• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

Do Mermaids Really Exist?

Go to CruxDreams.com

Zephyros

Magistrate
We all know that a mermaid is a sea creature with the head and torso of a woman and the tail of a fish. The question is, are mermaids real or just fiction?
We humans have been fascinated by mermaids for a long time. A few hundred years ago, the myth of beautiful semi-human women living beneath the sea was widely believed by superstitious sailors, many of whom spent weeks or months crossing foreboding oceans.
But even today people love mermaids. They’re everywhere, from animated films to Vegas-style shows to confusing documentaries.
In the modern day, most mermaids are depicted as beautiful, female creatures, alluring and gentle and possibly a bit naïve about the ways of us landlubbers. But it wasn’t always so.
In ancient times, mermaids usually brought bad news in the form of shipwrecks, death by drowning and storms. Even pirates feared mermaids might trick them out of their loot, or send their ship to the bottom of the sea out of vengeance.

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) reportedly confirmed that mermaids exist and that they are growing in numbers.

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration reportedly published a post on their “Ocean Facts” newsfeed titled “Conclusive Evidence of the Existence of Aquatic Humanoids.”
The agency went on to say that “magic females”, who first appeared in cave paintings in the late Paleolithic (Stone Age) period some 30,000 years ago, when modern humans began to sail the seas, do exist and are living in all the oceans of the world.

http://weeklyworldnews.com/headlines/49740/u-s-confirms-existence-of-mermaids/

Mermaids exist in the twilight place between land and sea, in the psychological intertidal zone between life-giver and life-taker. Wanton, seductive and alluring, these amphibious goddesses of classical myth toy unabashedly with a man's affections, offering him sweetness yet bringing only death. The paintings of the pre-Raphaelites portray mermaids as lovely maidens with a silvery aquatic tail, who comb their luxurious tresses in serene repose along a placid shore, but the mermaids of old were neither so innocent nor demure. With the sultry curve of their breasts and the dulcet darkness of their dreamy eyes, those half-forgotten ocean deities promised to reveal the secrets of the unattainable fathoms, only to drown men with their savage affection.

We are fascinated by mermaids because they represent the unknown, the mystical, and the dangerous predator behind a graceful face. Mermaids have captured our interest in the same way in which they snared the hearts of sailors, dizzying us and disorienting us, pulling us under the turquoise waves. Many of the oldest stories claim that the merfolk have no tongues, yet this doesn't keep them from casting their spell over the poor unfortunate who falls in love with them; one tale tells of a fisherman's daughter who becomes infatuated with a merman but, when she discovers that he can never proclaim his love for her, she follows him into the ocean, only to perish.

Some claim that mermaids still sing their wordless melodies, playing amongst the waters and the waves. Juan Cabana, wandering the lonely shores of secluded beaches, has often found the mortal remains of these creatures. In life, they swim below the surface and rarely rise from the crushing deep, but upon death, the merciless storms cast their bodies up from the dark waters to deposit them on the white sand. Juan knows the distant coves where the currents bring them, and he gathers their remains with the hope of preserving them, honoring them, and showing humanity that we are not the only intelligent species on this beautiful planet. These teratisms of terrible beauty, wild and exotic, lie beyond the taint of human civilisation. They live in harmony with their aquatic environment, and Juan's respect for them has resulted in a never-ending search for mermaids and sea monsters around the world.

Juan Cabana has captured mermaids, and his mermaids promise to enrapture you.

For more information:

http://www.thefeejeemermaid.com/index.htm

18lrac833ni1tjpg.jpg 18lrac834jnwjjpg.jpg 18lracc1criyqjpg.jpg 18lracc15uvk5jpg.jpg 18lracc17r2m6jpg.jpg maighdean.jpg Mermaid-Found-in-Bulgaria.jpg Mermaid-Skeleton-Found-in-Egypt.jpg ocruelsea3.jpg ocruelsea4.jpg
 
Very interesting post Zephyros. Thanks for posting it. Mermaids fascinate me. Tales of sirens that caused boats to crash into the rocks near shore also are fascinating.
Now if I could find a mermaid that looks like Daryl Hannah:devil:......what a lucky guy that Tom Hanks:p
 
Last edited:
sure they exist!!! Haven't you ever had grilled mermaid basted with honey, lemon, butter, and Seagram's

Tree

Tree has never had basted mermaid but he was plastered on Seagram's and thinks he did - Ulrika
 
Velut Luna gave me a wickedly funny anecdote from Curzio Malaparte's novel La Pelle, 'Skin'.
It's a bit outwith our usual fare on the Forums, but mermaids have sometimes swum here,
and barbecued girls have been served up too - we think some of the cruxers will enjoy it.

