Fh.A>..Et T. '-Fl)~

LOVE'S EXCESS AND UNMEANT BITTERNESSa AMBIVALENT LOVE RELATIONSHIPS IN COLERIDGE'S "CHRISTABEL"

A Thesis Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree lJ!aster of Arts

by Diane !2ewhurst, B. ·A. The Ohio State University 1975

Approved by fh. a>..et T. '-fl)~ Adviser Department of English 11 Table of Contents

Page Introduction • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 1 I. The Parent/Child Relationship ••••••••••••••••• 8· II. Friendship ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• 32 III. The Sexual Relationship••••••••••••••••••••• 50 Conclusion••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• ?8 Notes •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• SJ List of Works Cited •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• 90 1 Introduction

During the many years which intervened be tween the composition and the publication of CHRISTABEL, it became almost as well known among literary men as if it had been on common sale.... From almost all of our most celebrated Poets, and from some with whom I had no personal acquaintance, I either received or heard of expressions of admiration that (I can truly say) ap peared to myself utterly disproportionate to a work that pretended to be nothing more than a common Faery Tale.... -This before publication. And since then, with very few exceptions, I have heard no thing but abuse, and this too in a spirit of bitterness at least as disproportionate to the pretensions of the poem, had it been the most pitiably below mediocrity, as the previous eulogies and far more in explicable. l Surely Coleridge jests when he calls his unfinished "Christabel" a "common Faery Tale." If not, then the joke is on the countless twentieth-century critics who have labored to penetrate the interlaced sexual, religious, and psychological symbolism and the maze of balanced opposites in "Christabel." For years critics have tried to explain the strange power this poem exerts on the minds of men, a power which could inspire Walter Scott in the writing of The Lay of the Last Minstrel and cause Percy Shelley to go shrieking out of a room in the belief that he had seen eyes in the breasts of his wife. The same poem could fill Coleridge's contemporaries, such as Haz litt, with disgust, while inspiring others to compose 2 vulgar doggerel imitations of it. Today we are more ho- mogeneous in our response to "Christabel." We see it as a great poem, in fact, one of Coleridge's three greatest works, produced in the "annus mirabilis." But , judging from modern criticism, the diverse and contradictory inter pretations of "Christabel," we understand it little better· than those whose abuse of the poem Coleridge lamented. Norman Fruman remarks that the "precise grounds" on which "Christabel" should be "rationally admired has always been a massive embarrassment to critics.•2 The poet himself did not consider "Christabel" profound or particularly difficult (if his own remarks about the poem can be trusted~ ._,- yet for us it is "far more inexplicable." The con.fusing and extensive corpus of "Christabel" criticism actually can be divided into two main categories, the literary and the psychological. Arthur Nethercott heads the first, the literary school. His book, The Road to Tryermaine, probably the most ambitious work on "Chris tabel" to date, follows a path similar to the one Lowes led to Xanadu, tracing literary sources. Nethercott and his followers, e. g., John Adlard, assume that "Christabel"

stands in the tradition of the Gothic romance. To them t,.-/. the question is not whether the ambiguous Geraldine (one of the three major characters of the poem) is human or supernatural, but whether she is a witch, lamia, or vam- J pire. They also assume that Geraldine acts to the detri- ment of the innocent Christabel at the prompting of some extra-human power, either evil or good (it is hard to say which). To the psycholog;cal critics, such as G. Wilson Knight, Edgar Jones, and R. P. Basler, the Gothic interpretation·is ridiculous oversimplification. Of course, Geraldine appears to be an evil supernatural creature, but, as all educated modern men know, evil originates in the mind of man. It is Gerlaidne's twisted mind that harms Christabel. Thus, for these critics, especially Norman Fruman, the important question again is not whether Geraldine is supernatural or human but whether she is a lesbian, a male (in disguise) rapist, or Christabel's mother (committing incest). The psychological school has an advantage over the literary in being able to explain why Coleridge could not finish "Christabel" by identifying him with their version of Geraldine. According to them, Coleridge abandoned the poem because in the midst of writing it he realized that he ?!!! the horrible Ge~aldine ------· But taken separately neither of the two schools offers a satisfying explication of "Christabel." The problem is that this poem is clearly like a Gothic romance, especially Part I with its partlcuiarly eerie atmosphere, but it is, at the same time, much more complicated than one by vir tue of its ambiguity. For example, the reader of 4 "Christabel" do.es. not know for certain if Geraldine is human or otherwise, good or evils nor does he know exact ly. what her terrible crime is. In addition, by the time the reader reaches Part II of the poem, the Gothic eeri ness has all but disappeared and the story changes to one of intra-familial: relationships. Consequently, the reader of "Christabel" needs the insights of both the literary, Gothic-oriented critics and the psychological ones. In one respect b.oth groups of critics have failed. They have focused their attention on Geraldine and Chris tabel, admittedly the dominant relationship, but, for the most part, they have ignored much of what goes on in Part II between Christabel and her father, Leoline, Geraldine and Leoline, Roland (Geraldine's father) and Leoline, as well as the bard Bracy and his master, Leoline. Obvi-· ously, if all our attention is on Geraldine and Christabel, a third major character is overlooked. One cannot but wonder what all these other relationships have to do with what both the literary and psychological critics take to be the theme of the poem, the ambiguity of evil (embodied in Geraldine), or the fall of innocence (embodied in Chris tabel). Virginia Radley has an answer. She proposes that the theme of "Christabel" is not evil but love! She arrived at this conclusion via the "psycho-sexual" approach to the poema s I would suggest that the critic who intends to support the psycho-sexual interpretation give some attention to the Notebooks •••• In an examination of them, I found two or three references which might be pertinent. In particular were the various allusions to the Greek poet, Sappho.... I do not be lieve that Coleridge exuded sophistication in matters of sexual perversion, but I have no doubt that he had some awareness of such matters ••• beyond the area circumscribed by witchcraft and demonology. • •• the allusion to Sappho in the context of love is relevant to the point in question herea "To write a series of Love Poems- truly Sapphic, save they shall have a large Interfusion of moral Sentiment cand1 calm Imagery on Love in all moods of the mind- Philosophic, fantastic, in moods of high enthusiasm, of Simple Feel ings, of mysticism, of Religion- comprize in it all the practice cand1 all the phil osophy of love (p. 1064). Professor Coburn sets the date of this entry as December 1801, scarcely too late to be relevant in a consideration of the meaning of Christabel. If I interpret the passage correctly, Cole ridge had in mind a plan to show love in its many facets and was projecting a "series of love Poems" ••• We know, for example, that Coleridge broke into the writing of Christabel to write the poem Love, and that Love raised some of the same questions as doe'SCliristabel •••• Such comprises the evidence I could find which might be used to bolster tbe psy chological explication of Christabel.) Surely the relationships in Part II already mentioned, i. e., between father and daughter, friend and friend, seem more in keeping with a poem about love than about evil. But any astute reader may raise the objection that all the characters in the poem who once loved each other are at odds with one another by the end of Part II. So how can it be a poem about love? Just as the unmistakable evil 6 in Geraldine is ambivalent (sometimes seeming good), the love· in all the relationships in the poem, including Geraldine and Christabel's, is ambivalent. Anyone familiar with biographies of Coleridge knows that his own inti mate relationships with loved ones, parents, brothers, spouse, children, and friends, were invariably ambivalent and shortlived. In writing poetry about love he probably wrote of love as he knew it in his own life. Of course, there is no definite proof that Coleridge intended "Chris tabel" to be a poem about love, as Radley claims. In fact, it seems at first, as we noted, like a Gothic tale of evils but, it is easy to see how writing about evil could have led Coleridge to an analysis of failed love relationships. The real evil in "Christabel" turns out to be the failure of love in inter-personal relai:i:>nships •. Unfortuantely, Coleridge could no more easily harmonize the conflicting elements in these complex, failed relation ships in the poem than he could do so in his own life. Werner Beyer comments on the "evil" in "Christabel"• Part II reveals the ascendance, the conta gion, and the disintegrating effects of evil in terms, increasingly psychological, and it may be autobiographic, of human fear and ambivalence, lone14ness, estrangement, and baffled paralysis. It remains to be seen how closely the major love re lationships in "Christabel," which I take to be the 7 parental/filial relationship, friendship, and the sexual relationship, do parallel Coleridge's own. How much of "Christabel" is fiction and how much veiled autobiography? What in particular are the elements which constitute the ambivalence in the love relationships in "Christabel" and in Coleridge's own life? If we can pinpoint these con flicting elements we may be able to better understand why Coleridge abandoned "Christabel," as he did so many of the people he had once loved. 8 I Giddiness of Heart and Brains ·The Parent/Child relationship A little child, a limber elf, Singing, dancing to itself, A fairy thing with red round cheeks, That always finds, and never seeks, Makes such a vision to the sight As fills a father's eyes with lightr And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Must needs exuress his love's excess With words of.unmeant bitterness (11. 656-665). 1 In "Christabel" Coleridge symbolically grapples, ei ther consciously or unconsciously, with problems that plagued him for most of his life. The problems to which I refer involve his tumultuous relations with those closest to him. The Conclusion to Part II of "Christabel," the last part of the poem which Coleridge wrote, discusses a father's simultaneous attraction and aversion to his child. For many readers this is a cryptic and disappointing ending to a poem which itself is far from clear. What does a singing, dancing elf have to do with the characters of the poem? An analysis of the lines of the Conclusion to Part II will reveal the connection. The lines will also reveal Coleridge's ultimate goal in writing "Christabel." He may well have begun the poem with the intention of writing a philosophical analysis of evil dressed as a Gothic tale. But, by the time he wrote Part II he was clearly on the road to an investigation of the ambivalence in love rela- 9 tionships. The last verse paragraph which Coleridge tacked onto his poem indicates that such an invesitigati.on was uppermost in his mind when he abandoned "Christabel" and perhaps indicates why the poem ends where it does. Ostensibly the last verse paragraph of "Christabel" does not purport to be the conclusion to the poem, but only •The Conclusion to Part II." Coleridge also wrote a "Con- clusion" to Part I, which is noticeably different from the second conclusion. The conclusion of Part I has five verse paragraphs compared to the one paragraph of the con clusion of Part II. The earlier conclusion is a much clearer narrative. It obviously relates to what has gone before, summarizing those curious events, the midnight meeting and fearful em brace, and actually naming the characters involved, Chris- tabel and Geraldine. This conclusion connects Parts I and II through time and place. In it we see Christabel and Geraldine asleep in the small hours of the morning. Part II begins with matin bells ringing and by paragraph four we are back in Christabel's bedrooma And Geraldine shakes off her dread, And rises lightly from the beds Puts on her silken vestments white, And tricks her hair in lovely plight, And nothing doubting of her spell Awakens the lady Christabel. 'Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel? I trust that you have rested well', ( 11. J62-J69). 10 Yet in some respects the Conclusion to Part I does not work as a connective device at all for it raises certain expectations which are not met in Part Ila

Yea, she cChristabel 3 doth smile, and she doth weep, Like a youthful hermitess, Beauteous in a wilderness, Who, praying always, prays in sleep. And, if 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 if men will calla For the blue sky bends over alll (11. 319-331). In Part II Geraldine does not reveal herself as a guardian spirit. Christabel's mother does not materialize. Nor do the saints aid. Thus, the Conclusion to Part I ends on a note of hope which proves unfounded in Part II. Perhaps Coleridge meant for "the blue sky" to eventually •bend over all" in a later Part of the poem, as Derwent Coleridge and James Gillman claimed; but, in the "Chris tabel" which Coleridge actually wrote this does not happen• In fact, we see quite the reverse. Geraldine, the "work er of harms," appears to conquer all. She wins the heart of Leoline and transforms the innocent Christabel into something hideous. At the end of Part II the situation looks hopeless for all but the evil Geraldine. The great difference between Parts I and II, the op timism at the end of the first, the overwhelming despair 11 at the end of the second, suggests a change of mind on the part of the author. The desperation of Part II reflects Coleridge's growing disenchantment with much he had for merly believed in, most importantly, the power of virtue to overcome evil. It is one thing to write a poem about evil when you believe it to be subservient to a higher good (or divinity). It is quite another to write about an evil which is unavoidable and unsurmountable. The cryptic Conclusion to Part III which Coleridge wrote separately and later placed at the end of his poem, points to such a realizations "And what, if in a world of sin" (1. 673). We turn to this passage for some insight into the unanticipated and seemingly fatal turns of events in Part II.

