Kürzlich habe ich in
Birmingham Museums and Art Gallery die Ausstellung
"Love and Death: Victorian Paintings from Tate" gesehen. Schwerpunkt der Ausstellung waren die
Präraffaeliten, mit Bildern von John Everett Millais, John William Waterhouse, Edward Burne-Jones und natürlich
Dante Gabriel Rosetti (1828 - 1882) - zum Beispiel seine wunderbare
Proserpina.
Wieder zurück zu Hause habe ich ein wenig recherchiert und einen Stich von Rosetti gefunden, der drei junge Mädchen mit Spindeln zeigt. Es handelt sich um eine Illustration zu einem Gedicht von
William Alingham (1824 - 1989). Und hier liefen dann alle Faden zusammen - um bei den passenden Metaphern zu bleiben: Es handelt sich um eine Meerfrauengeschichte! Mein langjähriges Lieblings- und Magisterarbeitsthema! Und wie so viele Meerfrauengschichten endet sie tragisch durch den Verrat des Menschenmannes...
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| Dante Gabriel Rosetti, "The Maids of Elfin-Mere" |
William Allingham
When the spinning-room was here
Came
Three Damsels, clothed in white,
With their spindles every
night;
One and Two and three fair Maidens,
Spinning to a
pulsing cadence,
Singing songs of Elfin-Mere;
Till the eleventh
hour was toll'd,
Then departed through the wold.
Years ago, and
years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
Three
white Lilies, calm and clear,
And they were loved by every
one;
Most of all, the Pastor's Son,
Listening to their gentle
singing,
Felt his heart go from him, clinging
Round these Maids
of Elfin-Mere.
Sued each night to make them stay,
Sadden'd when
they went away.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds
sigh as the wind doth blow.
Hands that shook with love and
fear
Dared put back the village clock,—
Flew the spindle,
turn'd the rock,
Flow'd the song with subtle rounding,
Till the
false 'eleven' was sounding;
Then these Maids of
Elfin-Mere
Swiftly, softly, left the room,
Like three doves on
snowy plume.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh
as the wind doth blow.
One that night who wander'd near
Heard
lamentings by the shore,
Saw at dawn three stains of gore
In
the waters fade and dwindle.
Never more with song and spindle
Saw
we Maids of Elfin-Mere,
The Pastor's Son did pine and die;
Because
true love should never lie.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the
tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
