Times-Picayune, New Orleans, Nov. 6, 1896, Page 12
"TANTE ZOE
----
Death of a Famous and Revered Woman in the French Quarter.
'Tante Zoe est Morte' - the words flew like wildfire over the old French quarter yesterday, and young and old gathered in the quaint parlors of the ancient home on Columbus street to look once more upon the calm, dear face of this old lady, who for nearly a century exercised a strange yet beautiful influence upon the lives of nearly three-fourths of the Creole firesides.
Who was Tante Zoe? Did you not see the notices hung around the streets, 'Dame Veuve Zoe Cruzat Peychaud, aged 93,' That was her maiden and marriage name combined, but to the old faubourg from one end to the other she was known as 'Tante Zoe,' simply that and nothing more. It was way back in 1803 that Tante Zoe was born on the ancient Chalmette plantation, born of a noble and illustrious ancestry, for her mother was the beautiful Zoe Chalmette de Lino, daughter of he famous Chevalier de Chalmette, and her father was Don Cruzat, celebrated in the early history of Louisiana. At the early age of 16 the beautiful Mlle. de Cruzat was the belle of the old New Orleans; her hand was sought and won by Monsieur Nelson Peychaud, who left her a widow at the early age of 22, and for seventy-one years, through sunshine and tears, she remained true to this early love, and yesterday evening in the twilight shadows she was laid to rest at his side in the old St. Louis cemetery.
Tante Zoe was a wonderful woman and a character in the history of Louisiana. She was one of the few surviving ones who could tell you all about the battle of New Orleans, the paving of the streets, the lighting of the city, the introduction of gas, the building of the French Opera, the building of the American quarter. She was just 12 years at the time of the entry of Jackson into the city, which he and his brave troops had saved. She remembers all about the grand mass of thanksgiving sung in the old cathedral, the levee held in Jackson square, the groups of young girls representing the various states in the union who passed before the hero saluting him and, finally, she would tell you with a pardonable pride how it was she herself who represented Louisiana on that memorable occasion and, advancing int he name of the state and city which he had saved, placed a crown of laurels on the conqueror's head. When the French opera was opened Mme. Peychaud had the prosenium box for the first night, and thereafter for many years. Young, she was known all over Louisiana for her pride of birth and ancestry, her stately old-fashioned courtesy, her punctilious observance of the rules of etiquette, and her love of dress and pleasure; but she was known, too, and that in a more extended sense for her charitable spirit, her deeds of kindness and gentle heart that, with all its fondness for pleasurable entertainment, would sacrifice a first night at the opera to sit up with a poor neighbor whose child lay in the throes of death, or willingly yield her last sou(?) that a beggar might be supplied. Was any one ill in the French quarter, 'Tante Zoe,' as she began to be called as the years went on, was self-constituted nurse; was there a poor family in distress, she was immediately a committee of one to visit and relieve from her own purse; did any one need employment in the old days, her influential name and position immediately obtained it, and these kindnesses were exercised regardless of race or creed. And thus it was that in lieu of the high-sounding name that came to suit her so well in her aristocratic salons, surrounded by the gay and worldly, and dispensing smiles and bows like a queen to the manner born, her friends and the poor people came to know her only as 'Tante Zoe,' whose dark, tender eyes would melt into liquid depths of tenderness at the tale of sorrow, whose small white hand did not shrink from cooling their fevered brows, and whose very presence in their midst seemed to exercise a soothing influence.
In Truth, in those days she seemed to hover like a meteor between two worlds - one the gay, brilliant world of fashion, the other the poverty-stricken homes of the wretched. In the one she bore herself like a goddess swaying imperiously her subjects; in the other she resembled nothing so much as a humble soeurgrise, thus showing the fashionable creole world of old New Orleans how it was quite compatible to reconcile one's duties as a social queen with the more exalted position of hearth angel in the hovels of the poor. It seemed strange these two traits, so opposite in character and so evenly developed in the same individual, for it was said of Tante Zoe that in her early days she was as ready to lead the dance to-night as to recite her rosary on to-morrow; but, with her religion was not an empty name; it was the ballast that steadied her ship of pleasure in full sail, the star that directed her course amid the conflicting currents of her nature.
