Reflections on the Lovely Lady Christabel

Lorrie Millington: Lady Christabel (1983)

 

 

I.

 

I have to admit, my knowledge of the English Romantic poet Coleridge is fairly limited; I know he was pals with Wordsworth; I know he helped introduce the English-speaking world to German idealism; and I know he was fond of opium. 

 

If pushed, I suppose I would also admit to knowing he was an influential literary critic and dreamed at one time of establishing an egalitarian community on pantisocratic lines. 

 

Oh, and I know of course that he's the author of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1798) and Kubla Khan (completed in 1797, but not published until 1816). 

 

However, it's the long narrative poem Christabel that fascinates me at the moment and which I would like to briefly reflect on here ... 

 

II.

 

Christabel consists of two parts; the first writen in 1797 and the second in 1800. [1]

 

The story concerns a central female character - Christabel - who one day goes into the woods to pray by a large oak tree. There, she encounters a strange young woman named Geraldine, who claims to have been abducted from her home by men on horseback. 

Sympathetic to Geraldine's plight, she takes her home with her and they spend the night together, sharing a bed (this despite a number of supernatural signs that Christabel might have been well-advised to take as warnings). 

Whilst Christabel remains somewhat enchanted by Geraldine, she gradually begins to realise the latter's malign (possibly inhuman) nature. Her father, however, is completely enthralled by the latter and orders a grand procession to celebrate her rescue.

 

Somewhat frustratingly, that's where the (unfinished) poem stops; it appears that Coleridge couldn't quite make up his mind about how to end it.    

 

III.

 

This poem appeals to me for its queer gothic character, founded upon a number of perverse and supernatural elements, and I'm not surprised to learn that Shelley and Byron were both obsessed with Christabel. If it gave the former nightmares, the latter was delighted by its sapphic undertones (the relationship between Christabel and Geraldine is implicitly sexual).   

 

Other writers who have fallen under the poem's spell include Edgar Allan Poe [2], Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [3], Renée Vivien [4], and A.S. Byatt, who names a fictional romantic poet Christabel in her award-winning novel Possession (1990).  

 

Unsurprisingly, Christabel also became favourite reading amongst feminists; the suffragette Emmeline Pankhurst, for example, named her daughter in honour of the poem's eponymous heroine (though she might have been more appropriately named Geraldine in my view) [5].   

 

 

IV.

Finally, a brief note on the image used to illustrate this post ...

Initially, I was going to reproduce Julia Margaret Cameron's 1866 photograph named after Coleridge's poem and depicting the titular character [6]. 

But then I remembered that in an old photo album kept in a box in the attic, I still had a picture sent to me by the artist, model, dancer, and writer Lorrie Millington [7] over forty years ago, of a mannequin named Lady Christabel with whom she shared a house in Leeds. 

 

In the summer of 1984, I began writing a 20,000 word novella entitled 'The Girl in the Mystery Castle', about Miss Millington and her relationship with the lovely Lady Christabel and it has always been my intention to one day complete this tale.

 

However, as this now seems very unlikely, I have decided to share the photo here ...

 

If one looks closely enough, one will see that Christabel is wearing a wig that has been braided pirate style and has an Apache war stripe painted across her nose, the reason being that Lorrie and I were both Ant People back in the early-mid '80s.   

 

Notes

 

[1] Coleridge planned on adding three further parts, but these were never completed. The work was published in a pamphlet in 1816, alongside Kubla Khan and another poem, The Pains of Sleep (written 1803). Christabel can be read on the Poetry Foundation website: click here. 

 

[2] Poe's poem 'The Sleeper' (1831) is said to be inspired by Christabel. It can be read on the Poetry Foundation website: click here.

 

[3] Le Fanu based the character of Mircalla, the Countess Karnstein, on Geraldine. See my post of 13 April 2020 on the topic of vampiric lesbianism in which I discuss Le Fanu's novella Carmilla (1872): click here.  

[4] Vivien's 1904 novel L'Etre Double, a lesbian romance, was also inspired by Coleridge's poem Christabel. See my post of 9 October 2013 in praise of sapphic decadence in which I discuss the work of Renée Vivien: click here.

 

[5] I'm not a fan of the militant idealism and the terrorist tactics advocated by Pankhurst, which invariably collapse into the black hole of fascism. See the post dated 17 February 2024 on suffragettes and the BUF: click here. 

 

[6] For more details and to view the photograph, please visit the Met Museum website: click here. And for a post dated 23 June 2023 written with reference to Cameron's photography, click here.  

 

[7] For a post dated 18 April 2015 written in memory of Lorrie Millington, click here.