Unfortunately, the second Conclusion, unlike the f~rs~ does not clearly refer to events in the preceding part. Nor are the characters of the poem specifically aentioned. Obviously "A faery thing with red round cheeks" (1. 658) and a father who "Must needs express his love's excess/ With words of unmeant bitterness" (11. 664-665) can be taken to refer to Christabel and Leoline. The two paragraphs immediately preceding this Conclusion do suggest such a connection. Why is thy cheek wo wan and wild, Sir Leoline? Thy only child 12 Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride, So fair, so innocent, so milds The same, for whom thy lady diedl O by the pangs of her dear mother Think thou no evil of thy childl For her, and thee, and for no other, She prayed the moment ere she dieda Prayed that the babe for whom she died, Might prove her dear lord's joy and pridel That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled, Sir Leoline& And wouldst thou wrong thy only child, Her child and thine? Within the Baron's heart and brain If thoughts, like these, had any share, They only swelled his rage and pain, And did but work confusion there. His heart was cleft with pain and rage, His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild, Dishonoured thus in his old ages Dishonoured by his only child, And all his hospitality To the wronged daughter of his friend By more than woman's jealousy Brought thus to a disgraceful end- He rolled his eye with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel bard, And said in tones abrupt, auster- 'Why Bracyl dost thou loiter here? I bade thee hencel' The bard obeyed1 And turning from his own sweet maid, The aged knight, Sir Leoline, Led forth the lady Geraldine& (11. 621-655). But if the author means to refer to Christabel and Leoline in the Conclusion why does he not name them? It appears that Coleridge is being de1iberately ambiguous. •A limber elf ••• that always finds and never seeks" could be any child. A father whose eyes fill with light at this sight could be any father, even Coleridge himself watching his son Hartley. What Coleridge refers to in 13 his Conclusion to Part II is not just Part II but the whole poem as it reflects his changing perception or the world. Instead of pointing forward like the Conclusion to Part I, the second Conclusion only points back to the poem. In fact, the Conclusion to Part II appears to be a micro- cosm of the entire poem, In the first half of this Con- clusion the sentiment moves from gaiety to desperation. We see the delight a father takes in his child, such as Leoline must have felt for Christabel before Geraldine arrived, turn into the bitterness which results from an excess of emotion. In the latter half of this Conclusion, we seem to hear the author speak directly to us about the poem he has writtena Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each others To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity. And what, if in a world of sin (0 sorrow and shame should this be truel) Such giddiness of heart and brain . Comes seldom save from rage and pain, So talks as it's most used to do (11. 666-677). For Coleridge "Christabel" and poetry may be a "broken charm." Of course, the narrator may also be referring to Christabel and Leoline, who are both unable to express their tempestuous feelings. Christabel can only ask that 14 her tormentor Geraldine be sent away and Leoline can only command Bracy to leave for Tryermaine. Both have lost control of themselves. The "little child" has become a hissing woman unable to verbally express her horror of the "world of sin," or Geraldine. The loving father has deserted his daughter for possibly a whorish lamia. Perhaps Coleridge felt that he, like Christabel, was powerless to send away the repulsive forces of Geral- dine. .so, like Leoline, he dismissed the bard (poetry) and submitted to the lamia. He accepted the fact that old and young, male and female, experienced and innocent are victims of their own passionate attraction and aver sion to the ones they love. One critic, Gerald Enscoe, goes so far as to say that an understanding of the Conclusion to Part II of "Christa bel" is crucial to an understanding of the whole poems But the argument of these perplexing lines has a great deal to do with the argument of the poem as I have interpreted it. They express a realization, perhaps a revelation, of the narrator which is almost too horrible to be accepted, but which nonetheless seems to be true. And this revelation is closely connected to the revelation which the drama- tic action of the poem has led us to see.2 What is the revelation? Is it that you can have strong feelings of antipathy for the one you love? This would not be much of a revelation for any casual abserver of human nature knows how natural it is to react strongly to, 15 be most angered by, those closest to you. Coleridge's •horrible realization" probably involved an awareness of the necessity of reconciling one's conflicting feelings. As a student of German philosophy, Coleridge knew that for every thesis and antithesis there is inevitably a synthesis. Either one learns to harmonize conflicting emotions and rise above them to a new, stronger love or one allows them to continue in opposition until the object inspiring the anti thetical feelings becomes loathsome to the lover. The result is then alienation. Looked at this way, love con tains the power of self-rejuvenation and of self-destruction. To Coleridge it. probably seemed that the more frequent ten dency was toward the latter. This is what he alludes to in the Conclusion to Part II and portrays in more detail in Part II. In "Christabel" we see a father unable to overcome his conflicting feelings for his daughter, unable to stop the headlong slide into alienation from his child. But not just the fa+her is subject to ambivalent love in the poem. All three major characters, Leoline, Christabel, and Geraldine, are involved in ambivalent love relation ships. Coleridge may have been writing about his own dif ficulties but he seems to be saying that the problem of ambivalent love is not unique to him or any one person. It is a universal problem found in all types of love, whether it be parental love, friendship, or sexual love. 16 The most obvious ambivalent love relationship brought to light by the Conclusion to Part II, and evi dent throughout Part II, is what may best be CP..lled the parent/child relationship, specifically, Leoline's love for Christabel. A close look at the poem will reveal that Leoline's paternal love is complicated by his feel ings for others, both present and absent. Leoline's memory of his dead wife certainly must interfere some what with his love for the child whose birth caused her death. His remembrance of his youthful friendship with Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine leads him to accept Roland's daughter, Geraldine, as his own. Leoline's fatherly (and perhaps sexual) feelings for Geraldine threaten to jeopar dize his relationship with Christabel because of her in evitable jealousy of the usurper of her position as cen tral object of Leoline's love. Also, Leoline's unthink ing eagerness to protect Geraldine causes him to overlook the urgent needs of his own daughter. Only the mutual regard between lord and thane (Bracy) offers any hope for Leoline's disintegrating relationship with Christabel. Leoline's bard, Bracy, sees what the Baron cannot. In effect, Bracy is a foil to Leoline. The bard tries to open the Baron's eyes. Bracy acts as Leoline should, for the benefit of Christabel. But, Bracy is ultimately powerless to help her because he is not her 17 natural father. In looking at Leoline and Christabel's relationship in Part II we shall see how conflicting emo tions, despite almost divine intervention (Bracy's dream), contribute to the deterioration of a father's love for his child. It is significant and perhaps seldom noticed that Christabel's father, Sir Leoline, is not actually introduced until Part II of the poem. The introduction of a third major character in·the second half of the poem points to a shifting of interests on the part of the author. It forces the reader to focus his attention on othermatters. While in Part I we must consider the ambiguities of evil, in II we are faced with the complexities of familial rela tionships. The Baron rose, and while he prest His gentle daughter to his breast, With cheerful wonder in his eyes The lady Geraldine espies, And gave such welcome to the same, As might beseem so bright a damel (11. 39?-402). Thus we see Leoline for the first time when Christabel brings her overnight guest into the presence-room. Baron Leoline's morning embrace of Christabel unfortunately calls to mind Geraldine's peculiar nocturnal embraces 0 sorrow and shamel Can this be she, The lady, that knelt at the old oak tree? And loZ the worker of these harms, That holds the maiden in her arms, Seems to slumber still and mild, As a mother with her child (11. 296-JOl). 18 Leoline's natural paternal affection stands in sharp con trast to Geraldine's unnatural maternal "harm," which Christabel cannot get out of her mind. G9raldine's horri ble embrace makes us dubious of any other physical contact in the poem. We even wonder if Leoline, too, will misuse his parental role. This indeed seems to happen when the Baron "espies" Geraldine. Her bright beauty immediately dis tracts him from his daughter, who surely merits his atten tion more than a complete stranger to Leoline. He waxes pale at the sound of her name. Geraldine's father, Roland de vaux, is both Leoline's former closest friend, "his heart's best brother,• and his worst enemy. "They stood aloof, the scars remaining,/Like cliffs which had been rent asunder" (11. 421-422). To the reader it does not seem unlikely that Roland might. have sent his daughter-to a venge whatever wrong was committed. Of course, Leoline is ignorant of what happened in Christabel's room the night before1 but, one would expect him to be wary of the child of his enemy. The narrator explains that not only the scars of their hatred remain with Leoline. The marks of their friendship remain, too, as we shall see in the following chapter. The latter marks prove stronger when he gazes at the .damzel's face. It bewitches him, as it did Christabel.. The old Baron, who was obsessed with his dead wife, suddenly becomes young at heart, attracted to 19 a woman young enough to be his own daughter. His brain fills with opposing emotions of love for his former friend and rage at those "who thus had wro.nged the dame" (1. 436). He calls them "base as spotted infamy!" and vows to 11dis lodge their reptile sou1s/ From the bodies and forms of menl" (11. 437. 442-443). Leoline cannot know that the "recreant traitor" who "ruthlessly seized a lady" was Geral- dine. He has been moved to impassioned words supposedly because he sees the "child of his friend" in the beautiful lady. Geraldine combines both innocence and guile as the wronged child of Roland and the tantalizingly lovely woman. Leoline's affection for her may be as strange or unnatural as hers for Christabel. While Leoline, enraged by the deeds of her molesters, acts as a father to Geraldine, he is also attracted by her beauty. His eyes fill with tears (apparently of sympathy but more likely joy) as he fondles her in his arms. Geraldine herself is "joyous" and pro- longs the embrace, making it look so much the worse, i. e., less innocent. Leoline's display of affection for Geraldine definitely has an adverse effect on his daughter. During Leoline and Geraldine's embrace Christabel sees a "vision of fear, the touch and painl/ She shrunk and shuddered and saw a gain-/ ••• that bosom old,/••• that bosom cold"(ll. 453-454, 457-458). Christabel probably sees last night's encounter 20 being re-enacted with Leoline. Christabel may also be showing, quite naturally, the fear of a daughter afraid she is losing her father's love. When Christabel draws in her breath with a hissing sound we are suddenly reminded of the previous night and Geraldine's spell. Leoline turns around only to see his sweet maid "with eyes up raised, as one that prayed" (1. 462). We cannot even be certain that Christabel has hissed but we are assured that the "touch" and "sight" pass away and are replaced by a "vision blest." The Baron asks, "What ails then my beloved child?• and Christabel replies that "all will yet be well" (11. 470. 472). We see Geraldine's evil in action, while she herself appears to be praying as "sure a thing divine" (1. 476). The devious lady has won Leo line to her side. "Nayl/ Nay, by my scull" (11. 48J-484). He will not let her depart, but will send for her father. Thus, in Part II, Leoline acts as a catalyst in the trans formation of his daughter. Christabel and Geraldine ex change roles, but not completely. Becoming more and more isolated, Christabel satanically hisses like Geraldinea yet., she is still to some extent the innocent child of Leoline and of God, with her eJes upraised to heaven. (All is not lost yet.) At the same time, with Leoline's encouragement, Geraldine plays the innocent lost child, while attempting to beguile Christabel's father. 21 Geraldine seems to have brought sunshine back into Leoline's dismal life. We may be tempted to renounce prior estimation of her as a Duessa now that her evil hour is past and we see her in daylight. Only Bard Bracy is not taken in by Geraldine. Unlike Leoline and Christabe~ Bracy evidently has a special sensitivity to the supernat ural. His strange dream is too similar to the events of the previous night to be mere coincidence. Bracy is so fearful that he vows to •clear yon wood from thing unblest" (1. 529). His dream reveals more of reality than one might see with eyes open in medias res, like Leoline. Bracy dreamt of a moaning dove, called Christabel, "among the green herbs in the forest alone" (1. 536). Next, Bracy discovered "a bright green snake coiled around its cthe dove's1 wings and neck," preventing flight and speech. "And with the dove it heaves and stirs" (1. 553). We can not but think of Geraldine's embrace of Christabel, es pecially when Bracy adds, "It was the midnight hour,/ The clock was echoing in the tower" (11. 555-556). (When Christabel found Geraldine in the wood it was "the middle of night by the castle clock.") Bracy, like Christabel, cannot forget his dream of the previous night. "It seems to live upon my eyel" (1. 559). But the Baron, distracted by Geraldine's bright eyes, only half listens to Bracy. Leoline completely misinterprets the dream and kisses the 22 snake hers.elf. He has already been poisoned. Christabel, too, is poisoned. She imitates "that look of dull and treacherous hate" yet her eyes are "in- noeent and bluel" (11. 606, 612). Christabel is still good at heart. She has the strength to send Geraldine away, "and more she could not saya/ For what she knew she could not tell,/ O'er-matered by the mighty spell" (11. 618-620). But Christabel succeeds only in alienating her father still more. He turns "wan and wild" at her words. The narrator beseeches Leoline not to think wrong of his daugh .ter. The Baron appears to be confused and loses control of himself (as he has the situation at hand). He quivers and rolls his eyes. He has a di s.torted view of the actual situation. Leoline sees his hospitality (which was originally Christabel's) to the wronged daughter of his friend, who is also the daughter of his enemy, disgraced "by more than woman's jealousy" (1. 646). Christabel is the truly wronged daughter. We can only imagine what low motives Leoline thinks his daughter has. His abandonment of his own sweet Christabel and the "gentle minstrel bard" is uncalled for. Leoline deserts those he knows and loves best for a stranger. He unwittingly acts as an agent of evil, failing to save his daughter from com plete isolation, as he alone cans but, by so acting, the 23 Baron seals his doom, going forth with the "lady strange," Geraldine. Thus, not only is Christabel cut off from her father's love but Leoline is cut off trom his child's love. Leoline's doom is alienation. Also, Geraldine may have the same effect on him that she has on Christabel. Leo line, too, may become speechless and viper-like. To Cole ridge loss of love meant loss of the Muse. If only har monious relations with loved ones are conducive to crea tivity (as they seemed to be in his own life), then aliena tion from loved ones, with all its accompanying guilt and loneliness, destroys the shaping spirit of imagination. That Coleridge was grappling with unsolved personal problems in "Christabel" appears likely when we observe the parallels in the poet's own life and in Part II of his unfinished poem. As we have just seen, Part II (and its Conclusion) illustrates the vicissitudes of the parent/ child relationship. For Coleridge, both roles were sources of confusion and guilt rather than of security and content ment. Coleridge, like Christabel, lost one of his parents while still a child. Of course, it was Coleridge's father and Christabel's mother who died early in their children's lives. This reversal of sexes in the poem does not seem so peculiar when we consider the motive for disguise, which would be strong especially if Coleridge were consciously 24 portraying his own problems. (We should bear in mind Freud's theory of inversion for concealment,) Another apparent discrepan.cy in the poem and in the poet's life is that Christabel's birth caused her mother's death. Cole ridge's father died when Samuel was almost nine and the son certainly did not kill his father. Yet, Fruman suggests, as a child Coleridge might well have felt guilty about his father's death. The adult Coleridge described this eventa In a minute my mother heard a noise in his cJohn Coleridge's1 throat--and spoke to him--but he did not answer--and she spoke repeatedly in vain. Her shriek awaked me --& I said, "Papa is dead." --I did not know cof1 my Father's return, but I knew that he was expected. How I came to thirlk J of his Death, I cannot tells but so it was. To Fruman it is significant that in Coleridge's account "only his mother's shriek awaking him from sleep and his own sudden thought, 'Papa is dead,' is a direct memory."4 This strange coincidence obviously made such a forceful impression on the child that it perplexed and probably bothered him ("How I came· to think of his Death, I cannot tells but so it was") as an adult. Thus, Christabel, who innocently caused her mother's death, could represent the child Coleridge, who felt somehow responsible for his father's death. Although Coleridge was not an only child like Chris tabel, he was the center of his parents' attention as the 25 youngest of their ten children. Because of the parental doting, Coleridge's brothers (except for George) were intensely jealous and hence not very close to Sam. According to the poet himself, his childhood was as lonely as that of an only child1 My Father was very fond of me, and I was my Mother's darling; in consequence whereof, I was very miserable •••• so I became fretful and timorous, and a tell-tale; and the schoolboys drove me from play and were always tormenting me •••• I took no pleas~re in boyish spor~s, but read incessantly.) One can imagine how important parental affection would be to the child who felt cut off from all others. What a blow it must have been when Coleridge's father died. But more disturbing was the loss of the love of his mother, who continued living well into Coleridge's adulthood. It was Sam's mother who sent him away to the London he wrote so bitterly of in "Frost at Midnight"•

