Depictions of sea serpents, mermaids, and other mythical creatures have long furnished world maps from the 10th century, through medieval times, to the Renaissance. Despite their fantastical and oftentimes enchanting appearances, most of these creatures are based on true encounters with sea animals, demonstrating how mythology and folklore are begotten from reality.
Chet Van Duzer’s book “Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps,” published by the British Library, charts the evolution of these sea monster devices. Cartographers once employed them to adorn unexplored regions of the globe on maps and represent the possible dangers of seafaring. Many have assumed that these mythical creatures are the products of illustrators having a bit of fun or exerting creative license; many of the ocean’s creatures, including whales, walruses, and squid, were rarely seen in medieval and Renaissance times and were considered monsters. Artists had little to draw from.
There is both fact and fiction in these wondrous contrivances of the sea. There is much to appreciate either way.
“The creatures look purely fantastic. They all look like they were just made up,” Van Duzer, a map historian at the Library of Congress, said in a talk about his book. “But, in fact, a lot of them come from what were considered, at the time, scientific sources.” It was quite typical for the encyclopedias of the time to display chimeric, terrestrial-aquatic animal hybrids, and mapmakers just took some poetic license in depicting them.
One example, showcasing how an actual sea creature was transformed into a legendary beast, is the Kraken. A giant sea creature from Scandinavian mythology, first mentioned in the 13th-century Icelandic saga “Örvar-Oddr,” it was said to have been one mile long and to have attacked ships. The Kraken was so huge that its body could be mistaken for an island.
The Kraken is also mentioned in the first edition of Systema Naturae (1735), a taxonomic classification of organisms by the Swedish botanist, physician, and zoologist Carolus Linnaeus. He considered the Kraken a cephalopod, designating its scientific name microcosmus marinus.
It was apparently also depicted in the 1539 map by Swedish ecclesiastic Olaus Magnus “Carta Marina,” which is filled with lush illustrations and is the earliest map of the Nordic countries with details and named places.
The mythical Kraken is believed by historians and scientists to be a relative of the giant squid, which can reach 60 feet (18 meters) in length and has rarely been seen by humans as it lives in the deepest parts of the ocean.
In another example, a map of Scandinavia from 1573 features an “ichthyocentaur”—a chimeric beast that is part human, part horse, and part fish—playing a viol. This creature has traditionally been a representation of peaceful passage for sailing ships on the high seas.
In yet another example, strange depiction of a “sea pig,” seen in Olaus Magnus’s 1539 map Carta Marina, was synonymous with heretics who tended to distort the truth and who lived like swine. According to said map, this creature inhabited the North Sea.
According to Smithsonian Magazine, it was once thought that all land animals had their equivalent at sea. There were not only sea pigs, but also sea dogs, sea lions, etc. Some of these do exist: eared seals are “sea lions;” deep-water sea cucumbers (starfish relatives) are “sea pigs.” Those Renaissance draftsmen simply indulged in artistic embellishment, taking the comparison literally.
In other instances in Carta Marina, animals are given bestial appendages. Whales are sometimes drawn as a cross between a wolf and a bird, often possessing tusks or large teeth, and were regularly depicted as ferocious animals attacking ships. In said map, sailors are shown jettisoning barrels into the water and playing trumpets in a bid to ward off attacking whales.
It was often the accounts of seamen—describing sirens luring sailors into watery graves or various serpentine or “lobster-like” creatures assailing ships—that informed the creators of these maps. Their devices became the syntax for depicting a strange world that, at the time, existed as much in wonderment and imagination as in reality.
By tracing these depictions of sea monsters through the centuries, Van Duzer’s catalog presents an evolution: the unknown of far-off seas manifests as gigantic octopuses and whales dragging ships and sailors to their death; until the 17th century when much of the map is explored and ships exert dominion over the beasts of the ocean; eventually, scientific exploration expands, pragmatism prevails, and the beasts disappear from maps entirely.
The important message to take home from Van Duzer’s documenting sea beasts is that myth and legend are hardly mere conjures stemming from vapid imagination. They are clear reminders and affirmation that creative forces and curiosity stem from the sublime element of the unknown. Perhaps it’s a reminder to enjoy the world more as it is, and continue drawing inspiration from that element of transcendent wonder.
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