I found a parking spot, paid my $10, admired the play of the light through the stained glass windows on the stones, and took an elevator to the 7th floor. A docent presented a short slide show and lecture on what we would see, along with a few stories and general history. It seems that gargoyles and grotesques go way back—the Temple of Karnak has them as does Fenway Park. I learned the difference between a gablet and a pinnacle and the definition of a termination molding. Then we all rode back down to the ground and began the tour.
Of course, the docent pointed out the grotesque of Darth Vader, a carving visible as a dot way up on the North Tower (“the dark side of the Cathedral”). We saw, also way up and only discernible through binoculars, one of two medieval-style gargoyles. It seems that back in the dark ages, carvers lacked the technology to cut a hole through stone so the gargoyles of that period were done with a trough on the top…huh, who knew? He also pointed out the pair of folded hands and explained that, although most people think that they are clasped in prayer, a closer examination shows they are, in fact, gripping a golf club. What else is there to do on a pleasant Sunday?
One paired pair of gargoyles is popular with the spotters—a wealthy grandmother commissioned a pair of sculptures in honor of her two grandsons. One is shown holding a schoolbook, gazing upwards, halo firmly planted. The other, right next to it, is shown raiding the cookie jar, broken halo askew. Grandma never said which was which…wise lady.
I spent most of the tour shooting the small carvings on the termination moldings—the end bits of the gablets. Not gargoyles (all gargoyles are grotesques, but not all grotesques are gargoyles) since they lacked the spout (same root as the word “gargle”), the termination moldings are smaller and for the most part, more whimsical.
Cats and dogs peeked out the limestone. There were dragons aplenty, stylized birds, even a winged mouse.
A hippy, complete with protest sign, stash bag, and horn (??) slung over his shoulder, peered into an upper floor window. (“You have to remember,” said the docent, “that this was the sixties.”)
We soon noticed that many of the gablet terminations were in pairs—an octopus and a lobster, ostensibly ingredients in that particular stone cutter’s favorite seafood salads, shared one gablet.
Another set was left uncarved, a tribute to the one stone-cutter who died in an accident.
The best, however, is a pair depicting Master Stone-carver Vincent Palumbo and the Episcopal Bishop at the time. It seems Mr. Palumbo had an eye for the ladies (as do all Italians) and would often have his lunch on the side of the Cathedral facing the girls’ school. His admiration of the young ladies often included a wolf whistle (remember, these were the sixties, an all together more innocent time). The Bishop, whose carving shows a well-worn shoe, a tribute to his ceaseless fund raising, often admonished the Master Carver over his behavior. Mr. Palumbo assured His Eminence that his motives were purely platonic and continued his sylvan lunches. The Bishop is depicted holding his hands to his head, mouth agape in shock, reacting to Palumbo’s behavior and presumably praying for the Master Carver to stay out of Hell.
Gothic cathedrals are built to last and over a long period of time-Notre Dame was begun in the eleven hundreds, Chartes even earlier. The cathedral of Ulm in Germany was not complete for nearly 600 years. National Cathedral only took 100 years to build (1907-2007), but I expect it will be around for a thousand years. Future visitors will marvel at the archetecture and smile at the gargoyles. I hope someone still gets the jokes.
