Interior of The Huguenot Church

A little history: This French Protestant church was founded about 1681 by Huguenot refugees from the Protestant persecutions in France. The first church was built on its present site in 1687, but was destroyed in 1796 during an attempt to stop the spread of fire which had burned a large surrounding area. The original building was replaced in 1800 and then dismantled in 1844 to make way for the present Gothic Revival ediface, designed by Edward Brickell White. The structure was damaged during the Civil War and nearly demolished in the earthquake of 1886. The present building dates to 1845. It is the only remaining independent Huguenot church in America.

The Huguenot Cross pendant

If you go inside, look for the beautiful Huguenot cross which was designed in the form of a Maltese cross, with four triangles meeting at the center. Each triangle has two rounded points, signifying the eight Beatitudes of Matthew 5: 3-10. Between the triangles are four fleurs de lis, symbolizing purity, and four open spaces in the form of four hearts, for love and loyalty. In the pendant, a dove is suspended from the lower triangle by a gold ring, signifying the Holy Spirit. In times of persecution, a pearl, symbolizing a teardrop, replaced the dove.

The four arms of the Maltese cross are sometimes regarded as the heraldic form of the four petals of the Lily of France which grows in the south of France. The arms symbolize the four Gospels. ¶

French Huguenot Church
44 Queen St • Get directions

Front gate of St. Michael’s on Meeting Street

The lower panels are also delicate, but in a more elaborate motif of elongated S-scrolls tied together by a floral button—all of which gives requisite mass to the base.

Considering how much the upper and lower panels differ in their design, form, and finesse, it is tempting to think that two different artisans may have crafted them. And might the crown above the top beam, which is simpler in its design and heavier in its execution, have been done by yet a third hand (or been added later)?

Part of my purpose and pleasure with this blog is not necessarily to dig into all the details. My goal is to enjoy seeing—to pursue foremost the act of looking with awareness—and not be preoccupied with the exactness of historical context. Curiously, though, it is recorded that much of the older wrought-iron work in Charleston, including this gate at St. Michael’s, was done in the mid-19th century by two German-immigrant blacksmiths (Iusti and Werner). But it is also known that there was a third blacksmith (Ortmann). Would it not be interesting if this gate bears the signature of all three artisans?

Something else to appreciate is the vertical panel that runs down the middle of the gate, paralleling the design of the two side panels. This central strip is part of the right gate, which makes it wider than the left gate. But the perfect balance of the overall design hides the subtle difference. You can also walk around the corner on Broad Street—to the back side of the church—and see an exact, slightly more more worn duplicate of this gate.

Whoever created these masterpieces, they hang today resolutely for us to look at more than think about—perhaps in part to demonstrate that the most important thing a gate should do is not keep you out, but allow you in with supreme elegance and grace. ¶

Most churches you see in Charleston and elsewhere have one or several entrances on the same side of the building. And, if there is a portico, there is just one.

St. Philip’s, however, is uniquely situated with long views of both sides. And because the street bends around the front entrance, which is rarely used, that side is easily overlooked. But it is worth a few minutes to stand across the street from it and let yourself gaze.

From across the street you see that the front is broader than the two sides due to the glass windows. And although the front appears smaller (because of the cramped space it is in), the designers made sure that all three porticoes were the same size—the width of the steeple base.

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It is interesting to look at these photos and imagine the building without the neoclassical porticoes and pediments. Architecturally it would work, but their addition provides the steeple with a prominent foundation and lends majesty to the building. In fact, the more you look at the entire structure, the more beauty and harmony you start to  see.

While you’re looking, don’t forget to admire the massive gates on either side, as well as the gate across the street at the entrance to the graveyard. ¶

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St. Philip’s Church
142 Church St.
(843) 722-7734
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Front gate of St. John’s Lutheran Church

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This first photo shows the central of three gates at the front of the church, on Archdale Street. Notice the lace-like design on its vertical sides and in the top and lower-middle horizontal pieces.

The sides and top are beautifully joined by two square corner pieces whose emblem echos yet varies the same design, and which are capped with exquisite S-scrolls, a small heart, a ball, and a star.

That might have even been enough, but the designers thought to add the large crown (which in this photo is unfortunately not easy to see against the window behind it). The overall effect—and there are three of these gates at the front—is grandiose, to say the least. It is almost too much for the proportions of the portico that houses them.

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Side gate on Clifford Street

Compare that design to the one on this side gate just around the corner on Clifford Street. The general design is similar, but the theme and variations are wonderfully different. Of note are the doors of this gate which are topped with spear heads. The swooping design also matches the undulating fence that stretches along Clifford Street. Notice, too, the marvelously varied patterns in the lower-middle horizontal panel. If J.S. Bach had been a metal worker, he would have designed gates like this one.

Detail of front gate

Shown below are details of both gates. Notice how the caps above the two side panels on each gate echo but vary from each other. And look at the large crown on the second gate: the intricate design, and the two smaller scroll-heart-ball-star pieces which tie in nicely with the ‘parent’ caps on each side. This is as exquisite as wrought-iron gets. ¶

Detail of side gate

St. Philip’s, 172 Church Street

St. Philip’s and St. Michael’s are the most recognizable churches in Charleston because they are among the oldest and most visible. It also happens that they pierce the sky with the surest sense of elegance and ease. Other churches on the peninsula are architectural marvels in their own right, but these two draw the most attention, no doubt, too, because of their neoclassical porticoes.