Long ago, so long ago that the grandmothers of the present generation do not remember it, Tante Zoe left her beautiful home in the old Chalmette plantation to take up her abode permanently in the old home in Columbus street, for she loved the gay city, the opera, the famous balls of the old French quarter; but many excursions did she take to her old plantation home, many a house party did she give there, sud(?), oh, the tales she would tell of chevaliers and maidens who gathered beneath its grand old oaks when life was young. It was here that she entertained the duke de Montpensier and the duc d'Orleans, afterwards Louis Phillipe of France, when they visited New Orleans, and it was of her home that the royal guest, in a sparkling glass of champagne, offered the famous toast, 'C'est pas l'Americus, c'est la France, c'est Paris.'
The war dealt harshly with the fortunes of the Chalmettes and the Cruzats, as it did with those of all the ancient southern people; but Tante Zoe never lost her beautiful gayety of spirit, her cheerfulness of heart. Many a day of sunshine and storm did she see, but to the day of her death, preserving her wonderful faculties of mind clear to the last, she looked upon life through the lenses of the optimist, and thus time dealt gently with her cheerful, contented spirit.
To the writer's mind there comes the picture of this dear old lady, with her silvery hair, eyes beaming with love and tenderness, andhands whose gentle touch gave peace and hope. All the children in the French quarter knew Tante Zoe, all the young men and women, all the older generation. For over seventy years she was the confidant of the 'vieu carre;' she knew every love tale, every heart ache, and she was always quick to apply the remedy and make everything bright and rosy. Ah, she had a wonderful facility for bringing the wounded hearts together again; she was the queen of chaperones, the 'aunt,' indeed of the faubourg. She was everybody's 'Tante Zoe,' for the young men and the young girls and the little children all claimed her.
Till a year or so ago Tante Zoe was very active; she went about among her friends just as she was wont to do for seventy years. The children all knew her coming, they knew what an inexhaustible store her pocket contained; for Tante Zoe never forgot any one, not even the little sick Dago child in the next square who had not Tante Zoe to think of it. And the tales that she would tell; oh, me, they extended over the century's span and more, for she had gathered up all the lore of early Creole days; she was a true historian and yes in many instances the eye witness of the remarkable facts she chronicled. To the day some months ago, when a fall disabled her, Tante Zoe was a welcome guest in the most arictorcratic homes of the faubourg. The best seat was always reserved for her, the softest cushion for her aged head; but she would often toss the cushion away and tell you that she was as young as the youngest; and in truth she was, for her heart never grew old. Every Thursday, till a few year ago, Tante Zoe held her weekly levees, which were attended by young and old for it was indeed a rare treat to spend an hour with this delightful old lady and raconteur. Five generations gathered about her - grandchildren and great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren and nieces and nephews. She was the adopted mother of Mr. Charles Maurian, now of Paris. She raised Mr. Maurian as her own child, and every eighteen months since he has resided there he made the trip from Europe to visit his dear old foster mother. Mr. Maurian only left New Orleans in the beginning of last October, coming to pay a visit which he felt was the last to this dear old friend and guardian.
Ah, Tante Zoe, the years have closed around you; the old homestead in the plains of Chalmette is crumbling to ruins; with you the old life, which was the charm of your presence, has vanished forever, and of all who knew you in the bright witchery of youth not one remains to tell the tale. But there are those who have felt the soft influence of your waning years, the earnest purpose of your beautiful life; and this memory remains fair as the pictured dream of the olden masters, sweet as the fragments of a vase in which roses have once been distilled.
'You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.'
"TANTE ZOE
----
Death of a Famous and Revered Woman in the French Quarter.
