A Mermaid's Longing...

Here is the beautiful Medieval mermaid, long-ago carved onto a pew at Zennor church near my old home in the countryside in Cornwall. I would love to see it again and wander over moors as we used to as children, then taking it all for granted and now longing to appreciate wth adult eyes the expanses of rugged land, granite outcrops and the sea.

Above is a poem written by my Dad some time ago; one that he had actually forgotten about until it rose up from the past, washed up into present consciousness, like an unexpected treasure from the oceans of memory that a long lifetime holds. Happy Father's Day!

I myself had forgotten having mentioned The Forsaken Merman by the Victorian poet Matthew Arnold in one of my early blog posts. This was apparently a poem my grandmother used to recite to her children - one of those being by Dad of course - and it had in turn inspired him to write his own version of the tale, as shown here. PS - The underwater background photo by Vincenzo Di Giorgi on Unsplash

And finally one of my hoards of seashells, which along with sea glass - 'mermaids' tears' - are truly precious finds of such beauty. These are still guarded over by a rather faded, felt mermouse that used to be accompanied by a little collection of land-bound mice dressed in their frounced finery, all of whom I made quite a number of years ago for my children... all slightly worn and ragged now from the seas of time!

Mermaids in the MUDO at Beauvais - Les Sirènes au Musée de l'Oise à Beauvais....

Main building of the Episcopal Palace at Beauvais

Just opposite the romanesque Basse-Œuvre church that is attached to the Saint Pierre cathedral at Beauvais is the Musée de l’Oise (Le MUDO). This museum is housed in the former episcopal palace, the residence of the bishops of Beauvais, counts and peers of the realm, and dates back to the 12th century. It was initially built under the orders of Henri de France, son of King Louis VI ‘Le Gros’, who was Bishop of Beauvais before becoming Archibishop of Reims in 1162. A fortified entrance flanked by two towers was constructed in the 14th century in order to impose the episcopal authority on the unruly inhabitants of Beauvais, who had led a protest riot over the issue of tax increases. The construction work was financed by a fine levied on the bourgeois so it is probably safe to assume that the towers would have been a source of resentment for the people of the town.

Passing through this impressive porterie today, the visitor enters the enclosure of the palace that ‘Le grand bâtisseur’, Louis de Villiers, restored in the 16th century. The ornate gardens set off the elegance of the main building which combined flamboyant gothic and Renaissance features to great effect.

Although I did visit the museum’s art collection, it was in fact, part of the mural decorations in the original 14th century towers that caught my attention far more than some of those stodgy early-19th century Neoclassical paintings. Within one of the fortified towers, with its fairy-tale pointed slate roof is a discrete treasure - four ephemeral mermaid figures that seem to float above us on the vaulted ceiling. This fresco with its enigmatic vision of feminity offered my eyes a welcome respite from some of those hefty, heaving female forms of the MUDO collection.

This ceiling painting probably dates back to 1310-1320, shortly after the construction of the entrance. The function of the rooms within the towers is not clear. The presence of latrines and fireplaces indicates that they were inhabited, and it is assumed that some members of the bishop’s household occupied these spaces, rather than the main body of the palace itself. Were they used by members of the clergy or by the wealthy, prestigious family of the bishop, Simon de Clermont de Nesle? The nature of the intended audience would generally affect how the mermaids were to be interpreted; the simple presence of these fishy females was always significant.

Our modern-day image of the mermaid is that of a magical symbol of beauty, peace, light and grace, often associated with rainbows, unicorns and the like. However, these mythological hybrids have a far murkier reputation and legends abound of their sinister practices in cultures around the world. In the epic poem Odyssey, Homer’s malefic mermaids lured sailors onto the rocks with their bewitching siren songs, driving the unsuspecting males to their death. For Ovid, the sirens were the companions of the young Persephone who was destined to be the Queen of the Underworld. It was Demeter, her mother, who had given the sirens wings in order to search for her daughter who had been abducted by Hades. By the Middle Ages, mermaids had largely lost their wings, but had kept their symbolic fish tail and their wicked ways. The mermaid became symbolic of the lascivious female in general, flaunting her feminine charms to ensnare any man foolish enough to fall prey to her attributes. Most mermaid figures were shown playing musical instruments, as is the case here in Beauvais, and often carry a mirror and comb with which to preen themselves. The tempting yet treacherous nature of the mermaid had already been documented in the Bestiaire d’Amour of Richard de Fournival, dating back to the mid 13th century.

