Saint Mermaid 

The tale of Lí Ban has made the rounds a bit on the internet over recent years. A fully fledged catholic saint with an officially recognized feast day (January 27th) recorded in several Irish histories that is also A MERMAID.

For the life of me I couldn’t quite figure out why she would choose to die, when the alternative option was to roam the seas with her faithful hound, until I pieced together the entire tale – see the more fully detailed version below:

Once, long ago, Mairidh – the good and righteous king of Munster – had two sons, Eochaidh and Ríbh. Eochaidh fell in love with his stepmother, Eibhliu, and the two absconded from the kingdom. One night, while making their escape, their horses and company were killed by a stranger on the roads. Mighty Aonghus of the Tuatha Dè Danann, who had been fostered by Eibhliu as a child, appeared and gave to them a marvelous horse to carry them and their belongings – but he warned them not to stop or let the horse urinate until they reached their final destination or it would mean their doom. They agreed, but the horse urinated when they reached Ulster, and the force of its stream caused a wellspring to appear. It was here that they built their home, and capped the spring with a stone and assigned a woman to watch over it to keep it from flooding the surrounding land.

One day this same woman forgot to cover the well, some accounts say this was because she heard the screaming of her baby and ran to its aid. At any rate the well overflowed and flooded the area, drowning the entire family except for three children – Eochaidh’s son Conaing and son-in-law Curnan, from whom the Buain and Sailne clans are from – though after the drowning of his wife Airu Curnan also died of sadness. The last survivor was Eochaidh’s daughter, known only as Lí Ban – or the ‘paragon of womanliness’.

She was inside her bower with her faithful dog when the flood waters rose, and the water did not enter her chamber. After one year inside she wished to be turned into a salmon to be set free and this was somewhat granted – her dog was turned into an otter and she into a mermaid. For three hundred years she roamed the waters freely and travelled the many rivers that feed into the ocean from the lake, with her now faithful otter never leaving her side. It was said that on clear days you could see the towers of the former kingdom below the waters of the lake.

Hundreds of years passed and the event faded from memory, until one day a man named Beoán, who was traveling by boat from the monastery of Beannchar at the instruction of St. Comhghall to visit Rome, heard miraculous singing bubbling up from beneath the water and Lí Ban appeared to him within the waves. She told him the story of her life and the drowning of her family, and asked him to meet her in one year at Larne Lough, an inlet in county Antrim by the sea where one of the rivers of the lake led. He said he would upon the condition that she be buried at his monastery when she passed, and to this she agreed.

It was one year later, and many had gathered at the location to meet the mermaid. She was caught within the net of a monk named Fearghus and brought onto land, where she met many visitors while held within a cart full of water. 

As she took in the crowd, she saw a chief clad in a crimson mantle that caught her eye – he looked familiar to her. Noticing the attention, the man immediately offered the item to her and said:

“If it is my mantle you would like, then it is yours.”

Declining the gift, she said:

“No, I am not seeking your mantle.  When my family drowned my father wore a similar crimson mantle, which is why I noticed it. However, because you have offered it to me – there will be good luck upon you and your family for generations.”

The chief was in fact the head of the Úi Chonaing family, and descendent of her brother Conaing, 

Soon after, a disrespectful youth came by and killed her otter, who had been her constant and faithful companion over the centuries. In her sorrow she cursed him that he and his family would never triumph over their foes until they had all fasted at her shrine. After which the young man bent in respect to her, realizing his mistake.

Lastly, there arose a squabble between St. Comhghall and Beoán against the monk Fearghus as to where Lì Ban should be buried – whether at Beannchar as she had promised or the monastery from which Fearghus came. As they argued an angel appeared, and said:

“From the tomb of her sister Airu two white stags (in some versions bulls) will appear, and you will yoke the cart in which she stays to these two creatures. Wherever they take her is where she will be buried.”

The next morning they arrived, and pulled the cart to the monastery of Beoán and Comhghall. 

Upon her arrival, she was offered a final choice – roam the earth alone for another 300 years or be baptized and immediately ascend to heaven. 

Thinking about her life, her recent (mis)adventures, and her lost friend – she chose the latter.

Comhghall baptized her as Muirghein (sea-birth); or perhaps Muirgheilt, (sea-prodigy)†. 

Immediately after the baptism the new saint died and was reunited with her faithful hound, and in the manner of many sainted virgins she was reported to provide wonders and miracles at the place of her death. From then on her feast day was celebrated as January 27th^{*,†,‡,¶,§}. 

The extended tale paints a different picture from many versions you find online, the mermaid – so tired by the unfamiliar new world she has entered, dragged around in a cart full of water while men squabble about where her dead body will lie, robbed of her one friend and freedom – the choice to leave would likely be an easy one at that point.

The piece I have made that is inspired by this story is a reworking of the books of hours pages of Saint Guinefort that I have been doing. The inspiring work is the Book of Kells, its insular style was an obvious choice for an Irish myth. The manuscript itself isn’t a book of hours, however, so rather than designing a piece that could come from the same work it’s largely just stylistically inspired. Insular illumination tends to be my favorite, and this was supposed to be a fun little break – even though it extended across multiple weeks and now has it’s own blog post. 

I’d be lying if I said I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of this piece, it was a challenge and I didn’t do myself any favors trying to cut corners on design or application – it usually meant I had to re-do sections. However, I quite like the end result even if it is less refined than I would have liked. Diving into some different myths is always fun, and this one was quite surprising to me when I uncovered the whole tale.