'Tante Zoe est Morte' - the words flew like wildfire over the old French quarter yesterday, and young and old gathered in the quaint parlors of the ancient home on Columbus street to look once more upon the calm, dear face of this old lady, who for nearly a century exercised a strange yet beautiful influence upon the lives of nearly three-fourths of the Creole firesides.
Who was Tante Zoe? Did you not see the notices hung around the streets, 'Dame Veuve Zoe Cruzat Peychaud, aged 93,' That was her maiden and marriage name combined, but to the old faubourg from one end to the other she was known as 'Tante Zoe,' simply that and nothing more. It was way back in 1803 that Tante Zoe was born on the ancient Chalmette plantation, born of a noble and illustrious ancestry, for her mother was the beautiful Zoe Chalmette de Lino, daughter of he famous Chevalier de Chalmette, and her father was Don Cruzat, celebrated in the early history of Louisiana. At the early age of 16 the beautiful Mlle. de Cruzat was the belle of the old New Orleans; her hand was sought and won by Monsieur Nelson Peychaud, who left her a widow at the early age of 22, and for seventy-one years, through sunshine and tears, she remained true to this early love, and yesterday evening in the twilight shadows she was laid to rest at his side in the old St. Louis cemetery.
Tante Zoe was a wonderful woman and a character in the history of Louisiana. She was one of the few surviving ones who could tell you all about the battle of New Orleans, the paving of the streets, the lighting of the city, the introduction of gas, the building of the French Opera, the building of the American quarter. She was just 12 years at the time of the entry of Jackson into the city, which he and his brave troops had saved. She remembers all about the grand mass of thanksgiving sung in the old cathedral, the levee held in Jackson square, the groups of young girls representing the various states in the union who passed before the hero saluting him and, finally, she would tell you with a pardonable pride how it was she herself who represented Louisiana on that memorable occasion and, advancing int he name of the state and city which he had saved, placed a crown of laurels on the conqueror's head. When the French opera was opened Mme. Peychaud had the prosenium box for the first night, and thereafter for many years. Young, she was known all over Louisiana for her pride of birth and ancestry, her stately old-fashioned courtesy, her punctilious observance of the rules of etiquette, and her love of dress and pleasure; but she was known, too, and that in a more extended sense for her charitable spirit, her deeds of kindness and gentle heart that, with all its fondness for pleasurable entertainment, would sacrifice a first night at the opera to sit up with a poor neighbor whose child lay in the throes of death, or willingly yield her last sou(?) that a beggar might be supplied. Was any one ill in the French quarter, 'Tante Zoe,' as she began to be called as the years went on, was self-constituted nurse; was there a poor family in distress, she was immediately a committee of one to visit and relieve from her own purse; did any one need employment in the old days, her influential name and position immediately obtained it, and these kindnesses were exercised regardless of race or creed. And thus it was that in lieu of the high-sounding name that came to suit her so well in her aristocratic salons, surrounded by the gay and worldly, and dispensing smiles and bows like a queen to the manner born, her friends and the poor people came to know her only as 'Tante Zoe,' whose dark, tender eyes would melt into liquid depths of tenderness at the tale of sorrow, whose small white hand did not shrink from cooling their fevered brows, and whose very presence in their midst seemed to exercise a soothing influence.
In Truth, in those days she seemed to hover like a meteor between two worlds - one the gay, brilliant world of fashion, the other the poverty-stricken homes of the wretched. In the one she bore herself like a goddess swaying imperiously her subjects; in the other she resembled nothing so much as a humble soeurgrise, thus showing the fashionable creole world of old New Orleans how it was quite compatible to reconcile one's duties as a social queen with the more exalted position of hearth angel in the hovels of the poor. It seemed strange these two traits, so opposite in character and so evenly developed in the same individual, for it was said of Tante Zoe that in her early days she was as ready to lead the dance to-night as to recite her rosary on to-morrow; but, with her religion was not an empty name; it was the ballast that steadied her ship of pleasure in full sail, the star that directed her course amid the conflicting currents of her nature.