        "There are three kinds of siren ; two of which are half-woman, half-fish. The third is
         half-woman, half-bird… Their melody is so pleasant that nobody can hear it without wanting to                        draw close." 

Richard de Fournival, Bestiaire d'amour, 

Were these Beauvais sirens intended to warn the unsuspecting abstinent clergy of the dangers of the flesh, from a moral, God-fearing point of view ? Or, on the contrary, were they supposed to titillate the senses and satisfy aesthetic tastes of the profane red-blooded male? Many private chapels of the period were decorated with musical angels, that partly reflected the custom for chivalry and courtoisie with grand musical celebrations. Perhaps the image of mermaid musicians was used as a mischievous take on the musicians – les ménestrels - of the time? Certainly, the Middle Ages saw a fascination with many hybrid creatures and shape-shifters that embodied the ambigious, scandalous or sinful aspects of life itself. Many of these beasts would appear as marginalia, that is to say, figures decorating the borders of the main body of illuminated texts. These ornate manuscripts served the same role as stained-glass windows – informing a largely illiterate public through visual representation – and these marginalia underlined their central message.

In the tower, however, the mermaids do not occupy a marginal position, but rather a key one as they float around the intersection of the rib-vault ceiling. They seem to be the main focus of the artist rather than a quirky after-thought, unlike the usual drôleries (grotesques). Furthermore, these mermaids do not appear to be particularly ill-intentioned, even if they do have the long golden hair, voluptuous nude forms and long scaly, swishing tails of their evil sisters.

The cornemuse (left)  and the viol

Today, the room itself seems rather sober, which seems to makes the ceiling glow all the more. The bold ochre and terracotta colours are set next to slate-grey and the strange dotted decorations along the ribs and background seem to bring out the the curved, pale bodies of the mermaids themselves. Applied a secco on the stone itself, the painting has survived the centuries, unlike the rest of the original paint work in the room. Indeed, restoration work in 2013 revealed traces of decoration on the walls and around the windows that indicate that the room must have been as bright and eye-catching as the ceiling and would have created a very different impression to the one today.

The viol

The musical instruments that the sirènes hold lead us to further questions. One mermaid plays a large cornemuse, a French equivalent of the bagpipes, whilst another holds a viol, a violin-shaped instrument. A third musician plays a galoubet or flûte de tambourin, which is a three-hole pipe wind instrument, intended to be played in one hand whilst the other beats a snare drum – the 'tabor' –from the French word for drum; tambour. Finally, a fourth mermaid holds onto the elongated form of a trompette marine, appropriate in the context, one would think. However, the name is misleading since this instrument is neither related to the sea nor the brass family.

The trompette marine

This is in fact a bowed string instrument, producing the sound of a trumpet so that it was often used in convents instead of actual trumpets which were generally played by men alone. Instead of any association with wanton female seduction, the marine trumpet appears to have been closely linked to the culte marial, the Catholic devotion to the Virgin Mary. Marine was itself a deformation of the adjective marial ; in German, the instrument is known as the marientrompete or the nonnengeige – the nuns’ fiddle. Originally a monocorde instrument whose string was plucked, as in the painting here, later the marine trumpet had several strings played with a bow.

                                  EVO & L'Almodí - Alleluia / Quia ergo femina (6/10) - Auditorio Ciudad de León 7/5/2011

So all in all, these four mermaids continue to taunt their viewers, though not in the same manner as they originally did. We may not be sensitive to their particular powers of seduction today in the same way as our ancestors and certainly do not need to be warned of the dangers of the flesh but these mysterious figures still fascinate us. The simple fact that they have survived all these centuries makes their beauty all the more remarkable and humbling.

The galoubet or flûte de tambourin

I knew a little mermaid...

I knew a little mermaid, happy to hide teasingly away and play mischievious games of one kind or another...

With a hint of a smile, even when concealed...

And those eyes missing nothing... Be that near...

Or in the distance...