To my eye, the steeple of St. Philip’s feels more anchored to the ground due to the contrast between its large, square base and its long, narrow spire (so narrow that it makes me think of a witch’s hat). Meanwhile the earth-color of the stone ‘holds’ the steeple downward. The brown color also absorbs rather than reflects light, which flattens the three-dimensionality: you look at the steeple, but your eye is not drawn round it voluminously, which diminishes its grandeur. Another curious element is the gold cross on top of the spire. It arrests the upward motion and halts the eye—even to the point that once you notice the cross you lose sight of the steeple.

St. Michael’s, 72 Meeting Street

Conversely, the gold ball and ornamental rod atop St. Michael’s simultaneously thrust your eye heavenward and draw it down to the mass of the steeple shape, whose exemplary proportions guide you gently down to its base.

As the spire descends, notice how it gracefully expands into a roof for what looks like a gazebo perched in the sky. You want to rest there awhile, pour a drink, and take in the view. And just below the ‘gazebo’ is a slightly protruding base whose shadow ever so slightly serves as a visual support. The same effect—the same delineation—is achieved by the balcony just below the clocks.

Notice, too, how the alternating of clocks and windows has a soothing effect (your eye does not race to the next clock), and how the arch of the windows provides a smooth transition to the shuttered arches below and the gazebo arches above, both of which echo the shape of the windows. This unifying element beautifully harmonizes the three distinct sections of the steeple and makes it  visually pleasing and compelling as a whole. ¶

(These photos were taken from atop the parking garage on Cumberland Street where I luckily found myself late one afternoon.)

First Baptist • 61 Church Street

For instance, the First Baptist Church has one of the simplest facades in the city. Its neoclassical design includes Doric motifs of simple columns and capitals, a bare frieze with triglyphs, and an empty pediment. The columns lend grace, grandeur, and generous access to 3 sets of doors that are capped by arched Palladian windows.

Take a good look (preferably in person) and try to imagine this facade without the arched windows. Notice how they not only ‘lift’ the doors, but how they soften the effect of so many right angles in the rest of the design. Then try to picture the facade without the three rectangular windows that are 8 feet above the doors.

The empty space would be too much; the upward motion would be too emphatic. As it is, these small windows imperceptibly slow the eye as it is drawn up by the columns and doors. Their slightly rectangular shape—the effect would not be the same if they were square—also serves as a visual weight that keeps the pediment (the triangle up top) from jumping skyward.

What’s fascinating is that these three windows are the least spectacular part of the facade, yet they are the modifying ingredient in the upward thrust and the hinge that unifies all the other parts—columns, doors, frieze, and pediment. The overall harmony of proportions also enables the church to coexist unobtrusively in a residential neighborhood. Although its scale is larger than the houses, it does not feel at all out of place.

Don’t forget to study the wrought iron fence in front. The box-shaped stanchions with pointed caps reinforce the vertical thrust of the church. Without them, the fence (as only a horizontal line) would hold the eye down. Notice, too, the built-in lamp posts—an elegant and uncommon feature in wrought-iron fences around town. Their perfect placement serves almost as a frame to the front view of the church. The fence designer(s) obviously took great care to complement the architect’s precision.

Trinity United Methodist • 273 Meeting Street

For fun, here’s a comparison: Trinity United Methodist Church. This design is more massive, based on a more elaborate (Corinthian) style, with more columns, and only one door (see the detail below).

This time, try to imagine the effect if there were no decorative cornice above the door, or if the door was larger or smaller. If you’re there in person, you’ll also see that this building is higher off the ground than First Baptist Church. There is a different feeling as you walk up two flights of steps to this ‘house of worship’. In fact, it’s nice to do just that and spend a few minutes appreciating the massive doors and the spaciousness of the tall ‘porch’. After all, lingering—especially if you’re really looking—is good for the soul, and what better place to nourish it than in front of a beautiful church. ¶

Detail of carved doors

WHITE TEXT

First Baptist Church
61 Church Street
Robert Mills, architect
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WHITE TEXT

Trinity United Methodist Church
273 Meeting Street
Get directions

The Ravenel Bridge in morning fog

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I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my Soul.

A Noiseless, Patient Spider • by Walt Whitman

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But inside is a showcase of luxurious architecture, with a cantilevered stairway as the centerpiece. As our tour guide pointed out, the stairway should have been impossible to do because of the short landing in the middle, from where you can look out the large front window, down into the gracious hallway, and up at the crystal chandelier and ornamental ceiling. The handrail is a craftsman’s delight. And the entire house is elegant and well restored.

Interestingly, it was the owner’s brother, Gabriel Manigault, who designed this house for his brother Joseph. It happens that Gabriel also designed Charleston’s City Hall on Broad Street, another massive structure.

Tip: when you visit, be sure to ask about the ‘secret’ ladder on the second floor.

Joseph Manigault House
corner of Meeting and John Streets
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