Tales Under A Broken Sky – Episode 08 – Transcript

[Intro Plays]

[The sound of a campfire is accompanied by bass heavy droning in the background, and the sound of a beating heart. Echoing whispers and screams punctuate the notes. A metal door slams in the distance and sinister laughter fades in from the background]

[Story]

Tales Under A Broken Sky – Episode 08 – Christabel – By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

PART I

‘Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,

[Fluttering of wings and owls. Nighttime sounds fade in]

And the owls have awakened the crowing cock;

[Sound of bell tolling midnight]

Tu—whit! Tu—whoo!
And hark, again! the crowing cock,

[Rooster crowing, sounds of dog howling fade in from background right]

How drowsily it crew.

Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff bitch;
From her kennel beneath the rock
She maketh answer to the clock,
Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour;
Ever and aye, by shine and shower,
Sixteen short howls, not over loud;

[Sound of dog howling]

Some say, she sees my lady’s shroud.

Is the night chilly and dark?

[Soft wind and nighttime sounds, interspersed with sounds of wildlife]

The night is chilly, but not dark.
The thin gray cloud is spread on high,
It covers but not hides the sky.
The moon is behind, and at the full;
And yet she looks both small and dull.
The night is chill, the cloud is gray:
‘Tis a month before the month of May,
And the Spring comes slowly up this way.

The lovely lady, Christabel,

[Sound of footsteps one soft leaves. Background of nighttime noises, soft wind and rustling leaves]

Whom her father loves so well,
What makes her in the wood so late,
A furlong from the castle gate?
She had dreams all yesternight
Of her own betrothèd knight;
And she in the midnight wood will pray
For the weal of her lover that’s far away.

She stole along, she nothing spoke,

[Sound of quickened breathing]

The sighs she heaved were soft and low,
And naught was green upon the oak
But moss and rarest misletoe:
She kneels beneath the huge oak tree,
And in silence prayeth she.

The lady sprang up suddenly,

[All sounds cut out. Insert ghostly echoing moan]

The lovely lady Christabel!
It moaned as near, as near can be,
But what it is she cannot tell.—
On the other side it seems to be,
Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.

The night is chill; the forest bare;

[Sound of wind comes back in, soft rustling of leaves]

Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?
There is not wind enough in the air
To move away the ringlet curl
From the lovely lady’s cheek—

There is not wind enough to twirl
The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

Hush, beating heart of Christabel!
Jesu, Maria, shield her well!
She folded her arms beneath her cloak,
And stole to the other side of the oak.
What sees she there?

[Sound of dress swishing while moving, leaves underfoot]

[Music fades in, soft, ethereal synth keys and low bass]

There she sees a damsel bright,
Drest in a silken robe of white,
That shadowy in the moonlight shone:
The neck that made that white robe wan,
Her stately neck, and arms were bare;
Her blue-veined feet unsandl’d were,
And wildly glittered here and there
The gems entangled in her hair.
I guess, ’twas frightful there to see
A lady so richly clad as she—
Beautiful exceedingly!

Mary mother, save me now!
(Said Christabel) And who art thou?

The lady strange made answer meet,
And her voice was faint and sweet:—
Have pity on my sore distress,
I scarce can speak for weariness:
Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear!
Said Christabel, How camest thou here?
And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet,
Did thus pursue her answer meet:—

My sire is of a noble line,
And my name is Geraldine:
Five warriors seized me yestermorn,
Me, even me, a maid forlorn:
They choked my cries with force and fright,

[Scream, sounds of struggle]

And tied me on a palfrey white.
The palfrey was as fleet as wind,

[Sound of horses running]

And they rode furiously behind.
They spurred amain, their steeds were white:
And once we crossed the shade of night.
As sure as Heaven shall rescue me,
I have no thought what men they be;
Nor do I know how long it is
(For I have lain entranced I wis)
Since one, the tallest of the five,
Took me from the palfrey’s back,
A weary woman, scarce alive.
Some muttered words his comrades spoke:
He placed me underneath this oak;
He swore they would return with haste;
Whither they went I cannot tell—
I thought I heard, some minutes past,

[Bell Tolls, distant and echoing]

Sounds as of a castle bell.
Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she).
And help a wretched maid to flee.

