A painter's gorgeous sketches of England's great cathedrals

The cathedrals of England. What a picture of color and romance such a phrase conjures up! It seems to embrace the glowing history of this country. For hundreds of years these sentinels of man's genius have stood, the pageant of centuries eddying round them. Kings and queens have ruled and died, religious fanaticism and civil war have passed them by. 

While Drake raided the Indies, or the Spanish Armada swept up the Channel, Canterbury stood as it stands today, serene and beautiful, its bells ringing out over the quiet countryside. Four hundred years ago men saw its exquisite form as we see it now. 

Who can look unmoved at the surcoat hanging above the tomb of the Black Prince at Canterbury or see the scabbard of the sword he held in battle in the 14th century? Time seems nonexistent as we reconstruct this immortal figure of history. 

Masterpieces of many hands

Little is known of the actual designers of these superb monuments. Many hands went to their making, but the genius of their work is an endless source of wonder: poems in stone, glorious stained glass, and carving unsurpassed in any age. 

The Civil War shook their serenity a little; the fanaticism of Cromwell's soldiers despoiled them in some measure; but they survived and stand, showing scars which detract little from their beauty. 

(It took a village to build Europe’s Gothic cathedrals.)

I do not purpose to give a guidebook description of the cathedrals with this series of dry points. It will not come amiss, however, if I touch briefly on a few of the more interesting facts connected with some of them. Each has its own particular character and atmosphere, resulting from centuries of legend and fact. 

In writing of English cathedrals and all the romance surrounding them, one immediately thinks of Canterbury (Plate I). Founded by St. Augustine, who consecrated a Roman church already standing, it has been the scene of fire and pillage down the centuries. It was damaged by the Danes, burned the year after the Conquest, rebuilt, enlarged, until finally the cathedral as we see it today was completed in 1495. 

Glass removed as war precaution

Recently the most precious medieval stained glass has been removed from the windows of Canterbury and other cathedrals as a precaution against its destruction in wartime. 

Canterbury will always be associated with the murder and martyrdom of Thomas Becket. For centuries the pilgrimage to the martyr's tomb was one of the most popular in the Western church. It was at his shrine that Henry II made atonement by public penance. 

(Here's how you sculpt a medieval statue in the 21st century.)

A pulpit made from historic stones of Canterbury is one of the prized possessions of the Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul in Washington, D. C. 

Ely, dominating the countryside for miles, embracing every style of architecture from early Norman to late Perpendicular, stands a lasting tribute to man's genius (Plate V). Its wonderful Galilee Porch and decorated octagonal tower and lantern, to name only a few of its glories, make one realize how little we have advanced today in the creation of the beautiful. To what building can we point in our own age that will so enthrall the beholder for hours with exquisite carving, stained glass, and superb architecture? 

Often, as I walked in these cathedrals, I endeavored to reconstruct the scene of the actual building. What were these long departed men like? From what plans did they work? How were the masses of masonry raised to their final resting places? We talk lightly today of genius; the builders of these cathedrals certainly deserve that title. 

Stalking a cathedral 

One of the chief difficulties I encountered in obtaining my sketches of exteriors was to find a point of view. In almost every case a cathedral is in the center of the city, surrounded by buildings, ecclesiastical and otherwise, which have grown up through the centuries. Streets are almost always narrow, and, while lovely glimpses are caught from various angles, it is a matter of considerable difficulty to get a clear view which will do justice to the subject. 

Nearly always there is a good point of view, but so close that the perspective is overpowering and, when sketched, suggests distortion. The discovery, therefore, of the ideal place from which to get a sketch which would be comprehensive and yet good in composition called for a considerable amount of exploration. 

Frequently a fine distant view could be found, but too far away to be practical for drawing. Ely Cathedral was a good illustration of this. Although it stands high and dominates the surrounding country, it was rapidly lost to view on nearer approach. Intervening trees and buildings hid it until I had driven right up to the cathedral itself. 

Having investigated the possibilities of a close-up sketch, I drove slowly away down roads radiating from the city, stopping constantly to look back. Time after time conditions seemed to be developing well, only to be spoiled by some obstruction. 

At last I found the view in Plate V. This was too near to show the whole cathedral, but the composition seemed good and I was able to get a satisfactory view of the lantern tower. 