By way of background, Curzio Malaparte 1898 - 1957, was a major Italian novelist.
His pen-name, 'bad side', is a self-mocking hint at his record of backing the wrong political horses.
But in 1943-6 he was attached as Italian Liaison Officer to the High Command of the occupying US forces,
and La Pelle draws wittily on his observations and experiences, in fictionalised form.

'In all the literature that derives from the Second World War,
there is no other book that so brilliantly or so woundingly present triumphant American innocence
against the background of the European experience of destruction and moral collapse.'
So said D. Moore, whose English translation of the novel was published in 2013.

But this version's by Eul, with help from Google, and much wiser help from Luna on Italian idioms :D
 
Last edited:
Mermaid with Mayonnaise

At that moment the door opened, and in the doorway, preceded by the butler, appeared four liveried footmen bearing in the traditional way a kind of stretcher covered with a magnificent red brocade embroidered with the crest of the Dukes of Toledo. On it lay a large fish on an enormous, solid silver tray. An "oh! " of joy and admiration echoed along the table, and, with the words, "Behold the Siren!", General Cork turned and bowed to Mrs. Flatt. The butler, helped by the footmen, placed the tray in the centre of the table in front of General Cork and Mrs. Flatt, and drew back a few paces.

We all gazed at the fish, and turned white. A faint gasp of horror escaped from the lips of Mrs. Flatt, and General Cork grew pale.

A young girl, or something that looked like a girl, was lying on her back in the middle of the tray, on a bed of green lettuce leaves, within a large wreath of pink branches of coral. Her eyes were open, her lips parted, directed with a look of wonder at the painting on the ceiling by Luca Giordano of ‘The Triumph of Venus’. She was naked, but with dark, gleaming skin, the same purple colors Mrs. Flatt’s frock, molded like a tight dress over her unripe yet already shapely figure, the gentle curve of her hips, the slight protrusion of her abdomen, her small, virginal breasts, her broad, full shoulders.

She looked like a little girl, although at first glance she seemed precocious, her figure already womanly. Here and there her skin, split or blistered by cooking, especially on her shoulders and hips, gave glimpses of tender meat, in places silvery, elsewhere golden, so she seemed to be dressed in purple and gold, just like Mrs. Flatt. And, like Mrs. Flatt’s, her face, which boiling heat had forced to burst out of its skin like an overripe fruit from its rind, resembled a shiny antique porcelain mask, with protruding lips, a high, straight forehead and round green eyes. Her arms were short, ending in a point, a kind of fin, a fingerless hand. A tuft of bristles stuck to the top of her head, looking like hair, and spread down the sides of her little face, all tangled and clotted together in a kind of grimace like a smile around her mouth.

Her flanks, long and slender, ended just as Ovid says, in piscem, in a fish-tail. So the child lay in her silver coffin, and she seemed to be asleep, except – by the unpardonable negligence of the chef – her sleep was like the sleep of the dead, when no-one has had the compassion to close the eyelids: with wide-open eyes she stared at Luca Giordano’s tritons blowing their conch-shells, and dolphins harnessed to the chariot of Venus galloping across the waves, and Venus sitting naked on her golden chariot, and the white and pink procession of her nymphs, and Neptune with trident in hand driving on the sea, whipping up the fury of his white horses, thirsty for the innocent blood of Hippolytus. She gazed at ‘The Triumph of Venus’ painted on the ceiling, that turquoise sea, those silvery fish, those green sea-monsters, those white clouds wandering on the horizon, and smiled ecstatically: that was her sea, her lost homeland, the country of her dreams, the happy realm of mermaids.

It was the first time I’d seen a little girl cooked, a little girl boiled, and I kept silent, overawed by a sacred fear. Everyone around the table was blanched with horror. General Cork turned his eyes from her face towards the diners, and with a trembling voice exclaimed, "But that ain’t a fish! It 's... a girl!"

"No," I said, "it is a fish."
 
Last edited:
"Are you sure it's a fish, a real fish?" asked General Cork, passing his hand over his forehead, drenched in cold sweat.

I nodded, "and" I added, " this fish is the famous Mermaid of the Aquarium!"