Then Christabel stretched forth her hand,
And comforted fair Geraldine:
O well, bright dame! may you command
The service of Sir Leoline;
And gladly our stout chivalry
Will he send forth and friends withal
To guide and guard you safe and free
Home to your noble father’s hall.

She rose: and forth with steps they passed

[Sounds of footsteps in forest, sounds of nighttime]

That strove to be, and were not, fast.
Her gracious stars the lady blest,
And thus spake on sweet Christabel:
All our household are at rest,
The hall as silent as the cell;
Sir Leoline is weak in health,
And may not well awakened be,
But we will move as if in stealth,
And I beseech your courtesy,
This night, to share your couch with me.

[Sound of water flowing in distance]

They crossed the moat, and Christabel

[Footsteps on wood now, sound of water flowing slowly]

Took the key that fitted well;

[Key in door]

A little door she opened straight,

[Sound of large gate opening]

All in the middle of the gate;
The gate that was ironed within and without,
Where an army in battle array had marched out.
The lady sank, belike through pain,
And Christabel with might and main
Lifted her up, a weary weight,
Over the threshold of the gate:
Then the lady rose again,
And moved, as she were not in pain.

So free from danger, free from fear,

[Sound of footsteps on cobbles]

They crossed the court: right glad they were.
And Christabel devoutly cried
To the lady by her side,
Praise we the Virgin all divine
Who hath rescued thee from thy distress!
Alas, alas! said Geraldine,
I cannot speak for weariness.
So free from danger, free from fear,
They crossed the court: right glad they were.

Outside her kennel, the mastiff old
Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold.
The mastiff old did not awake,
Yet she an angry moan did make!

[Low dog sound]

And what can ail the mastiff bitch?
Never till now she uttered yell
Beneath the eye of Christabel.
Perhaps it is the owlet’s scritch:
For what can ail the mastiff bitch?

[Sound of door opening]

They passed the hall, that echoes still,

[Indoor footsteps on stone, sound of torches on wall]

Pass as lightly as you will!
The brands were flat, the brands were dying,
Amid their own white ashes lying;
But when the lady passed, there came

[Sound of flames springing up]

A tongue of light, a fit of flame;
And Christabel saw the lady’s eye,
And nothing else saw she thereby,
Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall,
Which hung in a murky old niche in the wall.
O softly tread, said Christabel,
My father seldom sleepeth well.

Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare,
And jealous of the listening air
They steal their way from stair to stair,

Now in glimmer, and now in gloom,
And now they pass the Baron’s room,
As still as death, with stifled breath!
And now have reached her chamber door;
And now doth Geraldine press down
The rushes of the chamber floor.

[Sound of door opening]

The moon shines dim in the open air,
And not a moonbeam enters here.
But they without its light can see
The chamber carved so curiously,
Carved with figures strange and sweet,
All made out of the carver’s brain,
For a lady’s chamber meet:
The lamp with twofold silver chain
Is fastened to an angel’s feet.

The silver lamp burns dead and dim;
But Christabel the lamp will trim.
She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright,
And left it swinging to and fro,

[Sound of lamp swinging on chain]

While Geraldine, in wretched plight,
Sank down upon the floor below.

O weary lady, Geraldine,

[Sound of drink pouring]

I pray you, drink this cordial wine!
It is a wine of virtuous powers;
My mother made it of wild flowers.

And will your mother pity me,
Who am a maiden most forlorn?
Christabel answered—Woe is me!
She died the hour that I was born.
I have heard the grey-haired friar tell
How on her death-bed she did say,
That she should hear the castle-bell
Strike twelve upon my wedding-day.
O mother dear! that thou wert here!
I would, said Geraldine, she were!

[Deep booming in the background, vibrato heavy bass, distant ghostly screams]

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

And why with hollow voice cries she,
‘Off, woman, off! this hour is mine—
Though thou her guardian spirit be,
Off, woman, off! ’tis given to me.’

Then Christabel knelt by the lady’s side,
And raised to heaven her eyes so blue—
Alas! said she, this ghastly ride—
Dear lady! it hath wildered you!
The lady wiped her moist cold brow,
And faintly said, ‘ ’tis over now!’

[Music dies, sound of lamp swinging comes back in]

Again the wild-flower wine she drank:
Her fair large eyes ‘gan glitter bright,
And from the floor whereon she sank,
The lofty lady stood upright:

She was most beautiful to see,
Like a lady of a far countrèe.

