounts, and as elaborate features on government maps. Individually, they tell stories about colonial life; considered collectively, they are contradictory and confusing. While examples from military records and written accounts are basic and utilitarian, examples from official colonial maps are elaborate and decorative, presenting a conundrum for the observer: How could gardens of colonial settlers struggling to survive in a foreign and arguably hostile environment evolve in a short period of time from one extreme to the other? Common sense may favor the practical, utilitarian examples over the elaborate decorative patterns, but this logic should not favor one to the exclusion of the other. Each extreme is revealing: while one represents the reality of gardens in daily life, the other depicts fantasy and suggests the capacity colonial gardens had to convey the visual impression of civilization and urban sophistication. Both were vital to the survival and growth of the colonial community. An early written account describes the medicinal garden established for the colony’s hospital in the mid-1720s in what would become the Ursuline Convent. Among the convent’s records and drawings in the National Archives in Paris is a letter written by the engineer Adrien de Pauger on March 19, 1726, about the hospital and its garden, in which he reports he had surrounded the hospital with ­palisades and 101

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­“arranged a large garden” for the sick. He continues: “it would be very difficult . . . to replace Sr. Alexandre, Surgeon, who being a clever apothecary, could establish a most indispensable apothecary at the hospital and for the country, by the remedies he makes from plants and simple roots which are found here which would spare you much expense, the most of that which the Company sends from France being without virtue, and even bad from lack of being in order.”1 This garden, medicinal in purpose but domestic in scale, probably grew herbs, plants, and small trees, natives as well as plants sent to the colony from France. Judging from the above observation as well others throughout the eighteenth century, plants from France rarely survived in the colony due either to their poor condition upon arrival or to the different environmental conditions in New Orleans. No drawings of the garden exist, but it likely was laid out in a simple arrangement of geometric beds similar to other gardens of the period and similar to plans found in early maps. Written accounts reveal that the garden continued; when the French colony was transferred to Spain in 1766, an inventory of its property included “a chicken house, two dovecotes, . . . a garden and the hut of the gardener inside”; and in 1812, Maj. Amos Stoddard described the garden as having “an extensive garden . . . extremely productive of fruits and vegetables.”2 Early maps show a garden behind the colony’s first church, now St. Louis Cathedral. A green space today known as Père Antoine’s Garden remains, and archaeological investigations from 2008 have located artifacts from the colonial occupation of the site. Subsequent research in Paris has established botanical connections and exchanges between colonial settlers (perhaps from this garden) and French government officials interested in knowing about local botanical conditions.3 An early visual example is a drawing dated March 31, 1729, for the first floor of a military barracks building in New Orleans. Behind the functional, linear structure is a symmetrical, two-part garden of four beds each, bordered by linear paths. Each part has a central feature (perhaps a planting bed or a water basin) in a circular path at the intersections of the perpendicular paths, and each bed is divided into three sections. While this representation may well have been a graphic convention for a kitchen-oriented garden attached to a military barracks, there is logic in its organization: the tripartite divisions of each section would have facilitated cultivation of food crops, and the space devoted to the garden—larger than the structure’s ­footprint—certainly would have supported the barracks’ occupants. Drawings of the period appear in François-Benjamin Dumont de Montigny’s ­Mémoires historique sur la Louisiane, an epic in verse dating from 1716–41, transcribed by Abbé Jean Baptiste Le Mascrier and published in Paris in 1753. This ­account of the early colonial period is filled with observations of the territory’s ­climate, ­animal communities, and plant life, as well as descriptions of Native American tribes of the region. It also contains the first drawings of gardens in the French colony, ­included in the original manuscript in the Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal in Paris and possibly adapted for Le Mascrier’s transcription of 1753. The historian Sam ­Wilson here claims that Dumont de Montigny’s two drawings are “not conspicuous for their accuracy or detail, . . . [but] with their wealth of notations, give information concerning Gulf Coast architecture found in no other source.”4



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Plan for a barracks building in New Orleans, March 31, 1729. Center for Louisiana Studies, University of Louisiana at Lafayette

While crude and naïve, these drawings are instructive. The one showing the “lodging of the Author at New Orleans” (following page) depicts an ordered landscape surrounded by a palisade fence with beds in geometric patterns. Among other features, there is a small house with a detached kitchen and “pavillon” (privy?), a house and kitchen for “negroes” (cuisine ou maison des nègres), a henhouse in a willow tree (with a ladder for access), a trellis, vegetable garden, and orchards in the rear. Altogether it illustrates a simple yet organized garden that would adequately support early settlers. A second drawing shows the Chouachas Concession, established in 1719 and ­located below New Orleans, which, according to Wilson, is “one of the most important plantations” on the lower Mississippi River. Wilson speculates that its buildings were designed by Le Blond de La Tour, engineer-in-chief in Louisiana, and that this drawing dates from 1736.5 The plantation development is organized by drainage ditches (fossés) into a series of rectangular plots of indeterminate

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François-Benjamin Dumont de Montigny, Logement de l’autheur à la Nouvelle Orléans, ca. 1730. Ink drawing. Photo courtesy of ἀ e Newberry Library, Chicago. Ayer MS Map 257, no. 8

size (no scale is given). These fields, planted in indigo, surround the main buildings and garden, which are enclosed by a palisade fence. The plantation has multiple structures (manager’s house, kitchen, forge, warehouse, ­surgeon’s house, carpenter’s shop, two dovecotes, a poultry house and yard, a barn, and residences of “negroes”), together with levees, cleared lands, and bridges over the drainage canals. The main garden, organized into two divisions of four quadrants with a central circular feature (note the similarities with the other drawing), is surrounded on three sides by orange trees, Wilson speculates. These drawings offer compelling views of the early landscape of colonial Louisiana: defined, ordered, simple, and efficient. Government maps chart the community’s development, and these maps include representations of domestic gardens. Most are geometric (rectangular or square) plots with features ranging from simple indications of hedges in the 1720s to elaborate parterre de broderie in 1731 to repetitive gardens throughout the colonial city, as shown in the Thierry map from 1755. Today both the complicated features and the numbers of gardens seem implausible, given the realities of frontier colonial life; but whether or not they actually existed is of less importance than the fact that these representations were deliberately drawn on important and “official” documents, perhaps more graphic conventions to suggest a certain level of sophistication and urban ambiance to potential residents, investors, and landowners than an accurate representation of what existed on the ground. Surviving graphic records indicate a direct transference of architectural styles, construction methods, and, judging from maps such as this one, garden-­design techniques from contemporary France to colonial New Orleans. Written accounts



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Thierry map of the Vieux Carré, ca. 1755. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1939.8

suggest what these gardens may have contained; for instance, a mid-eighteenthcentury account from Etienne Martin de Vaugine notes structures were “only huts or cabins which were constructed quickly so as to give shelter. .  .  . Since that time . . . they have built proper and comfortable homes of bricks since stone is lacking and cannot be found.” The surrounding land, de Vaugine noted, was suitable for “rice, corn, . . . cotton, indigo and generally all sorts of vegetables and fruits.”6 A letter from 1796 from Joseph X. Dalfau de Pontalba to his wife and small son, living in Paris at the time, mentions cabbage, crinkly lettuce, purple broccoli, beet, asparagus, dwarf bean, artichoke, and fruits such as peach, plum, strawberry, quince, pomegranate, and grape growing in their kitchen garden.7 John Pintard, a New York merchant who arrived in New Orleans in February 1801, mentions the “orange groves . . . covered with their golden fruit” along the banks of the Mississippi River on his approach into New Orleans and describes the garden of the Governor’s House as follows: “A very fine garden belongs to this house—at least as to Trees—Orange, & etc. but no great taste as yet prevails in the design of any garden—I have seen all that have any pretentions that way, being disposed in the old formal style—the border and circles kept up with strips of board wh[ich] have a very mean effect.”8 The “great taste” Pintard found lacking in New Orleans likely refers to the informal styles of gardening then popular with the landed gentry in eighteenth-century England and among wealthy landowners in the Northeast, and the “old formal style” refers to geometric designs of colonial gardens as well as to their precedents in England, France, and Italy. New Orleans architecture of the colonial period reflected French, Spanish, and West Indian influences, and surviving written accounts indicate domestic gardens

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were planted with vegetables, kitchen and medicinal herbs, and fruit trees. These gardens were utilitarian in concept and similar in design to colonial gardens elsewhere in America. Growing plants for the table and for medicinal purposes was far more important than growing plants for decorative and ornamental purposes, though, of course, many will argue that there is beauty in a well-kept kitchen garden. In New Orleans, as elsewhere in colonial America, it was only after a certain level of economic, political, and social stability was reached that gardeners turned their garden spaces and horticultural attention from function to ornament. Throughout the eighteenth century, periodic tropical storms and devastating fires in 1788 and 1794 ravished the community, eliminating many of its earliest structures.9 Yet residents rebuilt, and the colony continued to grow, a testament to the residents’ determination and the community’s perceived political, strategic, and economic importance as a New World outpost.

Nineteenth-Century Developments There are multiple nineteenth-century visual and printed sources from which to gather information about gardens, what they contained, and how they were used. These include travel accounts, maps, paintings and watercolors, engravings, diaries and journal records, and, from midcentury onward, photographic images. The most productive resources in terms of content and the most consistent in format throughout the century are watercolor renderings from the Plan Books of the Notarial Archives of Orleans Parish, and examples from this archive are discussed below. Considered collectively, these visual and written accounts give a comprehensive account of the nineteenth-century landscape, perhaps more extensive than in any other American city during this period. The first panoramic view of an American city is an 1803 aquatint entitled A View of New Orleans Taken from the Plantation of Marigny, by J. L. Boqueta de Woiseri, an itinerant engineer and artist active between 1803 and 1811. This view, looking toward the colonial city, was taken from the balcony of the Marigny Plantation house in the Faubourg Marigny, an early suburb established downriver from the present Vieux Carré that is depicted in the Plan de la Nouvelle Orléans et des environs . . ., drawn by the French engineer Joseph Vinache, also from 1803 (page 108). From fragments of the house’s front garden shown in Woiseri’s view, we see that the garden, edged with a wooden fence, is organized into rectangular planted beds that are bordered with a low edging or hedge. Beyond the garden on the levee are trees, and later narratives mention the levee being planted with orange trees or sycamores. The structure from which this view was drawn appears in the Vinache map of the same time, dedicated to Pierre Clement de Laussat, the French diplomat who lived at the Marigny Plantation and administered the transfer of the ­L ouisiana ­colony from Spain to France in late November 1803, and then coordinated the transfer of the colony to the United States the following month. This map is thought to have been given to Laussat as a remembrance of his tenure here, and it



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J. L. Boqueta de Woiseri, A View of New Orleans Taken from the Plantation of Marigny, 1803. Aquatint. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1958.2

remained in the Laussat family in France until its acquisition and return to New Orleans in 1987. Also worth noting on the Vinache map are other plantations and farmhouses outside the colonial city, the expansion of the colony upriver, the close proximity of the colony to swamps and wooded areas, and the presence of the Carondelet Canal that connected the colony with Bayou St. John, and then to Lake Pontchartrain. While other parts of the community may have had important landscape developments at certain points of the city’s history, the Bayou St. John area has played an important part in the environmental, social, and economic evolution of designed landscapes of New Orleans from the c­ olony’s earliest period up to the present. Early residential developments extended outside the Vieux Carré in two directions: downriver (Faubourg Marigny, 1805) and upriver (Faubourg St. Marie, 1778; Faubourg Delord, 1806; Faubourgs Lacourse and Annunciation, 1807; and Faubourg Saulet, 1810).10 Joseph Wiltz purchased property about two miles upriver from the Vieux Carré in 1800 and engaged the French-born architect JeanHyacinthe Laclotte in 1807 to draw a plan for what would become Faubourg Annunciation.11 Laclotte’s drawing of the Wiltz property, Quartier de Plaisance: Plan de Plantation de M. Wiltz . . ., shows a remarkable development. Regrettably the drawing is in two parts, and both are in poor condition. The right half indicates the layout of streets and lots; the left (see page 109) shows a suggested development of just over one acre with a house plan, elaborate parterre gardens, and regularly planted trees.

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Joseph Vinache, Plan de la Nouvelle Orléans et des environs . . ., 1803. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1987.65 i–iii

This plan clearly owes its inspiration to European ideas of the villa, and it reflects garden-design precedents from the Italian Renaissance onward through seventeenth- and eighteenth-century France. On a note attached to the drawing, Wiltz explains that those who had purchased lots would be responsible for building roads and for planting trees along the drainage canals, ditches, and roads. While very little of this elaborate plan envisioned by Laclotte was executed, some of the lots were sold, and the development’s grand avenue, named “Gran Cour Wiltz,” is now ­Louisiana Avenue. With the completion of the New Orleans and Carrollton Rail Road, the city’s first public transit line (now the route of the St. Charles Avenue streetcar), the property filled in with residential developments.12



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Jean-Hyacinthe Laclotte, Quartier de Plaisance: Plan de Plantation de M. Wiltz . . ., June 22, 1807, Plan Book 28, folio 1. Drawing. New Orleans Notarial Archives

A similar plantation development with house, gardens, and outbuildings existed farther uptown, about four miles from the Vieux Carré, in property that had originally been part of the extensive holdings of Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne Sieur de Bienville, the founder of New Orleans. Jean Etienne de Boré, a prominent Creole member of the community, acquired the property in 1781. He grew sugarcane, and legend has it that it was on this property that sugar was first granulated. He later

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served as the American city’s first elected mayor (1803–4), and, according to Pierre Clement de Laussat, the French commissioner sent by Napoleon to oversee the acceptance of the colony from Spain in 1803 and then transfer it to the United States, Boré was “a man well known for his patriotism and the unshakable independence of his character.” His residence “was quite attractive, surrounded by lovely gardens with magnificent lanes of orange trees loaded with abundant blossoms as well as with fruit in every stage of ripening. It was in this place that the first attempt to raise sugarcane in Louisiana was made and sustained. This cultivation is still carried out successfully there and has had, since, many prosperous imitators in the neighboring areas.”13 Later in the nineteenth century, de Boré’s grandson Charles Gayarré, a prominent Louisiana historian, recalled the house and garden: A magnificent avenue of pecan-trees led from the public road alongside the bank of the river to the vast enclosure within which stood the house of M. de Boré, with its numerous dependencies. That part of the enclosure which faced the river presented a singular appearance. . . . It was that of a fortified place, for there was to be seen, with a revetment of brick five feet high, a rampart of earth about fifteen feet in width and sloping down to large moats filled with water and well-stocked with frogs, fish, and eels. This rampart was clothed in clover, and at its foot, on the edge of the moats, there grew a palisade of the plant known in Louisiana under the name of “Spanish-daggers.”. . .14 This picturesque and uncommon line of fortified enclosure extended a good deal more than three hundred feet on both sides of the entrance gate that opened into the courtyard at the end of the pecan avenue. . . . On the opposite side, in front of this line of enclosure, there was another consisting of a well-trimmed and thick orange hedge four feet in height. Beyond were the gardens and several alleys of superb grown-up orange-trees, gorgeous in turn, according to the season, with their showy blossoms and their golden apples. . . . This plantation was sagaciously and tastefully laid out for beauty and productiveness. The gardens occupied a large area, and at once astonished the eye by the magnificence of their shady avenues of orange-trees. Unbroken retreats of myrtle and laurel define the rays of the sun. Flowers of every description perfumed the air. Extensive orchards produced every fruit of which the climate was susceptible. By judicious culture there had been obtained remarkable success in producing an abundance of juicy grapes.15

The site of this garden is now part of Audubon Park. Visiting the city in 1807, Fortescue Cuming notes that, as he moved down the ­Mississippi River toward New Orleans, “the banks of the river have a beautiful appearance, elegant houses encompassed by orange groves, sugar plantations, fine gardens, shady avenues.” Later, having walked around the community, he records ­impressions of a residence “situated in a handsome garden of considerable extent, in which were fig trees in abundance, pomegranates, and a large grove of orange trees. And what a little surprised me was to see the three stages of the progression of vegetation in the same tree at the same time, that is, the blossom, the green fruit, and



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those yellow and fully ripe, which was the situation of the orange trees in Mr. Sarpe’s garden.”16 It is probable that what Cuming saw was the property of Silvestre Delord Sarpy, a seven-arpent17 parcel near the banks of the Mississippi River upriver from the Vieux Carré that had been part of a much larger tract Bienville had sold to the Jesuits in 1726. In 1763, the Jesuits were dispersed from the colony, and all their possessions, including this working plantation, were seized and sold at public auction. By now twenty-five arpents, the Jesuit Plantation was subdivided and sold to different owners, one of whom was Francoise Duplessis, who erected a two-story house. The property passed through sale and family connections to Silvestre Delord Sarpy. In 1806, his widow engaged engineer Barthélémy Lafon, a locally prominent French architect, surveyor, and entrepreneur, to subdivide the property into residential lots. This plan was not executed, and on June 16, 1807, Madame Sarpy sold the property to Armand Duplantier, a prominent political and military leader. Following his purchase of the property, Duplantier had Lafon redraw a plan in 1807, and it is this plan that produced what is now Lee Circle (formerly the “Place du Tivoli”) and the Coliseum Square neighborhood, with its distinctive classical Greek–inspired street names and architectural features.18 An engraving from 1810 shows the house and grounds—but no garden—with the Mississippi River in the distance. It was from the Mississippi River that many first entered the community, and it was from this perspective that they observed the local landscape and how it ­related to developed parts of the city. The British naturalist John Bradbury, commissioned in 1809 by the botanical society at Liverpool to research plant life in America, noted in 1811 that “groves or orange trees of great extent are seen in both sides of the river, and at this season [January] loaded with ripe fruit.”19 Eswick Evans wrote in 1818 that “in many places, along the banks of the [Mississippi] River are large orange groves, and here almost all kinds of fruits are raised for the New-Orleans market. My journal says, this is, indeed, a fascinating country!”20 Another early-nineteenth-century garden description comes from Bernhard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach from his visit to New Orleans in the mid-1820s: About four miles below the city Mr. Grymes has a country-seat, or habitation. The house is entirely new, and situated on a piece of ground formerly employed as a sugar-cane field. The new plantings made in the garden, consisted of young orangetrees and magnolias. Behind the house is an artificial hill, with a temple upon it, and within the hill itself, a grotto, arranged artificially with shells. At the entrance stands a banana tree, and this, with several creeping plants, will conceal it very well in summer. I observed in the garden several singular heaps of earth, which are hollow within, and stand over a hole in the ground. They are said to be formed by a species of land-crab, for their residence.21 If a stone be thrown into the hole, you hear that it immediately falls into water. Generally, in this country, you cannot dig more than a foot deep in the earth, without meeting water.22

This garden, with a “temple” on an “artificial hill” with a rocaille grotto, certainly would have been an attraction, though no other reference to this garden exists. While earlier gardens display functional aspects from foreign precedents, these ­features, found in continental gardens from the Italian Renaissance onward,

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r­ epresent the insertion of decorative elements to the local landscape as well as a continued reliance on European garden traditions. The evolution of domestic gardens is represented particularly well in the very large map of 1834 reproduced below. It was drawn by Charles F. Zimpel, a Prussian civil engineer who was the deputy city engineer. In plan view, this map shows streets and residential blocks in the developed part of the city (but not individual structures), public squares, and street tree plantings along major avenues; the map’s border illustrates important buildings in elevation. Also shown are domestic ­structures and their gardens located just outside developed areas. Many were ­plantations originally on much larger properties, but as demands for residential development increased, large tracts were subdivided into smaller residential lots. Like its eighteenth-century counterparts, the Zimpel map depicts predominantly ­geometric domestic gardens with symmetrical plantings of trees and shrubs.

Charles F. Zimpel map, 1834. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1945.3



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Between 1835 and 1855, Zimpel was one of several surveyors engaged by owners of large plantations to subdivide large tracts into smaller residential lots. Others included Joseph Pilié, C. J. A. d’Hemecourt, Henry Molhausen, and Benjamin Buisson, and their legacies remain, together with those of the property owners, in ­current street names and neighborhood designations.23 These new subdivisions were notably different from earlier residential patterns in older neighborhoods such as the Vieux Carré, Marigny, and Tremé. With larger, rec­ tangular lots, they featured freestanding structures built back from property lines on the street, thereby creating generous front and side lots. These exterior spaces often became sites for gardens, with ornamental beds on the front and sides and utilitarian gardens and services areas in the rear. During the 1830s and 1840s, when these new subdivisions were being developed and sold, the city’s population was expanding. New residents, many of whom were of American rather than foreign heritage, were eager to settle into new parts of town, and they brought with them an interest in emerging architectural American styles. Increasing prosperity, leisure time, and commercial connections between New Orleans and other urban centers led to rising demands for the latest styles of architecture, decorative arts, and garden design. It was during this period that Andrew Jackson Downing (1815–1852) advocated for attention to design in these areas through his widely circulated books and periodicals.24 Advertisements in local contemporary publications confirm that Downing’s books were available in New Orleans,25 and from Notarial Archives plans, we can see increasing levels of attention to ornamental gardens from the 1840s onward. The prosperity of local residents from the 1840s onward led to more elaborate and ornamental domestic gardens. Planting beds feature ornamental natives and exotics; pathways become less rigid and more circuitous; features such as trellises, benches, and fountains begin to appear. While vegetable gardens still exist, mainly around more modest structures, the focus of domestic gardens clearly shifts around midcentury from being primarily functional to being ornamental. In November 1854, the architect Thomas K. Wharton recorded a walk through the residential Lafayette neighborhood (now the Garden District), noting that the gardens are more beautiful than during the rank redundance of summer, and the lawns and flower borders in high order, fine perfect roses, splendid Salvias and the ­double flowering Scarlet Hibiscus sparkle among the sober greens, while, as in the north at this season, the starry chrysanthemums of every dye are in the ascendant. Other varieties again define our latitude more clearly, and lofty bananas fling open their rich purpose and reveal their fruit clusters in heavy bunches. This plant groups charmingly with the more compact shrubbery, and fine examples of its introduction occur on the grounds of Mr. Briggs, whose place, by the by, is to my fancy the most tasteful in the entire suburb. Mr. Robb, however, is destined to take the lead of all competitors. His noble mansion is rapidly hastening to completion. And the entire square on which it stands is already graded and pulverized preparatory to laying out the gardens and ornamental terraces around it.26

The relatively modest Briggs residence, one of the few houses in New Orleans in the Gothic revival style popularized by Downing, remains at the corner of Third Street and Prytania but no record exists of its garden. The Robb ­property, on the other

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hand, was much grander. It occupied an entire city block in Lafayette on ­Washington Avenue between Camp and Chestnut streets, and the house and garden were among the most elaborate in mid-nineteenth-century New O ­ rleans. James Robb (1814–1881) was a leading financier and entrepreneur in the 1840s and 1850s, with investments in railroads, gaslights, and banking. He assembled the only major art collection of its period in New Orleans.27 Obviously the construction of this house and its extensive garden attracted attention. On April 22, 1855, Wharton notes that Robb’s “grand square mansion” is rapidly approaching completion, and that the property, and entire square, is “already laid out in sweeping walks, and grass plots, parterres and groups of planting and embellished at suitable points with statues, and rich vases.”28 Later that year (August 9), Wharton described the development, now almost completed: “The building and surrounding gardens cover nearly the whole square . . . [with its] principal entrance being from Washington Avenue. The house rises from broad, and elevated terraces, beautifully turfed and adorned with vases and statues. The grounds laid out with great taste and embellished with shrubbery and rare plants such as only this genial latitude can produce. Altogether it promises to be the most sumptuous and tasteful residence in this charming suburb.”29 Wharton made a sketch of the property to accompany his narrative showing a romantic landscape. There is a prominent grove of mature, moss-draped live oaks, together with a disorganized plant grouping in the foreground. Barely discernable are a winding pathway and a large urn near the boxlike structure. Judging from a photographic image of just a few years later, the imposing square residence sat in the center of the property, enclosed by a fence composed of masonry, wood pickets, and cast-iron railings. A monumental gate with stone columns topped with urns announces the entrance into the property. Stone retaining walls create a terrace between the garden and the house; curved walkways circle the house; and there appears to be an arbor in the rear. Stone urns and fountains adorn the front terrace on either side of the entrance walk. Numerous ornamental trees adorn the property, including the distinctive columnar Italian cypress (Cupressus sempervirens), an attempt, perhaps, to connect a characteristic element of the Italian landscape with the vaguely Italian Renaissance character of the structure’s architecture and its terraced situation. Wharton’s descriptions of the Robb estate continue with his account in March 1859 of going to view the sale of Robb’s art collection brought about by financial reversals (“Sic transit Gloria mundi!” he notes). While his description of the house then (“an unwieldy mass of bad taste, and common, inelegant finish”) is far less flattering than his previous assessment, his account of the garden remains complimentary: “The grounds, however, covering the entire square are fine, and the serpentine gravel walk quite English. There is but little statuary.” Wharton notes that “his [Robb’s] day dream of wealth and gilded splendor is now fading out, and this is the last closing scene of the gaudy drama.” Following the sale of his art collection and property, Robb moved to the North, where he eventually recouped his wealth. The garden’s designer remains unknown, and its plan has not survived.30 However, we can gain a sense of the garden’s design from Wharton’s sketch, the photo print from the late 1850s, and images such as the one on page 116 taken in the 1920s,



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Thomas K. Wharton, Residence of Jas. Robb Esq., Washington Ave., New Orleans. August 9, 1855. Ink sketch. ἀ omas Kelah Wharton Diaries and Sketchbook, Manuscripts and Archives Division, ἀ e New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations

James Robb residence, ca. 1860. J. D. Edwards, photographer. Louisiana Architecture Photographs, Southeastern Architectural Archive, Special Collections Division, Tulane University Libraries

when the property had become Newcomb College. The garden appears to have remained more or less intact, realizing the Romantic scheme sketched by Wharton. Unfortunately for garden historians, the structure was demolished in the 1950s, and the property was subdivided for residential purposes, erasing a significant and valuable nineteenth-century residential garden from the local landscape. The image taken by the photographer Jay Dearborn Edwards of a midcentury New Orleans neighborhood (page 117) gives another view of the neighborhood near the Robb Mansion. This view dates from between 1858 and 1861 and was taken from the Washington Avenue firetower, showing the intersection of Camp and Fourth streets, looking downtown.

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“The Old Home of Newcomb College” (Robb Mansion, after a second floor had been added), 1926. Arnold Genthe, photographer. From Impressions of Old New Orleans (New York: Doran, 1926). Author’s collection

Several observations can be made from careful examination of this image. First is the architectural variety of the neighborhood’s structures, ranging from simple cottages and even shacks to elaborate three-story residences. Second are landscape features: while there are street trees and sidewalks, streets themselves are not paved (and would remain unpaved for most of the nineteenth century); open ditches at the edge of the street collect runoff; there are several different fence types (picket, vertical plant, and horizontal boards); other domestic garden features ­include tree guards, a vegetable garden, and clothes hanging to dry. The photograph was likely taken in winter since many trees are bare of leaves. Judging from the tree forms, there appear to be chinaberry trees (Melia azedarach), center, surrounding the four-bay cottage; an eastern red cedar (Juniperus virginiana) in front of the house in the lower center; a sycamore (Platanus occidentalis) at the left center; and a very large live oak (Quercus virginiana) far right, center. More than anything, this image should remind us that the heavy tree canopies and lush landscape for which the city in general and the Garden District in particular are now so famous did not exist in the 1850s and 1860s in the same form as today. Neighborhoods were characterized less by mature trees than by scattered tree plantings and a variety of structures of different materials, scales, textures, and architectural styles.



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Garden District, ca. 1858–61. Salted paper photo print. Jay Dearborn Edwards, photographer. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1982.32.9

Another Edwards image of the same period (page 118) shows the pride of place ornamental exotics, like the American aloe or century plant (Agave Americana), might be given in a domestic garden of the mid-nineteenth century. The image is significant for various reasons: it is one of several of Edwards’ photographs that show garden or landscape features (see also the images of Lafayette Square, Esplanade Avenue, the Garden District, the Adams residence), and the dates of these images, ca. 1858–61, make them some of the earliest known American photographic images of landscape features. The composition of this particular image suggests the importance the photographer (or his client) ascribed to this garden’s exotic feature: obviously the century plant is the center of interest because of its location in the garden near the main entrance to the residence and its central location in the photograph; note also the placement—behind the plant—of what might well be the garden’s owner (right) and, farther behind, his gardener (left), with garden tool at hand. Visual understanding of midcentury landscapes is augmented by written ­descriptions of residential gardens. Three articles published in national horticultural journals, discussed later, give detailed impressions of New Orleans gardens of the mid-nineteenth century, and they complement our understanding of the New Orleans landscape up to the Civil War. While the city suffered little physical damage from the war, there were obvious financial repercussions that affected physical development to the city, what people built, and how they gardened. Residential neighborhoods continued to be developed along the St. Charles Avenue streetcar line to its terminus in the town of Carrollton, absorbed into New Orleans in 1874. Houses were built in new Italianate

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Century plant, 1858–61. Salted paper photo print. Jay Dearborn Edwards, photographer. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1982.167.4

architectural styles, set back from the street on large lots, and plantings reflected gardenesque trends that had evolved from the writings of Downing and his successors and practices that used plants introduced from foreign locations. Another residential garden, from the second half of the nineteenth century, merits discussion because of its size and complexity. In 1864, the German cotton merchant Florence A. Luling purchased 80 acres fronting Esplanade Avenue near Bayou St. John and commissioned James Gallier Jr. to design an elaborate residence inspired by villas of the Italian Renaissance. Completed in 1865, the structure was situated on a huge raised terrace surrounded by a dry moat, with its piano nobile ­elevated above a basement level. Two flanking pavilions were joined to the house by bridges across the moat. The twenty-two-room villa, situated on a large parcel near one of the city’s racetracks, was set back quite a distance from Esplanade Avenue and had an elaborate garden that extended to the avenue.31 The structure’s design (including proportions, finishes, and architectural details), its situation on an elevated terrace, and the relationship between the house and garden resemble the villas and gardens of the Italian Renaissance. Judging from period photographic images, however, the garden’s design was more characteristic of horticulturally complicated nineteenth-century Victorian gardens than a ­re-creation of a garden of the Italian Renaissance. Thus far, neither the garden’s plan nor its designer has surfaced. The structure’s architect, James Gallier Jr., clearly was conversant in the architectural details of the Italian Renaissance; perhaps he was cognizant of associated garden schemes as well and made garden suggestions that were subsequently carried out by local gardeners and plantsmen. If so, ­Gallier’s



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work for the Luling property would represent an early example of a trained design professional (albeit an architect) designing an elaborate residential landscape in New Orleans. Following family tragedy and financial reverses during Reconstruction, Luling sold his mansion and 30 acres in 1871 to the Louisiana Jockey Club, which converted the villa into its clubhouse. Adjacent open spaces were absorbed into the existing Fair Grounds.32 Jewell’s Crescent City of 1879 describes the facility’s elaborate accommodations, clubhouse, and “deer park . . . flower gardens and nurseries.”33 Clearly this house and its garden were prominent features in the local landscape, important enough to be documented by the nineteenth-century photographers Theodore ­Lilienthal (twice, in 1867 and in the 1870s) and George François Mugnier (in the 1880s and 1890s), both of whom photographed local landmarks, public places, and important segments of community life.34

New Louisiana Jockey Club, ca. 1870–80. George François Mugnier, photographer. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library

The Mugnier images reveal several notable features: clipped shrubbery, classical statuary, lush plantings on the ground plane, paved walkways, and extensive benches. Like precedents from the Italian Renaissance, this garden was meant to relate in scale and character to the structure with which it is associated. The pavilions were removed in the early 1920s, the structure returned to ­domestic use as apartments, and the property, including the garden, was subdivided and sold off for residential lots. The sense of grandeur of an imposing Italianate villa surrounded by elaborate garden spaces disappeared behind modest cottages, bungalows, and two-story houses that now crowd the imposing structure and obscure it from view. Sadly, what had once been an impressive ­ensemble

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View of garden from the New Louisiana Jockey Club, ca. 1870–80. George François Mugnier, photographer. Louisiana Division/City Archives, New Orleans Public Library

of structure and garden, rooted in the Italian Renaissance but with an overlay of 1870s New Orleans fashion, was, by the 1920s, subsumed by the city’s encroaching urban landscape. In general, residential developments in the second half of the nineteenth century followed the crescent of the Mississippi River and avoided low-lying swampy areas that held water and did not drain. This pattern is evident in the T. S. Hardee map of 1878, an image that has gained new relevance in the wake of Hurricane ­Katrina: areas shown as undeveloped on this map, in general, are the areas of the city that suffered the most damage from floodwaters. Late-nineteenth- and ­early-twentieth-century urban infrastructure, such as the installation of paving and storm sewers and the advent of mechanical pumps, facilitated the drainage of these low-lying swampy areas seen in the Hardee map and subsequent twentiethcentury real estate development in areas now know as Broadmoor (center), Gentilly (west and east of Elysian Fields Boulevard), the Ninth Ward (far right), and Lake­ view (top, south of Lake Pontchartrain). Areas not yet settled were prone to flooding, and, if cleared, were small farms, as seen in the 1871 Waud sketch, an image that subsequently appeared in Harper’s Weekly. There are banana plants (with fruit), watermelons on the ground, and what might be okra being harvested. Note the city, Mississippi River, and boats in the background.



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T. S. Hardee map of New Orleans, 1878. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 00.34

Homes and gardens in these areas followed the architectural patterns of the times: Broadmoor, developed during the last part of the nineteenth century and the early twentieth century, had Arts and Crafts structures and modified bungalows, some of which were raised. The Ninth Ward, upper and lower, were workingclass neighborhoods without elaborate architecture or extensive gardens, and like elsewhere in the city, individual homeowners might have had small garden plots to grow vegetables for domestic use. Much of Gentilly was farmland until the early twentieth century. Kolb’s, a ­German restaurant established in 1899, had a large farm there that grew produce for its kitchen.35 Also in Gentilly was the E. A. Farley Florist, established by an early-­t wentieth-century plantsman, Elmer Farley, on property that had been a

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Alfred R. Waud, A Bit of Creole Market Garden, or Gathering Gumbo, ca. 1871. Sketch. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1965.70

dairy farm. Farley’s operation had extensive greenhouses and was known in the midcentury decades for its orchids and lavish Christmas displays of poinsettias. For many years, it was the only commercial nursery in New Orleans, and well into the 1970s, Farley’s Florist, under the direction of Elmer’s son Herman, was the only local source that could bid on public landscape architectural projects. The Kolb’s farm was subdivided earlier in the twentieth century for residential use. The nursery closed in 1980, and an adjacent school purchased the property for athletic fields.

Conrad Kolb Farm, Gentilly, ca. 1924. Frank B. Moore, photographer. MSS 145-435, Frank B. Moore Collection, Earl K. Long Library University of New Orleans

Plate 1. Cottage on Bayou St. John with an elaborate ornamental garden and orchard. Two cisterns are sited between two residential structures. Jules Ricou, July 24, 1857, Plan Book 24, folio 22. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 2. Four lots joined into an extensive development including a “flowers and fruit garden” and a “kitchen garden” independent of a related structure. The central circulation spine terminates in a “Well” in the property’s center. Note the indications of three residences with “gardens” across Jackson Street. Unsigned (style of Hedin), undated, Plan Book 63, folio 28. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 3. Center-hall cottage with extensive gardens on multiple lots. The perspective view indicates a variety of plantings, including trimmed evergreens near the house, what may be an elongated crepe myrtle specimen, and other ornamental shrubs. Note the picket fence facing the street. W. Thornton Thompson and W. Thiel, undated, Plan Book 64, folio 25. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 4. Corner-lot, four-room cottage with a simple garden plan of geometric beds. Note the two arbors, one in the side yard and one in the rear in front of the privy. Jean Antoine Bourgerol, August 6, 1835, Plan Book 34, folio 46. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 5. A cottage on a banquette with a rear gallery and two cabinets overlooking a garden with linear beds. Note the eight circular beds with indications of trees, perhaps citrus, and the outbuildings, including a privy (rear) with an arbor (“Tenuelle”) on the adjacent property. Jean Antoine Bourgerol, January 7, 1839, Plan Book 11, folio 10. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 6. Structure (“mansion”) set back from the street with an ornamental garden of diamond-shaped beds in front. The side and rear gardens are utilitarian, and the development covers three lots. Other structures include a privy and cisterns. Hugh Grant, March 29, 1841, Plan Book 66, folio 1. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 7. Corner-lot, four-room cottage on a banquette with a rear gallery. Note the arbor with vines. Facing the street, the ornamental garden is arranged into geometric units behind a wood fence. The utilitarian garden consists of rectangular beds. Note the related outbuildings (servants’ quarters) and the twelve-stall stable. Joseph Antoine Pueyo, May 14, 1844, Plan Book 6, folio 100. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 8. M. Valentin’s garden of twenty rectangular beds, independent of an adjacent structure. Curiously, the garden is not what is for sale but is shown as a reference for the eight lots offered. F. Cosnier, January 20, 1844, Plan Book 35, folio 12. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 9. Subdivision adjacent to the New Orleans and Carrollton rail line (now the St. Charles Avenue streetcar line) advertising “32 lots,” though most appear too small for a building. Shown are two existing “Dwelling Houses in the Garden.” Note the indications of regularly planted trees. Carl Axtel Hedin, May 12, 1847, Plan Book 27, folio 22. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 10. A simple, four-bay cottage with an elaborate garden including utilitarian (orchard) and ornamental features using both geometric and curvilinear schemes. Extensive outbuildings include a four-room kitchen, a dual privy, servants’ quarters, a carriage house and stable with eight stalls, and two cisterns. Jacques Nicolas Bussiere de Pouilly, May 8, 1847, Plan Book 21, folio 31. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 11. Small structure notable for its curious arbor over the pathway and the vine-covered trellis connecting the arbor to the structure. The picket fence duplicates the construction of the arbor. The large tree could be a chinaberry. Pietro Gualdi, January 7, 1855, Plan Book 84, folio 24. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 12. An elaborate garden so lush it obscures the structure behind it. Note the diamond-shaped beds in front of the structure, with adjacent areas heavily planted with evergreens and blooming plants (datura?). Indications are given on the plan of “fruit trees” and “fig trees” along the garden’s side. From the plan view, the gallery overlooks a rectangular orchard of “orange trees.” The plan shows a side-garden pathway covered with an arbor, and the perspective shows the profile of a structure (behind tree, second from right). Note the picket fence with the Gothic revival gate and the plank-board service gate at the side property line. Note also the two-colored protective tree boxes. Unsigned, January 7, 1855, Plan Book 64, folio 27. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 13. Elaborate structure with an associated front garden that includes shaped evergreens, a “vegetable garden” in the rear, a fence of pickets on top of planks, gates oriented to the front door, a garden, and a service area (far right). Street trees (chinaberry?) are boxed with two-colored trunk protectors. Unsigned (style of Hedin), May 22, 1856, Plan Book 64, folio 30. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 14. Townhouse with an elaborate trellis and lattice gazebo set in a streetfront ornamental garden. A utilitarian garden with linear beds is in the rear. Note the street trees encased in wooden tree guards, the guard rails along front and side streets, and the carriage house in the rear of property, facing Plaisant Street. F. Nicolas Tourne and de L’Isle, May 12, 1858, Plan Book 24, folio 23. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 15. Center-hall cottage on a banquette, with a side gallery with louvered openings on the street side. The gallery overlooks an ornamental garden with what may be a young bald cypress. Note that the service access is on the opposite side, leading to stables and service areas behind the structure. The development occupies three lots. Eugene Surgi and Adrien Persac, November 16, 1859, Plan Book 58, folio 29. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 16. Simple, two-story structure on a banquette with an elaborate side garden composed of mirror-image sections organized along a horizontal pathway. The beds’ shapes include ovals, diamonds, and circles with central plantings enclosed in rectangles. Note that the fence along Elysian Fields is pierced to allow a streetside view into the garden. The main access is through the door under the gallery, leading to the gallery overlooking the garden and the entrance into the house. The service gate on the far left gives access to service areas on the side and in the rear. In the perspective view, note the columnar trees on the left, indications of small deciduous trees, and what is likely a magnolia near the house (three shown on the plan). Alexander Castaing, February 17, 1860, Plan Book 89, folio 12. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 17. Double cottage on two lots with symmetrical garden schemes. There are linear beds in front, presumably with ornamental plants. Service rooms, cisterns, privies, and utilitarian beds are in the rear. F. Nicolas Tourne and de L’Isle, June 7, 1858, Plan Book 48, folio 64. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 18. Five attached two-room workers’ cottages, with related utilitarian gardens, all arranged on two lots. The garden is fenced with pickets on the major-street side (Canal Street) and planks on the minor-street side (Prieur Street). There are rectangular garden beds, with kitchens and other service rooms behind the main houses. Note the banana plants and other trees in the garden. Paul Charles Boudousquie, August 15, 1866, Plan Book 41, folio 19. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 19. Two-story house on three lots, with an elaborate garden of rectangular beds and service buildings in the rear. The beds appear to be organized for utilitarian purposes. Arthur de Armas, February 2, 1869, Plan Book 97, folio 18. New Orleans Notarial Archives

Plate 20. Elaborate Greek revival structure with accompanying decorative and kitchen gardens and related outbuildings. Note the use of both evergreen and deciduous plantings, the street trees, the elaborate cast-iron fence and gate, the circular pond in the left side yard, and the vegetable garden on the right side. Eugene Surgi and Adrien Persac, March 12, 1860, Plan Book 5, folio 18. New Orleans Notarial Archives



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Examples from the Notarial Archives By far the most substantial visual information about nineteenth-century architectural design and garden design is found in the Plan Book records of the Notarial ­Archives. These large-scale (38 in. long × 24 in. wide) watercolors provided legal description of tracts and structures sold at public auction due to bankruptcy or other legal actions. They date from 1803 to 1918, but about 70 percent of the 5,149 drawings fall between 1830 and 1860. Based on field observations by city surveyors, ­artists, engineers, and architects, these records give detailed information about structures and their settings. Substantive and useful indications of garden content—garden plans, landscape features, architectural elevations with plant materials, indications of plants—appear on approximately three hundred plans, or about 6 percent of the total archive. Examination of these plans and elevations gives information including garden layouts, plant materials, and features such as paving, fences, gates, arbors, and tree supports. Occasionally garden plans include indications of uses, noted as “vegetable garden” or “orchard.” While ornamental plant materials are not given by name on plans (there are a few examples where fruits, such as “oranges” and “figs” appear), perspective views frequently are sufficiently ­detailed so that reliable assumptions can be made about both materials and planting combinations. Two initial investigations of these records call attention to their existence, one of which seeks to connect garden plans and architectural styles with cultural identity, a theory that now seems misguided.36 The Notarial Archives ­record the state of the property at the time of its public sale, usually under distressed situations, but they have no information about when the property (or, importantly, the garden) may have been first developed or by whom, the identity of any garden designer or patron, or the age of garden features. This is information critical to linking garden styles with cultural heritage. Nevertheless, there is a wealth of garden information within these drawings, and in this section I extract relevant details for closer examination. Reproduced as color plates is a representative sample of twenty drawings from the Notarial Archives Plan Books, chosen from a larger group to illustrate notable examples of any one or combination of the following: design of the garden; relationship of garden to adjacent structure; plant materials shown; garden features; character of adjacent architecture; streetscape context; and geographic location in the community. Plans from 1835 to 1869 are presented (two are undated), and captions describe notable features. The content represented here suggests directions for future study. As elsewhere, domestic garden design in New Orleans from the early colonial period to the early twentieth century was determined by need, fashion, wealth, and access to plants. An expanding economy created new demands for goods and services, and these demands were met with local, national, and international sources. Life in nineteenth-century New Orleans was defined by the cultural heritage of those who lived here, the climate and environmental conditions of the

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region, and by growing interests in consumer products. These factors combined to create a community that, at first, had gardens devoted to utilitarian purposes; but as the community matured in the late nineteenth century and became more stable (economically, socially, and politically), gardens became more ornamental, filled with native and exotic plants used more for show than with fruits and vegetables for the table. Combining available information from other sources with examples from the Notarial Archives, we can draw general conclusions about organization, plants choices, scale, and features in nineteenth-century domestic garden design in New Orleans: • Domestic gardens at the beginning of nineteenth century were organized initially with utilitarian components to produce food for the table. Rectangular beds, raised to allow better drainage, made efficient use of narrow lots and facilitated cultivation, and year-round growing seasons allowed residents to plant several rotations of vegetables. Early on, settlers discovered that citrus trees and figs responded well to local conditions, and many gardens featured small orchards, likely planted with these fruits. • Plant choices and horticultural content in domestic gardens evolved with expansion of local markets and changes in urban lifestyles. As the city grew in size, population, and affluence in the first four decades of the nineteenth century, residents’ access to fresh fruits and vegetables increased and consumers’ dependence on growing food declined. Likewise commercial resources began to offer ornamental plants and domestic gardens began to include ornamental components (in front of structures) as well as utilitarian gardens (in side or rear areas). At the beginning of the nineteenth century, most domestic gardens were devoted to function, and few included ornamental elements. By the end of the nineteenth century, the ratio of functional garden components to ornamental elements had reversed, and while many gardens retained some functional areas, most were primarily ornamental in design and content. • Throughout the nineteenth century, domestic gardens appear with all scales and architectural styles of residential developments, from day laborers’ cabins with modest gardens to elaborate mansions of the city’s elites with elaborate beds and garden features. Plant selections and garden design, including overall spatial organization and elements such as linear beds, paved walks, and cisterns, cross architectural styles and bridge boundaries of class and geography, making domestic gardens throughout the city similar in content and composition even with distinct differences in scale. This suggests that styles and contents of domestic gardens in nineteenth-century New Orleans have more to do with residents’ functional requirements and local environmental conditions than with differences in class and ethnicity or connections to different architectural styles. • Common features occur in the domestic gardens represented in the Notarial Archives drawings. Residential structures, particularly in older neighborhoods at the city’s core, were often built directly on the banquette with garden



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and ­service spaces in side or rear yards. By midcentury, as newer residential areas developed outside the older urban center, lots became larger and houses were set back from the street, often centered in their lots. This allowed garden spaces in front as well as on both sides of structures, but such spaces continued to be organized by geometric planting beds as opposed to being open lawn areas defined by plant groupings. Even when, from midcentury onward, domestic garden spaces became less utilitarian and more ornamental, kitchen gardens and sometimes orchard plantings remained. Most properties were enclosed by wooden fences (picket, cypress plank [pieux], and horizontal plank were common), creating both a visual separation and a physical barrier between public and private spaces. Gates, whether main or service entries, were often taller and more “monumental” in scale than the adjacent fences, establishing significant portals and transitions between public and private spaces. Wooden lattice screens were attached to structures, particularly on second-story galleries, for both shade and privacy. Arbors and trellises were often freestanding structures in garden spaces and used as supports for vines and climbing roses. When street trees are shown in front of houses, they often have boxes protecting the trunks from street traffic. Nearly all gardens had at least one cistern to collect rainwater for household and garden use. Planting beds are usually geometric shapes, often rectangles but sometimes diamonds and circles. For the most part, plantings and plant combinations appear to be randomly arranged and organized with little regard to later conventions of “domestic taste” espoused in the 1840s by Andrew Jackson Downing and later by designers such as Frederick Law ­Olmsted, Horace W. S. Cleveland (1814–1900), Frank J. Scott (1828–1919), and their contemporaries.37 Gardens shown in the Notarial Archives plans are unique representations of design composition and content throughout much of nineteenth-century New ­Orleans. As instructive as they are, however, we should not conclude that they are the only source of information about domestic garden spaces during this ­period. We know, for instance, from archival sources and present-day field observations, that cast-iron fences were popular garden features in the last decades of the nineteenthcentury, yet few representations of them appear in the Notarial Archives drawings. Many of these drawings contain realistic representations of plant ­materials, and often details are so specific that we can ascribe names to those representations. But can we be certain that these plants are accurately placed, and not artists’ conventions (entourage) meant to make the properties appear more attractive? Regardless, the Notarial Archives drawings provide a unique lens through which to view nineteenth-century domestic open spaces, and they provide a visual foundation on which to build our understanding of the nineteenth-century evolution of garden design in New Orleans.

7 Ga r de n F u r n ishi ng s

Functional in nature, eighteenth-century gardens in colonial Louisiana lacked ornamental features, but by the end of the nineteenth century, gardens in New ­Orleans and elsewhere in America were excessively ornamental and complex in both horticultural content (colors, textures, and exotic plants) and machine-made features (including fences and gates, trellises and arbors, and garden ornaments). This section examines those features, together with sidewalks and streets, in order to provide an understanding of the content, structure, and organization of domestic landscapes. In the eighteenth-century colony and surrounding rural areas of southern ­Louisiana, property boundaries were often delineated by pieux fences of peaked-top vertical planks of cypress about 6 to 8 inches wide and 36 to 48 inches long, a fence type that continues in use to the present.1 Cypress came from nearby swamps; it was a plentiful, inexpensive, and extremely durable building material. Nineteenthcentury fences in urban New Orleans neighborhoods were composed of horizontal planks (around modest gardens and service areas), pickets or spikes (around front yards and facing streets), or a combination of both (see Plate 18). Fence heights varied, and sometimes fences had a lower section of horizontal planks with pickets above, as seen in the J. D. Edwards photograph from ca. 1858–61 (also see Plates 7, 13, 14, and 15). Gates often were elaborate extensions of adjacent fences, meant to draw attention to the primary entrance of the structure or garden (see Plates 7, 12, and 20). Trellises appear as attachments to gallery façades secured to columns. When attached to a structure’s front façade, they usually are decorative, designed to support vines (see Plate 11). When used on second-floor rear galleries, the slats serve as screens creating privacy for interior rooms but allowing circulation of air. Many examples remain in the city. Freestanding arbors occur in gardens as supports for climbing roses, native grape, and mirleton (see Plates 4, 5, 7, 11, 12, and 14). Street trees or newly planted trees in gardens had wood supports or boxes to protect them until they were established (see Plates 12, 13, and 14). Many nineteenth-century garden ornaments, including benches, fences, ­trellises, gates, and urns, were cast iron.2 Made technically possible, economically feasible, and commercially accessible by the new technologies of the Industrial Revolution of the 1840s and 1850s, cast iron became an important structural element and architectural feature for expanding urban centers because it could take 126



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Thomas A. Adams residence, 1858–61. Salted paper photo print. Jay Dearborn Edwards, photographer. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1982.32.8

a variety of shapes, lengths, and decorative patterns. Cast iron was inexpensive to make and easy to assemble; furthermore, it could be made in sections and bolted together, allowing large interior spaces to be spanned and covered without internal supporting columns. This structural system, first explored by Joseph Paxton in the 1851 ­Crystal Palace in London, soon found application in urban train stations, commercial buildings, and exhibition halls throughout the world. It was the model for Horticulture Hall, the signature building of the 1884–85 World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition in New Orleans. In the mid-nineteenth century, English, German, and Irish immigrants established cast-iron foundries in New York, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New Orleans, and soon local buildings included distinctive, decorative iron railings, fences and gates, galleries, furniture, fountains, columns, and even entire façades made of sections cast individually and bolted together in situ. Naturalistic patterns, such as corn stalks, morning glories, pumpkins, oak leaves and acorns, roses, and even monograms, became popular decorative themes for such architectural ornaments. Cast-iron sculptures, fences, and fountains were used in elaborate gardens such as James Robb’s in the Garden District and an unidentified house photographed by Theodore Lilienthal ca. 1867, which appears to have a cornstalk fence. Because iron fences could be manufactured in separate parts (including pickets, posts, gates, and finials), numerous combinations of patterns were possible. Special orders were also feasible, allowing customers to insert monograms or special designs. Use of cast-iron elements such as balconies, fences, and railings became so widespread throughout New Orleans that they have become a significant architectural “signature” of the nineteenth-century community, one that continues today in residential neighborhoods and public parks.

