Week 2 - Christabel, Part I, S.T.Coleridge
Preface
The first part of the following was written in the year 1797, at Stowey, in the county of Somerset. The second part, after my return from Germany, in the year 1800, at Keswick, Cumberland. It is probable that if the poem had been finished at either of the former periods, or if even the first and second part had been published in the year 1800, the impression of its originiality would have been much greater than I dare at present expect. But for this I have only my own indolence to blame. The dates are mentioned for the exclusive purpose of precluding charges of plagiarism or servile imitation from myself. For there is amongst us a set of critics, who seem to hold that every possible thought and image is traditional; who have no notion that there are such things as fountains in the world, small as well as great; and who would therefore charitably derive every rill they behold flowing, from a perforation made in some other man’s tank. I am confident, however, that as far as the present poem is concerned, the celebrated poets whose writings I might be suspected of having imitated, either in particular passages, or in the tone and the spirit of the whole, would be among the first to vindicate me from the charge, and who, on any striking coincidence, would permit me to address them in this doggerel version of two monkish Latin hexameters.
OOOOOOOOO‘Tis mine and it is likewise yours;
OOOOOOOOOBut an if this will not do;
OOOOOOOOOLet it be mine, good friend! for I
OOOOOOOOOAm the poorer of the two.
I have only to add that the metre of Christabel is not, properly speaking, irregular, thought it may seem so from its being founded on a new principle: namely, that of counting in each line the accents, not the syllables. Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve, yet in each line the accents will be found to be only four. Nevertheless, this occasional variation in number of syllables is not introduced wantonly, nor for the mere ends of convenience, but in correspondence with some transition in the nature of the imagery or passion.
Part I
‘Tis the middle of the night by the castle clock,
And the owls have awakened the crowning cock;
Tu-whit!—Tu-whoo!
And hark again! the crowing cock,
How drowsily it crew.
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff bitch;
From her kennel beneath the rock
She makes answer to the clock,
Four for the quarters and twelve for the hour,
Ever and aye, moonshine or shower,
Sixteen short howls, not overloud;
Some say she sees my lady’s shroud.
Is the night chilly and dark?
The night is chilly but not dark.
The thin grey cloud is spread on high,
It covers but not hides the sky.
The moon is behind, and at the full,
And yet she looks both small and dull.
The night is chill, the cloud is grey:
‘Tis a month before the month of May,
And the spring comes slowly up this way.
The lovely lady, Christabel,
Whom her father loves so well,
What makes her in the wood so late
A furlong from the castle gate?
She had dreams all yesternight
Of her own betrothed knight –
Dreams that made her moan and leap
As on her bed she lay in sleep;
And she in the midnight wood will pray
For the weal of her lover that’s far away.
She stole nothing, she nothing spoke,
The breezes they were still also;
And nought was green upon the oak
But moss and rarest mistletoe;
She kneels beneath the huge oak tree
And in silence prayeth she.
The lady leaps up suddenly,
The lovely lady, Christabel!
It moaned as near as near can be,
But what it is, she cannot tell:
On the other side it seems to be
Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.
The night is chill, the forest bare –
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?
There is not wind enough in the air
To move away the ringlet curl
From the lovely lady’s cheek;
There is not wing enough to twirl
The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light and hanging so high
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Hush, beating heart of Christabel!
Jesu Maria, shield her well!
She folded her arms beneath her cloak
And stole to the other side of the oak:
OOWhat sees she there?
There she sees a damsel bright
Dressed in a silken robe of white;
Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare,
And the jewels disordered in her hair.
I guess ‘twas frightful there to see
A lady so richly clad as she –
OOBeautiful exceedingly!
‘Mary mother, save me now!’
Said Christabel, ‘And who art thou?’
The lady strange made answer meet
And her voice was faint and sweet.
‘Have pity on my sore distress,
I scare can speak for weariness!
Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear - ’
Said Christabel, ‘How cam’st thou here?’
And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet,
Did thus pursue her answer meet:
‘My sire is of a noble line
And my name is Geraldine.
Five warriors seized me yestermorn –
Me, even me, a maid forlorn;
They choked my cries with force and fight
And tied me on a palfrey white.
The palfrey was as fleet as wind,
And they rode furiously behind.
They spurred amain, their steeds were white,
And once we crossed the shade of night.
As sure as Heaven shall rescue me,
I have no thought what men they be;
Nor do I know how long it is
(For I have lain in fits, I wis)
Since one, the tallest of the five,
Took me from the palfrey’s back,
A weary woman scarce alive.
Some muttered words his comrades spoke,
He placed me underneath this oak,
He swore they would return with haste;
Whither they went I cannot tell –
I thought I heard, some minutes past,
Sounds as of a castle-bell.
Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she)
And help a wretched maid to flee.’
Then Christabel stretched forth her hand
And comforted fair Geraldine,
Saying that she should command
The service of Sir Leoline
And straight be conveyed, free from thrall,
Back to her noble father’s hall.
So up she rose and forth they passed
With hurrying steps, yet nothing fast;
Her lucky stars the lady blessed,
And Christabel, she sweetly said,
‘All our house are at rest,
Each one sleeping in his bed.
Sir Leoline is weak in health
And may not be well awakened be,
So to my room we’ll creep in stealth
And you tonight must sleep with me.’
They crossed the moat, and Christabel
Took the key that fitted well –
A little door she opened straight
All in the middle of the gate,
The gate was ironed within and without
Where an army in battle array had marched out.
The lady sank, belike through pain,
And Christabel with might and main
Lifted her up, a weary weight,
Over the threshold of the gate;
Then the lady rose again
And moved as she were not in pain.
So free from danger, free from fear,
They crossed the court – right glad they were.
And Christabel devoutly cried
To the lady be her side,
‘Praise we the Virgin all divine
Who hath rescued three from thy distress!’
‘Alas, alas,’ said Geraldine,
‘I cannot speak from weariness.’
So free from danger, free from fear,
They crossed the court – right glad they were.
Outside her kennel, the mastiff old
Lay fast asleep in moonshine cold.
The mastiff old did not awake,
Yet she an angry moan did make.
And what can ail the mastiff bitch?
Never till now she uttered yell
Beneath the eye of Christabel.
Perhaps it is the owlet’s scritch,
For what can ail the mastiff bitch?
They passed the hall that echoes still,
Pass as lightly as you will.
The brands were flat, the brands were dying,
Amid their own white ashes lying;
But when the lady passed, there came
A tongue of light, a fit of flame,
And Christabel saw the lady’s eye,
And nothing else saw she thereby
Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall
Which hung in a murky old nitch in the wall.
‘Oh softly tread’, said Christabel,
‘My father seldom sleepeth well.’
Sweet Christabel, her feet she bares
And they are creeping up the stairs,
Now in glimmer and now in gloom,
And now they pass the Baron’s room,
As still as death with stifled breath;
And now have reached her chamber door,
And now with eager feet press down
The rushes of her chamber floor.
The moon shines dim in the open air
And not a moonbeam enters here.
But they without its light can see
The chamber carved so curiously,
Carved with figures strange and sweet
All made out of the carver’s brain
For a lady’s chamber meet;
The lamp with twofold silver chain
Is fastened to an angel’s feet.
The silver lamp burns dead and dim,
But Christabel the lamp will trim.
She trimmed the lamp and made it bright
And left it swinging to and fro,
While Geraldine in wretched plight
Sank down upon the floor below.
‘Oh weary lady Geraldine,
I pray you, drink this cordial wine.
It is a wine of virtuous powers –
My mother made it of wild-flowers.’
‘And will your mother pity me,
Who am a maiden most forlorn?’
Christabel answered, ‘Woe is me!
She died the hour that I was born.
I have heard the grey-haired friar tell
How on her deathbed she did say
That she should hear the castle bell
Strike twelve upon my wedding day.
Oh mother dear, that thou wert here!’
‘I would’, said Geraldine, ‘she were.’
But soon with altered voice said she,
‘Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine!
I have power to big thee flee.’
Alas, what ails poor Geraldine?
Why stares she with unsettled eye?
Can she the bodiless dead espy?
And why with hollow voice cries she,
‘Off woman, off! this hour is mine –
Though thou her guardian spirit be,
Off woman, off! – ‘tis given to me’?
Then Christabel knelt by the lady’s side,
And raised to heaven her eyes so blue;
‘Alas!’ said she, ‘this ghastly ride –
Dear lady, it hath wildered you!’
The lady wiped her moist cold brow,
And faintly said, ‘‘Tis over now!’
Again the wild-flower wine she drank;
Her fair large eyes ‘gan glitter bright,
And from the floor whereon she sank,
The lofty lady stood upright:
She was most beautiful to see,
Like a lady of a far countrée.
And thus the lofty lady spake:
‘All they who live in the upper sky
Do love you, holy Christabel!
And you love them, and for their sake,
And for the good which me befell,
Even I, in my degree will try,
Fair maiden, to require you well.
But now unrobe yourself, for I
Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie.’
Quoth Christabel, ‘So let it be!’
And as the lady bade, did she.
Her gentle limbs did she undress,
And lay down in her loveliness.