Westminster, where kings are crowned

Westminster Abbey presented many difficulties. The interior is cluttered with Victorian sculptured groups, vast heroic statues embodying all the flamboyant heraldry of the period, plaques and busts without number. Movements have been set on foot at times to remove many of the larger groups to some more fitting place and so to reveal the simple beauty of this national treasure, but so far they have met with no success. 

The exterior is equally difficult. I found only one point of view from which the abbey could be well seen and that a frontal one. This, however, could not be regarded as satisfactory. At last it seemed to me that the fine Rose Window in the south transept was as characteristic as any aspect (Plate XVI). 

Each one of these cathedrals has some feature of interest peculiar to itself. 

It is at Gloucester (Plate XIV) that the vaulting shows the earliest example of fan tracery, afterward copied in the Henry VII Chapel at Westminster. The wooden effigy of Robert, Duke of Normandy, eldest son of the Conqueror, is of great interest, and also the tomb of Edward II, who was murdered at Berkeley Castle and buried here in 1327. 

Winchester is so rich in history that it is difficult to speak of it briefly (Plate II). Here the earliest kings came to worship and were buried; Egbert, first King of all England, lies here; so do Ethelwulf, Canute, Hardicanute, and William Rufus. Here was crowned Edward the Confessor and this cathedral saw the pomp of Mary's marriage to Philip of Spain. 

Wells is famed for its wonderful front, fine stained glass, and 350 sculptured figures (Plate VI). 

Salisbury's beautiful 14th-century spire dominates the plain, and gleams like a jewel in the sun (Plate VIII). Floodlighted at night as I have seen it, the spire of Salisbury seems unreal. 

A legend of Lichfield

Lichfield with its three spires presented one of my chief difficulties from a sketching standpoint. Near-by buildings and large trees screened many a promising view, but at last by dint of searching I found the setting shown in Plate VII. 

There is a legend connected with Lichfield for the truth of which I cannot vouch, and yet the facts seem to bear it out. In the right center of the picture of this cathedral is a large house obscuring to some extent an otherwise delightful view. The story goes that two sisters lived together in a residence overlooking the cathedral. Some unfortunate family difference having disturbed the tranquillity of the home, one sister departed and expressed her feelings by deliberately building this house with the idea of ruining the view. In this she was largely successful. 

Now I have a confession to make which invoked artistic license. I do not think that anyone seeing the cathedral from the standpoint from which my sketch was made would realize the liberty I took. The house was three stories, I made it two. This is my only digression from absolute truth. 

Fine view—from a police station

Durham, one of the finest of all English cathedrals, presented no difficulties in finding a setting. The problem was rather one of choice. I arrived in Durham on a lovely summer's evening, and, having dined, set out on a tour of the city. At last I came on the view seen in Plate XI. 

I was most anxious to work from my car, since in the event of sudden rain, not unknown in these islands, I could close the windows and continue to draw. 

Unfortunately my choice of position was immediately outside the gates of the Durham Constabulary Headquarters. I approached the Inspector of Police, and was told that the place I had selected was out of the question, since forty police cars entered and left the gates during the day. 

What to do, then? Below me was a steep hill; if I went forward the view was lost. However, the Inspector helpfully suggested that I should go to an inn close by and see what it afforded in the way of a window with a good view. 

It was a happy thought and the proprietors were kindness itself. The innkeeper's wife lent me an excellent room with an even better view than the one I had found from the car. 

How a dry point is made

It might be of interest if I digress here to give a brief description of the process by which a dry-point engraving is produced, since the originals from which the plates are made are dry points. Technically, the making of a dry point and an etching are two distinct processes, although the result, except to an expert eye, is very similar. 

The first stage is, of course, to obtain the actual pencil drawing. In this case all the drawings are sketches made at the cathedrals. The drawing is then transferred to a copper plate by pressure, the plate having been previously coated with wax or grease. The result is an image of the drawing on the copper plate in reverse. 

This image is then cut line by line with a steel or diamond point. When the whole plate has been cut, it is inked all over with a soft pad and the surplus ink is wiped off, leaving only the ink in the cut lines. 