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Local foundries, such as Wood, Miltenberger & Company (1858–61), G. C. Tempe (1866–75), and Hinderer’s Iron Works (1886–1920s), supplied demands for these products in New Orleans and throughout the country. Wood, Miltenberger, a subsidiary of a Philadelphia foundry, fabricated the distinctive cornstalk fence for the Col. Robert H. Short Villa, 1448 Fourth Street at Prytania Street in the Garden District, one of three that remain in the city.3 Hinderer’s, established in 1886 as a local and regional supplier of cast iron, was known primarily for fences and furniture. They marketed their products through broadside catalogs printed on large sheets of paper, folded to measure 12 ​ _21 ​"  × 19". ­Catalog “No. 7” (from the 1890s) contains eight leaves, six of which show urns; the other two illustrate furniture (benches, chairs, and tables), fences, fountains, arbors, and even a “white rabbit.” A note on the bottom of one sheet reads, “Ask for special fence catalogue.” After about 1900, catalogs include garden furniture and fountains. Early-nineteenth-century sidewalks were wooden planks laid directly on dirt

Page from Hinderer’s Iron Fence Works catalog, 1890s. Author’s collection



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that, given local weather conditions, was often mud. Streets were generally unpaved until late in the nineteenth century, and often they were strewn with all types of household garbage and flooded with standing water and storm drainage. When paved, sidewalks, garden paths, and other surfaces were brick (laid in a distinctive herringbone pattern), slate, or bluestone from New England. Later in the nineteenth century, municipal streets were paved with granite blocks, some of which had come into the city as maritime ballast. Curbs often were thick slate slabs, laid on end, or granite, laid horizontally, to create open storm sewers. Remnants of these streetscape details remain in isolated parts of the city.

Washington Street, ca. 1858–61. Salted paper photo print. Jay Dearborn Edwards, photographer. Note the wide, unpaved street with stone gutters and brick sidewalks. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1982.32.4

Judging from visual and written evidence, New Orleans gardens developed over the nineteenth century into spaces that were well furnished with plants as well as other decorative features, and by the century’s end, gardens there resembled gardens in other American communities where people took an interest in how private property was presented to the public. Certainly the local plant palette, augmented by growing numbers of nurseries and expanding lists of plants, facilitated exuberant gardens with lush and colorful planting combinations. This energy and enthusiasm for outdoor spaces continued well into the twentieth century, as local ­residents, now with increasing leisure time and interests in outdoor activities away from home, began to expand their open-space horizons into public parks.

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IV Horticultural Content Pl a n ts a n d T h ei r Use s This morning we arrived at New Orleans, now said to contain about 45,000 inhabitants. . . . In the neighbourhood of the city, and along the coast, the beautiful groves of orange trees, orchards of the fig, and other productions of the mildest climates, sensibly indicate our approach to the tropical regions, where the dreary reign of winter is for ever unknown. But little pains as yet have been taken to introduce into this country, though so thickly settled, the ornamental and useful plants which it is calculated to sustain. We yet neither see the olive, the date, nor the vineyard.    —T hom a s Nu t ta l l , 1820, quoted in Susan Delano McKelvey, Botanical Exploration of the Trans-Mississippi West, 1790–1850

Thomas Nuttall, an early-nineteenth-century botanical explorer, visited New ­Orleans in February 1820. At first reading, his account of open spaces approaching the city appears to describe a community ignorant of the “ornamental and useful plants” he thought appropriate for its size. More likely, however, his observation characterizes a community that was just beginning to use plants for reasons other than sustenance, even though it was more than one hundred years old. By 1820, New Orleans was a community that was beginning to prosper and Louisiana had joined the United States. As the city grew, its resources grew accordingly. Residents were living in an increasingly sophisticated urban environment. The city was expanding and the economy was growing; consumer products available elsewhere in American urban centers were available here. Having examined the spatial characteristics of open spaces, we now turn to plants and how they have been used within the context of their times. This section examines native and introduced plants and nonornamental plants used for both agricultural production and medicinal purposes; ornamental plants are examined in part VII, “Horticultural Literature,” as part of a larger discussion of the commercial availability of horticultural materials and access to horticultural goods and services. Part VIII concludes with a general discussion of plant lists (ornamental and nonornamental) and how various sources, when correlated, give information about how plants have been used over time.

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Early settlers found an environment primeval yet full of promise. In the 1720s, André Pénicaut, an early French pioneer, wrote that if the “excessive growth of trees” were cleared, “the country of Louisiana would be a terrestrial paradise with the agriculture that would be developed there where wheat grows a great deal bigger than in France. In this country there is an astonishing abundance of game of every kind of species and fish in the rivers just as plentiful. There are fruits in great quantity and of a better taste than the fruits in France, the climate a little bit warmer.”1 Another account, from an unnamed “late French Writer,” appears in the 1774 edition of Antoine-Simon Le Page du Pratz’s Histoire de la Louisiane, a memoir of personal observations recorded when he lived in the Louisiana colony between 1718 and 1734, published in English translation as The History of Louisiana: “One cannot help lamenting the lethargic state of that colony [Louisiana], which carries in its bosom the bed of the greatest riches; and in order to produce them, asks only arms proper for tilling the earth, which is wholly disposed to yield an hundred fold. Thanks to the fertility of our islands, our Sugar plantations are infinitely superior to those of the English, and we likewise excel them in our productions of Indigo, Coffee, and Cotton.”2 This description gives insight into the environment as well as colonial French settlers. It might seem difficult to understand how the “lethargic state” of the Louisiana colony could produce sugar plantations “infinitely ­superior” to English examples, other than to conclude that success was possible here with ­little work, barring periodic natural impediments such as storms and flooding. There is no evidence, however, that coffee ever grew in New Orleans. In the colonial period as now, much of the Louisiana environment consisted of swamps with indistinct demarcations between land and water. While the ­Mississippi River, with its ever-changing pathway into the Gulf of Mexico, dominated the landscape, there were also numerous networks of rivers, bayous, and lakes throughout the region. Barrier beaches, known as chénières, separated coastal marshes from the gulf; they were composed mainly of sand, matted undergrowth, and occasional trees. Across the lower half of Louisiana, marshes gradually gave way to the lowlands and then to coastal plains. There was little change of elevation along coastal areas. The soil in these areas, as well as in areas adjacent to the Mississippi River, consisted of alluvial and silt deposits, the residue of thousands of years of the river’s periodic flooding. High in organic content, it supported a variety of lush vegetation. The semitropical climate included sustained periods of high heat and humidity. Freezing weather was rare, and growing seasons generally would last throughout the year. Many early colonies, including New Orleans, were established in areas next to water corridors. Even after man-made levees were built from the late eighteenth century onward to protect developed areas, heavy rains brought periodic flooding to developed areas due to inefficient means of handling storm-water runoff. Tropical storms, with attendant devastation, were common. Nomadic Native American tribes had learned how to negotiate these situations and survive in this environment, verdant and fertile on one hand yet difficult and threatening on the other, but for European settlers, everyday life was a battle for survival that required



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accommodating known European customs and practices to New World conditions, transitions that were not always successful. Understanding plants and their uses from precolonial days to the twenty-first century requires weaving together many different strands, including agricultural functions, medicinal applications, horticultural availability, and publications related to plants. It is from this whole cloth that we can begin to understand more fully the uses of plants and the design of open spaces.

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8 Nat iv e A mer ic a n Agr icu lt u r a l Econom y

When European settlers first arrived, there were many Native American tribes in coastal areas along the lower Mississippi River. Obviously they had learned how to survive and prosper in this environment, and it was from these tribes that early settlers learned how to stay alive. For most of the eighteenth century, the new colony’s residents were concerned with carving out a community from the dense swamps, putting food on their tables, and surviving natural disasters and pestilence; creating ornamental gardens and pleasant public open spaces was not a priority. Natives of the lower Mississippi River valley had well-established traditions of hunting, fishing, and cultivating and gathering native fruits and vegetables. The relative importance of particular means of food production varied from tribe to tribe, depending on environmental conditions: those who lived primarily in swampy regions depended more on fishing, while those who occupied drier areas might depend more on farming. Also, seasonal fluctuations in environmental conditions contributed to the nomadic nature of these communities.1 The historian Carl J. Ekberg has pointed out that colonial patterns of agricultural land development—long, narrow plots with river frontage, usually fewer than 200 acres in size—were rooted in medieval French practices.2 While these patterns continued under subsequent Spanish and British regimes that colonized the region, settlers learned agricultural techniques from natives. Both the forms of production employed by colonial settlers and the food crops grown mirrored native practices, and settlers even appropriated sites left or abandoned by natives. Methods of cultivation learned from natives, together with adopting their techniques of fishing, hunting, and gathering, mitigated the environmental constraints and economic uncertainties of surviving in this foreign and strange land.3 Eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century travel accounts commonly noted the varied, luxuriant natural vegetation, the presence of Native Americans, and their agricultural role in the colony. The region’s vegetative bounty, coupled with available and, for the most part, cooperative sources of native labor, precluded any immediate need for European colonists to advance their horticultural skills and arrested their interest in perfecting agricultural techniques. In areas of initial colonial settlement, vegetation included plants associated with coastal marshlands and bottomland hardwood forests. European settlers marveled at both the vegetation and the wildlife they found here; most mammals, fowl, fish, and reptiles found in the region were species completely new to early colonists. 135

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Since colonial times, the local environment has been the subject of investigation and analysis, yet a modern inventory of native flora does not exist. The eminent botanist and historian Joseph Ewan completed “A Bibliography of Louisiana Botany” in 1967 as the first part of a projected Flora of Louisiana, and this work, even if never finished, guides an investigation into early botanical references.4 Louisiana had hundreds, even thousands, of vegetative species, both native and introduced. Definitive lists of native and introduced species are challenging to compile because of the difficulties in assigning precise dates to plant introductions. Some eighteenth-century accounts of Louisiana—Ewan cites sixteen publications from 1728 to 1791—were narratives of what early explorers found, and others were reports written to encourage commercial and economic development of the colony. That of François Benjamin Dumont de Montigny, previously discussed for its sketches, contains five chapters of particular interest with regard to local plants and horticultural practices: “Plants, Fruits, Vegetables and edible herbs that grow in this Country”; “Of Rice and Corn, and the manner of Making Bread”; “Tobacco and the Manner of Cultivation”; “Indigo; Manner of Cultivating and Making It”; and “Cultivated and Wild Fruit Trees of Louisiana.”5 Later written descriptions of the colonial landscape include narratives by military officers and, more often, botanical accounts of travelers and plant scientists who often isolated native plants and brought them into common cultivation either locally or in their sponsors’ gardens elsewhere. Examples include Jean-Bernard Bossu’s Travels in the Interior of North America, 1751–1762, and Le Page du Pratz’s The History of Louisiana from 1774.6 These descriptions provide firsthand information about native vegetation and agricultural enterprises in the colony and observations on how the territory might be exploited by the colonial settlement. Observations of the local landscape were mainly made from a botanical rather than ornamental perspective, reflecting the scientific curiosity and commercial perspectives of the authors. Expeditions in North America established the botanical diversity of the land east of the Mississippi River, and they continued into the nineteenth century as the country expanded into the West. With the horticultural richness of these areas firmly established, publications began to appear that documented regional characteristics, plants, and animals. As the eighteenth century ended, other publications appeared of local interest, corresponding with increased availability of horticultural publications elsewhere in America and abroad. The French military officer Jean-Bernard Bossu visited Louisiana in the mid­eighteenth century, and he reported on his travels in a series of letters. He wrote in a simple, straightforward style that is descriptive and evocative of what he encountered. Well received when they first appeared, his three-volume narratives are now obscure; nevertheless, they describe Louisiana’s inhabitants, native flora and fauna, the terrain, and cultivated crops. The persimmon, for instance, is “an excellent astringent and a superb remedy for dysentery and the bloody flux.” Also mentioned are ­orange and peach trees, hickory and pecan trees, magnolia trees (“which would be decorative in the royal gardens of Europe”), grapevines, and wax myrtle. Bossu discusses plants brought into the colony (“All the European fruit which has been planted here is doing extremely well”) together with sugarcane and sugar production (“The more fertile the



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land, the thicker and taller the plants grows”). He records medicinal plants, including “ginseng, . . . jalap, rhubarb, smilax, snakeroot, sarsaparilla, and St.-John’s-wort” and how Indians used plants such as sassafras, bitter gourds, maidenhair fern, and cassina. “The Indians,” he notes, “know a thousand medicinal plants good for purifying the blood.” He concludes by discussing indigo, cotton, and tobacco.7 Another early investigation of Louisiana flora was recorded by Antoine-Simon Le Page du Pratz in his Histoire de la Louisiane, a memoir of observations from 1718 to 1734 sent to the French government, together with around three hundred ­species of plants thought to be of medicinal value. Many scholars, including the colonial historian Joseph Tregle, praise Le Page du Pratz’s work for its descriptive passages relating to the Natchez Indians, with whom the author lived for many years. Equally important, yet perhaps less appreciated by scholars, are his descriptions of the region’s natural resources, based, as were the Indian passages, on personal experiences and observations. These descriptions are, as Tregle notes, “impressive for [their] comprehensiveness and accuracy” and are “a charming record of how our forebears perceived their own environment.” Included were lengthy discussions of food crops (corn, wheat, rye, barley, oats, rice, potato, and melon), fruits (grape, persimmon, plum, peach, citrus, apple, olive, and nut), forest trees, shrubs and “excrescences,” and “creeping plants,” providing detailed information and observations on plants and period agricultural practices.8 It is in Le Page du Pratz’s section entitled “The Natural History of Louisiana” that we find chapters on both flora (“Corn and Pulse,” “Fruit Trees,” Forest Trees,” “Shrubs and Excrescences,” “Creeping Plants”) and fauna (“Quadrupeds,” “Birds and Flying Insects,” and “Fishes and Shell-Fish”).9 Flowers, he wrote, are in “such abundance that from the month of May til the end of summer, you can hardly see the grass in the meadows; and of such various hues that one is at a loss which to admire most and declare to be the most beautiful.”10 He discusses the cultivation of corn; grains (wheat, rye barley, oats, and rice); French beans (red and black); potatoes; and melons such as cushaw (a pumpkin) and watermelon. In “Fruit Trees,” he mentions a native grape (likely scuppernong) and muscadine (different common names for the same plant, Vitis rotundifolia); persimmon (Diosporus virginiana); plum; pawpaw (Asimina triloba); peach; fig; orange and citron trees; wild apples; whortleberry; red and white mulberries; olive trees; and walnut, hickory and chestnut trees.11 Among the trees Le Page du Pratz discusses are the cypress; pine tree; laurel; sassafras; maple; “myrtle wax-tree” (wax myrtle, Myrica cerifera); “­cotton-tree” (likely cottonwood, Populus deltoides); locust; oak; ash; elm; beech; and hornbeam. Often, Le Page de Pratz gives practical, economic or medicinal uses for plants, together with information about where examples are commonly found. Included in the 1774 edition of Le Page du Pratz’s work are sections written by François Dumont de Montigny and published elsewhere as the Historical Memoirs of Louisiana (Paris, 1753), previously mentioned.12 Dumont discussed the cultivation and processing of tobacco and indigo and the region’s potential as a source of materiel for naval stores. Many observers remarked on how local resources would benefit naval efforts: tall, straight pine trees as ship masts; hemp for ropes; ready supplies of turpentine, tar, and pitch from native pine trees; and live oak for shipbuilding.

9 Col on i a l Agr icu lt u r a l Econom y

Colonial settlers, whether they arrived free or enslaved, encountered a strange, new environment. Some plants looked familiar, and early settlers noticed how elements of the local landscape might be used for economic gain. Bernard Diron d’Artaguette, sent to the colony in 1708 as commissary-commissioner, wrote the French minister of the navy, Louis Phélypeaux, the Comte de Pontchartrain, that “the Indians plant their corn on fields that are inundated by the overflowing waters; these are the only places that are productive. I think that rice will grow there. I have not been able to obtain any except some that is suitable for eating.”1 This suggests that d’Artaguette was acquainted with French agricultural practices, able to compare them with what he saw in the colony, and could imagine how conditions there might facilitate future agricultural endeavors. A plant many early settlers recognized was native red mulberry (Morus rubra), closely related to the white mulberry of China (Morus alba) on which silkworms feed.2 Knowing of the high demand for silk, French settlers immediately recognized the economic potential of this plant for the colony, and it became the basis for early agricultural endeavors. As early as 1709, the French explorer Mandeville wrote, “mulberry trees which are rather tall trees with fruit black and long are found all along the river, but they are easy to plant and they grow everywhere. Some are planted at the fort which bear fruit every year and demand no care. . . . There are no white mulberry trees.” Another reference to mulberry trees comes in a letter from Commissary-Commissioner Jean Baptiste de Bois du Clos to Louis Phélypeaux in 1713. Even though they existed in great quantity and “it is not necessary to send other young trees,” he cautioned against expecting any return on the mulberry investment for five or six years. Later, he suggested that the colony would benefit from having someone who understood the feeding of silkworms and how to produce silk. In 1722, it was reported that Sieur Dubuisson had made a sample of good-quality silk and sent it to Paris. In 1723, colonial governor Cadillac wrote to Pontchartrain: “There are also many mulberry trees, so that in order to make silk it is only necessary to plant them on the farms, even in the streets and in the roads. In regard to silkworm eggs we must not be troubled about how we shall obtain them because we can get them from the English by way of the river of the Alabamas and even nearer by way of Tampico where the Spanish carry on a rather considerable commerce in them as well as in wool and cotton.” This passage suggests that early in the colony’s life, cross-cultural trade in agricultural commerce existed. Later, in 138



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1729, the Compagnie des Indes established provisions for the silk industry in the colony. It was soon evident that its success depended upon increased populations of women and children to care for the silkworms. In spite of the apparent potential of this endeavor and interest in it, the industry was a failure.3 The first two slave ships that arrived in the French colony in 1719 brought, according to the colonial historian Gwendolyn Hall, “several barrels of rice seed and African slaves who knew how to produce the crop”; therefore both African labor and African agricultural technology assured the colony’s survival. Between 1719 and 1743, 5,987 slaves arrived in the Louisiana colony, 66 percent of whom (3,945) came from the Senegambia region of western Africa. As Hall points out, “all the major crops of eighteenth-century Louisiana were grown” in the Senegal River valley, an extremely fertile area that French observers compared with the Valley of the Nile. This early transference of agricultural technology and produce from Africa to colonial Louisiana began the cultural cross-fertilization that would grow throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and ultimately flower into the rich and unique multicultural heritage of the community.4 By 1720, rice was growing in great abundance in the colony, according to Hall, owing not only to African labor but also to agricultural technology from Africa, where it had been grown for centuries. The crop was so successful in Louisiana that French officials hoped it might soon supply demands for France. Indeed, in 1728, a surplus was sent to the French West Indies.5 Tobacco was planted in New World colonies in response to European demand, and during the early eighteenth century, those markets considered Louisiana tobacco superior to that from Virginia. Production demanded meticulous labor, and there were many stages from planting seeds to selling dried leaves at market when unforeseen circumstances could ruin an entire cycle of production. Yet growing conditions allowed several cuttings of the leaves during the season, the leaves were thick and oily, and there were hopes that the Louisiana colony would eventually supply all the tobacco that France could consume.6 Indigo grew wild along the Senegambian rivers, and a variety (Indigo suἀruticosa Mill.) also grew wild in Louisiana. It was not the cultivation of indigo but the intensity of its processing that required specialized skills. Since neither Louisiana natives nor early French settlers had this expertise, it was slaves from Africa with this knowledge who introduced and first applied this technology in the Louisiana colony.7 Indigo was exported from New Orleans as early as 1725 and in quantity by 1728. In 1737, a plan was formulated for a public factory in New Orleans, but it failed to materialize, and indigo remained a product of large plantations. By 1738, indigo was produced on fourteen or fifteen plantations along the Mississippi River near New Orleans. Cultivation of indigo was less complicated than that of tobacco, yet it was much more labor-intensive and required more capital investment, financial resources, and a larger labor force.8 The number of plantations around New Orleans increased from about fifteen in the 1730s to forty-seven in 1754, and fifty in 1762. By midcentury, the industry was well established: annual output had increased from about 70,000 pounds in 1738 to around 82,000 pounds in 1754 and 1762. The local product was of high quality and the price advanced, and by 1764, the quality

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e­ xceeded that produced in Santo Domingo. Until the 1790s, indigo was an important economic crop in the Louisiana colony, yet problems with shipping, delivery to markets, blight, insects, overproduction, depressed prices, depleted soils, and competition from new staples ruined both tobacco and indigo industries in the region. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, farmers had begun to grow other crops such as cotton and sugar. Eighteenth-century settlers knew of both cotton and sugarcane, though these crops were not established until the end of the century. Le Page du Pratz mentions cotton and its cultivation, as do later observers. The problem with this crop was in separating the fibers from the seed, and it was not until Eli Whitney’s invention of a workable cotton gin in 1793 that the crop became widely planted. Christopher Columbus carried sugarcane from the Canary Islands to Santo Domingo, and from there, it migrated to other islands in the West Indies, to Mexico, and then to Louisiana. A report from 1751 indicates it was being grown in the colony by the Jesuits and was tended by Africans acquainted with its culture. Efforts to granulate sugar from cane syrup proved unsuccessful until de Boré’s initiatives in 1794. Later experimentation with different varieties, together with protective tariffs in the early nineteenth century, facilitated the growth of the industry in Louisiana.9 German immigrants served an important role in the agricultural life of the eighteenth-century colony. Although their role has been mentioned in the writings of economic historians, the general impact of eighteenth-century German settlers in Louisiana, is, for the most part, unexplored. As the community prospered in the nineteenth century and new waves of immigrants arrived, Germans continued to play a significant part in expanded horticultural professions and industries in New Orleans.10 Much of the early colony’s history is intertwined with the ill-fated career of John Law, a Scottish mathematical genius and financial strategist who exercised great influence in France between 1716 and 1720, a time when France was in financial crisis. Law and his colleagues distributed handbills and pamphlets in the German states, the Low Countries, and the Swiss cantons describing the new Louisiana colony as “extremely pleasant” and capable of producing several crops per year. Using his skills at public relations, Law was initially successful in convincing many that the Louisiana colony was “paradise regained” because of its climate, abundant resources, and cooperative natives. Accounts vary, but Law’s efforts lured as many as four thousand immigrants from various German states to the French port of ­Lorient. Nearly one thousand, while waiting for passage abroad, became engagés (indentured workers) for Law’s Compagnie des Indes. Few actually sailed. It is estimated that half died in Lorient of epidemics, and others returned home. Of those who did sail, many died en route.11 Law had three concessions, according to Le Conte’s account, but there is confusion among historians about where the Germans settled. Many agree the Germans settled along the Mississippi River in present-day St. Charles, St. John the Baptist, and Tangipahoa parishes, west and north of New Orleans on the Mississippi River’s east bank. Usner suggests that these new residents used Indian fields left fallow or abandoned due to migration, war, or epidemics. In addition, he reports



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that ­between 1708 and 1722, Indian slaves working on Louisiana farms increased in numbers and instructed new residents in agricultural techniques.12 Regardless of where the Germans settled, most emigrated because they wanted to build new lives. In exchange for passage, many willingly indentured themselves to work for years in conditions only marginally better than those of enslaved peoples. Yet in general, these industrious German settlers were a stabilizing force in the disarray and confusion of early colonial life. They became notable providers of agricultural products, and their settlements became known as the Côte des Allemands (German Coast).13 Le Conte’s essay of 1924 indicates that census records exist for 1721, 1722, 1724, and 1726, recording settlers’ names and places of origin. According to recently transcribed records of the 1724 census, almost one-third (35, or 29 percent) of the German population (of 119) living on the German Coast (or between New Orleans and the German Coast) listed their occupation as either “farmer” or “gardner.” Other than the listing “no designation” (which also had 35), this is by far the largest-­single occupation of the twenty-eight categories given. The closest ones below these in quantity are “widow” (7, or 6 percent), and “cobbler” (5, or 4 percent); fourteen categories listed only one person.14 The eighteenth-century frontier economy, mixing cultivation of small crops with hunting, fishing, and gathering, was regional, complex, and dynamic. More than anything else, the marketing of agricultural goods and services brought “Indians, settlers, and slaves together under flexible circumstances,” according to Usner. As the colony’s economy became more oriented toward agriculture in the 1760s, stratification by race and class became more obvious, reinforcing divisions that remained through the educational, social, political, and legal systems.15 The colonial agricultural economy of the Gulf Coast and the lower banks of the Mississippi River depended more on the skills and produce brought from ­settlers’ homelands than on Native American agricultural techniques and indigenous plants. In fact, Hall claims that “reliance upon the Indian nations to furnish corn quickly wore thin as Indians were encouraged to hunt for pelts and engage in warfare for the benefit of France. French officials often had to feed hungry Indian nations.”16 Yet a total lack of involvement between colonial settlers and natives seems unlikely. Other scholars maintain that colonial settlers and their slaves generally copied forms of food production long used by natives. Regardless of the degree of agricultural involvement among natives and colonial settlers, adaptations naturally evolved as populations grew and the economy expanded. The agricultural marketplace, where settlers and Indians freely exchanged agricultural goods and produce, became the center of cross-cultural commerce.17 Hall characterizes colonial Louisiana as “not the place to come to establish production of commodities for export. French Louisiana was very poor.” While the environment was rich in resources, its colonial occupants were ill-equipped to take advantage of what they found here. Exchanges in agricultural practices between colonial settlers and natives were inevitable; yet expertise in agricultural techniques and horticultural practices arrived in the form of German farmers, and soon after, in African slaves.18

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Colonial farms were small, long, and narrow plots that faced the river. Prior to 1731, according to Le Conte, farmers were required by law to grow corn and wheat, and when this obligation was dropped, they planted fruit trees and vegetables and raised poultry and cattle. Surplus production, after supplying family needs, was sent to the New Orleans colony for sale. By midcentury, according to Bossu, these “very industrious people suppl[ied] the capital with food.” By the mid-1750s a surplus allowed exports of produce to the French West Indies.19 Writing in 1761, the Englishman Thomas Jefferys (“Geographer to his Majesty”) described the German settlement and the contribution of its inhabitants to the regional agricultural economy: “Here, by means of their application and industry, they have got extremely well cultivated plantations, and are the purveyors of the capital, whither they bring, weekly, cabbages, salads, fruits, greens and pulse of all sorts, as well as vast quantities of wildfowl, salt pork and many excellent sorts of fish.”20 Settlement of the German Coast expanded with immigrants from Lorraine and French Acadians from Nova Scotia in 1765 and 1766. This area had become one of the most prosperous communities of the region due to the enterprising character of the settlers and the fertility of the soil. The early German agricultural presence in the region established an underlying influence on the growth of New Orleans agriculture and horticultural commerce that found expression in different ways through from colonial times through the end of the nineteenth century and, to a limited degree, to the present.21 While the colonial community grew, German agricultural influences remained important but were diluted as the economy grew and farming operations expanded from a small-scale orientation to plantations of a larger, more commercially oriented operation. The subsequent growth of other segments of the population whose roles included agricultural tasks lessened the proportional German role in agricultural matters. Through the second half of the eighteenth century, plantation owners were French, Spanish, or Creole; their agricultural workers were primarily slaves from Africa and the Caribbean. German immigrants, from early colonial times onward, were skilled at domestic-oriented farming: they grew fruits and vegetables for personal use and sold the surplus in urban markets. As the agricultural economy expanded and stratified, this role remained constant. Crops such as rice, indigo, and sugarcane required significantly larger investments of land and workers, generally beyond the means of German immigrants. These crops became significant parts of the agricultural economy only when capital and resources (land and workers) could be accumulated. While Germans remained active in domestic-oriented food production, ­Native Americans, Africans, and West Indians, more familiar with the production requirements of sugarcane, rice, and indigo, became primary, if forced, components of the expanding agricultural economy. Even with food crops grown by German immigrants, the community in the late colonial and early American periods was not abundantly supplied with fruits and vegetables. The French botanist and explorer Charles-César Robin (ca. 1750–?) discussed his travels in Louisiana, West Florida, and the West Indies between 1802 and 1806 in his three-volume Voyages dans l᾿intérieur de la Louisiane . . . (Paris, 1807).



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Included in volume 3 was a “Flore Louisianaise” that was later translated and expanded by Constantine Samuel Rafinesque and published in 1817 as Florula Ludoviciana; or A Flora of the State of Louisiana. Finding Robin’s Voyages dans l’interieur has proved difficult. There is one twentieth-century translation, but it does not include the complete three volumes and omits the “Louisiana Flora” entirely.22 The translation does, however, include references made by Robin to horticultural conditions and practices in New Orleans at the time of his visit, soon after the community became American. For instance, he noted that The high cost of labor is reflected in the high price of vegetables in the markets, where fish, game and meat are very cheap, these not being the product of much labor. Vegetables are so rare that sometimes they are lacking altogether. In the spring there are no first fruits, although the cold spells are so transient that with a few precautions one would hardly notice the winter. No one knows anything about seed beds, greenhouses or shelter, nor anything at all about the art of vegetable gardening. In the dry periods of summer there are no lettuces or other leafy vegetables, because no one waters or protects the young plants. Notwithstanding the fact that a person near the city can make six, seven, eight, nine, ten piastres a day from the sale of vegetables, not even these exorbitant prices have stimulated anyone to perfect this branch of agriculture. I have examined several of the large vegetable gardens. They are shameful, not to the slaves who cultivate them; they don’t know any better, but to their masters who hardly bother to oversee work outside of the fields. The expense of slave labor on the one hand prevents the introduction of new products, and, on the other, stunts the ingenuity and industry of the masters themselves.23

These observations are obviously those of someone well acquainted with horticulture, cultivation techniques, and agricultural economy. They suggest that, well into the nineteenth century, the community itself was not self-sufficient in growing fruits and vegetables and was still dependent upon external supplies for these needs.

10 Hort icu lt u r a l Econom y of E nsl av e d P opu l at ions

While the colonial economy’s dependence on enslaved labor for agricultural production is recognized, less apparent is the contribution of slaves’ technical expertise to making the cultivation of rice, indigo, and sugarcane viable components of the agricultural economy. More obscure are the contributions that enslaved people made to the colony’s prosperity by their individual engagement in agricultural endeavors for personal and economic benefit, even if these activities were constrained by the “peculiar institution.” Many of the African slaves brought to ­Louisiana in the 1720s for agricultural work also began to grow food as a means of supplementing food allotments and gaining some measure of self-determination, if limited by legal restrictions. Soon they were actively involved in growing familiar things and selling them on the side.1 Two eighteenth-century sources supply evidence of these practices. Le Page du Pratz, living in the colonial settlement between 1718 and 1734, recognized the value of allowing slaves to grow familiar crops to satisfy their tastes and needs for subsistence. He recommended to slave owners that “it is for your own interest to give your negroes a small piece of waste ground to improve . . . and to engage them to cultivate it for their own profit, that they may be able to dress a little better, by selling the produce of it, which you ought to buy from them upon fair and just terms. It were better that they should employ themselves in cultivating that field on Sundays . . . than do worse.”2 Dumont de Montigny also noted this practice: “Most of the slaves clear grounds and cultivate them on their own account, raising cotton, tobacco, &c. which they sell. Some [masters] give their negroes Saturday and ­Sunday to themselves, and during that time the master does not give them any food; they then work for other Frenchmen who have no slaves, and who pay them. Those who live in or near the capital generally turn their two hours at noon to account by making faggots to sell . . . ; others sell ashes, or fruits . . . in season.”3 There were practical advantages to allowing slaves to grow their own foods. Persistent food shortages resulting from the general hardships of colonial life and the periodic lack of success in agricultural ventures (tobacco and indigo) reinforced close relations between slaves and Indians that had been established early in the colony’s life when African slaves and Indians intermarried. A shortage of female African slaves during the colonial period resulted in African males taking Indians females as wives, and runaway African slaves often took refuge in Indian “maroon communities” in nearby swamps outside the settled areas.4 144



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Later in the eighteenth century, slaves were the most common peddlers of foodstuffs in the lower Mississippi River valley. There were sent to towns in the region by their owners to sell horticultural products on their owners’ behalf, and they used this opportunity to sell their own products, independent of their owners’ economic interests. The community’s legal system, the Code Noir, exempted slaves from forced work on religious holidays and Sundays (it was later extended to Saturdays). This “free time” allowed slaves opportunities to work their own gardens and lands allocated to them. Throughout the eighteenth century, slaves continued to sell their own farm products, leading to the development of parallel urban-­oriented agricultural economic systems based on the independent interests of slaves and owners. This small-scale cultivation and marketing of foodstuffs had several ­advantages. First, it helped slave owners to maintain their workers; second, it provided consumers a larger selection and quantity of fresh produce; and finally, it allowed the enslaved some degree of autonomy from their masters. Slaves’ produce was sold in separate marketplaces and in the streets, enabling them, in some cases, to become self-sustaining participants in the New Orleans market economy.5 The variety of agricultural products and horticultural cultivation techniques changed in colonial Louisiana with the influx of new settlers and the plants, seeds, and animals they brought with them. As previously mentioned, Africans who knew how to cultivate rice were sought for the Louisiana colony prior to 1720. Soon, rice was commonly planted because it could be grown with success more reliably than other grains, such as the corn (or maize) grown by the Indians. Rice quickly became both a local staple as well as an export commodity. Indigo was cultivated throughout the colonial period because of European demand, and in the 1760s it was the most valuable export commodity per pound for the colony. By the early nineteenth century, however, sugarcane had replaced indigo as the most profitable local crop because of shrinking international demands for indigo, competition from other sources, local crop failures in 1793 and 1794, and the depletion of local soils.6 Another plant integral to the local economy was okra, brought by slaves to the New World directly from Africa or from Africa through the Caribbean. This plant (Hibiscus esculentus, or, more commonly, Abelmoschus esculentus) is a relative of cotton (Gossypium sp.) and two ornamentals, hibiscus (Hibiscus rosa-­sinensis) and althea (Hibiscus syriacus), commonly found in local gardens from the nineteenth century onward. Often called “gumbo” or “gombo,” okra quickly became a staple of local cuisine.7

11 Medici na l Use s of Pl a n ts

A smaller, though important, part of the colonial agricultural economy in which European settlers, Native Americans, and slaves participated involved the uses of plants for medicinal purposes, a general area often mentioned in eighteenth­century travel accounts but largely unexplored in available scholarship.1 The medical historian Kay K. Moss uses twelve previously unpublished sources to explore “homespun remedies” and practices primarily in the backcountry of the ­Carolinas.2 The ethnobotanist Walter C. Holmes investigates the “folk botany” of contemporary French-speaking areas in Louisiana but does not necessarily explore Native American and historical names or uses of native plants.3 Both note problems inherent in their investigations with botanical nomenclature, obsolete terms, antiquated ideas, and colloquial spellings. For instance, Holmes states that in French Louisiana, “most medicinal uses were either acquired from the Indians or were known from similar plants familiar to French-speaking people” and that “most of the ethno-botany of French Louisiana is merely a collection of names, with few medicinal uses. . . . A large percentage were borrowed from Indian names or corrupted from English, Spanish, or Latin names of plants. The names of French origin were either applied to the same or very similar plants already known to French-­speaking people, or in many cases, applied to plants that appear similar but are not at all related botanically.”4 While there are stumbling blocks to a full comprehension of medical uses of local plants, works such as these inform an understanding of period practices. It is commonly thought that the Ursuline Convent in New Orleans, dating from the 1720s, had a herb garden, and that one of the duties of the Ursuline nuns was to tend the sick with potions developed from what grew there. Early maps indicate gardens near the convent and the colony’s church, and an eighteenth-century general instruction manual from the Ursuline Order gives generic, nonspecific instructions for a garden and related activities.5 Over the years various plant lists of the convent herb garden or from the colonial period have circulated, but no list has ever been fully documented with colonial sources.6 Having lived for several years with the Natchez Indians, Le Page du Pratz discusses in detail his exposure to Indian medicine, drawn from both personal and anecdotal experiences. He found it much more efficacious than French treatments, noting: “These are facts well known in the colony. The physicians of the country have performed many other cures, which, if they were to be all related, would 146



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r­ equire a whole volume apart; but I have confined myself to the three above mentioned, in order to shew that disorders frequently accounted almost incurable, are, without any painful operation, and in a short time, cured by physicians, native of Louisiana.”7 Along with discussions of plant characteristics and household uses, Le Page du Pratz also presents medical applications of local plants. Mention of three examples will suffice here: one is the “rattle-snake-herb” (herbe à serpent à sonnette in the original text; Sida spinosa L., Indian mallow or Indian hemp). When bitten by a rattlesnake, a person should immediately “take a root, bite off part of it, chew it for some time, and apply it to the wound,” and in several hours the poison will be extracted, “and no bad consequences need be apprehended.” Another is “ground-ivy,” a plant not botanically described, which “is said by natives to possess many more virtues than are known to our botanists.” It eases women in labor, it cures ulcers, and, as a remedy for the headache, “a considerable quantity of its leaves bruised, and laid as a cataplasm upon the head, quickly removes the pain.” In discussing the merits of the native “myrtle wax-tree” (wax myrtle, Myrica cerifera) in producing wax for candles (“it lasts longer than that of France”), he notes that “the astringent quality likewise renders it an admirable specific against a dysentery or looseness.” These remedies likely came from Indian sources, as both Sida spinosa and Myrica cerifera are native to North America and not commonly found in France, and they represent medical practices and remedies characteristic of the times; the difference is, of course, these practices came from native rather than ­European sources.8 At least one colonial historian has suggested that slaves from the Caribbean Islands and Africa, having brought expertise regarding medical uses of plants from their homelands, commonly served as surgeons and doctors. While little evidence is given to substantiate this claim, this assertion is plausible. Expertise based on plants and climate similar to local conditions likely made doctors and medical workers more effective than French doctors in treating local ailments.9 ­Obviously there are differences among plant inventories from among western Africa, the ­Caribbean Islands, and southern regions of North America, and these differences could account for the lack of immediate applications of Afro-Caribbean medical practices to colonial situations, and, in turn, an early reliance with native communities. But there are larger and more important similarities between Native American and Afro-­Caribbean cultures in their dependence on the land in general and on the use of botanical remedies, in specific, for alleviating human problems. Therefore it is ­reasonable to assume that the overriding affinities facilitated ­communication between the natives and colonists and provided another area of common ground ­between the two diverse cultures. Using native plants together with introduced species for medicinal purposes continued well into the nineteenth century, as both medical science and the delivery of medical services advanced in Louisiana. A nineteenth-century example of scholarship in this area is Dr. Josiah Hale’s lengthy and detailed “Report on the Medical Botany of the State of Louisiana,” published in two parts in the New­Orleans Medical and Surgical Journal in 1853.10 This article is a “catalogue of indigenous, naturalized, and a portion of the cultivated plants growing in this State,

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that have been employed in medicine, together with some observations on their medical properties.” Plants are listed in general divisions or classes, then by order, family, genus and species, following in general the Linnaean classification system. Common names are listed, and brief summaries of botanical properties, together with medical and sometimes household applications, are given. Plants in ninety-six families are listed (approximately 320 plants altogether). This list, written initially for medical purposes, is a comprehensive inventory of plants, both native and introduced, growing in Louisiana in the mid-nineteenth century and how they might be used. It also documents Native American medical uses of plants and verifies the presence of plants in local markets. This inventory has not yet been fully explored as a source of information about nineteenth-century uses for plants, both practical and medical. Comparing this list with Constantine Samuel Rafinesque’s translation and enlargement of C. C. Robin’s Florula Ludoviciana of just thirty-six years before, we can see how far the knowledge of botanical uses for plants, both native and introduced, had advanced in the region by the mid-nineteenth century. From these sources, we gain an understanding of the agricultural segment of the colonial economy and information about various uses of plants. In order to understand fully the organization, uses, and evolution of local open spaces, it will be useful to examine the period’s horticultural commerce: open-space contents; how contents came to the marketplace; and who was involved in the creation or management of open spaces. These subjects, often best described in contemporary published ­accounts, reveal design influences related to fashion and popular culture, economic forces of supply and demand, and advances brought by industrialization.

V Nineteenth-Century Horticultural Commerce An investigation of horticultural commerce of the nineteenth century involves an understanding of materials that were introduced, planted, harvested, sold, and used in local and regional landscapes, together with a look at marketplaces and an examination of those who were engaged in businesses that supplied and used these materials. Printed materials provide multiple opportunities to learn about both plants and people involved in creating and shaping the local landscape. Previous chapters have discussed colonial accounts of the landscape from the perspectives of observers not necessarily involved in commercial aspects of the horticultural economy. This chapter looks at nineteenth-century printed material from multiple sources as a way of understanding the content of horticultural commerce and the connections local suppliers had with national and international resources. First we look at local newspaper advertisements, from the early nineteenth century onward, to get information about what was being offered for sale in local marketplaces. Later in the century, nursery catalogs appeared, and we will consider their extensive listings of seeds and plants sold locally. Then, to gain an understanding of the character of the venues in which horticultural commerce took place, we look at the marketplaces where plants were sold.

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12 Pl a n ts for Sa l e

Newspaper Advertisements By the first decades of the nineteenth century, several newspapers were established, some with bilingual editions (English and French). They reported on local, national, and international news and sold space to local merchants who wanted to advertise their goods and services. Newspaper advertisements are an invaluable source of information about what was locally available and who was engaged in horticultural services. The earliest newspaper advertisement for a horticultural product found thus far is from March 21, 1810, in the Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane, and it offers “Fresh Garden Seeds” for sale. On January 13, 1813, L. F. Fabre offered “Engrafted Trees for Sale” in the same newspaper, and by the 1820s and 1830s, advertisements regularly appeared there for Yves LeBlanc, Wm. Smith, F. Newman, and “The French Florist Gardner” for plants, fruit trees, and garden flowers from both European and American sources. Notices announced the arrival of plants and seeds from France and New York, evidence of established horticultural commerce between the community and French suppliers. The earliest notice that connects horticultural products with a supply source is from the Courier of February 12, 1823: Garden & Flower-Seed Store, Corner of Royal and Toulouse Streets. The subscriber informs the Gardeners and Planters of New Orleans and vicinity that he has received per ship Jerome, from France, and per ship Bell, from New York, a Fine assortment of Seeds, All of the best crop, warranted fresh and of the best qualities; as also, a complete assortment of Flower Onions, and seeds of all descriptions. Yves Le Blanc.

Another advertisement in the Courier, from February 14, 1825, lists “a beautiful collection of exotic plants, fruit trees of all kinds, shrubs, 150 varieties of the rose, hyacinths, daffodils, jonquils, tuberoses, amaryllis (very scarce) imperial crowns,”

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together with “a complete assortment of f lower and kitchen vegetable seeds, a quantity of other plants and bulbous roots, too long to mention” available at the French Florist Gardners on Toulouse Street. In addition, a catalog is offered “explaining the names and colours both in French and English.” This advertisement, among others of the period, documents the availability of plants and offers early evidence of what may have been planted in local gardens. But what was sold and presumably planted in New Orleans is not necessarily an accurate description of what local gardens contained over time. For instance, many of the bulbs mentioned (hyacinths, daffodils, jonquils) will not reliably survive damp local soil conditions to return the next year. On the other hand, paperwhite narcissus and amaryllis, though “very scarce” according to this advertisement, do well in this climate. Local suppliers, particularly these early ones, may not have had enough practical experience in local growing conditions to advise clients well. In December 1823 and January 1824, Wm. Smith advertises “Fruit and Ornamental Trees, Shrubs, Plants &c.” as the local agent for the Linnaean Garden near New York. Also offered were “26 kinds of Orange, Lemon, Citron, Shaddock and Lime Trees, and 17 kinds of Camellia japonica or Japan Rose.” A free catalog is offered, and orders “will meet with prompt and punctual attendance.” This newspaper advertisement, representative of many examples from the 1820s and 1830s, is significant for two reasons: the mention of a commercial connection between a local supplier and the important American horticulturist William Prince and his Linnaean Garden in New York, and the notice of “17 kinds of Camellia japonica” being available for sale.1 William Robert Prince (1795–1869) was a fourth-generation American horticulturist, preceded professionally by his father, William Prince (1766–1842), his uncle ­Benjamin Prince, his grandfather William Prince (1725–1802), and his great­grandfather Robert Prince, a Huguenot immigrant who started the original nursery in Flushing, New York, in the 1730s. The Prince nursery is generally credited with being the first commercial nursery in America. Recognizing its importance, both English and American troops avoided damaging it during the Revolutionary War. By the end of the eighteenth century, it had become a center for horticultural cultivation and experimentation in America. The nursery expanded in scope and influence in the nineteenth century through its horticultural inventory, experimentations, and publications. Annual catalogs were issued between 1815 and 1850, together with important and widely circulated books on gardening and horticultural topics.2 Prince’s Linnaean Nursery became a center for cultivation of the camellia ­(Camellia japonica), which was introduced into America from Japan via Europe in the late 1700s and subsequently associated with horticulture and gardening in the American South. Through the influence of the Prince nursery, camellias were imported, grown, and distributed widely throughout nineteenth-century America, creating a frenzy of horticultural enthusiasm that peaked between 1830 and 1860. The twenty-first edition of the Prince catalog, dating from 1822, lists seventeen available varieties for sale, ranging in price from three to ten dollars.3 The mention of a connection between Wm. Smith and Prince’s Linnaean Nursery verifies an early commercial link between a nationally prominent supplier and a local source



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and establishes an early date for the introduction of Camellia japonica into gardens in New Orleans and rural Louisiana.4 Another newspaper advertisement from the 1820s that merits discussion is a notice that appeared in the December 26, 1826, edition of the Argus from bookseller Benjamin Levy, offering “Repton’s Observations on Landscape Gardening, 4to [quarto] with coloured plates.” Humphrey Repton (1752–1818) was a leading English gardener and garden writer of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. He began an influential career as a landscape gardener in the early 1790s, and his success was due in large part to the way he presented proposed garden schemes to his clients. His design recommendations were bound in red Morocco leather (hence the name “Red Books”), and the text was interspersed with watercolor images of before-and-after views of the client’s estate.5 He also published four illustrated books on landscape gardening: Sketches and Hints on Landscape Gardening (1795); Observations on the ἀ eory and Practice of Landscape Gardening (1803); An Inquiry into the Changes of Taste in Landscape Gardening (1806); and Fragments on the ἀ eory and Practice of Landscape Gardening (1816). Of course, there is no way to know what happened to the volume offered for sale in New Orleans in 1826, but speculation is tempting: did it become part of a local gardener’s library, and, if so, did it have any impact on local garden practices? Newspaper advertisements for agricultural products and services continue throughout the nineteenth century, including several that give insight into how plants were sold in the community and how forces from outside the community made an impact on local gardening. Within the span of just a few weeks in 1844, we learn from the New Orleans Bee that the bookseller William Kern had received “Buist on the Culture of Roses!!!/The Rose Manual; containing accurate descriptions of all the finest varieties of Roses . . . with directions for their propagation” (April 30). The next day, May 1, 1844, notice is given that “the sale of flowers and ornamental plants from the garden of Mr. Bevin Vincent will be continued at 10 o’clock AM on the Public Square.” Then, on Monday, May 6, Francis Fernandez will sell “without any reserve . . . on the public square opposite St. Louis Church: 100 pots flowers, such as roses, jessamines, gardenias, dahlias, and a number of ornamental plants.” Later that month, “Dahlias! Dahlias! will be sold at auction, . . . 200 of the above named beautiful plants of more than fifty different colours and hues, double, triple, and quadruple, imported form the North in pots and from one to three feet high.” And on April 24, 1850, an advertisement in the Daily Picayune offers “Plants, ­Shrubbery and Trees for Sale,” including “a great collection of Exotics from Mexico, Brazil, New Holland, the Indies and China.” These notices suggest that horticultural commerce, by the mid-nineteenth century, had advanced and that plants were being sold in New Orleans from northern suppliers as well as being imported from foreign countries. Clearly, in just a few decades, the landscape of the city had changed.

Nursery Catalogs Commercial nursery publications from the mid-nineteenth century into the twentieth century inform our understanding of local horticultural commerce by

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illustrating the content and means through which merchandise was marketed to the public. The earliest such commercial publication found thus far is a broadside from 1849, advertising “Garden Seeds/sold at the/New Orleans Seed Store & ­Horticultural Warehouse/by Comstock, Ferre, & Co./No. 11 Common Street, corner of Common & Tchoupitoulas, New Orleans.”6 It gives forty-one varieties of vegetables, together with twenty-two “Sweet Herbs,” six “Bird Seeds,” twenty-two “Agricultural Seeds,” fourteen “Esculent Roots & Plants,” and “Flower Seeds.” In recognition, perhaps, of the multicultural composition of local horticultural commerce, this publication includes names for plants in English, French, Spanish, and German, though words in the foreign languages are not always supplied. At the lower end of the sheet is the following: The proprietors of the wethersfield seed garden, at Wethersfield, Conn., one of the oldest and most extensive Seed Establishments in the United States, in connection with Joseph Affleck, Seedsman and Florist (from 101 St. Charles street) have taken the store No 11 Common street in New Orleans, where they intend keeping the large assortment and heaviest stock of garden, field and flower seeds, bulbous roots, flowering shrubs and plants, fruit trees, horticultural implements and books ever offered in the South. They will be constantly receiving from their Garden at the North, additional supplies of New and Fresh Seeds, of their New Growth, and will also keep an assortment of English and French Seeds of their own importation from the first seedsmen in London and Paris.