But Ol how oft, How oft, at school, with most believing mind, Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt Of my sweet birth-place ••• (11. 23-8). For I was reared In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim, And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars (11. 51-J). As long as forty years after the experience, Coleridge could say, "I felt myself alone among six hundred playmates --o the cruelty of separating a poor lad from his early 26 homestead."6 Fruman tells us of the psychological reper cussions of Coleridge's stay at Christ's Hospitals At this critically delicate juncture in the child's life, he was removed from what ever security was afforded by the familiar surroundings of his rural home in Ottery St. Mary, Devonshire, and installed in the grim confines of a huge charity school in London. There ••• he was to spend nine long years. Incredibly, he seems not once to have been visited by his mother during this whole time, and perhaps seldom by any other member of his family. His vacations at home were few and brief. It is small wonder that he was to be on icy terms with his family most of his life, often reproaching them for their cruelty, and describing him self as a "deserted Orphan,"7 Just as Christabel basked in her father's love before the entrance of Geraldine, Coleridge basked in his mother's before his departure for London. Perhaps Ann Coleridge's love was not strong enough to bridge the gap of time and miles. Or maybe she was the type of mother who could only be affectionate to small children and who felt that her job was done when the child was old enough to go to school in London. Leoline may have deserted Christabel for this latter reasons She was no longer a child. Christabel's reaction to her new situation was like Coleridge's at Christ's Hospital. She was unhappy with it but unable to alter it. Coleridge himself never forgave his mother for what must have looked like betrayal to him. After Christ's Hospital he hardly ever wrote to her or spoke about her. 27 In writing home he would send his love to all except his mothera "You will give my duty to my Mother •••• "8 And finally, he refused to attend his mother's funeral.9 So, like Christabel, who was deserted by her only remaining parent, Leoline, Coleridge was deserted by his only living parent, Ann. Possibly Coleridge had wanted to depict the restoration of love between an alienated child and parent in the conclusion of his poem. Since he did not know how to regain his mother's love in his own life, he could not satisfactorily (to himself) depict Christabel's recovery of Leoline's love and thus he could not end the poem as he wished. It is probable that Coleridge not only identified with the child Christabel, but also with her father, Leoline, especially since the author was a father himself when he wrote "Christabel." In fact, the Conclusion to Part II "seems," as Chambers says, "to have been originally a dis tinct poem on Hartley," Coleridge's first child. 1° Cole ridge wrote this stanza as part of a letter (the only extant manuscript version of these lines) to Robert Southey on May 6, 1801, and prefaced the verses witha "-Dear Hartley! we are at times alarmed by the state of his Health- but at present he is well- if I were to lose him. I am afraid it would exceedingly deaden my affection for any other children I may have-." Coleridge later described these lines to his 28 brother-in-law as •a very metaphysical account of Fathers calling their children rogues, rascals, & little varlets- .. 11 &c- • As a young father Coleridge was extremely proud and fond of his children. In the same letter to Southey already cited, Coleridge refers to his third son, Derwent, as the Boast of the County- the little River-God is as beautiful as if he had been the child of Venus Anaduomene. 1112 Chambers notes that Coleridge "delighted in Hartly, who became 'a very Seraph in Clouts'. He cthe fatherl sat with his eye rolling up to the ceiling in a lyric fury, and on his knee a diaper pinned to warm. 111 3 Of course it was Hartley who inspired "Frost at Midnight," which contains what Campbell calls "the remarkable prophecy how his be loved Hartley should wander like a breeze by lakes and mountains, unlike his father. 1114 Despite Coleridge's exclamations of happiness with his family, he was troubled by ambivalent feelings towards his children from the first, judging by the sonnets he wrote immediately after the birth of Hartley (the eldest

Child) I When they did greet me father, sudden awe Weigh'd down my spirit1 I retired and knelt Seeking the throne of grace, but inly felt No heavenly visitation upwards draw My feeble mind, nor cheering ray impart. Ah met before the Eternal Sire I brought Th'unquiet silence of confused thought 29 , And shapeless feelingsa my o'erwhelmed heart Trembled, and vacant tears stream'd down my face ("Sonnet1 On Receiving a Letter Informing Me of the Birth of a Son," 11. 1-9). Oft o'er my brain does that strar1ge fancy roll Which makes the presence (while the flash doth last) Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul Self-questioned in her sleep1 ("Sonnet1 Com posed on a Journey Homeward1 the Author Having Received Intelligence of the Birth of a Son, Sept. 20, 1796," 11. 1-5). Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when first I scann'd.that face of feeble infancy, For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst All I had been, and all my child might be! ("Sonnets To a Friend Who Asked, How I Felt When the Nurse First Presented My Infant to Me," 11. 1-4). Coleridge's idyllic life with his children was brief. Hie relations with them probably began to deteriorate at the same time his relationship with their mother, Sara, began to flounder. It is more likely, though, that Cole-· ridge's mixed feelings for his children became inescapably painful when his second son, Berkeley, died in March, 1799. Coleridge was studying in Germany at the time and had already written Part I of "Christabel." Chambers notes that Coleridge's reaction was "a characteristic one, less of grief than of intellectual perplexity."15 Coleridge wrotea "For the death of the baby I have not wept! Oh this strange, strange, strange scene-shifter Death! -that giddies one with insecurity and so unsubstantiates the JO living things that one has grasped and handled1°16 After Berkeley's death Coleridge frequently expressed fear for the health and safety of his children. This might only be natural but Fruman claims that Coleridge deliberate ly tormented himself with his compulsive fears, which re vealed a "mixture of love and guilt, parental concern and unconscious hostility toward his children (intolerable to his waking mind)."17 One need not accept Fruman's asser tion to understand how Coleridge's relationship with his children could have been affected by Berkeley's death. Coleridge probably felt that his absence was partially re sponsible for his infant son's death, or at least that he should have been there. Thus, his fatherly love became tinged with guilt and a sense of inadequacy. Like Leoline's love for Christabel, Coleridge's love for his children was ambivalent. We get some idea of the extent of the pain Coleridge felt as a result of his parental ambivalence in the original "Dejection," written after "Chris~abel"a My little Children are a Joy, a Love, A good Gift from aboveJ But what is Bliss, that still calls up a Woe, And makes it doubly keen Compelling me to feel, as well as KNOW, What a most blessed Lot mine might have been. Those little Angel Children (woe is mel) There ha~~+been hours, when feeling how they bind And plucR~the Wing-feathers of my Mind, Turning my Error to Nec~ssity, I have half-wish'd, they never had been born! ~ seldom& But sad Thoughts they always bring, 31 And like the Poet's Philomel, I sing My Love-song, with my breast against a Thorn. 18 Coleridge's ambivalence may have caused his eventual de sertion of his children, as it seemed to cause Leoline's desertion of Christabel. It is noteworthy that Coleridge wrote Part II of "Chr~tabel" after he returned from Ger- many, i. e., not long after Berkeley's death. So far we have seen that Coleridge might well have identified with the characters in his poem. Like Christa- bel, Coleridge was cut off from parental love, losing one parent via death, being ignored by the other. Like Leo- line, Coleridge eventually deserted his own children. Yet "Christabel" is not an autobiography. It is a poem with many of the trappings of the Gothic novel. As such, it is removed from the realm of personal confession and stands in a wider realm, in which horror and mystery can be universally recognized. In "Christabel" the real horror and mystery are not found in a haunted castle. What is horrible to Coleridge and to us the readers is that "giddiness of heart and brain." It is the ambivalence not only in Leoline's love for Christabel, which leads to the alienation of parent and child, but, as we shall see, in all the other love relationships represented in the poem. It is the realization that love, a necessary ingre- dient to happiness and productivity, contains the seeds of its own destruction. 32 II The Heart's Best Brothers Friendship

Alasl they had been friends in yot~th1 But whispering tongues can poison truth1 And constancy l~ves in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain1 And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain ("Christabel," 11. 408-413). In Chapter I, I discussed filial relationships and alluded to another ambiguous love relationship apparently under investigation by the author in "Christabel"• friendship. I have already pointed out that one of the con- tributing factors to the deterioration of Leoline's relationship with Christabel is his memory of his past friendship with Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine. Mindful of his fo~mer friend but present enemy, Leoline accepts

