In essence, it was one of those raw medieval messaging techniques for reminding people of the real possibility of eternal damnation.
(Needless to say, the historical documentation for said incident is scarce.)Īs per the legend, the practice of posting scary-looking creatures peering down at people from the eaves of cathedrals eventually caught on and became a standard part of Gothic cathedral design. So now you have the backstory for cathedral gargoyles. Unfortunately, the serpentine head and throat refused to be consumed by the flames whereupon the people tacked up the remains of the beast prominently on the town’s cathedral as a token of thanksgiving to God and as a warning to any other dragons that thought they could mess with a saint. The legend goes on to say that in the wake of this glorious victory of the Cross over evil, the people slaughtered and burned the dragon. (Even back then, bishops were careful.) Just kidding. Today, the good bishop’s dragon-catching methods would be considered – mmm – ethically suspect, but I have it on good authority that the prisoner signed a release form absolving the diocese of all liability in the event of sudden death by devouring. When the dragon lurched out of the river to feast on a nice juicy criminal, the courageous bishop subdued the menace by the Sign of the Cross. The bishop of Rouen at the time, Saint Romain, came and lured his reptilian prey out of the water by dangling in front of it a condemned prisoner who was promised freedom if he would serve as bait – such a deal! So the townsfolk, in turn, did the thing that all medieval societies did when they had a problem: they called in a saint. The word “gargoyle” comes from French folklore, which held that an evil dragon, called La Gargouille, once lived in the River Seine in Paris and caused havoc by setting things on fire, sinking ships, and eating all who opposed him – basically all the things mythical dragons do.
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