Long ago, so long ago that the grandmothers of the present generation do not remember it, Tante Zoe left her beautiful home in the old Chalmette plantation to take up her abode permanently in the old home in Columbus street, for she loved the gay city, the opera, the famous balls of the old French quarter; but many excursions did she take to her old plantation home, many a house party did she give there, sud(?), oh, the tales she would tell of chevaliers and maidens who gathered beneath its grand old oaks when life was young. It was here that she entertained the duke de Montpensier and the duc d'Orleans, afterwards Louis Phillipe of France, when they visited New Orleans, and it was of her home that the royal guest, in a sparkling glass of champagne, offered the famous toast, 'C'est pas l'Americus, c'est la France, c'est Paris.'
The war dealt harshly with the fortunes of the Chalmettes and the Cruzats, as it did with those of all the ancient southern people; but Tante Zoe never lost her beautiful gayety of spirit, her cheerfulness of heart. Many a day of sunshine and storm did she see, but to the day of her death, preserving her wonderful faculties of mind clear to the last, she looked upon life through the lenses of the optimist, and thus time dealt gently with her cheerful, contented spirit.
To the writer's mind there comes the picture of this dear old lady, with her silvery hair, eyes beaming with love and tenderness, andhands whose gentle touch gave peace and hope. All the children in the French quarter knew Tante Zoe, all the young men and women, all the older generation. For over seventy years she was the confidant of the 'vieu carre;' she knew every love tale, every heart ache, and she was always quick to apply the remedy and make everything bright and rosy. Ah, she had a wonderful facility for bringing the wounded hearts together again; she was the queen of chaperones, the 'aunt,' indeed of the faubourg. She was everybody's 'Tante Zoe,' for the young men and the young girls and the little children all claimed her.
Till a year or so ago Tante Zoe was very active; she went about among her friends just as she was wont to do for seventy years. The children all knew her coming, they knew what an inexhaustible store her pocket contained; for Tante Zoe never forgot any one, not even the little sick Dago child in the next square who had not Tante Zoe to think of it. And the tales that she would tell; oh, me, they extended over the century's span and more, for she had gathered up all the lore of early Creole days; she was a true historian and yes in many instances the eye witness of the remarkable facts she chronicled. To the day some months ago, when a fall disabled her, Tante Zoe was a welcome guest in the most arictorcratic homes of the faubourg. The best seat was always reserved for her, the softest cushion for her aged head; but she would often toss the cushion away and tell you that she was as young as the youngest; and in truth she was, for her heart never grew old. Every Thursday, till a few year ago, Tante Zoe held her weekly levees, which were attended by young and old for it was indeed a rare treat to spend an hour with this delightful old lady and raconteur. Five generations gathered about her - grandchildren and great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren and nieces and nephews. She was the adopted mother of Mr. Charles Maurian, now of Paris. She raised Mr. Maurian as her own child, and every eighteen months since he has resided there he made the trip from Europe to visit his dear old foster mother. Mr. Maurian only left New Orleans in the beginning of last October, coming to pay a visit which he felt was the last to this dear old friend and guardian.
Ah, Tante Zoe, the years have closed around you; the old homestead in the plains of Chalmette is crumbling to ruins; with you the old life, which was the charm of your presence, has vanished forever, and of all who knew you in the bright witchery of youth not one remains to tell the tale. But there are those who have felt the soft influence of your waning years, the earnest purpose of your beautiful life; and this memory remains fair as the pictured dream of the olden masters, sweet as the fragments of a vase in which roses have once been distilled.
'You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.'
Times-Picayune, New Orleans, Nov. 6, 1896, Page 12
"TANTE ZOE
----
Death of a Famous and Revered Woman in the French Quarter.