On the plate is laid a sheet of paper which has been thoroughly damped. Plate and paper are then passed through a heavy press, with the result that the whole of the inked area is transferred to the paper and appears as seen in the plates. 

Salisbury delights the artist’s eye

One of my easiest problems was Salisbury (Plate VIII). This cathedral stands on the edge of the city in an ideal setting from the standpoint of the artist. In the midst of open water meadows with the Wiltshire Avon flowing close beside, it rises serene and lovely. 

One of Constable's finest pictures was painted here. It is true that an inhabitant of the city whom I questioned on arrival as to the best point of view from which to see the cathedral replied that I could not do better than to look at it from the place from which Whistler painted it. He had his artists mixed. Such is fame. 

The drawings of interiors presented fewer difficulties. They were simply a matter of choosing one of a number of fine views and trying to give some interesting and characteristic feature, such as the inverted arch in the plate of Wells, or to suggest the interior, as at York Minster (Plates VI and X). I was disappointed at York on finding that the famous Five Sisters Window was completely hidden by scaffolding. Its priceless glass has now been removed as a war precaution. 

I think Whitby gave me as much pleasure as any of the series (Plate XIII). My journey there from York was the loveliest drive imaginable—over the Yorkshire moors, mile upon mile of glorious undulating moorland untouched by the hand of man, cloud shadows and sun glints slowly moving across the landscape, and in the distance occasional glimpses of the faraway silver of the North Sea. 

The abbey itself is perched high on a headland opposite the red-roofed town of Whitby. Here, as the dry point shows, I had little difficulty in selecting a good point of view. Founded in the seventh century, the abbey shows even in its ruined state the remains of a superb building. Only the shell now remains, but as you walk through the ruins its magnificence can be imagined. What a picture it must have presented and what a setting, high above the sea—too big a temptation, alas, for the Danish raiders who destroyed the original building in 867. 

While sketching the abbey, I had a visit from a gypsy woman. She walked over from a caravan which stood on the far side of the field where I was working. She paid little attention to my drawing, but, evidently feeling lonely, just wished to talk. 

When my work was completed, she invited me to come over to the caravan in which she and her husband and small boy lived. The interior was spotlessly clean, with polished brasses and a coal stove. We sat and talked for half an hour and no question of money was even hinted at. 

On leaving, I knew that times were hard with them. Their sole means of livelihood was fortunetelling among the visitors to the abbey. The weather was bad and few visitors came. I had difficulty in persuading the gypsy woman to take a small present, and her assurances about my future were ample repayment. 

I made a sketch of her and you may see her on the right of the abbey, a small figure with a bucket on her arm crossing to a near-by farm for water (Plate XIII). 

Through the byways of England

As an artist I have had a most interesting life, possibly more active than many in my profession in that my work has taken me to many parts of the world—Iran, Spain, the West Indies, and up the Amazon, to name only a few. But of all the commissions that I have been called upon to undertake, none has given me more pleasure than the search for material in making this series of drawings for the Cathedrals of England. I drove myself, and my way led through most of this beautiful island. 

If one takes to the quiet byways, it is quickly realized that rural England is far from spoiled. There are villages untouched by new housing, farms tucked away in quiet valleys, parklands and mellow country houses, a profusion of hedgerows, wild flowers, and an endless variety of bird life. 

As one rounds a bend in the road, a beautiful tapering spire, grayish gold in the morning sun, appears far away, only to be lost behind the trees. Soon it is seen again, nearer, the delicate tracery of its stone showing more clearly, with jackdaws wheeling round its towers. 

(See how stonemasons keep England’s oldest cathedrals standing tall.)

The jackdaw seems to be part of the atmosphere of a cathedral. For centuries these delightful birds have held almost a monopoly of nesting places. Without them one would feel something lacking; their cheerful chatter adds to the scene. 

And now appear the red roofs of houses tucked up close to the cathedral, almost seeming to seek shelter beneath the great building that towers above them. 

If one's approach happens to be on a still Sunday morning, the pealing of bells is heard far away, suggesting an atmosphere of peace it is difficult to describe. 

Whatever may happen to posterity in its unceasing struggle, I believe that these monuments of man's faith will still stand, and the people of the dim future will look at these masterpieces in stone and marvel at the hands that fashioned them.