Geraldine, who claims to be Roland's daughter, with op~n arms while turning his back on his own daughter._ The Baron's paradoxical action and his increasing ambivalence toward his daughter can be better understood when seen in the light of an ambivalent love for Roland, which makes Leoline angry at Christabel's inhospitality to Geraldine. Yet why Leoline is so eager to recover his friendship with Roland, even at the risk of losing the love of Christabel> is not so easily understood. We are told at the beginning of Part II that before JJ meeting Geraldine, Leoline was a melancholy man, obsessed with the death of his wife1 Each matin bell, the Baron saith, Knells us back to a world of death. These words Sir Leoline first said, When he rose and found his lady deada These words Sir Leoline will say Many a morn to his dying dayl (11. J32-JJ7). But Leoline's melancholy is not just the result of his wife's death. As we find out after Christabel introduces Geraldine to Leoline, he is also suffering from the loss of his best frienda They parted--ne'er to meet againl But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining- They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ( 11. 418-422) •, Thus, the Baron is cut off from both sexual love and friend ship. His only consolation is the love of and for his child. However, he is offered the opportunity to alter this situation when he meets Geraldine. She is the means of obtaining the two kinds of love he lacks. But, it seems as though Leoline must sacrifice his love for Chris tabel, his faithfulness to his dead wife, and his trust in his loyal ~ard (Bracy) in order to win Geraldine and, at the same time, Roland. In other words, he must neglect those who need and love him (Christabel and Bracy) and turn his attention to those whom the reader has reason to distrust (Roland and Geraldine). After all, we know that 34 Roland is Leoline's enemy and Geraldine should be, considering her strange payment {the spell) to Christabel for her hospitality. Yet if we look at the situation from the standpoint of the Gothic literary tradition, since this is a Gothic tale, we see that Geraldine, ravished by kidnappers, does deserve Leoline~s protection. The reader is probably confused by the simultaneous Gothic and psychological dimensions of the poem. Each raises different, conflicting expectations. The author does nothing resolve the conflict for us. Perhaps he could not resolve it for himself. Leoline seems oblivious to the sacrifices he is making for an old friendship. The reader cannot but note e.o.rl1~r the irony of the situation, which was discusse<;,in a different context. We see the Baroni And fondly in his arms he took Fair Geraldine, who met the embrace, Prolonging it with joyous look (11. 448-450). And we hear him say to Bracya And loud and loud to Lord Roland call, Thy daughter is safe in Langdale halll Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free- Sir Leoline greets thee thus through mel He bids thee come without delay With all thy numerous array And take thy lovely daughter home (11. 501-507). Leoline's fatherly protectiveness and seeming infatuation with Geraldine stand in sharp contrast to his neglect of Christabel. If Geraldine is the means of both alienation 35 from Christabel and renewal of friendship with Roland, are we not made suspicious of the latter goal? What was the friendship between Leoline and Roland like? Evidently there was ambivalence even in the Baron's youthful love.for Roland. If Leoline wholeheart edly loved and trusted Roland, "whispering tongues" would not have been able to come b'etween them and "poison truth." Leoline probably reacted to some rumored insult, supposed ly voiced by his friend, in much the same way we see him react to his daughter's apparent insolence. "And to be wroth with one we love/ Doth work like madness in the brain" (11. 412-413) indicates that Leoline did indeed lose control of himself in his relations with Roland, as he does at the end of Part II. He admits that "I spake words of fierce disdain/ To Rolani de Vaux of Tryermainel" (11. 513- 514). In fact, both dida "Each spake words of high dis dain/ And insult to his heart's best brother" (11. 416-41?). As in his relationship with his daughter, Leoline is, at least partly, to blame for the breakdown of relations with his friend. His inability to rationally deal with his conflicting feelings, anger and love, leads him to alienate "his heart's best brother." We have also already briefly noted that Leoline becomes a new man after meeting Geraldine. The hope of winning back Roland rejuvenates hims J6 O then the Baron forgot his age, His noble heart swelled high with rage1 He swore by the wounds in Jesu's side He would proclaim it far and wide, With trump and solemn heraldry, That they, who thus had wronged the dame, Were base as spotted infamy1 'And if they dare deny the same, My herald shall appoint a week, And let the recreant traitors seek My tourney court--that there and then I may dislodge their reptile souls From the bodies and forms of men!' He spakea his eye in lightning rolls! For the lady was ruthlessly seizedr and he ken.~ed In the beautiful lady the child of his friend! (11. 4J1-446). The sounds associated with Leoline change, too. Whereas before Geraldine enters his life, Leoline turns the sacris tan's daily matin bell into a "warning knell" of death "Which not a soul can choose but hear/ From Bratha Head to Wyndermere" (11. 342-344), afterward, the Baron calls to Bard Bracy for joyful tunesa "Hol Bracy the bard, the charge be thine& Go thou, with music sweet and loud, And take two steeds with trappings proud, And take the youth whom thou lov'st best To bear thy harp, and.learn thy song, • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Bard Bracy? bard Bracy& your horses are fleet, Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet, More loud than your horses' echoing feetl (11. 484-488, 498-500). Bracy is at first unwilling to obey Leoline's command. He would like to make "music loud" but in order to "clear yon wood from thing unblest," the bright green snake (Geraldine) • Bracy does submit to Leoline's command, J7 though, by the end of Part II. Bracy's f~nal acqui- escence indicates a possible future reconcilation be tween Leoline and Poland. But, since the poem ends with Part II, we never do hear the sweet music Leoline requested. The rage and pain felt by the Baron because of Christabel makes his joy in the hope of renewed friendship quite shortlived. A parallel may be seen in Coleridge's own life. When happy in his friendship with the Wordsworths, beautifUl music flowed from his pen. When the happiness was threatened, the music ended. We will see later in this chapter that for Coleridge friend ship and happiness apparently were prerequisites to poetic creativity. In his attempt to recover a ruined relationship, Leo line loses the only certain love in his life, that of Christabel. This loss is bound to poison whatever happiness he may later have with Roland and Geraldine. Leo- line's actions at the end of Part II show that he has not changed since his "fierce words of disdain" to Roland. His "words of unmeant bitterness" to Christabel and his "tones abrupt, austere" to his gentle minstrel bard point to the same tragic fiaw-- his inability to overcome con flicting feelings (or ambivalence) in his relationships with loved ones. Also, his abandonment of Christabel, the shirking of his responsibilities to her, makes us JS doubtful of Leoline's future relationship with Roland. If Leoline acts irresponsibly as a father, will he be more conscientious as a friend? At the end of Part II there seems little real hope of a lasting reconciliation with Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine. Friendship was a major concern of Coleridge long before he worked on "Christabel." He dealt with this topic repeatedly in his early works. Coleridge's"juve nile" poems reveal a sense .of loneliness and insecurity that made friendship a necessity for him. Surely Cole- ridge's early separation from his family and their later disapproval of him (as a result of his abortive college career and foolish enlistment in the army) intensified his inherent need for friends. As young as sixteen, Cole- ridge wrote, evidently empathizing with a friend who had committed suicides In vain I seek the charms of youthful grace, Thy sunken eye, thy haggard cheeks it shews, The quick emotions struggling in the Face Faint index of thy mental Throes; When each strong Passion spurn'd controll, And not a Friend was nigh to calm thy stormy soul ("Monody on the Death of Chatterton" cFirst Version in Christ's Hospital Bookl, 11. 49-54). We are reminded of Leoline, who certainly can use a friend to calm his stormy soul at the end of Part II, and, indeed, is seeking one (Roland). Surprisingly enough, this passage reminds us of Christabel, too, who is also in dire 39 need of a friend in Part II. Her face is clearly an index of her "mental Throes"a So deeply had she drunken in That look cGe~aldine'sl, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resigned To this sole image in her minds And passively did imitate That look of dull and tre.acherous hatel ("Christabel," 11. 601-606). At the heart of Christabel's predicament is her sense of utter loneliness. She is cut off not only from her father and his servant but also from her friend, Geraldine. Moreover, in Christabel's eyes, Geraldine is responsible for her unhappiness. In Coleridge's own life he often held friends accountable for his mental or emotional states. Their disapproval actually could drive him to the depths of depressions Once in a large company he was sharply criticized by Sir Henry Englefield, who ttook strong exception to one of his lec tures. Coleridge, according to Words worth, "instead of defending himself, burst into tears," Such a response from an experienced public speaker and renowned conversationalist must be to tally incogprehensible to those who have never stared open-eyed at the frightful web of fears that held Coleridge prisoner.1 Writing about Leoline and Roland's broken friendship must have been especially painful to Coleridge considering his own prior experiences, Long before "Christabel" Coleridge realized that too great a dependence on friends 40 was inevitably disastrous. As a very young poet he had recognized that :he himself was to blame for the estrange ment of his friends, hence his own sufferings To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd Energic Reason and a shaping mind, The dar.ing ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart- Sloth-jaundic 'd all& and from my graspless hand Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like hourglass sand. I weep, yet stoop notl the faint anguish flows, A dreamy pang in Morning's feverous doze ("Lines on a Friend Who Died of a Frenzy Fever Induced by Calumnious Reports," 11. 39-46). A year before he started "Christabel" (1796) Coleridge wrote: A Babe art thou--and such a Thing am Il To anger rapid and as soon appeas'd, For trifles mourning and by trifles pleas'd Break Friendship's mirror with a tetchy blow, Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's · altar glow! ("To an Infant," 11. 16-20). While acknowledging his own mistreatment of friends, he knew that they were indispensable to his own and others' happiness1 .Such a green mountain •twere most sweet to climb, E'en while the bosom ach'd with loneliness- How more than sweet, if some dear friend should bless The adventurous toil, and up the path sublime Now lead, now follows the glad landscape round, Wide and more wide, increasing without bound! ("To a Young Friend, on His Proposing to Domes ticate with the Author," c1796 3 , 11. 14-19). Hence we have the paradoxa Coleridge depended on friends but they could not depend on him. He was 41 sensitive to the merest slight, but often insensitive to the pain he caused others. Although it is true he often ignored his responsibilities to those who depenrled on him in one way or another (his family) for the sake of a friend (e. g., abandoning school for Pantisocracy and Southey), he eventually ignored his responsibilities to his friend, too. No wonder.why his friendships were doomed. He did realize that he was responsible for their failure yet accepted this fact with a strange passivity and self-pity, as though it were his inescapable fate. In 1797, the same year he finished Part I of "Christabel," Coleridge wrote a To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dispens'd A different fortune and more different mind- Me from the spot where first I sprang to light Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fix'd Its first domestic loves; and hence through life Chasing chance-started friendships. A brief while Some have preserved me from life's pelting ills; But, like a tree with leaves of feeble stem, If the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once Dropped the collected shower1 and some most false, False and fair-foliag'd as the Manchineel, Have tempted me to slumber in their shade E'en mid the storm; then breathing subtlest damps, Mix'd their own venom with the rain from Heaven, That I woke poison'dl ("To the Rev. George Coleridge of Ottery St. Mary, Devon," 11 .. 15-30). In his youth Coleridge felt only "faint anguish" at his dropping of "friendship's precious pearls." Through the years his anguish probably turned to rage and pain as he 42 realized that he could not change. He would go on losing friends and hurting himself. It is no wonder that Coleridge portrayec Leoline and Roland's friendship as ambivalent, for he saw it so in his own life. In the life of the author of "Christabel" there was more than one Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine. From adoles- cence to old age Coleridge craved and obtained the companionship of intelligent and sympathetic friends. Fruman remarks that "Coleridge's lifelong dependency on older or more decisive men ls a central fact of his biography."2 Coleridge himself said, "The approbation & Sympathy of good and intelligent men is my Sea-breeze."J Yet, Coleridge's relationships with his "heart's best brothers" were invariably tempestuous. As Fruman says, " ••• at one time or another he quarreled bitterly with almost every one of these staunch supporters and sheet-anchors."'f Probably the two ~ost significant (because most influential) of Coleridge's sheet-anchors were Robert Southey and William Wordsworth. Coleridge's relations with Southey ,,.ke- Wordsworth,ALeoline' s with Roland, were marked by ambivalence, alienation, and attempted reconciliation, In fact, when Coleridge wrote about Leoline and Roland, he and Southey were already as "cliffs rent asunder." Cole- ridge's relationship with Wordsworth was still going strong then but it was, of course, destined for the same 43 fate (alienation). It seems that when Coleridge wrote Part II of "Christabel" he had already established a pattern of

ambivalent friends~ips in his life which he would never be able to break. Coleridge may well have had his relationship with Southey in mind when he wrote of Leoline and Roland, who "had been friends in youth." Coleridge and Southey met while both were still in college and they shared a common liberalism and optimism. ·At least at first, both eagerly anticipated setting up a utopian community in America. Yet these brothers in spirit must have felt some ambivalence toward each other even in the height of their intimacy, considering the great differences in their personalities. Although Southey (two years younger than Coleridge) certainly was impressed by Coleridge's brilliance and elo quence, he could not have cared much for Coleridge's moral weaknesses. Chambers tells us that Southey's own morals "were austere, and Coleridge claims to have abandoned, through his example, the sexual irregularities of which he had always been ashamed." 5 But even a Coleridge with a reforrned sex life must have been a far different man than the straight-laced Southey. Accounts of the two friends' early attempts to work together indicate that Southey had little patience with Coleridge's lack of disciplines 44

He cColeridge1 agreed to join Southey and Burnett in the same lodgings, and to begin writing (in a room where Southey, indus triously at work, kept an eye on him). Coleridge was to write and lecture on politics and religion and Southey on history. Cole ridge gave several lectures ••• and then continued at a slower pace. With some irritation Southey said later that his earnings during the half year that followed, wereps four to one of those of Coleridge, that indeed he actually had to support Coleridge at this time.l Coleridge, on the other hand, must have been impressed by Southey's discipline, .his _apparent moral strength, but he must have also been aware of Southey's tendency toward inflexibility and his insensitivity to esthetic and ethical subtleties (never more evident than in his review

of ·~The Ancient Mariner," which he labeled "a Dutch attempt at German sublimity"). Southey was definitely not Coleridge's intellectual equal. Thus, even their youthful love must have been tempered by their realization (if not contempt) of each other's weaknesses. Later circumstances would magnify the poets' conflicting feelings for each other until they could no longer enjoy one another's company. Coleridge's relationship with Southey reveals a pattern that can be seen in all his other relationships with friends. Coleridge was invariably attracted to men stronger than himself. They, of course, would eventually become aware of Coleridge's weaknesses and as their awareness grew, or was thrust upon them by Coleridge's own unthinking actions, the 45 bonds of friendship would loosen. Southey was probably moved to abandon the plans for Pantisocracy (causing the breakdown of their friendship) as much by his knowledge of Coleridge's indolence as by the hope of obtaining a legacy. It must have seemed to Southey that the greater burden of the work on the banks of the Susquehanna would fall on him, not on Coleridge. Coleridge himself would be a burden. Coleridge's reaction to Southey's treason was similar to

