A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown. -- William Butler Yeats

The way in which the mythic elements of the mermaid's existence have developed over the centuries has always fascinated me. I believe that the legendary beauty attributed to mermaids, as well as the importance of their toilette (the comb and mirror), results from wishful thinking or, if you like, embarrassment, on the parts of sailors and seamen who perpetuate these myths. If a sailor, long at sea and lonely as salt, succumbed to the charms of a dugong or manatee, of a seal or other sloe-eyed creature of the sea, shouldn't he naturally want to, uh, romanticize the experience? If there truly exists a sea creature with breasts, expressive facial features, etc., then it's not too far-fetched to assume that humans would attempt to justify their sexual trespassings by mythologizing the creature into something beautiful and mysterious. This might also help explain the legendary seductive prowess of the mermaid's beauty, and the often deadly lure (isn't that what fishermen call their bait?) of her singing. The taboos surrounding sex between humans and animals are just too deeply ingrained for the mermaid to remain a mere mammal in the eyes (and hearts) of those men compelled to make love to her.

One thing that confounds my love of the English painter Waterhouse is that he uses the same model for so many of his paintings, from his famous The Mermaid, to La Belle Dame Sans Merci, to Circe, to Ophelia. Several of these have connections to Arthurian legend, but it is his portrayal of the mermaid which is somehow more magical than any other heroine he has painted from the annals of myth. Is it a cruel joke that a man named "Waterhouse" should create so many paintings whose primary element is water? Think of his two most famous works: The Lady of Shalott in her lonely boat.

And The Mermaid, endlessly perched at the ocean's edge.

She sits upon ancient, sea-hewn rock, combing her long hair, a shell dripping with pearl necklaces and other aquatic treasure beside her. She gazes with intensity at something we cannot see, her eyes (the blue of frozen oceans) fastened, perhaps, upon the waves, awaiting a ship, awaiting a sailor... will she fall in love? Will he? Shall he be dragged, salt-drunk, down and down into her kingdom of coral, her bed of vermilion anemones? Shall he swim at her side, willingly, down and down until his lungs burst, his last thought that he has never seen anything so beautiful as her golden hair? Or will she be the one tempted, to leave the sea, her sisters, her mirrors, her combs, to relinquish her melodious voice, to split her tail in searing agony, so that she may walk beside him on dry, dry earth? What, precisely, is the nature of seduction? What is its price?

(the above is excerpted from an article I wrote a while back..I was actually looking for a mermaid poem I wrote for the same magazine but this is all I could find...p'raps you can all envision its waterlogged pages washing up on the deck?)

Peg