One of the artworks which I researched and talked about several times over the years during my time working at Tate Britain was ‘Proserpine’, a work by the Pre-Raphaelite artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti. The myth of Proserpine, or Persephone as she is perhaps better known, is partly about the changing of the seasons and the idea for this post came to me on the day of daylight saving time which this year, 2020, falls on October 25th, when the days start to get shorter here in the northern hemisphere. We are now plunged into more darkness as we move further into the astrological sign of Scorpio, associated with mystery, change, transformation, and ruled by the planet Pluto. In tarot it is represented by the Death card, signifying an ending and transformative phase, hopefully followed by forward movement into a new one. It is a time of looking deeper within, and around now is when the Goddess Proserpine descends into the Underworld and we venture further into autumn and winter. This seems like a fitting time to write about this artwork and honour this goddess of the Earth and Underworld, along with her mother, Ceres/Demeter. Also, this is a beautiful and intriguing painting by an artist from whose work I learn so much.
When I was working at Tate Britain, one of the versions of Proserpine was on display in what was at that time known as the 1840s room. Since this post was originally written, the collection in the gallery has been rearranged and the painting now hangs in the room ‘Beauty as Protest: 1845 – 1905’. (If visiting to see the work, do check first that it is on show and not out on loan or in conservation. This might seem obvious, but you would not believe the amount of visitors who turn up expecting work in the collection to always be on show).
Rossetti originally painted eight versions in total. Some still survive and others met with one disaster or another. Back in 2014, when I was thinking about preparing a new talk, I decided to look further into the story behind this work. I had for a good while been interested in Rossetti’s art and that of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in general. Each time I walked past Proserpine, I could sense her luring me in as if to say ‘you really should know more about me, you know’ and it occurred to me that even though I was very familiar with the image, I did not really know much about it. Or at least not enough. How many times do we do that? We say we like a work of art but do we really know why? We are familiar with so many images but do we always know the story behind them, or perhaps more importantly, why we relate to them?
Most readers will be familiar with the work of Rossetti or at least with the name and his rather remarkable family. He was one of the founding members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood which formed in 1848, and was also a poet, designer, translator, and illustrator. Born Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti in 1828 to Italian parents, he later changed the order of his first two names to Dante Gabriel because of his admiration for the poet Dante whose work he translated. His father, also called Gabriel, was a Dante scholar who had come to London as an emigre and married Rossetti’s mother, Francis Polidori, whose brother was physician to Lord Byron. He had two sisters, the poet Christina and Maria Francesca who was a writer, and one brother, William Michael, who was a critic and editor.
The myth of Proserpine, or Proserpina as it is sometimes written, is well known. She is the Roman equivalent of the Greek Goddess Persephone, and also known as Kore, meaning maiden. Her mother Ceres, or Demeter as she is known in the Greek version, is the goddess of the harvest, agriculture and the fertility of the Earth. Her father is Jupiter/Zeus. The most well known part of the story goes that one day when Proserpine was picking flowers by Lake Pergusa in Enna, Sicily, she was abducted by the god Pluto/Hades and carried off to his home in the Underworld to be his Queen. Ceres begged Jupiter for help, forbidding anything to grow on the Earth until their daughter was returned. Jupiter agreed to intervene, but Proserpine had been tricked by Pluto into eating six seeds of the pomegranate. The amount differs according to various accounts given. Eating the fruits of the Underworld, the fruit of the dead, was forbidden, and anyone who had done so could not return to Earth. However, it was decided that she be allowed to return to Earth for six months of the year and remain in the Underworld for the other six. Ceres refused to allow anything to grow on Earth whilst her daughter was trapped in the Underworld, and so in her absence we have autumn and winter when things do not grow, and when she returns we have spring and summer when there is renewal and regeneration.
The cult dedicated to Proserpine and Ceres grew up around the Ancient Mediterranean. They were central to the rituals of the Eleusinian Mysteries which amongst other things were to do with the cycle of the changing seasons. Southern Italy and Sicily were areas where the cult flourished. I’ve been searching for images that place them in this area. Right now, at time of writing (early 2020), the room in the British Museum which holds a collection of terracotta figures from that time and place is closed due to lockdown, otherwise I would be there safely distancing with my camera. However, I love this relief from the National Archaeological Museum of Athens showing them with Triptolemus. (Note: Please see a recent post from July 31st 2024 ‘Proserpine/Persephone, Ceres /Demeter’ to see photographs of some of the votives at the British Museum).
Proserpine’s story is much bigger and more complex than that, of course, but the main point here for the purpose of this talk was that she is connected to the fertility of the Earth and the changing of the seasons. Now that we live in a time where the Earth is crying out for healing, maybe the Goddess needs a new story? We could do with a new version where there is less suffering involved overall and she walks on the Earth feeling free, whilst healing and soothing the ground beneath her feet as she goes.
This version of Proserpine which Rossetti painted in 1874 differs from the depictions of her in art that we are used to seeing which mainly centre around the act of her abduction. Here she stands holding in her left hand, the pomegranate which sealed her fate. In Rossetti’s own words she is:
‘…represented in a gloomy corridor of her palace with the fatal fruit in her hand. As she passes a gleam strikes on the wall behind her from some inlet suddenly opened and admitting for a moment the light of the upper world and she glances furtively towards it, immersed in thought. The incense burner stands beside her as the attribute of a goddess. The ivy branch in the background may be taken as a symbol of clinging memory.’