This publication gives important information about the character of horticultural commerce in New Orleans at midcentury. Common vegetable seeds are offered for sale there through the efforts of a Connecticut outlet and a local merchant, ­Joseph Affleck.7 The broadside lists a full range of horticultural supplies (varieties of vegetable and flower seeds, ornamental shrubs, fruit trees, tools, books), together with supplies from English and French sources. There is evidence of local suppliers providing resources for export—seeds are offered for sale to be exported to the “West Indies, Mexico, California, Texas, and . . . any part of the Southern or Western country,” suggesting as well, perhaps, reciprocal arrangements of importing plants from those regions. A second important publication is the Catalogue of Fruit, Shade and Ornamental Trees, Evergreens, Roses, and Miscellaneous Plants, cultivated and for sale by John M. Nelson, At the Magnolia Nurseries. . . . This catalog, printed in New ­Orleans in 1859, is one of the first extensive listings of plants available for sale in a local nursery.8 The Magnolia Nursery was located on Metairie Road, beyond what was then the Metairie Racetrack (and by the 1870s, the Metairie Cemetery), near what is now the Orleans–Jefferson parish line. A downtown plant depot was located on the corner of Camp Street and Lafayette Square. Nelson informs his clients first that his object in the “Fruit department” was to reduce the plants offered to those that are “well adapted to the soil and climate of the South, ripening in succession, over the entire Fruit season. Consequently, purchasers will be positively protected against disappointment.” He notes that “Planters in the South” are now beginning to show discrimination in their purchases,



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John M. Nelson’s catalog, Magnolia Nursery, 1859. Louisiana Research Collection, Tulane University

“­ discarding Northern and Western Trees, and planting those only of Southern growth.” He gives ordering instructions and then technical information about the “formation of the orchard” with regard to transplanting and pruning. The plant lists follow, and include nine pages of fruits and fifteen pages of “ornamental” plants (hardy evergreens trees and shrubs; hardy deciduous trees and shrubs; camellias; roses; and greenhouse plants).9 Richard Frotscher’s Almanac and Garden Manual for the Southern States illustrates how far horticultural publications had advanced by the time of its publication in 1891.10 According to information printed in the 1926 edition of Steckler Seeds for Southern Climes,11 Frotscher began to “distribute . . . pure selected seeds and plants, grown on Southern soil under Southern skies and Southern conditions,” to his clients. “Success was immediate,” and in 1896 the business was reorganized

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Richard Frotscher’s Almanac and Garden Manual for the Southern States, 1891. Rear cover. Author’s collection

as J. Steckler Seed Company. Adhering to “principles of purchasing and selection originated by the ‘Veteran Seedsman of the South’ [Richard Frotscher],” business steadily increased, with the firm remaining in operation until well into the twentieth century. The 1891 Frotscher catalog is 144 pages long and printed on newsprint. Its front cover is missing, but the back cover is a colorful chromolithograph showing three cabbages and fanciful typography. In his introduction to the catalog, Frotscher presents the “fourteenth annual edition” of his Almanac and Garden Manual, and, having passed his twenty-fifth year in business, notes that he is gratified to have “earned the confidence and esteem” of his customers. With “an extensive stock, both domestic and foreign,” he says that his “aim in presenting this work annually to the farmers and gardeners of the South, is to give in a plain, concise and intelligible manner, such practical instructions and directions as will aid them in their work, and while I am necessarily careful in the distribution of my manual, all those



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who desire the information it contains are heartily welcome to its benefits.” Like earlier almanacs and garden manuals, it begins with procedural notes on ordering material, and then follows with monthly information about sunrise, sunset, the phases of the moon, and significant events for each day of each month ­(“January 8, Battle of New Orleans & Inaug. Gov. Nicholls, 1877”). Instructions on arranging the vegetable garden follow, with directions for the rotation of crops, setting up a hotbed, and sowing seeds. Then a descriptive catalog of vegetable seeds follows: forty-eight vegetables; two kinds of tobacco seeds; seventeen “sweet and medicinal herbs”; and twenty-five grasses. Month-by-month instructions for planting are given. Next is a discussion of flower seeds: 104 flower varieties are given; twenty climbing plants; eight bulbous roots; and nine Japan lilies. Then there is a listing of available garden tools and implements, testimonials from satisfied customers, a list of “A Few Varieties of Acclimated Fruit Trees Suitable for the Southern States” (pears, plums, peaches, persimmons, figs, pomegranates, and pecans, along with grape vines and strawberry plants), and a price list. Another leading horticultural supplier in late-nineteenth-century New Orleans was Chris. Reuter, and the business he established in 1880 at 1136–40 Decatur continued for nearly one hundred years.12 The 1936 catalog gives this biographical information about Reuter: “Born and reared on a small truck- and dairy-farm, he realized, soon after starting in business, that need of better and more productive Vegetable and Farm Seeds. During his distinguished career he was recognized as one of the foremost agricultural authorities in the South.” By the second decade of the twentieth century, his biannual catalogs (there were spring and fall editions) featured colorful chromolithographic covers and lengthy illustrated descriptions of bedding plants, seeds, vegetables, and advice for the farmer (“trucker”) and home gardener. The spring 1917 catalog was fifty-two pages long, and the spring 1919 catalog (page 158) was eighty-two pages. These catalogs offered “Seeds for the South” and carried this claim: “Chris. Reuter the South’s Foremost Seedsman/Ask the Man Who Plants Them.” Early catalogs included personal letters from ­Reuter to his customers. Echoing sentiments often expressed by seedsmen of the nineteenth century (notably Thomas Affleck), Reuter offered free horticultural advice and promised prompt service and satisfaction with his seeds; he even included a free packet of flower seeds with each order. In the 1915 catalog, Reuter wrote about how he considered his customers his extended family, and talked about how his was a family business that included his four sons: Chris Jr., Louis, Richard, and James. By 1917, the business had moved to 1031–35 Decatur, and in 1926, it moved again to a large new building at 320 North Carrollton Avenue (at Bienville Street), with greenhouses, growing fields, and nearby railroad access. Over the years, the covers of the catalogs were used for marketing purposes, such as advertising their products as being “Seeds for the South” in 1919. The content of the catalogs evolved based on market conditions: seeds were difficult to import from Europe during the World War I years, for instance, and the 1924 catalog announces the discontinuation of “flowering and ornamental plants and nursery stock” due to quarantines and various regulations about transporting live plants across state lines (though, of course, Reuter’s plants had “never been

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Reuter’s spring 1919 catalog. Louisiana Research Collection, Tulane University

found to be contaminated with pests or disease”). Reuter’s business remained a fixture in local and regional horticultural commerce until it closed in the late 1970s; the building still exists but the greenhouses and growing fields are long gone.

13 M a r k et pl ace s

In colonial New Orleans, the first marketplaces were along Bayou St. John and the natural levee of the Mississippi River, where produce, meat, seafood, and commodities were sold and exchanged among colonial settlers and native inhabitants. Colonial trade routes and market sites reinforced those already established by local native communities whose members regularly brought produce, firewood, and baskets into town to sell to colonial settlers. Later, markets were established in town and by individual vendors with pushcarts. Natives continued to sell in public marketplaces well into the nineteenth century, maintaining a visibility in the community uncharacteristic of other American cities east of the Mississippi River.1 The marketplace adjacent the Mississippi River flourished in the colonial community. A permanent structure was first erected there in 1782, and the city market was chartered at that location in 1784. In 1813, an arcaded structure replaced the earlier building destroyed by fire and a hurricane. Designed by the architects Gurlie and Gillot, it had a central corridor and stalls between columns. In 1835, space was established here for Indian and African American vendors.2 Eventually, there were separate markets for fruits, vegetables, meats, poultry, fish, and wild game. The descriptions of the New Orleans public marketplace by the architect ­Benjamin Latrobe illuminate market life in the nineteenth-century city’s second decade: Along the levee, as far as the eye could reach to the West & to the market house to the East were ranged two rows of market people, some having stalls or tables with a tilt of awning of canvass, but the majority having their wares lying on the ground, perhaps on a piece of canvass, or a parcel of Palmetto leaves. The articles to be sold were not more various than the sellers, White men and women, & of all hues of brown, & of all classes of faces, from round Yankees, to grisly & lean Spaniards, black negroes & negresses, filthy Indians half naked, mulattoes, curly & straighthaired, quarteroons of all shades, long haired & frizzled, the women dressed in the most flaring yellow & scarlet gowns, the men capped & hatted. Their wares consisted of as many kinds as their faces. Innumerable wild ducks, oysters, poultry of all kinds, fish, bananas, piles of oranges, sugar cane, sweet & Irish potatoes, corn in the Ear & husked, apples, carrots & all sorts of other roots, eggs, trinkets, tin ware, dry goods, in fact of more & odder things to be sold in that manner & place, than I can enumerate. The market was full of wretched beef & other butcher’s meat, 159

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& some excellent & large fish. I cannot suppose that my eye took in less than 500 sellers & buyers, all of whom appeared to strain their voices, to exceed each other in loudness. A little further along the levee on the margin of a heap of bricks, was a book-seller whose stocks of books, English & French, cut no mean appearance.3

This narrative describes rather accurately the scene drawn by Alfred R. Waud in 1866 that would appear later in Harper’s Weekly (see below). Note the variety of produce and baskets in the foreground and, hanging in the background, the variety of apparel; note also the demographics of the crowd. Also of interest in the background are the brick building (the Red Store, reconstructed in the French Market in the late twentieth century) and the masts of ships docked on the river.

Alfred R. Waud, delineator, Noon on Sunday at the French Market, New Orleans, 1866. Pencil on gray paper. Courtesy ἀ e Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 1965.13

Henry Castellanos, writing in the 1890s, gives an account of the French Market from his experiences of earlier decades, noting that it was a “central point for sight-seers and Northern tourists,” particularly on Sundays and holidays. Here “every conceivable language, from Choctaw to Greek or Maltese, not to omit our sweet, euphonious Creole French, was spoken. A constant ebb and flow of human streams would often obstruct locomotion, and this annoyance, increased by the interlocking of baskets, was often a source of merriment to the visitor.” Castellanos noted how merchants were dressed and what they offered: “Here Aglaé, stately and gracious, with her turbaned head and ebony features wreathed in smiles, dispensed her steaming coffee to mo ti moun, as she patronizingly caller her younger



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visitors, nor was the calas tout chaud4 ever omitted. Here also was to be seen the tidy little quadroon, offering her Lilliputian bouquet of Spanish jessamines, carnations, and ­violets, as boutonnières for the old beaux, who, before proceeding to their usual morning avocations, were in the habit of taking a stroll through its crowded walks.” He described customers as well: “Here the demure dame, accompanied by her sable-hued domestique, and the comely damsel, on her way from church, usually chaperoned by some elder relative, were wont to make la tournée. A trysting place for lovers, many a billet doux was furtively exchanged, and many a side glance spoke a mysterious language.” He mentions Native American participants in the marketplace: “Many were the Indian squaws, squatting on the side pavements and vending their wares of ingeniously worked baskets, sassafras roots, genuine gombo filé5 and leaves of plantain;6 while the braves of the Nation, a set of dirty and inebriated rascals, stood around them disposed of their sarbacanes or blow-guns, with the furze-tipped arrows, at a picayune apiece.” Castellanos also notes that the market, being a place of community activities, also attracted the “politicians of the day” who came to meet constituents: “These frequently held their little reunions in this market, on Sunday mornings, where they discussed the leading topics of the week, laid out their little programmes, and, not unlike two celebrated Governors would frequently adjourn to a neighboring café during the intervals of discussion.”7 This narrative, together with Latrobe’s, describes a place that was alive with activities and a center of the multicultural community’s commercial life. It was one of the public spaces where all segments of the community met, and as such, it was a place that contributed significantly to building concepts of community among diverse populations. As Latrobe noted, public markets were places of cultural intersection in a diverse community, and throughout the nineteenth century, they were urban attractions for both residents and tourists.8 Late in the nineteenth century, many Italian immigrants found work in public markets, having come from traditions of exporting citrus and selling produce. As in other urban centers, Italian families in New Orleans developed prominent businesses in wholesale produce distribution that continue today. The French Market continued as a public marketplace of horticultural commerce and cultural interaction throughout the nineteenth century and into the early decades of the twentieth, with major renovations during the WPA days, the 1970s, and 2008. The market continues today, though it is now oriented more toward tourist trinkets than local produce. In response to this, and building on interest among local residents to support local growers, farmers’ markets with produce from local growers have since appeared elsewhere in the city, with increasing success. Perhaps as early as the late 1730s, and certainly by the 1740s and 1750s, Indian marketplace activities gravitated into what is now known as Congo Square. On the edge of the colony and near the jail and cemetery, Congo Square was the site of eighteenth-century market activities of slaves, drumming and musical activities, public amusements, and even executions. From its colonial beginnings to the present, Congo Square has had many names descriptive of both its inhabitants and the activities that took place there: Place des Nègres, La Place Publique, Place du Cirque, Circus Park, Circus Square, Congo Plains, Beauregard Square, and now

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The French Market, ca. 1880–90, George François Mugnier, photographer. Courtesy of the Collections of Louisiana State Museum

Congo Square, as part of Louis Armstrong Park. Though seemingly marginalized on the edge of the colony, this open space is on axis with the Place d’Armes and physically about the same size.9 It is commonly acknowledged that Congo Square was important in the development of the community’s unique African American culture, particularly in the areas of music and public celebration discussed earlier. What is less known is its importance as a marketplace and its significance as a public open space well into the twentieth century. Throughout its history, Congo Square served as an important meeting ground for many different cultural communities, particularly those of ­African origin, during the eighteenth century and early into the nineteenth century. Here slaves and Indians could sell what they had grown or gathered and mingle freely with other residents. Barriers of race, ethnicity, social status, and economic conditions seemed to disappear, allowing a more or less free exchange among all the community’s residents, and the basis for this “common ground” was horticultural commerce. By the end of the eighteenth century, independent marketing, hunting, and gardening activities of slaves came under close scrutiny. In the 1780s, slaves could no longer devote Sundays to their own work and had to carry passes that indicated their owners’ approval for selling goods, and by 1795, they could not “sell any thing without the permission of their master, not even the production of their own Fields, under penalty of Twenty-five Lashes.”10 Yet free-market practices continued well into the nineteenth century. By the 1830s New Orleans had grown, and additional public markets were required. Soon they existed all over the city, beginning a pattern of multiple smaller



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markets throughout the community instead of larger, centralized markets as found in other American cities. In the newly developed American Sector, St. Mary’s ­Market was constructed in 1836, the Poydras Market in 1837, and the Washington Market in 1838. Other public markets emerged as the city evolved. By 1860, there were fourteen public markets. In 1911, when the last public market was built, the number had increased to thirty-four, and by 1918, New Orleans had more public markets than any other American city. They had clearly become important components of the city’s urban scene.11 Public markets were centers of neighborhood activities relating to food, evolving from farmers’ markets where farmers rented stalls and sold directly to the public to distribution points controlled by municipal permits and local politics. Market revenues went directly into the city’s general fund, with apparently little spent on maintenance, upkeep, or supervision. By 1920, adequate supervision had lapsed, conditions were unhealthy, and the State Board of Health had issued injunctions against the operation of several markets. With increased competition from chain grocery stores, changing delivery systems of foodstuffs, and evolving customer demands, the public market system declined and all but disappeared in subsequent decades of the twentieth century.12

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VI Workforce Characteristics Ga r de n er s, Se edsm e n, a n d “Fl ou r ist” Pl a n t er s Conventional approaches to landscape history have dwelt more on the contents of gardens than on the context in which they exist. There are at least two logical reasons for this: First, landscape historiography, having evolved from histories of art and architecture, traditionally investigated iconic examples commissioned by those of wealth, power, and privilege and created by figures whose reputations were then enhanced by the scope and character of the works thus created. Second, it is mainly these iconic landscapes that have survived over time, enabling historical analysis either through patronage or by the general public’s acceptance of their importance as legitimate “works of art.” Therefore landscapes, like structures and ­artworks, have grown, in the minds of many, into static objects. Yet landscapes are different from buildings or artworks: they are not frozen in time, and they constantly evolve as elements of a larger, more complex continuum of place and time, society and nature, and unpredictable circumstance. New approaches to landscape history have altered this paradigm of landscape investigation. Owing more to the Annales school of historiography than to conventional art history, they look at quotidian activities and vernacular landscapes, examining the context and characteristics of place and time and gaining insight from seemingly unremarkable events and less obvious influences. From these observations, often overlooked in traditional landscape histories, come new insights. One such exploration concerns those who work in the garden. Certainly such workers, their cultural backgrounds, and their daily experiences are important parts of the narrative of the landscapes in which they worked, yet their stories have rarely been told. Those who labor in the fields are often agents of cross-cultural fertilization and the means through which plants, growing techniques, and horticultural traditions have migrated from one place to another, creating in the process unique hybrids and responses to the environment. Looking at garden workers in New Orleans, a community composed of various cultural groups, we gain insight into how the community’s landscapes evolved by understanding more about those who worked in the public and private open spaces.

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14 “ Wa n t ed: A Si t uat ion a s Ga r de n er”

On March 10, 1823, an advertisement appeared in the Courier/Courrier de la ­Louisiane seeking a gardener: “Any steady man who understands the cultivation of shrubs and flowers, and can be well recommended.” Trained gardeners, often with European backgrounds, were advertising their services in New Orleans through local newspapers as early as 1818, and such ads continued to midcentury. Several examples, from five newspapers between 1818 and 1838, are worth noting, the earliest of which comes from the Orleans Gazette, April 1818: Wants a Situation As an Overseer or Gardener, a person who has practiced it for sixteen years in England and Ireland. He can produce good reference as to his experience in the above capacities.

The same notice appeared a month later, together with this one: situation wanted—as a gentleman’s gardener by a person who has had great experience in that line, and has also been used to a vegetable garden.

And from August, 1819: gardener Wants a situation, a young man who served a regular apprenticeship to a Gardener of eminence in England; he fully understands laying out Pleasure Gardens,1 and is in all respects qualified to undertake the arrangement of a large garden in all its branches. A line left at this office for W. will be duly attended to.

From July 31, 1820, in the Louisiana Advertiser: Wanted, A situation as Gardener, a young and strong German, a good gardener, wishes a situation in town or country. He can give great satisfaction to his employer, by his good conduct, and perfect knowledge of his profession.

From a January 1828 issue of the bilingual newspaper the Bee/L’Abeille is this detailed advertisement:

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wants employment Mr. J. C. G*** gardener and flourist planter, and cutter of trees, and vines, puts in order new gardens and repairs old ones. Having learned his profession under the most celebrated master gardeners of Europe, and who having constantly exercised his art even in this country since several years past, he has perfect knowledge of the cultivation of vegetables, both endigenous and exotic. He will make arrangements with persons who may wish to employ him by the month.

From the Bee/L’Abeille/Abeja of August 1831, is this: wanted employment.—A French Gardener lately arrived in this city, wishes to obtain a situation in the country. . . .

And from November of the same year: wanted A Young man wants a situation as gardener; he is a good seedsman, is well recommended and of sober, moral habits, and steady in his labour. Reference may be given on verbal or written application at this office.

Finally, from November 1837 and January 1838 are notices in Florist & Seedsman William Dinn’s advertisement for “Dutch Bulbous Flower Roots” in the Daily ­Picayune that “an experienced first rate Gardener, from London, can be had by the day, week or job.” These early advertisements certainly arouse interest. While the “wanted” ad from 1846 specifies no qualifications, the “situation wanted” notices from earlier decades are more descriptive, and the details given describe early workforce characteristics: European backgrounds and training (English, Irish, German, and French); qualifications offered (for example, “great experience,” “good satisfaction,” full understanding of gardens, and “perfect knowledge of vegetables”), and the temperaments of potential employees (“good conduct” and “sober, moral habits, and steady in his labour”). We will likely never know who these gardeners were, where they trained, if (or with whom) they found work, and what they did. We do know, however, that these notices are not the first evidence of an experienced horticultural workforce in the community. In the two decades during which these notices appeared, horticultural workers from Europe and Africa had been in the region for about a century, but their skills had been directed more toward agricultural production than ornamental gardens. Having arrived in the region to establish an outpost on the southern coast of North America in the early eighteenth century, the colony’s first settlers found a strange and exotic landscape populated with existing communities of Native ­Americans who had lived in this region for centuries. An examination of ­eighteenth-century European horticultural workers2 within the context of the environment they shared with their Native American counterparts is basic to an understanding of how different cultures influenced later horticultural commerce of the region. This investigation looks at the people directly engaged in horticultural activities and their roles in the local environmental and economic landscape.



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Evidence uncovered demonstrates the importance of different contributions to the community’s environmental history and economic expansion and draws attention to some previously unacknowledged forces that shaped public and private open spaces of New Orleans. As the French colonial settlement in Louisiana grew from an outpost of 255 persons in 17043 to a thriving city with a population of more than 285,000 by 1900, the roles of those engaged in supplying food to the community evolved from an ­agricultural to a horticultural orientation. Data from census records and city directories reveal unrecognized involvement and active participation from those of German heritage as garden workers, designers, suppliers, and tradesmen in the second half of the nineteenth century. Remnants of this influence, in the form of commercial horticultural establishments, extend to a limited degree well into the twentieth century. Early-eighteenth-century settlers of the Mississippi River valley were a varied lot: there were French from France, Canada, and the West Indies; Alsatian and Rhenish Germans; West Africans; Spanish; and English. Rather than coming of their own free will, most were forced to emigrate. The early colonial population included military personnel, civilians, and members of religious orders, together with indentured servants, enslaved people (Native Americans as well as Africans), and various “undesirables” cast out of their native lands. By the spring of 1718, deportation from France had populated the colony with army deserters, “vagabonds, prostitutes, beggars, indigents and other social outcasts.” In 1718 and 1719, up to 1,200 more French men and women were deported to the Mississippi River valley, and the settlement had become a “de facto penal colony.”4 One colonial historian’s analysis of early population records indicates that inhabitants of the first decades of the Louisiana colony were predominantly urban artisans, craftsmen, and unskilled laborers, along with criminals and prostitutes sent into exile in the new colony, and that “not a single one of more than three hundred troops sent to Louisiana before 1720 listed farming as his former occupation.” This situation changed little throughout the French period; in fact, during the last decade of French control of the colony (the 1750s), “of 662 recruits . . . only 94 listed themselves as farmers.”5 A similar situation occurred with nonmilitary settlers, the leading early agricultural historian Lewis C. Gray to conclude that few of the French colonial ­settlers in the region “were experienced in agricultural or mechanical arts.” This vacuum of agricultural expertise among settlers created demands for essential tasks of food production that were filled initially by Native Americans, German and Swiss immigrants, and African slaves.6 The nonagricultural orientation of many colonial ­settlers, coupled with the scarcity of available scientific information and the assignment of agricultural tasks to Indians, Germans, or slaves, produced a population dependent more on accumulated traditions in agricultural matters, despite the difficulties that often resulted from this agricultural naiveté. Unlike other colonial outposts elsewhere in the New World, Louisiana was not productive as a colony of economic exploitation, and it never really acquired economic self-sufficiency. Notwithstanding word circulated in Europe, colonial

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Louisiana had few amenities to offer. Geographically, the colony was remote, separated from existing trade routes. Access was difficult and dangerous. Waters were uncharted, and ships often broke apart due to unanticipated weather or water hazards. The colony’s few harbors, as well as the ever-changing mouth of the ­Mississippi River, were shallow and obstructed by sand bars. In addition, there was the constant threat of pirates. The environment was inhospitable because of its high humidity and lengthy, hot summers. The land had to be drained and levees built to contain rivers and bayous. Periodic tropical storms and floods wreaked havoc on man-made construction, most of which was ill-suited to local environmental and soil conditions. Furs and hides brought by Indians were inferior to those from other French colonies, and they often rotted in storage. Ships that arrived with new settlers often found nothing to send back to their home ports. Due to shortages in local food production, it often was difficult to get provisions for the return voyage from a colony frequently gripped by food shortages and famine. As a result, commerce lagged, and the colony struggled.7 The primary agricultural interest of early settlers was in survival, and when basic needs were met, attention turned to building a market economy. As the community grew in size and its economy stabilized, colonists attempted to respond to the forces of the European market and to create a local agricultural economy. They achieved success, but progress was slow. French domination of the colony continued throughout the eighteenth century, though territorial ownership passed from France to Spain in 1763. Except for a brief period, the colony remained under Spanish rule until 1803, but the community, as most agree, remained a colonial French city operating under a Spanish administration. From the colony’s founding throughout the nineteenth century, the region’s population was composed of groups that had come from different backgrounds but whose local lines of demarcation were not always distinctly drawn. There were French-speaking natives (“Creoles” in the term’s original meaning); Americans who had arrived from the Eastern seaboard; and “foreign French,” immigrants whose first language was French. There were Native Americans from local tribes; slaves and fugitives from slavery (known as nègres marrons or “maroons”) who lived on the fringes of the colony); and “free persons of color” (many of whom, in the nineteenth century’s early decades, were French-speaking). The presence of the “foreign French” and their conflicts with the Anglo-Americans created tensions that contributed to making New Orleans more a colonial French community than an American city.8 From the colony’s earliest periods, complicated relationships developed among all these different groups, and as the colony matured, various combinations of ethnic origin gave the community an exotic and unique character. The first slaves in the French colony were Native Americans. French colonists imported African slaves, and often slave owners had both Indian and African slaves. Runaway slaves were common, and fugitives often escaped to settlements established by Indians and other runaways deep in cypress swamps surrounding the colony. They could easily subsist in these tidal marshlands where game and fish were plentiful. Periodic raids on nearby plantations for cattle and supplies were common, but gradually “maroon communities” moved toward agricultural endeavors,



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including growing corn, rice, and squashes and gathering sassafras and other wild herbs. They used local palmettos, reeds, willow, and cypress to make things they could use, trade, or sell. These commercial trading patterns continued throughout the eighteenth century and well into the nineteenth century as public marketplaces, such as Congo Square and the French Market, evolved.9 At first, Native American agricultural and trading practices influenced the region’s agricultural economy in terms of what was grown and used for settlers’ consumption (such as corn and wildlife) and what was exploited for commercial gain (furs and forest products). Almost immediately upon settlement, however, the colonial economy evolved in response to the influx of European colonists and ­African slaves, affecting administrative policies and marketplace realities.10 For instance, early French settlers introduced both rice and indigo to the region, together with the African expertise needed to grow and process the products, and tariffs were imposed to keep local products competitive on the international marketplace. But by the end of the eighteenth century, environmental and market conditions had changed in the agricultural economy: cotton and sugarcane, which responded well to local conditions and for which there were market demands, replaced indigo, tobacco, and rice, which were difficult to grow and market and for which international demands had diminished. While it may have taken a long time for different ethnic groups to coalesce into a fully integrated community, agricultural practices, including crop selections, cultivation customs, and delivery systems of goods and services in local markets were early and enduring threads that bound communities together, regardless of origins. Shared agricultural and economic concerns facilitated the evolution of the ethnically diverse colonial settlement into the complex urban community of the mid-nineteenth century. As the eighteenth century advanced, agricultural production expanded from small-scale crops of the geographically constrained colony (fruits and vegetables) to regionally oriented crops.11 At the time the French colony was transferred to Spain, the population was about 3,200 residents, but by 1803, it had grown to more than 8,000 inhabitants.12 A census from 1822, recorded in Paxton’s New-Orleans ­Directory and Register, gives the city’s population (including “White Males; White Females; Foreigners, not naturalized; Free Coloured Males; Free col’d ­Females; Male Slaves; and Female Slaves”) as about 29,000, with the occupants of Orleans Parish representing an additional 14,391. Description of the data continues: “Of the above number, 5438 were engaged in agriculture; 4574 in commerce; and 4481 in manufactures. The above Census was taken at a very improper time [August 1820] to ascertain the true number of inhabitants, as great numbers are in the habit of leaving the city during the warm months for a more northern climate.”13 Later nineteenth-century census data, though inconsistently gathered, give insight into the evolution of horticultural commerce in New Orleans, documenting the decline of horticultural occupations as urban activities and recording the comparative value of local commerce relative to Louisiana’s agricultural economy.14 The 1820 census, for instance, records that 5,438 residents, or 13 percent of the city’s population of 41,351, were engaged in “agricultural occupations” (the content of these occupations is not given). In the 1840 census (the only other nineteenth-century

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census to record this statistic), only 1,430 people, or 1.4 percent of the city’s population of 102,193, were engaged in these endeavors. This decline corresponds with three factors: the city became more urban in character; plantations and farms were subdivided into residential tracts; and “agricultural” activities were pushed into surrounding rural areas by advancing urban uses. This does not mean, however, that residential properties eliminated small-scale production activities; on the contrary, residential garden plots and small orchards remain throughout the century. From the mid-nineteenth century onward, New Orleans was the center for supplies, commerce, and trade for the regional agricultural industry, from domestic efforts in urban neighborhoods to large-scale, commercial endeavors in surrounding rural areas. The city’s importance was as the economic entrepôt and transit hub through which agricultural products and commerce passed en route from rural areas of production to urban markets elsewhere in America and abroad. This activity reinforced the city’s “colonial” economy, a characteristic that has defined the community from its origins to the present. Mid-nineteenth-century New Orleans, like other cities in the South, was an “agrarian city” made possible by the dominance of the limited, staple-crop agriculture of the surrounding regions. Though this agriculture was based in rural locations, it defined the city’s urban economy, the rhythms of its urban lifestyle, and its urban form. In New Orleans, this meant that wealth generated by rural cotton and sugarcane plantations facilitated physical expansion of the city’s residential areas (particularly in the development of the Garden District); shaped spatial definition of its riverfront through construction of riverfront wharves and connecting rail lines; and generally defined the city’s urban fabric of land uses. As in other southern cities such as Charleston, Mobile, and Memphis, wealth created through this system moved elsewhere; cotton or sugarcane may have been grown regionally, but it went elsewhere to be processed and finished. Products and financing for rural ventures came from manufacturing and financial centers outside the region; there were low levels of capital accumulation, and local financial systems tended to fluctuate with local market conditions. The southern city exemplified the Jeffersonian view that “agriculture [land ownership] was a prerequisite for a republican society,” a view that had long been abandoned or modified in northern cities.15 As the largest city in the South, New Orleans and its economy represented, on a larger scale, the problems faced by other southern port cities. The historian David Goldfield writes that by the early 1850s, “southern ports developed economic umbilical cords to northern ports—ties that seemed to sustain the mother much more than her children.” Efforts to diversity the South’s economy, develop urban infrastructure, enhance national transportation systems, and reduce the dependence on a single-crop system dependent on slavery met with limited success, even though leading local civic and business leaders, such as the financier James Robb and the journalist J. D. B. De Bow advocated for these changes early in the 1840s. The South—and New Orleans in particular—was caught in a vicious cycle of limited financial opportunity and limited possibilities for urbanization and economic diversification.16



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Elsewhere in the South, pre–Civil War biracial social structures made transition from a slave-based economy to a nonslave situation difficult. In New Orleans, the multicultural community that had existed since the city’s colonial origins may have made the transition less troublesome, but nonetheless economic problems ensued with subsequent urban consequences. Census records indicate that the first major influx of non-French immigrants (Anglo-American, German, and Italian) into New Orleans occurred between the 1830s and the 1840s, when the city’s population jumped from 29,737 to 102,193, though corresponding figures are not available for the thousands of Africans brought there as enslaved people.17 In the peak decades between 1700 and 1850, as many as 50,000 to 60,000 enslaved Africans per year arrived in the New World, and thousands of them passed through New ­Orleans every year during the antebellum period. According to calculations in one study, there were more than 2 million slave sales transactions in the antebellum South, and since New Orleans was a port of entry and commercial entrepôt, tens of thousands were sold here.18 Literally and figuratively, the agricultural economy of the rural antebellum South was built on the backs of these enslaved people, and only recently have their contributions to local culture and economy been documented and recognized.19 Cultural influences from the new arrivals created a community remarkable for its cultural diversity, and nowhere was this more evident than in the French ­Market, as recorded by Latrobe and Castellanos. Other accounts concur. In 1833, the British traveler C. D. Arfwedson observed that “a visit to the port offers a very interesting spectacle, both on account of the river, majestically washing its shores, and of the many different languages there spoken. One day I remarked individuals of the following nations: Americans, English, French, Scotch, Spaniards, Swedes, Germans, Irish, Italians, Russians, Creoles, Indians, Mexicans, and Brazilians. This mixture of languages, customs and manners, rendered the scene one of the most singular that I ever witnessed.”20 And, in 1835, Joseph Holt Ingraham reported that if “the [French] market at New-Orleans represents that city, so truly does New-Orleans represent every other city and nation upon earth. I know of none where is congregated so great a variety of the human species, of every language and color. Not only natives of the well known European and Asiatic countries are here to be met with, but occasionally Persians, Turks, Lascars, Maltese, Indian sailors from South America and the Islands of the sea, Hottentots, Laplanders, and, for aught I know to the contrary, Symmezonians.”21 While these accounts mention the diversity of nationalities and languages in the community, French was still commonly used in commerce, bilingual newspapers, and for legal documents. By the late 1840s and early 1850s, however, the Frenchspeaking population ceased to be an influential segment of the city’s population and its dominance in social, political, and economic circles subsided as other immigrant groups became more numerous and established. In the 1850 census, 48,601 residents of New Orleans (or 41 percent of the city’s population of 119,460) were of alien extraction, making New Orleans fourth among American cities in foreign-born population, after New York, Philadelphia, and ­Cincinnati. By 1860, the number had risen to 64,621 foreign-born residents,

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but this number represented a slightly smaller percentage of the city’s population (37 ­percent), and New Orleans dropped to sixth among American cities in foreignborn population behind New York, Philadelphia, Brooklyn, St. Louis, and Chicago. An examination of the 1860 census, the first to gather information about both country of birth and occupation, shows that those engaged in horticultural commerce (listed variously as “gardeners,” “garden makers,” or “florists”) came from nine European countries, nine American states (including Louisiana), two ­Caribbean islands, Canada, and Mexico. By far, the largest ethnic group (41.3 ­percent) engaged in these professions was from the German states, a curious coincidence since ­German immigrants who came to the region in the early eighteenth century had settled in rural areas outside New Orleans and supplied the colony with products from their farms. Between 1836 and 1852, the city was divided into three municipal districts, extending from the Mississippi River to Lake Pontchartrain: the First District was the older part, from Canal Street down river to Elysian Fields; the Second District was upriver from Canal Street to Felicity Street; and the Third District was downriver from Elysian Fields to the St. Bernard Parish line. Generally these divisions corresponded with geographical ethnic divisions: Creoles in the First District; AngloAmericans in the Second; and poorer immigrants in the Third. Imprints of these neighborhoods’ multicultural origins remain today in limited yet diverse and distinctive ways. Many current social customs and holiday celebrations, urban neighborhood designations and street names, language and speech patterns, and culinary traditions are rooted in early agricultural practices and customs.22 The community’s largest immigrant group was Africans imported as agricultural chattel for rural areas. As has been discussed, members of this group made early and important contributions to the growth of the colony through their agricultural expertise. Yet by the beginning of the nineteenth century, agricultural patterns were established, and enslaved people were needed only for manual labor, mainly in rural areas, and no particular expertise was required. Some former slaves were able to purchase their freedom. There was a significant Creole community in New Orleans, and after the Civil War, many freed slaves returned to the city. Therefore the influence of those of African heritage remained an important thread in the city’s urban fabric. Many immigrants who came to New Orleans voluntarily may have left their homelands intent on just passing through New Orleans, and indeed some did. But a large number settled there because circumstances prevented their leaving, and those who settled here, as elsewhere in America, had lasting political, social, and economic impacts on the city. Significant contributions to the urban community’s nineteenth-century horticultural commerce came from Italians, Irish, and Germans, three immigrant groups that flooded into the city from the 1840s to the end of the century. Italians were members of the Hernando de Soto expedition of the 1540s, and they continued to be a limited part of the colony’s population in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Most were soldiers, laborers, or, later, merchants; there is some evidence that suggests at least two settlers who landed in 1718 were



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e­ xperienced silk workers, perhaps sent there to participate in that nascent agricultural endeavor. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, members of the Italian community had become established merchants in New Orleans. Some had grocery stores and imported citrus and produce from Italy, expanding into selling tropical fruit and foodstuffs. Others were professionals, merchants, tradesmen, craftsmen, seamen, and artists. In general, northern Italians who came in relatively small numbers dominated the first phase of immigration into the New Orleans region. They quickly assimilated into local culture, and notable examples in all categories left their impressions on the city and its development, though their contributions are largely ignored today.23 The second phase of Italian immigration was dramatically different. Around the mid-nineteenth century, Sicilian ships began to call regularly at New Orleans, unloading citrus fruit and taking on local cotton for the return trip. Merchants immigrated to establish new markets, and ships’ crews settled here; soon there was a small but established Sicilian community in New Orleans. New residents quickly assimilated into the local community because of their industry and also because of shared values: like others in New Orleans, they were Catholic, they valued family connections, and they enjoyed life’s pleasures of food, wine, music, and gambling. In the 1850 census, New Orleans had the largest number of Italians of any American city, and their influence spread uniformly throughout the community. In the 1870 census, the city’s Italian community had approximately 5,000 people. By the 1880s, when mass emigration began from Sicily, both cultural and commercial ties with Italy were well established in New Orleans. In the 1890 census, the city’s Italian population had risen to 11,000; by 1910, it had reached 24,000; most of these immigrants were natives of Sicily, a situation unique in America. Between 1880 and 1920, nearly 3 million Italians came to America, and thousands came to Louisiana. By 1910, 39 percent of Louisiana’s population was of Italian origin.24 Many nineteenth-century Italian immigrants, poor and uneducated, found work as day laborers either on the docks in New Orleans or as contract workers in sugar plantations in the region. They competed with other poor and uneducated groups (Irish and African Americans) for work as manual laborers, leading to interethnic hostilities toward the end of the nineteenth century that ultimately ignited ethnic tensions throughout America. Alarmed by increasing ethnic hostility, Italians remained in the city’s older neighborhoods (the Vieux Carré, Faubourg Marigny, and the Irish Channel) where they had settled upon arrival. There rents were low and residential structures could accommodate large numbers of people. On one hand, tenement and slum conditions resulted; on the other, cohesive family-oriented communities evolved, there was little economic incentive to replace or renovate older structures, and ethnic traditions became firmly established. As a result, these neighborhoods remained socially cohesive and architecturally intact well into the twentieth century. As the nineteenth century ended, Italians became associated with commercial food businesses. Many operated truck farms in surrounding rural areas and sold their produce at the French Market and other public markets in the city as street vendors or through Italian-owned neighborhood grocery stores, often located on

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corners.25 They expanded into Italian restaurants, bars, ice cream shops, macaroni factories, and bakeries throughout the city. By the early twentieth century, Italian cuisine (including the distinctive muἀuletta sandwich; spumoni, cassata, and Italian ices; and pizza pie) and traditions such as St. Joseph’s Day altars had entered local culture. Ethnic hostilities may have segmented the community and left an indelible mark, yet the presence of Italian influences in the supply and delivery of food and farm produce throughout New Orleans arguably mitigated these divisive events and, in subtle but significant ways, acted as connections between Italians and other residents. As in many other circumstances of ethnic conflict, one might fear the influence of unknown collective groups (such as the Italian “mob”) on large issues, but how could one resist a muἀuletta made by “Mr. Joe” from the neighborhood’s corner grocery store? Those of Irish descent formed a second major immigrant group in nineteenthcentury New Orleans. It is estimated that half of those who entered America in the antebellum period were Irish, and many entered through the port of New ­Orleans. Though only a small percentage remained, their influence was apparent. Immigrants who arrived in the 1830s and 1840s transformed the city from a predominantly black to a predominantly white one.26 They were considered more intelligent, ambitious, and better educated than arrivals from later in the century; conflicts between the two groups were inevitable. Some “old” immigrants lived in the Vieux Carré, but most lived in the Second Municipality, where every ward in the 1850 census showed a strong Irish minority.27 Later arrivals lived in the Third Municipality, sharing neighborhoods with poorer Germans and Negroes. As residential areas developed in the Garden District and along St. Charles Avenue, Irish immigrants moved into housing between Magazine Street and the river; soon this workingclass neighborhood became known as the “Irish Channel.” Fairly or not, destitute Irish immigrants were blamed for the introduction and spread of yellow-fever epidemics during the 1840s and 1850s.28 In retrospect, the connection between the Irish and the epidemic is obvious: they arrived in large numbers and on crowded ships from Liverpool, the destination of cotton traffic from New Orleans. Along the route to America, these ships often called in tropical ports where the disease flourished. Immigrants arrived destitute, and they lived in deplorable, congested, and unsanitary conditions near the wharves. They would take any job, which usually meant manual labor. With native crop failures in recent memory, most were loath to venture forth into rural agricultural areas and preferred instead to remain in close quarters and tightly knit communities in urban situations. These conditions are all favorable to the incubation and inevitable epidemic development of diseases such as yellow fever and cholera.29 Scattered references in mid-nineteenth-century city directories and census data suggest that some Irish immigrants held jobs as trained gardeners or as garden laborers, but there is no evidence to suggest Irish immigrants from midcentury onward played significant roles in the commercial aspects of horticulture, as did Germans, or in truck farming, as did Germans and later Italians. Instead, Irish immigrants left their impact through the manual labor they performed on the riverfront and in building infrastructure (drainage ditches, canals, and streets).



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Germans settled in an area that became known as “Little Saxony” and in the communities of Lafayette and Carrollton (both upriver from the Second District). These suburban districts, adjacent to urban areas, afforded residents opportunities to build small houses, farm small plots, and participate in the local economy. Established German families helped subsequent arrivals through individual or collective efforts such as the German Society of New Orleans. Records of this organization indicate that in the second half of the nineteenth century, German immigrants found work as machinists, carpenters, locksmiths, printers, and builders; as construction and railroad industries thrived, any German who wanted work could find it in these areas. Germans trained as dairy workers and gardeners were in particular demand.30 Census records from 1860 give the first indication of professions associated with national origin (prior census records did not record these data). Examination of these records reveals that over 40 percent of those whose occupations are listed as “farmer,” “garden maker,” or “florist” listed their country of origin as one of the German states (Prussia, Bavaria, Hanover, Baden, Germany, etc.). The next highest listing, at 21 percent, is French. Correlating these listings with geographical ­locations by wards shows that almost 60 percent of the Germans who gave their occupation as “gardener” lived in wards eight and nine, predominantly suburban and rural areas downriver from the Vieux Carré and Elysian Fields Boulevard, neighborhoods now known as Bywater and the Lower Ninth Ward. As the city grew and its infrastructure expanded, German enterprise provided both expertise and manual labor to complete large construction projects such as streets, sewer lines, rail lines, and water-transportation corridors. German farmers and gardeners continued to play significant roles in the community, operating small farms and dairies in open spaces of the city, providing vegetables for city residents much as German settlers had done early in the previous century. As late-nineteenthcentury Italian immigrants began expanding into truck farming, ­Germans turned their attention to raising flowers and ornamental plant material.31 City directories from the second half of the nineteenth century provide annual snapshots of the city’s businesses and residents with names, addresses, and other information about the community. Inconsistencies in format and content exist from year to year, and sequences are sometimes incomplete. Yet, taken as a body of information, these resources offer unique insight as to what the city’s economy included and who its participants were. By isolating a general area—in this case, horticultural services and related components—one may understand more clearly who was involved in these activities, where these activities were located, and how extensively developed they were. Categories selected for analysis are terms commonly found in contemporary material to describe agricultural and horticultural activities, and the analysis reveals some curiosities. Notable are the following: “plantsman,” a term commonly seen in advertisements and literature of the period, does not appear as a separate listing in any of the city directories; the high number of listings for “gardeners” in 1868 and 1869 contrasts with the absence of that listing from 1878 onward; from the mid-1870s onward, there is a high number of “florists.” Explanation may lie in the

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fact that city directories, like census records, are inconsistent in format, content, and means of data collection, useful mainly as annual, but not necessarily accurate, snapshots of the city’s population. Making assumptions linking names with occupations is not foolproof, particularly since it is known that immigrants commonly modified their names to appear more like the communities they entered. Yet examination of names offers an interesting means of inquiry. In New Orleans, many Germans altered their names to appear more French or American. Cursory analysis of the 102 names connected with garden activities from Gardner’s New Orleans Directory for 1869 reveals that almost half (forty-five names, or 44 percent of the total listings) are of possible Germanic heritage, a relatively high incidence compared with total population.32 Several conclusions might be drawn from the apparent high number of listings for “florists” from the mid-1870s onward. One is that, as the city grew and its economy increased, garden improvements to residential neighborhoods became more important to residents and property owners, thus creating new demands for horticultural goods and services. Florists, as suppliers of flowers and plant materials, took on the added service roles of garden design, installation, and domestic garden maintenance. These services are often listed in expanded advertisements from 1881 onward. Another conclusion, mentioned earlier, suggests that arriving Italian immigrants took over truck farming and greengrocer jobs in the community in the last decades of the nineteenth century, and Germans trained in these areas moved into more ornamental horticultural occupations.33 Data from city directories of the second half of the nineteenth century complete the picture and give important new information about available horticultural goods and services, leading to assumptions about cultural influences from German residents on horticultural matters. One is that the apparent high incidence of individuals with Germanic names listed in local horticultural occupations indicates a significant influence based on traditions, culture, or training in these areas, a circumstance that corresponds with national trends.34 An examination of “florist” listings reveals a high incidence of Germanic names in the 1870s, 1880s, and 1890s: Weihie (1872); Meyers and Weitzel (1873); Bechler, Eblen, Hellrich, Jaeger, Lock, Mahar, Muller, Schultz, Valentine (1882); Chopin, Greifelding, Holst, Seidel (1886); Amseman, Beck, Bierhost, Buel, Eichling, Eschmann, Faessel, Karcher, Jaul, Leber, Rehm, Schaff, Schulte, Seeliger, Weingartner (1897). While advertisements for horticultural goods and services from the 1820s and 1830s include French or American commercial connections, those from later in the century include German names, with establishments such as Frotscher’s (in the 1880s and 1890s; later Reuter’s Seeds), Reith’s Florist, Scheinuk’s Florist, and Chopin’s Florist. Florists also began to advertise design services and plants in city directories during this period, another reflection of current horticultural fashions: “plants for hanging baskets and flower vases”; “greenhouse and bedding plants”; and “decoration for balls and parties.” These horticultural goods and services represented fashions of the day as well as influences from those who sold them. This evidence demonstrates that German immigrants reemerged in the late nineteenth century to positions of prominence in the community based on their proficiency



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in horticultural occupations, a field in which their forebearers had been well represented in the eighteenth century. The significance of German involvement in agricultural endeavors in the early development of New Orleans has been established through both eighteenth-­century observers, who characterized early immigrants as hardworking, industrious, and prosperous, and twentieth-century social and economic historians. ­Evidence of nineteenth-century German contributions to horticultural commerce is evident through numerous listings in census data, city directories, and commercial records. The relatively high number of German names associated with horticultural occupations from these sources indicates a significant and previously unknown incidence of German influence in nineteenth-century urban life in New Orleans, particularly during the century’s second half. The people that engaged in horticultural commerce in New Orleans from colonial times to the end of the nineteenth century demonstrate the community’s ­cultural and ethnic diversity. Starting with traditions established by Native Americans, agricultural activities and those who engaged in them played vital roles in the colonial community’s survival. European settlers learned agricultural practices and means of production from natives, yet significant agricultural contributions from Africa and Europe began in the colony as early as the 1720s, when French slave merchants brought rice and indigo seeds, together with slaves experience in growing these crops, into the colony from West Africa. External influences continued with the influx of German farmers who brought traditions of hard work and experience in small farming and settled in rural regions surrounding the colony. New forms of production resulted as foreign customs interacted with Native American traditions and responded to the unpredictable forces of the local environment and the international marketplace. Following the Louisiana Purchase of 1803, New Orleans became more ­American in character, yet it retained the traditions and customs of its multicultural residents. Commercial connections remained with European centers, and new technologies brought contemporary horticultural information and resources into the community. As the region’s major nineteenth-century port, New Orleans was the entry point for both immigrants and foreign products and the center from which foreign elements radiated into surrounding areas. Throughout the nineteenth century, horticultural contributions came into New Orleans from many different ethnic groups: Africans, West Indians, French, ­Americans, Germans, Italians, English, and Irish. No one group sustained dominance, and each brought something, literally and figuratively, to the table. Equally significant are contributions in the second half of the twentieth century made by immigrants from Southeast Asia and Central America. Like those of their predecessors, their gifts to the local culture have included agricultural products, horticultural practices, and direct involvement in the workforce. All these contributions are worthy of recognition. Horticultural commerce in New Orleans has evolved into an amalgam of all its components that, in many ways, resembles the gumbo for which the community’s cuisine is known: both are rich, complex, and composed of native and foreign elements with a few surprises in the mix.

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VII Horticultural Literature As New Orleans grew in the nineteenth century, demands for ornamental plants and horticultural services expanded, propelled by many factors, including evolving fashions, access to new commercial suppliers and markets, and increased ­availability of skilled immigrant labor. Encouraged by new developments in public transit, subdivisions such as the Garden District and others upriver were built outside the confines of the older colonial city. They responded to the horticultural and planning trends of contemporary American cities more than they resembled existing patterns of older local neighborhoods. For instance, the new subdivisions had square lots, rather than the narrow, rectangular lots of earlier times, and allowed larger houses that were detached from neighboring structures and set back from streets and sidewalks. Generous front, side, and back yards were often demarcated by iron fences along the street fronts and wooden fences on the sides and rear property boundaries. The prosperous times of the 1840s—when New Orleans vied with Baltimore, Boston, and Philadelphia to be America’s second-largest city behind New York—ushered in new people (mainly Americans from the East Coast), new wealth, and new appreciation for current fashions of architecture, decorating, and gardening. To a great extent, these new attitudes were influenced by printed materials. Books and mass-market periodicals discussed domestic topics such as how to furnish one’s home, how to lay out the garden, what to plant, and how to provide one’s family with domestic tranquility. Local books from this period may have had limited circulation, but they resemble in both format and content examples from elsewhere in America. More regional in content and circulation, periodicals—even when published elsewhere—often contained signed contributions from local subscribers, and these accounts provide firsthand observations of specific domestic situations and information about the composition of New Orleans gardens and the content of local horticultural commerce. Nineteenth-century publications, including books (travel accounts and diaries), commercial almanacs, and articles, are by far the largest source of information about local garden characteristics and horticultural practices and conditions. Examples include materials published locally as well as those from elsewhere in

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America and Europe. They offer clues as to how outside trends arrived in New Orleans; suggest levels of local knowledge about plants, garden styles, and horticultural techniques; and give firsthand accounts of local gardens. Altogether, these materials provide evidence of commercial, cultural, and intellectual connections between local residents and larger national and international markets.

