THE JAPANEse siren. 223 she sang, or combed her hair, or was under a doom, or had a soul to be saved. Every question related to Circe, Ulysses and the Sirens, and other conceptions of antiquity. The Japanese artists rightly concluded they could float their Siren in any intellectual waters where Jonah in his whale could pass, or a fish appear with its penny. Nay, even in their primitive form the Sirens find their kith and kin still haunting all the coasts of northern Europe. A type of the Irish and Scottish Siren may be found in the very complete legend of one seen by John Reid, shipmaster of Cromarty. With long flowing yellow hair she sat half on a rock, half in water, nude and beautiful, half woman half fish, and John managed to catch and hold her tight till she had promised to fulfil three wishes; then, released, she sprang into the sea. The wishes were all fulfilled, and to one of them (though John would never reveal it) the good-luck of the Reids was for a century after ascribed.1 The scene of this legend is the 'Dropping Cave,' and significantly near the Lover's Leap. One of John's wishes included the success of his courtship. These Caves run parallel with that of Venusberg, where the minstrel Tannhäuser is tempted by Venus and her nymphs. Heine finishes off his description of this Frau Venus by saying he fancied he met her one day in the Place Bréda. 'What do you take this lady to be?' asked he of Balzac, who was with him. She is a mistress,' replied Balzac. 'A duchess rather,' returned Heine. But the friends found on further explanation that they were both quite right. Venus' doves, soiled for a time, were spiritualised at last and made white, while the snowy swan grew darker. An old German word for swan, elbiz, originally denoting its whiteness (albus), furthered its connection with all 'elfish' 1 Hugh Miller, 'Scenes and Legends,' p. 293. beings-elf being from the same word, meaning white; but, as in Goethe's 'Erl König,' often disguising a dark character. The Swan and the Pigeon meet (with some modifications) as symbols of the Good and Evil powers in the legend of Lohengrin. The witch transforms the boy into a Swan, which, however, draws to save his sister, falsely accused of his murder, the Knight of the Sangreal, who, when the mystery of his holy name is inquired into by his too curious bride, is borne away by white doves. These legends all bear in them, however faintly, the accent of the early conflict of religion with the wild passions of mankind. Their religious bearings bring us to inquiries which must be considered at a later phase of our work. But apart from purely moral considerations, it is evident that there must have been practical dangers surrounding the early social chaos amid which the first immigrants in Europe found themselves. Although the legend of Lady Godiva includes elements of another origin, it is probable that in the fate of Peeping Tom there is a distant reflection of the punishment sometimes said to overtake those who gazed too curiously upon the Swan-maiden without her feathers. The devotion of the nude lady of Coventry would not be out of keeping with one class of these mermaiden myths. There is a superstition, now particularly strong in Iceland, that all fairies are children of Eve, whom she hid away on an occasion when the Lord came to visit her, because they were not washed and presentable. So he condemned them to be for ever invisible. This superstition seems to be related to an old debate whether these præternatural beings are the children of Adam and Eve or not. A Scotch story bears against that conclusion. A beautiful nymph, with a slight robe of green, came from the sea and approached a fisherman while he was HOLY FRAULEIN. 225 reading his Bible. She asked him if it contained any promise of mercy for her. He replied that it contained. an offer of salvation to all the children of Adam;' whereupon with a loud shriek she dashed into the sea again. Euphemism would co-operate with natural compassion in saying a good word for 'the good little people,' whether hiding in earth or sea. In Altmark, 'Will-o'wisps' are believed to be the souls of unbaptized children -sometimes of lunatics-unable to rest in their graves; they are called 'Light-men,' and it is said that though they may sometimes mislead they often guide rightly, especially if a small coin be thrown them,—this being also an African plan of breaking a sorcerer's spell. Christianity long after its advent in Germany had to contend seriously with customs and beliefs found in some lakeside villages where the fishermen regarded themselves as in friendly relations with the præternatural guardians of the waters, and unto this day speak of their presiding sea-maiden as a Holy Fräulein. They hear her bells chiming up from the depths in holy seasons to mingle with those whose sounds are wafted from church towers; and it seems to have required many fables, told by prints of fishermen found sitting lifeless on their boats while listening to them, to gradually transfer reverence to the new christian fairy. It may be they heard some such melody as that which. has found its finest expression in Mr. Matthew Arnold's 'Forsaken Merman: ' Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away? Once she sate with you and me, On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, And the youngest sate on her knee. She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, When down swung the sound of the far-off bell. She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea; P 226 She said THE WATER-MAN. I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little grey church on the shore to-day. 'Twill be Easter-time in the world-ah me! And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee.' Perhaps we should find the antecedents of this Merman's lost Margaret, whom he called back in vain, in the Danish ballad of The Merman and the Marstig's Daughter,' who, in Goethe's version, sought the winsome May in church, thither riding as a gay knight on horse of the water clear, The saddle and bridle of sea-sand were. They went from the church with the bridal train, 'Now wait thee, love, with my steed so free, But when they were out in the midst of the sound, Down went they all in the deep profound! Long, long on the shore, when the winds were high, 1 rede ye, damsels, as best I can— Tread not the dance with the Water-Man ! According to other legends, however, the realm under-sea was not a place for weeping. Child-eyes beheld all that the Erl-king promised, in Goethe's ballad Wilt thou go, bonny boy? wilt thou go with me? My daughters around thee in dance shall sweep, Or perhaps child-eyes, lingering in the burning glow of manhood's passion, might see in the peaceful sea some picture of lost love like that so sweetly described in Heine's 'Sea Phantom:' But I still leaned o'er the side of the vessel, Down at the water, clear as a mirror, Till far in the sea's abysses, At first like dim wavering vapours, Domes of churches and towers seemed rising, Steal through my heart, My heart as yet scarce healed; It seems as though its wounds, forgotten, By loving lips again were kissed, And once again were bleeding Which long and slowly trickle down ... On an ancient, high-roofed, curious house, Where, lone and melancholy, Below by the window a maiden sits, Her head on her arm reclined, Like a poor and uncared-for child; And I know thee, thou poor and long-sorrowing child! I meanwhile, my spirit all grief, Over the whole broad world have sought thee, And ever have sought thee, Thou dearly beloved, Thou long, long lost one, Thou finally found one, At last I have found thee, and now am gazing Upon thy sweet face, With earnest, faithful glances, Still sweetly smiling; And never will I again on earth leave thee. I am coming adown to thee, |