And of a colour brought out by all around, to startling effect...

That flowing hair, running down on land...

As in sea...

With a radiant smile, wherever, for the present moment...

 Or for future wishes...

Still there somewhere, despite the natural sea change with its tides and currents... The turmoil of teenage years...

Surely never that far off in time or space... You just need to know where to look. And then to wait and wait...

Mermaid Mirror... Beach-combing treasures and the Perfect Beaches of Porthcurno and Pedn Vounder!

Pedn-Vounder beach, near Porthcurno...

 Spring is on its way here again; quite a feat this year as many of the plants didn’t make it through the harsh winter weather as temperatures here regularly fell to below 10°C. Nevertheless the determined daffodil blades and revived pansies flowering again after the permafrost of late January point to a gradual change in season. While the cold, steely skies were still setting the mood a few weeks ago I started to make another mermaid mirror in order to think of brighter horizons and warmer atmospheres; the summer, in short, but not just anywhere! 
These shells I picked up from the beaches around and about the Penzance region last year.

Some come from the most unassuming beaches (I don’t know how far Battery Rocks in PZ could really be called a beach, despite its pebbles and swimming point), and truly appear to be small, unexpected treasures... 
 Others come from far more spectacular, scenic parts of the coast.

Mirror, mirror on the wall - sadly not the most photogenic of them all...

Most of the ones here (barring the much bigger ones which must have come from exotic destinations very far-removed from Cornwall) were found on the coves around Porthcurno. 
Porthcurno, from the Cornish Porth Kernow – ‘Port of Cornwall’ is approximately 14km from Penzance and then about 4.5km from Land’s End - the latter being the most extreme point of the British mainland. Accessible by winding country roads that are fantastic to ride down by bike (and a nightmare to ride back up again), and maybe even more breath-taking by bus and nerve-racking around the narrow bends, Porthcurno and the surrounding area offer incredible views of the coastland, cliffs and sea.

Burning bright Montbretia...

  From the top of the cliffs where the Minack Theatre is carved from granite, partially into the very stones themselves, you can look over Porthcurno and the string of other coves that lead towards Logan Rock, along the Treen cliffs. Radiant in summer and dramatic in winter it truly deserves its nomination as one of the most beautiful bays in the world. 

 Walking from the tiny village of Treen, along the South West Coastal Footpath through fields and farmland and then tracing a sometimes perilous path along the cliffs, before finally descending through wooded land you experience Porthcurno in all its glory. Taking this route, as opposed to going straight to the Porthcurno valley itself and then parking in the large carpark there means that you manage to reach destination whilst maintaining the magical, natural feel of the area and somehow don't seem to notice the many other visitors and the facilities set out for tourists and local inhabitants.

 Passing the beautiful Pedn Vounder beach along the coastal path, with its tantalizing stretch of golden sand and turquoise sea, and its racy reputation as a naturist site I had always wondered how people managed to scale and scrabble their way there unscathed. This time we went down ourselves, but with great trepidation, on my part at least, because although no one else seemed to be daunted by the descent I most certainly was! I wasn’t as much concerned about my rock-navigation skills as those of the children who haven't really had any such experience. I was astounded by the number of families, babies, toddlers and elderly folk included, fully kitted out with voluminous bags blithely heading down the tortuous track. These people looked totally unfazed by the experience, whilst I felt physically sick especially when the man behind us slipped and dropped the nervous puppy he'd been carrying - I was practically having kittens by this stage, but we'd already reached the point of no return and had to push on regardless. 

Snaking sand patterns...

However we did finally touch down onto the golden sand without any traumatic turns (the puppy was fine), but I vowed to take another route for the ascent...which we duly did. Nevertheless the final arrival was marked by the children’s shrieks on discovering that Pedn Vounder is indeed frequented by naturists… and mine on (re)discovering just how cold the water actually is on this part of the coast! 