15 Book s

Relevant to this discussion are several nineteenth-century works about Louisiana horticulture and botany, four of which have specific New Orleans connections: Charles-César Robin’s Voyages dans l’interieur de la Louisiane (Paris, 1804), translated and enlarged by Constantine Samuel Rafinesque as Florula Ludoviciana; or, A Flora of the State of Louisiana (New York, 1817); Jacques-Felix Lelièvre’s ­Nouveau jardinier de la Louisiane (New Orleans, 1838); a catalog from the early 1850s of ­Louisiana plants, published in the New Orleans Medical and Surgical Journal (previously discussed); Thomas Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac, and Plantation and Garden Calendar, for 1852 (New Orleans, 1851–52; Washington, Miss., 1853–54); and Ulger Vicknair’s Le jardinier économique et productif (New Orleans, 1867). Each of these works is helpful in understanding the role of horticultural literature in nineteenth-century New Orleans and in illuminating the body of horticultural information that defined nineteenth-century horticultural commerce in New Orleans. As previously mentioned, Robin’s Voyages dans l’interieur discusses his travels in the region between 1802 and 1806. His work includes a “Flore Louisianaise” that, in its time, was considered flawed, possibly because Robin was a student of Bernard de Jussieu, whose system for plant classification had fallen out of scientific favor.1 This section of Robin’s work was later translated, expanded, and published by Rafinesque (1783–1840) as Florula Ludoviciana; or, A Flora of the State of Louisiana (1817) and is one of the earliest studies of plant life of Louisiana.2 Robin’s ­Voyages was shrouded in mystery for many years, and there were academic questions related to the work and the identity of its author.3 These questions are now resolved to the satisfaction of most: Rafinesque’s translation is not literal; in fact, according to the eminent botanist and historian Joseph Ewan, because of the differences ­between the two, Rafinesque’s work is almost a separate work altogether.4 Nevertheless, Ewan includes Rafinesque in his “Bibliography of Louisiana Botany” and accords great significance to Florula because it is “the first localized record of plants of southern Louisiana” and “the first serious botanical summary for Louisiana.”5 Today, both Robin and Rafinesque and their works are largely unknown. In his introduction to a reprint of Florula Ludoviciana, Ewan states that “Rafinesque is the most enigmatic and therefore controversial figure in the history of natural science in America. . . . [He] was brilliant, egotistical, hypersensitive, hypercritical, indefatigable, erratic, and eccentric. His work, now puzzling, now annoying, must be taken into account.”6 Rafinesque notes in his “Preamble” that “Flore Louisianaise” appears 183

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at the end of the third volume of Robin’s work, and that it contains descriptions of plants observed in Louisiana. There were, however, “many blunders in nomenclature and classification” since Robin was a “mere observer and collector.” The results include description of “more than 400 species, whereof 196 are new” including “15 new trees and 18 shrubs.” Many of the new species will, according to Rafinesque, “claim our notice, as ornamental and worthy of cultivation in gardens.”7 Rafinesque made these assumptions having never visited Louisiana; furthermore, there is no evidence that his work drew on actual observation of Louisiana specimens, and this was a source of contemporary controversy and lasting criticism. In his “Preamble,” Rafinesque goes on to assert that his work would prove to be “a mere specimen of [Louisiana’s] Botany” and that “a vast field is open to [future botanists’] researches, since only one fifth of that number is here described or enumerated.” Finally, he hopes that his work “may induce some Botanists to dig again into that rich mine,” so that “the vegetable productions of the south-west corner of the Union will be equally known with those of the opposite quarter.” Given this endorsement, and taking Rafinesque at his word, we may conclude that he was a man of science and learning, and that through his efforts in translating an earlier work (that to his mind was incomplete and erroneous) and then making it available to the intellectual community of America, he was advancing knowledge in this important field, a subject in which he was keenly interested. If Rafinesque’s work was controversial in the nineteenth century, by the twentieth century it had become obscure. Liberty Hyde Bailey does not mention Rafinesque in his lengthy discussion of “North American horticultural books” in The Standard Cyclopedia of Horticulture, but cites Rafinesque’s American Manual of the Grape Vine and the Art of Making Wine (Philadelphia, 1830) in his “List of American Horticultural Books.”8 That some of the botanical conclusions Rafinesque drew appear now to be false is of little concern, according to Ewan, given the lack of standardization in botanical nomenclature at the time.9 What is important for this study is that early in the nineteenth century, botanists and natural historians such as Robin and Rafinesque were interested in recording Louisiana’s environment. They considered it rich, varied, and worthy of scientific examination and analysis, and this interest coincided with similar initiatives throughout America by others. As Ewan notes, the first decade of the nineteenth century was “the most critical decade in the history of ­American botany.”10 There was both intellectual enthusiasm and governmental support for finding, studying, and cataloging what was to be found in America, which had doubled in size with the Louisiana Purchase of 1803. A second important example in this category is Jacques-Felix Lelièvre’s Nouveau jardinier de la Louisiane, an important nineteenth-century sourcebook of horticultural practices and techniques for the “lower Louisiana” region.11 One might assume that this small work was a significant influence on local horticultural practices and was, therefore, evidence of lingering French cultural influences on horticultural commerce. Certainly there is prima facie evidence for this conclusion, and clearly this small work deserves wider recognition in the annals of American horticultural writings.12 Combining Nouveau jardinier with other local horticultural information, such as that contained in advertisements, creates a fresh image of New Orleans residents



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as informed about certain aspects of horticulture and well supplied with a variety of plant material by the third and fourth decades of the nineteenth century. Information in these resources establishes the importance of the city as the locus from which agricultural information, plant materials, and farming techniques were distributed throughout the lower Mississippi River valley to residents whose language was either English or French. This is the earliest-known book with a New Orleans association through which general horticultural information was disseminated in the region, and it may initially seem unusual to have such information published in a foreign language well over three decades after the United States took possession of the French territorial colony. While it had been an American city since 1803, New Orleans in the midnineteenth century was not an “American” city comparable to others of it size, but rather a community that retained the European, African, and Caribbean customs and practices of its inhabitants. There were several bilingual newspapers; the legal system was based on the Napoleonic Code; and foreign traditions were reflected in architecture and urban design, religion, education, music, and the decorative arts. Most characteristics of New Orleans urban life, such as population, social customs, architectural styles, and building traditions, are easily quantified. Antecedents can be established, and subsequent effects can be measured against similar situations in other cities. Less obvious, however, are examples of horticultural awareness from the city’s founding to the mid-nineteenth century, and less examined in the particular situation of New Orleans are the influences of environmental considerations on social, economic, and architectural aspects of the community. Nouveau jardinier gives recommended plants and cultivation techniques and provides an opportunity to compare midcentury horticulture of the New Orleans region with concurrent developments elsewhere in America. The juxtaposition of Nouveau jardinier with similar works within a larger, national context allows examination of the degree to which horticultural information was available in New Orleans in comparison with other American cities and provides perspective on this work’s merit. Nouveau jardinier was meant for the French-speaking population of the city and immediate region, an audience that continued to be significant, though diminishing, throughout the nineteenth century. This audience was likely amateur gardeners, given the detail in which elementary horticultural operations such as methods of sowing, preparing beds for planting, and watering are described, yet technical information such as botanical nomenclature is absent. Such details, including basic growing techniques, scientific data, nomenclature, and even illustrations are covered in varying degrees in similar references of the period.13 Intended perhaps as a handy, pocket-sized reference, Nouveau jardinier is a small book (16mo).14 In the introduction, Lelièvre states that his purpose is not to give a course in agriculture because these topics have been dealt with by skillful cultivators, “leaving nothing to be desired.” However, the author notes, these explanations are too extensive for ordinary garden use and too voluminous for the convenience of most people. With Nouveau jardinier, Lelièvre intended to create a

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work especially adapted to the needs of the region, with recommendations based on personal experience or the advice of knowledgeable cultivators of the region. Since this work was intended for such a small geographical area, it is not surprising that it has not enjoyed the recognition accorded the works of Bernard M’Mahon, Thomas Bridgeman, Robert Buist, Andre Jackson Downing, and other nineteenthcentury horticulturists whose works were written for a much wider geographical area, were more widely distributed, and therefore became known to a larger audience. And, of course, they were written in English. These works, regarded as significant in the development of American horticulture, establish a framework for nineteenth-century horticultural literature within which Nouveau jardinier comfortably fits in both content and scope. The impact that Nouveau jardinier had in its day and its sphere of geographical influence is also difficult to establish. One indication of its nineteenth-century availability, however, might be the numerous copies that have survived, now found in libraries throughout the country. Written generally in almanac format, Nouveau jardinier discusses 141 fruits, vegetables, and garden flowers (“plants most used in Lower Louisiana”) and gives specific instructions for their cultivation and basic maintenance. The book’s format mimics that of nineteenth-century almanacs and other garden books. Following an introduction, there are ten sections: “Articles of the Calendar”; “The New Gardener of Louisiana” (comments on soils, water, plowing and hoeing, harmful plants, insects, fertilizers); “Gardener’s Directory” (month-by-month instructions); “Cultivation of Plants Most Used in Louisiana” (52 plants); “Instructions for Planting”; “Remarks on Seeds”; “Reproduction of Vegetables”; “Fruit Trees”; “Flowers” (91 are listed); and “Explanatory Vocabulary of Gardening Terms” (56 terms are given), and an index. Unlike other contemporary horticultural books and scientific manuals, it contains no illustrations. Absent in Nouveau jardinier are discussions of garden-design theory and instructions for laying out a garden, topics that appear with varying degrees of detail in other horticultural works of the period such as Thomas Green Fessenden’s New American Gardener (1828) and Bridgeman’s The Young Gardener’s Assistant of 1847 (12th ed.).15 Nouveau jardinier is of particular value for garden historians of the “lower ­Louisiana” region today because it includes lists of specific flowers and vegetables proposed for cultivation and gives substantial documentation of plant material suggested for use during this period. There are numerous references to situations peculiar to the New Orleans environs such as soil conditions that contrast with those on the northern shore of Lake Pontchartrain, indigenous plants, and local weather conditions. Lelièvre also includes plants not commonly used in the period, but, as he notes, they could (and should) be grown in New Orleans with success because of the richness of the soil. From introductory pages of Nouveau jardinier and from Edward Laroque Tinker’s biographical glossary of French writers in Louisiana, we learn that Lelièvre was the “jardinier-agriculteur de gouvernement francais pour les colonies,” but the accuracy of this statement has not been verified.16 According to a notice at the ­beginning of Nouveau jardinier, Lelièvre sold books, office furnishings, articles for



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drawing, fancy goods, children’s toys, and seeds “pour jardins francais et americains.” From other sources, we learn that he lent books to the public, took orders for trees and shrubs, and published books with the imprint “Librairie de J. F. Lelièvre.” Since there were no copyright laws to protect authors, publishers commonly repackaged and reprinted books of others, changing only the title pages to suit their markets. These observations may lead some to conclude that his publications, including Nouveau jardinier, were written and published elsewhere with his imprint as an attraction for the local market.17 Lelièvre appears only in the city’s 1840 census. His age was given as between forty and fifty, and his occupation was listed as “commerce.” Lelièvre appeared sporadically in various city directories from between 1838 and 1861, and according to Tinker, he died in “advanced years” during the Civil War. The business listing continued, under various names and at a second location (9 Baronne), from 1867 until 1892. This chronology, showing a progression of listings for J. L. Lelièvre and his shop, suggests an approximate time of his death (between 1861 and 1867), his wife’s name and possibly that of a child, Olympe and Eugene, and a subsequent business associate, Mrs. E. G. Porter. Gaps in years indicate either that no city directory was available or there was no change from the previous year. Initial city directory listings show that Lelièvre resided at the corner of Royal and St. Anne streets in the Vieux Carré. By 1853, he had moved to 210 Royal Street and changed his sign to advertise “French, Religious and Classical Bookstore, Fancy Articles, etc . . . . founded in 1800.” Another move occurs around 1861 to 174 Royal, corner of Orleans, and a second location, 9 Baronne, is given from 1872 to 1889. When trying to determine Lelièvre’s place and Nouveau jardinier’s role in the local horticultural community, there is much to consider. Information about Lelièvre and his career suggests that he may have been a jack-of-all-trades and not necessarily a “master” of horticulture. Several questions remain concerning Nouveau jardinier: why was it published only in French, when the influence of the French-speaking community was, by the 1830s, in decline? Why would someone who knew enough to write such a book not be actively involved in other areas of horticultural commerce in the community? Why did he not advertise his horticultural services or products in local newspapers? Why is there no evidence of business relationships with other prominent horticulturalists of the period, such as the nurseryman/writer Thomas Affleck or the nurseryman F. D. Gay? Until answers to these questions surface, Lelièvre’s place in the local horticultural commerce will remain uncertain. Nevertheless, even if written and published elsewhere for a local French-speaking audience that was diminishing in number and influence, Nouveau jardinier remains evidence of the lingering French presence in a community in transition from its French colonial origins to a diverse, cosmopolitan multicultural city, and its content is an early catalog that is helpful in trying to establish what nineteenth-century gardens in New Orleans may have contained. Ulger Vicknair’s Le jardinier économique et productif of 1867 resembles contemporary works in organization and, to a lesser degree, in content. Though a small book, it appears to have been designed for reference rather than as a pocket manual. In his “Bibliography of Louisiana Botany,” Ewan calls this work “a French kitch-

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en-garden guide, naming vegetables by variety  .  .  . but without notice of garden flowers.”18 Little is known about the author (the title page indicates he is a resident of St. John the Baptist Parish) or of the circumstances surrounding the writing of this work. At present, only one copy exists, and it has not been translated or reprinted.19 The audience for this French-language work likely was small and entirely local, as was its distribution and impact. It was intended as a horticultural manual for those who wanted to grow vegetables: there is a discussion of horticultural principles (such as soils, irrigation, tools, seeds, transplanting, drought, insects, and crop rotations); a garden calendar of month-by-month garden activities; descriptions of sixty-five common vegetables; and a general listing of vegetables. The importance of Le jardinier lies less in its content, distribution, or local impact and more in its existence and the identity of its intended audience. Initially, its publication seems curious and illogical. It contains nothing particularly new or innovative; clearly this information was readily accessible elsewhere in English, and certainly the city’s population by the late 1860s included few residents who communicated only in French. The circumstances of this work become evident when we note that Le jardinier was published by “Inprimerie [sic] de la Renaissance Louisianaise,”20 and, as such, this work has a place in the complicated racial and ethnic story of post–Civil War New Orleans. In 1861, a new journal, La Renaissance Louisianaise: Organe des Populations Franco-Americaines du Sud, appeared in New Orleans, created by Emile Hiriart. According to the historian Joseph Tregle, it was aimed at and supported by “the most illustrious members of creole society” and had two goals: “absolute victory of the Southern Confederacy and creation within it of a Louisiana restored to original estate as a community whose heart, mind, and spirit were irrevocably French.” As Tregle explains, this journal got mired almost immediately in a negrophobia that overwhelmed its Gallic nationalism. With the collapse of the Confederacy, its hope of reviving Gallic society in New Orleans dissolved. Some supporters “found it impossible to submit” to changing situations, and, instead, exiled “themselves . . . forever”; others, like the historian Charles Gayarré, remained, “in mordant complaint against the obtuseness of a world which had allowed all this to happen.” Throughout the remaining years of the nineteenth century, these unreconstructed Creole Francophiles fought losing battles of revising their past in futile efforts to reclaim positions of social and historical importance in a community that, increasingly, was becoming more unified and less defined by or consumed with ethnic divisions. This is not to say that ethnic classifications ceased to exist. But as the nineteenth century advanced, lines of division were redrawn, and those of “Creole” extraction (that is, those who had descended from French colonial ancestors) became less significant because there were proportionally fewer of them. By the 1860s, they were politically marginalized; others held positions of power and influence in the community, and “Creole” concerns became almost irrelevant.21 It is unknown how long La Renaissance Louisianaise lasted or what else it published; however, the presence of La Renaissance Louisianaise and its mission ­compared with the imprimatur on Vicknair’s treatise should be considered.



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­ ssuming a connection, Le jardinier’s importance as an effort to reassert FrenchA speaking presence in the community becomes far greater than its significance in horticultural instruction. Perhaps those involved in the Renaissance Louisianaise movement were providing a service for the diminishing French-speaking community. Or perhaps they thought this work would contribute somehow to reclaiming French prominence in the community, and that such horticultural writing was a vehicle through which the French presence in New Orleans could be reestablished. Whatever the case, this did not happen, and by the 1870s, La Renaissance Louisianaise partisans knew that their dream to regain political and cultural dominance had evaporated, as Tregle notes, in the “relentless demographic Americanization of the city.”22 By the end of the nineteenth century, Creoles and those who had envisioned a reestablished French community in New Orleans had passed on. Ironically, though, in the field of local garden history, the myth of French hegemony would remain well into the twentieth century, less because of books such as Le jardinier or ­Nouveau jardinier and more because of the nostalgic interest among some to validate their presence by connecting it with what they perceived to be more credible and authentic (and even aristocratic) origins, even if imagined. And in that regard, perhaps Hiriart, his colleague Gayarré, and others involved in La Renaissance ­Louisianaise may have succeeded, albeit years later, in reasserting a French stronghold in New Orleans culture. Inventories of garden books published outside the community but available locally in nineteenth-century New Orleans are difficult to locate; however, initial studies suggest a significant level of literary sophistication during this time in New ­Orleans. Between 1804 and 1824, more than fifty people or firms were involved with selling books. These booksellers often advertised in local newspapers and gave lists of works available.23 In addition to the local books mentioned, there is evidence of the availability of garden, horticultural, and scientific publications of national and international sources in New Orleans from 1820 onward. The presence of these works demonstrates the availability of contemporary design theory, horticultural information, and scientific instructions in nineteenth-century New Orleans from national and international sources. For instance, the local bookseller Benjamin Levy placed an advertisement in the December 26, 1826, Argus newspaper listing thirtysix books (most of which are English literary titles) including “Repton Observation on Landscape Gardening.”24 An advertisement for William Smith, “proprietor of the agricultural and general seed store,” announces he “has constantly on sale . . . garden books,” but no titles are given.25 French scientific and garden books published in the 1830s and 1840s bear the labels of New Orleans booksellers, indicating local presence.26 Thomas Bridgeman’s Young Gardener’s Assistant, a book widely distributed throughout the United States, lists “Wm. Dinn, New Orleans” as a local agent for his book.27 Thomas Affleck, editor of Norman’s Southern Agricultural Almanac for 1847, gives extensive instructions for New Orleans garden activities (subsequent editions of this almanac appear until 1860), and elsewhere in this book is an advertisement by the publisher (also a bookseller) that lists fifty-eight “agricultural, horticultural & floral works” including works by A. B. and R. L. Allen (editors of the

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periodical “American Agriculturist, vols. 1, 2, 3, and 4”); Downing (Fruits and Fruit Trees of America; Landscape Gardening; Designs for Cottages; Ladies’ Companion to the Flower Garden); Buist (“on Rose Culture”); Bridgeman (The Young Gardener’s Assistant); Fessenden (The New American Gardener); and others.28 In the 1860 edition of Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac, C. M. Saxton, Barker & Co. of New York advertises books on “Agriculture, Horticulture, Rural Art, Rural Taste, Domestic Economy” and lists “Thomas’ American Fruit Culturist” and, in a full-page notice, Andrew Jackson Downing’s the Horticulturist and Journal of Rural Art.29 In addition: [T]he Publishers would invite the introduction of the horticulturist, in neighborhoods, by the formation of Clubs, as a most desirable means of information to all lovers of Rural Art, gardening and Architecture. The business of professional Horticulturists, Nurserymen, Implement Makers, and other, will be materially increased by the increase of information, and it is their interest to diffuse a knowledge and taste for these pursuits.

Clearly, midcentury New Orleans residents had access to horticultural information from popular and respected outside sources, but we may never know the extent to which they influenced local gardeners. Thomas Affleck’s writings, however, provide detailed information about what to do locally, and we may assume, based on his commercial papers, that many subscribed to his publications and sought his advice.

16 T hom a s A f f l eck a n d His A l m a nac s

The career and works of Thomas Affleck (1812–1868) are of great value in an investigation of the horticulture of the lower Mississippi River valley because of his lengthy involvement in the region’s horticultural commerce and because of the variety and extant quantity of what he wrote, much of which appeared in almanac format. A native of Scotland, Affleck immigrated to the United States in 1832 and became a pivotal figure in the advancement of regional, and arguably national, horticulture. He lived successively in New York, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Ohio, where he migrated following business failures, family tragedies, and ill health. Preparing to return to Scotland in the late 1830s, he remained in Cincinnati long enough to recover. He began gardening and writing, and in 1840 became associate editor of Western Farmer and Gardener, published in Cincinnati between 1839 and 1845. In 1841, he became its editor. Following a tour through Mississippi and Louisiana in late 1841, about which he reported in Western Farmer, Affleck married and settled in rural Adams County, Mississippi, in 1842, where he established a commercial nursery and lived until the mid-1850s. During this period, he developed active commercial relationships in New Orleans, supplying plant materials and advice to local clients, establishing long-term business contacts, and writing articles for the local newspapers. Affleck sensed that the growing tensions between North and South would lead to conflict, and in an effort to take advantage of the perceived economic opportunity that Texas offered, Affleck established Central Nurseries, a branch nursery of his Mississippi operation, in Washington County, Texas, in 1855. He liquidated his Mississippi properties to finance his Texas ventures, and by 1859, Affleck had moved his operations and reestablished himself in Texas, where he died in late December 1868.1 Between 1841 and 1856, Affleck’s writings appeared in at least three New Orleans– area newspapers, a period that coincides with Lelièvre’s presence in New Orleans, yet there is no evidence they were acquainted.2 Affleck had extensive business dealings with New Orleans clients, publishers, merchants, and acquaintances, and he retained copies of these communications. Indices show that between 1850 and 1856, he wrote some 237 letters to more than sixty different individuals or businesses in New Orleans. These communications included responses to client inquiries about available nursery stock, plant materials, and farm animals; business matters regarding his publishing ventures; and communications among professional colleagues. Among the letters are communications with F. D. Gay, a “Seedsman and Florist” 191

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who had a “seed store and plant depot” at 139 St. Charles Street; he regularly advertised in newspapers and other publications; J. D. B. De Bow, who published De Bow’s Review; Benjamin Moore Norman, the publisher of Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanacs and plantation account books;3 and Thomas White, “bookseller and stationer.” There is, however, no correspondence, business record, or mention found in Affleck’s papers of Lelièvre, his shop, or Nouveau jardinier.4 Affleck edited Norman’s Southern Agricultural Almanac for 1847 and published annual editions of Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac, and Plantation and Garden Calendar between 1848 and 1860. Between 1840 and 1860, Affleck’s contributions appear in at least seven widely circulated national and regional agricultural publications and newspapers, giving his writings broad exposure.

Norman’s Southern Agricultural Almanac for 1847. Courtesy The Historic New Orleans Collection, acc. no. 86-106-RL



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Few commercial nurseries existed in the lower Mississippi River valley (known as the “Southwest”) when Affleck arrived in the early 1840s; however, “fresh garden seeds” were advertised by J. B. Lesasser in the Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane as early as March 1810, and other horticultural advertisements continue from the 1820s. The extent of these operations is unknown, although some merchants’ advertisements (particularly those of Wm. Smith’s Agricultural and General Seed Store in the 1820s and 1830s; F. Newman; and later, Wm. Dinn) are larger than other notices and appear with more regularity. The size, frequency, and content of what was offered for sale indicate that these merchants ranged from general stores selling seeds to well-equipped outlets offering garden tools and farm equipment, current horticultural books and references, and seeds and plants from northern and European cities. Often plants offered for sale were ill suited for local environmental conditions. Affleck, recognizing this market deficiency as an opportunity to provide material more appropriate for the region, established his Southern Nursery at “Ingleside” in Washington, near Natchez, Mississippi, in 1847 to supply acclimated plants to meet the region’s demands. He imported plants from Europe (holding them until accustomed to local conditions), performed horticultural experiments, promoted innovative agricultural practices and farming techniques, and established a network of commercial contacts throughout the region and elsewhere in America via voluminous correspondence and writings in which he described his experiences and offered helpful suggestions for improving production.5 While living in Mississippi, Affleck sensed an opportunity to expand existing rural markets and pursued commercial links with New Orleans to develop a new clientele in the region’s largest urban area. He considered buying property near the city and corresponded regularly with local merchants, plantsmen, and growers, including nurseryman John M. Nelson, whose catalog is discussed earlier. Affleck installed a locked greenhouse on the deck of a riverboat and sent potted plants and flowers to New Orleans every Saturday, which arrived in the late afternoon. His colleague, “seedsman and florist” F. D. Gay, held the key and engaged vendors to sell these plants via specially designed movable carts in “the best parts of the French part of the City.” This venture did not succeed as envisioned, but success came when potted plants from his nursery were sold to the general public directly off the riverboat’s deck.6 Affleck’s writings in his Almanacs, newspapers, and periodicals reinforced his horticultural authority. They contained practical information conveyed in a conversational style that was both accessible and useful to the general public on both national and local levels. With his nursery outside Natchez, his widespread clientele (with whom he maintained warm and personal relationships), and his commercial contacts with business leaders, Affleck was a prominent and respected figure in local, regional, and national horticultural commerce. The Almanacs contain extensive instructions for month-by-month garden activities in Natchez and New Orleans (with the notation that operations in New Orleans should take place about a month before those in Natchez), and they are similar in format to almanacs published elsewhere in America at that time. Astronomical

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information (eclipses, rising and setting of planets and stars) is given, with temperature and rainfall date (compiled in Natchez). Next are extensive month-by-month instructions for the cotton plantation, the kitchen garden, the “green-house,” the flower garden, and the fruit garden and orchard. Accompanying each month’s instructions are tables showing phases of the moon (for the Charleston region, the New Orleans region, and the Austin region); times of sunrise and sunset; and annual wind directions. Throughout, horticultural hints, commercial information, and general community commentary are given. For instance, a notice appeared in the 1853 edition announcing a resolution among leading citizens for a “Series of Great Southern ­Industrial Fairs” in the “principal cities of the South.” The first fair would be in New Orleans; other cities named were Charleston, Memphis, Mobile, Natchez, and Savannah. The purpose of the fairs was to “bring together a display of the proofs of skill amongst southern mechanics and manufacturers,” something that, at the time, had never been done. Fair organizers express hope that “southern planters will exert themselves to prove that they have something more to exhibit than bales of cotton[,] of sugar, and tierces of rice, though these, of course, will take a front rank.” Affleck’s involvement as a member of the committee “to address the people of the South” on the proposed fair’s advantages indicates his position of influence within the community, and the language of the resolutions concerning the purposes of the fair indicate local interest among community leaders in commercial and economic diversification.7 The fair did not take place then, yet its proposed organization, content, and purposes are remarkably similar to what was later realized with the World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition of 1884–85. The format of the four editions of the Almanac examined here (1851–54) is similar; variations in content occur with advertisements and commercial notices. All four editions contain extensive catalogs of “Fruit and Ornamental Trees and Plants Cultivated and for Sale at the Southern Nurseries, Washington, Adams County, Mississippi.” These catalogs contain lists, mainly of fruits (such as apples, pears, and peaches) and roses available for sale; discussion follows on their contents. Corroborated with other plant lists from the period, they provide an inventory of available plant materials, which, in turn, leads to a reasonably accurate summary of what local gardens may have contained. Affleck clearly had a significant influence, through his writings and business ventures, on the development of horticulture in Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas, if not the broader region as well. Actively maintaining communication through personal contact and written communication, engaging in horticultural experiments, and seeking new methods to increase production, he understood the farmer, the planter, and the gardener. Affleck was highly regarded among his peers, and his writings were widely published in books, horticultural journals, newspapers, and government documents—though, curiously, Bailey ignores him altogether in his discussion of important American horticulturalists (1929). In addition to works already mentioned, Affleck also devised, published, and marketed record-keeping journals for cotton and sugarcane plantation overseers.8 These account books, the first of their kind, greatly improved bookkeeping systems for rural farms by



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­ roviding a format to record the costs and benefits of agricultural efforts. They were p in great demand throughout the southern states and among plantation and agricultural suppliers in the northern cities of Philadelphia, New York, and Cincinnati.9 From the early 1850s onward, Affleck expressed interest in writing a “large book on Southern gardening-fruit, flowers and vegetables,” but this ambition was not realized. At the time of his death in 1868, Affleck had begun a series of “Hand-books of Southern Agriculture, Horticulture, etc.; each a complete treatise upon some special topic of this character.” The first and only volume, Hedging and Hedging Plants in the Southern States, was published posthumously.10 Through his writing and business ventures, Affleck did more than anyone else to keep the regional horticultural community up-to-date with information, techniques, and plant material. His commercial dealings with suppliers in Europe and elsewhere in America gave residents of New Orleans and the Gulf South access to national and international markets. His widely dispersed writings, in both newspaper and journal form, made information accessible and facilitated increased and informed participation in the horticultural life of the community.

17 A rt icl e s

Among publications with national or regional circulation, articles from Louisiana contributors or about local subjects are not as frequently found as contributions from other southern states, notably Virginia, Tennessee, and Georgia. However, several midcentury examples from the Magazine of Horticulture and Botany, and All Useful Discoveries and Improvements in Rural Aἀairs, the Horticulturist, and the Southern Cultivator provide valuable accounts of mid-nineteenth-century gardens and plants in New Orleans and its vicinity. The Magazine of Horticulture and Botany published two articles about local gardens: J. W. Paulsen’s “Plants in Bloom, in the garden of C. L. Bell, Esq, in the vicinity of New Orleans, in November, 1845”; and Alexander Gordon’s “Remarks on ­Gardening and Gardens in Louisiana.” The Horticulturist, perhaps the most prominent national horticultural periodical of its time (its founding editor was ­Andrew Jackson Downing), published “Random Notes on Southern Horticulture” by ­“Sylvanus.” These three articles are significant for the lengthy, firsthand accounts they give of local gardens and local plants of their period.1 Collectively, they discuss the general state of local horticulture, international trends in garden design in contrast to local examples, and the content of a local garden. Paulsen’s “Plants in Bloom, in the garden of C. L. Bell” appeared in the Magazine of Horticulture in 1846. Of significance in this article are the number—more than fifty—and variety of plants mentioned in the garden of Charles Bell at Lake Pontchartrain. Paulsen notes that “Mr. Bell’s garden presented to me very much the appearance of a vast conservatory, studded with West Indian plants, growing in the greatest profusion.” Paulsen also mentions specific ornamental plants by scientific name, and these plants correlate with plant lists found elsewhere. Alexander Gordon’s article, “Remarks on Gardening and Gardens in Louisiana,” also from the Magazine of Horticulture, is important for several reasons. ­Gordon calls himself a “Botanical Collector, [from] Baton Rouge,” and clearly his botanical knowledge, understanding of garden design, and familiarity with many of the region’s gardens informs his observations. He notes, for instance: During the month of February, I visited a vast number of gardens in New Orleans— its vicinity, and for 130 miles up the Mississippi. Even at the unfavorable season, from the mildness of the winter, I found a tolerable display of Flora’s beauties, the gardens, as it were, conjuring up a spring-like appearance in the gloomy season of 196



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winter. The various plants, &c. in bloom were, to me equally astonishing as gratifying. Many varieties of the rose were displaying their gaudy flowers, and exhaling their fragrance in profusion. Many exotics, planted in the open ground, were then blooming freely, and most of them had been so during the previous season from the months of April and May.2

He mentions specific ornamental plants (including camellia, azalea, gardenia, ­Chinese magnolias, and crape myrtle), vegetables (“most abundant during the ­winter”), and roses (noisettes and tea), suggesting a lush and colorful environment. He also comments on the “very extensive gardens . . . of Mr. Valcouraam”3 upriver from New Orleans, which “would bear a comparison with any garden in the Union. It was intended, as I have understood, to make this a transcript of an English pleasure ground,4 but I must confess, in that respect, the designer has been by no means successful.” Gordon’s observations include the only nineteenth-century account and discussion of garden design in the New Orleans region. He continues: in general, the French style in the ornamental department of gardening is the most frequently adopted, particularly among the Creole portion of the population, and there are some very unique and judiciously arranged gardens laid out and kept according to that system, which, however much it may be repudiated by some, possesses a fascination under peculiar circumstances.  .  .  . The parks, groves, and squares, formed by LeNôtre, the father of that system, can never, in my estimation, bear a comparison with the scenic beauties formed by the principles advocated and practiced by Kent, Price, Knight, and Repton. This, however, is merely a matter of taste, which, as respects gardening, is, in many instances, very arbitrary, and may yet be just. I shall, therefore pass over the matter, and state that the great and almost general error when forming a garden is—no expense is spared in the first instance—a vast space is embraced—the subsequent necessary care never taken into consideration.5

From this account, we may assume that the “Creole portion of the population” to which he refers is the French-speaking community, and that their garden styles conform to the geometric patterns shown in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century maps and drawings of the Notarial Archives, extreme simplifications of the elaborate parterres that characterize the garden plans of Andre LeNôtre (1613–1700). Gordon clearly favors the more contemporary, less geometrically structured garden styles developed in England in the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries by William Kent (1685–1748), Uvedale Price (1747–1829), Richard Payne Knight (1750–1824), and Humphrey Repton (1752–1818). Most of the nineteenth-century agricultural and horticultural publications with national audiences, like the Magazine of Horticulture and the Horticulturist, depended on information (presumably unsolicited) from its correspondents. While these firsthand contributions often provide horticultural insight and useful botanical information, they are not without contradictions, reflecting differences in ­individual perceptions. An article from the Horticulturist, “Random Notes on Southern Horticulture,” balances the rather effusive articles previously discussed.

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While Gordon comments on “Flora’s beauties” in New Orleans, “Sylvanus” comments that he did not find the “charms of nature” appreciated there as in the North, and that “attention is not paid to horticulture as a science.” Although, he continues, the South is generally considered as a “land of flowers,” there is “little attention here . . . to gardening,” except for “laying out an acre or two on plantations, and in the suburbs of the city.” And while “nature has done much to adorn the scene, art has done little or nothing.” In summary, “notwithstanding all the praises bestowed upon the sunny south, in this part of it, at least, Landscape Gardening is half a century behind the age.” He continues, commenting on a public garden here, six miles from the city (Carrollton Gardens), “laid out in the English style.” He notes that it is a “pleasant place of retreat from the heat and stench of this dirtiest of all cities,” but that it “possesses not horticultural or botanical attraction.” In addition, he reiterates that “there is not much true horticultural taste here, or much knowledge of trees and shrubs, either in town or country. Perhaps one reason is, that there are no large nurseries, from which trees and shrubs may be seen and procured. There are several nurseries on a small scale, in the vicinity of the city, but they contain nothing but the most common of trees, flowers and shrubs, such only as meet with a ready sale.”6 Several comments pertain to local vegetables and how they are grown. For instance, “Sylvanus” notes that “the markets here are poorly supplied with vegetables,” yet later he writes: I have seen very fine Cauliflowers in the market. The Artichoke, which, when properly cooked, is a delicious vegetable is here a great favorite, and very common. Every garden, of course, contains a space devoted to Okra. Water-melons will grow here, but are very insipid, while the green fleshed Nutmeg Melon, is nowhere more delicious. Figs and Oranges are abundant, while the Pear, Cherry, and the Plum (except the wild kinds,) do not thrive at all. Bananas grow and bear readily in the open air. . . . They are . . . imported in profusion from Havana, with Oranges and Pineapples, and other tropical fruits.

“Sylvanus” makes some other interesting observations, revealing perhaps an ethnic bias against the French community. He notes, for instance, that “the French ­Creoles are fond of gardening, but it is in a small way, and indeed, their fondness for it is more connected with the idea of profit than of pleasure,” an observation that contradicts conventional wisdom about French residents being more interested in pleasure rather than profit. Later, he observes that “there are many quiet, snug little gardens and delicious retreats, scattered here and there, through the city and its suburbs, giving a little variety to the ungainly masses of brick and mortar that constitute our squares, for except in public buildings, New-Orleans possesses no architectural beauty. As the city becomes Americanized, more and more taste seems to be developed. The houses are built back from the street. Trees are planted. Shrubberies unfold their sweets, and an idea begins to prevail, that there are other pleasure besides the gathering of dollars, and filling the stomach with dainties from the market.” The assessment notes the city’s lack of domestic architectural beauty (which, in 1850, would have included French colonial and Creole ex-



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amples) and equates “taste” with the Americanization of the community. The writer ­observes that “houses are built back from the street. Trees are planted. Shrubberies unfold their sweets,” implying that now conditions are right for gardens to exist. In addition, the writer suggests that newer residents are less concerned with “the gathering of dollars,” conclusions not shared by other observers of the period.7 “Agricola,” a journalist from Connecticut, contributed an article to the Southern Cultivator in 1859 that gives insight into plants in the New Orleans region.8 “Tropical Fruits,” written from New Orleans, discusses varieties of available citrus (“The orange . . . is grown here in greatest abundance.”), banana (“after the orange, the fruit most prized and most abundant in this market”), fig (“flourishes . . . in the greatest abundance”), vegetables (cabbage, lettuce, beets, turnips, celery sweet potato, yam, Irish potatoes), and pecan nut (“pronounced with the broad sound of a”). While this snapshot describes in rich detail what was commonly available in local markets, the author also makes astute observations on the unrealized market potential associated with local products. Describing oranges, for instance, “Agricola” notes that while everyone seems to grow them (“found on nearly all the plantations, cultivated . . . mainly . . . [for] home consumption . . . found also in many of the yards in the city and suburbs, cultivated both for ornament and its fruit”), they are not grown for local markets, “strange as it may seem,” and, instead, “immense quantities . . . are brought from Havana, West Indies, Central American and from Sicily” for local markets. While these articles vary in details, they all suggest that those who came to New Orleans in the mid-nineteenth century, like their counterparts in the previous century, were impressed by the landscape and fascinated by the possibilities it afforded.

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VIII Compiling Plant Lists for New Orleans Gardens One might assume that developing plant lists for a period New Orleans garden is a linear process that begins with plants native to the region and expands chronologically with introductions from other regions. Yet New Orleans has a complex and varied history; its temperate environment is conducive to almost year-round growing, and its population is multicultural. Because local markets reflect these and other intervening realities, taking such a linear approach to building plant lists is ill advised, if not also impossible. When developing plant lists for New Orleans gardens, we must consider several factors beyond merely what was there naturally at a given date and when the presence of non-native (commonly known as an “exotic”) plant material can first be documented. Among the relevant factors are how plants were historically used by the region’s different cultures (not all native plants were in cultivation by ­Native ­Americans when eighteenth-century Europeans arrived, and the uses of plants changed over time); the functions of different garden types (agricultural, culinary, medicinal, and ornamental); and the evolutionary and cultural changes in garden styles, resources, supply/demand, and content over different periods of time. These factors should inform plant lists and aid in our understanding of nineteenth­century gardens, their contents, and uses. Eighteenth-century accounts such as Dumont de Montigny’s Mémoires historiques sur la Louisiane (1753) and A.-S. Le Page du Pratz’s Histoire de la Louisiane (1758) describe aspects of native vegetation and agricultural enterprises. The list increases by including plants cultivated by local Native American tribes, determined through ethnographic studies of plants used for sustenance as well as for economic, medicinal, and ceremonial purposes. While native plant uses were more functional than ornamental, additions could also come from botanical accounts of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century travelers and plant scientists, who often isolated native plants and brought them into common cultivation (either locally or in their sponsors’ gardens elsewhere) because of their ornamental value. It is impossible to determine when introductions of horticultural resources (both plants and services) began on a commercial basis in New Orleans, though

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documentation of both plants and services through printed sources (newspaper ­advertisements and city directories) appear in the early decades of the nineteenth century. A notice for “Fresh Garden Seeds” appears in March 1810; regular advertisements for plants and garden equipment from “Wm. Smith” and “The French Florist Gardners” begin in 1825. ἀ e New-Orleans Directory and Register, a city directory from 1822, lists twenty-two gardeners, and, in January 1828, “Mr. J. C. G*** gardener and flourist planter, and cutter of trees, and vines” seeks employment through an ad in the bilingual newspaper the Bee/L’Abeille. Over time, such notices increase, so that by the end of the nineteenth century, there are 116 listings in the 1899 city directory for businesses supplying agricultural implements, feed/seed stores, and florists.1 As commercial interests and the local economy expanded in subsequent decades, printed sources increased in both quantity and variety. Taking the nineteenth century as a whole, we find multiple resources that document the ­nineteenth-century presence of horticultural resources (both plants and services) in New Orleans and chart their availability. Generating lists is relatively easy owing to the quantity and availability of the sources, but caveats should accompany each list. One problem is inconsistencies in plant nomenclature from the nineteenth century to the present. The standardization of plant names via the Linnaean system of nomenclature of both scientific and common names was not widely adopted until late in the nineteenth century, and while scientific nomenclature is sometimes given (usually only when common names are not used), rarely did publications meant for widespread ­distribution—such as newspaper advertisements and periodicals—use both scientific and common names when describing plants. Often there are geographical variations in common names, compounded also by evolutionary and chronological changes, making accurate identifications of specific plants difficult. Another problem comes from the bilingual culture of New Orleans: translating common plant names from midnineteenth-century French into English is often problematic, even with contemporary dictionaries and horticultural references. Finally, over time, both plants and their names, common and scientific, have evolved; therefore, while we may well know that certain plants were available, we can be less sure that their current counterparts are identical. Nevertheless, compiling plant lists from the various available resources is a useful and interesting endeavor. These lists will increase a contemporary understanding of nineteenth-century gardens in New Orleans, and like other historical resources, they should be used with appropriate logic and caution. A picture of New Orleans from a horticultural perspective emerges through an evaluation of graphic and written materials from the colonial period into the twentieth century. Segments of the early colonial economy, including agricultural practices, drew heavily on native precedents, and, to a large degree, success depended upon native expertise and participation in horticultural matters. Evidence of this involvement is seen in the content and characteristics of local markets and in descriptions of medical practices, establishing these horticultural practices as threads that connected diverse colonial and native communities.



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European and, later, American horticultural influences became evident as the colony developed, emerging as defining forces in the region’s agricultural economy as emigration grew and as printed material became more common. Sources of these influences include books and other printed material, plants imported from northern American cities and Europe and sold through local outlets, and horticulturally trained immigrants who lived and worked in the community. These examples describe the region’s agricultural economy, track its interior nineteenth-century ­evolution, and place local resources within the larger national and international context. Judging from frequency of French printed references in books, newspaper ­notices, and through commercial connections, one might conclude that French influences played a dominant horticultural role in New Orleans from colonial times to the mid-nineteenth century. Certainly they were present; yet significant agricultural influences can also be traced, from the early eighteenth century forward, to native practices and subsequent refinements of African and European (notably German) residents and their participation in the horticultural economy, due to French deficiencies in this area. Cultural factors must also be evaluated within the context of the period and in light of contemporary examples: bilingual newspapers were printed to reach as wide an audience as possible and appeared in nineteenth-century New Orleans first in French, and later in Spanish, German, and Italian. While commercial ties from newspaper notices mention material “newly arrived from France,” they often mention material having arrived from England as well. Visual indications of eighteenth-century domestic gardens are found in period maps, but these images are unreliable. More accurate representations of nineteenth-century domestic gardens are found in records of the Notarial Archives. Examination reveals that many of these gardens were utilitarian, influenced more by matters of function than by theories of garden design that had developed, first in Europe and later in mid-nineteenth-century America. With the emergence of a prosperous middle class in New Orleans during the 1840s and 1850s, many of whom were American rather than foreign, came a gradual shift from functional gardens to gardens designed for ornamental reasons. Although reports of agricultural practices and techniques abound from the early colonial period, the first instructions specific to the region are found in Lelièvre’s Nouveau jardinier, the manual printed in New Orleans for a local audience, as previously discussed. Its presence three and a half decades after New ­Orleans became an American city indicates that there were still, at this relatively late date, cultural distinctions that separated ethnic groups in the community. The appearance of Vicknair’s work nearly thirty years later reinforces this observation. The fact that their content and composition mirror contemporary works of American authors suggests that common approaches were employed for both technical aspects of horticultural practice as well as presentation of horticultural information. Though audiences for French-language publications remained throughout the nineteenthcentury, the influence of such publications was limited, and their number decreased as the century advanced. Thus, while language and ­heritage may ­initially have

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s­ eparated groups in the community, horticultural materials, techniques, and information remained common to all from the colonial period throughout the nineteenth century. For this examination, garden plants are divided into two categories representing separate uses: production (fruits, vegetables, and herbs); and ornamental (flowers, shrubs, and decorative plants). Different methods will be used to gain a better understanding from printed sources of plants common in New Orleans during this period. For production plants, a comparative examination from selected examples of local and national horticultural material (appendix, table 1) will facilitate insight into local usage within a national context, and correlating matches among these different sources with a control example will identify similarities of content among the sources. For ornamental plants, comparing examples of listings, first from individual sources (appendix, table 2-A) and then collectively (appendix, table 2-B), will produce a picture of ornamental plants common in nineteenth-century New Orleans.

18 F ru i ts a n d V egeta bl e s

Fruits and vegetables appear with greater frequency in available references than do ornamental plants. Regional printed information on these subjects begins with Dumont de Montigny’s eighteenth-century work on Louisiana and continues with newspaper advertisements from the 1820s onward (usually in English and French) and books such as Lelièvre’s Nouveau jardinier (838); Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac for 1852; and Vicknair’s Le jardinier économique et productif (1867); a nursery broadside (Comstock, Ferre & Co., 1849); and catalogs (John. M. Nelson, 1859; Richard Frotscher, 1891). Collectively, these sources provide confirmation of plant supply and demand in New Orleans over time and suggest local usage. Plants from lists appearing in Fessenden’s ἀ e New American Gardener (1828), and White’s Gardening for the South (1868) are included as controls for national and regional comparative models of the period. A list of plants commonly available and used emerges by comparing vegetable and fruit listings from the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century horticultural literature. Not surprisingly, this list also describes local cuisine and contributes to an understanding of how the region’s distinctive cuisine developed. Plant lists in the table below were compiled from the following sources: 1. Dumont de Montigny, Historical Memoir on Louisiana. Translated by ­Olivia Blanchard. Typescript. Survey of Federal Archives in Louisiana, Works Progress Administration, 1937–38. Original document transcribed by Abbe Jean Baptiste Le Mascrier (from original written in poetic form). Paris, 1753. 2. Thomas G. Fessenden, ἀ e New American Gardener; containing Practical Directions on the Culture of Fruits and Vegetables. . . .Boston, 1828. 3. Advertisement for Wm. Smith’s Garden Seed Store in the Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane, November 29, 1830. 4. J. F. Lelièvre, Nouveau jardinier. New Orleans, 1838. 5. Garden seeds sold at the New Orleans Seed Store & Horticultural Warehouse, by Comstock, Ferre & Co., 1849. 6. “Descriptive Catalogue of the Garden seeds, for sale by F. D. Gay, Seed Store and Plant Depot, No. 139 St. Charles Street, (Lafayette Square,) New Orleans,” in ­Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac, and Plantation and Garden Calendar, for 1852. New Orleans, 1851. Also included in this almanac is the “Catalogue of Fruit 205

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and Ornamental Trees and Plants, cultivated at The Southern Nurseries, Washington, Adams County, Mississippi by Thomas Affleck” (pp. 91–108), but a summary of its contents is not included in this analysis. New Orleans gardeners had access to these plants via mail order. This list is particularly interesting for the quantity and names of fruit trees; among them are more than 200 pears, 177 apples, 54 peaches, and 22 grapes. Extensive lists of roses are given as well: summer, Provence, damask and hybrid province; moss; French; China and hybrid China; Bourbon and hybrid Bourbon; white; Austrian briars, climbing; Boursault; Prairie; autumnal; damask perpetual; hybrid perpetual; tea-scented; and noisette. 7. Catalogue of Fruit, Shade and Ornamental Trees, Evergreens, Roses and Miscellaneous Plants. . . .John M. Nelson’s Magnolia Nurseries. New Orleans, 1859. This catalog excludes vegetables but lists fruit trees and some flowering plants. 8. William N. White, with additions by Mr. J. Van Buren, and Dr. Jas. Camak, Gardening for the South, or How to Grow Vegetables and Fruits. 1856. New York, 1868. 9. Ulger Vicknair, Le jardinier économique et productif. New Orleans, 1867. 10. Richard Frotscher, Almanac and Garden Manual for the Southern States.  .  .  . 14th ed. New Orleans, 1891. Altogether, 108 plant names are given in these ten sources. Notable, given the chronological range of the sources (1753–1891), is the number of times (forty-nine) the same plant is mentioned in at least five sources. Also notable, looking at the entire range of plants, are the different varieties mentioned: squash, for instance, is mentioned in nine sources, and in eight of those sources multiple varieties are discussed. Looking at plants that include multiple varieties and in cases where such plants are included in five or more sources, twenty-four plants appear. This suggests that, over time, people who had an interest in plants (and therefore recorded information) had access to and knew of multiple varieties. Said another way, over 20 percent of the plants in New Orleans, according to these sources, had multiple varieties. A second way to analyze plant listings from these sources would be to select one local example (for instance, Lelièvre’s Nouveau jardinier) from the list and compare others to it, using that analysis as a basis for establishing relationships among local, national, and international sources from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. High levels of correlation between Lelièvre’s list and others suggest that the content of Lelièvre’s work coincides with other sources; therefore, one might conclude that Lelièvre’s work is similar to other works and that its contents correspond with contemporary sources. Correlations among lists might also suggest patterns of fruits and vegetables cultivation, with implications for both consumer demand and commercial supply. The formula used for this analysis is the correlation [C] between any list [X] and Lelièvre [Y] equals the number of matches in common between the two [Xn] divided by the number of plants in the constant, the Lelièvre list [Yn = 61]; therefore, C = Xn/Yn. Again, the source numbers remain as above in the previous list. The following table summarizes these correlations:



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Sources: 1 2 3 List Total [X] 43 52 30 Matches [Xn] 31 42 28

4 [Yn] 61 61

5

6

7

8

9

10

59 30

53 31

14 11

70 54

56 47

52 41

Correlation [C]

1.00

.491

.508

.180

.885

.770

.672

.508

.688

.459

There are relatively high levels of correlation between Lelièvre’s list of 1838 and all others except John Nelson’s 1859 catalog (no. 7). Yet visual examination of each immediately explains this: Nelson’s catalog is devoted mainly to evergreen trees and shrubs (78 varieties), deciduous trees and shrubs (89 varieties), evergreen and deciduous climbers (23 varieties), camellias (18 varieties), and roses (160 varieties), specific plants that Lelièvre does not mention. Eliminating this outlying source from consideration because of differences of format, we can draw two conclusions: the content of Lelièvre’s work corresponds with that of other horticultural references on both regional and national scales; and there is a consistent knowledge ­(if not availability as well) over nearly 140 years—from de Montigny’s work in 1753 to Frotscher’s Almanac of 1891—of fruits and vegetables in the New Orleans region. This suggests that early residents identified relatively quickly which fruits and vegetables were appropriate to the New Orleans region and that the market—both supply and demand—supported those selections consistently from the mid-eighteenth century onward.

