Gargoyles

The cathedral in the Black Forest city of Freiburg is a lovely building.  It may not be as flashy as it’s cross-border neighbor in Strasbourg, but its gothic tower suitably lords over the historic streets and alleys of Freiburg’s altstadt (“old city”),  drawing tourists like moths to a porch light.  And filling the bug-zapper role in my summer patio allegory are the tourist trap boutiques and bistros that line the cathedral square.  So while my wife and daughters were prowling for souvenirs, the boys and I were left to admire the architectural splendor of this 13th-century edifice.  And then my son spotted something, high upon a nondescript side tower.  “Check out that gargoyle!” he said, with an excitement that the ornate wood carvings and stained-glass windows had been unable to arouse.

Now, it’s said that a shark can smell blood through a quarter-mile of open ocean, and that an eagle can spot a rabbit from a mile away.  And as impressive as they may be, these heroic feats of sensory acumen pale in comparison to the otherworldly ability of 10-year-old boys to find poop jokes.  For among the hundreds of sculpted adornments that hung on the building, he had found the only one that wasn’t facing the square.  It was instead presenting a different aspect to the assembled masses; a sandstone moon that hadn’t set in almost 800 years.

We happened to have visited on a clear, crisp, autumn afternoon.  I imagine that it’s only during a rainstorm that this drainage feature achieves the full (and largely off-putting) effect the artist intended.  Nonetheless, it instantly became the most interesting thing on the square.

Those of you expecting a diatribe on how an otherwise educational historical visit was sullied by junior high school potty humor are clearly missing the point.  Little things like this backwards gargoyle are precisely why we should take children to see these sites.  For example, after seeing the plumbing of this particular figure, my son is unlikely to ever forget the difference between gargoyles (wild architectural sculptures that drain rainwater) and grotesques (wild architectural sculptures that don’t.)  But more importantly, it allows him to share a snicker with 10-year-old boys from the distant past, and with 10-year-old boys for years to come.  That kind of connection can’t be found in a book. 

After all, there are many ways for a child to learn history, but spotting a rectal rainspout helps make history something a child wants to learn.