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 lie.’

[Sounds of clothes rustling]

Quoth Christabel, So let it be!
And as the lady bade, did she.
Her gentle limbs did she undress,
And lay down in her loveliness.

[Sound of body settling on bed]

But through her brain of weal and woe
So many thoughts moved to and fro,
That vain it were her lids to close;
So half-way from the bed she rose,

[Sound of sheets]

And on her elbow did recline
To look at the lady Geraldine.

Beneath the lamp the lady bowed,
And slowly rolled her eyes around;
Then drawing in her breath aloud,
Like one that shuddered, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:

[Sound of clothes falling]

Her silken robe, and inner vest,
Dropt to her feet, and full in view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side—
A sight to dream of, not to tell!
O shield her! shield sweet Christabel!

Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs;
Ah! what a stricken look was hers!
Deep from within she seems half-way
To lift some weight with sick assay,
And eyes the maid and seeks delay;
Then suddenly, as one defied,
Collects herself in scorn and pride,

[Sound of sheets]

And lay down by the Maiden’s side!—
And in her arms the maid she took,
Ah wel-a-day!
And with low voice and doleful look
These words did say:
‘In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell,
Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!
Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow,
This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow;
But vainly thou warrest,
For this is alone in
Thy power to declare,
That in the dim forest
Thou heard’st a low moaning,
And found’st a bright lady, surpassingly fair;
And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity,
To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.’

THE CONCLUSION TO PART I

It was a lovely sight to see

[Music fades in, soft, ethereal synth keys and low bass]

The lady Christabel, when she
Was praying at the old oak tree.
Amid the jaggèd shadows
Of mossy leafless boughs,
Kneeling in the moonlight,
To make her gentle vows;
Her slender palms together prest,
Heaving sometimes on her breast;
Her face resigned to bliss or bale—
Her face, oh call it fair not pale,
And both blue eyes more bright than clear,
Each about to have a tear.

With open eyes (ah woe is me!)
Asleep, and dreaming fearfully,
Fearfully dreaming, yet, I wis,
Dreaming that alone, which is—
O sorrow and shame! Can this be she,
The lady, who knelt at the old oak tree?
And lo! the worker of these harms,
That holds the maiden in her arms,
Seems to slumber still and mild,
As a mother with her child.

A star hath set, a star hath risen,
O Geraldine! since arms of thine
Have been the lovely lady’s prison.
O Geraldine! one hour was thine—
Thou’st had thy will! By tairn and rill,
The night-birds all that hour were still.
But now they are jubilant anew,

From cliff and tower, tu—whoo! tu—whoo!
Tu—whoo! tu—whoo! from wood and fell!

And see! the lady Christabel
Gathers herself from out her trance;
Her limbs relax, her countenance
Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids
Close o’er her eyes; and tears she sheds—
Large tears that leave the lashes bright!
And oft the while she seems to smile
As infants at a sudden light!

Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep,
Like a youthful hermitess,
Beauteous in a wilderness,
Who, praying always, prays in sleep.
And, 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 call:
For the blue sky bends over all!

[Background]

Good evening, and welcome to Episode 08 of Tales Under A Broken Sky. I am your host Keith, and I hope you enjoyed this week’s episode.

I’m a little bit late with this episode, well, a lot late. Between public holidays, school holidays and a few busy weeks at work, it’s been quite difficult to find the time to sit down, record, edit and produce any of these podcasts. This episode in fact was also quite a long one to record and was taking quite a bit of time in post-production as well, just to kind of get things to where I was happy with them. It was so long in fact that, I decided to split this episode in two, releasing the first and separate halves of the poem separately.

So, yeah, I got delayed. But things have calmed down again and I’m getting back on track with everything, so hopefully the release schedule will kind of stay on track from now on.

So that was the first half of the piece, and I hope to have the second half out shortly, perhaps in the next week or so actually, probably ahead of my “usual” release schedule. I have a bit of time off work, so it’s giving me a bit of time to get work done on these.

I’m going to keep the discussion short for this episode, I have some further thoughts and musings but they’re more related to the whole rather than the individual parts of the poem.

That said, there are a few things that I want to mention about the first half.