19 Or na me n ta l Pl a n ts

For several reasons, analyzing relationships among lists of ornamental plants ­(flowers and shrubs) is not as easy as with fruits and vegetables. Lists of flowering plants do not appear as early as do lists of fruits and vegetables, suggesting later demands for ornamental horticulture, and by the mid-nineteenth century, frequency of lists increased as supplies increased, demands solidified, and horticultural commerce became established. Difficulties result from having to translate the earliest list from nineteenth-century French (Lelièvre, 1838) and correlate its contents with American equivalents. In addition, when lists of ornamental plants occur, they include either common names or scientific names; only once, in Aἀ eck’s Southern Rural Almanac (beginning in 1852), do both occur. The situation is further complicated by the evolutionary changes of both common and scientific names in the intervening years and muddled, to a lesser degree, by geographical differences of nomenclature.1 Confusion often ensues, and horticultural specificity is sometimes impossible. Nevertheless, general evaluations are possible. Inventories of the following six nineteenth-century sources, from 1825 to 1891, have been compiled to ascertain what may have been in local gardens and when plants may have become available or widely used. Plant names for each source are listed first from individual sources in table 2-A (see appendix) and then compiled collectively in table 2-B (appendix); scientific names precede common names.2 These are the sources, followed by a brief discussion of their relevance: 1. Newspaper advertisement for French Florist Gardners. Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane, February 14, 1825. 2. Newspaper advertisement for F. Newman. Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane, December 30, 1830. 3. J. F. Lelièvre, Nouveau jardinier de la Louisiane. New Orleans, 1838. 4. “Descriptive Catalogue of the Garden Seeds, for sale by F. D. Gay, Seed Store and Plant Depot, No. 139 St. Charles Street, (Lafayette Square), New Orleans.” Found in Aἀ eck’s Southern Rural Almanac, and Plantation and Garden Calendar, for 1852, 109–24. New Orleans, 1851. 5. Catalogue of Fruit, Shade and Ornamental Trees, Evergreens, Roses and Miscellaneous Plants, cultivated and for sale by John M. Nelson, At the Magnolia Nurseries, Metairie Ridge, and at his plant depot, Corner of Camp street and Lafayette Square, New Orleans. New Orleans, 1859. 208



Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t s 

209

6. Richard Frotscher, Almanac and Garden Manual for the Southern States. New Orleans, 1891. 1. Newspaper Advertisement for French Florist Gardners, 1825 This is one of the earliest newspaper advertisements offering plants for sale in New Orleans. Of relevance here are the large number of roses available and the relatively extensive listings for bulbs (hyacinth, daffodil, jonquil, tuberose, amaryllis, crown imperial). It is almost certain these plants were imported from Europe (for instance, similar advertisements offer plants “newly arrived from Paris”), and they probably came from suppliers in Paris. Rose culture was popular at this time in France (southern France was one of the centers of rose cultivation), and it is likely that the bulbs came from Holland. Apparently there was little understanding among either merchants or customers that bulbs, with the notable exception of amaryllis, generally do very poorly in the New Orleans climate and do not last beyond one season. Amaryllis bulbs are part of a large family of more than 90 genera and 1,200 species native to the warmer climates of South America, Africa, and the Mediterranean regions. In eighteenthand nineteenth-century Europe, growing amaryllis under glass became fashionable, and hybridizing them became something of a fad, similar to the earlier fad for tulips. Amaryllis adapted well to the local climate in New Orleans and are often seen today in abandoned homesites and in older gardens. Because their blooming cycle coincides with St. Joseph’s Day (in March), they were used to decorate altars to St. Joseph and became colloquially known as “St. Joseph’s lilies.” The crown imperial is a showy lily common and widely admired in older European and American gardens but rarely seen in today’s gardens. 2. Newspaper Advertisement for F. Newman, 1830 This is one of the earliest listings of ornamental shrubs for sale in New Orleans. Newman’s advertisements occurred regularly during the 1820s and 1830s, and, as mentioned, an earlier notice indicated a commercial relationship with the William Prince nursery in New York. This particular notice lists camellias, offered as early as 1828. Other shrubs in this list commonly seen today include buddleia (Buddleia alternifolio), Chinese flowering quince (Chaenomeles lageneria), and sweet olive (Osmanthus fragrans), native to Asia, and plumbago (Plumbago auriculata), native to South Africa. Notable also are mentions of freesia and carnation, two plants mainly grown under glass by florists for their flowers. Notice of “Magnolia/several varieties” could be either of the native trees (southern magnolia, Magnolia grandiflora, or sweet bay magnolia, M. virginiana); but it would be far more interesting— and decorative—if the plants offered were the flowering magnolias native to Japan and China (M. purpurea, M. obovata, M. discolor, or M. quinquepeta) or the variety M. x soulangiana developed in Paris in the 1820s. If so, this would establish an early date for the introduction of such plants into American gardens.3 It is interesting also to speculate on the listing for “Myrtles”: Is this the common myrtle shrub (Myrtus communis), native to the Mediterranean regions (but not commonly seen

210

C om p i l i n g P l a n t L i s t s f or N e w Or l e a n s G a r de n s

here), or could this instead be crepe myrtle, Laegerstroemia indica, a small flowering tree, native to China, introduced into America in the mid-1780s and common in mid-nineteenth-century Louisiana gardens?4 Two mysteries are the “carolinea” and the “combritium,” neither of which is a known plant; likely these are misnomers or names no longer used. This list establishes the earliest-known date for most of these plants in this region. 3. J. F. Lelièvre, Nouveau jardinier de la Louisiane, 1838 At first glance, this list appears significant because of its relatively early date and its content; there are other factors, however, that must be considered in order to understand this source in the horticultural context of its period. For instance, there are correlations between Nouveau jardinier and similar books published both in America and in France; there is no evidence among local sources to corroborate the author’s participation in local horticultural commerce. Although this list seems more like an enumeration of annuals and perennials common in nineteenth-century France than a list for New Orleans gardens, there are plants here that do flourish in New Orleans (such as impatiens, basil, morning glory, four o’clocks, nasturtium, honeysuckle, chrysanthemum, geranium, hibiscus, oleander, marigold, and zinnia). More than others, this list suffers from having only common names, and as those common names are in French, there are two barriers—translation and finding American equivalents—to knowing exactly what plants these are. 4. “Descriptive Catalogue of the Garden Seeds, for sale by F. D. Gay. . . .” in Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac, and Plantation and Garden Calendar, for 1852 This inventory of garden seeds, with more than one hundred listings, is the most complete yet located of mid-nineteenth-century ornamental plants, and it includes annuals, biennials, and perennials.5 It should be noted, however, that these are available seeds, not plants grown for a local market; a list such as this might well have appeared anywhere in America at this time. The author notes: the flower garden and shrubbery. The former is peculiarly the ladies’ department, all the world over. In the South, it is rare to find one of the rougher sex bestowing any individual care or labor on flowers; and rarer still to find a home, no matter how newly reclaimed from the forest, that is not surrounded by a blooming and beautiful flower garden. The multitudes of fine Evergreens and of Roses, so easily procurable by all, even the poorest, contribute greatly to this desirable result. One may often see a lack of skill, but seldom a want of taste. The same, with still greater difficulties, meet us in preparing a Flower-Garden Calendar, as in that for the Plantation. Not even a work on the Southern garden, to refer to for general directions. The habits, the very names of many plants and flowers familiar to us, and almost indispensable to the flower garden, are unknown to many of our readers. We hope gradually to remove many of these difficulties, through the pages of the southern rural almanac.6



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Obviously the list that follows, together with the expanded content of horticultural information and advice that appeared in subsequent editions, is an effort to “remove many of these difficulties.” In the 1852 edition, the following words of advice instruct the reader about flower seeds: A few remarks on the culture of Flower Seeds in this climate, may not be here unacceptable, disappointment being so frequent in its pursuit by amateurs in this neighborhood, that an impression is gaining ground that a large number of the most beautiful Annuals which flourish in the North will not do so here. To some extent this is correct; but the difficulty is mainly overcome by a proper adaptation of the seasons of sowing the seeds. Northern books on Horticulture (for the want of Southern) have been consulted too much, and have misdirected in some measure. As vegetables, native of Northern latitudes, are raised here in perfection, in the winter and spring months, so may a great variety of Flowers, by sowing the seeds as early as they can be obtained in autumn, instead of waiting until spring. The seeds may be sown in general where they are intended to remain, due regard being had to mixed varieties in contrasting the colors, to produce effect; the dwarf varieties should be in pretty large masses, as so they produce a more striking appearance. The soil, as a general rule, should be rich and mellow. River sand and well-rotted manure are easily obtained here, and are all required to mix well with our stiff soil; drainage is indispensable.7

Clearly F. D. Gay, a colleague of Affleck’s, had an extensive nursery business, as he also advertised fruits and vegetables (as discussed above), bulbs, “green-house plants,” “Camellia Japonicas” (no varieties are listed), gardening tools and flower pots (“fancy shapes”), “gardening and Botanical Books” (names are not given); ­“agricultural seeds” (grasses, clover, rye, among many others), and “Genuine Peruvian Guano.”8 Also, he notes: “seeds, plants, or implements, imported to order.” Unlike others, Gay’s list is organized to include botanical names and ­“English Name.” A key is given to indicate climbers, annuals, biennials, and perennials. Later editions of Aἀ eck’s Southern Rural Almanac (for 1853, 1854, 1860) do not include such an extensive list from F. D. Gay. His advertisement in the 1853 edition states: “We call attention to our new and instructive Catalogue of Garden, Field and Flower Seeds, Plants, and general Horticulture, which we shall feel a pleasure in sending gratis to applicants.”9 This notice indicates that the business name is now “Gay & Nelson;” perhaps the “Nelson” was John M. Nelson who would later operate the Magnolia Nursery and a plant depot on Lafayette Square (his catalog from 1859 follows). This partnership apparently did not last, as F. D. Gay’s advertisement in the 1854 Southern Rural Almanac does not include mention of Nelson. Gay’s notice in 1854 also includes the following: landreth’s garden seeds, At Philadelphia Prices, wholesale and retail, Put up under Landreth’s labels.

212

C om p i l i n g P l a n t L i s t s f or N e w Or l e a n s G a r de n s

Customers preferring those seeds can be supplied with them perfectly pure. creole & imported seeds, The usual general assortment, Grown expressly for F. D. Gay, And which are warranted fresh and genuine, also on hand.10

Use of the word “Creole” is not common in horticultural descriptions of the period. Only one other such use has been found: an earlier listing in the “Descriptive Catalogue of the Garden Seeds, for sale by F. D. Gay” in the Aἀ eck’s Southern Rural Almanac . . .for 1852 (discussed above) describes one variety of okra available as “Green Long-pod, Creole seed.”11 In both instances, “Creole” likely was used to mean “local,” as a way to distinguish seeds grown in the area from those grown elsewhere (“imported” from Philadelphia, for instance). There is no evidence in nineteenth-century plant lists of the use of “Creole” with other vegetables, such as tomatoes, eggplant, or cauliflower, as is commonly seen today. This association likely originated in the twentieth century, and, as in these nineteenth-century precedents, was a way to distinguish locally grown produce from that grown elsewhere. 5. Catalogue of Fruit, Shade and Ornamental Trees . . .cultivated and for sale by John M. Nelson, At the Magnolia Nurseries . . ., 1859 This catalog gives limited horticultural advice but offers extended descriptions of available plants. It is particularly helpful in its descriptions of fruits: apples, pears, peaches, apricots, nectarines, plums, quinces, figs, citrus, grapes (native and foreign), and strawberries. The “Ornamental Department” gives listings for “Hardy Evergreen Trees & Shrubs,” “Hardy Deciduous Trees and Shrubs,” “Camellia Japonica” (18 varieties), “Select Roses” (7 categories with 160 named varieties), and “Greenhouse Plants.” While having botanical names associated with common names is helpful, we should keep in mind that these names evolve and change over time. Anyone with a basic knowledge of botanical names will immediately find some anomalies in the following list; for instance, live oak is listed as Quercus virens; its modern botanical name is Q. virginiana; other such examples will be apparent. Trying to determine with specificity current botanical names with entries from these lists is beyond the scope of this investigation. 6. Richard Frotscher, Almanac and Garden Manual for the Southern States, 1891 Frotscher’s nursery was a multigenerational business that operated in New Orleans from the late nineteenth century into the twentieth century. This description is taken from the 1891 catalog: The following list of Flower seeds is not very large, but it contains all which is desirable and which will do well in the Southern climate. I import them from one of the most celebrated growers in Prussia, and they are of the best quality. There are very few or no flower seeds raised in this country, and Northern houses, which publish



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213

large lists and catalogs, get them from just the same sources as myself; but they, on an average, sell much higher than I do. Some varieties, which are biennial in Europe or North, flower here the first season; in fact, if they do not, they generally do not flower at all, as they usually are destroyed by the continued long heat of summer.

While its horticultural content resembles that of previous examples, Frotscher’s Almanac and Garden Manual is significantly different from earlier examples in its visual content. Displaying advances in printing techniques, this catalog also reflects significant changes in market conditions and consumer expectations. The catalog’s covers are eye-catching, bold chromolithographs, a new printing technology that made colorful—some might say even garish—images possible (see figure in chapter 12).12 Though printed on cheap newsprint, pages are graphically arranged to catch the reader’s eye, and large black-line images illustrate available plants and equipment, tempting the gardener’s imagination. There are many similarities between Frotscher’s catalog and those that would follow in the early twentieth century from Reuter’s Seed Company, a similar commercial outlet previously discussed.13 These colorful catalogs, distributed freely to consumers, spread horticultural information throughout the region and contributed to increased gardening activities and use of horticultural products among the general population.

Conclu di ng Comme n ts

The narrative of a landscape reveals itself when we first identify the elements that have contributed to its evolution and then excavate to uncover the context of these contributions. Digging in yesterday’s gardens with new understandings of the cultural, technological, scientific, and horticultural characteristics of the past, we can discover how those who have come before us interacted with the environment and shaped the landscape we’ve inherited. Setting aside both conventional wisdom about our forebears’ motives and traditional methods of investigation, we must look to multiple sources for clues and invent new investigative strategies that are responsive to the specific characteristics of the subjects at hand. Such an approach has guided this work. Since an in-depth investigation of the landscape history of New Orleans has never before been attempted, I was inspired to collect as many threads as I could find, suspecting that they would all have some relevance to this community’s urban fabric when assembled. My goal has been to weave them together and present them as a tapestry of this city’s landscape. It is not necessarily whole cloth yet, as there are likely loose threads that, through future investigations, can be spun out and interwoven into what now exists. Such is the nature of written history, and such is the nature of landscapes— both are usually untidy, complicated, and constantly evolving. Yet landscapes are common ground, the stage on which multiple actors enact different roles, each in turn responding to the others in ways that produce hybrid performances. Landscapes can produce unique and dramatic narratives through which we gain better understandings of cultural history. Certainly the public and private landscapes of New Orleans were (and continue to be) the places, geographically and metaphorically, where diverse communities intersect. And such places of social interchange, I argue, have made substantial contributions to the evolution of what has become an endlessly fascinating, mysterious, and enchanting community. As we have seen, multiple factors contribute to the history of public spaces and private gardens in New Orleans. However, landscape components go largely unnoticed, obscured, perhaps, by more prominent elements of the community’s unique culture and joie de vivre. While these distinctive characteristics of urban life are recognized by many, the evolution of the settings in which they take place is understood by few. My hope is that this work demonstrates that the landscape heritage of the “beautiful and imposing” city that Benjamin Moore Norman described in his 1845 guidebook to New Orleans is one of cultural complexity, diverse influences, and environmental richness—a landscape “panorama at once magnificent and surprising” that contributes a relevant chapter to the larger narrative of America’s landscape history and inspires continued investigation. 214

A f t erwor d

Perceiving the New Orleans Landscape So much of understanding the story of shaping New Orleans’s landscape is visual: from du Mont du Montigny’s naïve but useful view from the 1730s, to the scruffy reality of some of Jay Dearborn Edwards’s Canal Street photographs made some 125 years later, and the promise of colorful abundance as displayed in the chromolithographed seed catalogue covers of the late nineteenth century. All of these, along with other visual realities, imperfect renderings, and projected hopes, clarify the intentions of colonial and nineteenth-century shapers of the land. The writings of careful (though always opinionated) observers like the architect Thomas K. ­Wharton, whose December 18, 1853, journal entry provides the title to this essay, add their own shapes, textures, and descriptions to the picture. Piecing these disconnected episodes together defines both a history and legacy. The notion of a “landscape issue” that wanders through nearly three centuries of New Orleans’s aggregate history can be quarantined from other themes, though it is perhaps best examined not in hermetic isolation, but in the context of those other histories and their own peculiar characteristics: colonial agendas conceived in Europe that clashed with on-site realities; changing land uses; patterns of immigration; slavery; economic issues both local and global; shifting populations; and dozens of other paths that literally and figuratively cross the central issue of the landscape. Public Spaces, Private Gardens: A History of Designed Landscapes in New Orleans, by Lake Douglas, emphasizes in no uncertain terms that the subject is historically nonlinear. Though certain precedents cited may lead to subsequent and limited straight-line developments, these patterns tend to be embedded in a much more wide-open, even messy, narrative. One of the fascinating characteristics of landscape is its antipodal character: it exists by turns as a natural phenomenon shaped by “dumb” elemental forces ­including geographic location and climate, water and wind, and also as a particular environment designed with human participation for human accommodation. The boldness of nature’s statements contrasts with the demure, particular, and even precious expressions of garden plots and public squares. In many instances, the former model informs the creation of the latter, and one could argue that scale is as critical a factor as authorship in separating the two. Both kinds have populated (and continue to populate) our world, but it is the one most obviously showing the imposition of an intellect—manifested throughout the urban history of New ­Orleans—that is investigated here. 215

2 16

P u bl ic S pac e s , P r i vat e G a r de n s

To oversimplify, the story of the urban landscape from colonial times to ­modern may cleave along two lines: one narrative that benefits citizens or the populace as a whole (even if entrepreneurial), and another focused on personal aesthetics and pleasures. But once the subsistence issue of using locally farmed produce to feed people in the colonial era was largely settled, the public concerns that centered on quality-of-life issues such as public defense, recreation, ­communing with nature, and entertainment began to blend in, and even to dominate the consideration of landscape. Public squares and parks, private gardens accessed through admission fees, and the beautification of boulevards and streets were all a part of this thinking. Urban history itself is critical in addressing the related stories of public and private landscapes. As urban areas develop, their governments leave the residual paper trail (or at least a partial trail) of the multiple decisions that catapult the creation of parks, squares, walks, plazas, playgrounds, and other improvements that citizens are justified in expecting from their leaders through the responsible stewardship of tax payments, bond issues, paving liens, and other public financial instruments. These records, including the magnificent watercolors of buildings and their grounds from the New Orleans Notarial Archives, are only neutral or mute objects of historical transactions until they have been exhaustively mined for the ore of landscaping wealth they contain. In the present study, the collective refining of these documents and a host of others, viewed through the lens of land use and development for both agricultural and horticultural purposes, are forged over time into a lustrous and gleaming illustration of the changing character of the city’s face. Private landscape concerns, whether created to provide for the table (kitchen gardens and small orchards) or to enhance one’s personal homestead through colorful and pleasantly scented plants, came within the reach of many more citizens as New Orleans increased its urban area and population, reaching its present city limits in 1874. This expansion was concurrent with increasingly available diverse plant specimens from commercial vendors and nurseries, and also a small but important group of published works meant to inform, identify, and instruct potential horticultural consumers, whether dilettantes or professionals. A series of generally prosperous economic periods fostered a reliable clientele for these products and services. The Mississippi River, perhaps the greatest shaper of landscape in south Louisiana, is constantly in the background of the story. Its arterial importance in commerce connected the people and products of the midcontinent with open water and international trade. The river was (and is) the conduit for goods, ideas, and ultimately, wealth. Its cantankerous channel, not effectively controlled until the midtwentieth century, constantly carved, added, removed, and replenished the lands bordering its banks. From the colonial era and throughout the nineteenth century, the river behaved as big rivers do, going where physics dictated. High-water ­flooding and levee breaks were part of the pattern of life. Perhaps the confrontation of uncontrolled nature forced citizens into more manicured and predictable settings, offering the best of nature’s pleasures with a minimum of its terrors. It seems



A f t e rwor d

217

as if one of the goals of designing the landscape was to offer the possibility of communing with nature, but not too much. The semitropical setting of New Orleans and its surroundings afforded the prospect of exotic flora (when compared to other parts of the country), but always with the threat of these specimens flourishing too much and getting out of control. During the nineteenth century, the constant attention that a planned ­landscape required to keep its design in check must have been formidable. This is a condition that still exists today, not only from a climate that encourages exuberant growth nearly yearround, but from introduced plants that can quickly become invasive. Once conceived, the ordered landscape, public or private, requires attention, a thought not lost on Alexander Gordon, as early as 1845. There may be nothing as publicly visible and privately perceived as the landscape within one’s immediate view. It is where we conduct large portions of our work, quotidian activities, and leisurely pursuits. Its ubiquity also makes its nuances and subtleties easily overlooked, if not downright taken for granted. As this is written with the fifth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina’s landfall at hand, it is impossible to neglect how that event affected New Orleans’s landscapes, both civic and individual, and to divine the long-term fallout of the storm. The damage done to trees throughout the region was widespread, not only by wind but by the persistence of brackish water of great depth covering their roots. Regreening may take some time to accomplish, as many trees lost were mature specimens. In spaces under the control of governmental or quasi-governmental agencies, both the will and financial capacity to correct the damage seem present. The structural failure of levees—yet another element in the man-made landscape—that caused flooding is being corrected. The yards, the personal landscapes of private homes both grand and modest, suffered as well. Gardens were swept away, plantings perished, and some soil changed due to chemicals deposited as the floodwaters receded. Large sections of certain neighborhoods were wiped clean. In yards and homesteads that have not been repopulated for five years, grasses, vines, shrubs, and trees are indiscriminately reclaiming the land. It is the loss of such vernacular landscapes that may well be the biggest factor in determining how New Orleans appears in generations to come. Public Spaces, Private Gardens examines the landscapes of the city’s past with the hope that these relics of urban history will gain new champions who will look at future landscapes with an appreciation of the past. John H. Lawrence New Orleans

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A ppe n di x

Ta bl e 1 . Comparative Plant Lists: Fruits, Vegetables, and Herbs S ources (Nos. 2 and 8 are national controls) Plant names 1 2 3 4 5

6

7

8

9

10

Anise x x x Apple x x23 x x32 x38 Apricot x8 x x6 x8 Artichoke x x x x x x x x2 x2 Asparagus x x x x x x x2 x Basil x x x Beans x4 x6 x4 x x17 x12 x21 Beets x8 x4 x x8 x5 x9 Bene x x x x Boneset x Bredes Broccoli x x x x5 x x2 Brussels sprouts x x x x

5 Apple 9 Artichoke 8 Asparagus

x x8 x28 x5 x11 x

9 Beans 7 Beets 5 Bene

x x x x

7 Broccoli 6 Brussels sprouts

Cabbage x x22 x8 x14 x14 x13 x11 x22 x20 Caraway x x Cardoon x x x x Carrot x6 x4 x x6 x4 x4 x5 x7 Cauliflower x x x2 x x3 x2 x x4 x7 Celery x x4 x2 x x4 x4 x5 x4 x8 Cherry x6 x Chervil x x x x x x x x x Chicory x x x4 Chive x x x x Citrus x x x4 Collards x x x Coriander x x x x x Corn x x x x6 x6 x4 x x13 Corn salad x x x Cress x 2 x2 x3 x3 x3 x x3 x6 x3 Cucumber x8 x 4 x x9 x5 x7 x6

219

5+ Matches

9 Cabbage

8 Carrot 9 Cauliflower 9 Celery 9 Chervil

5 Coriander 8 Corn 9 Cress 7 Cucumber

220

Ta bl e 1

S ources (Nos. 2 and 8 are national controls) Plant names 1 2 3 4 5 Dill

x

Eggplant x x4 x Endive x3 x4 Escarole x

x2 x2

6

7

x x3

Fennel x x Fig x2 x

8

9

10

5+ Matches

x3 x6 x3

x3 x3

8 Eggplant 6 Endive

x6 x14

x2

Garden burnet x x x Garlic x x x x x x3 x Grape x3 x16 x7 x10 Hops x Horehound x Horseradish x x Hyssop x x Indigoa

5 Fig

7 Garlic

x x

x

Jerusalem artichoke

x

x

x

x

x

5 Jer. artichoke

Kale (Borecole) x x Kohlrabi

x x

Lamb’s lettuce x x Lavender x x Leek x3 x x2 x x Lemon balm x Lentil x x Lettuce x x14 x12 x x11 x6 x12

x

x

x

x2

7 Leek

x x6

x8

9 Lettuce

x15

9 Melon

Marigoldb x Marjoram x x Melon x3 x10 x5 x x10 x10 x Mint x x Mirliton Mulberryc x x x Mushroom x[wild] x x x x Mustard x2 x2 x x2 x2

x6 x2 x

x2 x3 x3

Nasturtiumb Nectarine x5 x8 x8 Nightshade spinach x

x

5 Mushroom 7 Mustard



C om pa r at i v e P l a n t L i s t s 

S ources (Nos. 2 and 8 are national controls) Plant names 1 2 3 4 5

6

7

8

221

9

10

5+ Matches

Okra x x x x x Olive x x Onion x x8 x4 x x4 x5 x8 x3 Orache x x

x4

6 Okra

x4

9 Onion

Parsley x x7 x2 x x2 x2 x x2 x3 Parsnip x x x1 x2 x x x Pea x16 x x x11 x12 x18 x9 x21 Peach x x10 x x24 x26 x2 Pear x x35 x x32 x37 x2 x8 Peanut x x x x Pecan x x2 Pepper x x2 x x6 x3 x4 x5 x10 Persimmon x Plum x8 x x10 x16 x7 Pomegranate x x Potato x2 x x x5 x4 x13 Pumpkin x2 x5 x x x2 x4 x2 x4 x4 Purslain x Quince

x4

x

Radish x x9 x6 x x9 x9 Rhubarb x2 x Riced x Rocquette x x x Rosemary x Rue x

x10

x

x4

8 Pepper 5 Plum 6 Potato 9 Pumpkin

x6

x9 x12

9 Radish

x

6 Rocquette

x

Sage x x x x x Salsify x x x x x x x x2 Savoy, summer x x Savoy, winter x x Scallion x x Scorzonera x x x x Shallot x x x x Sorrel x x x x x x2 x Spinach x5 x x x3 x2 x6 x2 Squash x2 x6 x2 x x7 x8 x6 x33 x5 Strawberry x x9 x x 6 x9 x11 x2 Sweet potato x x x7 x4 x3 Tarragon x x Thyme x x Tobaccoe x

9 Parsley 7 Parsnip 8 Pea 6 Peach 7 Pear

x

x2

5 Sage 8 Salsify

7 Sorrel 7 Spinach 8 Squash 7 Strawberry 5 Sweet potato

222

ta bl e 1

S ources (Nos. 2 and 8 are national controls) Plant names 1 2 3 4 5

6

Tomato Turnip x

x5 x8

x8 x13

x5 x12 x7 x12

7 Tomato 9 Turnip

53

70

56

49

x x15 x6

x x

x4 x17

Wormwoodf

x

TOTALS 108 plants

59

43

52

30

61

7

14

8

9

10

52

5+ Matches

Sources: (1) Dumont de Montigny, Mémoires historiques sur la Louisiane (Paris, 1753), vol. 2 translated by Olivia Blanchard as “Historical Memoir on Louisiana,” typescript, completed by the Survey of Federal ­Archives in Louisiana, 1937–38, Louisiana Collection, Howard Tilton Library, Tulane University, New ­Orleans; (2) Thomas G. Fessenden, ἀ e New American Gardener; containing Practical Directions on the ­Culture of Fruits and Vegetables. . . . (Boston, 1828); (3) advertisement for Wm. Smith’s Garden Seed Store in the Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane, November 29, 1830; (4) J. F. Lelièvre, Nouveau jardinier de la Louisiane (New Orleans, 1838); (5) garden seeds sold at the New Orleans Seed Store & Horticultural Warehouse by Comstock, Ferre & Co., 1849; (6) “Descriptive Catalogue of the Garden seeds, for sale by F. D. Gay, Seed Store and Plant Depot, No. 139 St. Charles Street, (Lafayette Square) New Orleans,” found in Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac, and Plantation and Garden Calendar, for 1852 (New Orleans, 1851), 109–24 (also included in this almanac [91–108] is the “Catalogue of Fruit and Ornamental Trees and Plants, cultivated at The Southern Nurseries, Washington, Adams County, Mississippi by Thomas Affleck,” but a summary of its contents is not included in this analysis. New Orleans gardeners had access to these plants via mail order. This list is particularly interesting for the quantity and names of fruit trees; among them are more than 200 pears, 177 apples, 54 peaches, and 22 grapes. Extensive lists of roses are given as well: summer, Provence, damask and hybrid province; moss; French; China and hybrid China; Bourbon and hybrid Bourbon; white; Austrian briars, climbing; Boursault; Prairie; autumnal; damask perpetual; hybrid perpetual; tea-scented; and noisette.); (7) Catalogue of Fruit, Shade and Ornamental Trees, Evergreens, Roses and Miscellaneous Plants. . . ., John M. Nelson’s Magnolia Nurseries (New Orleans, 1859), which excludes vegetables but lists fruit trees and some flowering plants; (8) William N. White, with additions by Mr. J. Van Buren, and Dr. Jas. Camak, Gardening for the South, or How to Grow Vegetables and Fruits (1856; New York, 1868); (9) Ulger Vicknair, Le jardinier économique et productif (New Orleans, 1867); (10) Richard Frotscher, Almanac and Garden Manual for the Southern States. . . ., 14th ed. (New Orleans, 1891). Note: Numbers (i.e., x15) indicate varieties listed. Dumont de Montigny devotes a chapter to this subject. Indigo was an important commercial crop for much of the colonial period. Gray notes that “by 1738 it was produced by fourteen or fifteen plantations in the neighborhood of New Orleans, with a total crop of 70,000 pounds” (History of Agriculture, 73). Competition from the Carolinas, Santo Domingo, and Guatemala, plus competition from new staples (cotton and sugar), a fall in prices, insects that nearly destroyed the crops of 1793 and 1794, and the depletion of the soil led to its abandonment by the end of the colonial period. b Marigold, as well as nasturtium listed farther below, is more commonly known today as a flowering ­a nnual, but in the nineteenth century it was planted for medicinal or kitchen uses. c There was some hope, early in the eighteenth century, that silkworms could be sustained on the local wild mulberries, and that silk could become an important staple. While there was limited success in the 1720s, these early hopes were not realized in a significant way. See Gray, History of Agriculture, 75. d Rice was established by 1720 as a major agricultural crop in colonial Louisiana. It was thought, according to Gray (History of Agriculture, 66), that the Louisiana colony could supply France with all the rice it could consume, but this dream was not realized. The local demand was great for what could be produced; the available land for production was limited, and the price fluctuated from year to year. Areas southwest of New Orleans proved more suitable for rice production, a major agricultural industry today. a



Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t s f rom S e l e c t e d S ou rc e s 

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e It was initially thought that tobacco, along with rice and indigo, would prove to be a major agricultural crop for the Louisiana colony as it had for other colonies in the New World. The major areas of tobacco production were in the Natchez and Point Coupee region (north of New Orleans), although some was grown near Natchitoches (central Louisiana). The production and curing of tobacco was not as much of an obstacle to its commercial success as was developing reliable systems of marketing and distribution of the product. By the end of the colonial period, most tobacco farmers had abandoned the crop in favor of cotton and sugar (see Gray, History of Agriculture, 69–73). One exception was (and remains) the production of perique tobacco in St. James Parish, west of New Orleans. f Wormwood is used in the production of absinthe, a drink popular in France once outlawed because of its purported health hazard. Substitutes were developed and are common today.

Ta bl e 2-A . Ornamental Plants from Selected Sources 1. Advertisement, French Florist Gardners, 1825 Plant name as given Common name Rose (35 varieties) Hycinth [sic] Daffodil Jonquil Tuberose Amarillis [sic] “very scarce” Imperial Crown

Rose Dutch hyacinth Daffodil Jonquil Tuberose Amaryllis Crown imperial

2. Advertisement, F. Newman, 1830 Plant name as given

Common name

Buddlea [sic] Carolinea Clithera Combrituim Cydonia Japonica Camellia Japonica Carnations Freschia [sic] Hoya Ixora Jasminum Magnolias/several varieties Myrtles Olea Frangrans Plombaryo Melaluca [sic]

Butterfly bush ? Sweet pepperbush Combretum? Chinese flowering quince Camellia Carnation Freesia Wax plant Ixora Florida jasmine Magnolia spp. Crepe myrtle? Osmanthus, sweet olive Plumbago? Melaleuca

3. J. F. Lelièvre, Nouveau jardinier de la Louisiane Plant name as given in French

Common name (translated)

Adonis d’été Adonis d’automne Amaranthe

Summer Adonis Fall Adonis Amaranth

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Ta bl e 2 -A

Plant name as given in French

Common name (translated)

Amaranthe tricolore Amaranthe gigantesque Alcée, rose-trèmiere, passe-rose Alcée de la Chine Amomum, fauz piment Ancolie des jardins, vivace Anémone des jardins Balsamine Barbeau, espèce de centaurée Basilic Belle de jour; liseron tricolore Belle de nuit Bluet Célosie; crête de coq Cacalie odorante Cactus Campanule des jardins, vivace Capucine Chèvrefeuille Chrysanthèmum des jardins Coquelourde des jardins Coquelourde, fleurs de Jupiter Dahlia Dolique Eglantier Fleurs de la passion Géranier ou Géranium Giroflée Giroflée quarantaine Giroflée de Mahon Glaciale Grenadier Héliotrope Hortensia Immortelle Jasmin Ketmie, hibiscus Laurier rose Lavande Lis Lis martagon Liseron Mufflier Muguet Myrte Narcisse ou Porion Oeillet

Tricolored amaranth Giant amaranth Hollyhock Chinese hollyhock False pimento Hardy columbine Garden anemone Impatiens Bluebottle Basil Morning glory Four o’clock Cornflower Cockscomb Fragrant cacalia Cactus Canterbury bells Nasturtium Honeysuckle Garden chrysanthemum Garden mullein Flower of Jove Dahlia Hyacinth bean Eglantine Passion flowers Geranium Wallflower Ten-weeks stock Mahon stock Ice plant Pomegranate Heliotrope Hydrangea Immortelle Jasmine Hibiscus Oleander Lavender Lily Turk’s cap Bindweed Snapdragon Lily of the valley Myrtle Narcissus Pinks



Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t s f rom S e l e c t e d S ou rc e s 

Plant name as given in French

Common name (translated)

Oeillet d’Inde ou Tagétès élevé Oreille d’ours Passe rose, alcée, rose tremière Passiflore Pavot des jardins Pensée or Violette Tricolore Pervenche Pied d’Alouette ou Pyramidale Poinsillade ou Poinciana Primevère Primevère, oreille d’ours Renoncule Réséda Ricin ou Palma-Christi Romarin Rose de la Chine Rosier Scabieuse, fleur de veuve Sèneçon d’Espagne Sensitive ou Acacie pudique Seringa odorant Soleil ou Tournesol Souci commun Tagétès Thlaspi Tubéreuse Verveine Violette ororante Violier Zinnia à fleurs roses

Marigold Bear’s Ear Hollyhock Passion flower Garden poppy Pansy Periwinkle Larkspur, delphinium Poinciana Primrose Bear ear primrose Ranunculus Mignonette Castor oil plant Rosemary China rose Rose bush Scabious Groundsel of Spain Sensitive plant Mock orange Sunflower Calendula Candytuft Tuberose Tulip Verbena Fragrant violet Wallflower Zinnia

4. “Descriptive Catalogue of the Garden Seeds, for sale by F. D. Gay. . . .” in Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac, and Plantation and Garden Calendar, for 1852 (1851) Botanical name

Common name

FLOWER SEEDS Aster Chinensis Aster, German Alyssum maritime Adonis miniata Amaranthus candates Agrostema coronaria Althea sinensis Althea, German Antirrhinum majus Aquilegia vulgaris Balsams

China Aster star double flowers . . . China Aster, dwarf habit . . . Alyssum, sweet white Flos Adonis or Pheasant’s eye Love lies bleeding Rose Campion Chinese hollyhock, fine double German hollyhock, distinct colors Snapdragon, finely variegated Columbine, double Balsam-Camellia, double flowered

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226

Ta bl e 2 -A

Botanical name

Common name

Balsamina Cacalia coccinea Campanula speculum Campanula media Centaurea var. Cerinthe major Cherianthus annus Cherianthus var Cherianthus cheiriéé Cherianthus German Celosia strictata elata Chrysanthemum Clarksia pulchella Collinsia Convolvulus Coreopsis, Drummindii Coreopsis, Tinctoria Calliopsis Foeniacolium-folia Cobea scandens Calendrina var. Cardiospernum halicabum Cleome grandiflora Cosmanthus fimbriata Cyclamen persicum Catanauche bicolor Clintonia, var. Delphinum Delphinum Dianthus annus Dianthus caryophyllus Dianthus barbatus Digitalis Dolichos lablab Escholtzia var. Erissum peroffskianum Gillia tricolor Godetia rubicunda Hibiscus lutea Hibisicus spe. Hedysarum roseum Helianthus annuus Iberis var. Ipomea quamoclit Kaulifussia amelloides Lathyrus ororatus Lathyrus latifolius Lupinus densiflorum

Balsamina, new Cacalia scarlet, or Tassel flower Venus’ Looking-glass Canterbury Bells Sultans in var., yellow, purple, &c. Cerinthe large Stocks, 10 weeks, Gilliflower Stocks, Brompton, various colors Wallflower, bloody German Stocks in variety Cockscomb, tall Chrysanthemum, golden, white, &c. Clarkia, beautiful Collinsia Convolvulus, dwarf and tall Coreopsis, Drummond’s Coreopsis, elegant Calliopsis, fennel-leaved Cobea, Mexican, purple Calendrinas, in variety Balloon Vine, or Love in a puff Cleome great flowered Cosmanthus fringed Persian Primrose Catanauche, two colored Clintonia, elegant, in variety Larkspurs, dwarf Larkspurs, tall, various colors China Pink Carnation Pink Sweet William, new varieties Fox Glove Hyacinth Bean, purple and white Escholtzia in variety Erissimum orange Gillia three-colored Oenothera red (new) Hibiscus, yellow Hibiscus Hedysarum, rose-colored (new) Sunflower, tall Candytuft, in variety Cypress Vine, crimson and white Kaulfussia, blue Sweet Pea, variously colored Sweet Pea, everlasting Lupius, dense-flowered



Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t s f rom S e l e c t e d S ou rc e s 

Botanical name

Common name

Lupinus var. Lychnis Alpina Leptosiphon densiflorum Lobelia var. Malope grandiflora Mimosa sensitive Mirabilos jalapa Maurandia barclayana Nigella Nana Nigella damascena Nemophilla var. Oenothera Oenothera Tenenella Papaver var Petunia Primula polyanthia Portulacca grandiflora Phlox Drummondii Penstemon sp. Reseda odorata Shumach, new Salpiglossis var. Scabiosa texana Schizanthus var. Scorzonera tingitana Silone armeria Tagetes var Thumbergia var. Tropheolum var Verbena Verbesina, sp. Viola tricolor Ceranthemum var Zinnia elegans Momordica balsamina Pelargonium, var.

Lupius, new varieties, very dwarf Alpine Lychnis Leptosiphon, close-flowered Cardinal Flower, in variety Malope, tall scarlet Sensitive Plant Marvel of Peru, or Four o’clocks Maurandia, blue Love in a mist Devil in a bush Grove Love, in variety Evening Primrose Evening Primrose, new Poppies, in variety Petunia Polyanthus Portulacca, scarlet, beautiful Drummond’s Phlox Penstemon, new variety Mignonette Schmach, white, fragrant Salpiglossis, splendid mixed Scabiosa texian (new) Schirzanthus, assorted Vipers’ Grass Catch Fly Marigolds, French, African &c. Thumbergia, pink, white, buff Nasturtium, assorted Verbena, fine mixed Verbesina, new variety Heart’s-ease or Pansey, large Eternal Flower, assorted Zinnia, beautiful, various colors Balsam Apple and Pear Geraniums, various

MISCELLANEOUS Dutch Bulbous Roots, imported Double Dahlias, dry tubers or rooted plants in pots Green-house plants Hyacinth Glasses Camelia Japonicas Flower Pots, fancy shapes, &c. Gardening Tools Gardening and Botanical Books Cuba Bass Bouquets to order

227

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Ta bl e 2 -A

Botanical name

Common name

The assortment of Dutch Bulbous Roots, just imported, is as follows: Hyacinths, the best distinct colors in name Iris, in name Crocus, assorted Dog’s Tooth, violet Snow-drop, double and single Crown Imperials, of sorts Tulips, assorted in name Narcissus, assorted Jonquils, assorted Gladiolus, assorted Ixias, assorted Lachenalias, assorted Oxalis, assorted Cyclamen, assorted Gloxinia, assorted 5. Catalogue of Fruit, Shade and Ornamental Trees, Evergreens, Roses and Miscellaneous Plants, cultivated and for sale by John M. Nelson, At the Magnolia Nurseries, Metairie Ridge, and at his plant depot, Corner of Camp street and Lafayette Square, New Orleans (New Orleans, 1859) Plant name as listed (scientific name)

Common name (if given)

HARDY EVERGREEN TREES & SHRUBS Abics Spruce Fir alba American White Spruce nigra Black Spruce Arancaria imbricata Chili Pine excelsa Norfolk Island Pine brizilensis Acuba japonica Berberis aquifolia Buxus arborescens Tree Box Buxus Sempervirens Cedar of Lebanon Deodara Indian Cedar Cyptomeria japonica Japan Cedar Cupressum funebris Funebral, Weeping Cypress horizontalis Spreading Cypress stricta Upright Cypress Cerasus carollnana Lauramondea Cratageus sinensis Cycas revoluta Sago Palm Eriobotrya japonica Mespilus or Japan Plum Escallonia Euonymus japonica Gardenia var. Cape jasmin; Florida; grandiflora; radicans Ilex aquifolium English Holly



Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t s f rom S e l e c t e d S ou rc e s 

Plant name as listed (scientific name)

Common name (if given)

Juniperus virginica Red Cedar Jasmin revolatum Yellow Jasmin noblis Sweet Bay carolinensis Red Bay laurocerasus English Laurel Ligustrum lucidum Chinese Privet Magnolia grandiflora ferruginea longifolia glauca fuscata Mespilus Pyracantha Evergreen Thorn Metrosideros floribunda Bottle Brush Plant lancifloia Myrtus comunis Common myrtle multiplex Double flowering myrtle mucronota Small leaved myrtle Nerium Splendens Oleander or Rose Bay Giant of the Battles crimson Alba white elegantissima striped Olea Sweet Olive Europea Fruit bearing Olive Americana Pittosporum tobria Variagaga Phonia dentate Serrulata Pinus Pine Tree Strobus Weymouth Pine mitis Yellow Pine rigida Pitch Pine australis Long leaved Pine pinaster Cluster Pine Quercus virens Live Oak Latifolia Broad leaved live oak Salicifolia Willow leaved live oak Raphiolepis Indian Hawthorn Thuja Arborvitae occidentalis American Arborvitae orientalis Chinese Arborvitae nepalensis austrica Torreya taxifolia Florida Yew Viburnum sinensis Tinus or laurustinus

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Ta bl e 2 -A

Plant name as listed (scientific name)

Common name (if given)

HARDY DECIDUOUS TREES AND SHRUBS Acacia julibrissin Silk Tree Farinose Poppanack Acer rubrum Red maple pseudo platanus English Sycamore Ailanthus glandulosus Amygdalus persica Double flowering peach nana Dwarf Almond Aralia spinosa Artemisa abrotanum Azalea Wood Honeysuckle Buddlea Lindlyana Calyanthus floridus Sweet scented shrub fragrans Chinese allspice macrophyllus Catalpa syringalolia Cornus florida American dogwood Cercis Canadensis Red bud Chionanthus virginica White fringe tree Cydonia japonica Japan Quince alba white flowering vulgaris common quince Deutzia scabra gracillis staminea Forsythia virdissima Golden bell Gleditschia triacanthos Halisia diptera Snow drop tree Hibiscus Althea Rose of Sharon alba pleno double white purpurea double purple variagata double variegated Hydrangea japonica Hortensis Kerria japonica Lagerstroemia indica Crepe Myrtle, pink purpurea purple regina red Ligustrum vulgare Privet Liriodendron tulipifera Tulip tree Maclura aurantiaca Osage Orange Magnolia soulangiana Magnolia, white and purple conspicua white purpura purple yulan yellow gracilia purple



Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t s f rom S e l e c t e d S ou rc e s 

Plant name as listed (scientific name)

Common name (if given)

Morus Mulberry alba White Mulberry lucida Papyrifera Paper Mulberry Melia azedarach Pride of China Paulownia imperialis Platanus occidentalis Buttonwood Tree, American pyramidalis Pyramidal Populus dilatata Lombardy Poplar d’Abele Silver leaved Pumica granatum Pomegranate nana dwarf flora pleno double scarlet alba double white Quercus alba White oak Prinus palustris Chestnut leaved white oak palustris Water oak Salisburia adiantifolia Ginko or Maiden Hair tree Salix bablonica Weeping willow Annularis Ring or curled Stillingia sebifera Tallow or Croton tree Saphora japonica Spirea ulmifolia lanceolata for Reevesii flora pleno prunifolia, flor pleno Billardii New Syringa vulgaris Lilac, common purple alba white Tamarix germanica German Tamarisk Tree Africana African Tamarisk Taxodium distichum Deciduous Cypress Ulmus Americana White elm fulva Red elm alata Wahoo elm EVERGREEN CLIMBERS Bignonia capreoiata crucigera Gelsemium nitidum Carolina Jasmin Hoedera helix Common Ivy Pertica Irish or Giant Ivy Jasminum officinale Common garden Jasmin Lonicera flexuosum Chinese evergreen Honeysuckle sempervirens Scarlet trumpet implexa white, changing to yellow DECIDUOUS CLIMBERS Ampelopsia quinquefolia Chinese bignonia

Bignonia grandiflora

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Ta bl e 2 -A

Plant name as listed (scientific name)

Common name (if given)

radicans Trumpet Creeper coccinea Red flowering Lonicera periclymenum Woodbine japonicum Pale yellow Wistaria frutescens American blue wistaria sinensis Chinese blue vialacea Violet GREENHOUSE PLANTS BULBS At the proper season for planting, I shall have a large assortment of fresh bulbs of the finest varieties, direct from Holland. DAHLIAS I shall also have a splendid collection of double Dahlia Roots, from the latest prize ­flowers at the North. CHRYSANTHEMUMS In the Pompone, or Daisy varieties, I have a very fine assortment, also a few of the best of the large flowering varieties. There is no greater ornament to the flower garden in the fall, than this beautiful Plant, as amongst its varieties every shade of color may be found. BEDDING OUT PLANTS Verbenas Petunias Salvias

Scarlet Geraniums Heliotrope Cuphea platycentra

6. Richard Frotscher, Almanac and Garden Manual for the Southern States, 1891 Scientific name FLOWER SEEDS Adonis autumnalis Althea Rosea Alyssum maritimum Amaranthus bicolor Amaranthus caudatus Amaranthus tricolor Amaranthus Salicifolius Antirhinum majus Aquilegia Aster Aster Balsamina Balsamina camellia flora alba Balsamina Hortensis Begonia Rex

Common name Flos Adonis or Pheasant’s Eye Hollyhock Sweet Alyssum Two-colored Amaranth Love Lies Bleeding Three-colored Amaranth Fountain Plant Snapdragon Columbine Queen Margaret Trufant’s Pæony-flowered Perfection

Lady Slipper



Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t s f rom S e l e c t e d S ou rc e s 

Scientific name

Common name

Begonia tuberosa Bellis Perennis Daisy Browallia elata major Cacalia coccinea Scarlet Tassel Flower Calendula officinalis Pot Marygold Campanula Speculum Bell-Flower or Venus’ Looking Glass Celosia cristate Dwarf Cock’s comb Centaurea cyanus Bottle Pink Centaurea suavolens Yellow, Sweet Sultan Cheiranthus Cheiri Wall flower Chrysanthemum tricolor Summer Chrysanthemum Cineraria hybrida Cineraria Maritima Coleus Correopsis Bright red Daisy Cyclamen persicum Alpine Violet Dahlia Large Flowering Dahlia Delphinium ajacis Rocket Larkspur Delphinium chinensis Dwarf China Larkspur Delphinium Imperiallis Imperial flowering Larkspur Dianthus Barbatus Sweet William Dianthus caryophyllus Carnation Pink Dianthus Chinensis Chinese Pink Dianthus Heddewiggii Japan Pink Dianthus Picotee Dianthus plumaris Border Pink Dianthus pumila Early dwarf flowering Carnation Eschscholtzia Californica California Poppy Gaillardia bicolor Two-colored Gaillardia Geranium odoratissima Apple-scented Geranium Geranium pelargonium Large Flowering Geranium Geranium Zonale Zonale Geranium Gomphrena alba and purpurea White and Crimson Batchelor Button Helianthus Double Flowering Sunflower Helichrysum monstrosum album White Everlasting Flower Helichrysum monstrosum rubrum Red Everlasting Flower Heliotropium Mixed varieties Iberis anara White Candytuft Iberis umbelata rosea Purple Candytuft Linum grandiflorum rubrum Scarlet Flax Lobelia erinum Lobelia Lupinus Lupinus Lychnis chalcedonica Lychis Mathiola annua Ten weeks stock Matricaria capensis Double Matricaria Mesembryanthemum crystallinum Ice plant Mimosa pudica Sensitive Plant

