The most famous motif of the medieval mer-person is a half-human figure, undressed, with breasts, long hair, and a fish body below the waist, holding a comb and a mirror. This is often held to symbolize dangerous lust and vanity, and to relate to the legendary sirens who prey on ships and distract men with their songs.

This mer-motif is undoubtedly the most common, but it doesn’t represent the entirety of medieval merfolk lore. It only covers a portion of the siren myth, which can also feature women with bird bodies, or a mixture of bird and fish or reptile parts, like this pair carved on a church choir seat in Exeter, UK.

But limiting merfolk tales to ideas about luring men with naked flesh and song is also too restrictive. Medieval images of merfolk were much richer and developed than that! Reading the naked torso as an object of sexuality and lust seems strange in the context of medieval art where people usually sleep naked, and often undress publicly to bathe in sacred fountains. Perhaps the comb and mirror represent vanity, but that too seems like a modern interpretation. They probably do suggest that the mermaid deliberately cares about and for her appearance, but that could be a symbol of fastidiousness, or self-respect, or pride, or health-consciousness.

This mermaid, also from Exeter, is missing one hand, so we may never know if she was holding something else, but I think it’s a stretch to say the nudity is sexual here and the fish should be read as phallic. Shouldn’t a carving warning against the dangers of lust in a church look more dangerous and negative, and less like a friendly mer-mom inviting you in for dinner and a hug?

It’s also too limiting to reduce the medieval merfolk tradition to mostly depictions of individual female-presenting creatures. There’s tons of art with pairs of mer-people, like this manuscript border from Morgan MS M167 that juxtaposes a mermaid with comb and mirror opposite a mer-person fully encased in plate armor with a shield, a curving sword, and a plume of feathers.

Medieval people seem to have loved duality, in the form of pairs, reflections, opposites, juxtapositions, and so on. The hybrid creatures of manuscript borders are a famous example, and while merfolk are a distinct tradition, they were clearly related in the medieval mind since manuscripts with more varied hybrids often also feature half-human-half-fish figures.

Morgan M167’s pair of merfolk hint that they’re more than artistic symbols, and suggest the possibility of a story. What’s going on here? Are they in a relationship? Are they related? Are they about to duel? Do they live in a world with armor but no clothing? If so, does the armor not require arming clothes?

Some medieval authors go beyond the idea of merfolk having friends or families and describe an entire underwater world, a wetter reflection of life on land with villages and livestock and kings and armies.

Here’s a similar pair from Morgan M390. Note that artists don’t quite agree on a single “fish body” type, although both members of each pair seem to match pretty well.

This border from Morgan M363 doesn’t have armor, but does use poses that have a stronger visual resonance. Interestingly, these merfolk are less reminiscent of European gender and beauty standards, perhaps another hint that they have their own society and culture.

Finally, here’s a border from Indiana University Lilly Ricketts MS D5 that raises even more questions. Are they enemies? From different parts of the same army? Is this some kind of lesson? Sadly, we’ll never know— this decoration is from a disembodied single leaf, blank on the other side, that was never bound into a Book of Hours as its creator intended.

After these examples, I’m less sure than ever that merfolk represent lust— but I also don’t know what they do mean, whether they’re warriors or members of a society or something else entirely.

No Discussions Yet

Discuss Article