I am entranced by the uneasy, uncertain atmosphere created by here Coleridge. From the eerie atmosphere created in the forest, to the subtle hints that not all is right as they journey to the keep, to the creeping influence of Geraldine over Christabel, the tension is built slowly over the course of Part One before reaching a peak in the final scene.

The imagery used, particularly in the first half of this poem, especially in the forest, is beautiful. Coleridge builds up the nighttime atmosphere, placing the narrative in the wild, but close enough to the keep that the sounds there intrude on the background. Once we enter inside though, the atmosphere feels much more claustrophobic, moving to halls lit by torches as they passed, and hints of shadows and dark spaces add to the sense of secrecy and stealth as they make their way through the building.

Worth noting as well, is the scene in Christabel’s chambers where Geraldine appears to argue with a spirit when Christabel mentions her mother. It brings about a desolate sense of the supernatural, a feeling I find in many of the classic works of horror. Here I am thinking of Harker as a guest in Castle Dracula, or the moors in the Hound of The Baskervilles, or even the quiet study in Poe’s The Raven. It’s a solitary kind of horror, evocative of the gothic style of storytelling.

For this reading, I want to focus more on the narrative elements rather than delving too much into symbolism and metaphor. Obviously one could discuss themes of innocence/loss of innocence, good vs. evil etc…but I’m much more interested in the storytelling aspects of this piece, especially in the overall context of this podcast.

Overall, having read this poem repeatedly over the course of producing this episode, I find that there is always something more to be drawn from the story, whether symbolic, subtle hints at Geraldine’s purpose, or simply a greater appreciation for the the structure and flow of the narrative itself.

I’ll be delving more into this in the next episode, when I relese the second and final part of this narrative poem.

Until next time.

[CTA]

Thank you for listening to Episode 08 of Tales Under a Broken Sky, I hoped you enjoyed this week’’s production as much as I enjoyed reading and recording it.
If you did enjoy it, please consider subscribing to the podcast on your platform of choice, and leaving a rating and/or review.
Thank you again for your time. Stay tuned to hear a brief trailer for Part Two of Christabel.

[Episode 02 Trailer Plays]

Tales Under A Broken Sky – Episode 09 – Christabel – By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

PART II

Each matin bell, the Baron saith,

[Sounds of church bells]

Knells us back to a world of death.
These words Sir Leoline first said,
When he rose and found his lady dead:
These words Sir Leoline will say
Many a morn to his dying day!

And hence the custom and law began
That still at dawn the sacristan,
Who duly pulls the heavy bell,
Five and forty beads must tell
Between each stroke—a warning knell,
Which not a soul can choose but hear
From Bratha Head to Wyndermere.

[Rooster Crowing]

Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell!
And let the drowsy sacristan
Still count as slowly as he can!
There is no lack of such, I ween,
As well fill up the space between.
In Langdale Pike and Witch’s Lair,
And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent,
With ropes of rock and bells of air
Three sinful sextons’ ghosts are pent,
Who all give back, one after t’other,
The death-note to their living brother;
And oft too, by the knell offended,
Just as their one! two! three! is ended,

The devil mocks the doleful tale
With a merry peal from Borodale.

[Lighter Bells ringing in the distance]

The air is still! through mist and cloud
That merry peal comes ringing loud;
And Geraldine shakes off her dread,
And rises lightly from the bed;

[Sounds of sheets and dressing]

[Background music. Vibrato strings and bright, synth bells and brass]

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.’

And Christabel awoke and spied
The same who lay down by her side—
O rather say, the same whom she
Raised up beneath the old oak tree!
Nay, fairer yet! and yet more fair!
For she belike hath drunken deep
Of all the blessedness of sleep!
And while she spake, her looks, her air
Such gentle thankfulness declare,
That (so it seemed) her girded vests
Grew tight beneath her heaving breasts.
‘Sure I have sinn’d!’ said Christabel,
‘Now heaven be praised if all be well!’

[Risings bowed strings add to background music]

And in low faltering tones, yet sweet,
Did she the lofty lady greet
With such perplexity of mind
As dreams too lively leave behind.

So quickly she rose, and quickly arrayed

Her maiden limbs, and having prayed
That He, who on the cross did groan,
Might wash away her sins unknown,
She forthwith led fair Geraldine
To meet her sire, Sir Leoline.

[Narration fades to Outro]

[Outro]