The St. Charles: A Hotel Fit for a GWTW Honeymoon

First comes the wedding, then the honeymoon. And since we already covered Scarlett's wedding day toilette, it's now officially Honeymoon Week here at How We Do Run On. On Monday, we brought you a look at some classic Creole recipes for Rhett and Scarlett to enjoy, and now we're back with more honeymoon goodness for you--in the form of a luxurious and historic New Orleans hotel where the new Mr. and Mrs. Butler could have stayed.   

The St. Charles Hotel would have been an excellent choice for our newlyweds, as it was heralded as one of the finest hotels in the United States in its heyday. And like Rhett and Scarlett too, it held its roots in the antebellum aristocracy, but embraced the modernity of the vibrant post-war South. First erected in 1834 at a cost of $700,000, the grand structure took three years to complete and featured a portico of marble columns and sweeping marble steps. But its crowning glory was its rotunda, complete with a dome 46 feet in diameter that was considered one of the most beautiful in the world. The hotel soon became the playground of the wealthy planter elite and a place for them to conduct their business affairs, earning the hotel the moniker of "The Exchange Hotel." Over the years, the hotel played host to a number of prominent guests, including Charles Dickens on his trip of America.

But the good times could not last forever. Sadly, a 1851 fire destroyed the building and its famed dome. The hotel was rebuilt within a year in the style of the original building, with one regrettable difference: the stunning dome was gone. The second version of the hotel (seen in the picture above) is the one that would have hosted Scarlett and Rhett, and they likely would have found it very well-appointed:  

"This house, which fronts on St. Charles street, and occupies about three- quarters of the large square bounded by St. Charles, Carondelet, Common and Gravier streets, is one of the handsomest hotel structures in America. Those who have traveled much assert that the front, with its massive columns, many windows and imposing cornice, is unequalled for beauty and grandeur by any in this country. The magnificent furniture, commodious rooms, and sumptuous table of the St. Charles enjoyed a wide reputation in antebellum days, which has been well maintained since the war, under the able management of Col. Robert E. Rivers."

--excerpted from The Illustrated Visitors Guide to New Orleans (1879)

The hotel later remodeled its interior in the summer and fall of 1878, and held a grand re-opening in November 1878 that showed off its "new furniture... and all the modern improvements, including a steam elevator" as described by the Illustrated Visitors Guide to New Orleans. And see? That's just in time for Scarlett and Rhett to have patched things up and taken a second honeymoon to New Orleans to celebrate their 10th wedding anniversary. 

Okay, my bout of starry-eyed romanticism is now over and our post draws to its end. A the third and final renovation of the St. Charles hotel took place in 1896, when its outmoded antebellum columns were scrapped for a new swanky structure built in the style of the Italian Renaissance. Unfortunately, the historic building was demolished in 1974, but its legacy as one of the most beautiful hotels in New Orleans' colorful past lives on. 

(Edited) image from Souvenir of New Orleans, "the city care forgot" (1917)

On the Steps of Wesley Chapel

"When she reached Wesley Chapel, she was breathless and dizzy and sick at her stomach. Her stays were cutting her ribs in two. She sank down on the steps of the church and buried her head in her hands until she could breathe more easily." -- Gone with the Wind, Chapter XXI

Today's post should be called "How Research Spoiled Bugsie's Childhood Dreams: Part 1." You see, every time I read Gone with the Wind without bothering to google for Wesley Chapel (which is really every time I've read Gone with the Wind), the image I had in mind  reading that scene was that of an imposing structure with wide stone steps leading to it. Something like, well, this: 

The Church of the Immaculate Conception

Wesley Chapel, though? Looks like this:

Wesley Chapel

Sometimes historical accuracy quite plainly sucks. But leaving my lost naivete about historical buildings aside, this type of (more than just a little) unglamorous construction makes sense, considering that this was Atlanta's first and oldest church. Some of you might remember the post in which we talked about Marthasville's/soon-to-be-Atlanta's first religious establishment, a plain clapboard structure where the city's five religious groups held their services alternatively. The Methodists were the first to move out. With much difficulty, some $700 were raised in 1847, out of which $150 were used to buy a lot a few hundred feet south from the original building. 

