Christabel

1st edition title page

Christabel was written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1797 and 1800, in the Quantocks and the Lake District respectively. The first part created a poem close to his other visionary poems, but as he thought about it more, and overlaid the Lake District section, the complexity hinted at by the original became manifest.

Coleridge planned to expand Christabel to five books, but he only ever published two, for various reasons. Christabel is usually read as a kind of absent text through its plural versions, in modern critical terms, but something close to the original vision extractable from the textual history of Book One shows the poem to have started from a very compact and vivid original gem.

1800 Changes

In his epic study of the textual story of Coleridgean manuscripts, Stillinger identifies two very early documents of Christabel that he labels H and T1. The former is a holograph copy from “the last three months of 1800 or from 1801” (p.80), which he also labels Version 1 or CoS 52. The latter is a text transcript in a notebook by Dorothy Wordsworth and Mary Hutchinson, written “probably between November 1801 and January 1802” (p.81), also labelled Version 2 or CoS 51. There are many differences between the two, which Stillinger mainly ascribes to “simple copying errors”, while pointing out that others are not so easily explained.

Analysis of the textual variations shows, however, that T1 is likely to have come first and that H represents a slightly later variation. Whether T1 is misdated or was copied from some earlier manuscript I do not know. What is clear is that most of the material which is changed in H is, in this view, additional.

Lines 43–52

T1 Combined H

The night is chill; the forest bare;
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?
There is not wind enough in the air 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 out at the sky.

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 wind 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.

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 wind 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.

There are two reasons to believe addition over omission here. The first is that the changed section was included in all subsequent versions of the poems. If it was good enough to be kept, why would it be omitted from T1? Secondly, T1 shows here a strange state of composition. The word air had rhymed with bare, and was changed to twirl as a verb. This provides evidence that the lines were not simply miscopied: if they were miscopied, there would not have been such attention paid to go back and correct the ending to a stronger verb. But since the original didn't work grammatically, why was it there?

It is hard to explain, either way, why Dorothy should have to change the section. Was Coleridge dictating it? This would imply that Stillinger's date is incorrect. Note that “looks out at the sky” is only attested in one other manuscript, also an early one: T2.

Lines 55–65

T1 Combined H

She folded her arms beneath her cloak,
And stole to the other side of the oak.
   What sees she there?

A damsel bright,
Clad in a silken robe of white,
Her stately Neck, her Feet, her arms were bare;
And the Jewels were tumbled in her hair.

She folded her arms beneath her cloak,
And stole to the other side of the oak.
   What sees she there?

There she sees a damsel bright,
Drest in a silken robe of white,
Her stately Neck, her Feet, her arms were bare;
And the Jewels were tumbled in her hair.

She folded her arms beneath her cloak,
And stole to the other side of the oak.
   What saw sees she there?

There she sees a damsel bright,
Drest in a silken robe of white,
Her stately Neck, her Feet, her arms were bare;
And the Jewels were tumbled in her hair.

The change from Clad to Drest is the one that Stillinger specifically highlights as being unlikely as a simple copying error. It is a unique difference in the whole textual history of the poem. Again, the argument that all other versions of the poem would not find a variant like this unless revised, especially in a transcript by others at such an early and uncertain date, holds weight.

Moreover, though, the change to the repetition of "There she sees a damsel bright" has an interesting æsthetic effect. Clearly the original version of what spans two lines T1 was to read as a single line followed by the Clad line, "What sees she there? A damsel bright, / Clad in a silken robe of white", and there is no reason why two lines would be pared down into one, or that such a process could be so neatly obtained. The change actually makes the section unmetrical, but this is fine since a gap is introduced between two stanzas. In fact the change is an improvement, I believe, because the repetition of the sentiment is more trance-like, in keeping with the unique feel of the poem overall.

Lines 204–219

T1 Combined H

But soon, with altered voice, said she—
“Off, woman, off! this hour is mine—
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, “I am better now!”

