When I first heard about the Zwanendael Museum, the merman is what attracted me.
That is what I said: The Merman.
Created to attract people to side shows at circuses, I had heard about them in places like Ripley's. The gag was you sawed the back end off a fish and the front end off a monkey. A stitch here and there combined the two into something that gullible people would think was a new species. But what the hell was a merman doing in a museum so steeped in history?
The Zwanendael Museum was built in 1931 to commemorate the 300-year anniversary of the founding of Swanendael, a Dutch settlement located at Cape Henlopen. As a whaling operation, Swanendael (later changed to Zwanendael) did not last beyond the year of 1631; the Siconese Indians destroyed it the same year. The head of the operation, Captain David DeVries, discovered the settlement annihilated the next year and sailed back to the Netherlands, giving up hope of a whaling operation at the sight. I can understand why the Zwanendael Museum would have a display about Swanendael. It was, after all, its namesake. But why a merman?
In 1765, the area had a lighthouse built, creatively named the Cape Henlopen Lighthouse. That is important. It is in the museum. In 1798, the HM Brig DeBraak sinks off the coast of Lewes. That is also important. It is also in the museum. Even the bombardment of Lewes during the War of 1812 is there. It should be. It was important. But a merman?
I had to see it for myself. I could not imagine this bizarreness among such sanity. As it turns out, the merman was about the sanest display there was. The guides spoke of the normal displays with reverence, making mundane slices of a tiny town's history sound like milestones in the history of a nation. The exhibits are interesting, even when presented in a soft hush of someone narrating the birth of Christ. On the first floor the guides flock to you, eager to explain what each exhibit is and why it is important. They will you, almost beg you, to accept the importance of their history. Then you ascend the stairs to level two, see the merman, and there are no guides in sight.
They keep it in a corner in its own little display case with a small plaque. They give no explanation as to why it is there. With the complete and total display of neglect given to the little beast, I wondered myself if it even was there. I still would if I had not snapped a picture as proof. I meant to ask someone about it upon returning to the main floor. The guides spoke in depth about everything I had seen in the upstairs. Everything, that is, except the damn merman.
In the end, I left without asking. I could not bring myself to it. I was, honestly, afraid. Even the suggestion that something so vile, so disgraceful, so “un-Lewes” could ever be found in those hallowed halls seemed on the verge of sacrilege. Many days have passed, and often I have though of calling them to ask, but I do not dare.
To me, the merman is twisted sanity in a well-organized lunatic world. To question its existence would be akin to asking why the grass is green. It is just the way it is.
You, too, can get the bejesus creeped out of you. For information about the museum, call them at 302-645-1148 or visit them online at history.delaware.gov
. Admission to the museum is free, but donations are accepted. Just don't ask about the merman.
