St. Louis Cathedral

Stand still for a moment on the flagstones of Jackson Square. Listen. A trumpet somewhere is working through a slow hymn. A horse-drawn carriage clicks past on the street behind you. Pigeons scatter across the paving, and the air carries the faint smell of river water and powdered sugar. Ahead of you, three white spires rise against the sky. This is Saint Louis Cathedral, and it has watched over this square, in one form or another, for roughly three hundred years.

First, the name. The cathedral is dedicated to Louis the Ninth, a thirteenth-century King of France who was later declared a saint. That choice tells you who founded this city. New Orleans began as a French colony in the early eighteenth century, and the French settlers placed a parish church on this very spot almost from the start. The building in front of you is not that first church. It is the third major church to stand here, and each one carries part of the city's story.

The earliest churches were modest structures of timber and brick. They served a small, muddy colonial town on a bend of the Mississippi River. Then, in 1788, disaster struck. On Good Friday, a fire broke out in a house in the French Quarter. The wind spread it quickly across the wooden rooftops. Hundreds of buildings burned, and the church burned with them. Locals say the church bells stayed silent that day because of the holy feast, so no alarm was rung... a detail that is often repeated, and painful to imagine.

By then, New Orleans was no longer French. It had passed to Spain in the 1760s. So the rebuilding was a Spanish project, and it was paid for largely by one wealthy man, a Spanish nobleman named Andrés Almonester y Rojas. The new church was finished in the 1790s. Around the same time, it was raised to the rank of a cathedral, the seat of a bishop. Almonester himself is buried inside, beneath the floor, close to the altar he helped to pay for.

Here is the first surprise. Much of what you see today is not from the Spanish era at all. By the middle of the nineteenth century, the old building was considered too small and structurally weak. In the 1850s, it was largely rebuilt and enlarged under the French-born architect Jacques Nicolas Bussière de Pouilly. Parts of the older walls were kept, but the tall, slender spires and the overall profile are from this later work. So the cathedral is really a layered building, with Spanish bones and a nineteenth-century face.

Now look at the facade itself. It is smooth, pale, and simple compared with the grand cathedrals of Europe. The central spire is the tallest, flanked by two smaller towers on either side. Notice the clock set high in the front, and the columns that frame the main doors. The white surface is painted stucco over brick, which is common in this humid, low-lying city. Up close, you can often see small patches of repair, a reminder that heat, rain, and storms are constant companions here.

The cathedral does not stand alone. Glance to your left as you face it. That handsome building with arches is the Cabildo, where the Spanish colonial government once met. To your right is its near twin, the Presbytère. Together, the three buildings form one of the most balanced compositions in American city planning. The Cabildo is also where the formal transfer of Louisiana to the United States took place in 1803, after the famous Louisiana Purchase.

Turn around and look at the long red-brick buildings that line two sides of the square. These are the Pontalba Buildings, built in the 1840s and 1850s. And here is the second surprise. They were commissioned by a woman, the Baroness Micaela Almonester de Pontalba, the daughter of the very man who paid for the Spanish cathedral. She helped reshape this old parade ground into the elegant square you see now. Look for her family's initials, worked into the ironwork of the balconies.

In the centre of the square stands a bronze statue of Andrew Jackson on a rearing horse. Jackson led American forces at the Battle of New Orleans in 1815, against the British. The square was renamed in his honour, and the statue followed in the 1850s. For photographs, many visitors stand behind the statue, so that the horse and rider sit in front of the cathedral's three spires. It is one of the most recognisable views in the American South.

If the doors are open, step inside. The interior feels bright and calm after the noise of the square. Look up at the painted ceiling and the murals above the altar. Stained-glass windows line the walls, telling scenes from the life of Saint Louis. In 1964, the Pope gave the cathedral the honorary title of minor basilica, a mark of special importance in the Catholic Church. And in 1987, Pope John Paul the Second visited during his tour of the United States.

Remember that this is still a working parish. Masses, weddings, and funerals take place here every week. Lower your voice, dress modestly, and check before taking photographs during a service. The cathedral is often described as the oldest cathedral in continuous use in the United States. Whether or not you are religious, it is moving to think that people have gathered to pray on this ground through French, Spanish, and American rule.

Now walk around to the back of the building, along one of the narrow lanes that run beside it. One is Pirate's Alley. The other carries the name of Père Antoine, a much-loved Spanish priest of the early nineteenth century. Locals say his ghost still walks the alley on rainy mornings. Behind the cathedral is Saint Anthony's Garden, with a large white statue of Christ, arms raised. At night, floodlights throw its huge shadow onto the cathedral's rear wall. When Hurricane Katrina struck in 2005, the statue lost part of its hand, and many residents saw that damage as a symbol of their city.

Before you leave, come back to the front of the square. Watch the painters who hang their canvases on the iron fence. Listen for the brass players and the tarot readers calling out to passers-by. The cathedral has seen fire, changing flags, floods, and celebration. And yet, here it stands, white against the sky. As you walk away, turn once more and look back... the three spires, rising above the trees, are the same view that travellers have carried home from New Orleans for generations.