The beach is fairly safe, just as long as you do not allow yourself to get stranded by incoming tides. There are no sand shelves that suddenly dip down, leading you out of your depth or wild waves to bowl you off your feet and then pummel you in the undertow.  All of these characterize the beach at Porthcurno and mean that lifeguards have to be ever-vigilant. Yet these elements add to the general excitement of beach for children and parents alike as sudden rogue waves come crashing up the beach to drench unsuspecting visitors and swallow up their belongings. To say that the water temperature is bracing seems to be understating matters, as the water seems to bite into (city-dwelling) flesh. Just as I would reluctantly come out of the water, blue-lipped and numb as a child, my children do now...but I will only very reluctantly enter the water today. As part of a strategy to avoid going into the sea this time, I started beach-combing and came across many of the small shells that now decorate my mirror and that are said to be one of the main components of the sand at Pedn Vounder.

Towards Logan Rock..

On the left of the beach is the Logan Rock, balanced on the top of the Teryn Dinas cliffs. The natural monument, formed by erosion brought about by the elements, no longer rocks or ‘logs’ as it once had done. Indeed, the rock had to be fixed back into its original position, at great expense and effort, following an act of hooliganism which saw a drunken group of sailors dislodge the 80-ton mass in the early 19^th century. Today's graffiti and petty theft seem pretty minor dismeanours in comparison to that wrecker's party...

The Logan Rock may have brought a certain fame, and limited fortune to the inhabitants of the area, but it was to be the vital role that Porthcurno played in global communications later in the century that made the region famous on an international scale. 

Old mirror - reflecting the toilet space behind!

 From the 1870’s underwater cables were brought to terminate in Porthcurno, linking Great Britain to its empire, first with India, and then Australia. Operations were increased and cable station facilities rendered more sophisticated over the following decades. The initial Eastern Telegraph Company (ETC) expanded to the point that between the two world wars Porthcurno was the largest submarine cable station in the world. Indeed, ETC merged with Marconi’s Wireless Telegraph Company in 1928 and after several subsequent changes of name finally become known as Cable and Wireless Worldwide. Such communication activity made Porthcurno an obvious target during wartime and therefore measures were taken to defend and fortify the zone. Tunnels that were protected by concrete defences were bored into the surrounding granite to store telegraph equipment. I presume that the concrete steps that lead up the rocks on the right-hand-side of the beach are the remains of some of these fortifications. When I was a child I used to think these were the sad ruins of someone’s strange beach house and could never work out if this must have been a great place to live (summer months) or terrifying (wild winter seas)… 

Steps outside the Minack - you have to pay to get nearer - unfortunate for a flying visit...

We scrambled up these same rocks a few years ago to look at the marine life that seems to try to outdo the theatrics taking place in the Minack Theatre above. Dolphins come and go, enticing the crowds, but the sea creatures that really keep the audience captivated are the enormous basking sharks. These swim into the bay, their eery black triangle visible when in the water (the children got out very quickly that day!) and their shadowy mass moving slowly, easy to follow from the rocks above. Even if these sharks are totally harmless, their sheer volume and the ease with which they coast the shoreline - undaunted by man - is truly humbling. 

Beach-combed shells - with two 'imposters'...

 But with or without the sharks, the whole Porthcurno coastline is unforgettable – for beach-combers, bathers and lovers of natural beauty alike. My next trip there is far on the horizon, so in the meantime I'll have to content myself with looking at old photos, making another mermaid mirror or maybe thinking about mermaids...or rather one particular little mermaid...

A seasonally city-bound mermaid...

A mention of mermen

Aix-en-Provence

Like their female counterpart, mermen are legendary beings - of half-man, half-fish form with the ability to enchant and entrance with their siren-song. Like the mermaid again, mermen have had a chequered past and varied reputation over the ages - once considered highly ugly and of malevolent intent, and then later thought to be dashingly attractive creatures, ready to aid sailors with their great knowledge of the seas. The merman features in many cultures - Greek mythology, Icelandic folklore, Dogon mythology and was a Mexican and Peruvian deity too, amongst others...


With his conch shell and three-pronged trident, Triton, son of Poseidon and Amphitrite in Greek mythology is perhaps the most famous merman who served as the messenger of the waves -the Trumpeter of the Seas. Indeed, his twisted conch could be sounded so loudly that it would frighten away adversaries in battle, and could create wild waves or still the waters.

'Triton' was to become the name used to describe all mermen who would accompany Poseidon, annoncing his arrival with their conch shells and also pulling Aphrodite's chariot like hippocamps.