But soon, with altered voice, said she—
“Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine!
I have power to bid 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, “I am better now!”

But soon, with altered voice, said she—
“Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine!
I have power to bid 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, “I am better now!”

This addition explains a puzzling feature of the poem. Christabel talks about her deceased mother, wanting her to be there, and immediately thereafter Geraldine, in the received text of the poem, starts talking about a “wandering mother” and “guardian spirit”. Yet Christabel has no idea what Geraldine is talking about. To the reader it is obvious, and perhaps it ought to be to Christabel too.

We could excuse this by saying that Christabel is under an enchantment. But the addition seems to indicate that in fact Coleridge was very elusively allusive in the original version of this section. He does not state that the woman is a wandering mother, nor that she is Christabel's guardian spirit. Presumably this turned out to be, however, too much for the general reader to have to intuit. Coleridge pieced out the action at the expense of making Christabel seem either naïve or deeply enchanted. One should also note that the rhyme scheme of the stanza in the original form is a quite regular ABACDCDEE. The additions again form a very neat and regular series of introductions.

Christabel 1800

In an edition called Christabel 1800 I have tried to reproduce the poem as it was at the start of 1800. In other words, this is as close as possible to the state the poem was in before Coleridge added the Lake District material in that year. In the received text, Part One is 278 lines, and Part One and One Conclusion are 331 lines. The Christabel 1800 text has only 256 lines.

Commentary and Conclusions

There are some scant remarks from Coleridge and friends explaining the poem. Furthermore, several possible continuations or endings to the poem (putatively mentioned to friends and family by Coleridge) have been mooted: two from Dr. James Gillman, and two from Derwent Coleridge.

Coleridge

(1) Part III is to have been Christabel's “song ... of desolation”.

(2) “It seems that Hazlitt from pure Malignity had spread about the Report that Geraldine was a man in disguise.” (And therefore, Geraldine was not a man in disguise—but what idiot would think that?)

Coleridge claimed to have expanded the poem to 1200 or 1300 lines, which is normally dismissed since no manuscript existed. He was able to recite the poem, however, and may have composed this in his head. His family thought he was lying when he said he was working on a new edition of the Friend, so I think it behooves historians to look charitably or at least neutrally at claims such as these.

(3) Annotations in the style of the Mariner annotator:

112–22:

She rais’d the Dame: and forth they pass’d
With hurrying steps yet nothing fast.
Her lucky Stars the Lady blest:
And thus spake on sweet Christabel—
All our Household are at rest,
The Hall as silent as the Cell.
Sir Leoline is weak in health,
And may not well disturbed be;
So to my room we’ll creep in stealth,
And I beseech your courtesy
This night to share your couch with me!

The Strange Lady cannot rise, without the touch of Christabel’s Hand: and now she blesses her Stars. She will not praise the Creator of the Heavens, or name the Saints.

129–32:

The lady sank, belike thro’ pain,
And Christabel with might and main
Lifted her up, a weary weight,
Over the threshold of the gate . . .

The strange Lady may not pass the threshhold without Christabel’s help and will.

141–42:

Alas, alas! said Geraldine,
I cannot speak for weariness.

The strange Lady makes an excuse, not to praise the Holy Virgin.

204–9:

But soon with alter’d voice, said she—
“Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine!
“I have power to bid thee flee.”
Alas! what ails poor Geraldine?
Why stares she with unsettled eye?
Can she the bodiless dead espy?

The Mother of Christabel, who is now her Guardian Spirit, appears to Geraldine, as in answer to her wish. Geraldine fears the Spirit, but yet has power over it for a time.

262–70:

And lay down by the maiden’s side!—
And in her arms the maid she took,
   Ah well-a-day!
And with sad voice and doleful look
These words did say:
In the touch of my bosom there worketh a spell,
Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!
Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow,
The mark of my shame, the seal of my sorrow;

As soon as the wicked Bosom, with the mysterious sign of Evil stamped thereby, touches Christabel, she is deprived of the power of disclosing what had occurred.

