The Sea Lady was serialised from July to December 1901 in Pearson's Magazine before being published as a volume by Methuen in 1902. The story sits closely in time, therefore, to the late Victorian revival of interest in Romanticism, fairy-tale, and fantasy. However when I came across the story, I was not expecting Faërie, fantasy and evil queens. Wells is best known for science fiction and socio-political novels, and a line of comic irony in undercutting the pretensions of the bourgeoisie.
This is an unexpected example of a truly evil queen of an Otherworld, who equates her ‘love’ of a mortal with bringing about his death, and whose relationship to him is purely controlling and destructive. This is a liminal fantasy depicting the despairing and catastrophic aspect of the Romantic vision. Yet the story opens in the sort of middle-class mundane setting typical of Wells:
‘There is certainly no remoteness nor obscurity about the scene of these events. They began upon the beach just east of Sandgate Castle, towards Folkestone, and they ended on the beach near Folkestone pier not two miles away. The beginning was in broad daylight on a bright blue day in August and in full sight of the windows of half a dozen houses.’
In this prosaic English seaside setting the Bunting family, with their guests the two Misses Glendower, are spending their summer break. As soon as the scene is set the action of the tale begins, with an attempt by Mr. Bunting and his son to rescue a lady swimmer who appears to be drowning. When brought ashore: ‘it is a curious thing that the Sea Lady was at least a minute out of the water before anyone discovered that she was in any way different from—other ladies.’ Eventually everyone notices that the ‘rescued’ lady has a tail and is in fact a mermaid. An unsuspected otherworld has irrupted onto the south coast of Late Victorian England.
Nevertheless, the greater part of the story sustains the familiar Wellsian note of social comedy, in his familiar settings of gentlemen’s clubs and ladies’ parlours. The sea lady works hard at becoming an intimate friend and protegee of Mrs. Bunting, and at charming all she meets. It is only very slowly that her intentions are revealed. Then the note of darkness sounds deeply.
The lady openly admits to Wells’s ‘man who was there’ character, Melville, that she has deliberately come to find a particular young man, Chatteris, who is engaged to the older Miss Glendower. Melville is shocked, startled, and at last afraid after this conversation. He tries to think the matter through:
‘He had not hitherto looked ahead to see precisely what would happen to Chatteris, … when, as seemed highly probable, Chatteris was “got.” There were other dreams, there was another existence, an elsewhere—and Chatteris was to go there! So she said! But it came into Melville’s mind with a quite disproportionate force and vividness that once, long ago, he had seen a picture of a man and a mermaid, rushing downward through deep water.… Could it possibly be that sort of thing in the year eighteen hundred and ninety-nine?’
The most compelling and horrific strand of the story is the revelation that it is indeed ‘that sort of thing.’ After a long conversation with Melville in which Chatteris tries hard to convince himself that he can cast off the enchantment of the sea lady and return to his fiancé and his dawning political career, he instead flees with her, carrying her to the beach and into the sea. Melville’s horrified thoughts of ‘what must have happened’ complete the portrait of a cruel sea-queen:
.Did he look back, I wonder? They swam together for a little while, the man and the sea goddess who had come for him, with the sky above them and the water about them all, warmly filled with the moonlight and set with shining stars. It was no time for him to think of truth, nor of the honest duties he had left behind him, as they swam together into the unknown. And of the end I can only guess and dream. Did there come a sudden horror upon him at the last, a sudden perception of infinite error, and was he drawn down, swiftly and terribly, a bubbling repentance, into those unknown deeps? Or was she tender and wonderful to the last, and did she wrap her arms about him and draw him down, down until the soft waters closed above him into a gentle ecstasy of death?’
So liminal are these fantastic and romantic elements of the tale that only the two chief characters, the lady and her victim, and the sub-narrator figure Melville, fully understand what is going on. The society that professes itself so deeply concerned with the needs of the poor exiled sea creature—as they choose to perceive her— willfully denies the reality of her nature and works hopelessly at attempts to integrate her into the late-Victorian middle-class. It is from the incongruities of this behaviour that Wells draws most of his comic irony in the tale; but what remains with the reader is the horror of the Sea Lady’s intentions and the acquiescence of her victim. ‘There were other dreams, there was another existence, an elsewhere’ she tells Melville, yet the new dream she offers Chatteris is simply to swim out to sea with her, and to drown.