Leoline's reaction to Christabel's apparent ins~lence (and probably to Roland's). He responded with "words of unmeant bitterness." In one letter to Southey he saida 0 Selfish, money-loving Mani what Principle have you not given up?--Tho' Death had been the consequence, I would have spit in that man's Face & called him Liar, who should have spoken that last Sentence concerning you, 9 months ago. For blindly did I esteem you. O Godl that such a mind should fall in love with that low, dirty, gutter-grubbing Trull, WORLDLY PRUDENCEll Curse on all Pride! iTis a Harlot that buckrams herself up in virtue only that she may fetch a higher Price--'Tis a Rock, where ~ Virtue may be planted but cannot strike root. But even when alienated, Coleridge and Southey retained some fondness for each other. There was ambivalence in their enmity, as there is in Leoline and Roland's. Cole ridge himself could not bear total alienation and was the first to make friendly overtures. Still he knew that despite any reconciliation, he and Southey could never truly be friends again. He wrote John Thelwalla 46 Between ourselves, the Enthusiasm of friendship is not with s. & me. We quarrelled--& the quarrel lasted for a twelvemonth--We are now reconciled; but the cause of the differences was solemn--& 'the blasted oak puts not forth its buds anew'--we are acguain tances, & feel kindliness towards each othera but I do not esteem or LOVE Southey, as I must esteem & love the man-whom ~ dared to call by the holy name of FRIENDI If Coleridge did indeed want to portray a reconciliation in a latter part of "Christabel" it is unlikely that he could convincingly (to himself) do so since he had so recently failed in his relationship with Southey. One may certainly argue that Coleridge's failed friendship with Southey is no very satisfactory explanation of his abandonment of "Christabel" since another, far more valuable friendship was still strong when Coleridge finished Part II. Yet, paradoxically, the intimacy with Wordsworth, while it encouraged Coleridge to write Part II, may have also discouraged Coleridge from ever finishing the poema In the meantime "Christabel" remained with only one book written. Coleridge could not get on with it. In August of 1800, however, he moved his family from Stowey to Keswik, so as to be near Wordsworth. Here, after an agonizing effort, the second _ part of "Christabel" was finished. "Every line has been produced by me with labor pangs," he wrote in September, and then he addeda "I abandon Poetry altogether--! leave the higher and deeper Kinds to Words worth, the delightful, popular and simply dignified to Southey. 9 Why did Wordsworth's influence lead Coleridge to produce the 47 greatest of his poetry and to give up writing poetry alto gether? Wordsworth was Coleridge's intellectual equal and more of a sheet-anchor than the hypocritical Southey. But Coleridge was the same as ever. He was probably attracted to Wordsworth for much the same reason that he had been originally attracted to Southey. "Such people fascinated him in their freedom from the dubieties and self-questionings with which his own life was habitually spent. 1110 Like Leoline, who sacrificed Christabel, Coleridge seemed willing to make almost any sacrifice for friendship, though unaware at the time that they were sacrifices. This anxiety to please, the habit of assen tation, are facets of larger problemsa his ceaselessly gnawing self-doubts and fear of rejection. Insincerity, flattery, even sycophancy in the presence of those whose approval he desired, heavily punctuate the records of his life. Here again, he simply could not believe that he could be liked for himself alone. Needing assurance so desperately, he went to extreme, Imbarrassing lengths to make others like him. 1 Again, it seems inevitable that such compromises with him self would eventually make Coleridge somewhat bitter about the person for whom so much (self-respect as well as love of others) had been lost--and willing to sacrifice that friendship for a newer, guilt-free one. For Wordsworth Coleridge was willing to give up almost everything--his own poetry and his domestic happiness. Fruman tries to tell us why1 48 For someone as destructively insecure as Coleridge, continual understanding, sym pathy, encouragement, and praise were the fresh breeze of creative life. But this he did not receive from his wife. or from Southey, or--eventually--from the Words worths. It was not happiness as such that spurred him on during the annus mirabilis, but rather ••• William and Dorothy's affec tion and admiration. Their love and approval served as a counterweight to that despondency which always threatened to pull him into the abyss ••• Wordsworth's self-absorption inevitably came between the two friends. He had his own work to do and he never doubted its supreme im portance.12 It is no wonder that having given up what he did Coleridge became intensely jealous of Wordsworth. It is also no wonder that "whispering tongues" could so easily poison their relationship. Coleridge's immediate acceptance of Montagu's fantastic account of Wordsworth's "words of un meant bitterness" and his subsequent breach with Wordsworth point to prior ambivalent feelings for him. Bate tells usa Whatever Wordsworth had really said, the upshot in Coleridge's imagination can be pieced together from the following in complete remarks. Montagu, he told John Morgan (March 27 1 1812), "prefaced his discourse with the words, 'Nay but Words worth has commissioned me to tell you, first that he has no hope of you, .etc., etc.,• and declared me a nuisance, an ab solute nuisance--and this to such a creature as Montagu." To Crabb Robinson, Coleridge apparently said much the same thing adding that Wordsworth had also described him as a "rotten dr..inkard" who had been "rotting out his entrails by intemperance ... 13 It is not an overstatement to say that Coleridge's break with Wordsworth was devastating. Coleridge wrote to Thomas Poole in reference to the "year long difference" between himself and Wordsworth, "all former afflictions of my life were less than flea-bites."14 Of course, recon ciliations were attempted but were never entirely success ful. Coleridge's friendship with Wordsworth and his career as a poet ended almost simultaneously. Without the companionship and.approval of the one man Coleridge considered his intellectual equal (if not superior), he would never again write anything comparable to the great works of those years of friendship. In the many years that followed his break with Wordsworth, Coleridge often expressed the desire to return to poetic creativity, to finish "Christabel." Surely the realization of his great loss, not just of Wordsworth but of so many other friends, hindered him from writing that part of "Christabel" which he apparently had once hoped to write, the reconciliation of two friends, Leoline and Roland. 50 III The Dove and the Snakes The Sexual Relationship 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 befel, 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 liel ( "Christabel," 11. 226-:-234). Thus far we have .focused our attention on Part II of "Christabel" and the two ambivalent relationships presented in it1 the parent/child relationship and friendship. We have ignored the equally disturbing ar..d more mysterious relationship which pervades Part I. !his relationship, which involves Christabel and Geraldine, actually defies labeling. While it resembles the two previously discussed relationships by being ambivalent, in the sense of express ing both love and hate, it is more complex than the other two. Since Christabel befriends Geraldine, their relationship can be called friendship. At the same time, since Geraldine acts as a mother to Christabel (as we shall soon see), their relationship approaches the parental/filial one. Yet it is much more. The sexual implications of Christabel and Geraldine's liaison are inescapable. But whether their union is purely symbolic or actual, creative or destructive, is not easily discerned. Another element missing from the 51 relationships of Leoline and Christabel and of Leoline and Roland but apparent in that of Christabel and Geraldine is the supernatural. Like the sexual aspect, the supernatural increases the ambiguity of the relationship, for we know not whether it is divine or diabolic, redemptive or damning. Much of the difficulty in determining the nature of Geraldine and Christabel's relationship arises from Cole ridge's own uncertainty of the overall design of the poem while writing Part I, although he said long after he had abandoned the poem, "I have, as I always had, the whole plan entire from beginning to end in my mind" (Table Talk, July 6, 18JJ). A comparison of the two parts makes us doubt his claim. The author takes great pains to emphasize the setting at the beginning of Part I (as compared to that of Part II). He bombards the reader with visual and aural: images--a full moon, a cloudy midnight sky, the forest out side a castle, screeching owls, a howling mastiff bitch, and a dazzling strange lady. This Gothic setting raises Gothic expectations in the reader, i. e., the supernatural visitations and crimes against nature invariably found in Qothic novels. Thus, we are immediately made wary of Geraldine andfrightened for Christabel. In other words, we are ready to see everything in a most unnatural light, to see the most simple act of intimacy (an embrace) as a 52 horrible crime, to see the strange lady turn into a lamia, vampire, Christabel's dead mother, or even a man. Yet never are we specifically told that any of thes~ things happen in the poem. In vain we read Part II for confir- mation of our hypotheses about Part I. Without the darkness of night and the ominous animal sounds, the continuation of the poem appears quite mundane. We are faced with a familial imbroglio involving four characters, two of them introduced for the first time in Part II. In a sense, then, Part II is not a continuation because it does not fulfill the Gothic expectations raised in Part I. It does not elucidate what has happened. Coleridge himself may not have known what to do with the relationship between Geraldine and Christabel after Part I. He had begun the poem, as we have noted before, apparently exploring the ambiguities of evil and ended it exploring the ambiguities of love. It is easy to see how writing about Geraldine and Christabel could have led him to the second investigation for in them evil and love are inextricably connected by the sexual and supernatural aspects of their relationship. Since Coleridge went on to analyze other types of ambiguous love in Part II, he left us the task of going back to Part I to sort out and attempt to synthesize the conflicting elements of Christabel and Geraldine's re lationship in the light of their actions in Part II. Coleridge himself either would not or could not do this for us. One of the first things we notice when we go back to Part I after reading Part II is that the narrator is much more concerned with externals in I; by this I mean not just the appearances and actions of the characters but also their surroundings. Rarely do we see directly into the minds of Christabel and Geraldine in Part I. One might say that Part I 1s less psychological and more sym bolic than Part II. For example, just prior to introducing us to Geraldine, the narrator gives a very specific picture of the plant life where Christabel is praying& "And naught was green upon the oak/ But moss and rarest mistletoe" (11. 33-34). These details obviously do not contribute to the eeriness of the Gothic setting, but they are not idle description either. We see that the sturdy oak is not green, while the fragile, parasitic moss is. The moss is deriving life from the oak. The other green plant, the mistletoe, brings to mind thoughts of Christmas (Christabel) and romantic encounters. Thus, there are spiritual and profane connotations. The pointed contrast of the tem porarily dead oak with the live moss and mistletoe leads us to conjecture that the old oak, like the aged and ailing Leoline, is powerless to shield Christabel. It is here, "on the other side ••• of the huge, broad-breasted oak 54 tree," that Christabel, while praying for her faraway knight, finds Geraldine. Surely this scene also brings to mind Eve's encounter with the serpent at the forbidden tree. Thus, the narrator's detailed description of the forest can be seen as symbolic foreshadowing. Nature images are important keys to the characteriza tion of both Christabel and Geraldine in Part I. When Christabel first sees Geraldine, she almost mistakes her for the wind. But there is none. This natural comparison, of Geraldine to the wind, casts an unnatural shadow over her. Of course, wind can be a destructive force, uncontrollable by man, and we often associate spirits or supernatural beings with it. Hence, the implied compari son of Geraldine to the wind raises doubts in our minds about her true nature, which are not completely dispelled by Christabel's discovery that she is a real person. It seems improbable that the warriors who kidnapped her would have left her so near a castle and with her jewels intact. Christabel's ready acceptance of the strange lady's story emphasizes both her dangerous innocence and her willingness to befriend even a stranger. If Geraldine can be compared to the wind, Christabel can be compared to "the one red leaf." The leaf is per sonified. It "dances as often as dance it can" (1. 50). The red leaf is like a wood sprite, or the "faery thing 55 with red round cheeks" in the Conclusion to Part II; but, it is a real leaf, too, attached to a dead oak, "Hanging so light, and hanging so high/ On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky" (11. 51-52). The leaf is in a very precarious position, as close to heaven as it will ever be. Christabel, too, may be as close to heaven as she will ever be .when she looks up at the night sky and prays. In her virginal innocence she, like the leaf, is doomed to fall, at least from innocence. The narrator calls on Jesus and Mary to shield Christabel, who moves to the other side of the oak, which is as powerless to shield her as it is to protect the last red leaf. Geraldine and Christabel's trip to the castle is fraught with bewildering contradictions that reveal more about the characters. We learn that the gate to the castle is "ironed within and without" and hence are re minded that Christabel is entering a supposedly protected world, her homes but, the narrator adds1 "Where an army