But through her brain, of weal and woe
So many thoughts moved to and fro
That vain it were her lids to close;
So halfway from the bed she rose,
And on her elbow did recline
To look at the lady Geraldine.
Beneath the lamp the lady bowed
And slowly rolled her eyes around;
Then drawing in her breath aloud
Like one that suddered, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:
Her silken robe and inner vest
Dropped to her feet, and full in view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side –
A sight to dream of, not to tell!
And she is to sleep by Christabel.
She took two paces and a stride,
And lay down by the maiden’s side;
And in her arms the maid she took,
OOAh wel-a-day!
And with low voice and doleful look
OOThese words did say:
‘In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell
Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!
Thou knowest tonight, and wilt know tomorrow,
This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow;
OOOBut vainly thou warrest,
OOOOFor this is alone in
OOOThy power to declare,
OOOOThat in the dim forest
OOOOThou heard’st a low moaning,
And found’st a bright lady surpassingly fair,
And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity,
To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.’
The Conclusion to Part I
It was a lovely sight to see
The lady Christabel, when she
Was praying at the old oak tree.
OOOAmid the jagged shadows
OOOOf mossy leafless boughs,
OOOKneeling in the moonlight
OOOTo make her gentle vows;
Her slender palms together pressed,
Heaving sometimes on her breast;
Her face resigned to bliss or bale,
Her face – oh call it fair, not pale!
And doth blue eyes more bright and clear,
Each about to have a tear.
With open eyes (ah woe is me!)
Asleep, and dreaming fearfully,
Fearfully dreaming, yet I wis,
Dreaming that alone, which is –
Oh sorrow and shame! Can this be she,
The lady who knelt at the old oak tree?
And lo! the worker of these harms
That holds the maiden in her arms,
Seems to slumber still and mild,
As a mother with her child.
A star hath set, a star hath risen,
Oh Geraldine, since arms of thine
Have been the lovely lady’s prison!
Oh Geraldine, one hour was thine –
Thou’st had thy will! By tairn and rill
The night-birds all that hour were still;
But now they are jubilant anew,
From cliff and tower, tu-whoo! tu-whoo!
Tu-whoo! tu-whoo! from wood and fell!
And see! the lady Christabel
Gathers herself from out her trance;
Her limbs relax, her countenance
Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids
Close o’er her eyes, and tear she sheds –
Large tears that leave the lashes bright;
And oft the while she seems to smile
As infants at a sudden light!
Yea she doth smile and she doth weep
Like a youthful hermitess
Beauteous in a wilderness,
Who praying always, prays in sleep.
And is she move unquietly,
Perchance ‘tis but the blood so free
Comes back and tingles in her feet.
No doubt she hath a vision sweet:
What if her guardian spirit ‘twere?
What if she knew her mother near?
But this she knows – in joys and woes,
That saints will aid is men will call,
For the blue sky bends over all!
The lady Christabel, when she
Was praying at the old oak tree.
OOOAmid the jagged shadows
OOOOf mossy leafless boughs,
OOOKneeling in the moonlight
OOOTo make her gentle vows;
Her slender palms together pressed,
Heaving sometimes on her breast;
Her face resigned to bliss or bale,
Her face – oh call it fair, not pale!
And doth blue eyes more bright and clear,
Each about to have a tear.
With open eyes (ah woe is me!)
Asleep, and dreaming fearfully,
Fearfully dreaming, yet I wis,
Dreaming that alone, which is –
Oh sorrow and shame! Can this be she,
The lady who knelt at the old oak tree?
And lo! the worker of these harms
That holds the maiden in her arms,
Seems to slumber still and mild,
As a mother with her child.
A star hath set, a star hath risen,
Oh Geraldine, since arms of thine
Have been the lovely lady’s prison!
Oh Geraldine, one hour was thine –
Thou’st had thy will! By tairn and rill
The night-birds all that hour were still;
But now they are jubilant anew,
From cliff and tower, tu-whoo! tu-whoo!
Tu-whoo! tu-whoo! from wood and fell!
And see! the lady Christabel
Gathers herself from out her trance;
Her limbs relax, her countenance
Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids
Close o’er her eyes, and tear she sheds –
Large tears that leave the lashes bright;
And oft the while she seems to smile
As infants at a sudden light!
Yea she doth smile and she doth weep
Like a youthful hermitess
Beauteous in a wilderness,
Who praying always, prays in sleep.
And is she move unquietly,
Perchance ‘tis but the blood so free
Comes back and tingles in her feet.
No doubt she hath a vision sweet:
What if her guardian spirit ‘twere?
What if she knew her mother near?
But this she knows – in joys and woes,
That saints will aid is men will call,
For the blue sky bends over all!
posted by Mavra at 12:47 PM
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