After the liberation of Naples, the Allies had, for military reasons, prohibited fishing in the Bay between Sorrento and Capri, including the waters around Capri and Ischia, where the fishing-grounds had been barred by mines, and these were still drifting across, making fishing very dangerous. Nor did the Allies, especially the British, trust the fishermen enough to let them go to sea, lest they’d be communicating information to German submarines, or re-charging the explosives, or laying out some further means for threatening the hundreds and hundreds of warships, military transports, Liberty-ships, all anchored in the bay. Beware of Neapolitan fishermen! Don’t doubt they’re capable of such crimes! But anyhow, fishing is prohibited.

In all of Naples it was impossible to find, not to say a fish, even a fish-bone: not a sardine, not a crab, not a lobster, not a mullet, not a baby octopus, nothing. So General Cork, when he was entertaining some high official of the Allies, a Field-Marshal Alexander, a General Juin, a General Anders, or some important politician, a Churchill, a Vishinsky, a Bogomolov, or some Commission of American Senators coming by plane from Washington to collect the complaints of the soldiers of the Fifth Army about their generals, and to hear their opinions, their advice, on the most serious problems of war, he had taken up the practice of catching fish for his table from the Naples Aquarium, which was perhaps, after the one in Monaco, the most important in Europe.

At General Cork's lunches the fish was, therefore, always fresh, and of rare species. At the lunch he had given in honor of General Eisenhower, they had eaten the celebrated Giant Octopus donated to the Aquarium of Naples by Emperor Wilhelm II of Germany. The famous Japanese fishes called "dragons", a gift from Emperor Hirohito of Japan, had been sacrificed on General Cork's table in honor of a group of US Senators. The enormous mouths of these monstrous fish, their yellow gills, black and crimson fins like bat wings, green and gold tails, foreheads bristling with spikes and crested like the helmet of Achilles, had deeply depressed the spirits of the Senators, who were already concerned about the trend of the war against Japan. But General Cork, in whom the military virtues were accompanied by the qualities of the perfect diplomat, had lifted the morale of his guests by singing "Johnny got a Zero", the most popular song of the American Pacific airmen, and they’d all joined in the chorus.

At first General Cork had ordered fish for his table from the stock of Lake Lucrino, renowned for its fierce and exquisite moray eels, which Lucullus, who had his villa near Lucrino, used to feed on the flesh of his slaves. But American newspapers, which never missed an opportunity to slate the High Command of the US Army, had accused General Cork of mental cruelty, because he had forced his guests, "respectable American citizens", to eat the eels of Lucullus. "Will General Cork tell us," some papers had dared to ask in print, "what flesh he feeds to his moray eels?"
 
It was after this accusation that General Cork had given orders to commandeer the fish for his table henceforth from the Naples Aquarium. So, one by one, all the most rare fish, and the most famous, in the Aquarium had been sacrificed to the mental cruelty of General Cork. Even the heroic swordfish, the gift of Mussolini, had been served poached with boiled potatoes, and likewise the beautiful tuna, a donation by His Majesty Vittorio Emanuele III, and lobsters from the Isle of Wight, a gracious present from His Britannic Majesty George V.

The precious pearl oysters that His Eminence the Duke of Aosta, Viceroy of Ethiopia, had sent as a gift to the Aquarium - pearl oysters that flourish on coasts of Arabia, across from Massawa - these had graced the dinner that General Cork had given for Vishinsky, the Soviet Vice-Commissioner for Foreign Affairs, then the USSR representative to the Allied Commission in Italy. Vishinsky had been very surprised to find in each of his oysters a pink pearl the color of the rising moon. He looked up from his plate at General Cork with a look on his face as if he were gazing at the Emir of Baghdad at a banquet of the Thousand and One Nights.

"Don’t spit out the stone," said General Cork, "it’s delicious."

"But it's a precious gem!" exclaimed Vishinsky.

"Of course, it’s a pearl! Don’t you like it?"

Vishinsky had swallowed the pearl, muttering under his breath in Russian, "These filthy capitalists!"

There was no less amazement when Churchill, invited to lunch by General Cork, found himself served with a strange fish dish, round and thin, the colour of steel, similar to the ancient discus-thrower’s disk.

"What...?" asked Churchill.

"A fish, a fish," said General Cork.

"A fish?" said Churchill, eyeing carefully the strange sea-creature. "What is this fish?"

General Cork asked the butler. "It's a torpedo" the butler replied.

"What?!" exclaimed Churchill.

"A torpedo," said General Cork.

"A torpedo?" said Churchill.

"Yes, of course, torpedo" said General Cork. Turning to the butler he asked him what exactly was a torpedo.

"An electric fish," the butler replied.

"Ah, yes, of course, an electric fish!" said General Cork, turning to Churchill, and they both looked at each other, smiling, with fish cutlery raised in mid-air, not daring to touch the ‘torpedo’.