in battle array had marched~" (1. 128). As we begin to fear for Christabel's safety, Geraldine sinks "belike through pain." Christabel appears as a pillar of strength, carrying poor Geraldine over the threshold. At this point it seems to be Geraldine who merits our pity. Yet, we wonder what provoked her sudden weakness and recovery. .56 We may assign natural and supernatural causes to it. (Carl Woodring says, "Sir Walter Scott was one of a num ber of imitators who took the progress of Garaldine toward Christabel's chamber and into her bed as a notable illus tration of the fact that demons gain power only by invi tation." 1) At the same time we continue to be impressed by Christabel's remarkably benevolent attitude toward the strange lady. The "angry moan"·of the mastiff bitch makes us still warier of Geraldine. The mastiff is rumored to howl at the sight of Christabel's dead mother. Christabel herself usually has a calming effect on the dog. But this time (with Geraldine) her presence is inefficacious. The dog's angry moan, so contrary to her regular behavior with Christabel, puts us on guard against Geraldine, although she actually has done nothing to make us distrust her. The strange occurrences inside the castle make it suitable for a Gothic horror story. Dying brands suddenly flare up when Geraldine passes. Despite the increased light, Christabel sees nothing but "the lady's eye" and the boss of her father's shield in a "murky niche." Geraldine's eye has an almost hypnotic effect on Christabel. our sense of something being amiss is reinforced by the linesa "And jealous of the listening air/They steal their way from stair to stair" (11. 167-168). Amid all this 57 strangeness, we see Geraldine fixing up Christabel's room, as though out of gratitude for her hospitality. Geraldine's simple domestic action almost counteracts all the eeriness that has come before and indeed makes Geraldine look more human. Before analyzing the ambiguous action in Christabel's bedchamber, we should take a closer look at the lovely lady Christabel and her guest Geraldine. We have already noted that in Part I we are usually not told what the characters are thinking. Instead, we must judge them as we would any person in real life, by their words, deeds, and appearances. Christabel is barely described at all, aside from her celestial blue eyes and curls. Her kind acts seem to inspire in us a picture of a beautiful, pure young maid, which is satisfying enough. Geraldine, how ever, is described in much more detail, yet it is she who arouses our curiosity. Her dazzling beauty makes us wary of her. She is a "damsel bright,/ Drest in a silken robe of white" (11. 58-59). Geraldine looks angelic at first until we notice that her white robe, which we expect to reflect the full moonlight, "shadowy in the moonlight shone" (1. 60). Her skin must be .!!nllaturally translucent or bloodless to be whiter than white silk. The prosaic fact of Geraldine's unsandaled, blue-veined feet makes her seem more normal until we see the wildly glittering gems in her SB hair. The narrator guesses it was "frightful" to see "a lady so richly clad," so exceedingly beautiful, in the wood. The reader wonders if she is human. Not only is Geraldine's appearance bewildering, her remarks in Christabel's room are even more perplexing. We have already seen her strange loss of strength and speedy recovery. Christabel interprets this as weariness, apparently not bothered by her rapid return of strength. Christabel, still extending her friendship and hospitality, offers Geraldine a cordial wine made by her deceased mother. She tells her guest her mother died saying "That she should hear the castle-bell/ Strike twelve upon my wedding day" (11. 200-201). The mother's death wish, ex pressed in such specific terms, her apparently exact know ledge of the future, leads us to think that she had some supernatural ability. We wonder, in fact, if Christabel's mother is with her in the bedroom, since the clock did strike twelve. This night with Geraldine could be a horri ble mockery of the wedding night. Geraldine's exclamation, "Off, wandering mother& Peak and pinel/ I have power to bid thee flee" and later, "Off, woman, offl this hour is mine-/ Though thou her guardian spirit be,/ Off, woman, offl 'tis given to me" (11. 205- 206, 211-212) may explain what ails her and confirm our conjecture that Christabel's mother is present. Christabel does not grasp the supernatural 59 implications of Geraldine's actions, although rather ob vious to us. She just kneels, raises her eyes to heaven and says, "this ghastly cghostly?J ride-/ Dear ladyl it hath wildered youl" (11. 216-217). It is ironic that one who so firmly believes in the supernatural good, Jesus and Mary, should be blind to the existence of supernatural evil, which we sense in Geraldine. Yet, Geraldine is physically ill, with "moist, cold brow." The wine really does seem to invigorate her. Still, we wonder if the flight of the bodiless mother has unburdened Geraldine. Hence, we are offered both natural and supernatural ex- planations for her third recovery. Her improved state is described as "most beautiful to see,/ Like a lady of a far , countree" (11. 224-225). Aware of Geraldine's tendencies toward the supernatural, we migh~ guess that the "far countree" is heaven or hell, which is indicative of her ambivalent character. Although we vaguely fear and mis trust her, her next words suggest that she may well be from heavens "All they who live in the upper sky,/ Do love you, holy Christabel!" (11. 227-228). We are anxious to see if Geraldine will prove to be other than human when she undresses for bed, but are forced to wait while she prays and entreats Christabel to disrobe first. Thus we see Both spiritual and sensual elements in Christabel's bedroom. It could be quite innocent and 60 natural, since Geraldine is praying and people do undress for bed. on the other hand, the sexual implications of this scene appear unavoidable. If Geraldine does have a sexual interest in Christabel, her speech about heavenly love, her gratefulness for Christabel's charity, and her prayers cast her in an even worse light. Of course, even tually kind-hearted Christabel does realize something is amissa "But through her brain of weal and woe/ So many thoughts moved to and fro" (11. 239-240). So many contrary thoughts press in on her that she, like us the readers and like the speaker in the Conclusion to Part II who suffers from "giddiness of heart of brain," is confused. She is only half sure something is wrong. · She rises "half-way" on her elbow to watch Geraldine, since it is "vain" for her to close her eyes. Once again, Geraldine has affected Christabel's vision; but, this instance can be explained as the natural result of curiosity. Earlier, Geraldine seemed to lose control of her own eyes, when she stared "with unsettled eye." Geraldine's power over Christabel's vision seems almost supernatural; but, at the same time, loss of control of her own eyes indicates that she does have some human weaknesses. The moment we have been waiting for, when Geraldine disrobes, appears to be ritualized. Geraldine bows beneath the lamp, seemingly in obeisance to the angel who holds it~ 61 but Lucifer, too, was an angel of light. As before, Geraldine seems to lose control of her eyes. They roll around as if she were dizzy, drunk, or maybe just confused. This action implies temporary loss of control o.t' a situation that Geraldine apparently has under control in every other respect. She does regain composure, "Then drawing in her breath aloud,/ Like one that shuddered, she unbound/ The cincture from beneath her breast" (11. 247-249). Finally we see "full in view/ _Beholdl her bosom and half her side-/

A sight to dream of, not to telll" (11. 251-25J). We are ~ot told exactly what the sight is. (In the original version Coleridge wrote this line between what are now lines 252 and 2531 "Are lean and old and foul of hue." Evidently he decided to make her appearance more mysterious by deleting the line.) We can only imagine what Christabel sees. We are led to think the worst by "O shield herl shield sweet Christabel! (1. 254). Yet, it is Geraldine who seems to be in need of help. "Ahl what a stricken look was hersl/ Deep from within she seems half-way/ To lift some weight with sick assay" (11. 256-258). Geraldine "eyes" Christabel and "seeks delay." Again she hesitates. But again she masters herself, or whatever had control over her, and lies "down by the Maiden's sidel-/ And in her arms the maid she took,/ Ah wel-a-dayl (11. 262-264). Geraldine's actions do not seem so shocking in them- 62 selves, but the narrator's exclamations tell us they must be. Although we probably would not have expected Geraldine to embrace Christabel, the embrace could be a natural dis play of maternal affection for the motherless maid. As far as we know, Christabel and Geraldine are both women, although the latter's bosom and half her side are "a sight to dream of, not to telll" {l. 253). In her worldly ex perience and loftiness, Geraldine seems older and stronger than Christabel {yet we cannot forget her disturbing weak nesses). And, Christabel is certainly childlike in her innocence and naivet~1 still it was she who rescued Geraldine. Seeing strength and weakness in both women makes it difficult to cast them in.definite mother and child roles. In fact, the sight of the strange naked woman embracing the naked virgin forces us to consider a homo sexual relationship. With this in mind, we do not want to see Geraldine in the maternal role. It is too horrible for her to be both lesbian and mother, preying on her child. Yet, this travesty of good is in keeping with her prior actions. Geraldine herself admits that the embrace is not guileless1 "In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell,/ Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!" (11. 267-268). "Spell" implies that Geraldine does have some supernatural power. However, a physical seduction by a lesbian mother-figure could have a traumatic, spell-like 6J effect on its victim. This psychological interpretation of Geraldine's action and its effect may be more terrifying than a supernatural one. If Geraldine were in league with Satan, we would expect her to do something horrible. But, the thought of Christabel being destroyed (as she seems to be in Part II when she imitates that "look of dull and tr~herous hate") by the human act of love is totally senseless. Geraldine tells Christabel of her "mark of shame," which leads u~ to .suspect her guilty of some pre vious terrible act, and of her "seal of sorrow," which indicates that she is suffering for her wrong and even merits our sympathy. Without knowing exactly what Geraldine is thinking, we can have only conflicting thoughts about her ourselves at this point. We both condemn and pity her. . Mindful of Geraldine's warning or damning, we expect the spell cast upon Christabel to have some dreadful effect, but Geraldine's description of it makes it sound rather innocuous. Christabel is doomed to declare that she found a bright lady in the dim forest, brought her home in "12.Y.! and charity," to shield her from "the damp air" (11. 277- 278). But we know it is Christabel who needs to be shielded from the "cold, moist" Geraldine. The horrible aspect of Geraldine's spell is that Christabel can only tell part of the whole story. She can only go "half-way" and in so 64 doing she will present a false•·- in fact reversed, picture of what really happened. The poet himself probably has seen an act of love used destructively, has seen innocent love turned into bitter hatred by the seemingly inexpli cable acts of the loved one. His sense of participation in this corruptible love, maybe as a victim, may well be what prevents him from telling us, the readers, all that he knows (and thus finishing the poem).