Dr. James Gillman

(1) “In the outline recorded by JG Geraldine ceases to personate the daughter of Sir Roland de Vaux and instead takes on the appearance of Christabel's absent knight. In spite of Christabel's seemingly inexplicable repugnance from her lover, she is forced by her father to continue the marriage plans and is only rescued at the last moment by the reappearance of the real lover. Geraldine, defeated, disappears, and the marriage with the true lover takes place. Her mother's voice, as predicted, is heard when the wedding bell tolls, and father and daughter are reconciled.” (Mays)

(2) “In conversation many of his brother poets would, like the reviewer, echo his praises, while in secret, they were trying to deprive him of his fair fame. It has been said, that ‘Coleridge never explained the story of Christabel.’ To his friends he did explain it; and in the Biographia Literaria, he has given an account of its origin.

“The story of the Christabel is partly founded on the notion, that the virtuous of this world save the wicked. The pious and good Christabel suffers and prays for

   “‘The weal of her lover that is far away,’

“exposed to various temptations in a foreign land; and she thus defeats the power of evil represented in the person of Geraldine. This is one main object of the tale.

“At the opening of the poem all nature is laid under a spell:— [...] The spell is laid by an evil being, not of this world, with whom Christabel, the heroine, is about to become connected; and who in the darkness of the forest is meditating the wreck of all her hopes [...] Geraldine had already worked upon the kindness of Christabel, so that she had lifted her over the threshold of the gate, which Geraldine's fallen power had prevented her passing of herself, the place being holy and under the influence of the Virgin. [...] Such is the mysterious movement of this supernatural lady, that all this is visible, and when she passed the dying brands, there came a fit of flame, and Christabel saw the lady's eye. [...] The poet now introduces the real object of the supernatural transformation: the spirit of evil struggles with the deceased and sainted mother of Christabel for the possession of the lady. To render the scene more impressive, the mother instantly appears, though she is invisible to her daughter. [...] At the ceasing of the spell, the joyousness of the birds is described, and also the awakening of Christabel as from a trance. — During this rest (her mother) the guardian angel is supposed to have been watching over her. But these passages could not escape coarse minded critics, who put a construction on them which never entered the mind of the author of Christabel, whose poems are marked by delicacy.”

Derwent Coleridge

(1) “The sufferings of Christabel were to have been represented as vicarious, endured for her ‘lover far away’; and Geraldine, no witch or goblin, or malignant being of any kind, but a spirit, executing her appointed task with the best good will, as she herself says:—

   “All they who live in the upper sky,
   Do love you, holy Christabel, &c (11. 227-232)

“... If any reader of ‘Christabel’ be displeased with this explanation, let him impute it to mistaken apprehension or imperfect recollection on the part of the writer—and forget it.”

(2) “He considers it [Christabel] to be founded on the Roman Catholic notion of expiation for others’ sins; that Geraldine is a divinely appointed penance imposed on Christabel for the redemption of her lover who had committed some crime.” (via Barclay Fox)

In both external accounts, Christabel is said to represent the virtuous who must atone for the sins of the fallen, or do something in service at least the tempted. Geraldine is said to be a spirit, too, in both accounts; but her nature differs between Gillman and Derwent Coleridge in that the former says she is evil, whereas the latter says she is good and was sent only to be the grounds of the action whereon Christabel must work to perform her good.

Date

Coleridge says that the “first part of the following poem was written in the year 1797, at Stowey, in the county of Somerset.” Apart from this remark, there is no other direct evidence of the original date of the poem at its inception. There are, however, some interesting correspondances between some lines and observations by Dorothy Wordsworth in her journal for early 1798.

