A German mason brings ancient techniques to a 149-year-old cathedral in Albany, N. Y.

Story by Elizabeth Benjamin / Sept. 4, 2001

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Restoration is under way at Albany's Church of the Immaculate Conception.

Ludwig Pauli jabs an index finger into a small crack between two sandstone blocks, then wiggles it vigorously. The mortar, near the base of the 149-year-old Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception in Albany, N.Y., had appeared solid, but now it crumbles easily, spilling in chunks onto the ground. “You see?” Pauli says, triumphantly. “The mortar may be more important than the stone. There’s a lot going on here, a whole puzzle. Setting stone is very easy. But how to construct the walls, that’s very, very complicated.”

Pauli, 52, has been erecting stone walls—and taking them down—for more than two decades. Trained in his native Germany, Pauli came to the United States in May to be the master mason for the restoration of the Albany cathedral, the seat of the local Roman Catholic diocese, which includes 14 counties.

His first American project is a prestigious one: the nation’s largest ongoing sandstone restoration. Phase one will take up to three years and cost $8 million. It entails replacing every sandstone block, each about 100 pounds, from the cathedral’s north tower and clerestory walls (about 18,000 cubic feet worth of blocks). Pauli hopes to also replace cast-stone decorative elements added in 1938 with hand-carved stone, returning the neo-Gothic cathedral as close to its original state as possible.

Like the medieval stonemasons who journeyed from one job to another, Pauli has worked at building sites throughout Germany and in Switzerland. He specializes in age-old techniques, including hand carving and using slaked lime mortar—techniques unfamiliar even to many European masons in this age of poured cement. “I always liked the stories, you know, of those old builders who did everything by hand,” Pauli says. “I always wanted to do something very physically hard—I was not happy studying. I wanted to do something with my hands, something I could see.”

Pauli’s knowledge of how the great cathedrals of Europe were built centuries ago is the main reason he was hired for the Albany project. Similar projects he has worked on include the restoration of the Kaisheim Cathedral, near Augsburg in Bavaria. That structure, built in the 1100s as a house of worship for the monks in a nearby monastery, has sandstone walls that were laid entirely by hand, several centuries later.

Diocesan officials in Albany hope that Pauli’s experience (and his adherence to ancient practices) will help their cathedral withstand at least another century of harsh northeastern weather. Following Pauli’s advice, they have chosen to avoid modern treatments—which can be dangerous, particularly for a very porous rock like sandstone—that supposedly extend the life of stone by preventing water from penetrating it.

Nothing, after all, can keep stone 100 percent moisture free, and synthetic coatings make it difficult for any droplets that do find their way in to exit. As a result, water remains locked in the stone, rapidly destroying it from the inside out.

Stonemasons in Europe traditionally begin their training when they are teenagers. By that standard, Pauli was a late bloomer. He was raised in southern Bavaria, where his stepfather worked in a granite quarry. Despite that early introduction to stone, Pauli did not become an apprentice until he was 23, when he started working for a gravestone company.

Years of wrestling with stone have molded both Pauli’s body (he is a compact man, more sinewy than muscle-bound, with heavily veined forearms) and his disposition. He admits to being “hardheaded” and as unyielding as his chosen medium when he gets in an argument—particularly when it’s about his work. He says he is struggling to navigate the American way of doing business; the tendency to hold dozens of meetings before making a decision both baffles and frustrates him. But he is trying to learn to be as patient with the system here as he is when coaxing a subtle curve from a granite block. “It’s an artistic and a structural challenge and also an adventure,” he says. “I am committed to make it work. That’s why I came.”

Elizabeth Benjamin is a freelance writer in Cambridge, Mass.