Mientras Ernest Renan vocea la apatía de una sociedad cansada y lanza mensajes que despierten ilusión, el movimiento prerrafaelista observa por el retrovisor con la mirada nostálgica puesta en el Renacimiento. La decadencia tiene estos tics de mirada bífida, hacia atrás y hacia adelante, con el riesgo de caer en la pasividad que provoca el desconcierto reinante.
Merece la pena una o dos visitas a la exposición Alma-Tadema y la pintura victoriana en el Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza de Madrid. Un cuadro de Sir John Everett Millais, La corona del amor, nos muestra a una pareja en la que el hombre avanza con decisión hacia adelante mientras lleva en brazos a su amante. Ella, orientada hacia atrás, se sujeta con los brazos alrededor de su cuello, al que parece leer en sus ojos el destino que les espera. Mientras tanto, el frufrú de su vestido de seda lanza los gemidos del amor conquistado y la seguridad perdida en la lejanía.
El
miedo y la esperanza, la incertidumbre de lo desconocido y la certeza
de lo sabido, toda la puesta en escena despierta la tensión de los
tiempos victorianos.
The Crown Of Love
O might I load my arms with thee,
Like that young lover of Romance
Who loved and gained so gloriously
The fair Princess of France!
Because he dared to love so high,
He, bearing her dear weight, shall speed
To where the mountain touched on sky:
So the proud king decreed.
Unhalting he must bear her on,
Nor pause a space to gather breath,
And on the height she will be won;
And she was won in death!
Red the far summit flames with morn,
While in the plain a glistening Court
Surrounds the king who practised scorn
Through such a mask of sport.
She leans into his arms; she lets
Her lovely shape be clasped: he fares.
God speed him whole! The knights make bets:
The ladies lift soft prayers.
O have you seen the deer at chase?
O have you seen the wounded kite?
So boundingly he runs the race,
So wavering grows his flight.
- My lover! linger here, and slake
Thy thirst, or me thou wilt not win.
- See'st thou the tumbled heavens? they break!
They beckon us up and in.
- Ah, hero-love! unloose thy hold:
O drop me like a cursed thing.
- See'st thou the crowded swards of gold?
They wave to us Rose and Ring.
- O death-white mouth! O cast me down!
Thou diest? Then with thee I die.
- See'st thou the angels with their Crown?
We twain have reached the sky.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/The-Crown-Of-Love#sthash.apQ4qvFe.dpuf
THE CROWN OF LOVE
George Meredith
1859
O might I load my arms with thee,
Like that young lover of Romance
Who loved and gained so gloriously
The fair Princess of France!
Because he dared to love so high,
He, bearing her dear weight, shall speed
To where the mountain touched on sky:
So the proud king decreed.
Unhalting he must bear her on,
Nor pause a space to gather breath,
And on the height she will be won;
And she was won in death!
Red the far summit flames with morn,
While in the plain a glistening Court
Surrounds the king who practised scorn
Through such a mask of sport.
She leans into his arms; she lets
Her lovely shape be clasped: he fares.
God speed him whole! The knights make bets:
The ladies lift soft prayers.
O have you seen the deer at chase?
O have you seen the wounded kite?
So boundingly he runs the race,
So wavering grows his flight.
- My lover! linger here, and slake
Thy thirst, or me thou wilt not win.
- See'st thou the tumbled heavens? they break!
They beckon us up and in.
- Ah, hero-love! unloose thy hold:
O drop me like a cursed thing.
- See'st thou the crowded swards of gold?
They wave to us Rose and Ring.
- O death-white mouth! O cast me down!
Thou diest? Then with thee I die.
- See'st thou the angels with their Crown?
We twain have reached the sky.
The Crown Of Love
O might I load my arms with thee,
Like that young lover of Romance
Who loved and gained so gloriously
The fair Princess of France!
Because he dared to love so high,
He, bearing her dear weight, shall speed
To where the mountain touched on sky:
So the proud king decreed.
Unhalting he must bear her on,
Nor pause a space to gather breath,
And on the height she will be won;
And she was won in death!
Red the far summit flames with morn,
While in the plain a glistening Court
Surrounds the king who practised scorn
Through such a mask of sport.
She leans into his arms; she lets
Her lovely shape be clasped: he fares.
God speed him whole! The knights make bets:
The ladies lift soft prayers.
O have you seen the deer at chase?
O have you seen the wounded kite?
So boundingly he runs the race,
So wavering grows his flight.
- My lover! linger here, and slake
Thy thirst, or me thou wilt not win.
- See'st thou the tumbled heavens? they break!
They beckon us up and in.
- Ah, hero-love! unloose thy hold:
O drop me like a cursed thing.
- See'st thou the crowded swards of gold?
They wave to us Rose and Ring.
- O death-white mouth! O cast me down!
Thou diest? Then with thee I die.
- See'st thou the angels with their Crown?
We twain have reached the sky.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/The-Crown-Of-Love#sthash.apQ4qvFe.dpuf
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