Aix-en-Provence

Ovid describes the transformation of Glaucas the fisherman to merman in Metamorphoses...



Having eaten magical herbs our hero becomes an immortal fish-being, and whilst at first shocked by this metamorphosis, Glaucas soon accepts his fate and enters a group of sea deities, learning the art of prophecy from them. When he falls in love with the beautiful nymph Scylla she rejects him and so he asks for help from the sorceress Circe, in the form of a love potion. Circe herself soon falls in love with Glaucas but when in turn she is rejected the spurned witch turns Scylla into a sea monster out of spite! As a creature with dog heads growing from her waist, Scylla is rooted in the sea, to rage against every passing vessel and slay sailors in peril. On the other side of the strait is Charybdis, the naiad daughter of Poseidon and Gaia, likewise transformed into a sea monster as a punishment administered by Zeus for her voracious appetite. Sailors avoiding the one monster would fatally encounter the other - hence the saying "Between Scylla and Charybdis", to mean "between a rock and a hard place' which could probably be used to say how Glaucas finally feels!

Troyes

I came across a few mermen (carved or sculpted only!) this summer and came to the conclusion that many of them seem to share pained expression or at least appear weighed down by their lot.
This doom and gloom aspect is reflected in the work by the Victorian poet Mathew Arnold, 'The Forsaken Merman', when the hero and his children are deserted by Margaret, mother and wife, as she returns to dry land.
















                              
            THE FORSAKEN MERMAN
            Come away children,
            Come children, come down.
            The hoarse winds blow colder,
            Lights shine in the town.
            She will start from her slumber
            When gusts shake the door,
            She will hear the winds howling,
            Will hear the waves roar.
            We shall see, while above us
            The waves roar and whirl,
            A ceiling of amber,
            A pavement of pearl,
            Singing, "Here comes a mortal,
            But faithless was she,
            And alone dwells forever,
            The Kings of the Sea."

All in all I would say the while the female of the species is indeed more deadly than the male (to quote Rudyard Kipling) enchanting mermaids sometimes seem to have a sunnier existence than the mermen, despite the dubious motives of their actions and morals and of course with the exception of Andersen's Little Mermaid....

Place de la Concorde, Paris.

Place de la Concorde, Paris.

Aix

   

Mermaids - marine maidens, musicians or minxes?

I presume that the majority of little girls are drawn to the image of mermaids - fascinated by these beautiful elusive creatures that live in the splendour of the rich marine underworld which is generally denied to us lesser mortals.
Part of their fascination, however, must come down to the fact that the essence of the mermaid is difficult to define. Even Disney's watered-down version of la sirène in 'Peter Pan' bears a certain ambiguity, presenting an alluring beauty but leaving the child wondering whether the mermaid is a kindly or cruel being. It is perhaps this mixture of elements that provides the force and fascination of the mermaid - this half-creature, half human hybrid. This enigmatic nature combined with les chants de la sirène - these melodious, beguiling songs  - literally make the mermaid an enchanting being, placing all individuals under her spell.

Today this powerful attraction is still largely felt by young girls (and not so young ones!), but throughout the ages, the mermaid has always been a dangerous force whose attentions were reserved exclusively for men, inevitably luring them to their perdition.

 The sea, with its aquatic, amniotic nature has always been seen as a symbol of Life itself - the sea gives and takes as it moves from tranquility to raging storm. This reflects the essential nature of the mermaid too - sometimes taken for a symbol of fertility, like Venus - also born from the sea in a scallop shell - and yet also considered a devastating, deadly lure for seafarers. In Medieval times, the sea was thought to contain the marine counterpart of every living terrestrial being, however bizarre. The mermaid thus had her rightful place in the 'bestiaries' of the epoque - books giving detailed moralizing accounts of the real and imaginary creatures serving to illustrate Christian dogma. These bestiaries had been inspired by the Greek work Physiologus; nevertheless, the mermaid's tale goes back to far earlier times...