"Are you sure it's not dangerous?" Churchill asked after a few moments of silence.

General Cork turned to the butler, "Do you think it's dangerous to touch it? Is it loaded with electricity?"

"Electricity," replied the butler in his Neapolitan-accented English "is dangerous when raw. Cooked, it does no harm."

"Ah!" exclaimed Churchill and General Cork with one voice, and heaving a sigh of relief each touched the electric fish with the tip of his fork.
 
But one fine day the Aquarium’s fish were finished, all that remained was the famous Mermaid, a very rare example of the order Sirenia who, because of their almost human shape, gave rise to the ancient legend of the Sirens, and apart from that, some wonderful branches of coral.

General Cork, who had the praiseworthy habit of personally taking care of the smallest things, had asked the butler what good quality fish could be taken from the Aquarium for a lunch in honor of Mrs. Flatt.

"There is little left," replied the butler, "a siren, and a few coral branches."

"And it’s a good fish, this siren?"

"Excellent!" replied the butler without flinching.

"And the corals," asked General Cork, who was particularly meticulous when looking after his lunch, "are they good to eat?"

"No, not the corals. A little indigestible."

"So, no corals."

"We can put them as a side dish" suggested the imperturbable butler.

"That's fine!"

And the butler had written on the menu, "Sirena alla maionese con contorno di coralli"

And now everyone was looking stunned, dumb with shock and horror, at the poor dead child, lying with open eyes on the silver tray, on a bed of green lettuce leaves, in the midst of a garland of pink coral.

Often along the miserable back-alleyways of Naples, I’ve glimpsed in some cellar, through a wide-open door, a dead body lying on a bed surrounded with a garland of flowers. It’s not uncommon to see a dead child, but I’d never seen a dead child lying amid wreaths of coral. How many poor Neapolitan mothers would have wished for their dead offspring such a wonderful garland of corals! They’d be like branches of peach blossom, bringing joy to the eye, a touch of happiness, springtime even, to the corpses of children. I looked at that poor boiled baby, and I trembled with pity – and patriotic pride.

What a wonderful country, Italy! I thought. What other people in the world can afford to offer a foreign army, which has destroyed and invaded her homeland, a mermaid with mayonnaise with a side-serving of corals? Ah! Put it down to losing the war, just to see these American officials, this proud American woman, sitting pale and stunned with horror around a mermaid, a sea-goddess, lying dead on a silver tray on the table of an American general!
 
"Disgusting!" exclaimed Mrs. Flatt, covering her eyes with her hands.

"Yes ... I mean ... yes ... " stammered the pale and trembling General Cork.

"Take it away, take away this horrible thing!" cried Mrs. Flatt.

"Why?" I said, "It is an excellent fish."

"But it must be a mistake! I beg pardon ... ... it must be a mistake ... I beg pardon ..." stammered, with a groan of anguish, poor General Cork.

"I assure you that it is an excellent fish," I said.

"But we can’t eat that ... that little girl ... that poor girl!" said Colonel Eliot.

"It's not a little girl," I said, "it’s a fish."

"General," said Mrs. Flatt in a stern voice, " I hope you won’t oblige me to eat thas ... this ... that poor girl!"

"But it's a fish!" said General Cork, "it is a great fish! Malaparte says it's excellent. He knows ..."

“I’ve not come to Europe to please your friend Malaparte, or for you to compel me to eat human flesh,” said Mrs. Flatt, her voice trembling with contempt, “We’ll leave the barbarous Italian people to eat children at dinner. I refuse. I am a decent American woman, I don't eat Italian children!"

"I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry," said General Cork, wiping his sweating forehead, "but everybody in Naples eats this sort of children ... yes ... I mean ... no ... I mean ... that sort of fish .. . ain’t that true, Malaparte, this kind of kid... of fish, is excellent ...?"

"It's an excellent fish," I said, "what does it matter if it looks like a little girl? It’s a fish. In Europe, the fish are not obliged to look like fish ... "

"Not even in America!" cried General Cork, happy to finally find someone who’d speak in his defense.

"What?!" cried Mrs. Flatt.

"In Europe," I said, "the fish are free, at least the fish are! Nobody says they must look like a fish, you know, or a man, or a girl, or a woman. And this is a fish, although…but, in any case," I added, "what did you think you were coming to eat in Italy? The corpse of Mussolini?"