Dancing With the Devil in the Pale Moonlight (A Brief History of Scandalous Dances)

Witches and devils dancing in a circle (1720)

 

 

Although some trendy vicars and heretical hymn writers may pretend that Jesus is the Lord of the Dance [1], we all know that, historically, dance has long been problematic within Christianity. 

 

Indeed, numerous records exist of prohibitions issued by Church leaders, usually on the grounds that dance, as a physical (non-spiritual) activity, is associated with paganism and/or promiscuity; the sort of sensual and sinful practice that witches engage in accompanied by devils (see the woodcut image above).    

 

Unsurprisingly therefore, 17th-century Puritans in England and New England who believed it was their duty to enforce moral standards and who opposed drunkenness, gambling, blood sports, and extra-marital sexual relations, also vehemently opposed dancing - particularly around a Maypole or a Christmas tree. 

 

At best they thought dancing to be a frivolous distraction from the serious business of worshipping God and at worst a dangerous form of immoralism in and of itself [2] - which, arguably, it is; or, let us say rather, it's an activity that has always been controversial at some level and often invited misunderstanding and disapproval (even harsh penalties and punishments).

 

For the fact is, the way that men and women move and shake their bodies to music has always had the potential to challenge the conventions of the day, thereby concerning the authorities and scandalising the more conservative members of what we used to term polite society.    

 

Thus, when Miley Cyrus (and Robin Thicke) sparked media outrage with a routine in 2013 which showcased twerking (see below), this was merely the latest dance to set tongues (and fingers) wagging. Earlier dances which were seen to threaten social conventions of gender, race, and/or class include:

 

 

La Volta [click here]

 

La volta is a dance for couples that was popular during the later Renaissance period. Associated with the galliard, it was performed to the same kind of music. La volta was considered to be risqué in the royal courts of England and France, as it required close bodily contact between the sexes and was very much in contrast to the slow, stately routines usually performed at court:

      

"In the dance, the man pushes the woman forwards with his thigh, one hand grasping her waist and the other below her corseted bodice as she leaps into the air. Opponents thought this quick, energetic dance to be immodest and even dangerous for women, fearing it could cause miscarriages." [3]   

 

The Waltz [click here]

 

In the early 19th-century a new dance craze took off in Britain - the waltz. 

 

Performed face to face, with the man holding his female partner tight in his arms as they whirled rapidly and shamelessly around the floor, it caused quite a stir and even though Queen Victoria danced the waltz it was in the minds of many critics associated with lewd behaviour, including Lord Byron who wrote a satirical poem about the dance, in 1812, which is suprisingly censorious considering the mad, bad, and dangerous reputation of the author [4].    

 

 

The Cancan [click here]

 

In the late 1820s working class Parisians began dancing an improvised quadrille by kicking their legs in the air ... Et voilà! the cancan was born - much to the outrage of middle-class citizens who thought it lacked both decency and dignity (as did members of the English press, when it was introduced to London audiences in 1868).

 

An energetic, physically demanding dance that became popular in the music-halls of the 1840s, it is now almost exclusively associated with a chorus line of showgirls lifting their skirts and petticoats and performing high kicks, splits, and cartwheels.  

 

 

The Tango [click here]

 

Even though in the Edwardian era social conventions were gradually beginning to relax, a new dance - the tango - was to test boundaries of what was and was not acceptable behaviour to their limit. 

 

The tango arrived in Britain (via France) around 1913, although its roots lie in the ports of Buenos Aires. Lurid descriptions soon apeared in the press, where it was condemened as a dance only fit for prostitutes and their pimps to perform. Unfortunately, this only excited the attention of young dancers keen to scandalise their elders. 

 

Its reliance on sexy Latin rhythyms and the fact that the tango also allowed for individual interpretation only added to its popularity. 

 

 

The Charleston [click here]

 

The Charleston emerged in the so-called Jazz Age (aka the Roaring Twenties) in the USA, allowing young women - known as flappers - to express themselves on the dance floor for the first time without having to follow the lead of a male partner.    

 

It had evolved from the music and dances of African-Americans living in South Carolina and marked the beginning of what would become a crucial feature of popular culture in the 20th-century; i.e., black influence on white arts and entertainments.

 

As with the other dances we have mentioned above, thanks to its fancy footwork the Charleston was considered by all the usual suspects - parents, teachers, church leaders, etc. - as immoral and provocative.

 

 

The Jitterbug [click here]

 

First popular in the US in the 1930s, American soldiers exported the jitterbug to Britain during World War Two. Like the Charleston, it was based on an earlier African-American dance (the lindy hop).  Again, concerns were voiced for both the physical and moral well-being of those who jitterbugged to the new sound of swing music (and, later, in the '50s, rock 'n' roll). 

 

With its underwear exposing lifts, twists, and other improvided moves, the jitterbug left the English ballroom dancer Alex Moore spluttering in his tea, calling it disgusting and degrading (although he eventually allowed a sanitised version - known as the jive - into the ballroom repertoire).  