The Conclusion to Pa~t I summarizes the strange events which have occurred so far and, surprisingly, points opti mistically forward. As we look back on Christabel, "a lovely sight to see," praying in t·he wood, the narrator finds it necessary to defend her beautya "Her face, oh call it fair not pale" (1. 289). We can never again see her as fair as she was before Geraldine's embrace. In . fact, Christabel appears so altered that our narrator asks if she is the same girl we saw in the wood. Geraldine is referred to as "the worker of these harms" but seems "as a mother with her child" (11. 2981 301). Again, this balance of opposites, destructiveness and affection, in one person is.most horrible in its use of the maternal role. It is un natural for a mother to consciously harm her child. We want Geraldine to ba either good or evil, not a confusion of both. It is difficult for us to accept or understand evil as the result of good intentions (Christabel's initial kindness or Geraldine's maternal caress), or, for that matter, good (the education of Christabel) as the result of evil (Geraldine's seduction). The rest of the Conclusion does not make past events much clearer. Christabel has spent the night in Geraldine's arms. Thus. Geraldine had her hour. We remember that Christabel's mother's hour of death was Christabel's hour of birth. Geraldine's emotionally painful hour may be Christabel's hour of spiritual death and Geraldine's of regeneration, for the night birds are "jubilant anew." Yet, out of Christabel's spiritual death may come resur rection for her, too. The last part of the Conclusion i.s indeed reassuring. Christabel both smiles and weeps. Her fearful dreaming is replaced by a Nvision sweet." We are told that "saints will aid if men will calla/ For the blue sky bends over alll"(ll. JJO-JJ1). Christabel suffers but her suffering enables her to transcend her condition-- to receive a "vision sweet." Part II shows us Christabel and Geraldine the next morning. It seems significant that the "devil's merry peal" awakens Geraldine. Like Christabel, she displays sorrow and cheer. She "shakes off her dread,/ And rises lightly from the bed"(ll. J62-J6J) as though relieved at having completed a disagreeable task. Her awakening of Christabel, "nothing doubting of her spell," convinces us 66 that last night was not just a dream for Christa·bel. We have assumed Christabel to be an innocent victim of Geral dine's evil, but evidently her subconscious mind has been tortured. Christabel may not have been a completely un willing participant in Geraldine's embrace. Of course, we long to know what Geraldine's true nature is. Her·.peaceful and child-like slumber, in marked contrast to Christabel's tortured sleep, runs contrary to our worst suspicions in Part I. In Part II she seems a changed womans "fairer yet," as if she had drunk "of all the blessedness of sleep"(l. 376). Her looks declare "such gentle thankfulness"(l.377). After this description of Geraldine's saintly appearance, we do not know what to think of Christabel's "Sure I have sinn'dl"(l. 381). We are told Christabel is filled with the perplexity "as dreams too lively leave behind"(l. J86). The reader cannot believe that Christabel has really merited the punishment (spell) she has received from Geraldine (not having seen her do anything wrong before the embrace). It seems more likely that Christabel, like Christ, is made to suffer, through Geraldine, for the sins of others. Long after writing "Christabel" Coleridge told his son Derwent that the poem was to be a tale of vicarious suffering, "founded on the notion, that the virtuous of this world save the wicked. 112 Geraldine, then, although "the worker of harms," would be acting for the ultimate good of Christ- 67 abel and others. If the poem ended with Part I we could believe this claim. However, in Part II it appears that Christabel has not only been hurt by Geraldine, but corrup ted by her too. The maid "devoid of guile and sin" drinks in ~those shrunken serpent eyes" of Geraldine. At the end of Part II there seems to be no hope for Christabel. Every one· is conquered by Geraldine. Coleridge may well have wanted to save Christabel and, indeed, let her save others in his continuation, but this is certainly not the direction that the second and last part of the poem takes. At the end of the poem one is left with an overwhelming sense of the desolation of Christabel and the injustice committed against her. Christabel and Geraldine's relationship is surely different from the other two examined before. Obviously, on one level, it is not a love relationship but a study in the ambiguity of both evil and good. On another level, it is a very complicated love relationship involving friend ship and parental-like feelings. But more importantly, it is a highly sensual relationship. Christabel is clearly attracted by the beauty of Geraldine. The climactic action of Part I (and of the poem) is an embrace, which is, at least symbolically, a seduction. Their relationship is a spiritual one, too. We are repeatedly told of Christa bel's saintliness. We remember that she was praying when 68 she found Geraldine, who comes as though in answer to her prayers. There are, as we have seen, numerous suggestions that Geraldine is supernatural, or Preternatural as Cole ridge would say. It is possible, though difficult, to see her as an agent of divine love, Christabel's guardian spirit. It is easier to see Christabel as a representative of Christian or brotherly love. The sensuality and spiri tuality in their relationship are certainly the most dis turbing and paradoxical aspects of it. They are not har monized by the poet, as they would have had to have been in order to satisfactorily end the poem. As it is, the poem leaves us with the feeling that the poet has lost control of the relationship. We really do not know what to think of Christabel and Geraldine, for the poem raises more questions than it answers. It is not so difficult to understand the dual (sensual/spiritual) nature of Geraldine and Christabel's relationship when one is familiar with Coleridge's thoughts on sexual love. Jonas Spatz claims in a recent article that Coleridge's "clearest statements" about love and sex, which are found in his notebooks and letters over many years, progress toward a "coherent philosophical position." Spatz summarizes its Man's animal sexuality is the base under lying the uniquely human capacity for the SPiritual feeling he calls love. This 69 feeling, in turn, supports the insti·tution at the apex called marriage •••• In this scheme sex is a natural arid necessary function.3 In'Christabel," thd fact that Geraldine and Christabel are both women does not preclude the possibility that their relationship parallels a heterosexual one. The repeated references to Geraldine's greater size (her loftiness) and her obvious aggressiveness suggest that she plays the usual male role. Some critics, such as Edgar Jones, go so far as to say that ·Geraldine is Christabel's faraway knight, her fearful bridegroom.4 Of course, Christabel, in her meek passivity, clearly could be playing the tradi tional female role. It is possible to see Geraldine a~d Christabel's relationship as representative of Coleridge's philosophy of sexual love, but also, as we shall see, of his confusion about sexual love. The theme of sexual love enters into several of the poems that Coleridge wrote in the years between composing Parts I and II of "Christabel." In one poem he emphasized the necessity of sexual love for both men and womena For maids, as well as youths, have perished From fruitless love too fondly cherished. Nay treacherous images leave my mind- For Lewti never will be kind ("Lewti," 11. 49-52). In "The Three Graves" (1798) Coleridge told of a mother coming between her daughter and the girl's fiance, which some readers see happening in"Christabel." Geraldine, the' 70 spirit mother, comes between Christabel and her absent knight. In "The Three Graves" the real cause of the daughter's downfall is her fear of fulfilling the wifely role a She stood, her back against the door, And when her child drew near- ' Away I awayl' the mother c~ied, 'Ye shall not enter here. 'Would ye come here, ye maiden vile, And rob me of my mate?' And on her child the mother scowled A deadly leer of hate. Fast rooted to the spot, you guess, The wretched maiden stood, As pale as any ghost of night That wanteth flesh and blood. She did not groan, she did not fall, She did not shed a tear, Nor did she cry, 'Ohl mother, why May I not enter here?' But wildly up the stairs she ran, As if her sense was fled, And then her trembling limbs she threw Upon the bridal bed. The mother she to Edward went Where he sate in the bower, And said, 'That woman is not fit To be your paramour(ll. 74-97). In "Love" Coleridge tells us that the denial of sexual love is a destructive act1 But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he crossed the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor nights That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, 71 And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade,- There came and looked him in the face An angel beautiful and brights And that he knew it was a Fiend, This miserable Knightl(ll. 41-52). On the other hand, the acceptance or giving of sexual love can raise the lover to a higher moral plane of existence. Spatz points out a Notebook entry concerning Sara Hutchinson which illustrates "the heavy philosophical burden he cCole ridge 1 placed on his perf~ctly normal but guilt-ridden urges"a I felt strongly how apart from all impurity if I were sleeping with the Beloved these kind and pleasurable feelings would become associated with a Being out of me, & thereby in an almost incalculable triin-Of conse quences increase my active benevolence ••• (Notebooks, Entry 2495).5 To Coleridge, then, sex could be a redemptive force. If Geraldine does represent the male and Christabel the female and their embrace does symbolize the sexual act, it is easy to see how it could take on spiritual dimensions, and Geraldine act as an agent of good instead of evil. Christabel suffers initially upon accepting Geraldine but, again, her pain is rewarded by a "vision sweet." Edwards and Enslie have pointed out that in this respect Christabel resembles Blake's Thel, who must cross out of the sheltered Vales of Har in order to grew physically, emotionally, and spiritually.6 72 Unfortunately, as we have noticed before, Christabel appears to be damned rather than redeemed in Part II. Coleridge may have wanted to portray Geraldine and Chris tabel' a embrace as a sort of mystical experience, an act of love in which the opposites would be harmonized, Geral dine's evil subsumed by Christabel's goodness (which in turn would be strengthened), as Beer has suggested.7 (Religious mystics often describe their transcendental

experiences in highly .erotic ~erms.) According to what Coleridge told James Gillman, Geraldine was to be overcome eventually. Or, as he told Derwent, she would turn out to be a divine agent.· But, once more, there is no indication of this at the end of Part II. Coleridge may have wanted to use sexual love at least to symbolize divine love for man but he could not because his own attitude toward sex was .highly ambivalent. As a philosopher he could speak of sexual love as an· uplifting experience, as a man he could not. In his own life Coleridge saw sex as a degrading ex perience. Certainly those "sexual irregularities" he claimed to have abandoned after befriending Southey were degrading. His relationship with Sara Fricker Coleridge, his wife, whom he claimed to love immediately before and after their marriage, quickly ended (within a few years) in bitter separation. (This failed sexual relationship may 7J have greatly contributed to Coleridge's alienation from his children and from Southey.) It is noteworthy that the women Coleridge claimed to have loved most of all were those with whom he had totally platonic relationships, i. e., Mary Evans and Sara Hutchinson. Fruman feels certain that after leaving his wife Coleridge led a completely celibate life (for twenty-eight years) and suggests that his intimacy with males points to strong homosexual tenden cies~ We are reminded, of course, that on one level Geraldine and Christabel's relationship appears to be a homosexual one. But, it seems unlikely that Coleridge would have idealized sex in his more philosophic writings or written so much of the longing for union with the opposite sex in his poetry if h~ had been homosexual. One must admit, though, judging from some of his notebook entries (to be discussed next), that Coleridge was at least subconsciously afraid of and disgusted by sex. Coleridge's accounts of his dreams suggest that he saw himself as a victim of sex. He often dreamt of monster like women, similar to Geraldine. On Nov. 28, 1800, he wrote in his notebooks -a most frightful Dream of a Woman whose features were blended with darkness catching hold of my right eye and attempting to pull it out- I caught hold of her arm fast- a horrid feel ••• -the Woman's name Ebon Ebon Thalud •••• 9 Fruman comments on this dreama "But Ebon Ebon Thalud is rather a man's name than a woman's." Fruman also asks i! this is not the same kind of sexual conf'usion we see "shimmering beneath the surface of 'Christabel~."lO There is one very obvious parallel between this dream and the poem. Geraldine repeatedly "catches hold" of Christa bel' a eyes. Kathleen Coburn was probably the first to link Coleridge's dreams with Geraldinea Geraldine's pursuit of Christabel is to be found in ·various forms in several of his accounts of his dreams, in which one gathers .he was frequently pursued by unpleasing female figures, who, pale and wraith-like, had the trick of' altering their shapes, sometimes to impersonate those he loved. 11 Christabel's fearful dreaming seems especially significant when one is familiar with Coleridge's cwn fearful dreams. Geraldine is not just a product of Coleridge's night mar~s, for she is, at least superficially, beautiful and charismatic. In other words, she has the traditional appearance of the classis evil characters of Gothic litera ture, who, according to Jack Owens, are typically handsome and noble (as Geraldine is). 12 Probably Coleridge's deviation from the literary exa.~ple, making Geraldine 1€ss a Gothic character than a dream figure, is as much respon sible for the poem's success as its failure. Bostetter says that it is because Geraldine is from Coleridge's dreams that she can embody both good and evils 75 Geraldine is an incarnation of sadism, much like the women of Coleridge's dreams •••• she first smiled on Christabel then crept closer and closer until she had trapped her victim in her serpent folds. But this sadism is accompanied by a sense of shan1e and dread, and, particularly in Part I, by an implied feeling of love and pity for the victim. In the light of the attitudes toward evil •••• all these characteristics are quite compatible with, in fact, conducive to, the conception of Geraldine as the instrument used by "Eternal Strength and Wisdom" to torture and test Christabel for its own inscrutable purposes. Geraldine's reluctant seduction of Christabel can then be seen as the product of an "~xcess" of divine love. 13 Because Geraldine is much like figures in Coleridge's night mares the poem is rich in psychological complexity. On the other hand, for this same reason Gerandine became an impossible character for Coleridge to work with poetically. He probably strongly identified with her victim, Christabel. Douglas Angus saysa In "Christabel" the central figure is again superficially unlike Coleridge but psycho logically similar. Christabel is gentle and loving ••• without guilt. This is the role that Coleridge would play in life too1 this is the mask he presents to the v;orld. But Christabel ••• is presently bewitched, her purity contaminated by a guilty secret ••• that really resides in the beautiful, evil woman, Gerat~ine, who is ••• the eternal witch figure •••• Fruman proposes that Coleridge also identified with Geral dinea The lofty lady says she has been kidnapped from her home far away. She is found in the woods beneath an oak tree, like so many other 76 orphans in Coleridge's poetry. Coleridge and Geraldine are very similar names, a point which may not be mere accident. Coleridge played anagrams with names re gularly ••• in journal entries she (Sara Hutchinson) appears in various nomenclatures, once in a cipher anagram as "Asra Schonthinu," with Samuel Taylor Coleridge transformed to "musaello rita gelocedri"(N, J222 and n).15 One of the terrible and paralyzing realizations Coleridge may have made while writing "Christabel" was that the innocent and loving Christabel was the kind of person he wanted to be while the attractive but destructive Geraldine was closer to the kind of person he really was. __ Geraldine and Christabel's relationship became too complicated and personal for Coleridge to write about. ~ruman wonders how much control Coleridge had over Geraldine· even before abandoning the poems ••• if Coleridge had any settled idea why Geraldine acted as she did at the time he wrote "Christabel" he did not vouch'Sa?e~ to entrust this information to his note books, or in any gontemporary letter or conversation•••• 1 Maier agrees that Geraldine became too complex a figure for Coleridge a That the agent of this destruction partakes of the aspects of rapist, homosexual seduc tress, and vampire not only allows the crucial action of the poem to transcend the particularity of sexual violation but raises the act to a level of cosmic, meta physical significance. At this level, however, the symbol becomes too complex for simple poetic treatment (the reason, perhaps, why "Christabel" was never completed); because 17 of this, the full significance of Geraldine's relationship to Christ~bel ••• can never be completely explicated.l7 The main problem in the relationship of Christabel and Geraldine is that only love can save Christabel at the end of Part II, but it is love (her love for Geraldine) which appears to have defeated her. Coleridge could not harmonize the conflict of the sensual and the spiritual within Geraldine and between Geraldine and Christabel because the conflict was his own. Or as Enscoe saysa I think this may have a great deal to do with Coleridge's failure to finish the poem. Granted that all such speculations must be extremely tentative, it nonetheless makes a kind of sense to recognize that any con scious awareness of the symbolic possibi lities of the poem could have put Coleridge into a state of poetic paralysis. On the one hand he had created an image of life restored through the influence of the erotic, on the other hand he had shown the ultimate effects of this lifegiving force to be horri fying. He is caught between his own ambi valent feelings toward the erotic and is unable to resolve the ambivalence in a work of art, as he did in Kubla Khan.18 78 Conclusion All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame ("Love," 11. 1-4).

