Dante Gabriel Rossetti – Proserpine (Persephone)

“‘Woe me for thee, unhappy Proserpine’.”

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Proserpine, 1874

The tale of Persephone, or Proserpine, is dear and near to my heart, especially in this phase of my life. The Greek goddess Persephone was the daughter of Demeter who was the goddess of harvest and agriculture. Persephone spent her childhood and teenage years in an ideal nature setting, frolicking the meadows like a hippie gal and picking flowers with her friends nymphs. Demeter was fiercly protective of her precious, beloved daughter. Still, one day when she wasn’t there to prevent it, Hades, the God of the Underworld, snatched Persephone and took her into the world of the death. Upon finding out what had happened, poor Demeter was roaming the earth in desolation and all the vegetation stopped growing. She could almost get her daughter back had Persephone not eaten a few seeds of the pomegranate while in the underworld and whoever eats anything in the underworld cannot leave it. And so it was arranged that Persephone would spent six months with her husband in the underworld and six months with her mother on earth. Persephone’s arrival to earth marks the beginning of the spring and summer months, and when it is time for her to return to her husband, the vegetation withers again and winter comes. Proserpine was the Roman equivalent of Persephone and I suppose Rossetti, being Italian, chose the Roman version of the goddess for that reason.

The most common representation of Persephone is art is the moment when she is snatched, or raped even as the titles of these paintings often suggest, by Hades. It is a moment of tragedy, but also passion, a moment when the darkness touches the flowery sweetness of the innocent maiden. Still, Rossetti doesn’t care to paint Hades or to portray the drama and action of the kidnapping scene, but rather chooses to portray Persephone when she is already in the underworld. Rossetti wrote of the painting: “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 sight 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.” Rossetti beautifully captures the tragedy of Persephone’s life; the feeling of being torn between her husband and mother who belong to completely different worlds; one is safe and filled with flowers and love, and the other is dark, gloomy and strange. She is holding a pomegranate in her hand, the main symbol associated with Persephone, and it is this cursed fruit alone that changed her destiny. Had she not eaten it, she would be free, but now it is too late and her big blue eyes radiate a quiet lament, a strange resignation. In the upper right corner of the painting are the lines of the poem Rossetti had written to accompany the painting and this is how they go:

“Afar away the light that 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 become 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 mine inner sense in fain to bring,
Continually together murmuring) —
‘Woe me for thee, unhappy Proserpine’.“

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Proserphine, 1880, Chalk version

The model for the painting was Jane Morris, the wife of William Morris and a Pre-Raphaelite embroiderer in her own right. The relationship between Rossetti and Jane is a fascinating one, but full of secrets and ambiguities. It is unknown whether their relationship was erotic, or was it just a very intimate friendship with romantic overtones, but it was certain that others in the Pre-Raphaelite circles had noted their closeness and that William Morris too was not blind to it. Jane was Rossetti’s muse from the late 1860s up until his death and he painted not only many other paintings of her but also this painting, Proserpine, in eight different versions, each one an echo of the previous one in beauty and colours. A chalk version which I have included bellow is also particularly interesting, shadowy and chalky, it kind of matches Persephone’s life in the underworld, the place of shadows. It is interesting to ponder on why exactly would Rossetti choose to portray Jane as Proserpine; did he just need a beautiful model for Persephone’s face, which is similar to the faces of many other of his femme fatales and mythological heroines, or was there any symbolism attached to his choice?

In 1871 Rossetti and William Morris took a joint tenancy on Kelmscott Manor and Morris left that summer to Iceland to do some research and left Rossetti with Jane to spend time together and decorate the house. It is easy to see why and how Jane became so close to Rossetti and why she was his special muse. While Morris was busy with his work, Rossetti was busy with his wife – painting her, of course. In a way, Jane was trapped in their marriage as Persephone was in the underworld. Morris, like Hades, was a faithful husband, but neither of the wives had much choice in life. In the summer of 1873 Morris again left for Iceland. Where did Jane find comfort, affection and attention? With Rossetti, and he in turn gained a lot artistically by having her pose for him. While I wouldn’t necessarily describe Jane Morris’ face as beautiful, for it is far too masculine for my liking to be beautiful, it definitely is striking. The strong neck and jawline, the exaggeratedly full upper lip, it is all a tad too masculine for my taste, and I feel the same way about most Rossetti’s women. The rich masses of her dark brown hair is truly extraordinary and I have to admit that there is something dramatic about Jane’s face that captivates. I imagine Persephone’s differently, but these paintings are hauntingly beautiful.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Proserphine, 1882 version

Detail from the upper right corner of the 1882 version of the painting showing the inscribed poem in English.

Detail from the 1874 version of the painting with the poem in Italian.