233

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Ta bl e 2 -A

Scientific name

Common name

Mimulus tigrinus Monkey flower Mirabilis jalapa Marvel of Peru Myosotis palustris Forget-me-not Nemophila Insignis Blue Grove Love Nemophila maculata Nierembergia gracilis Nierembergia Nigella damadcena Love in a mist Oenothera Lamarckiana Evening Primrose Papaver Somniferum Double flowering Poppy Papaver ranunculus flowered Petunia flora pleno Large double varieties Petunia hybrida Petunia Phlox Drummondii Drummond’s Phlox Phlox Drummondii Alba Phlox Drummondii grandiflora Phlox Drummondii grandiflora alba Phlox Drummondii grandiflora, stellata splendens Portulaca Portulaca grandiflora Double Portulaca Primula chinensis Chinese Primrose Primula veris Cowslip Pyrethrum aurea Golden Feather Reseda grandiflora Reseda odorata Sweet Mignonette Salvia splendens Scarlet Salvia Saponaria calabrica Soapwort Scabiosa nana Dwarf Mourning Bride Silene Armeria Lobel’s Catchfly Tagetes erecta African Marigold Tagetes Patula French or Dwarf Marigold Torenia Fournieri Verbena hybrida Hybridized Verbena Verbena Niveni White Verbena Verbena Striped Italian Vinca rosea and alba Red and White Verbena Viola ororata Sweet Violet Viola tricolor maxima Pansy Viola tricolor Non Plus Ultra Benary’s Elite Pansy Viola tricolor Trimardeau Large trimardeau Pansy Zinnia elegans Double Zinnia Zinnia elegans, grandiflora robusta plenissima Zinnia elegans pumila Dwarf Double Mixed Zinnia CLIMBING PLANTS Antigonum leptopus Aristolochia elegans Benincasa cerifera

Rosa Montana Wax Gourd



C om p i l e d Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t I n v e n t ory

Scientific name

Common name

Cardiospermum Cobaea Scandens Convolvulus major Impoaea Bona Nox Ipomaea Quamoclit alba Lathyrus odoratus Luffa acutangula Mamordica Balsamina Maurandia Barclayana Mina Lobata Sechium edule Thunbergia Tropaeolum majus

Balloon Vine Climbing Cobea Morning Glory Large Flowering Evening glory White Cypress Vine Sweet Pea Dish Rag Vine Balsam Apple Mixed Maurandia

BULBOUS ROOTS Anemones Dahlias Gladiolus Gloximias Hyacinths Narcissus Lilium tigrinum Lilium tigrinum JAPAN LILIES Lilium auratum Lilium lancifolium album Lilium lancifolium rubrum Lilium lancifolium roseum Pæonia sinensis Ranunculus Scilla peruviana Tuberoses Tulips

235

Vegetable Pear or Mirliton Mixed Thunbergia Nasturchum

Hybrid Gladiolus

Double White, Paper White, Trumpet Major Tiger Lily

Golden Brand Lily

Chinese Peonia

Ta bl e 2-B. Compiled Ornamental Plant Inventory Source Scientific name Common name 1 2 3 4 5 6 Adonia miniata Adonis autumnalis Agrostema coronaria Althea rosea A. German A. sinensis

Flos Adonis or pheasant’s eye x Flos Adonis. or pheasant’s eye Rose campion x Hollyhock German hollyhock x Chinese hollyhock x

x x

236

Ta bl e 2 -b

Scientific name

Common name

1 2 3 4 5 6

Alyssum maritime Sweet alyssum x Alyssum maritimum Sweet alyssum Amaranthus bicolor Two-colored amaranth Amaranthus candates Love lies bleeding x Amaranthus caudatus Love lies Bleeding Amaranthus tricolor Three-colored amaranth Amaranthus salicifolius Fountain plant Amaryllis x Anemones Antigonum leptopus Rosa Montana Antirhinum majus Snapdragon x Aquilegia Columbine Aquilegia vulgaris Columbine x Aristolochia elegans Aster Queen Margaret x Aster Trufant’s paeony-flowered perfection

x x x x x x x x x x x x

Balsamina x Balsamina camellia flora alba Balsamina hortensis Lady slipper Begonia tuberose Begonia rex Bellis perennis Daisy Benincasa cerifera Wax gourd Browallia elata major Buddlia x

x x x x x x x x

Cacalia coccinea Calendrina var. Calendula officinalis Calliopsis foeniacolium-folia Camellia japonica Campanula speculum C. media Cardiospermum Carolinea Catanauche bicolor Celosia cristate C. strictata elata Centaurea cyanus C. suavolens Ceranthemum var. Cerinthe major Cherianthus annus C. cheiri C. german C. var.

x

Scarlet tassel flower x Calendrinas, in variety x Pot marigold Calliopsis, fennel-leaved x Camellia x x Bell-flower or Venus looking-glass x Canterbury bells x Balloon vine x x Catanauche, two-colored x Dwarf cockscomb Tall cockscomb Bottle pink Yellow, sweet sultan x Eternal flower x Cerenthe, large x Stock, 10 weeks, gilliflower x Wall flower x German stocks x Stocks x

x

x x

x x x x

x



C om p i l e d Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t I n v e n t ory

Scientific name

Common name

237

1 2 3 4 5 6

Chrysanthemum tricolor Summer chrysanthemum x Cineraria hybrida Cineraria Maritima Clarksia pulchella Clarksia, beautiful x Cleome grandiflora Cleome, great-flowered x Clintonia var. Clintonia, elegant x Clithera x Cobaea scandens Climbing cobea x Coleus Collinsia Collinsia x Combritum x Convolvulus major Morning glory x Cosmanthus fimbriata Cosmanthus, fringed x Correopsis Bright red daisy C. drummindii Drummond’s coreopsis x C. tinctoria Coreopsis, elegant x Crocus x Crown imperial x x Cyclamen persicum Alpine violet x Cydonia x

x x x

Dahlia Large flowering dahlia x Delphinium imperiallis Imperial flowering larkspur x D. ajacis Rocket larkspur D. chinensis Dwarf China larkspur x Dianthus annus China pink x D. barbatus Sweet William x x D. carvophyllus Carnation pink x D. caryophyllus Carnation pink D. chinensis Chinese pink D. heddewiggii Japan pink D. picotee D. plumaris Border pink D. pumila Early dwarf flowering carnation Digitalia Foxglove x Dolichos lablab Hyacinth bean, purple and white x

x x x x

Erysimum perofskianum Eschscholtzia californica

Erysimum, orange California poppy

x x

Gaillardia bicolor Two-colored gaillardia Gillia tricolor Gilla three-colored x Gladiolus Hybrid gladiolus x Gloxinia x Godetia rubicund Oenothera, red x Gomphrena alba and purpurea White and crimson batchelor button Geranium odoratissima Apple-scented geranium

x x

x x

x

x x x x x x x

x x x x x x

238

Ta bl e 2 -b

Scientific name

Common name

1 2 3 4 5 6

Geranium pelargonium Large flowering geranium Geranium zonale Zonale geranium Hedysarum roseum Hedysarum, rose-colored x Helianthus Double flowering sunflower Helianthus annuus Sunflower x Heliotropium Mixed varieties H. monstrosum album White everlasting flower H. monstrosum rubrum Red everlasting flower Hibiscus lutea Hibiscus, yellow x Hibiscus sp. Hibiscus x Hoya x Hyacinth x x

x x

Iberis anara White candytuft x Iberis umbelata rosea Purple candytuft Ipomaea quamoclit alba White cypress vine x I. bona nox Large flowering evening glory Iris x Ixia x Ixora x

x x x x

Jasminum Florida jasmine x Jonquil

x

Kaulifussia amelloides

x

Kaulfussia, blue

Lachenalias, assorted x Lathyrus latifolius Sweet pea x L. ororatus Sweet pea x Leptosiphon densiflorum Leptosiphon, close-flowered x Lilium auratum Golden brand lily L. landifolium album   white L. landifolium roseum   rose L. landifolium rubrum   red L. tigrinum Tiger lily Linum grandiflorum rubrum Scarlet flax Lobelia erinum Lobelia x Lupinus Lupinus x L. var. Lupinus var. x Luffa acutangula Dish rag vine Lychnis chalcedonica Lychis x Magnolia x Malope grandiflora Malope, tall scarlet x Mamordica balsamina Balsam apple Mathiola annua Ten weeks stock Matricaria capensis Double matricaria

x x x x

x

x x x x x x x x x x x

x x x



Scientific name

C om p i l e d Or n a m e n ta l P l a n t I n v e n t ory

Common name

239

1 2 3 4 5 6

Maurandia barclayana Mixed maurandia x Melaleuca x Mesembryanthemum crystallinum Ice plant Mimosa pudica Sensitive plant x Mimulus tigrinus Monkey flower Mina lobata Mirabilis jalapa Marvel of Peru x Momordica balsamina Balsam apple and pear x Myosotis palustris Forget-me-not Myrtle x

x

Narcissus Double white, paper white x Nemophila insignis Blue grove love x N. maculata Nierembergia gracilis Nierembergia Nigella damascene Love in a mist/Devil in a bush x

x x x x x

Oenothera lamarckiana Evening primrose Olea fragrans x Oxalis, assorted

x

x

x x x x x x

x

Pæonia sinensis Chinese peony Papaver somniferum Double flowering poppy x P. ranunculus flowered Pelargonium, var. Geranium, various x Penstemon sp. Penstemon, new variety x Petunia hybrida Petunia x P. flora pleno Large double varieties Phlox drummondii Drummond’s phlox x P. drummondii alba P. drummondii grandiflora P. drummondii grandiflora alba P. drummondii grandiflora, stellata splendens Plumbago x Portulaca P. grandiflora Double portulaca x Primula polyanthia Polyanthus x Primula veris Cowslip P. chinensis Chinese primrose Pyrethrum aurea Golden feather

x x x

Ranunculus Reseda grandiflora Reseda odorata Sweet mignonette x Roses x25

x x x

Salpiglossis var.

Salpiglossis, splendid mixed

x

x x x x x x x x x x x x

240

Ta bl e 2 -b

Scientific name

Common name

1 2 3 4 5 6

Salvia splendens Scarlet salvia Saponaria calabrica Soapwort Scabiosa nana Dwarf mourning bride S. texana Scabiosa Texian (new) x Schirzanthus var. Schirzanthus, assorted x Scilla peruviana Scorzonera tingitana Vipers’ grass x Sechium edule Vegetable pear or mirleton Shumach, new Shumack, white fragrant x Silene armeria Lobel’s catchfly x

x x x

Tagetes erecta African marigold x Tagetes patula French or dwarf marigold ἀ umbergia Mixed thumbergia x Torenia Fournieri Tropaeolum majus Nasturtium Tulips x Tuberoses x

x x x x x x

Verbena hybrid Hybridized verbena x V. striped Italian V. niveni White verbena Vinca rosea and alba Red and white verbena Viola ororata Sweet violet Viola tricolor maxima Pansy x V. tricolor trimardeau Large trimardeau pansy V. tricolor non plus ultra Benary’s elite pansy Zinnia elegans Double zinnia x Z. elegans, grandiflora robusta plenissima Z. elegans pumila Dwarf double mixed zinnia

x x x x x

x x x

x x x x x

Sources: (1) French Florist Gardners, newspaper advertisement, Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane, February 14, 1825; (2) F. Newman, newspaper advertisement, Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane, December 30, 1830; (3) Lelièvre’s Nouveau jardinier de la Louisiane (New Orleans, 1838); (4) “Descriptive Catalogue of the Garden Seeds, for sale by F. D. Gay, Seed Store and Plant Depot, No. 139 St. Charles Street, (Lafayette Square), New Orleans,” found in Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac, and Plantation and Garden Calendar, for 1852 (New Orleans, 1851); (5) Catalogue of Fruit, Shade and Ornamental Trees . . . cultivated and for sale by John M. ­Nelson, At the Magnolia Nurseries . . . (New Orleans, 1858); (6) Frotscher’s Almanac and Garden Manual for the Southern States (New Orleans, 1891).

No t e s

Introduction: A “Beautiful and Imposing City” 1. Frederick Law Olmsted, ἀ e Cotton Kingdom: A Traveler’s Observations on Cotton and Slavery in the American Slave States, ed. Arthur M. Schlesinger (New York, 1969), 227–28. 2. “Sylvanus,” “Random Notes on Southern Horticulture,” Horticulturist, and Journal of Rural Art and Rural Taste 6 (1851): 220–24. See the discussion in part VII of this work. 3. U. P. Hedrick, A History of Horticulture in America to 1860 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1950), 352. 4. The authorship and genesis of the term “Garden District” remain elusive. 5. See Charles E. Beveridge’s biographical essay on Frederick Law Olmsted Sr. in Pioneers of ­American Landscape Design (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2000), 281. 6. “Sylvanus,” “Random Notes on Southern Horticulture.” 7. Possibly the first trained landscape architect to work in New Orleans was William Wiedorn (1896–1990), who had worked earlier in his career in the Olmsted Brothers firm and came to New ­Orleans from Florida in the early 1930s to work on golf courses and other WPA projects in City Park; it is not known whether he participated in Olmsted Brothers projects after he came here. Wiedorn ­remained in New Orleans and was professionally active until the late 1960s or early 1970s. His library and archives are at the Southeastern Architectural Archive, Tulane University. 8. Benjamin Moore Norman, Norman’s New Orleans and Environs (New Orleans, 1845), 68.

Part I: Public Open Spaces in New Orleans 1. “Neutral grounds” is a local term for the linear open spaces between divided streets. Generally these spaces were first drainage canals built at boundaries of neighborhoods to expedite drainage; linear green spaces resulted when drainage canals were later covered. Another definition associates the term with spaces that separate adjacent neighborhoods and belong to neither side, therefore being “neutral.”

1. Public Squares 1. According to one map, the Milneburg subdivision, near Lake Pontchartrain, for instance, had four public squares along Edinburgh Avenue, the subdivision’s main thoroughfare: Foreigners Square, Rome Square, National Square, and Amsterdam Square; a proposed market shares the same configuration in the development’s center. The Plaisance suburb, a block on either side of Great Route Wiltz (what is now Louisiana Avenue) between Nayades (now St. Charles Avenue) and the river, shows a public square at the terminus of Louisiana Avenue at the Mississippi River; the city of Carrollton shows “Green Square,” “Hamilton Square,” and “Frederick Square.” 2. John Adams Paxton, ἀ e New-Orleans Directory and Register (New Orleans: Benj. Levy, 1822–23), 81; Supplement (1824), 34. 3. Benjamin Moore Norman, Norman’s New Orleans and Environs (New Orleans, 1845), 181. His discussion does not include the example behind St. Louis Cathedral. 241

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4. Phebe S. Goodman, ἀ e Garden Squares of Boston (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 2003), xi. This study does not mention examples in New Orleans. 5. Norman, Norman’s New Orleans and Environs, 181. 6. Quoted in Samuel Wilson Jr.’s introduction to Leonard V. Huber, Jackson Square through the Years (New Orleans: Friends of the Cabildo, 1982), 4. 7. Benjamin Henry Boneval Latrobe, Impressions Respecting New Orleans: Diaries & Sketches, 1818–1820, edited by Samuel Wilson Jr. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1951), 23. 8. Paxton, ἀ e New-Orleans Directory and Register, 40. 9. Huber, Jackson Square through the Years, 37–39, 64. 10. Norman, Norman’s New Orleans and Environs, 182. 11. Quoted in Leonard V. Huber and Sam Wilson Jr., Baroness Pontalba’s Buildings (New Orleans: New Orleans Chapter of the Louisiana Landmarks Society and the Friends of the Cabildo, 1966), 34. 12. These structures, built in 1849–50, are known now as the Pontalba Apartments; they are thought to be the first apartment buildings built in America. 13. Quoted in Huber and Wilson, Baroness Pontalba’s Buildings, 51. 14. Ibid. 15. Mary P. Ryan, Civic Wars: Democracy and Public Life in the American City during the Nineteenth Century (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997), 48. 16. Frederick Law Olmsted, ἀ e Cotton Kingdom: A Traveller’s Observations on Cotton and ­Slavery in the American Slave States, ed. Arthur M. Schlesinger (New York: 1969), 227–28. 17. Thomas K. Wharton, Queen of the South: New Orleans, 1853–1862: ἀ e Journal of ἀ omas K Wharton, ed. Samuel Wilson Jr., Patricia Brady, and Lynn D. Adams (New Orleans: Historic New ­Orleans Collection, 1999), 26. 18. “A New Plane: Pre-Civil War Lithography in New Orleans,” in Printmaking in New Orleans, ed. Jesse J. Poesch (New Orleans: Historic New Orleans Collection), 118. 19. Henry C. Castellanos, New Orleans As It Was, 5th ed. (1895, facsimile repr., Gretna, La.: ­Pelican, 1990), 143–46. Castellanos, an amateur historian by today’s definition, was a “distinguished attorney and judge whose avocation was writing about the New Orleans he knew for a period of ­seventy years,” according to Charles Dufour, in his foreword to the 5th edition. Dufour also notes that this work’s seventeen chapters, rather than comprising an organized narrative, are a “miscellany, a collection of personal experiences or inherited traditions.” What this work may lack in precision is surpassed by its rich documentation of oral histories and local accounts of characters, events, and places. 20. Ibid., 157. 21. Jerah Johnson, Congo Square in New Orleans (New Orleans: Louisiana Landmarks, 1995). 22. Henry A. Kmen, Music in New Orleans: ἀ e Formative Years, 1791–1841 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1966), 227. 23. Latrobe, Impressions Respecting New Orleans, ed. Wilson, 49–51. 24. See Kmen’s discussion of Congo Square and the birth of jazz in Music in New Orleans, 226–29. It should be noted that Congo Square was the birthplace in the mid-1970s of what would become the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, an internationally acclaimed music festival now held at the Fair Grounds. 25. Paxton, ἀ e New-Orleans Directory and Register, 40. 26. Norman, Norman’s New Orleans and Environs, 182. 27. Castellanos, New Orleans As It Was, 157–60. 28. Beauregard (1818–1893), trained as an engineer at West Point, served with distinction in the Mexican War and was named superintendent of West Point in 1861. He was brigadier general in command of the Confederate defenses at Fort Sumter at the beginning of the Civil War (1861) and orchestrated several major Confederate military victories. He did not, however, enjoy a good relationship with Jefferson Davis or other high-ranking Confederate officers. After the Civil War, he returned to Louisiana and became wealthy and politically influential as a rail executive and commissioner of public works for New Orleans. 29. Ironic, too, is what has happened to the space adjacent to Congo Square. In the mid-1960s, a large area of the adjacent Tremé neighborhood was cleared under the guise of “urban renewal” for a ­massive



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Lincoln Center–type venue for the performing arts, removing not only significant architectural and cultural landmarks but also displacing the Creole community there. Community protests were ineffective, and nothing happened for about ten years. By the mid-1970s, plans were presented by the San Francisco landscape architect Lawrence Halprin for a development similar to Copenhagen’s Tivoli (including a large Ferris wheel), but they proved controversial and were not approved. Subsequently, a local design team completed plans that included a performing arts center, lagoons, berms, planting (including sycamores from seeds that had been sent in the first manned flight to the moon), all surrounded by an intimidating iron fence. The Tremé Community Center was built outside the fence in the rear of the cleared property, and Congo Square, in front of the Municipal Auditorium, was renovated with new paving, plantings, and an interactive fountain. Community resentment remains decades later. In 1980, the park was named after native son Louis Armstrong; later, the performing arts center was named for singer ­Mahalia Jackson. In the 1990s, plans were initiated to create the New Orleans Jazz National Historical Park, a 32-acre park to be managed by the National Park Service that would include Congo Square. 30. WPA Guide to New Orleans (1938; facsimile repr., New York: Pantheon, 1983), 314. 31. Norman, Norman’s New Orleans and Environs, 182–83. 32. Castellanos, New Orleans As It Was, 206–7. This original statue was removed in the early twentieth century and was replaced with the current one in 1926. 33. Ibid., 202–8. 34. Servants were allowed in public open spaces in New Orleans as part of their domestic duties. Note the female nurse is in the uniform of a domestic, complete with a Creole tignon on her head. The child playing nearby may well be hers, a playmate for the children in her charge. 35. This practice occurred with regularity in the rural South and in antebellum New Orleans. One explanation suggests that white paint (or whitewash) repels insects or caterpillars harmful to the trees. 36. Second Municipality Council Proceedings, August 10, 1847; September 21, 1847; November 9, 1847; November 16, 1847; February 20, 1849; March 20, 1849, cited in Jerrold Brooks, Historic Research Report Coliseum Square New Orleans (New Orleans: E. Eean McNaughton and Associates, Architects, and Charles Caplinger and Associates Inc., Landscape Architects, n.d.), 3. 37. Wharton recorded his impressions of New Orleans in a journal, reprinted as Queen of the South: New Orleans, 1853–1862: ἀ e Journal of ἀ omas K. ­W harton, ed. Samuel Wilson Jr., Patricia Brady, and Lynn D. Adams (New Orleans: Historic New Orleans ­Collection, 1999), 84, 86. 38. Edwin L. Jewell, Jewell’s Crescent City Illustrated, (New Orleans, 1873), 38. 39. J. Curtis Wado, Visitor’s Guide to New Orleans (New Orleans, 1875), 31. 40. Brooks, Historic Research Report Coliseum Square New Orleans, 7 and appendix 4. The source of this document is not given. 41. John Tylden Magill, “Municipal Improvements in New Orleans in the 1880s” (master’s thesis, Louisiana State University, New Orleans, 1972), 8–14, 69–71. 42. Both plans are given in the Brooks report. 43. While some remained well into the late twentieth century (at DeSoto and Esplanade; at Bell and Esplanade; at the river end of Napoleon Avenue near Tchoupitoulas Street; at Terpsichore and Coliseum; and in Coliseum Square), most have been removed in efforts to eliminate perceived maintenance problems. 44. ἀ e Picayune’s Guide to New Orleans, 5th ed., 1903, cited in Brooks, Historic Research Report Coliseum Square New Orleans. 45. ἀ e Picayune’s Guide to New Orleans, 11th ed., 1913, cited in Brooks, Historic Research Report Coliseum Square New Orleans.

2. Linear Open Spaces: Unintended Consequences 1. John M. Barry, Rising Tide: ἀ e Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How It Changed America (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997), 40. See also Orleans Levee District, www.gnofn.org/~levee/history. 2. Mary P. Ryan, Civic Wars: Democracy and Public Life in the American City during the ­Nineteenth Century (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997), 39. 3. Thomas Ashe, Travels in America Performed in 1806. . . . (London: 1808), 272–74.

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N o t e s t o Pag e s 3 8 –45

4. Bayou St. John was a natural waterway used as a trading route by Native Americans, serving as a connection between Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River. The Carondelet Canal was an extension of Bayou St. John constructed between 1792 and 1795 by the Spanish governor Carondelet as a navigable entry into the city. Sometimes called the Old Basin Canal to differentiate it from the New Basin Canal built later by Americans, this commercial waterway terminated in a turning basin at Basin and St. Peters streets. Along its sides was a popular pedestrian promenade called the Carondelet Walk. Several “pleasure gardens,” discussed later, faced the canal. It was filled in between 1927 and 1938. 5. This area, now St. Charles and St. John parishes, still has small farms that supply fruits and ­vegetables to the region. The German presence remains in place names and names of local residents. 6. Benjamin Henry Boneval Latrobe, Impressions Respecting New Orleans: Diaries & Sketches, 1818–1820, edited by Samuel Wilson Jr. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1951), 21–22. The French Market still exists, though its function of selling fruits and vegetables has been overtaken by flea markets and tourist-oriented paraphernalia. 7. Robert A. Sauder, “The Origin and Spread of the Public Market System in New Orleans,” ­Louisiana History 22 (Summer 1981): 281–97. 8. Minter Wood, “Life in New Orleans in the Spanish Period,” Louisiana Historical Quarterly 22, no. 3 (July 1939): 37. Writing in 1822, Paxton noted that the canal was dug “for the express purpose of draining the city” (John Adems Paxton, ἀ e New-Orleans Directory and Register [New Orleans: Benj. Levy, 1822–23], 34). 9. Charles Gayarrré, History of Louisiana (New Orleans: Hansell, 1903), 3:352. 10. John G. Clark, New Orleans, 1718–1812: An Economic History (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1970), 291. 11. C. C. Robin, Voyage to Louisiana, 1803–1805, ed. and trans. Stuart O. Landry Jr. (New Orleans: Pelican, 1966), 30. 12. James Pitot, Observations on the Colony of Louisiana from 1796 to 1802, ed. and trans. Henry C. Pitot (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1979), 13, 30. 13. Pitot was appointed mayor following the resignation of Jean Étienne de Boré, the city’s first mayor. Pitot served in this capacity from 1804 to 1805; he was later appointed a parish judge. He lived in a house on Bayou St. John between 1810 and1819 that still stands. 14. Clark, New Orleans, 1718–1812, 291–95. 15. Maj. Amos Stoddard, Sketches, Historical and Descriptive of Louisiana (Philadelphia: Mathew Carey, 1812), 163. 16. Paxton, ἀ e New-Orleans Directory and Register, 36. For discussion of the canal’s evolution, see Richard Campanella, Time and Place in New Orleans (Gretna, La.: Pelican, 2002), 66–67; see also Mary Louise Christovich, Roulhac Toledano et al., comps. and eds., New Orleans Architecture, vol. 6, Faubourg Tremé and the Bayou Road (Gretna, La.: Pelican, 1980), 60. 17. Paxton, ἀ e New-Orleans Directory and Register, 37. 18. Clark, New Orleans, 1718–1812, 295–98. 19. Rail commerce continued in the Carondelet Canal corridor until the early 1950s, when all rail lines leading into the city were consolidated at the New Orleans Union Passenger Terminal (NOUPT). A railroad company retained ownership of its rail lines in the Carondelet Canal corridor, and, in 2006, some of this property was sold for private development. The New Basin Canal’s turning basin was filled in the 1930s, and it is the general location of the NOUPT on Loyola Avenue. By the 1950s, the New Basin Canal had become the site for the Pontchartrain Expressway (Interstate 10). 20. Joy Jackson, New Orleans in the Gilded Age: Politics and Urban Progress, 1880–1896, 2nd ed. (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1997), 103–6, 206. 21. For a discussion of Olmsted’s concept of park systems in American cities in general and for Boston in particular, see Cynthia Zaitzevsky, Frederick Law Olmsted and the Boston Park System (Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1982). See also Arleyn Levee’s biographical essay in Charles A. Birnbaum and Robin Karson, eds., Pioneers of American Landscape Design (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2000), 282–84.



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22. See Barry Fitzpatrick’s biographical essay in Shaping the American Landscape: New Profiles from the Pioneers of American Landscape Design Project, ed. Charles A. Birnbaum and Stephanie S. Foell (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2009), 378–80. 23. Storm-water runoff must be pumped up and over levees, into either Lake Pontchartrain or the Mississippi River. New Orleans voters first approved funding for a citywide drainage system in 1899. The local engineer Albert Baldwin Wood devised a system that combined massive screw pumps and extensive underground drainage systems beneath neutral grounds, and it was completed by 1913. These pumps, some of the largest ever built, are still in use and, prior to Hurricane Katrina, had failed only once (in 1994). This system has served as a model for drainage systems throughout the world.

3. Major Urban Parks, 1870s–1920 1. Olmsted and his firm completed major parks in New York, Brooklyn, Buffalo, Chicago, ­Detroit, Montreal, Boston, Rochester, and Louisville, and park systems in Buffalo, Boston, Rochester, and Louisville. After his death, his firm continued under his sons, and public parks continued to be a major part of the practice. 2. The expression “lungs of the city,” used in reference to urban parks, is often attributed to ­Olmsted’s description of New York’s Central Park. Leland M. Roth, in Understanding Architecture Its Elements, History and Meaning (2nd ed., 2005), attributes the phrase to Baron Georges-Eugène Haussmann (1809–1891) in Haussmann’s description of parks in mid-nineteenth-century Paris. An earlier usage, however, comes from the English politician William Windham in a speech he gave in 1808 in the House of Commons, referring to London’s Hyde Park. I am indebted to Matthew Innes for this reference. 3. Ironically, Central Park upon its completion in the late 1850s was considered a park for the urban elites, and it was not until the 1880s and 1890s that the working classes and immigrants began to make full use of it. See Roy Rosenzweig and Elizabeth Blackmar, ἀ e Park and the People (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), 9, 306. 4. Economic motives for creating public open spaces cannot be overlooked; in fact, it was a major impetus for the development of New York’s Central Park. See Howard P. Chudacoff and Judith E. Smith, ἀ e Evolution of American Urban Society, 5th ed. (Upper Saddle River, N.Y.: Prentice Hall, 2000), 96–97. 5. Upper City Park became Audubon Park in 1886. Later, the name Lower City Park was shortened to City Park. 6. In the late nineteenth century, African Americans, by law, were denied access to public parks on Sunday, which effectively controlled their access to public parks since most worked during the week. See Dale A. Somers, ἀ e Rise of Sports in New Orleans, 1850–1900 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1972), 284. The historian Jerah Johnson noted it was during the first two decades of the twentieth century that full segregation in parks “took hold.” See “Jim Crow Laws of the 1890s and the Origins of New Orleans Jazz: Correction of an Error,” Popular Music 19, no. 2 (2000): 249. 7. Greville J. Chester, Transatlantic Sketches in the West Indies, South America, Canada, and the United States (London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1869), 207. 8. Mary Louise Christovich, Roulhac Toledano et al., comps. and eds., New Orleans Architecture, vol. 5, ἀ e Esplanade Ridge (Gretna, La.: Pelican, 1977), 139. 9. Catherine Cole, “New Orleans City Park: A Bit of History as to What It Was in Olden Days. . . . A New Plan for the Park’s Improvements: What the Commissioners Have Accomplished,” Daily ­Picayune, March 13, 1892, 20. 10. See Papers of Frederick Law Olmsted, 3:12, for mention of Bogart and Culyer; see also ibid., 6: 21, esp. 162 nn. 24 and 25, for biographical sketches of Bogart and Culyer. Bogart was the director for construction and chief engineer from 1866 to 1871; Culyer was the chief engineer from 1871 to 1888. Later, Bogart served as New York’s chief engineer for parks (see Rosenzweig and Blackmar, ἀ e Park and the People, 159 n. 29, and 201 for mention of Bogart’s later career). 11. Papers of Frederick Law Olmsted, vols. 1–7 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1977–2007), 6:300 n. 6. Evidently their suggestions for the park closely followed those made earlier by Olmsted.

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12. The plan, watercolor on linen, is dated February 27, 1874, in ink on the back, apparently the date it was entered into evidence in a lower court action. The term “landscape architect” was used in the 1850s by Olmsted for work on Central Park. Like other professions, landscape architecture at the time did not necessarily involve academic training but rather lengthy apprenticeships under those already in the profession. Professional licensure was enacted on a state-by-state basis in the twentieth century. 13. Case 5284, November 1876, Louisiana State Supreme Court Archive, University of New ­Orleans, Earl K. Long Library. 14. Cole, “New Orleans City Park,” 20. 15. Ibid. 16. This curious situation remains in effect today. How and why what was once property of the City of New Orleans has become property of the State of Louisiana is not easily explained. 17. Karen Kingsley, Buildings of Louisiana (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 90. 18. The English-born architect Edward H. Bennett (1874–1954) moved to New York in 1902, where he met the architect Daniel Burnham of Chicago; in 1904, Bennett joined Burnham’s firm. One of Bennett’s first projects was to work with the Olmsted Brothers office on a system of neighborhood parks for Chicago. Bennett collaborated with Burnham on the Plan for Chicago (1909) which was widely admired. Following Burnham’s death in 1912, Bennett opened Bennett, Parsons, and Frost, and the firm became known for developing large-scale plans based on Chicago Plan concepts integrating green spaces, municipal features, and transportation corridors. The office closed in 1944. See Charles A. Birnbaum and Lisa E. Crowder, eds., Pioneers of American Landscape Design, pamphlet (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of Interior, National Park Service, 1993), 13–14. 19. WPA Guide to New Orleans (1938; facsimile repr., New York: Pantheon, 1983), 224. 20. In fact, Koch developed the format still used today for HABS documentation, which has ­become the basis for the Historic American Landscape Survey (HALS) recently inaugurated. 21. Sally K. Reeves et al., Historic City Park New Orleans (New Orleans, 1982), 67. 22. Wiedorn’s archive and library are at the Southeastern Architectural Archive, Tulane University. See Barry Fitzgerald’s biographical essay on Wiedorn in Shaping the American Landscape: New Profiles from the Pioneers of American Landscape Design Project (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2009). 23. Alferez was active up until his death in 1999. Many of his later works have been purchased and installed in the Botanical Garden. 24. Somers, ἀ e Rise of Sport in New Orleans 1850–1900, 282–84. 25. The same could be said about the 1984 Louisiana World Exposition: it was a financial disaster, but locals enjoyed it. Horticulturally, it was a success, leaving an impact on local gardens and gardeners with plant introductions and innovative planting schemes devised by the local landscape architect Luis Guevara. 26. John K. Small, in his highly regarded Manual of the Southeastern Flora, 3rd ed. (New York, 1933), 267, noted: “Whether a native or an immigrant from tropical American cannot be certainly determined. However, its growth in the waters of the rather recently opened up wilderness of the interior of peninsular Florida indicates that it was native there.” Others disagree. Philip J. Pauly, in Fruits and Plains: ἀ e Horticultural Transformation of America (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007), 219, discusses this plant’s history in Florida and notes that the Royal Palm Nurseries of Manatee, Florida, “offered the water hyacinth as a regular catalog item as early as 1888.” Neither, however, mentions the plant being introduced into New Orleans in 1884. 27. Recent experimentation, however, has confirmed the plant’s capacity to filter the water in which it lives, successfully removing (but not neutralizing) heavy metals and pollutants and storing them in its bulbous stems. The plants can subsequently be harvested, but the pollutants must then be extracted from the stems and disposed of through conventional methods, a process that has thus far not proved to be cost-effective. 28. Daily Picayune, April 24, 1840. 29. This is the same John Bogart who was involved earlier with City Park. 30. The communication obviously was with John Bogart and Frederick Law Olmsted. 31. Minutes of the Audubon Park Association mention communications with Olmsted and Bogart relative to developing plans for Audubon Park between June 5, 1886, and September 17, 1894, ­56–143,



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but neither the letters nor copies of them are known to exist. Other documents referenced in the minutes are now lost as well. Ongoing efforts to catalog and publish Olmsted’s papers, which may contain these communications, have reached 1874 thus far. See ἀ e Papers of Frederick Law Olmsted, vols. 1–7. 32. Warren Manning (1860–1938) left his father’s business as a nurseryman in 1888 to work in ­Olmsted’s office, where he supervised planting design and horticultural matters for about one ­hundred projects. When leadership of the office passed to Olmsted’s sons in 1896, Manning left to start his own practice in the Boston area. He, with the Olmsted brothers, was a founder and charter member of the American Society of Landscape Architects in 1899. His work was extensive and included town plans, college campuses, residential estates, regional park systems, and other projects in nearly every state. Any subsequent professional involvement in New Orleans is, at present, unknown. Manning’s office was a training ground for many influential twentieth-century landscape architects including Ellen Biddle Shimpan (1869–1950) and Dan Kiley (1912–2004). His practice dwindled during the Depression years, and by the mid-1930s he had little work. A detailed examination of his life and career does not exist; see Pioneers of American Landscape Design (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2000), 236–42. 33. The inventory of the Audubon Park, found in the Frederick Law Olmsted National Historic Site in Brookline, Massachusetts, includes 506 plans and drawings, dated 1897–1941; three file folders of planting lists dated 1900–1936; and one photograph album with 117 images, dated 1898–1941. 34. Shurcliff (1870–1957), having studied under Charles Eliot at Harvard, began his career in the Olmsted office in the mid-1890s, and in 1899, he assisted Frederick Law Olmsted Jr. in starting the ­academic program in landscape architecture at Harvard. He started his own practice in ­Boston in 1904. In 1928, he began work on the major project of his career, the restoration of Colonial ­Williamsburg, and he served as chief landscape architect for that project until he retired in 1941. As one of the first generation of trained American landscape architects, he had a long and distinguished career. See Elizabeth Hope Cushing’s biography in Pioneers of American Landscape Design, 351–56. 35. For a facsimile reprint, see Humphry Repton: ἀ e Red Books for Brandsbury and Glemham Hall (Washington. D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1994). Repton’s Red Books, named for their morocco leather bindings, used watercolor images of the landscape with flaps that folded back to reveal proposed changes. Accompanying text, corresponding with the images, described current conditions and suggested improvements. The Red Books were extremely popular with clients and advanced Repton’s influence and reputation as the successor to Lancelot “Capability” Brown. Approximately 120 Red Books were produced. See André Rogger, Landscapes of Taste: ἀ e Art of Humphry Repton’s Red Books (London: Routledge, 2007). 36. Somers, ἀ e Rise of Sports in New Orleans, 216.

4. European and American Precedents 1. See Warwick Wroth, ἀ e London Pleasure Gardens of the Eighteenth Century (London: Macmillan, 1896). 2. Isabelle Auricoste, “Leisure Parks in Europe: Entertainment and Escapism,” in ἀ e Architecture of Western Gardens, ed. Monique Mosser and Georges Teyssot (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1991), 483. Auricoste does not explore her assertion about the “mingling of social classes and the relaxed behaviour.” “Equality” and “liberty” were experiences shared only by those who could afford the price of admission and the time for leisure activities, an observation Auricoste does not make. 3. Elizabeth Barlow Rogers, Landscape Design (New York: Abrams, 2001), 518. 4. Auricoste, “Leisure Parks in Europe,” 486, 489. Coney Island opened in 1895 and soon became a model replicated throughout America. According to the National Amusement Park Historical Association’s “The Amusement Park Industry—A Very Brief History” (www.napha.org/history), by 1919, there were more than 1,500 amusement parks similar to Coney Island in America. See also Judith Adams, ἀ e American Amusement Park Industry (Boston: Twayne, 1991). 5. George F. Chadwick, ἀ e Park and the Town Public Landscape in the 19th and 20th Centuries (New York: Praeger, 1966), 163–220; Norman T. Newton, Design on the Land (Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1971), 267–89; Francesco Dal Co, “From Parks to the Region: Progressive

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Ideology and the Reform of the American City,” in ἀ e American City from the Civil War to the New Deal (Cambridge, MIT Press, 1983), 154–78; Rogers, Landscape Design, 332–50. 6. Among the leaders were Andrew Jackson Downing, William Cullen Bryant, Ralph Waldo ­Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Amos Bronson Alcott; open-space examples include Mt. ­Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge, 1831; Laurel Hill, Philadelphia, 1836; Green-Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn, 1838; parks, many designed by Frederick Law Olmsted and his office, include Central Park, New York, 1858; Prospect Park, Brooklyn, 1866; and the Boston park system, 1870s. 7. Significantly, this pattern is reflected in the growth of American landscape architecture from the late nineteenth century to the early twentieth century through three other areas: professional practice and clientele were centered in New York and Boston; the professional organization (the American Society of Landscape Architects), was first discussed in Boston but then was established in New York in 1899; and professional education in the field began at Harvard around 1900. This early history is discussed in great detail by Newton in Design on the Land. 8. For New York, see Heath Massey Schenker, “Pleasure Gardens, Theme Parks, and the Picturesque,” in ἀ eme Park Landscapes: Antecedents and Variations, ed. Terence Young and Robert Riley ­(Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 2002), 336, 386; Roy Rosenzweig and Elizabeth Blackmar, ἀ e Park and the People (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), 104–5, 110–11; and Thomas M. Garrett, “A History of Pleasure Gardens in New York City, 1700–1865” (Ph.D. diss., New York University, 1978). For New Orleans, see William Lake Douglas, “On Common Ground: Horticultural Commerce as a Unifying Factor among Diverse Communities in Nineteenth-Century New Orleans” (Ph.D. diss., University of New Orleans, 2001); and William Lake Douglas, “Uniting Conveniences with Pleasure,” Louisiana Cultural Vistas (Spring 2003). See also Schenker’s extended discussion in Melodramatic Landscapes, 117–30. Mary P. Ryan, in Civic Wars: Democracy and Public Life in the American City during the Nineteenth Century (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California, 1998), 45, focuses on “public life” in nineteenth-century New York, New Orleans, and San Francisco but mentions pleasure gardens only once as being “private parks accessible for a small admission price and the cost of refreshments.” 9. Rosenzweig and Blackmar begin the discussion, perhaps, by placing pleasure gardens within the context of the development of Central Park; Schenker expands the discussion. Rogers includes a discussion of theme parks in her survey. According to recent industry reports, the American themepark industry generated more than $11.2 billion revenue in approximately six hundred “amusement/ theme parks & attractions” in 2005, with attendance estimated at 335 million (www.IIAPA.org). While some characteristics, particularly planting design and public open-space design, merit greater examination, the influence of Disney developments on urban design (new urbanism) is well established. In fact, the term “disneyfication” (implying unrealistic perfection) has entered the popular ­design lexicon as a term of derision. 10. Garrett, “A History of Pleasure Gardens in New York City”; Rosenzweig and Blackmar, ἀ e Park and the People, 4–5; 104–11; 117; 130–31; Schenker, “Pleasure Gardens, Theme Parks, and the ­Picturesque,” 72–89. 11. Kathy Peiss, Cheap Amusements: Working Women and Leisure in Turn-of-the-Century New York (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1986), 119. Also in attendance, of course, were workingclass men, suggesting these public places were organized more by distinctions of class or ethnicity than by gender. Peiss noted that sometimes these venues “affirmed specific ethnic ties” (120), a situation that also existed in New Orleans. 12. Rosenzweig and Blackmar, ἀ e Park and the People, 104–5. 13. Hoboken’s Elysian Fields, located across the river from New York in New Jersey, was accessible by ferry from the Battery. See Schenker, “Pleasure Gardens, Theme Parks, and the Picturesque,” 78. 14. Rosenzweig and Blackmar, ἀ e Park and the People, 4–5, 105–6.

5. Pleasure Gardens in New Orleans 1. Henry A. Kmen, Music in New Orleans: ἀ e Formative Years, 1791–1841 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1966), 9, 211–12, notes that “if one preferred a French atmosphere, there was ­Rasch’s Garden . . . Simon Laignel’s Pleasure Garden . . . or the Louisiana Garden. . . . English



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tastes could be gratified at the Louisiana Vauxhall Gardens . . . the New Vauxhall Gardens . . . or the ­Vauxhall ­Gardens in the St. Charles Theater,” but he does not elaborate. 2. Heath Massey Schenker notes these connections among New York examples. See “Pleasure Gardens, Theme Parks, and the Picturesque,” in ἀ eme Park Landscapes: Antecedents and Variations, ed. Terence Young and Robert Riley (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 2002), 73, 89. For detailed explanations of local “concert saloons” and the community’s rich heritage of related activities, see Alecia P. Long, ἀ e Great Southern Babylon: Sex, Race, and Respectability in New Orleans, 1865–1920 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2004), esp. 60–101. Kenneth Jackson’s discussion of the origin of country clubs, in Crabgrass Frontier (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), does not include discussion of pleasure gardens. 3. Dates in parentheses represent dates for which documentary evidence exists and not necessarily the life spans of these examples. 4. The Rocher de Ste. Hèléne is the island in the South Atlantic off the western coast of Africa where Napoleon was exiled in 1815. New Orleans residents sympathetic to Napoleon’s cause planned to rescue him and bring him to New Orleans, but this scheme did not materialize, and Napoleon died on the island in 1821. There was a Tivoli Garden in Paris in the eighteenth century, and mention of a New Orleans property known as Tivoli occurs in 1808, but its content is unknown; Copenhagen’s Tivoli Gardens opened in 1843. Vauxhall Gardens in London existed between 1661 and 1859. Schenker notes that “there were at least five ‘Vauxhall Gardens’ in different locations in New York over the course of two centuries” (“Pleasure Gardens, Theme Parks, and the Picturesque,” in ἀ eme Park Landscapes: Antecedents and Variations, ed. Terence Young and Robert Riley [Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 2002], 74). Notices in the New Orleans Emporium occur in July 1832 for legal matters related to a Louisiana Vauxhall Garden on Common Street. This may have been New Vauxhall Garden’s predecessor, but no information exists about its content or design. 5. Sam Wilson Jr.’s essay in New Orleans Architecture, comp. and ed. Mary Louise Christovich, Roulhac Toledano et al., vol. 1, ἀ e Lower Garden District (Gretna, La.: Pelican, 1971),14, quotes the 1810 ad without documenting the source or giving the advertisement’s first sentence; likewise, he fails to give a citation for the 1832 advertisement. 6. Clearly this term applies to African Americans, but unclear is whether it applied to “free people of color,” slaves, or both. For general discussion of free black society in colonial New Orleans, see Kimberly S. Hanger, Bounded Lives, Bounded Places: Free Black Society in Colonial New Orleans, 1769–1803 (Durham: Duke University Press, 1997). 7. A long-held assumption is that French (and Creole) influences remained below Canal Street, and American influences controlled how areas above Canal Street developed, a myth dispatched by Joseph Tregle Jr. in his essay “Creoles and Americans,” in Creole New Orleans: Race and Americanization, ed. Arnold R. Hirsch and Joseph Logsdon (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992). 8. In the two decades after Louisiana adopted a new constitution in 1898, numerous laws and ­ordinances were enacted that segregated public facilities and private establishments, including restaurants, clubs, churches, streetcars, libraries, hospitals, cemeteries, parks, and playgrounds, among others. Up until then, segregation was more de facto than de jure. See Jerah Johnson’s discussion of the development of jazz in ““Jim Crow Laws of the 1890s and the Origins of New Orleans Jazz: ­Correction of an Error,” Popular Music 19, no. 2 (2000). 9. This relic of the nineteenth-century slavery days survived well into twentieth-century ­A merica. African Americans were allowed in segregated establishments as “attendants” or “maids” but not ­individually as patrons. An 1835 advertisement for the Vauxhall Gardens instructs: “N. B. No colored persons admitted,” and other newspapers ads refer to children being allowed “with servants.” 10. For instance, the mother of the French artist Edgar Degas, who was from New Orleans, had local cousins who were “Creoles of color.” 11. By the early twentieth century, urban-scale parks such as City Park and Audubon Park, as well as commercial attractions on Lake Pontchartrain, had appeared in New Orleans. Unrestricted access to parks was denied to African Americans until much later in the twentieth century, though at least one urban park and golf course, Pontchartrain Park, existed in a new residential development created

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in the 1950s for African Americans. Its golf course was designed by Joseph M. Bartholomew (1881– 1971), an African American native of New Orleans who studied golf course design under Seth Raynor in New York. Bartholomew returned to New Orleans in 1922 and designed several local courses, including two in City Park. Ironically, he wasn’t allowed to play on them. In the 1950s, Lincoln Beach, a lakefront amusement park on the southern shore of Lake Pontchartrain, was developed for African Americans by the Orleans Levee District a few miles east of the privately owned, larger, and more ­accessible Pontchartrain Beach, an amusement park for whites. 12. The legal precedent of “separate but equal” in public access and accommodation was established in 1896 by the United States Supreme Court. The case involved Homer Plessy, a New Orleans Creole (the local black historian Marcus Christian noted in the Louisiana Weekly, December 8, 1956, that Plessy was not “a full-blooded Negro, but . . . a man who . . . seemed to be wholly white”) who refused to disembark from a rail car designated for whites. This precedent codified segregation in America but was reversed in 1954 by the Supreme Court in Brown v. Board of Education. 13. Meanings and implications of the term “C/creole,” indeed, whether or not it begins with an uppercase or lowercase c, are complicated, even today, and multiple efforts have attempted to untangle strands of this confusing web. Generally descendants of white European (French and Spanish) colonial settlers born in the New World considered themselves to be “Creole,” adhering to an older, ­European definition of that term. Later in the early nineteenth century, “Creole” and “Creole of color” came to mean those of mixed-race heritage, regardless of cultural background. One of the best ­discussions of this complicated issue appears in essays in Hirsch and Logsdon’s Creole New Orleans. 14. See ibid.; and Mary P. Ryan, Civic Wars: Democracy and Public Life in the American City ­during the Nineteenth Century (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California, 1997) for what could be the foundations of this discussion. 15. From the eighteenth century onward, this was the delivery route for fresh produce arriving into the colonial community from small farms on the German Coast in St. James Parish. 16. Kmen, Music in New Orleans, 8–9. Kmen gives no citation for this assertion. 17. Thomas Ashe, Travels in America, Performed in 1806, for the Purpose of Exploring the Rivers Alleghany, Monongahela, Ohio and Mississippi and Ascertaining the Produce and Condition of ἀ eir Banks and Vicinity (London, 1808). 18. Under the caste system of Spain and Latin America, “mestizo” referred to the progeny of a ­European with an American Indian. 19. Ashe, Travels in America, 263–77. 20. New Orleans Republican, November 12, 1866. Henry C. Castellanos, in New Orleans As It Was, 5th ed. (1895; facsimile repr., Gretna, La.: Pelican, 1990) mentions Magnolia Garden (327). 21. Castellanos, New Orleans As It Was, 327. 22. Jackson Square, Lafayette Square, Washington Square, and Annunciation Square had such fences; the fences remain at Jackson Square and Washington Square. 23. Traité de la composition et de l’ornement des jardins. . . ., 6th ed. (1859; facsimile repr., n.d.). This French work, a compilation of illustrations from many different garden sources, first appeared in 1818; subsequent editions (2nd, 1823; 3rd, 1825; 4th, 1834; 5th, 1839) had additions and alterations. An American source of comparable influence would be Andrew Jackson Downing’s Treatise on the ­ἀ eory and Practice of Landscape Gardening from the 1840s onward. 24. The historian Caryn Cossé Bell, in Revolution, Romanticism, and the Afro-Creole Protest ­Tradition in Louisiana, 1718–1868 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University, 1997), 145–86, discusses these events in detail as evidence of local interest in republican and antislavery ideals among members of the French community, Catholics, and Afro-Creoles in their struggle against the emerging power of Louisiana’s planter autocracy. 25. Using “Tivoli” as a place-name first appeared in New Orleans in 1807, when the engineer ­Barthélémy Lafon drew subdivision plans for the Delord-Sarpy Plantation property above Canal Street in the Faubourgs Ste. Mary and Annunciation. He created the Place du Tivoli, encircled first by the Tivoli Canal and then by a paved street; this traffic circle was renamed in honor of Gen. Robert E. Lee in the 1870s. Another use of Tivoli occurs with a plantation and garden on nearby Bayou St. John from 1808 through 1824, discussed above. Some may conflate these into one location, an understand-



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able conclusion since early notices of Tivoli Plantation mention garden features and the Carondelet Canal is an extension of Bayou St. John. 26. Likely the Jardin du Rocher de St. Hélène. 27. This German influence continued throughout the nineteenth century, finding expression in the city’s river commerce, infrastructural improvements, and architecture as well as in restaurants and beer gardens that appeared on Lake Pontchartrain by the end of the century. 28. Both lithograph and sheet music (“Valse de Tivoli” by H. Rolling), published in New Orleans, are found at The Historic New Orleans Collection. The use of the image on sheet music is significant because it links music, performance, and dance to this pleasure garden space. 29. The practice of having a side window from which food or drink from the same kitchen was dispensed to African Americans customers lasted well into the twentieth century in local restaurants and bars; evidence of such accommodations can still be found today, though the custom of such ­service has long since disappeared. 30. J. L. Guilbeau, ἀ e St. Charles Street Car or the New Orleans & Carrollton Rail Road (New ­Orleans: self-published, 1975), 1–5; see also Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier, 106. 31. Gilbeau, ἀ e St. Charles Street Car, 1–5. 32. See, for instance, Humphry Repton, Observations on the ἀ eory and Practice of Landscape Gardening Including Some Remarks on Grecian and Gothic Architecture (London: J. Taylor, 1803); L. E. Audot, Traité de la composition et de l’ornement des jardins. . . . (1859; repr., Paris: L.V.D.V. Interlivres, n.d.); and Andrew J. Downing, A Treatise on the ἀ eory and Practice of Landscape Gardening, 4th ed. (New York: 1849). 33. Vol. 15 (Boston: Hovey and Company, 1849), 245–49. 34. Chinaberry (Melia azedarach). 35. Cape jasmine, also known as gardenia (Gardenia jasminoides). 36. See Thomas K. Wharton, Queen of the South: New Orleans, 1853–1862: ἀ e Journal of ἀ omas K. Wharton, ed. Samuel Wilson Jr., Patricia Brady, and Lynn D. Adams (New Orleans: Historic New Orleans Collection, 1999), esp. 25 n. 32. 37. Gilbeau, ἀ e St. Charles Street Car, 41. 38. For general discussion of eighteenth-century Native Americans’ use of Bayou St. John, see Daniel H. Usner Jr., Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy: ἀ e Lower Mississippi Valley before 1783 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 232. 39. B. R. Forman Jr., “The Amusements of New Orleans,” in Standard History of New Orleans, Louisiana, ed. Henry Righton (Chicago: Lewis, 1900), 477. 40. Following lakefront land-reclamation efforts in the 1930s, many camps were disassembled from this part of the lakefront and moved eastward along Hayne Boulevard, where they remained in an informal but tightly knit community of multigenerational families, neither regulated by zoning nor serviced by urban amenities (like sewerage and utilities) until Hurricane Katrina in 2005. None remain today. 41. For a history of the Southern Yacht Club, see Oliver J. Counce’s ἀ e Sesquicentennial of the Southern Yacht Club of New Orleans: 1849–1999 (Metairie: Franklin Southland Printing, 2000). The twentieth-century structure burned to the ground after Hurricane Katrina (2005), but its membership has rebuilt in a style that resembles the original structure from 1849. 42. Dale A. Somers, ἀ e Rise of Sports in New Orleans, 1850–1900 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1972), 42–43. 43. Sam Wilson Jr., Historic American Building Survey Report (HABS No. 18–29), May 9, 1935. 44. Bernhard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, Travels through North America, during the Years 1825 and 1826 (Philadelphia: Carey, Lea and Carey, 1828), 2:53. 45. A venue for opera at a local amusement park is not surprising. Opera had been performed in New Orleans as early as 1791. New Orleans had America’s first permanent opera company, and ­English, Italian, and French operas were regularly performed there. 46. Forman Jr., “The Amusements of New Orleans,” 477. 47. Jerah Johnson, “Jim Crow Laws of the 1890s and the Origins of New Orleans Jazz: Correction of an Error,” Popular Music 19, no. 2 (2000): 248, 249.