The funds were barely enough to cover the costs of the simple frame structure you see above and little was left for the inside, but the members were determined to have their own church, so they furnished the interior by collective effort/improvisation. Benches were made from rough slabs obtained from a local mill, a druggist prescription table upon a crudely built platform became the pulpit, while a homemade tin chandelier provided the illumination. The chapel was named Wesley in the honor of John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, and dedicated in March of 1848. 

In 1850, money was raised again, this time to buy a bell for the church. The $300 bronze piece, with the silver of 100 Mexican dollars mixed into alloy for better resonance, proved too heavy for the chapel's frame, so it was installed into a separate bell tower. The sounds of the new bell soon proved a nuisance for an invalid woman living on Peachtree Street, so her caring and resourceful husband paid some boys to steal the clapper. In a moment of inspiration worthy of their colleague fictional prankster Tow Sawyer, the boys dumped the clapper into a well... the Baptist preacher's well, to be precise. The Methodist pastor had to publicly declare he wouldn't suspect his Baptist brothers of such a low trick to avoid an interdenominational crisis. 

Wesley Chapel's bell was the only bell spared during the Civil War, when every available piece of metal was melted, and it's still in use today. In 1870, it was moved into the new Gothic design church that was erected on the site, keeping in line with the penchant for monumental and richly-decorated structures in Atlanta's architecture at that time. (See? 6 years later,  Scarlett could have rested on the steps of my dream church!)

Finally, in 1903, the First Methodist Church moved to a different location altogether: a granite building at the northwest corner of Peachtree and Porter Place. On its old location a brand new Atlanta hallmark would rise: the Candler Building, home of the Coca Cola Company.

Candler Building

As a last interesting tidbit: Margaret Mitchell herself was well acquainted with the history of Wesley Chapel, for she wrote an article on this topic for The Atlanta Journal.

A Place for Scarlett O'Hara's Confessions

The first Catholic Church of Atlanta--what a better topic for a lovely Sunday afternoon? Now, we're well aware that this is one building Scarlett didn't get to see that much, despite what our title might suggest, but this church's history, through all its metamorphoses, ties in so nicely with Atlanta's own history that we figured it deserves a post.

When Atlanta was in its infancy, and still called Marthasville, all of its religious groups were united in the same building.  The settlement's population, though very small, comprised  Methodists, Baptists, Catholics, Episcopalians and Presbyterians, but, since there wasn't enough money to erect five separate churches, pragmatism triumphed over religious differences. They combined their resources and built a simple two-chimney clapboard structure on a triangular lot bounded by Peachtree, Pryor and Houston Streets. 

This  happy ecumenism born out of practicality would be short lived though. One by one, the congregations moved into their own buildings; the Catholic congregation in 1848. Its new church, on the corner of Loyd and Hunter streets, was still a plain wood frame structure, quite representative for the steady developing city's architecture at the time. The church didn't have a name yet and was simply known as "the Catholic Church," pertaining from 1850 to the diocese of Savannah.

The most heroic moment in the existence of this congregation came during Sherman's occupation of Atlanta, when Father Thomas O'Reilly saved the town's churches from being burned to the ground. His strategy? He simply announced that if his church was fired, then all the Roman Catholics in Sherman's army would leave their ranks. Between his popularity as a chaplain even among Federal troops and the fact that the regiment was composed largely of Catholics, the church and all its surroundings were spared.  That is not to say the church escaped the war intact, for its facade had already been affected by a shell during the siege.

As Atlanta rose from its ashes in the years after the war, it seemed that the passion for building, and building big, extended to churches as well. In 1869, the cornerstone was laid for a new building to replace the old simple edifice of the Catholic Church. It was an event altogether, having in attendance the famous Father Ryan, the Poet-Priest of the Confederacy, who even held a speech, much to Atlanta's pride. The commissioned architect was William H. Parkins, who would establish his reputation in Georgia through building this church. 

In 1873, the imposing cathedral-like building was ready for use, though work continued on portions of it till 1880. Unfortunately, by the time the church was inaugurated in 1873 and received its name, the Church of Immaculate Conception,  its hero and savior, Father O'Reilly, had already passed away.

That the edifice was grand you can see for yourselves in the picture above.  Made of painted red brick, it was of Gothic design, with its tall square tower and its three-arched main entrance.  We guess that if Scarlett ever wanted to turn religious after Rhett left her in 1873, she now had a stately enough church to go to. Unless of course you, like my co-blogger, are firm believers in the reconciliation scenario. In that case, I guess this was a good venue for them to renew their vows. Or something like that.