'Tante Zoe est Morte' - the words flew like wildfire over the old French quarter yesterday, and young and old gathered in the quaint parlors of the ancient home on Columbus street to look once more upon the calm, dear face of this old lady, who for nearly a century exercised a strange yet beautiful influence upon the lives of nearly three-fourths of the Creole firesides.
Who was Tante Zoe? Did you not see the notices hung around the streets, 'Dame Veuve Zoe Cruzat Peychaud, aged 93,' That was her maiden and marriage name combined, but to the old faubourg from one end to the other she was known as 'Tante Zoe,' simply that and nothing more. It was way back in 1803 that Tante Zoe was born on the ancient Chalmette plantation, born of a noble and illustrious ancestry, for her mother was the beautiful Zoe Chalmette de Lino, daughter of he famous Chevalier de Chalmette, and her father was Don Cruzat, celebrated in the early history of Louisiana. At the early age of 16 the beautiful Mlle. de Cruzat was the belle of the old New Orleans; her hand was sought and won by Monsieur Nelson Peychaud, who left her a widow at the early age of 22, and for seventy-one years, through sunshine and tears, she remained true to this early love, and yesterday evening in the twilight shadows she was laid to rest at his side in the old St. Louis cemetery.
Tante Zoe was a wonderful woman and a character in the history of Louisiana. She was one of the few surviving ones who could tell you all about the battle of New Orleans, the paving of the streets, the lighting of the city, the introduction of gas, the building of the French Opera, the building of the American quarter. She was just 12 years at the time of the entry of Jackson into the city, which he and his brave troops had saved. She remembers all about the grand mass of thanksgiving sung in the old cathedral, the levee held in Jackson square, the groups of young girls representing the various states in the union who passed before the hero saluting him and, finally, she would tell you with a pardonable pride how it was she herself who represented Louisiana on that memorable occasion and, advancing int he name of the state and city which he had saved, placed a crown of laurels on the conqueror's head. When the French opera was opened Mme. Peychaud had the prosenium box for the first night, and thereafter for many years. Young, she was known all over Louisiana for her pride of birth and ancestry, her stately old-fashioned courtesy, her punctilious observance of the rules of etiquette, and her love of dress and pleasure; but she was known, too, and that in a more extended sense for her charitable spirit, her deeds of kindness and gentle heart that, with all its fondness for pleasurable entertainment, would sacrifice a first night at the opera to sit up with a poor neighbor whose child lay in the throes of death, or willingly yield her last sou(?) that a beggar might be supplied. Was any one ill in the French quarter, 'Tante Zoe,' as she began to be called as the years went on, was self-constituted nurse; was there a poor family in distress, she was immediately a committee of one to visit and relieve from her own purse; did any one need employment in the old days, her influential name and position immediately obtained it, and these kindnesses were exercised regardless of race or creed. And thus it was that in lieu of the high-sounding name that came to suit her so well in her aristocratic salons, surrounded by the gay and worldly, and dispensing smiles and bows like a queen to the manner born, her friends and the poor people came to know her only as 'Tante Zoe,' whose dark, tender eyes would melt into liquid depths of tenderness at the tale of sorrow, whose small white hand did not shrink from cooling their fevered brows, and whose very presence in their midst seemed to exercise a soothing influence.
In Truth, in those days she seemed to hover like a meteor between two worlds - one the gay, brilliant world of fashion, the other the poverty-stricken homes of the wretched. In the one she bore herself like a goddess swaying imperiously her subjects; in the other she resembled nothing so much as a humble soeurgrise, thus showing the fashionable creole world of old New Orleans how it was quite compatible to reconcile one's duties as a social queen with the more exalted position of hearth angel in the hovels of the poor. It seemed strange these two traits, so opposite in character and so evenly developed in the same individual, for it was said of Tante Zoe that in her early days she was as ready to lead the dance to-night as to recite her rosary on to-morrow; but, with her religion was not an empty name; it was the ballast that steadied her ship of pleasure in full sail, the star that directed her course amid the conflicting currents of her nature.
