A travelling exhibit at the Historic New Orleans Collection explores a lesser discussed period of Louisiana history.

On Royal Street in the Quarters, just down the block from Grandpa Elliot’s regular street-corner, the Historic New Orleans Collection is cloistered through stately doors with a magisterial presence. As one enters, the hall of one of the oldest buildings in New Orleans opens up and reveals its ancient insides. The building was built in 1792 and survived the fire of 1794 that leveled a good portion of the Quarter, which was then most of the City of New Orleans. 

By this point in history, the Spanish Empire had already come to the United States and its colonial prowess in the New World was fading; a fact revealed eloquently and beautifully in the Historic New Orleans Collection’s current exhibition, “The Threads of Memory.” The exhibition explores Spain’s first 300 years in the United States through a collection of 140 rare documents, maps, illustrations, and paintings culled from the Archives of the Indies in Seville, Spain. The exhibit has been touring the United States, making stops at the New Mexico History Museum in Santa Fe and the El Paso Museum of History in Texas. At each stop, specifically selected pieces go beyond simple state etymology. Spanish rule is not seen as a mere stopover between conquering powers, it is the main focus of the exhibit.

The show is ending its American tour in New Orleans because of Louisiana’s rich history as a former territory of the Spanish Empire. New Orleans derives much of its identity from its French heritage, but, between two periods of French rule and before that eventual Purchase, Louisiana was a Spanish colony through the second half of the 18th century. From the forefathers of St. Bernard Parish to the Historic New Orleans Collection’s building itself, the Spanish made an indelible impression on the development and the culture of Louisiana. The duality is even on street signs, as most of the streets in the Quarter are both “Calle’s” and “Rue’s."

Some of the oldest documents in the exhibit, which is split into ten different sections delving into different aspects of Spanish colonial history, are in the first room. One of the pieces, the first Spanish map of the Gulf Coast, was drawn on thin, parchment-style paper and was such a broad sketch of the landscape that it was nearly unrecognizable as our coastline. Within the same room is a map of the same area made 25 years later that was significantly more detailed, showing an impressive amount of cartography expertise gained in a very short amount of time. Along with the detail, the mapmakers added embellishments to their presentation. Some of the maps on display are more akin to artwork than scientific documents. Finely drawn symbols, often representing the Spanish crown, are affixed to most of the maps, while the creative drawings of the landscape itself give them a very human sensibility.

John Lawrence, the Director of Museum Programs, was NoDef's guide for a tour of the exhibit. When asked if he would have been an explorer if he were around then, he smiled and answered that no, he wouldn’t have, except in a newly settled, open city. Based on some of the letters in the exhibit, it’s easy to understand his answer. The New World had no interstate system just yet and the only way through the bayou was by cutting ones own path or with the help of the natives.

According to Alfred Lemmon, Director of the Williams Research Center at the Historic New Orleans Collection, natives and the Spanish’s relationship at times was amicable. The Spanish transcribed the different native dialects and learned their languages. Natives were also sometimes given passage on the Spanish fleet and afforded travel to Spain. When they arrived they were dressed in the clothing equivalent to their rank in their tribe, thus a native warrior would be presented with the same accouterments as a Spanish solider.

Ultimately, the 140-piece exhibit paints a detailed, yet broad stroke of Spanish influence in the United States. The maps are not only attractive; their contents often made references to political power landscapes across the contested New World. One map in particular shows the water-colored swaths of land claimed - not necessarily ruled - by the European powers of the day. Spain claimed contested lands, thus making it appear to other governments that they had more territory than they actually did. They were puffing out their chest at the enemy, cartographically.

In another portion of the exhibit, letters and other documents reveal minute details and daily grind of exploring. Turns out, it wasn't all dramatic flag-planting. One document describes a day of occurrences at one of the Canary Islander settlements, a group of people who were the original settlers of New Iberia, LA and Da Parish. We tend to glamorize (or condemn, depending on the context) exploring and these unknown adventures, undertaken, yes, ultimately for money, but also as an exercise in satiating curiosity. The contents of  “The Threads of Memory” reveals that glamorization, while also presenting all of the hard work that exploring was. These men (they were all men) faced formidable adversity in their conquests. Yet, the explorers did lay down norms of society. They set up comprehensive social and state-sponsored systems for information gathering and spreading the gospel (their ultimate mission), and they developed city codes that regulated urban development. Their presence was not innocuous but instead invasive, and, as “The Threads of Memory” exhibits comprehensively, their record keeping was nothing short of impeccable.