Blueprints for the Butler Mansion: The Winner

Well, it's Monday somewhere on the globe.  Due to the fact Bugsie was so clumsy as to accidentally close the poll earlier than she was supposed to, and since one house was far, far ahead of the other two contestants anyway, we think we can declare a winner. 

Here it is in all its glory, the house that has the dubious honor of best resembling the Butler Mansion: the James residence, aka the Governor's mansion, with 13 of our 16 votes. 

 Image from ATLhistory.com

 

As a bonus, an image of the Butler mansion as depicted in Gone with the Wind, the movie, where you can see the similarities between it and our winner.

Well, this has been a very fun series for us to write and we hope you enjoyed it as well. Thanks for voting!

Blueprints for the Butler Mansion: The Richards House

We must start this post with an apology. As hard as we tried, we couldn't find a picture in which our last contestant figures as the main focus. It appears that it was usually photographed when people were trying to get shots of its neighbors--the Capital City Club to the right and the Leyden residence to the left. Below you have a cropped picture with a decent lateral view of the house, but it's better if you follow our links to all the images available, to get a clearer idea. From some angles, this mansion looks like your typical (and, I must say, almost pretty) Victorian house. From others, you can get a glimpse at the building that was considered among the most ornate (read: gaudiest) in Atlanta before the Dougherty-Hopkins residence was built, outrunning even our previous contestant, the Governor's mansion. 

                                                                                                                       Image from Peachtree Street, Atlanta

                                                  Name: the Richards-Abbott residence 

                                                  Built: 1884 

                                                  Demolished: around 1915

                                                  Location: intersection of Peachtree and Ellis streets

Our house above was a three-story affair of orange brick and terra cota, occupying a 59 by 275-foot lot on the block between Cain and Ellis streets. (You can see its original color in this picture.) It was "elaborately embellished with turrets, gargoyles, dormer windows, and porches," according to our good and reliable friend, the Peachtree Street, Atlanta book. This contestant's history, and more images, after the jump.

Blueprints for the Butler Mansion: The Governor's Mansion

Today brings our second historical house to compete for the honor of most closely resembling the Butler Mansion.  Candidate number two, come on down! 

 Image from ATLhistory.com

                               Name: John H. James residence
                               Built: 1869
                               Demolished: 1923
                               Location: intersection of Peachtree and Cain streets

Better known for its role as the governor's mansion, the James residence is likely the most familiar contestant of the three to windies, as it's mentioned in direct relation to Scarlett's architectural horror fanciful abode in Chapter XLIX of Gone with the Wind: 

"...when finished, it would be larger and finer looking than any other house in town.  It would be even more imposing than the near-by James residence which had just been purchased for the official mansion of Governor Bullock."

But enough GWTW quoting (yes, we love our quotes here). Follow me over the jump to find the history of the James house and its unique qualifications in the Butler Mansion resemblance sweepstakes.

Blueprints for the Butler Mansion: The House of a Thousand Candles

So here’s what we figured. We have material on three historical houses that resemble the Butler mansion, and, instead of distributing the posts over the course of the following weeks, as was our initial plan, we decided to post one each day, starting with today. On Thursday, when you’ll all have seen the three houses in question, we’ll have a poll and you can vote the house you find closer to Scarlett’s Peachtree mansion as described by Margaret Mitchell. And now, let's meet our first mansion:

                                                       Image scanned from Peachtree Street, Atlanta

                            Name: Dougherty-Hopkins residence

                            Built: 1890

                            Demolished: 1931

                            Location: intersection of Peachtree and Baker streets

Our first candidate enters the competition with one major drawback: as you can see, it was built in 1890, which puts some solid 22 years between it and the fictional Butler mansion and also makes it the "youngest" house in our lot. However, we think that this alone is no reason to discard it, especially since it does have a couple of elements working in its favor as well. But first let's hear the story behind it-->after the jump.

The Leyden House: Neighbor to Rhett and Scarlett

"Finally the business section fell behind and the residences came into view.  Scarlett picked them out as old friends, the Leyden house, dignified and stately; the Bonnells', with little white columns and green blinds; the close-lipped red-brick Georgian home of the McLure family, behind its low box hedges."