Long ago, so long ago that the grandmothers of the present generation do not remember it, Tante Zoe left her beautiful home in the old Chalmette plantation to take up her abode permanently in the old home in Columbus street, for she loved the gay city, the opera, the famous balls of the old French quarter; but many excursions did she take to her old plantation home, many a house party did she give there, sud(?), oh, the tales she would tell of chevaliers and maidens who gathered beneath its grand old oaks when life was young. It was here that she entertained the duke de Montpensier and the duc d'Orleans, afterwards Louis Phillipe of France, when they visited New Orleans, and it was of her home that the royal guest, in a sparkling glass of champagne, offered the famous toast, 'C'est pas l'Americus, c'est la France, c'est Paris.'
The war dealt harshly with the fortunes of the Chalmettes and the Cruzats, as it did with those of all the ancient southern people; but Tante Zoe never lost her beautiful gayety of spirit, her cheerfulness of heart. Many a day of sunshine and storm did she see, but to the day of her death, preserving her wonderful faculties of mind clear to the last, she looked upon life through the lenses of the optimist, and thus time dealt gently with her cheerful, contented spirit.
To the writer's mind there comes the picture of this dear old lady, with her silvery hair, eyes beaming with love and tenderness, andhands whose gentle touch gave peace and hope. All the children in the French quarter knew Tante Zoe, all the young men and women, all the older generation. For over seventy years she was the confidant of the 'vieu carre;' she knew every love tale, every heart ache, and she was always quick to apply the remedy and make everything bright and rosy. Ah, she had a wonderful facility for bringing the wounded hearts together again; she was the queen of chaperones, the 'aunt,' indeed of the faubourg. She was everybody's 'Tante Zoe,' for the young men and the young girls and the little children all claimed her.
Till a year or so ago Tante Zoe was very active; she went about among her friends just as she was wont to do for seventy years. The children all knew her coming, they knew what an inexhaustible store her pocket contained; for Tante Zoe never forgot any one, not even the little sick Dago child in the next square who had not Tante Zoe to think of it. And the tales that she would tell; oh, me, they extended over the century's span and more, for she had gathered up all the lore of early Creole days; she was a true historian and yes in many instances the eye witness of the remarkable facts she chronicled. To the day some months ago, when a fall disabled her, Tante Zoe was a welcome guest in the most arictorcratic homes of the faubourg. The best seat was always reserved for her, the softest cushion for her aged head; but she would often toss the cushion away and tell you that she was as young as the youngest; and in truth she was, for her heart never grew old. Every Thursday, till a few year ago, Tante Zoe held her weekly levees, which were attended by young and old for it was indeed a rare treat to spend an hour with this delightful old lady and raconteur. Five generations gathered about her - grandchildren and great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren and nieces and nephews. She was the adopted mother of Mr. Charles Maurian, now of Paris. She raised Mr. Maurian as her own child, and every eighteen months since he has resided there he made the trip from Europe to visit his dear old foster mother. Mr. Maurian only left New Orleans in the beginning of last October, coming to pay a visit which he felt was the last to this dear old friend and guardian.
Ah, Tante Zoe, the years have closed around you; the old homestead in the plains of Chalmette is crumbling to ruins; with you the old life, which was the charm of your presence, has vanished forever, and of all who knew you in the bright witchery of youth not one remains to tell the tale. But there are those who have felt the soft influence of your waning years, the earnest purpose of your beautiful life; and this memory remains fair as the pictured dream of the olden masters, sweet as the fragments of a vase in which roses have once been distilled.
'You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.'
"TANTE ZOE
----
Death of a Famous and Revered Woman in the French Quarter.
'Tante Zoe est Morte' - the words flew like wildfire over the old French quarter yesterday, and young and old gathered in the quaint parlors of the ancient home on Columbus street to look once more upon the calm, dear face of this old lady, who for nearly a century exercised a strange yet beautiful influence upon the lives of nearly three-fourths of the Creole firesides.