According to his friends, Coleridge never relinquished the hope of finishing "Christabel." Even in the last years of his life he told James Gillman that he intended to com plete the work. At times Coleridge went so far as to claim he actually had written additional lines to "Christabel" (beyond the 677 we now have), but no trace of these has ever been found. Apparently not even the overwhelmingly unfavorable critical response to his poem deterred Cole•• ridge from wishing to finish it. J. Percy Smith says of the reaction of Coleridge's contemporaries1 "The publica tion of this poem in 1816 evoked scornful critical laughter . and censorious comment that must have done immense harm to the poet's reputation at the time, and caused him genuine pain."1 Coleridge must have felt during those long years of promises that he had to prove the critics wrong in his eventual continuation of the poem. He had to prove that there was not "something disgusting at the bottom of his subject which is but ill glossed over by a veil of Della Cruscan sentiment and fine writing" (usually attributed to Hazlitt). 2 The awful truth was that there indeed was "something 79 disgusting at the bottom" of .. Christabel," namely, the destructive potential of ambivalent love. By the end of Part II of the poem Coleridge had written of the disinte gration of at least three love relationships. These con flicting relationships had to be reconciled in order to end the poem as happily as Coleridge intended. But how could Coleridge write of the reconciliation between parent and child, Leoline and Christabel, when he himself never could get over the bi~terness he felt toward his mother after her neglect of him during his adolescent years, when he continued to be bothered by feelings of guilt about his father's death and his (S. T. C.) neglect of his own child ren? How could Coleridge write of the restoration of friendship between Roland and Leoline when he knew that his friendship with Southey never could be restored and that Charles Lloyd was already coming between him and Wordsworth (at the time Part II was completed)? And how could be ever reconcile the spiritual and sensual elements of the Geral dine/Christabel relationship as long as his subconscious tortured him with dreams of terrifying Geraldine-like women? Kathleen Coburn was right when she said that "Christabel" became too representative for Coleridge to end it as he wished a Gillman's version of the proposed conclusion involves a conquest of Geraldine, and a reso lution of family conflict, maternal and 80 paternal1 Coleridge never achieved these, nor the bliss the projected ending envisaged, a happy marriage of the lovers.) One may well argue that "Christabel's" nearness to Coleridge's own unhappy situation is not a very satis factory explanation for his failure to complete the poem since he managed to complete other intensely personal poems, most notably "Dejections An Ode." In fact, "Dejec tion" was originally part of a letter to Sara Hutchinson. Like "Christabel," the first "Dejection" concerned broken love relationships, involving Coleridge's children and wife. The pain-fulness of the subject did not p~event Coleridge from revising the rambling verse letter and turning it into a coherent and completed work of art. But "Christabel" presented different problems. Coleridge could not just cut out several hundred of the most private and self-pitying lines as he had with "Dejection." "Christa bel" did not begin as a direct personal statement, but rather as a Gothic "faery tale." As the poem became less Gothic, more realistic or psychological, it also moved closer to Coleridge's own situation and became more complex. Baffled by the complexity of his story, Coleridge apparently lost control of the plot (if he ever really had one in mind). In "Dejection" Coleridge did not have to cope with a fictional structure. While the second "Dejection" was still representative of Coleridge's problems, in the very 81 act of revising the poem he was able to overcome the main problem he was lamenting, the loss of "the shaping spirit of Imagination." (The love of Sara Hutchinson may have helped.) But in "Christabel" Coleridge was not able to solve the main problem represented in it, the ambivalence of love. He could write well about the deterioration of love but not the reversal of this process. This must have been a painful realization to a nian who experienced s·o many broken love relationships in his own life, who suffered so intensely from loneliness and insecurity. For Coleridge love was the ultimate value, ·without which there could be neither happiness nor productivity. Thus, it is understand able why Coleridge was anxious to complete "Christabel" and why he indeed could not do this. The unfinished ."Christabel" was a constant reminder of his own inability to wholeheartedly love others and be loved by them. Just as fear, guilt, jealousy and self-pity caused the problematic love relationships represented in "Christabel, they prevented Coleridge from reconciling the relationships and finishing "Christabel." Nowhere are these weaknesses that were re sponsible for the loss of love and the creative paralysis better illustrated than in Coleridge's "The Pains of Sleep" (which, significantly, was first published in 1816 with

"Christabel") 1 82 But yester-night I prayed aloud In anguish and in agony, Up-starting from the fiendish crowd Of shapes and thoughts that tortured mea A lurid light, a trampling throng, Sense of intolerable wrong, And whom I scorned, those only strong! Thirst of revenge, the powerless will Still baffled, and yet bruning still! Desire with loathing strangely mixed On wild or hateful objects fixed. Fantastic passions! maddening brawl! And shame and terror over all! Deeds to be hid which were not hid, Which all confused I could not know Whether I suffered, or I dida For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe, My own or others still the same Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • such punishments, I said, were due To natures deepliest stained with sin, For aye entempesting anew The unfathomable hell within, The horror of their deeds to view, To know and loathe, yet wish and do! Such griefs with such men well agree, But wherefore, wherefore fall on me? To be beloved is all I need, And whom I love, I love indeed {11. 14-J2, 4J-52). SJ Introduction

1samuel Taylor Coleridge, Biographia Literaria II, ed. J. Shawcross (Londona Oxford University Press, 1907), pp. 210-11.

2Norman Fruman, Coleridge, the Damaged Archangel (New Yorka George Braziller, 1971), p. 568 (n. 411).

3virginia Radley, "Christabela Directions Old and New," Studies in English Literature, 4 (1964), 534-5.

4werner Beyer, The Enchanted Forest (New Yorka Barnes and Noble, Inc., 1963), p. 175.

I. The Parent/Child Relationship

1samuel Taylor Coleridge, "Christabel," The Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. Ernest Hartley Coleridge (London1 Oxford University Press, 1912), p. 235. All further references to Coleridge's poetical works will be to this text and appear in the body of the paper.

2Gerald Enscoe, Eros and the Romantics1 Sexual Love as a Theme in Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats (The Hague1 Mouton, 1967), p. 58. 84

3samuel Taylor Coleridge, Collected Lettters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. E. L. Griggs, 6 vols. (Oxforda Clarendon Press, 1956, 1959, 1971), I, 210 (letter no.). Hereafter this will be referred to as C. L.

4 &.r.-ww-·-an, P• 4o-:a..I•

SJames Dykes Campbell, Samuel Taylor Coleridgea A Narrative of the Events of His Life (18941 rpt. High gatea Lime Tree Bower Press, 1970), p. 4.

6James Gillman, The Life of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Londona w. Pickering, 18J8), p. 15.

7Pruman, p. 21.

8c • L. , I , 238.

9 Fruman, p. 22.

10 E. K. Chambers, Samuel.Taylor Coleridgea A Bio- graphical Study (Oxforda Clarendon Press, 1938), p. 1J4. Chambers does not explain how he arrived at this conclusion. He merely says, •He cColeridge1 brought the second Book to Grasmere on 4 October, probably much as 85 we have it., except for the 'Conclusion' , which seems to have been originally a distinct poem on Hartley• (p. 134). Fruman, however, notes, •Nothing introduces the lines cas they are in Coleridge's letter1 • They appear abruptly after the following sentence cwhich I have quoted on p. 27, par. 11 •••• • To Fruman "the connec tion seems startling• (p. 389).

11c. L., II, )98.

12c. L., II, 398.

l)Chambers, p. 72.

14campbell, pp. 9-10.

15chambers, p. 110.

16samuel !aylor Coleridge, Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. E·. H. Coleridge, 2 vols. (Bostons Houghton, Mifflin, and Co., 1895), 95.

18. C. L., II, 4J8. 86 II. Friendship

1Fruman, p. 418.

2Fruman, p. 429.

) C. L., II, SSO.

4 Fruman, p. 429.

Schambers, pp. 2s-26.

6waiter Jackson Bate, Coleridge (New York1 The Macmillan Co., 1968), p. 20.

7c. L., I, 93.

8c. L. , I , 170.

10Bate, p. 20.

11Fruman, p. 418.

12Fruman, p. 332.

13Bate, pp. 124-125. 87

14Campbell, p. 192.

III. The Sexual Relationship

1carl Woodring, "Christabel of Cumberland,• Review of English Literature, 7 (1966), 47.

2navid Perkins, English Romantic Writers (New Yorka Harcourt, Brace, and World, Inc., 1967), p. 414.

)Jonas Spatz, •The Mystery of Erosa Sexual Initiation in Coleridge's 'Christabel,' "PMLA, 90 (1975), 107. 4Edgar Jones, "A New Reading of 'Christabel,' • -The Cambridge Journal, 5 (1951-52), 101.

Sspatz, 109.

6Paul Edwards, MacDonald Enslie, • 'Thoughts So All Unlike Each Other's The Paradox in 'Christabel,' • English Studies, 52 (1971), 244.

?J. B. Beer, Coleridge the Visionary (New Yorka Collier Books, 1962), p. 208.

8 Fruman, pp. 372, 429. 88

9samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Notebooks of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. Kathleen Coburn, J double vols. (New Yorks Pantheon Books, Inc., 1957, 1961, 197J), 848.

10 Fruman, P• 375.

11Kathleen Coburn, "Coleridge and Wordsworth and 'the Supernatural,' • u. of Toronto Quarterly, 25 (1955-56), 129.

12Jack Owens, "Characteristics of the Gothic Romance," Thesis o. S. U. 1951, p. 10.

lJEdward E. Bostetter, • 'Christabel'• The Vision of Pear," Philological Quarterly, J6 (1957), 192.

14nouglas Angus, •The Theme of Love and Guilt in Coleridge's Three Major Poems," Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 59 (1960), 661.

15Fruman, p. 567 (n. 131).

16Pruman, p. 355.

17Rosemarie Maier, "The Bitch and the Bloodhounds Generic Similarity in 'Christabel' and 'The Eve of St.

Agnes,••~. 70 (1971), 72. 89

18Enscoe, P• 59.

Conclusion

1J. Percy Smith, "Criticism and Christabel," U. ot Toronto Quarterly, 21 (1951-52), 14.

2The Examiner, June 2, 1816s reprinted in Hazlitt's Works (London, 1933), XIX, 32-JS.

Jcoburn, "Coleridge ••• 'the Supernatural,' • 130. 90 List of Works Cited

Angus, Douglas. "The Theme of Love and Guilt in Cole- ridge's Three Major Poems." Journal o:f English @nd Germanic Philology, 59 (1960), 655-668.

Bate, Walter Jackson. Coleridge. New Yorka The Macmillan Co., 1968.

Beer, J. B. Coleridge the Visionary. New Yorka Collier Books, 1962.

Beyer, Werner. The Enchanted Forest. New Yorka Barnes and Noble, 1963.

Bostetter, Edward E. " 'Christabel'• The Vision of Pear." Philological Quarterly, J6 (195?), 183-194.

Campbell, James Dykes. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, A Narra tive of the Events of His Life. 18941 Rpt. Highgatea Lime Tree Bower Press, 1970.

Chambers, E. K. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, A Biographical Study. Oxforda Clarendon Press, 1938.

Coburn, Kathleen. "Coleridge and Wordsworth and 'the Supernatural.' " U. of Toronto Quarterly, 25 (1955-56), 121-130. 91 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. Biographia Literaria II. ed. J. Shawcross. Londona Oxford University Press, 190?.

Collected Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge• ed. E. L. Griggs. 6 vols. Oxforda Clarendon Press, 1956, 1959, 1971.

Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. ed. E. H. Coleridge. 2 vols. Bostona Houghton, Mifflin, and Co., 1895.

The Notebooks of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. ed. Kathleen Coburn. 3 double vols. New Yorks Pantheon Books, Inc., 1957, 1961, 1973.

The Poetical Works of Samuel T&Ylor Coleridge. ed. E. H. Coleridge. London1 Oxford University Press, 1912.

Edwards, Paul. Enslie, MacDonald. " 'Thoughts So All

Unlike Each Other's ~he Paradox in 'Christabel.'" English Studies, 52 (1971), 236-246.

Enscoe, Gerald. Eros and the Romanticsa Sexual Love as a Theme in Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats. The Haguea Mouton, 1967. 92 The Examiner, June 2, 1816. Reprinted in Hazlitt's Works. Londona 19)).

Fruman, Norman. Coleridge, the Damaged Archangel. New Yorks George Braziller, 1971.

Gillman, James. The Life of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Londona w. Pickering, 18)8.

Jones, Edgar. "A New R~ading of 'Christabel.' " The ~ Cambridge Journal, S (1951-52), 97-110.

Maier, Rosemarie. "The Bitch and the Bloodhounds Generic Similarity in 'Christabel' and 'The Eve of St. Agnes.' " Journal of English and Germanic Philolo- liZ• 70 (1971), 62-75.

Owens, Jack. "Characteristics of the Gothic Romance." Thesis o. s. o. 1951.

Perkins, David. English Romantic Writers. New Yorks Harcourt, Brace, and World, Inc., 1967.

Radley, Virginia. "Christabels Directions Old and New." Studies in English Literature, 4 (1964), 531-541.

Smith, J. Percy. "Criticism and Christabel." u. of Toronto Quarterly, 21 (1951-52), 14-26. 93 Spatz, Jonas. "The Mystery of Erosa Sexual Initiation in Coleridge• s 'Christabel·. • " m,A. 90 ( 1975), 101-115.

Woodring, Carl. "Christabel of Cumberland." Review of English Literature, 1 (1966), 43-52.

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