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48. Sally K. Reeves et al., Historic City Park New Orleans (New Orleans: Friends of City Park, 1982), 89–91. 49. ἀ e WPA Guide to New Orleans (1938; facsimile repr., Boston: Houghton Mifflin,1983), 294. 50. Forman Jr., “The Amusements of New Orleans.” 477. 51. Jazz historians have noted the significance of these locations as venues that allowed white and African American musicians to play together. 52. Let the good times roll! 53. See Long, ἀ e Great Southern Babylon, 231.

Part III: Domestic Garden Design 1. There was growing interest from the 1920s onward, led by the architects Richard Koch and Sam Wilson Jr., in local architectural history and architectural restorations based on historical precedent, yet accompanying landscape developments were considered complements to architecture rather than elements that inspired research and accuracy. Such landscape schemes were interpretations by architects that accommodated the architectural and clients’ programs more than they were accurate re-creations of past landscapes. This situation, attributable also to the general professional incumbency of architects, the lack of local landscape architects, and the absence of documentary evidence, helps explain the public perceptions of landscapes in general and the inattention to the community’s ­garden history in particular.

6. General Trends 1. Archives des Colonies: Serie C13a, 7:353, Correspondance Générale, Louisiane; cited in Jean M. Farnsworth and Ann Masson, eds., ἀ e Architecture of Colonial Louisiana: ἀ e Collected Essays of Samuel Wilson Jr. F.A.I.A. (Lafayette: Center for Louisiana Studies, University of Southwestern ­Louisiana, 1987), 162. 2. Ibid., 190; Maj. Amos. Stoddard, Sketches, Historical and Descriptive of Louisiana (Philadelphia: Mathew Carey, 1812). 3. This work is being undertaken by the Archdiocese of New Orleans as a prelude to the proposed renovation of the garden following damage from Hurricane Katrina (2005). It is thought that the preKatrina garden may have been designed in the 1930s or 1940s by the local landscape architect William Wiedorn, though documentary evidence of this does not exist at present. Preliminary findings from this project’s research phase have been presented publicly but not published. 4. The work originally was written in poetic form (three cantos with 4,692 verses) and was ­entitled Poems en vers. It remained in manuscript form until transcribed, revised, and published in narrative form by Abbé Le Mascrier (Paris, 1753). A subsequent English translation, unillustrated, appeared by B. F. French in the nineteenth century as Historical Memoirs of Louisiana, from the First Settlement of the Colony to the Departure of Governor O’Reilly in 1770, with Historical and Biographical Notes (New York: Lamport, Blakeman, and Law, 1853), pt. 5. All three versions were consulted for this study: the 1753 original edition; a typescript translation of the 1753 version by Olivia Blanchard (Survey of ­Federal Archives in Louisiana project of the Works Progress Administration of Louisiana, 1937–1938); and the 1853 translation (see Sam Wilson, “The Drawings of François-Benjamin Dumont de Montigny,” in ἀ e Architecture of Colonial Louisiana, ed. Farnsworth and Masson, 105–7). 5. Wilson, “The Drawings of François-Benjamin Dumont de Montigny,” 105, 107. 6. Etienne Martin de Vaugine, “Life in Louisiana from 1752 to 1756,” trans. Myldred Masson Costa, New Orleans; n.d.; ms in author’s collection, 12–13, 14. 7. “The Letters of Baron Joseph X. Pontalba to His Wife, 1796,” trans. Henri Delville de Sinclair (Survey of Federal Archives in Louisiana, 1939), manuscript, Tulane University Library, New Orleans. 8. David Lee Stirling, ed., “New Orleans, 1801: An Account by John Pintard,” Louisiana Historical Quarterly 34 (July 1951): 217–33. 9. The 1788 fire burned more than 80 percent of the populated section of the city; the 1794 fire consumed fewer buildings but caused far more extensive financial damage. Destruction from these fires



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led to the enactment of a building code requiring future buildings of more than one story to be constructed of brick or adobe and roofed with tiles. 10. For discussion of upriver faubourgs, see Meloncy C. Soniat, “The Faubourgs Forming the Upper Section of the City of New Orleans,” Louisiana Historical Quarterly 20 (January–October 1937): 192–211. 11. Laclotte came to New Orleans in 1806 from Bordeaux and formed an architectural practice with Arsène Lacarrière-Latour. They established a school of architecture and completed several notable buildings, some of which still exist (see Farnsworth and Masson, eds., ἀ e Architecture of Colonial Louisiana, 194–95, 334). 12. Samuel Wilson Jr., “Early History,” in New Orleans Architecture, ed. and comp. Mary Louise Christovich, Roulhac Toledano et al., vol. 7, Jefferson City (Gretna, La.: Pelican, 1989), 16–17. 13. Cited in Christovich and Toledano et al., eds. and comps., New Orleans Architecture, vol. 8, ἀ e University Section, 25. 14. Yucca gloriosa is native to the southeastern Gulf and Atlantic coasts; it has sword-shaped leaves up to two feet long and white flowers on erect panicles of up to six feet long. 15. Charles Gayarré, “A Louisiana Sugar Plantation of the Old Régime,” Harper’s Magazine, March 1887, 606–21. 16. Reuben Gold Thwaites, ed., Early Western Travels, 1748–1846 , vol. 4, Fortescue Cuming: Sketches of a Tour to the Western Country through the States of Ohio and Kentucky; a Voyage down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers and a Trip through the Mississippi Territory and part of West Florida. Commenced at Philadelphia in the Winter of 1807, and concluded in 1809 (Cleveland, 1904), 2, 8–11. 17. An arpent is the French measure of land, in both length (approximately 192 feet) and area (about 0.84 acres), used by eighteenth-century French colonists in America. This system predates the Public Land Survey System (PLSS) of townships and sections proposed by Thomas Jefferson and adopted after the Revolutionary War. In Louisiana, arpents are long, narrow strips of land usually found along navigable waterways. A typical French arpent land division is 2–4 arpents wide along a waterway and 40–60 arpents deep (see http://nationalatlas.gov/articles/boundaries/a_plss.htlm). 18. Samuel Wilson Jr., “Early History of the Lower Garden District,” in New Orleans Architecture, ed. and comp. Mary Louise Christovich, Roulhac Toledano et al., vol. 1, ἀ e Lower Garden ­District (Gretna, La.: Pelican, 1971), 2, 8–11. Wilson claims that the “Place de Tivoli” was meant to be an amusement park, but this assertion has not been verified. 19. Reuben Gold Thwaites, ed., Early Western Travels, 1748–1846, vol. 5, Bradbury’s Travels in the Interior of America, 1809, 1810, 1811 (Cleveland, 1904), 9–11, 211–12. Bradbury was received by Thomas Jefferson at Monticello in 1809, traveled in the Missouri River valley region, and ended in New ­Orleans in 1812. 20. Reuben Gold Thwaites, ed., Early Western Travels, 1748–1846, vol. 8, Estwisk Evans: A Pedestrian Tour of Four ἀ ousand Miles, through the Western States and Territories, during the Winter and Spring of 1818 (Cleveland, 1904), 330. 21. This likely is a reference to crawfish. 22. Bernhard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, Travels through North America, during the Years 1825 and 1826 (Philadelphia: Carey, Lea and Carey, 1828), 2:70–71. 23. The work of some of these engineers remains in the plan drawings in the Notarial Archives. Buisson, a soldier in the French army, named streets he laid out between Toledano Street and Audubon Park for Napoleon’s battles: Austerlitz, Cadiz, Jena, and Marengo. 24. Among them were Treatise on the ἀ eory and Practice of Landscape Gardening (1841, and multiple editions thereafter); and the Horticulturist, and Journal of Rural Art and Rural Taste (1846 onward). 25. A book by Downing is offered for sale in an advertisement in Thomas Affleck’s Almanac of 1847. 26. Thomas K. Wharton, Queen of the South: New Orleans, 1853–1862: ἀ e Journal of ἀ omas K. Wharton, ed. Samuel Wilson Jr., Patricia Brady, and Lynn D. Adams (New Orleans: Historic New ­Orleans Collection, 1999). 27. Papers related to Robb’s collection and its dispersal are found in the Smithsonian Institution’s Archives of American Art, Washington, D.C.; other papers concerning Robb, including those related to the sale of his art collection, are found at The Historic New Orleans Collection.

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28. Wharton, Queen of the South, 77. 29. Ibid., 97. 30. S. Frederick Starr claims in his essay “The Culture of Comfort,” in New Orleans and Urban Louisiana, pt. A., Settlement to 1860, ed. Samuel C. Shepherd Jr. (Lafayette: Center for Louisiana Studies, University of Southwestern Louisiana, 2005), 479, that Robb “brought in” an Alsatian “to plan and install his gardens” but gives no documentation. His assertion corresponds with an earlier study by Martha Ann Brett Samuel and Ray Samuel in ἀ e Great Days of the Garden District (New Orleans: Parents’ League of the Louise S. McGehee School, 1961). They claim Robb “brought over a German gardener to design and maintain” the garden but give no reference (22). 31. Mary Louise Christovich, Roulhac Toledano et al., comps. and eds., New Orleans Architecture, vol. 5, ἀ e Esplanade Ridge (Gretna, La.: Pelican, 1977), 134–35. See also Karen Kingsley, Buildings of Louisiana (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 87–88. 32. The Louisiana Jockey Club was founded in the early 1870s and purchased the nearby Fair Grounds race track and turned it into “one of the country’s most attractive racecourses.” See Dale A. Somers, ἀ e Rise of Sports in New Orleans, 1850–1900 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1972), 91–114. 33. Quoted in Christovich, Toledano et al., comps and eds., New Orleans Architecture, vol. 5, ἀ e Esplanade Ridge, 135. 34. For information on Lilienthal and other early local photographers, see Margaret Denton Smith and Mary Louise Tucker, Photography in New Orleans: ἀ e Early Years, 1840–1865 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1982). See also Gary A. Van Zante, New Orleans, 1867: Photographs by ἀ eodore Lilienthal (New York: Merrell, 2008). For information on Mugnier, see Lester ­Burbank ­Bridaham, New Orleans and Bayou Country Photographs by George Francois Mugnier, 1880– 1910 (Barre, Mass.: Barre, 1972). 35. Recall the role Germans played in the early days of the eighteenth-century colony as suppliers of vegetables for the community. Many among a later influx of German immigrants in the mid- and late nineteenth century were engaged in truck farming and commercial horticulture, and their legacy lasted well into the second half of the twentieth century. 36. See Suzanne Turner, “Roots of a Regional Garden Tradition: The Drawings of the New ­Orleans Notarial Archives,” in Regional Garden Design in the United States, ed. Therese O’Malley and Marc Treib (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1995); and William Lake Douglas, “Cultural ­Determinants in Landscape Architectural Typologies: Plants and Gardens in New Orleans from the Colonial Era to the Civil War,” Journal of Garden History 16, no. 2 (April–June 1996): 87–110. 37. Downing is known more for his numerous writings than his designs, none of which survive. Olmsted’s writings (reports, letters, papers) survive, but he is known for large parks, parkways, and estates rather than small-scale residential gardens. Cleveland, a friend and colleague of Olmsted, worked in Chicago and wrote Landscape Architecture, as Applied to the Wants of the West; with an Essay on Forest Planting on the Great Plains (1873). Scott followed in Downing’s footsteps with ἀ e Art of Beautifying Suburban Grounds (1870), addressing small town and suburban residential gardens in post–Civil War America.

7. Garden Furnishings 1. The Louisiana Landmarks Society’s Pitot House on Bayou St. John in New Orleans has such a fence, and their educational programming routinely features workshops on construction techniques and whitewashing traditions led by local craftspeople. 2. See Barbara Israel, Antique Garden Ornament: Two Centuries of American Taste (New York: Abrams, 1999), 13–15, for a brief summary of furnishings. 3. One is at 915 Royal Street and another, fabricated by Hinderer’s, is at 1218 North White at the corner of Bell Street. All three have morning glories and pumpkin details, and the one on North White is now polychromatic.



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Part IV: Horticultural Content: Plants and Their Uses 1. André Pénicaut, Fleur de Lys and Calumet: Being the Pénicaut Narrative of French Adventure in Louisiana, ed. and trans. Richebourg Gaillard McWilliams (1953; facsimile repr., Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1988), 254–55. 2. Antoine-Simon Le Page du Pratz, ἀ e History of Louisiana (1774; facsimile repr., Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1975), ed. Joseph G. Tregle Jr., 221.

8. Native American Agricultural Economy 1. Daniel H. Usner Jr., Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy: ἀ e Lower ­Mississippi Valley before 1783 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 149–54. 2. Carl J. Ekberg, French Roots in the Illinois Country: ἀ e Mississippi Frontier in Colonial Times (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1998). This pattern of land division would continue in both rural and urban areas well into nineteenth-century Louisiana and make a significant contribution to the unique urban character and fabric of New Orleans. 3. Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy, 155–56. 4. Southwestern Louisiana Journal 7 (1967): 2–77. Ewan drew on thirty-one library and archive holdings in American and Europe for his invaluable annotated bibliography. It gives 384 published entries related to Louisiana flora from early French travel records of the 1720s to references from 1950. 5. Dumont de Montigny, Mémoires historiques sur la Louisiane (Paris, 1753), vol. 2 translated by Olivia Blanchard as “Historical Memoir on Louisiana,” typescript, completed by the Survey of ­Federal Archives in Louisiana, 1937–38, Louisiana Collection, Howard Tilton Library, Tulane University, New Orleans. 6. Bossu’s accounts appeared first in French, with an English translation published in 1771. ­Modern translations appeared as Travels in the Interior of North America, 1751–1762, trans. and ed. Seymour Feiler (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1962); and New Travels in North America by Jean-Bernard Bossu, 1770–1771, trans. and ed. Samuel Dorris Dickinson (Natchitoches, La.: Northwestern State University, 1982). A modern edition of Antoine-Simon Le Page du Pratz’s ἀ e History of Louisiana was published by Louisiana State University Press in 1975, ed. Joseph G. Tregle Jr. 7. Bossu, 193–96 (1962). 8. Le Page du Pratz, ἀ e History of Louisiana, xxxv–lvi; see also xxxvii, 225–53. 9. Ibid., 225–90. 10. Ibid., 253. 11. There is no evidence to corroborate the presence of olive trees in Louisiana at this time. 12. Excerpts appear in Le Page du Pratz, ἀ e History of Louisiana, 210–20; see also xxvi–xxvii for helpful background information on Dumont de Montigny and his work, which is sometimes at odds with Le Page du Pratz.

9. Colonial Agricultural Economy 1. Cited in Lauren C. Post, “The Domestic Animals and Plants of French Louisiana as Mentioned in the Literature with Reference to Sources, Varieties and Uses,” Louisiana Historical Quarterly 16, no. 4 (October 1933): 575. 2. The mulberry tree should not be confused with the native shrub French mulberry (Callicarpa americana), a large deciduous shrub with clusters of red-purple berries in the fall. 3. Post, “The Domestic Animals and Plants of French Louisiana,” 568–71. Du Clos arrived in the new colony with Governor Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, Sieur de Cadillac, in 1713. Pontchartrain was ambitious to expand French possessions from Canada into the Louisiana Territory. The Compagnie des Indes (Company of the Indies) succeeded the Compagnie d’Occident (Company of the West). See also Lewis Cecil Gray, History of Agriculture in the Southern United States to 1860 (Washington, D.C.: Carnegie Institution of Washington publication 430, 1933; repr., New York: Peter Smith, 1941), 75.

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4. Gwendolyn Midlo Hall, Africans in Colonial Louisiana: ἀ e Development of Afro-Creole ­Culture in the Eighteenth Century (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992), 10, 59; see also 121, 34–35. Hall discusses in detail the mystical qualities ascribed by enslaved Africans from the Senegambia, notably the Bambara, to life in general and plants, soil, and agricultural endeavors in particular (42–52). Though an exploration of this is beyond the scope of this work, these attitudes would not disappear in the New World and clearly became part of cultural traditions in religion, folklore, language, foodways, and other cultural expressions in the Louisiana colony. 5. Hall, Africans in Colonial Louisiana, 121–23; Gray, History of Agriculture, 66. See also Hall, ­Africans in Colonial Louisiana, 122–24. 6. The impact of European market forces on agricultural production in colonial America, together with means of production, are discussed in detail by Gray in History of Agriculture (for the beginning of tobacco in Virginia, see 21–22; in Louisiana, see 69–73; and for discussion of the tobacco industry in the southern region between 1795–1860, see 754–78). For discussion of tobacco in colonial Louisiana, see Daniel H. Usner Jr., Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy: ἀ e Lower Mississippi Valley before 1783 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 158. 7. Hall, Africans in Colonial Louisiana, 124–26; Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier ­Exchange Economy, 159–60; Thomas N. Ingersoll, Mammon and Manon, in Early New Orleans (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1999), 128. Gray claims, in History of Agriculture, 73, that indigo seed arrived in the Louisiana colony in 1722. Hall does not cite Gray’s standard work on the history of American agriculture; however, she gives new references on agricultural subjects not found elsewhere and provides new insight into agricultural aspects of eighteenth-century Afro-Creole life in colonial Louisiana. 8. See Bossu, 205 (1962), for production discussion; see also Hall’s modern description in Africans in Colonial Louisiana, 124–26. 9. Post, “The Domestic Animals and Plants of French Louisiana,” 578. 10. Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy; John G. Clark, New Orleans, 1718–1812: An Economic History (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1970). See also René Le Conte’s essay “Les Allemands a la Louisiane au XVIIIe siècle,” Journal de la Société des Américanists de Paris, n.s., 16 (1924), edited and translated by Glenn R. Conrad and published as “The Germans in Louisiana in the Eighteenth Century” in A Refuge for All Ages: Immigration in Louisiana History, ed. Carl A. Brasseaux (Lafayette: Center for Louisiana Studies, University of Southwestern Louisiana, 1996), 31–43. In his introduction to the translation, Conrad notes that many historians have depended on oral tradition regarding German settlers; hence information is rather vague. 11. Brasseaux, introduction to A Refuge for All Ages, 3, citing Le Conte’s 1924 essay. 12. Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy, 156–57. 13. Edwin Adams Davis, Louisiana: A Narrative History, 3rd ed. (Baton Rouge: Claitor’s, 1971), 58. See also ἀ e WPA Guide to New Orleans (1938; facsimile repr., New York: Pantheon, 1983), 373. 14. “The Germans in Louisiana,” trans. and ed. Glenn R. Conrad, in Refuge for All Ages, 34 n. 15. I am indebted to Siva Blake at The Historic New Orleans Collection for her transcription and interpretations of these records. Census records appear in Albert J. Robichaux Jr.’s German Coast Families: European Origins and Settlement in Colonial Louisiana (Rayne, La.: Hebert Publications, 1999). 15. Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy, 1–9, 149–218. 16. Hall, Africans in Colonial Louisiana, 10. 17. Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy, 155. 18. Hall, Africans in Colonial Louisiana, 9. 19. Conrad, trans., “The Germans in Louisiana in the Eighteenth Century,” 67–84. See also Ellen C. Merrill, “The Swiss and German Connection: The First Migration to the Gulf Coast under French Colonial Rule,” Gulf Coast Historical Review 3, no. 2 (Spring 1988): 42–61. 20. Thomas Jefferys, ἀ e Natural and Civil History of the French Domination in North and South America: With an Historical Detail of the Acquisitions, and Conquests, made by the British Arms in those Parts (London: 1761), 147. See also D. W. Meinig, ἀ e Shaping of America: A Geographical ­Perspective on 500 Years of History, vol. 1, Atlantic America, 1492–1800 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986), 200.



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21. Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy, 33, 200; John G. Clark, New Orleans, 1718–1812: An Economic History (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1970), 53. For colonial population figures, see Usner, Indians, Settlers & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy, 48 (for 1726), and 114 (for 1785). For farm population (in 1766), see ibid., 182–83. See also Reinhart Kondert, “The German Involvement in the Rebellion of 1768,” Louisiana History 26, no. 4 (Fall 1985): 385–97. 22. Stuart O. Landry Jr., Voyage to Louisiana, trans. C. C. Robin (New Orleans: Pelican, 1966). As stated in the translator’s preface, this translation omits volume 1 entirely, four chapters of volume 2, and three chapters of volume 3. For the “Louisiana Flora,” the translator refers the reader to Rafinesque’s translation of 1817. 23. Ibid., 54.

10. Horticultural Economy of Enslaved Populations 1. Daniel H. Usner Jr., Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy: ἀ e Lower ­Mississippi Valley before 1783 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 197. 2. Antoine-Simon Le Page du Pratz, ἀ e History of Louisiana (1774; facsimile repr. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1975), ed. Joseph G. Tregle Jr., 387. 3. Quoted in Jerah Johnson, Congo Square in New Orleans (New Orleans: Louisiana Landmarks, 1995), 6–7. 4. Jerah Johnson, “Colonial New Orleans,” in Creole New Orleans, Race and Americanization, ed. Arnold R. Hirsch and Joseph Logsdon (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992), 38. 5. Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy, 201. See also Johnson, ­“Colonial New Orleans,” 42; and Johnson, Congo Square, 6, 12–13. 6. The concepts of crop rotation and soil augmentation as means of ensuring continued agricultural productivity did not occur to Old or New World farmers until the mid-nineteenth century, when “scientific farming” developed in America. These practices became widely accepted and practiced later in that century. 7. On rice, see Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy, 207; on indigo, see 159, 282; on okra, see 210. Curiously, Gray does not discuss okra. Okra in both French and Spanish is “gombo”; African names include “quimbombo,” “quimgombo,” and “kimgombo.”

11. Medicinal Uses of Plants 1. For instance, Gray’s History of Agriculture is mute on the medicinal uses of agricultural ­products. 2. Kay K. Moss, Southern Folk Medicine, 1750–1820 (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1999). Excellent in content, this work includes useful notes, plants lists, and “simples and medicinal preparations fit for home practice,” but its narrow geographical focus limits its usefulness here. 3. Walter C. Holmes, Flore Louisiane: An Ethno-Botanical Study of French-Speaking Louisiana (Lafayette: University of Southwestern Louisiana, 1990). This work contains a useful bibliography of historical sources. 4. Ibid., xiv. 5. Reglemens des religieuses. . . ., vol. 2 (Paris: Chez Louis Josse, 1705). This volume, together with a similar, nineteenth-century manual, was in the library of the Ursuline Academy, now found at The Historic New Orleans Collection. It is tempting to conclude the earlier volume found its way to colonial Louisiana with the early nuns, though there is no evidence to support this conclusion. If so, Reglemens des religieuses would be one of the earliest written references to garden practices in colonial Louisiana. Yet the information it supplies is of a general nature, meant to apply universally to Ursuline Orders. 6. One such undated and unsigned list in the author’s collection purports to be a catalog of “herbs and their values” planted in the convent garden from the writings of “Sr. Xavier, O.S.U., one of the earliest pharmacists in Americas, who was responsible for the herb garden of the Ursuline Convent.” 7. Antoine-Simon Le Page du Pratz, ἀ e History of Louisiana (1774; facsimile repr. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1975), ed. Joseph G. Tregle Jr., 28–29; esp. 46–48.

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8. Ibid., 153, 161,170, 202, 233, 237–38, 240–41, 242 (for wax myrtle), 245, 248–49, 251 (for rattlesnake herb and ground ivy), and 263. 9. Gwendolyn Midlo Hall, Africans in Colonial Louisiana: ἀ e Development of Afro-Creole ­Culture in the Eighteenth Century (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992), 126. 10. Josiah Hale, “Report on the Medical Botany of the State of Louisiana,” ed. A. Hester, M.D., New-Orleans Medical and Surgical Journal 9 (1853): 152–73, 287–313.

12. Plants for Sale 1. Identifying with any degree of certainty when plants were introduced into local markets is ­a lmost impossible and is beyond the scope of this investigation. Nevertheless, general discussion of this topic will follow, when appropriate, as evidence of larger commercial connections between local consumers and other communities. 2. Among William Robert Prince’s books were Treatise on Horticulture (1828), the first of its kind in America; Treatise on the Vine (1830); Pomological Manual (1831); and Manual of Roses (1846), which was advertised in Norman’s Almanac as being for sale in New Orleans in 1847. 3. According to the camellia authority Harold. H. Hume, in Camellias in America (Harrisburg, Pa.: McFarland, 1955), this is the earliest list of camellia varieties offered for sale in America (see chap. 3, “Camellias Come to America,” esp. 27–29). 4. A 1960s guide to Rosedown Plantation, St. Francisville, reproduces an invoice for camellias from the Prince Nursery. See note 8 below. This garden, one of the few antebellum gardens to remain more or less intact, contains many camellias, some perhaps from the Prince Nursery. 5. For more on Repton, see ἀ e Oxford Companion to Gardens (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986). As previously mentioned, the before-and-after technique would be used in the late 1890s by the landscape architect Arthur A. Shurtleff of the Olmsted Brothers office to show proposed improvements to Audubon Park. 6. Found at the Southeastern Architectural Archive, Tulane University. 7. Joseph Affleck, whose advertisements occur occasionally in local newspapers, was apparently not related to Thomas Affleck, discussed later. 8. Only one copy of this catalog has surfaced, and it is in the Southeastern Architectural Archive, Tulane University. It is worth noting this catalog is addressed (and was apparently delivered) to “Mrs. Bowman/Rosedown/Bayou Sara.” Rosedown Plantation was established in the mid-1830s by ­Daniel Turnbull; its 28-acre garden was inspired by the extended honeymoon he and his wife, Martha, took during which they toured the grand estates and gardens of Europe. Martha kept a garden journal from 1836 to 1895, and her garden was one of the first in Louisiana to grow camellias and other exotics from Europe and Asia. The garden was described by Frederick Law Olmsted on his trip in the 1850s through the Feliciana region. Sarah Bowman, daughter of Daniel and Martha Turnbull, inherited Rosedown, and, like her mother, was a well-known Louisiana gardener. In the early decades of the twentieth century, the garden became overgrown and increasingly mysterious, as Sarah’s four unmarried daughters occupied the house as reclusive hermits, selling camellia cuttings and other plants from the garden to tourists. Following the death of the last sister (at age eighty-seven in 1955), the property was purchased by wealthy Houstonians and the gardens were “restored” by Ralph Ellis Gunn, landscape architect. Following an unfortunate stewardship of another owner in the 1990s, the property was purchased by the State of Louisiana and is now a state park. 9. Catalogue of Fruit, Shade and Ornamental Trees, Evergreens, Roses, and Miscellaneous Plants, cultivated and for sale by John M. Nelson, at the Magnolia Nurseries. . . . (New Orleans, 1859), 3. 10. New Orleans: Geo. Muller, 1891. The first edition of Frotscher’s Almanac apparently was ­published in 1877, but examples earlier than 1891 have not appeared. 11. Found in the Southeastern Architectural Library, Tulane University. 12. The origin of the business is briefly discussed in the spring 1917 catalog. A nearly complete run of catalogs from 1915 to 1978 is in the Louisiana Collection, Tulane University.



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13. Marketplaces 1. Jerah Johnson, “Colonial New Orleans,” in Creole New Orleans: Race and Americanization, ed. Arnold R. Hirsch and Joseph Logsdon (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992), 38–40. See also his discussion of Indian markets in Congo Square in New Orleans (New Orleans: Louisiana Landmarks, 1995), 10. Robert A. Sauder, “The Origin and Spread of the Public Market System in New Orleans,” Louisiana History 22 (Summer 1981): 282–83. 2. The Kuntz Collection, Special Collections, Tulane University Libraries, contains articles related to work in the vegetable market, including a list and specifications from September 9, 1823, made by Joseph Pilié of materials needed to complete construction of tables for the vegetable market together with a procès verbal (official statement) of public bidding for the project, October 10, 1823; specifications from city engineer Joseph Pilié, October 10, 1823, for brick paving for the vegetable market dated October 27, 1823, together with a procès verbal of public bidding for the work; and a procès verbal for public bidding for a contract to collect rents in the vegetable market. 3. Benjamin Henry Boneval Latrobe, Impressions Respecting New Orleans: Diaries & Sketches, 1818–1820, ed. Samuel Wilson Jr. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1951), 22. 4. Hot rice cakes, a local delicacy infrequently seen today. 5. Filé is dried leaves of the sassafras (Sassafras albidum), a native plant, pounded into a powder. It is used to thicken gumbo. 6. Banana. 7. Henry C. Castellanos, New Orleans As It Was, 5th ed. (1895, facsimile repr., Gretna, La.: Pelican, 1990), 146–47. 8. For a twentieth-century account of the French Market remarkably similar to nineteenth-­century accounts, see ἀ e WPA Guide to New Orleans (1938; facsimile repr., New York: Pantheon, 1983), 164. 9. Johnson, “Congo Square,” 9, 10, 12; see also Castellanos, New Orleans As It Was, 157–60. 10. Daniel H. Usner Jr. Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy: ἀ e Lower ­Mississippi Valley before 1783 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 283. 11. Sauder, “The Origin and Spread of the Public Market System in New Orleans,” 283–85, 288. Sauder notes that “most city records dealing with municipal markets have been destroyed” (285). 12. Sauder discusses this process in detail (ibid., 286–97).

14. “Wanted: A Situation as Gardener” 1. Here “pleasure gardens” likely refers to residential gardens rather than commercial open spaces. 2. Various terms appear in documents such as census records, city directories, and newspaper advertisements; among them are “gardener,” “gardner,” “farmer,” “planter,” and “cultivator.” For my purposes, these terms are taken as differences of nomenclature rather than distinctions of job activities. The terms are assumed to describe those who were involved in manual horticultural labor; ­informed by training, experience, or both; as well as those dependant upon this work as a livelihood. 3. See Carl A. Brasseaux’s introduction to A Refuge for All Ages: Immigration in Louisiana History (Lafayette: Center for Louisiana Studies, University of Southwestern Louisiana, 1996), 1. 4. Glenn R. Conrad in “Emigration Forcée: A French Attempt to Populate Louisiana, 1716–1720,” PFCHS 62, 64, quoted in Brasseaux’s introduction to Refuge for All Ages, 2. 5. Jerah Johnson, “Colonial New Orleans,” in Creole New Orleans: Race and Americanization, ed. Arnold R. Hirsch and Joseph Logsdon (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992), 32–34. See also Edwin Adams Davis, Louisiana: A Narrative History, 3rd ed. (Baton Rouge: Claitor’s, 1971), 52–59. 6. For a discussion of settlers and agricultural matters, see Gray, History of Agriculture, 64, 332. On the issues of sexual division of labor, Johnson maintains in “Colonial New Orleans” that Indian men were hunters and trappers and women were engaged in agricultural efforts (33). Daniel H. Usner Jr., in Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy: ἀ e Lower Mississippi Valley before 1783 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 170–71, disagrees with this ­generalization

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about the division of labor, suggesting that contemporary accounts from which this conclusion is made had more to do with “attitudes of eighteenth-century observers than about the livelihood of Indians in the Lower Mississippi Valley.” 7. Gwendolyn Midlo Hall, Africans in Colonial Louisiana: ἀ e Development of Afro-Creole ­Culture in the Eighteenth Century (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992), 9, 11. 8. See Paul F. Lachance, “The Foreign French,” in Creole New Orleans: Race and Americanization, ed. Arnold R. Hirsch and Joseph Logsdon (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992), 101–30. 9. Hall, Africans in Colonial Louisiana, 97, 203. 10. Ibid., 120–55. 11. Usner, Indians, Settlers, & Slaves in a Frontier Exchange Economy, 149, 155. See also Gray, ­History of Agriculture, 60–84. 12. Minter Wood, “Life in New Orleans in the Spanish Period,” Louisiana Historical Quarterly 22, no. 3 (July 1939): 643. 13. John Adems Paxton, New-Orleans Directory and Register (New Orleans: Benj. Levy & Co., 1822–23), 13; later, Paxton notes that “a number of gardeners” lived in the city (19), but he gives no ­additional details. 14. Census data, unless otherwise noted, come from http://fisher.lib.virginia/edu/cgi-local/­ sensusbin/cen.pl. 15. David R. Goldfield, Cotton Fields and Skyscrapers: Southern City and Region (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1989), 28–36. 16. Ibid., 60, 73, 79. 17. Russell M Magnaghi, “Louisiana’s Italian Immigrants Prior to 1870,” in A Refuge for All Ages, 589. 18. Walter Johnson, Soul by Soul: Life inside the Antebellum Slave Market (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 6, 7, 17. 19. See Hall, Africans in Colonial Louisiana; and Kimberly S. Hanger, Bounded Lives, Bounded Places: Free Black Society on Colonial New Orleans, 1769–1803 (Durham: Duke University Press, 1997). 20. C. D. Arfwedson, ἀ e United States and Canada in 1832, 1833, and 1834 (London: Richard Bentley, 1834), 2–56. 21. Joseph Holt Ingraham, ἀ e South-West by a Yankee (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1835), 99. 22. Lachance, “The Foreign French,” 120. 23. Russell M Magnaghi, “Louisiana’s Italian Immigrants Prior to 1870,” in Refuge for All Ages, 580–602. 24. Ethelyn Orso, “Sicilian Immigration into Louisiana,” in Refuge for All Ages, 603, 604. 25. The small corner grocery store/restaurant/bar (either individually or collectively) is a local institution in older New Orleans neighborhoods. Its significance as a gathering place and center of neighborhood activities, while recognized, has yet to be fully examined. 26. Goldfield, Cotton Fields, 55. 27. Niehaus, “The New Irish, 1830–1862,” in A Refuge for All Ages, 382. 28. John Duffy, Sword of Pestilence: ἀ e New Orleans Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1853 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1966). 29. Niehaus, “The New Irish, 1830–1862,” 384–88. 30. John Fredrick Nau, ἀ e German People of New Orleans, 1850–1900 (Hattiesburg: University of Southern Mississippi, n.d.), 16–17, 22–23. 31. Ibid., 48–67, 58–59. 32. The 1869 city directory, unlike editions before and after, includes listings that make this ­a nalysis possible. 33. Nau, ἀ e German People of New Orleans, 22, 23. 34. Patricia M. Tice, Gardening in America, 1830–1910 (Rochester: Strong Museum, 1984), 57.



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15. Books 1. Members of the Jussieu family were distinguished botanists in eighteenth- and nineteenth­century France: Bernard (1699–1777?) was director of the gardens at the Trianon, Versailles; his brother Antoine (1686–1758) was director of the Jardin des Plantes, Paris; another brother, Joseph (1704–1779), was a horticultural explorer. Bernard developed, but did not publish, a system of botanical organization for the vegetable kingdom; it was later revised by a nephew, Antoine (1748–1836), and published as Genera plantarum in 1789. Most botanists followed instead a binomial classification system developed by the Swedish botanist and taxonomist Carolus Linnaeus (1707–1778), the basis for modern taxonomy and still used today. 2. A facsimile reprint of the 1817 version, with an illuminating introduction by the botanist and historian Joseph Ewan, appears as volume 5 of the Classica Botanical Americana, ed. Ewan (New York: Hafner, 1967); hereafter referred to as Florula. 3. Landry, in the introductory essay to his translation of Voyages, discusses confusion dating from the nineteenth century about the question of the author’s identity. 4. Ewan, “Editor’s Introduction,” Florula, v–vi, ix. 5. Joseph Ewan, “A Bibliography of Louisiana Flora” Southwestern Louisiana Journal 7, no. 1–4 (1967): 16–17, 12. 6. Ewan, “Editor’s Introduction,” Florula, i. 7. Florula, 7–11. 8. Liberty Hyde Bailey, ἀ e Standard Cyclopedia of Horticulture (New York: Macmillan, 1929), 1544. 9. Ewan, “Editor’s Introduction,” Florula, ix. 10. Ibid., iii. 11. Presumably the areas south of Lake Pontchartrain. 12. Bailey, in Standard Cyclopedia (1929), 1522, mentions this work. An undated partial typescript manuscript translation by Charles Hutson exists, possibly from the Federal Writers’ Project of the local Works Progress Administration of the 1930s. Hutson was a local man of letters; his papers, including this manuscript, are in the Tulane University Library manuscript holdings. Nouveau jardinier remained generally unavailable in English translation until recently. This work relies on Deborah de la Houssaye’s translation of 1995. 13. A useful comparison, for instance, is Thomas Bridgeman’s ἀ e Young Gardener’s Assistant. . . ., 12th ed. (New York: Nichol and Mathews, 1847), which goes into much greater technical detail in its discussion of methods and plants and provides scientific nomenclature as well (see esp. pt. 2, “Flower Department,” 18–21). 14. 16mo = sextodecimo; approximately 4½ in. × 6¾ in. The copy used for this study, found in The Historic New Orleans Collection, bears the marks, annotations, and indications of extensive use. Other copies exist in local public and private collections; they also show evidence of heavy use. 15. Thomas G. Fessenden, ἀ e New American Gardener; containing Practical Directions on the Culture of Fruits and Vegetables . . . (Boston: J. B. Russell, 1828), 184, 110. The first edition of Bridgeman’s Gardener’s Assistant was published in 1829. 16. “Gardener-agriculturalist of the French government for the colonies.” More likely this was an exaggeration meant to impress potential customers (Edward Larocque Tinker, Les ecrits de langue Francaise en Louisiane au XIXe siecle [Paris: Librairie Ancienne Honore Champion, 1932], 286). 17. Eleven titles with J. F. Lelièvre’s imprint have surfaced to date, including Nouveau jardinier. One interesting title is Victor Debouchel, Histoire de la Louisiane, depuis les premieres decouvertes jusqu’en 1840 (New Orleans, 1841) (see New Orleans Auction Galleries, Inc., catalog for auction, ­January 27, 1996, lot no. 212, p. 35); another is H. de Chavannes de la Giraudière, La Ferme-Modèle ou l’agriculture mise a la portée de tout le monde (Tours, 1846), in the author’s collection. For other titles, see Florence M. Jumonville’s Bibliography of New Orleans Imprints. Of the titles known to exist with J. F. Lelièvre’s imprint, eight are in French, two are in Spanish, and one is in English. Most of the titles are of a didactic nature; two are for children, and one is a Catholic catechism. 18. Southwestern Louisiana Journal, 7, no. 1–4 (1967): 29. 19. Louisiana Collection, New Orleans Public Library.

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20. Obviously there is a misprint here; it should read “Imprimerie.” 21. Joseph G. Tregle, “Creoles and Americans,” in Creole New Orleans: Race and Americanization, ed. Arnold R. Hirsch and Joseph Logsdon (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992), 168–69. 22. Ibid., 173. 23. John M. Goudeau, “Booksellers and Printers in New Orleans, 1764–1885,” Journal of Library History 5, no. 1 (January 1970): 5–19; Roger Philip McCutcheon, “Libraries in New Orleans, 1771–1833,” Louisiana Historical Quarterly 20, no. 1 (January–October 1937): 152–58; Roger Philip McCutcheon, “Books and Booksellers in New Orleans, 1730–1830,” Louisiana Historical Quarterly 20, no. 3 (July 1936): 606–18. See also Jumonville’s Bound to Please. See Moniteur, November 13, 1802, January 29 and February 5, 1803, for early booksellers’ advertisements. 24. The Repton book mentioned is likely Observations on the ἀ eory and Practice of Landscape Gardening Including some Remarks on Grecian and Gothic (London: J. Taylor, 1803). 25. The Wm. Smith ad appears in the Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane, May 11, 1825. 26. French texts include M. Boissin, Nouveau manuel complet du jardinier, l’art de cultiver et de composer toutes sortes de jardins (Paris: 1843); M. Lebeaud and M. Julia de Fontenelle, Manuel complet theoretique et pratique du distillateur et un liquoriste, ou traite de la distillation. . . . (Paris: 1835); and F. Malepeyre, Nouveau manuel complet du teinturier. . . . (Paris: n.d.); all are in my collection. ­Boitard and Noisette’s revision of M. Pirolle’s Manuel theorique et pratique de jardinier (Paris: Delarue, Libraire-Editeur, 1860) is found at the Howard-Tilton Library, Tulane University, with the stamp of a local bookseller. Also at Tulane’s library is Francis Parkman, ἀ e Book of Roses (Boston: J. E. Tilton and Co., 1866), which bears the plate of a New Orleans bookseller. 27. Thomas Bridgeman, ἀ e Young Gardener’s Assistant, 12th ed. (New York: A. Hanford, 1847), title page. 28. Norman’s Southern Agricultural Almanac for 1847, ed. Thomas Affleck (New Orleans: B. M. Norman, 1846) can be found at The Historic New Orleans Collection. 29. Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac . . . for 1860, 78–81.

16. Thomas Affleck and His Almanacs 1. Affleck and his contributions to American horticulture are discussed in Gray, History of Agriculture, 782; mentioned in Harold T. Pinkett’s “Leadership in American Agriculture: The Published Documentary Heritage,” in Agricultural Literature: Proud Heritage—Future Promise: A Bicentennial Symposium, September 24–26, 1975, ed. Alan Fusonie and Leila Moran (Washington, D.C.: Associates of the National Agricultural Library, Inc., and the Graduate School Press, U.S. Dept. of Agriculture, 1977), 162; and noted in Albert Lowther Demaree, ἀ e American Agricultural Press, 1819–1860 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1941), nn. 40, 41, and 107, yet his relevance to the horticultural history of the Gulf South region is largely unknown. His contributions to horticulture in Texas are discussed in Samuel Wood Geiser, Horticulture and Horticulturists in Early Texas (Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1945), 31–32. Neither he nor his writings are cited in Bailey’s bibliography of North American horticultural books or in the previously cited works of Hedrick, Leighton, or Woodburn. For biographical information about the life of Thomas Affleck, see Fred Carrington Cole, “The Early Life of Thomas Affleck, 1815–1842” (master’s thesis, Louisiana State University, 1936); Robert Webb Williams Jr., “The Mississippi Career of Thomas Affleck” (master’s thesis, Tulane ­University, 1954); and Fred Carrington Cole, “The Texas Career of Thomas Affleck” (Ph.D. diss., Louisiana State University, 1942). See also Dictionary of American Biography, ed. Allen Johnson (New York: 1928), 110–11. A biographical essay also appears in Charles A. Birnbaum and Stephanie S. Foell, eds., Shaping the American Landscape: New Profiles from the Pioneers of American Landscape Design Project (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2009). 2. Daily Picayune, 1841–56 (in January 1851, Affleck became agricultural editor); New Orleans Commercial Times, 1846–52; and New Orleans Price-Current and Commercial Intelligencer and ­Merchant’s Transcript, 1851 (see Williams, “Mississippi Career,” 56, 214).



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3. Benjamin Moore Norman was a well-known publisher in mid-nineteenth-century New ­Orleans. Recall his New Orleans and Environs from 1845,with its accounts of the city, discussed earlier. 4. Affleck’s papers are in Special Collections, Hill Memorial Library, Louisiana State University. Business correspondence (Letter Books I and II) is found is box U-4 no. 3 (7). 5. Williams, “Mississippi Career,” 47. 6. Williams noted that the “structure built on the hurricane deck of the Princess was 8 feet long, 3 feet deep, 3 feet high at the front, and 4 feet high at the back [ibid., 185]. Affleck paid for the space it occupied on a weekly basis” (see also ibid., 183–86). 7. Affleck, Southern Rural Almanac . . . for 1853, 73. 8. ἀ e Cotton Plantation Record and Account Book, 8th ed., “Revised and Improved” (New ­Orleans: 1859), in Tulane University Special Collections. 9. Williams, “Mississippi Career,” 53–54. For discussion of Affleck’s impact within the region, see Gray, History of Agriculture, 782; and Williams, “Mississippi Career,” 207. For discussion of Affleck’s regard among his peers, see Geiser, Horticulture and Horticulturalists in Early Texas, 31–32. William N. White acknowledges Affleck in the preface (x) to the first edition of Gardening for the South. For discussion of Affleck’s versatility as a writer, see Williams, “Mississippi Career,” 67–80, 100; for discussion of Affleck’s involvement in writing government documents, see ibid., 210–12; and for an ­A ffleck bibliography, see ibid., 213–15. 10. Correspondence from Affleck to J. Louis Jourdan and Company, August 14, 1851, cited in ­Williams, “Mississippi Career,” 81. Hedging and Hedging Plants (Houston: E. H. Cushing), a slim volume, appeared in 1869.

17. Articles 1. Magazine of Horticulture and Botany, and All Useful Discoveries and Improvement in Rural ­Affairs 12 (1846): 22–24, and 15, no. 6 (1849): 245–48, respectively; Horticulturist 6 (1851): 220–24. These articles are reprinted in toto in William Lake Douglas, “Cultural Determinants in Landscape ­Architectural Typologies: Plants and Gardens in New Orleans from the Colonial Era to the Civil War,” Journal of Garden History 16, no. 2 (April–June 1996). 2. Quoted in Douglas, “Cultural Determinants,” 246. 3. Ibid., 247. The author’s reference is to the garden of Valcour Aime, one of the region’s most spectacular in the mid-nineteenth century. Valcour Aime, a wealthy planter and amateur scientist, was instrumental in the development of the sugar industry, particularly refining techniques. His plantation’s garden, later called Le Petite Versailles, was one of the largest along the Mississippi River. ­According to the Plantation Diary of the Late Mr. Valcour Aime (New Orleans: Clark and Hofflin, 1878), work began on the garden in 1842. In 1851, Francois Joseph Muller, who had studied horticulture in Paris from 1837 to 1845, moved to Louisiana to be its resident gardener. There are numerous references in the Plantation Diary to an “English Park.” The 40-acre garden was developed in the jardin anglaise style (ironically not in the style of Versailles) then popular in Frances. There were many exotic features: A Chinese pagoda, small streams and ponds, bridges, statues, walkways, greenhouses, and an icehouse/grotto, and a rock fort called “St. Helena.” Aime is credited with having imported plants from all over the world for his garden, and it is generally accepted that Firmiana simplex and Nandina domestica, among other plants, were first introduced into Louisiana here. Aime’s personal and financial fortunes turned in the 1850s and 1860s, and he died in 1867. His Plantation Diary, recording scientific data, weather conditions, and agricultural observations from 1823 to 1854, appeared in 1878 (New Orleans: Clark and Hofeline), but it does not discuss garden activities. After Aime’s death, the garden fell into disrepair, and Muller moved to New Orleans to open a nursery. The house burned in the 1920s, and over time, the property was subdivided. Ruins of garden’s structures remain in a thicket along the West Bank River Road, St. James Parish. 4. In this case, “pleasure ground” refers to a large residential estate. 5. Alexander Gordon, “Remarks on Gardening and Gardens in Louisiana,” Magazine of ­Horticulture and Botany, and All Useful Discoveries and Improvements in Rural Affairs 15, no. 6 (1845): 247–48.

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6. Ibid., 222. 7. Ibid., 221. 8. “Tropical Fruits in Louisiana,” Southern Cultivator 17, no. 5 (May 1859): 142. A second article, “A Great Southern Orchard,” 17, no. 7 (July 1859): 206, not discussed here, describes an orchard and other plants found in rural Warren County, Mississippi, near Vicksburg.

Part VIII: Compiling Plant Lists for New Orleans Gardens 1. Unlike other versions of the City Directory, the 1899 edition does not have categories for “gardener” or “nursery’; had these occupations been counted, doubtless the total population involved in horticultural businesses would be substantially larger.