Who was Tante Zoe? Did you not see the notices hung around the streets, 'Dame Veuve Zoe Cruzat Peychaud, aged 93,' That was her maiden and marriage name combined, but to the old faubourg from one end to the other she was known as 'Tante Zoe,' simply that and nothing more. It was way back in 1803 that Tante Zoe was born on the ancient Chalmette plantation, born of a noble and illustrious ancestry, for her mother was the beautiful Zoe Chalmette de Lino, daughter of he famous Chevalier de Chalmette, and her father was Don Cruzat, celebrated in the early history of Louisiana. At the early age of 16 the beautiful Mlle. de Cruzat was the belle of the old New Orleans; her hand was sought and won by Monsieur Nelson Peychaud, who left her a widow at the early age of 22, and for seventy-one years, through sunshine and tears, she remained true to this early love, and yesterday evening in the twilight shadows she was laid to rest at his side in the old St. Louis cemetery.
Tante Zoe was a wonderful woman and a character in the history of Louisiana. She was one of the few surviving ones who could tell you all about the battle of New Orleans, the paving of the streets, the lighting of the city, the introduction of gas, the building of the French Opera, the building of the American quarter. She was just 12 years at the time of the entry of Jackson into the city, which he and his brave troops had saved. She remembers all about the grand mass of thanksgiving sung in the old cathedral, the levee held in Jackson square, the groups of young girls representing the various states in the union who passed before the hero saluting him and, finally, she would tell you with a pardonable pride how it was she herself who represented Louisiana on that memorable occasion and, advancing int he name of the state and city which he had saved, placed a crown of laurels on the conqueror's head. When the French opera was opened Mme. Peychaud had the prosenium box for the first night, and thereafter for many years. Young, she was known all over Louisiana for her pride of birth and ancestry, her stately old-fashioned courtesy, her punctilious observance of the rules of etiquette, and her love of dress and pleasure; but she was known, too, and that in a more extended sense for her charitable spirit, her deeds of kindness and gentle heart that, with all its fondness for pleasurable entertainment, would sacrifice a first night at the opera to sit up with a poor neighbor whose child lay in the throes of death, or willingly yield her last sou(?) that a beggar might be supplied. Was any one ill in the French quarter, 'Tante Zoe,' as she began to be called as the years went on, was self-constituted nurse; was there a poor family in distress, she was immediately a committee of one to visit and relieve from her own purse; did any one need employment in the old days, her influential name and position immediately obtained it, and these kindnesses were exercised regardless of race or creed. And thus it was that in lieu of the high-sounding name that came to suit her so well in her aristocratic salons, surrounded by the gay and worldly, and dispensing smiles and bows like a queen to the manner born, her friends and the poor people came to know her only as 'Tante Zoe,' whose dark, tender eyes would melt into liquid depths of tenderness at the tale of sorrow, whose small white hand did not shrink from cooling their fevered brows, and whose very presence in their midst seemed to exercise a soothing influence.
In Truth, in those days she seemed to hover like a meteor between two worlds - one the gay, brilliant world of fashion, the other the poverty-stricken homes of the wretched. In the one she bore herself like a goddess swaying imperiously her subjects; in the other she resembled nothing so much as a humble soeurgrise, thus showing the fashionable creole world of old New Orleans how it was quite compatible to reconcile one's duties as a social queen with the more exalted position of hearth angel in the hovels of the poor. It seemed strange these two traits, so opposite in character and so evenly developed in the same individual, for it was said of Tante Zoe that in her early days she was as ready to lead the dance to-night as to recite her rosary on to-morrow; but, with her religion was not an empty name; it was the ballast that steadied her ship of pleasure in full sail, the star that directed her course amid the conflicting currents of her nature.