On the top right hand corner there is a sonnet written by the artist dedicated to her. It is written in Italian. Medieval Italian. In the language of Dante. Why of course! What else would Rossetti write in? This was highlighted to me at one of the talks by a lady from Bologna who wished to read the poem out in Italian. She read from my copy of ‘The Poems of Dante Gabriel Rossetti’ which was edited by the artist’s brother William Michael and published in London by Ellis in 1910. Each time I spoke about this work, I invited people to read the poem – usually in English. There was always enthusiasm to do so, which was great. I think that it made people feel more involved, rather than just listening. The poem, entitled simply Proserpine with the words ‘For a Painting’ underneath, was one of a series of poems entitled ‘Sonnets for Pictures’ which Rossetti wrote to go with some of his works. It is also reproduced in English on the bottom part of the frame. The painted scroll along the bottom of the work, once again in Italian, simply reads ‘Dante Gabriel Rossetti painted this at the beginning of 1874’.
PROSERPINA.
Per Un Quadro.
LUNGI è la luce che in sù questo muro
Rifrange appena, un breve istante scorta
Del rio palazzo all soprana porta.
Lungi quei fiori d'Enna, o lido oscuro,
Dal frutto tuo fatal che omai m'è duro.
Lungi quel cielo dal tartareo manto
Che quì mi cuopre : e lungi ahi lungi ahi quanto
Le notti che saran dai dì che furo.
Lungi da me mi sento ; e ognor sognando
Cerco e ricerco, e resto ascoltatrice ;
E qualche cuore a qualche anima dice,
(Di cui mi giunge il suon di quando in quando,
Continuamente insieme sospirando,)-
''Oimè per te, Proserpina infelice!''
PROSERPINA.
For a Picture.
Afar away the light which brings cold cheer
Unto this wall,one instant and no more
Admitted at my distant palace door.
Afar the flowers of Enna from this drear
Dire fruit, which, tasted once, must thrall me here.
Afar those skies from this Tartarean grey
That chills me : and afar, how far away,
The nights that shall be from the days that were.
Afar from mine own self I seem, and wing
Strange ways in thought, and listen for a sign.
And still some heart unto some soul doth pine
(Whose sounds my inner sense is fain to bring,
Continually together murmuring,)-
''Woe's me for thee, unhappy Proserpine!''
The setting is cold but it is warmed by the presence of the Goddess. I found that I could never talk about the painting during the hot summer months. Doing that seemed so out of synch. Around about now in October, throughout winter, and at the beginning of springtime when she emerges onto the Earth again were the best times to give the talks about her. I found it best to honour her in the setting Rossetti had placed her. The presence of the ivy always disturbed me. This year during lockdown, being outside more each day in the local green spaces and woodland areas has meant I’ve seen more and more of it. It grows in abundance. Takes over almost, wrapping itself without permission around trees and fencing. Its energy seems so heavy and dark at times. I’m sure that traditionally its symbolism says otherwise. Many will disagree with me and say that it is beautiful, but seemingly trapped, ivy clad walls and houses, although attractive to many, are obviously not for me. Maybe it represents the clinging memory that Rossetti suggests. Memory that needs to be let go of. Or given the setting of Underworld and his connection to Proserpine, perhaps here it also represents Dionysus/Bacchus.
Rossetti painted Proserpine when he was staying at Kelmscott Manor in Oxfordshire which he had leased with his close friend and business partner, William Morris. There are numerous accounts and speculations about the relationship between the artist and Morris’ wife which are well documented and I feel no need to regurgitate any of it here. Jane became the model for many of the artist’s works and appears in various goddess paintings Rossetti created from around 1870 onwards. He painted her obsessively and in this case she is the model for Proserpine. She is dressed in a silken, flowing, deep green robe. A green that could only be associated with Rossetti. A mesmerising colour of healing, of the heart, of the Earth. In fact, it is the colour most associated with the Goddess herself.
There are those who fixate on Rossetti’s fascination for women and in many cases prefer to focus on that rather than actually take a deep look at the body of work he produced and the messages that they contain. It has been suggested that the painting symbolises Jane in her trapped marriage with Morris. This may well be the case but Morris himself was very aware of the connection between the artist and his wife, and it was he who suggested to Rossetti that he paint Jane as Proserpine, although yes, no doubt she did feel trapped within such a world.
There are so many layers to this painting. The Goddess, the myth, the model, the artist, the poetry, and not forgetting the symbolism of the pomegranate which appears in so many paintings throughout the history of art and symbolises fertility, resurrection and eternal life to quote just a few things that the fruit is associated with. We must not forget the frame which brings everything into a unified whole. Rossetti always designed his own picture frames, incorporating symbols which relate to the paintings themselves and those symbols should be taken into consideration when looking at the works.
The medallions on the frame of Proserpine are generally thought of as representing the pomegranate she is holding. True, the symbols look like a pomegranate cut through the middle. But the symbol appears on other frames where the paintings do not contain the fruit. So perhaps it represents an aspect of what the pomegranate symbolises rather than the actual fruit itself? This and other thoughts about Proserpine I would like to consider in future posts. What I have written above just skims the surface and with Rossetti nothing is ever surface. You always have to dig deeper.
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