19. Ornamental Plants 1. Consensus among botanists about horticultural nomenclature, based on the Linnaean system, did not occur until later in the nineteenth century; obviously the only way to describe or know a plant exactly is to have both names. Regional differences in nomenclature, particularly in common names, still exist. 2. Primary references for plant names: Neil G. Odenwald and James R. Turner, Plants for the South: A Guide for Landscape Design (Baton Rouge: Claitor’s, 1980); Hortus ἀ ird (New York: ­Macmillan, 1976); Liberty Hyde Bailey, ἀ e Standard Cyclopedia of Horticulture, vols. 1–3 (New York: Macmillan, 1942); for translation of French names, Vilmorin-Andrieux and Cie, Les plantes potageres, 4th ed. (Paris: Vilmorin-Andrieux and Cie, 1925). 3. James R. Cothran, in Gardens and Historic Plants of the Antebellum South (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2003), dates commercial availability in America of M. liliflora to 1807 (Bartrum’s 1807 Catalog of Trees, Shrubs and Herbacious Plants) and M. x soulangiana to Prince’s 1831 Annual Catalogue of Fruit and Ornamental Trees and Plants (see 225–28). 4. See Cothran, Gardens and Historic Plants of the Antebellum South, 214–15, for a discussion of the introduction of crepe myrtle into America. He gives its first commercial availability as a listing in Prince’s 1807 Annual Catalogue of Fruit and Ornamental Trees and Plants. 5. Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac . . . for 1852, 109–19. 6. Ibid., 9. 7. Ibid., 119. It is not evident if these are the words of Affleck, as general editor of the almanac, or of Gay, in whose “catalogue” this text appears. 8. Guano is the excrement of birds, seals, or bats. There was international economic interest in the mid-nineteenth century in Peruvian guano for both fertilizer and gunpowder because of its high ­levels of phosphorus and nitrogen. The height of international trade was from 1840 to 1880, and much ink was spilled in the late 1840s and early 1850s in American horticultural journals and periodicals about the efficacy and uses of guano. Wild financial speculation ensued as investors bankrolled ­marine expeditions to Peru to gather it from rocky cliffs and bring it back to American agricultural markets, but these efforts were not as economically lucrative as envisioned. Thus far, this episode in American agricultural history is little explored. 9. Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac . . . for 1853, 126. 10. Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac . . . for 1854, 83. 11. Affleck’s Southern Rural Almanac . . . for 1852, 117. 12. For discussion of chromolithography in New Orleans, see Kellye M. Rosenheim’s “Local Color: Chromolithography in New Orleans,” in Printmaking in New Orleans, ed. Jessie J. Poesch (New O ­ rleans: Historic New Orleans Collection, 2006), 176–89. 13. Frotscher’s business evolved into J. Steckler Seed Company in 1896 and continued to issue ­catalogs into the twentieth century. A copy of the 1926 edition is found in Tulane University’s Southeastern Architectural Archive.

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Amusement parks, 64–66, 87, 94, 95–97, 247n4, 250n11, 251n45. See also Urban parks Annales school of historiography, 165 Annunciation Place, 15, 31, 250n22 Anseman, Victor, 49 Architects. See speciἀc architects Arfwedson, C. D., 173 Argus, 153, 189 Arpents, 253n17 Arts and Crafts movement, 55, 121 Ashe, Thomas, 37–38, 73–74 Audubon, John James, 57 Audubon Park: and Bogart and Culyer, 49, 57; creation of, in 1890s, 8; entrance to, 59, 59; golf course in, 59; Horticulture Hall in, 54–55, 54; illustrations and photographs of, 54, 56, 58– 60; name of, 47, 57, 245n5; and Olmsted Brothers, 8, 45, 48, 57–59; plans for, 57–58, 58; property for, 54, 110; World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exhibition (1884–85) in, 35, 54–57, 54, 59, 127; WPA project in, 59–60; zoo at, 55, 59–60, 60 Audubon Park Association, 57 Audubon Park Zoo, 55, 59–60, 60 Auricoste, Isabelle, 63, 64, 247n2

Page numbers in italics refer to illustrations. Advertisements. See Newspaper advertisements Affleck, Joseph, 154, 258n7 Affleck, Thomas, 183, 187, 189–95, 205–6, 208, 211, 212, 222, 253n25, 262n1, 263n6, 263n9; Almanacs of, 183, 189, 191–95, 192, 205–6, 208, 211, 212, 222, 253n25 Africa, 139 African Americans: and agriculture, 139, 141–45, 169, 170–71; and Congo Square, 23–25, 80, 161– 62, 171; and free people of color, 72–73, 170, 171, 249n10; and Lincoln Beach, 250n11; and marketplaces, 159–61, 160; and pleasure gardens, 69, 71–73; and Pontchartrain Park, 249–50n11; and Spanish Fort, 91, 93. See also Segregation; Slaves Agriculture: in Africa, 139; in colonial New Orleans, 135, 138–43, 169–71; crop rotation and soil augmentation, 257n6; decline in employment in, 171–72; domestic gardens for food production generally, 9, 100, 113, 124, 125; and German immigrants, 39, 140–42, 169, 176, 177, 179, 254n35; Jeffersonian view of, 172; and Native Americans, 4, 5, 135–37, 141, 142, 145, 169, 171, 179, 201; and New Orleans as “agrarian city,” 172; in nineteenth century, 172; and runaway slaves, 170–71; single-crop system of, dependent on slavery, 172; and slaves, 139, 141–45, 169, 172, 174, 179. See also speciἀc crops Aime, Valcour, 197, 263n3 Alcott, Amos Bronson, 248n6 Alferez, Enrique, 51, 52, 53, 246n23 Algiers pleasure gardens, 68 Allard Plantation, 47, 50 Allen, A. B., 189–90 Allen, R. L., 189–90 Almanacs (Affleck), 183, 189, 191–95, 192, 205–6, 208, 211, 212, 222, 253n25 Amaryllis, 209 American Society of Landscape Architects, 247n32, 248n7

Bailey, Liberty Hyde, 184, 194, 262n1 Ballou’s Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion, 30–31, 31 Baltimore, 16, 47, 181 Banana plants, 120, 122, Plate 18 following p. 122 Bartholomew, Joseph M., 250n11 Bartholomew Street garden, Plate 6 following p. 122 Bay St. Louis, 87 Bayou St. John: and Carondelet Canal, 39–43, 73; colonial fortifications on, 38–39, 88; domestic garden on, Plate 1 following p. 122; and drainage system, 41; importance of, in development of open-space awareness, 42–43; marketplaces along, 159; Native American’s use of, 39, 73, 87, 244n4; pleasure gardens on, 68, 73–76, 78, 88; and Pontchartrain 273

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Bayou St. John (continued) Hotel, 42, 88–90, 89, 90, 92, 96; as trading route, 39, 73, 244n4 Beauregard, Pierre Gustave Toutant, 26, 242n28; statue of, 49 Beaux-Arts city planning, 8 Bee/L’Abeille, 153, 167–68, 202 Beer gardens, 65, 66, 67, 80, 82, 88, 96, 251n27 Bell, Caryn Cossé, 250n24 Bell, C. L., 196 Bennett, Edward H., 246n18 Bennett, Parsons, and Frost firm, 50, 53, 246n18 Bernhard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, 88, 90, 111–12 Bienville, Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne, Sieur de, 36, 109, 111 Blackmar, Elizabeth, 65–66, 248n9 Blacks. See African Americans; Slaves Boating and sailing, 87–88, 90 Bogart, John, 47–49, 49, 57, 245n10, 246n29 Boissin, M., 262n26 Books. See Horticultural literature Booksellers, 189–90 Boré, Jean Etienne de, 54, 109–10, 140, 244n13 Bossu, Jean-Bernard, 136–37, 142, 255n6 Boston: “Emerald Necklace” system in, 7, 13; park system of, 248n6; population of, 181; public squares in, 16 Bouquier, Mr., 75 Bourbon Street garden, Plate 5 following p. 122 Bourgerol, Jean Antoine, 77 Bowman, Sarah, 258n8 Bradbury, John, 111, 253n19 Brick sidewalks, 129, 129 Bridgeman, Thomas G., 186, 189, 190, 261n13, 261n15 Briggs residence, 113 Bringier, Louis, 89 Broadmoor, 120, 121 Brooklyn: foreign-born population of, 174; GreenWood Cemetery in, 248n6; Prospect Park in, 7, 8, 47, 57, 248n6 Brown, Lancelot “Capability,” 85, 247n35 Brown v. Board of Education, 250n12 Bryant, William Cullen, 248n6 Buck, William Henry, 91 Buisson, Benjamin, 113, 253n23 Buist, Robert, 153, 186, 190 Burnham, Daniel, 42, 246n18 Cabildo, 18 Cadillac, Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, Sieur de, 138, 255n3 Camellia (Camellia japonica), 152–53, 155, 197, 207, 209, 211, 212, 258nn3–4, 258n8

Canal Street, 40–42, 41, 83, 215, Plate 18 following p. 215 Carondelet, Francisco Luis Hector, Baron de, 39– 40, 244n4 Carondelet Canal: as commercial corridor, 40–42, 244n4; development of, 39–43, 41, 73, 244n4; and drainage system, 41, 244n8; importance of, in development of open-space awareness, 42–43; on Plan de la Nouvelle Orléans et des environs (1803), 107, 108; pleasure gardens on, 68, 76–82, 77, 82, 244n4; and Pontchartrain Hotel, 42, 88–90, 89, 90, 92, 96; and railroads, 42, 244n19 Carondelet Walk, 39, 42–43, 76–82, 77, 82, 244n4 Carousel, 93, 94 Carrollton Gardens, 68, 82–87, 86 Carrollton Hotel, 83–87, 86 Carrollton public squares, 241n1 Cashio Cochran landscape architects, 60 Casino, 88 Cast-iron foundries, 127–28, 128 Cast-iron garden furnishings, 125–28, 127, 254n3 Castellanos, Henry, 21–23, 25, 28–29, 75, 160–61, 173, 242n19 Central Park (New York), 7, 8, 14, 47, 48, 55, 57, 65, 245nn2–4, 246n12, 248n6 Century plant, 118 Chavannes de la Giraudière, H. de, 261n17 Chicago Plan, 246n18 Chicago World’s Columbia Exposition (1893), 7 Cholera, 87, 176 Chouachas Concession, 103–4 Circus Square. See Congo Square City Beautiful movement, 49–50, 59, 96 City Park: Beauregard equestrian statue in, 49; Bo­ gart and Culyer’s plan for, 48, 49, 245–46nn10–12; Botanical Garden in, 45, 51–53, 52, 53, 246n23; carousel in, 93; and City Park Improvement Association, 49; creation of, in 1870s, 8, 47–49, 49; entrance to, 51; golf courses in, 45, 52, 241n7, 250n11; and Hurricane Katrina, 53; illustrations and photographs of, 49–53; improvements of, in late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, 49–50; landscape architects for, 47–53, 49; map (1941) of, 50; name of, 47, 245n5; and Olm­ sted Brothers, 8, 50; Popp’s Fountain in, 50, 52; property for, 47; rose garden in, 50–51, 52, 53, 53; sculpture in, 49, 51, 52, 53; size of, 47, 49, 50; trees in, 51, 51, 53; twentieth-century development of, 8; WPA projects in, 45, 50–52, 51, 52, 241n7 City Park Conservatories, 51 City Park Improvement Association, 49 Civil War, 31, 54, 90, 92, 117, 242n28 Clay, Henry, statue of, 28, 31, 32 Cleveland, Horace W. S., 125, 254n37 Climate, 132–33, 170, 217



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Code Noir, 23, 145, 162 Coliseum Square, 5, 15, 33–35, 34, 35, 111, 243n43 Colonial New Orleans: agricultural economy of, 135, 138–43, 169–71; agricultural land development in, 135, 255n2; and Carondelet Canal, 39– 40, 244n4; Chouachas Concession during, 103– 4; climate of, 132–33, 170; domestic gardens in, 9, 101–6, 103–5; Dumont de Montigny’s lodging in, 103, 104; environment of, 132, 170; ethnic groups in, 169, 170; fires and tropical storms in, 106, 132, 159, 252–53n9; flooding in, 36; fortifications on Bayou St. John in, 38–39, 88; German immigrants in, 39; Governor’s House in, 105; horticulture in, 132–48; hospital in, 101–2; marketplaces in, 159; medicinal plants in, 101–2, 106, 137, 146–48; military barracks in, 102, 103; as not economically self-sufficient, 169–70; Place d’Armes in, 5, 15, 16–18; plants in, 132; population of, 169, 171 Colonial Williamsburg, 247n34 Columbus, Christopher, 140 Commercial open spaces. See Pleasure gardens Comstock, Ferre & Co., 205, 222 Coney Island (New York), 64, 95, 247n4 Congo Square: activities in, 5, 16, 24–27; and African Americans, 23–25, 80, 161–62, 171; Castellanos on, 23, 25; location of, 23–24; map showing, 15, 23; as marketplace, 5, 9, 16, 161–62; and music, 24–25, 161; photograph of, 27; renovations of, 34, 243n29; trees in, 17, 25, 26; various names for, 23, 27, 161–62 Conrad, Glenn R., 256n10 Copenhagen, Tivoli Gardens in, 64, 65, 249n4 Corner grocery stores/restaurants/bars, 175–76, 260n25 Corri, H., 81 Cothran, James R., 264nn3–4 Cotton, 9, 40, 132, 137, 138, 140, 144, 145, 171, 172 Courier/Courrier de la Louisiane, 69–70, 75, 79, 151– 52, 167, 193, 205, 208, 262n25 Cranz, Galen, 66 Creoles, 72, 170, 174, 188–89, 197, 198, 212, 250n13 Crossman, Mayor, 47 Crystal Palace (London), 54, 64, 127 Culyer, John Yapp, 47–49, 49, 245n10 Cuming, Fortescue, 110–11 Curbs, 129 Dalfau de Pontalba, Joseph X., 105 De Bow, J. D. B., 172, 192 De Bow’s Review, 192 De la Houssaye, Deborah, 261n12 Debouchel, Victor, 261n17 Degas, Edgar, 249n10

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De Soto, Hernando, 174 Devereaux, Charles, 82 Dinn, William, 168, 189, 193 Diron d’Artaguette, Bernard, 138 Disneyland, 65, 248n9 Domestic gardens: in antebellum period, 112–17, 112, 115–18, 125, following p. 122; cast-iron garden furnishings, 126–27, 127, 254n3; characteristics of, 9–10, 124–25; colonial beginnings of, 9, 101–6, 103–5; in colonial period, 9; in early nineteenth century, 107–12; fences for, 116, 126–28, 127, Plates 7, 13–15, and 18 following p. 122; for food production generally, 9, 100, 113, 124, 125; furnishings for, 126–29, 127–29; gates for, 125, 126, Plates 7, 12, and 20 following p. 122; influences on, 123–24; informational sources on, 99, 106, 123–25; in Lafayette neighborhood (now Garden District), 113–16; and medicinal plants, 101–2, 106; in nineteenth century, 9–10, 106–20, following p. 122; in Notarial Archives plans, 99, 106, 123–25, 197, 203, 216, following p. 122; ornamental gardens generally, 99, 113, 124; at Robb Mansion, 113–15, 115, 116; in second half of nineteenth century, 118–22, 119–22, following p. 122; trellises in, 126, Plate 11 following p. 122; vegetables and fruits grown in, 104, 105–6, 110– 11, 113, 120, 122, 205–7, 219–23, Plate 12 following p. 122; in Vieux Carré, 99, 100; in Zimpel map (1834), 112–13, 112. See also Plants Downing, Andrew Jackson, 7, 113, 125, 186, 190, 196, 248n6, 250n23, 253n25, 254n37 Drainage system, 33, 34, 41, 44, 45, 120, 176, 241n1, 245n23 Du Clos, Jean Baptiste de Bois, 138, 255n3 Dubuisson, Sieur, 138 Dufour, Charles, 242n19 Dumaine Street garden, Plate 5 following p. 122 Dumont de Montigny, François-Benjamin, 102–3, 104, 136, 201, 205, 207, 215, 222 Duplantier, Armand, 111 Duplessis, Francoise, 111 Earle, Mr., 57 Edwards, Jay Dearborn, 31, 32, 43, 44, 44, 115–17, 115, 117, 118, 126, 127, 215 Ekberg, Carl J., 135 Elements of Fortiἀcation (Le Blond), 16 Eliot, Charles, 247n34 Eliza Gardens, 68, 69, 73 Elkins, Harvey, 88 Elysian Fields (Hoboken, N.J.), 66, 248n13 “Emerald Necklace” system (Boston), 7, 13 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 248n6 English gardens, 85, 197, 198. See also London Esplanade Avenue neutral ground, 43

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Europe: pleasure gardens in, 61, 63–64, 64, 68, 78, 79; urban parks in, 20. See also English gardens; London Evans, Eswick, 111 Ewan, Joseph, 136, 183, 187–88, 255n4, 261n2 Exotic plants, 54–55, 63, 66, 117, 118, 153, 201, 217 Fabre, L. F., 151 Fair Grounds, 119, 254n32 Fairs. See Industrial Fairs Farley, E. A., Florist, 121–22 Farley, Elmer, 121–22 Farley, Herman, 122 Farming. See Agriculture Fasnacht’s Garden, 68 Faubourg Annunciation, 107–8, 109 Faubourg Delord, 107 Faubourg La Course Pleasure Garden, 68, 70–73 Faubourg Lacourse, 107 Faubourg Marigny, 107 Faubourg Saulet, 107 Faubourg St. Marie, 107 Faubourg Trémé garden, Plate 4 following p. 122 Faubourg Washington gardens, Plates 7–8 following p. 122 Felicity and Polymnia streets neutral ground, 44, 45 Fences: cast-iron fences, 125–28, 127, 254n3; cypress fences, 125, 126; for domestic gardens, 126– 28, 127, 254n1, 254n3, Plates 7, 13–15, and 18 following p. 122; gates in, 125, 126, Plates 7, 12, and 20 following p. 122; for public squares, 17, 30–31, 250n22; separation of domestic spaces from public spaces by, 10, 181; types of, 116 Fernandez, Francis, 153 Fessenden, Thomas Green, 186, 190, 205, 222 Filé, 161, 259n5 Fires, 106, 159, 252–53n9 First District, 174 First Presbyterian Church, 28, 31, 31, 32 Flooding, 36, 120. See also Drainage system Florists, 121–22, 177–78, 202, 209 Florula Ludoviciana; or, A Flora of the State of Louisiana (Rafinesque), 143, 148, 183–84, 261n2 Flowers. See Ornamental plants Fontenelle, Julia de, 262n26 Food production. See Agriculture Fourth District gardens, Plates 2–3, 12–14, and 19 following p. 122 France, 65, 78, 79, 85. See also Paris Franck, Charles L., 20, 93, 94 Franklin, Benjamin, statue of, 28, 243n32 Free people of color, 72–73, 170, 171, 249n10. See also African Americans French, B. F., 252n4 French colony of New Orleans. See Colonial New Orleans

French Market, 9, 39, 159–61, 160, 162, 171, 173, 244n6 Frotscher, Richard, 155–57, 156, 178, 205–7, 209, 212–13, 232–35, 264n13 Fruits: 104–6, 110–11, 113, 120, 122, 137, 198, 199, 205–7, 219–23, Plate 12 following p. 122. See also Agriculture; Domestic gardens; Plants Furnishings for gardens, 126–29, 127–29 Gallier, James, Jr., 118–19 Gallier Hall, 27–28, 30, 30, 32 Garden District: domestic gardens in, 113–16, 115– 17, 127, 128; fences in, 127, 128; genesis of term, 241n4; and Irish immigrants, 176; pleasure gardens in, 68, 69–73; public square in, 6; public transit system in, 83; residential development of, 172, 176 Gardeners: advertisements for, 10, 167–68, 202; different terms for, 259n2; ethnicity of, 174; German immigrants as, 167, 168, 169, 174, 176–79; Irish immigrants as, 176; for public spaces, 15 Gardens. See Domestic gardens; Plants; Pleasure gardens; Trees Gates, 125, 126, Plates 7, 12, and 20 following p. 122 Gay, F. D., 187, 191–92, 193, 205, 208, 210–11, 225– 28 Gayarré, Charles, 39, 110, 188, 189 Gayarré Monument, 55, 56 Gender: and pleasure gardens, 69, 71–75, 98; white women compared with women of color, 73–75 Gentilly, 120, 121–22 German Coast (Côte des Allemands), 39, 141, 244n5, 250n15 German immigrants: and agriculture, 39, 140–42, 169, 176, 177, 179, 254n35; and beer gardens, 65, 66, 67, 80, 82, 88, 96, 251n27; and cast-iron foundries, 127; deaths of, from cholera and yellow fever, 87; employment of, 87, 141, 177; as gardeners, 167, 168, 169, 174, 176–79; as indentured workers, 140, 141; oral tradition regarding, 256n10; and place names and residents’ names in St. Charles and St. John parishes, 244n5; and pleasure gardens, 68, 80; settlement of, in Louisiana, 39, 140–41, 169, 173, 177 German Society of New Orleans, 177 Goldfield, David, 172 Golf course, 45, 52, 59, 241n7, 250n11 Goodman, Phebe, 16 Gordon, Alexander, 85, 196–98, 217 Governor’s House (colonial period), 105 Gray, Lewis Cecil, 169, 222, 256n7, 257n7 Greenville gardens, Plate 9 following p. 122 Grymes, Mr., 111–12 Guano, 211, 264n8 Guevara, Luis, 246n25 Gunn, Ralph Ellis, 258n8



i n de x 

Gurley, J. Ward, 57, 58 Gurlie and Gillot architects, 159 HABS. See Historic American Building Survey (HABS) Hale, Josiah, 147–48 Hall, Gwendolyn, 139, 141, 256n4, 256n7 Halprin, Lawrence, 243n29 HALS (Historic American Landscape Survey), 246n20 Hardee, T. S., map (1878), 47, 85, 120, 121 Harvard University, 247n34, 248n7 Haussmann, Baron Georges-Eugène, 245n2 Hayne Boulevard, 251n40 Hedrick, Ulysses Prentiss, 2 Hemecourt, C. J. A. d’, 113 Herbs, 219–22. See also Medicinal plants Hill, John William, 30, 30 Hinderer’s Iron Works, 128, 128, 254n3 Hine, John B., 15 Hiriart, Emile, 188, 189 Histoire de la Louisiane (Le Page du Pratz), 132, 137, 201 Historic American Building Survey (HABS), 52, 88, 93, 246n20 Historic American Landscape Survey (HALS), 246n20 Historical Memoir on Louisiana (Dumont de Montigny), 102, 137, 201, 205, 207, 215, 222, 252n4 Hoboken, N.J., Elysian Fields in, 66, 248n13 Holmes, Walter C., 146 Horticultural commerce: decline in employment in, 171–72; in marketplaces, 159–63, 160, 162; newspaper advertisements for, 151–53, 193, 202, 203, 205, 208–10, 223; nursery catalogs for, 153–58, 155, 156, 158, 205–6, 208, 210–13, 225–35. See also Agriculture; Gardeners; Plants Horticultural literature: Affleck’s Almanacs, 183, 189, 190, 191–95, 192, 205–6, 208, 211, 212, 222, 253n25; books, 181–90, 203–4; on fruits and vegetables, 205–7; magazine articles, 180, 196–99; on ornamental plants, 208–12; overview of, 181–82 Horticulture Hall (Audubon Park), 54–55, 54 Horticulturist, 196, 197–99 Huber, Leonard V., 19 Hume, Harold H., 258n3 Hurricane Katrina, 9, 53, 95, 96, 120, 217, 251nn40– 41, 252n3 Hutson, Charles, 261n12 Hyde Park (London), 245n2 Iberville, Pierre le Moyne, Sieur d’, 101 Immigrants, 46, 56, 173–79, 245n3. See also German immigrants; Irish immigrants; Italian immigrants Indentured workers, 140, 141

277

Indigo, 9, 104, 105, 132, 136, 137, 139–40, 142, 144, 145, 171, 179, 220, 222–23, 256n7 Industrial Fairs, 194 Ingraham, Joseph Holt, 173 Innes, Matthew, 245n2 Irish Channel, 176 Irish immigrants, 37–38, 73–74, 87, 127, 168, 176 Italian immigrants, 161, 173, 174–75, 176 Italian Renaissance, 108, 111, 114, 118–20, 119 Jackson, Andrew, 19; statue of, 19–20 Jackson Square: activities in, 22; Castellanos on, 21–22; fence around, 250n22; history of, as Place d’Armes, 5, 16–18; illustrations and photographs of, 1, 19–20, 20, 21; iron railings removed from, during Civil War, 31; Jackson equestrian statue in, 19–20; location of, 15; Norman on, 18; Olmsted on, 1, 11, 19; Pontalba’s plan for improvement of (1846), 18–19; renovation of, 34; trees in, 17–20, 22, 34; view of Mississippi River from, 20–21, 22 Jackson Street garden, Plate 2 following p. 122 Jacob Sieban’s Pleasure Garden, 68 Jardin du Rocher de Ste. Hélène, 68, 76–80, 77 Le jardinier économique et productif (Vicknair), 183, 187–89, 205, 206 Jazz, 25, 87, 97, 242n24, 243n29, 252n51 Jefferson, Thomas, 172, 253n17, 253n19 Jefferson Parish, 96 Jefferys, Thomas, 142 Jesuit Plantation, 111 Jim Crow. See Segregation Johnson, Jerah, 91, 245n6 Jussieu, Antoine, 261n1 Jussieu, Bernard de, 183, 261n1 Jussieu, Joseph, 261n1 Kenner pleasure garden, 68 Kent, William, 197 Kern, William, 153 Kiley, Dan, 247n32 Kmen, Henry, 42, 67, 68, 73, 248–49n1 Knight, Richard Payne, 197 Koch, Richard, 51–53, 246n20, 252n1 Kolb, Conrad, farm, 121, 122 Kolb’s Restaurant, 121 Kossuth Gardens, 68 Lacarrière-Latour, Arsène, 253n11 Laclotte, Jean-Hyacinthe, 36, 37, 37, 107–8, 109, 253n11 Lafayette, General, 27 Lafayette neighborhood (now Garden District), 113–16 Lafayette Square, 15, 27–33, 30–32, 34, 80, 250n22 Lafon, Barthélémy, 33, 88, 111, 250n25 Laignel, Mr., 70, 71

27 8

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Lake Pontchartrain: Bayou St. John as connection between Mississippi River and, 38–40, 42, 244n4; boating and sailing on, 87–88; communities along, 87–96, 89–95, 251n40; Lincoln Beach at, 250n11; pleasure gardens on, 68, 87–98, 89–95; recreational activities at, 96 Lakeshore communities, 87–96, 89–95, 251n40 Landry, Stuart O., Jr., 261n3 Landscape architects: for Audubon Park, 8, 45, 48, 57–59; for City Park, 47–48; fees of, 48; history of, in New Orleans, 10, 45, 241n7; in late-nineteenth and early-twentieth-century U.S., 56, 246n12, 247n32, 247n34, 248n7; professional education of, 247n34, 248n7; professional licensure for, 246n12. See also speciἀc landscape architects Landscape historiography, 165, 214 Large Oaks pleasure garden, 68, 75, 78 Lassus, Jean-Pierre de, 17 Latrobe, Benjamin Henry Boneval, 17, 24, 39, 159– 61, 173 Laussat, Pierre Clement de, 106–7, 110 Law, John, 39, 140 Lawrence, John H., 215–17 Le Blond de la Tour, Pierre, 16, 17, 36, 103 Le Conte, René, 140–42 Le Mascrier, Abbé Jean Baptiste, 102, 205 Le Page du Pratz, Antoine-Simon, 132, 136, 137, 140, 144, 146–47, 201 Lebeaud, M., 262n26 LeBlanc, Yves, 151 Lee Circle, 34, 111, 250n25 Lelièvre, Jacques-Felix, 184–87, 191, 192, 203, 205– 8, 210, 222–25, 261n12, 261n17 LeMascrier, Abbé, 252n4 LeNôtre, Andre, 197 Lesasser, J. B., 193 Levees, 36–38, 37, 38, 86, 170, 245n23 Levy, Benjamin, 153, 189 Lilienthal, Theodore, 20, 31, 119, 127 Lincoln Beach, 250n11 Linear open spaces: Bayou St. John and Carondelet Canal, 38–43, 41; functions of, generally, 36; levees, 36–38, 37, 38; neutral grounds, 43–45, 43, 44 Linnaean Garden and Nursery (New York), 152–53 Literature on horticulture. See Horticultural literature London: Crystal Palace in, 54, 64, 127; Hyde Park in, 245n2; pleasure gardens in, 63, 65, 249n4 “Lost Cause” sculptural references, 8 Louis Armstrong Park, 162 Louisiana Advertiser, 167 Louisiana and Texas Railroad, 20–21 Louisiana Avenue, 108 Louisiana Jockey Club, 119–20, 119, 120, 254n32 Louisiana Landmarks Society, 254n1 Louisiana State Board of Health, 163

Louisiana State Supreme Court, 48–49, 49 Louisiana Sugar Experiment Station, 60 Louisiana World Exposition (1984), 246n25 Lower Garden District pleasure gardens, 68, 69–73 Luling, Florence A., 118–19 Magazine articles. See Horticultural literature Magazine of Horticulture and Botany, 196–97 Magnolia Garden, 68, 75, 76 Magnolia Nursery, 154–55, 155, 206 Magny, Xavier, 80, 81, 82 Malepeyre, F., 262n26 Mandeville, 87 Manning, Warren, 57, 247n32 Marigny Plantation, 37, 106, 107 Marketplaces, 5, 9, 16, 159–63, 160, 162, 171, 259n2. See also Congo Square; French Market Marleborne Gardens (London), 63 Mather, James, 41 Mauge, Luc, 69 McDonogh, John, 47; statue of, 28 McPherson, William, 20, 21 Medicinal plants, 101–2, 106, 137, 146–48 Mémoires historique sur la Louisiane (Dumont de Montigny), 102, 137, 201, 205, 207, 215, 222, 252n4 Merz, George, Sr., 75 Mestizos, 250n18 Military barracks in colonial period, 102, 103 Mills, Clark, 19 Milneburg community, 87, 90, 241n1 Mississippi River: Bayou St. John as connection between Lake Pontchartrain and, 38–40, 42, 244n4; importance of, in shaping landscape of New Orleans, 216–17; levees on, 36–38, 37, 38, 86, 170, 245n23; view of, from Jackson Square, 20–21, 22 M’Mahon, Bernard, 186 Mobile Bay, 87 Molhausen, Henry, 113 Moore, Frank, 20, 32, 51 Moss, Kay K., 146, 257n2 Mugnier, George François, 20, 21, 56, 88, 90–93, 119, 119, 120 Mulberry trees, 9, 138–39, 222, 255n2 Muller, Francois Joseph, 263n3 Municipal Auditorium, 42 Music: and Congo Square, 24–25, 161; and pleasure gardens, 73–74, 76, 81, 98, 251n28, 252n51 Napoleon, 249n4, 253n23 Native Americans: and agriculture, 4, 5, 135–38, 141, 142, 145, 169, 171, 179, 201; and Bayou St. John, 39, 73, 87, 244n4; in colonial New Orleans generally, 169, 170; intermarriage between slaves and, 144; and marketplaces, 159, 161–62; and me-



i n de x 

dicinal plants, 146–47; and mestizos, 250n18; as slaves, 141, 170; and tropical storms, 132 Neighborhood squares. See Public squares Nelson, John M., 154–55, 155, 193, 205–8, 211, 212, 222, 228–32 Neutral grounds, 43–45, 43, 44, 241n1 New Basin Canal, 38, 42, 88, 95, 244n4, 244n19 New England village “commons,” 13, 55 New Orleans: American Sector of, 33, 68, 163, 249n7; cultural diversity of, 4; economy of, 7, 9, 34, 56–57, 123, 131, 172, 181; environmental characteristics of, 3–4; French-speaking population of, 173, 185, 188–89; geographic location of, 3; graft and corruption in, 45; Hurricane Katrina in, 9; multicultural community of, 169, 170, 173–79, 185; municipal districts of, 174; in nineteenth century, 5–11, 15–16, 33, 34, 107–22; population of, 131, 169, 171, 173–75, 181; residential developments in, 107–22, 112, 115–18, 125; sanitation problems in, 44; streets in, 44, 44, 129, 129; in twentieth century, 8–9; uniqueness of, 2–4, 214. See also Colonial New Orleans; Domestic gardens; Pleasure gardens; Public squares; Urban parks New Orleans and Carrollton Rail Road Company (NO&CRR), 83, 108 New Orleans Daily Picayune, 18, 57–58, 80–81, 83– 84, 153, 168 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, 242n24 New Orleans Jazz National Historical Park, 243n29 New Orleans Medical and Surgical Journal, 147–48, 183 New Orleans Museum of Art, 49, 51 New Orleans Navigation Company, 40, 41 New Orleans Terminal Company, 42 New Orleans Union Passenger Terminal, 42, 244n19 New Southern Confederation Garden, 68 New Vauxhall Garden, 68, 249n4 New York: Central Park in, 7, 8, 14, 47, 48, 55, 57, 65, 245nn2–4, 246n12, 248n6; Coney Island in, 64, 95, 247n4; foreign-born population of, 174; Linnaean Garden and Nursery in, 152; picnic groves in, 65; pleasure gardens in, 6, 65–66; population of, 181; public squares in, 16 New-Orleans Directory and Register, 1822–23, 15 Newcomb College, 55, 115 Newcomb Pottery, 55 Newman, F., 151, 193, 208, 209–10, 223 Newspaper advertisements: for booksellers, 189– 90; for gardeners, 10, 167–68, 202; for plants for sale, 151–53, 193, 202, 203, 205, 208–10, 223; for pleasure gardens, 61, 67, 69, 70, 75–76, 81–82, 84, 248–49n1, 249n9 Ninth Ward, 120, 121 NO&CCR. See New Orleans and Carrollton Rail Road Company (NO&CRR)

279

Norman, Benjamin Moore: on Congo Square, 25; on Jackson Square, 18; on Lafayette Square, 28; on New Orleans, in early guidebook by, 11, 214; on public squares in New Orleans, 15–16, 33; as publisher, 192, 192, 263n3 Notarial Archives plans, 99, 106, 113, 123–25, 197, 203, 216, following p. 122 NOUPT. See New Orleans Union Passenger Terminal Nouveau jardinier de la Louisiane (Lelièvre), 183, 184–87, 192, 203, 205–8, 210, 222, 223–25, 261n12 Nurseries, 121–22, 151–58, 191, 193, 206, 211–13 Nursery catalogs, 153–58, 155, 156, 158, 205–6, 208, 210–13, 225–35 Nuttall, Thomas, 131 Okra, 145, 198, 257n7 Old Basin Canal. See Carondelet Canal Old Turning Basin, 42 Olmsted, Frederick Law: career of, as landscape architect, 7–8, 45, 46; and Chicago World’s Columbia Exposition (1893), 7; and domestic gardens, 125; on Jackson Square, 1, 11, 19; retirement of, 8, 57; on Rosedown Plantation, 258n8; travel to New Orleans by, 7; and urban parks, 7–8, 45–48, 57, 245nn1–2, 246n12, 248n6 Olmsted, Frederick Law, Jr., 8, 57–59, 247n34. See also Olmsted Brothers Olmsted, John Charles, 8, 57–59. See also Olmsted Brothers Olmsted Brothers: and American Society of Landscape Architects, 247n32; and Audubon Park, 8, 45, 48, 57–59; and Chicago neighborhood parks, 246n18; and City Park, 8, 50; local offices of, 10; and urban parks, 245n1; and Wiedorn, 52, 241n7 Open spaces. See Linear open spaces; Pleasure gardens; Private open spaces; Public open spaces Opera, 67, 90, 251n45 Opera house, 93 Orleans Gazette, 167 Orleans Parish Levee District, 94–95 Ornamental gardens. See Domestic gardens Ornamental plants, 99, 113, 124, 197, 208–13, 223– 40. See also speciἀc plants Paris, 65, 209, 249n4, 261n1. See also France Parkman, Francis, 262n26 Parks. See Amusement parks; Urban parks Pass Christian, 87 Pass Manchac, 87 Pauger, Adrien de, 16, 101–2 Paulsen, J. W., 196 Pauly, Philip J., 246n26 Pavilion Garden, 68 Paxton, John Adems, 17–18, 25, 40, 171, 244n8

280

i n de x

Paxton, Sir Joseph, 54, 127 Peiss, Kathy, 65, 248n11 Pénicaut, André, 132 Le Petit Versailles, 263n3 Philadelphia, 16, 174, 181, 248n6 Pilié, Joseph, 17–19, 36, 38, 113, 259n2 Pilié, Louis H., 18, 47 Pintard, John, 105 Pirolle, M., 262n26 Pitot, James, 40, 41, 73, 244n13 Pitot House, 254n1 Plaçage, 71–72, 98 Place d’Armes, 5, 15, 16–18, 162. See also Jackson Square Place du Cirque. See Congo Square Place du Tivoli (later Lee Circle), 111, 250–51n25, 253n18 Plaisance public squares, 241n1 Plan de al Nouvelle Orléans et des environs (1803), 106–7, 108 Plant lists: compilations of, 201–4; French and English names of plants, 202, 223–25; fruits and vegetables, 205–7, 219–23; ornamental plants, 208–13, 223–40; scientific and common names for plants, 202, 212, 225–40, 264n1 Plants: in colonial New Orleans, 132, 132–48; exotic plants, 54–55, 63, 66, 117, 118, 153, 201, 217; French and English names for, 202, 223–25; Linnaean system of nomenclature for, 202, 264n1; at Louisiana World Exposition (1984), 246n25; medicinal plants, 101–2, 106, 137, 146–48; and Native Americans, 135–37; newspaper advertisements of, 151–53; nursery catalogs of, 153–58, 155, 156, 158, 205–6, 208, 210–13, 225–35; Nuttall on, in 1820, 131; ornamental plants, 99, 113, 124, 197, 208–13, 223–40; sale of, 151–58; scientific and common names for, 202, 212, 225–40, 264n1; vegetables and fruits, 104–6, 110–11, 113, 120, 122, 137, 198, 199, 205–7, 219–23, Plate 12 following p. 122; at World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition (1884–85) in Audubon Park, 54–55, 54. See also Agriculture; Trees; headings beginning with Horticultural; and speciἀc plants Pleasure gardens: advertisements for, 61, 67, 69, 70, 75–76, 81–82, 84, 248–49n1, 249n9; in American Sector, 68, 163, 249n7; and attitudes on race and gender, 69, 71–75, 98, 249n9; on Bayou St. John, 73–76, 78, 88; on Carondelet Canal, 68, 76– 82, 77, 82, 244n4; Carrollton Gardens, 68, 82– 87, 86; characteristics of, 98; compared with public squares, 43; definition of, 63, 248n8; economic motives for, 64, 69; in Europe, 61, 63–64, 64, 68, 78, 79; family-oriented pleasure gardens, 76, 81– 82, 98; food and beverages in, 81; and immigrants, 68; importance of study of, 61, 97–98; influences on generally, 96–97; informational sources on, 68;

in lakeshore communities, 87–96, 89–95; list of New Orleans pleasure gardens, 68; in Lower Garden District, 68, 69–73; music and dancing at, 73– 74, 76, 81, 98, 251n28, 252n51; New Orleans, 6–7, 16, 67–98; in New York, 6, 65–66; obsolescence of, 97; political events in, 79–80; and public transit systems, 6, 82–83; recreational attractions and sports in, 6, 65–66, 67, 69, 75, 81–82, 98 Plessy v. Ferguson, 72, 250n12 PLSS. See Public Land Survey System (PLSS) Polymnia and Felicity streets neutral ground, 44, 45 Pontalba Apartments, 18, 20, 21, 242n12 Pontalba, Michaëla, Baroness de, 18–19 Pontchartrain, Louis Phélypeaux, Comte de, 138, 255n3 Pontchartrain Beach, 250n11 Pontchartrain Hotel, 42, 88–90, 89, 90, 92, 96 Pontchartrain Lake. See Lake Pontchartrain Popp Fountain (City Park), 50, 52 Porter, Mrs. E. G., 187 Powers, Hiram, 28, 31 Poydras Market, 163 Presbytere, 18 Price, Uvedale, 197 Prince, Benjamin, 152 Prince, Robert, 152 Prince, William (1752–1802), 152 Prince, William (1766–1842), 152 Prince, William Robert, 152, 258n2 Private open spaces, 4, 9, 9–10. See also Domestic gardens Prospect Park (Brooklyn), 7, 8, 47, 57, 248n6 Public Land Survey System (PLSS), 253n17 Public markets. See Marketplaces Public open spaces, 4–9, 13, 15–16. See also Linear open spaces; Public squares; Urban parks Public squares: in Carrollton, 241n1; compared with pleasure gardens, 43; cost of, 15; deterioration of, in late nineteenth century, 34; in eighteen and nineteenth centuries generally, 6, 7, 15– 16, 34; functions of, 16; in Milneburg subdivision, 241n1; in neighborhoods generally, 6, 55; in Plaisance suburb, 241n1; in twentieth century generally, 8–9. See also speciἀc squares, such as Jackson Square Public transit systems, 6, 8, 82–83, 87, 91, 95, 108. See also Railroads Publications. See Horticultural literature Race and ethnicity: in colonial New Orleans, 169, 170; and Congo Square, 23–25; and free people of color, 72–73, 170, 171, 249n10; New Orleans as multicultural community, 169, 170, 173–79, 185; and plaçage, 71–72, 98; and pleasure gardens, 69, 71–73, 98, 249n9; and Spanish Fort, 91, 93;



i n de x 

women of color, 73–75. See also African Americans; Creoles; Slaves Rafinesque, Constantine Samuel, 143, 148, 183–84 Railroads, 20, 42, 82–83, 87, 91, 95, 108, 244n19 Ranelagh Gardens (London), 63, 64 Rasch’s Garden, 68 Raynor, Seth, 250n11 Recreation. See Pleasure gardens; Urban parks “Red Books” (Repton), 58, 153, 247n35 La Renaissance Louisianaise, 188–89 Repton, Humphry, 58, 85, 153, 197, 247n35, 262n24 Residential gardens. See Domestic gardens Reuter, Chris., 157–58, 158, 178, 213 Rice, 138, 139, 142, 145, 170, 171, 179, 222 Robb, James, 113–15, 115, 116, 127, 172, 254n30 Robin, Charles-César, 40, 142–43, 148, 183–84, 261n3 Rocher de Ste. Hélène, 249n4 Rogers, Elizabeth Barlow, 63, 248n9 Rosedown Plantation, 258n4, 258n8 Rosenzweig, Roy, 65–66, 248n9 Roses, 1, 19, 33, 50–51, 52, 53, 53, 113, 125, 126, 127, 151, 153, 155, 194, 197, 206–10, 212, 222, 223 Roth, Leland M., 245n2 Rue des Grands Hommes garden, Plate 10 following p. 122 Ruelle, Jean, 15 Rural cemetery movement, 64, 248n6 Sailing. See Boating and sailing St. Amant, Mr., 57 St. Charles Avenue streetcar line, 83 St. Charles Parish, 140, 244n5 St. James Parish, 223, 250n15 St. John the Baptist Parish, 140, 244n5 St. Louis Cathedral, 15, 17–19, 79–80, 102, 252n3 St. Mary’s Market, 163 St. Patrick’s Church, 28, 30, 31, 31 Sale of plants. See Horticultural commerce Samuel, Martha Ann Brett, 254n30 Samuel, Ray, 254n30 Sarpy, Silvestre Delord, 111, 250n25 Sauder, Robert A., 259n11 Savannah, 16, 55 Schenker, Heath Massey, 248n9, 249n2 Schurtleff, Arthur A., 58 Scott, Frank J., 125, 254n37 Sculptures, 19–20, 28, 49 Second District, 174, 176, Plate 20 following p. 122 Seed catalogs. See Nursery catalogs Segregation: and Brown v. Board of Education, 250n12; in late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, 8, 91, 93, 249n8; and Plessy v. Ferguson, 72, 250n12; of restaurants and bars, 251n29; and separate but equal principle, 250n12; of urban

281

parks, 47, 245n6, 249–50n11. See also African Americans Shipman, Ellen Biddle, 247n32 Short, Robert H., 128 Shurtleff, Arthur A., 58, 58, 247n34, 258n5 Sidewalks, 128–29, 129 Silk industry, 9, 138–39, 222 Slaves: and agriculture, 139, 141–45, 169, 172, 174, 179; and Code Noir, 23, 145, 162; in colonial New Orleans generally, 169, 170, 171; and Congo Square, 23–25, 161; cultural traditions of, 256n4; intermarriage between Native Americans and, 144; and medicinal plants, 147; Native Americans as, 141, 170; and pleasure gardens, 71; runaway slaves, 170; small-scale cultivation and marketing of foodstuff by, 144–45; statistics on, 139, 173 Small, John K., 246n26 Smith, Benjamin F., Jr., 30, 30 Smith, William, 151–53, 189, 193, 202, 205, 222, 262n25 Social life: and Carondelet Walk, 42–43; in Coliseum Square, 33–35; in Congo Square, 5, 16, 24–27; in Jackson Square, 22; in Lafayette Square, 29, 30, 31; on levees, 37–38. See also Pleasure gardens Southern Cultivator, 196, 199, 264n8 Southern Yacht Club, 87, 251n41 Spanish colony of New Orleans. See Colonial New Orleans Spanish Fort, 68, 87, 88–95, 89–94, 96 Spanish Fort Opera House, 93 Sports, 47, 56, 75. See also Urban parks Starr, S. Frederick, 254n30 Statues. See Sculptures Steckler, J., Seed Company, 155–56, 264n13 Stewart, McClure and Mullgardt architects, 88 Stoddard, Amos, 40, 102 Stoddart, William E., 59 Storyville, 97 Streets, 44, 44, 129, 129 Sugarcane and sugar production: Affleck’s account books for, 194–95; and Aime, 263n3; in antebellum period, 54, 110, 111, 159; in colonial period, 9, 54, 109, 132, 136, 140, 142, 144, 223; de Boré’s method for granulating sugar, 54, 109, 140; economic value of, 145, 171, 172; and Italian immigrants, 175; Louisiana Sugar Experiment Station, 59; sale of sugar cane in marketplace, 159; and slavery, 142, 144 Tanesse (Jacques) map (1812), 15, 23 Tangipahoa Parish, 140 Tempe, G. C., foundry, 128 Tessier, Mr., 75 Theard, Alfred, 35 Theme parks, 64, 65, 248n9 Thierry map (1755), 105

2 82

i n de x

Third District, 174, 176, Plates 11 and 15–17 following p. 122 Thoreau, Henry David, 248n6 Tinker, Edward Laroque, 186 Tivoli (Bayou St. John), 73–75, 250–51n25, 251n28 Tivoli Garden (Carondelet Canal), 65, 68, 73, 76, 80–81, 81 Tivoli Gardens (Copenhagen), 64, 65, 249n4 Tobacco, 9, 40, 136, 137, 139, 144, 171, 223 Transcendentalism, 64, 248n6 Transportation. See Public transit systems; Railroads Trees: arbors in gardens supporting climbing roses, native grape, and mirleton, 126, Plates 4, 5, 7, 11, 12, and 14 following p. 122; in Carrollton Gardens, 86, 86; in City Park, 51, 51, 53; in Coliseum Square, 33, 34, 34; in Congo Square, 17, 25, 26; in domestic gardens, following p. 122; at Lafayette neighborhood, 114, 116; in Lafayette Square, 30– 31, 31, 32; on levees, 37; mulberry trees, 9, 138– 39, 222, 255n2; in neutral spaces, 44–45; newspaper advertisements for sale of, 151–52; in Place d’Armes/Jackson Square, 17–20, 22, 34; wood support or boxes for protection of newly planted trees, 126, Plates 12–14 following p. 122 Tregle, Joseph, Jr., 137, 188, 249n7 Trellises, 126, Plate 11 following p. 122 Tremé Community Center, 243n29 Tremé neighborhood, 242–43n29 Tropical plants. See Exotic plants Trudeau, Carlos, 27 Tulane University, 55 Turnbull, Daniel and Martha, 258n8 Urban parks: for African Americans, 249–50n11; benefits of, 46–47, 56, 245n2; economic motives for, 47, 245n4; in Europe, 20; and immigrants, 46, 56, 245n3; influences on, in late nineteenth century, 55–56; lack of interest in, during nineteenth century, 45, 46; in Northeast, 7, 46, 47–48, 55; and Olmsted, 7–8, 45–48, 57, 245nn1–2, 246n12, 248n6; and recreation, 47, 56, 97; segregation of, 47, 245n6. See also Audubon Park; City Park Urban renewal, 242–43n29 Ursuline Convent, 101–2, 146, 257nn5–6 Usner, Daniel H., Jr., 140–41, 259–60n6 Valentin, M., Plate 8 following p. 122 Vaugine, Etienne Martin de, 105 Vaux, Calvert, 7, 47 Vauxhall Gardens (London), 63, 65, 249n4 Vauxhall Garden (New Orleans), 68, 76, 82, 249n4, 249n9

Vegetables, 104–6, 113, 120, 122, 137, 198. See also Agriculture; Domestic gardens; Plants Vicknair, Ulger, 183, 187–89, 203, 205, 206 Vieux Carré, 68, 99, 100, 105 A View of New Orleans Taken from the Plantation of Marigny (1803), 37, 106, 107 Vinache, Joseph, 106–7 Vincent, Bevin, 153 Voyages dans l’interieur de la Louisiane (Robin), 142–43, 183–84, 261n3 Wallis, Mr., 57 War of 1812, 19, 40, 88 Washington Market, 163 Washington Square, 15, 31, 34, 250n22 Water hyacinth (Eichhornia crassipes), 54–55, 246nn26–27 Waud, Alfred R., 120, 122, 160, 160 Waveland, 87 West End, 68, 87, 88, 95–96 West End Park, 88, 96 Western Farmer and Gardener, 191 Wethersfield, Conn., Seed Garden, 154 Wharton, Thomas K., 19, 33, 85–86, 113–15, 115, 215, 243n37 White, Thomas, 192 White, William N., 205, 206, 263n9 Wiedorn, William, 45, 51–53, 52, 53, 241n7, 246n22 Williams, Robert Webb, Jr., 263n6 Wilson, Samuel, Jr., 19, 69, 88, 102–4, 249n5, 252n1, 253n18 Wiltz, Joseph, 107–8, 109 Windham, William, 245n2 Woiseri, J. L. Boqueta de, 17, 37, 106, 107 Women. See Gender Wood, Albert Baldwin, 245n23 Wood, Miltenberger & Company, 128 Woodward, Ellsworth, 55 Woodward, William, 55 Works Progress Administration (WPA), 45, 50–52, 51, 52, 59–60, 161, 241n7, 261n12 World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exhibition (1884–85), 35, 54–57, 54, 59, 127 WPA projects, 45, 50–52, 51, 52, 60, 161, 241n7, 261n12 Yellow-fever epidemics, 87, 176 Yucca gloriosa, 110, 253n14 Zimpel, Charles F., 112–13 Zimpel map (1834), 15, 85, 112–13, 112 Zoo, 55, 59–60, 60