Long ago, so long ago that the grandmothers of the present generation do not remember it, Tante Zoe left her beautiful home in the old Chalmette plantation to take up her abode permanently in the old home in Columbus street, for she loved the gay city, the opera, the famous balls of the old French quarter; but many excursions did she take to her old plantation home, many a house party did she give there, sud(?), oh, the tales she would tell of chevaliers and maidens who gathered beneath its grand old oaks when life was young. It was here that she entertained the duke de Montpensier and the duc d'Orleans, afterwards Louis Phillipe of France, when they visited New Orleans, and it was of her home that the royal guest, in a sparkling glass of champagne, offered the famous toast, 'C'est pas l'Americus, c'est la France, c'est Paris.'
The war dealt harshly with the fortunes of the Chalmettes and the Cruzats, as it did with those of all the ancient southern people; but Tante Zoe never lost her beautiful gayety of spirit, her cheerfulness of heart. Many a day of sunshine and storm did she see, but to the day of her death, preserving her wonderful faculties of mind clear to the last, she looked upon life through the lenses of the optimist, and thus time dealt gently with her cheerful, contented spirit.
To the writer's mind there comes the picture of this dear old lady, with her silvery hair, eyes beaming with love and tenderness, andhands whose gentle touch gave peace and hope. All the children in the French quarter knew Tante Zoe, all the young men and women, all the older generation. For over seventy years she was the confidant of the 'vieu carre;' she knew every love tale, every heart ache, and she was always quick to apply the remedy and make everything bright and rosy. Ah, she had a wonderful facility for bringing the wounded hearts together again; she was the queen of chaperones, the 'aunt,' indeed of the faubourg. She was everybody's 'Tante Zoe,' for the young men and the young girls and the little children all claimed her.
Till a year or so ago Tante Zoe was very active; she went about among her friends just as she was wont to do for seventy years. The children all knew her coming, they knew what an inexhaustible store her pocket contained; for Tante Zoe never forgot any one, not even the little sick Dago child in the next square who had not Tante Zoe to think of it. And the tales that she would tell; oh, me, they extended over the century's span and more, for she had gathered up all the lore of early Creole days; she was a true historian and yes in many instances the eye witness of the remarkable facts she chronicled. To the day some months ago, when a fall disabled her, Tante Zoe was a welcome guest in the most arictorcratic homes of the faubourg. The best seat was always reserved for her, the softest cushion for her aged head; but she would often toss the cushion away and tell you that she was as young as the youngest; and in truth she was, for her heart never grew old. Every Thursday, till a few year ago, Tante Zoe held her weekly levees, which were attended by young and old for it was indeed a rare treat to spend an hour with this delightful old lady and raconteur. Five generations gathered about her - grandchildren and great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren and nieces and nephews. She was the adopted mother of Mr. Charles Maurian, now of Paris. She raised Mr. Maurian as her own child, and every eighteen months since he has resided there he made the trip from Europe to visit his dear old foster mother. Mr. Maurian only left New Orleans in the beginning of last October, coming to pay a visit which he felt was the last to this dear old friend and guardian.
Ah, Tante Zoe, the years have closed around you; the old homestead in the plains of Chalmette is crumbling to ruins; with you the old life, which was the charm of your presence, has vanished forever, and of all who knew you in the bright witchery of youth not one remains to tell the tale. But there are those who have felt the soft influence of your waning years, the earnest purpose of your beautiful life; and this memory remains fair as the pictured dream of the olden masters, sweet as the fragments of a vase in which roses have once been distilled.
'You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.'
Family Members
Siblings
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Manuel Cruzat
1797–1848
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Mrs Nisida Laure Josephine "Josephina" Cruzat Rousseau
1800–1878
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Laure Cruzat
1805–1806
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Infant Cruzat
1805–1806
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Gustav Cruzat
1809–1868
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Celestine Cruzat Peychaud
1811–1854
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Madelaine Eulalie Cruzat Gardere
1817–1906
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William Cruzat
1819–1900
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Pierre Edmond Cruzat
1822–1822
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Charles Pablo Laurent Cruzat
1822–1896
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Armand Cruzat
1824–1826
Children
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