Dorothy Wordsworth

Date DWJ Lines Poem
27 Jan 1798 The manufacturer's dog makes a strange, uncouth howl 7–10
12–13
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff bitch;
From her kennel beneath the rock
She makes answer to the clock [...]
Ever and aye, by Moonshine or shower,
Sixteen short howls, not over loud
27 Jan 1798 again her [the moon's] form became dimmer; the sky flat, unmarked by distances, a white thin cloud 16–19 The thin gray 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.
31 Jan 1798 When we left home, the moon immensely large, the sky scattered over with clouds. These soon closed in, contracting the dimensions of the moon without concealing her.
7 Mar 1798 One only leaf upon the top of a tree -- the sole remaining leaf -- danced round and round like a rag blown by wind. 49–52 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.
24 Mar 1798 The spring continues to advance very slowly 21–22 Tis a month before the month of May,
And the Spring comes slowly up this way.
24 Mar 1798 no green trees, the hedges leafless; nothing green but the brambles... 33 And naught was green upon the oak

(Source: ultimately E. H. Coleridge)

Does this mean that Coleridge was revising the poem in those months? Or did he misremember the year and actually start writing it at that date? Even the direction of the borrowing is not certain: “Although images in ‘Christabel’ bear a remarkable resemblance to passages in Dorothy's journal, it is debatable whether Coleridge draws on Dorothy's journal, or, whether Dorothy imbricates within her journal images from ‘Christabel.’” (Koenig-Woodyard)

It is interesting to note that the observations used group into January and March in terms of dates, skipping February, and none of the lines are over a fifth of the way through the poem. This could mean that he had only just started; but I suspect that in fact he was trying to make the first part of the poem stronger. I suspect that he spent much of February on Mariner, since he completed that on 18 February 1798.

Clement Carlyon

“Coleridge departed for Germany on 16 September 1798 and returned on 28 July 1799. He did not work on "Christabel," although an account of a recitation of the poem during Coleridge's stay in Germany is recorded by Clement Carlyon:

“‘[Coleridge] frequently recited his own poetry, and not unfrequently led us further into the labyrinth of his metaphysical elucidations, either of particular passages, or of the original conception of any of his productions, than we were able to follow... At the conclusion... of the first stanza... he would perhaps comment at full length upon such a line as--

   “‘Tu whit!--Tu whoo

“That we might not fall into the mistake of supposing originality to be its sole merit. In fact he seldom went right on to the end of any piece--to pause and analyse was his delight. What he told us fellow travellers respecting Christabel, he has since repeated in print, in words, which, if not the same, are equally Coleridgean.” Carlyon quoted in Arthur Nethercot (1962). The Road to Tryermaine. p.7.

(Source, by Chris Koenig-Woodyard in Romanticism on the Net)

Sources

Coleridge, in his notebooks, quotes 43–64 of the Hymn to St. Teresa by Richard Crashaw (1613?–1649), and says that “these verses were ever present to my mind whilst writing the second part of Christabel; if, indeed, by some subtle process of the mind they did not suggest the first thought of the whole poem.” (The Table Talk and Omniana of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. H. N. Coleridge, 1917).

Farewell then, all the world, adieu!
Teresa is no more for you.
Farewell all pleasures, sports, and joys,
Never till now esteemèd toys!

Farewell whatever dear may be—
Mother's arms, or father's knee!
Farewell house, and farewell home!
She 's for the Moors and Martyrdom.

Sweet, not so fast; lo! thy fair spouse,
Whom thou seek'st with so swift vows,
Calls thee back, and bids thee come
T' embrace a milder martyrdom....

O how oft shalt thou complain
Of a sweet and subtle pain!
Of intolerable joys!
Of a death, in which who dies
Loves his death, and dies again,
And would for ever so be slain;
And lives and dies, and knows not why
To live, but that he still may die!
How kindly will thy gentle heart
Kiss the sweetly-killing dart!


Created February 2011, by Sean B. Palmer