--Gone with the Wind, Chapter VIII

Tucked in the passage above with the fictional Bonnell and McLure dwellings is a mention of the Leyden house, which was in fact a very real and prominent Atlanta residence from the antebellum period, through Civil War and beyond. 

And it was near the Leyden house that Margaret Mitchell chose to situate the grand and towering Butler mansion. (“Before we left Atlanta I was dickering for that big lot on Peachtree, the one near the Leyden house.  You know the one I mean?" as sayeth Rhett in the famous honeymoon-nightmare sequence, Ch. XLVIII.) 

So the Leydens had the honor (or infamy, depending on your perspective) to be neighbors to Rhett and Scarlett. But who were the Leydens and what did their house look like?

A native son of Pennsylvania who moved to Atlanta in 1848, Austin Leyden established the town’s first foundry and metal fabrication company that same year. Leyden amassed a fortune and eventually sold the company, called A. Leyden & Co., in 1853 to a business partner. (Thereafter it became known as the Atlanta Machine Works and went on to play a central role in the Civil War, churning out weaponry and other goods for the Confederacy.)

Fate smiled on Leyden through one of his other business ventures: through partnership in a dry goods store with Atlantan William Herring, he met and married Herring’s daughter, Rhoda Catherine Herring, in December 1850. It was William Herring who first lived in what would become known as the Leyden house, built in 1859 or 1860 at 124 Peachtree Street between Cain and Ellis streets. Described as “one of the most beautiful and famous houses ever built in Atlanta,” it was developed on a lavish scale: 

"The house was box-shaped, having four rooms downstairs and four rooms upstairs, with a central hall running from front to back. The impressive facade was dominated by twelve magnificent Ionic columns, eight of which paraded their fluted beauty, along the Peachtree Street frontage, while two more were visible on each side of the spacious piazza. Each column had a hidden opening at its base, presumably a hiding place for valuables. A small glass-enclosed observatory on the roof of the house provided a view of the entire town. At the rear of the structure were a brick smokehouse, a stable, and quarters for house slaves."

--excerpted from Peachtree Street, Atlanta

The massive size of the house can be best seen in this aerial shot from 1895: 

Image from ATLhistory.com

Austin Leyden and his family later moved into the house, which functioned as a hospital during the Civil War, before Mrs. Leyden and her young daughter vacated for Athens during the siege of 1864. Leyden himself served as a major in the Confederate army under the command of General James Longstreet.

On account of the Leyden house’s glass observatory, the home was frequently used by the Confederate Signal Corps as a lookout point to observe the movements of Yankee troops nearing the city. Of course, this wasn’t without danger as the Leyden house was a highly visible target and the Yankee sharpshooters regularly returned aim at their opponents, although they never succeeded in killing any of the Confederate signalers.

With the blessing of Mrs. Leyden, the Leyden house served as the headquarters of beleaguered Lt. General John B. Hood, beginning with several battles preceding and then during the siege of Atlanta.  After Atlanta’s fall to the Yankees, the Leyden house was once again used as an army headquarters—though this time it was U.S. General George H. Thomas who procured the house as his command center. The Atlanta History Center has a great photograph here of the Leyden House during this time period, flanked by two Yankee sentries.

After the war, the Leydens returned to reoccupy their home and lived there for many years, but life did not remain tranquil for either the family or their grand old home. During the 1880s, two fires devastated the house. The first fire destroyed the roof and, upon rebuilding, the Leydens refashioned the home to include three stories, a mansard roof, and a fresh coat of green paint—a change that was met with about as much goodwill as Rhett and Scarlett’s engagement announcement by Atlantans, who viewed the renovation to be a “desecration of the beautiful and historic house” as describes  William Bailey Williford  in Peachtree Street, Atlanta. Fortunately, Atlanta could breathe a sigh of relief when, following the second fire which took out the second and third floors, the house was once again painted white and rebuilt to its original height.

Having fallen on hard times, in 1893 the Leydens decided to rent out most of their home to Mrs. Emma Bell for use as a boarding house.  Ultimately, the story of the Leyden house drew to its final chapter in 1913 when the home was leveled by real estate investors, a sad ending to the long reign of the historic Leyden house as an Atlanta landmark.