The Life of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Part 18

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.

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.

What sees she there?

There she sees a damsel bright, Drest in a silken robe of white, That shadowy in the moonlight shone: The neck that made that white robe wan, Her stately neck and arms were bare; Her blue-veined feet unsandal'd were.

And wildly glittered here and there The gems entangled in her hair.

I guess, 'twas frightful there to see A lady so richly clad as she-- Beautiful exceedingly!

This description is exquisite. Now for the mystic demon's tale of art:

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 scarce can speak for weariness: Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear!

Said Christabel, How camest thou here?

And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet, Did thus pursue her answer meet:--

My sire is of a n.o.ble line, And my name is Geraldine: Five warriors seized me yestermorn, Me, even me, a maid forlorn: They chok'd my cries with force and fright, 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 entranced 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: O well, bright dame! may you command The service of Sir Leoline; And gladly our stout chivalry Will he send forth and friends withal, To guide and guard you safe and free Home to your n.o.ble father's hall.

She rose: and forth with steps they pa.s.sed That strove to be, and were not, fast.

Her gracious 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 awakened be, But we will move as if in stealth, And I beseech your courtesy, This night, to share your couch 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 that 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.

Following the popular superst.i.tion that dogs are supposed to see ghosts, and therefore see the supernatural, the mastiff yells, when Geraldine appears:

Outside her kennell, 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 b.i.t.c.h?

Never till now she uttered yell, Beneath the eye of Christabel.

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 pa.s.sing of herself, the place being holy and under the influence of the Virgin.

"Praise we the Virgin all divine, Who hath rescued thee from thy distress, Alas! Alas! said Geraldine, I cannot speak for weariness.

They pa.s.s the hall that echoes still, Pa.s.s as lightly as you will!

The brands were flat, the brands were dying, Amid their own white ashes lying; But when the lady pa.s.sed 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.

O! softly tread, said Christabel, My father seldom sleepeth well."

Geraldine, who affects to be weary, arrives at the chamber of Christabel--this room is beautifully ornamented,

"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 fasten'd to an angel's feet."

Such is the mysterious movement of this supernatural lady, that all this is visible, and when she pa.s.sed the dying brands, there came a fit of flame, and Christabel saw the lady's eye.

The silver lamp burns dead and dim; But Christabel the lamp will trim.

She trimm'd the lamp and made it bright, And left it swinging to and fro, While Geraldine, in wretched plight, Sank down upon the floor below.

O 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 answer'd--Woe is me!

She died the hour that I was born, I have heard the grey-hair'd friar tell, How on her death-bed she did say, That she should hear the castle bell Strike twelve upon my wedding-day.

O mother dear! that thou wert here!

I would, said Geraldine, she were!

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. Geraldine exclaims in a commanding voice

"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."

Here, Geraldine seems to be struggling with the spirit of Christabel's mother, over which for a time she obtains the mastery.

Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side, And rais'd to heaven her eyes so blue-- Alas! said she, this ghastly ride-- Dear lady! it hath wilder'd 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 countree.

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 requite 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 all this had given rise to so many different thoughts and feelings, that she could not compose herself for sleep, so she sits up in her bed to look at Geraldine who drew in her breath aloud, and unbound her cincture. Her silken robe and inner vest then drop to her feet, and she discovers her hideous form:

A sight to dream of, not to tell!

O shield her, shield sweet Christabel!

Yet Geraldine nor speaks--nor stirs; Ah! what a stricken look was hers!

She then lies down by the side of Christabel, and takes her to her arms, saying in a low voice these words:

In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell, Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!

Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow, This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow; But vainly thou warrest, For this is alone in Thy power to declare, That in the dim forest Thou heardst a low moaning, And found'st a bright lady, surpa.s.singly 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 the first is a beautiful and well drawn picture, slightly recapitulating some of the circ.u.mstances of the opening of the poem.