Zennor church carved bench end

Initially la sirène that appeared in Greek and Roman mythology was not a fish-tailed being, but rather a winged bird-like creature with a human head and as such reflected the Ba, the bird-like creature of ancient Egypt which would accompany a form of the soul after corporeal death. In Greek mythology, the sirens frequented Persephone, daughter of Zeus and Demeter but when they failed to prevent her being taken by Hades into the Underworld Demeter punished the sirens by changing them in to bird-women. The most famous sirens are perhaps those from Homer's Odyssey. Indeed Odysseus was warned by the goddess Circe of the dangers of the trio of treacherous creatures inhabiting an island strewn with the bones of those who had fallen prey to their bewitching songs. Aware that this music would put a man to sleep  leading directly to death, Odysseus duly blocked his ears and those of his crew, with bees wax and he lashed himself to the mast of the boat to avoid the temptation of these half-birds. The sirens appealed to the weakness of the spirit - in this case with the offer of supreme knowledge, imparted by their music which recreated a celestial harmony. In the epic poem from the 3rd century B.C, Argonautica, the Argonauts were likewise able to escape the sirens through the lyre-playing of Orpheus which drowned out their songs, rendering them powerless. In late antiquity the three sirens were each symbolized by their music; singing representing greed; flute-playing, arrogance and the lyre - lust.
By the Middle Ages the siren had lost her wings and gained a split fishtail to assume the mermaid form more like the one which we are familiar with today. From this period on she was frequently presented as a solitary figure, nevertheless maintaining her bewitching beauty and music that would lead men to their ruin.
On early wooden carvings the mermaid is increasingly presented as a lasvicious being, a carnal, if fish-like temptress leading men to a sea of desire and death. The mermaid often holds a mirror and comb, both symbols of vanity and sexuality which were also considered the attributes of prostitutes. And so with her long hair symbolizing fertility the early mermaid gradually took on the form of a voluptuous fishy femme fatale! While previously the siren had been the stuff of myth and legend, the mermaid of the Middle Ages was considered to be veritable being, and frequent sightings were announced and many individuals claimed to be of mermaid descent.

J.W Waterhouse Mermaid 1905

Indeed, just as the siren had gradually undergone a physical metamorphosis to become the mermaid we know today, the siren's sinister desire to lure a man to his death had been superceded by the mermaid's desire to gain a soul for herself. One means of doing this was to marry a mortal and in the work Mélusine, by Jean d'Arras, 1393, the eponymous heroine manages to do so. Unfortunately Mélusine is caught by her unsuspecting husband when he fails to respect her conditions of privacy and comes across his wife taking a bath " from navell downward in the lyknes of a grete serpent".


It is with the advent of 19th century folk revival with its thirst for long-lost worlds that artists, writers and musicians were inspired by the imaginary world of legend, in which the mermaid and water nymphs in general play a role. Keats wrote his Lamia in 1819, Heinrich Heine's poem The Lorelei was published in 1827 and Wagner created his Rhinemaidens from the Ring Cycle. However it was with Hans Christian Andersen's Little Mermaid that the salty seductress is transformed from the previously predatory loner to become a tragic isolated figure, an outcast of the human world who is denied love. Precisely because the little mermaid fails to kill her prince she is unable to recover her mermaid state and so prefers to kill herself, finally to be transformed into a daughter of the air.

Towards the end of the 19th century the innocence of Andersen's Little mermaid had been cast aside again as the mermaid resumed a more sinister nature, personifying the bestial perversion of the female in the fin de siècle decadence. The Symbolist painter Gustave Moreau depicts the cruel emasculating beauty which finds its reflection in A Rebours of J-K Huysmans of 1884. However after the turn of the century, the mermaid did not hold the same power over human imagination. Despite initial confusion with sea mammals such as the manatee, thought to breast-feed their young in a human manner, it has now long been proven that the mermaid does not exist. However, whilst in physical form this is perhaps true, in essence one aspect of the mermaid, whatever her nature, lives on....

Chapelle Foujita, Reims, France

Charles Lamb in his Adventures of Ulyssees, 1808, seems to offer a description of the destruction caused by sirens that finds a parallel in the devastation caused by certain predatory females today that you may have had the misfortune to experience, directly or indirectly!

"Whosoever shall but hear the call of any siren, he will soon despise both wife and children through their sorceries; that the stream of his affection never again shall set homewards, nor shall he take joy in wife or children thereafter, or they in him...."