"Ha ha ha, very funny!" roared General Cork, with too strident a tone to be convincing, "Ha-ha! Ha-ha!" And all the others chorused with a laugh in which bewilderment, doubt and merriment struggled strangely. I have never liked the Americans more, I will never love the Americans more, than I did that night, at that table, in front of that horrible fish.

"I hope you’re not demanding…" said Mrs. Flatt, pale with rage and horror, "I trust you’re not going to insist on making me eat that horrible thing! You’ve forgotten that you’re an American! What would they say in Washington, General, what would they say around the War Department, if they knew that at your meals you eat boiled.. boiled girls? Girls!"

"I mean ... yes ... of course ..." stammered General Cork, giving her a pleading look.

"Boiled girls with mayonnaise!" said Mrs. Flatt in an icy voice.

"You’re forgetting the garnish of corals," I said, trying with those words to justify General Cork.

"I am not forgetting the corals! Forget the corals, me?" fulminated Mrs. Flatt, her eyes flaming.

"Get it out!" shouted General Cork suddenly to the butler, pointing with his finger at the Mermaid, ”Get that thing out!"
 
"General, wait a moment, please," said Colonel Brown, the HQ chaplain, "we must bury that ... that poor... creature."

"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Flatt.

"We must bury this ... this ... I mean ..." said the chaplain.

"Do you mean ..." said General Cork.

"Yes, I mean bury" said the chaplain.

"But ... it's a fish ..." said General Cork.

"It may be," said the chaplain, "a fish, but it has rather the appearance of a little girl ... Permit me to emphasise, it is our duty to bury this child ... I mean, fish. We are Christians. Or perhaps we’re not Christians?"

"I doubt it!" said Mrs. Flatt, staring General Cork with a cold look of contempt.

"Yes, I suppose ..." said General Cork.

"We must bury it," said Colonel Brand.

"Okay," agreed General Cork, "but where should we bury it? I say we throw it in the trash, seems to me the simplest way."

"No," said the chaplain, "you never know. It’s not certain it really is a fish. You have to give her a decent burial."

"But in Naples there are no cemeteries for fish?" said General Cork, turning to me.

"I don’t believe there are," I informed him, " Neapolitans don’t bury fish, we eat them."

"We could bury her in the garden," said the chaplain.

"Good idea," said General Cork, his face brightening, "we can bury it in the garden." He turned to the butler and instructed him, "Please, go and bury this thing ... this poor, er... fish, in the garden.”

"Yes, General, Sir," said the butler, bowing, while the footmen lifted the polished solid silver coffin, where lay the poor dead Mermaid, and placed it on the stretcher.

"I said bury it," said General Cork, "I forbid you to eat it in the kitchen!"

"Y-yes, Mr. General," grunted the butler, "but it is a shame! Such a good fish!"

"Not sure it is a fish," said General Cork, "and anyway, I forbid you to eat it!"

The butler bowed, the valets walked towards the door with the stretcher bearing the shiny silver coffin, and everyone followed, with a sad look in their eyes, that strange funeral procession.

"It will be best," said the chaplain, standing up, "if I go watch the burial. I don’t want you to have anything on your conscience."

"Thank you, padre," said General Cork, mopping his brow, and with a sigh of relief looked timidly at Mrs. Flatt.

"Oh Lord!" exclaimed Mrs. Flatt, raising her eyes to heaven.

She was pale, and tears shone in her eyes. I was pleased that she was moved. I was deeply grateful for her tears. I had misjudged her, Mrs. Flatt was a woman with a heart. If she cries for a fish, maybe eventually, some day or another, she may come to have compassion even for the Italian people, to mourn also the grief and suffering of my poor country.
 
Anyway. The funniest rationalist explanation attempt I heard for a mermaid myth was, It was an inuit girl, who'd drowned remaining stuck in her kayak made of seal skins or such, and gotten washed ashore, and in the state of preservation (or not) she was in, the people who found her couldn't really tell anymore where the girl ended and the kayak began and so they decided that was a dead mermaid.
 
View attachment 358062

:D :rolleyes:

Excellent story, Velut Luna and Eulalia!

Hear, hear! Wonderfully fishy tale!
Personally, whenever I hear the word 'Mermaid',
I reach for my utensils:


fish-fork-knife-1003.JPG
By way of background, Curzio Malaparte 1898 - 1957, was a major Italian novelist.
His pen-name, 'bad side', is a self-mocking hint at his record of backing the wrong political horses. :D

FYI, Ms Eul, it's a little-known factoid that Malaparte's pen-name
also sprang from his proud hatred of the French and all things Bonaparte-ien.

Ego Stipes Ergo Sum
 
Back
Top Bottom