 

 

The Twist [click here]

 

Before the 1960s really began to swing, they twisted thanks to Chubby Checker and other rock 'n' rollers. Whilst dancers barely move their feet (and hardly touch one another), they sway their upper bodies back and forward whilst twisting their hips and shoulders and making odd mechanical movements with their arms. 

 

Despite the usual controversies and medical concerns, the twist was a worldwide dance craze which inspired many other dances (including the jerk, the mashed potato, and the funky chicken).

 

 

The Lambada [click here]

 

Originally banned by the Brazillian president when it emerged in the 1930s, because he was shocked by its immorality, the lambada didn't really take off in a big way outside of South America until the late 1980s (largely due to the huge hit single released by the French group Kaoma in the summer of 1989) [5].  

 

Just as once the tango had scandalised by bringing couples closer than the waltz, the lambada also shocked some by insisting that hips were pressed together as dancers performed a series of spinning steps. 

 

 

Twerking [click here] 

 

Finally, let us return to twerking - another dance which is to a large extent all about hip action (and booty shaking). It is summarised thus on a BBC website:

 

"Originating in West African dance moves, twerking is believed to have arrived in the USA via Jamaican dancehalls. The dance was mostly performed in the African-American community but former child star Miley Cyrus's performance at the MTV Video Music Awards (2013) pushed it into the mainstream. She caused a social media meltdown. Her performance divided opinion, raising many questions on sexual exploitation, cultural appropriation by white artists, as well as artistic freedom and feminism." [6]

 

I have to admit, this is a dance that seems almost designed to bring out the inner Puritan; one that might make even the Devil himself look away ... Make up your own mind by clicking on the link above.

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See the recent post on Sydney Carter: click here.  

 

[2] To be fair, the Puritans only banned mixed dancing (i.e., dancing which involved close physical contact between both sexes) - something described by Cotton Mather as promiscuous dancing - because it was thought this would lead to fornication. Folk dance that did not involve such intimate contact between men and women was considered acceptable. 

      It is also worth noting that conservative Islamic and orthodox Jewish traditions still prohibit contact between the sexes in public and thus in these societies men and women either dance separately or not at all.

 

[3] See 'Dirty dances: A timeline of the moves that shocked' (BBC Teach): click here. 

      Readers should note that a lot of the following information in this post concerning dances that have scandalised was adapted from this site.

 

[4] It has been suggested that Byron disliked most forms of dancing due to a physical malformation affecting his right foot that made such activity almost impossible; he could walk, ride, swim, and even run with difficulty, but he couldn't dance. On the other hand, Byron was a strange mix of conservative and radical - said to be prudish even in his libertinism - so his dislike of the waltz may have had nothing to do with his disability. Readers who are interested can read Byron's poem here.

 

[5] 'Lambada', by Kaoma, was released as a single from the album World Beat, (CBS Records, 1989). It featured guest vocals by Brazilian vocalist Loalwa Braz and sold more than 5 million copies worldwide in the year of its release. The accompanying music video featured the Brazilian child dance duo Chico & Roberta. Just don't mention the lawsuits ...

 

[6]  'Dirty dances: A timeline of the moves that shocked' (BBC Teach): click here. 

 

Make Way For Pengallan!

What are you all waiting for? A spectacle? You shall have it! 

And tell your children how the great age ended. Make way for Pengallan!

I.

It can never be stressed enough: a novel is one thing and a film is something else; even the most faithful of screen adaptations is a radically different work of art and can only be analysed in and on its own terms. Thus, whilst it can be amusing to compare and contrast the book with the movie - or the movie with the book - it's a largely pointless exercise.

I was reminded of this whilst recently watching Hitchcock's Jamaica Inn (1939), his version of Daphne du Maurier's novel published three years earlier, based on a screen play by Sidney Gilliat and Joan Harrison.    

Many critics dislike this film; Michael Medved lists it in his fifty worse movies of all time, which, I think, is ridiculous. Having said that, Hitchcock himself was far from happy with the work and du Maurier was also less than pleased with the adaptation. [1]

Personally, however, I think Jamaica Inn has much to recommend it and contains some memorable scenes, all of which involve Charles Laughton as the astonishing figure of Sir Humphrey Pengallan, the amoral (and possibly insane) mastermind behind a gang of murderous shipwreckers working the Cornish coast who uses the proceeds from the sale of the stolen goods to fund his lavish and decadent lifestyle.


II.

When asked to make a toast to the ideal of Beauty by a guest at his dinner table, Pengallan instructs his butler, Chadwick, to bring him his favourite porcelaine figurine, so that he may be inspired. When challenged by the same guest  - "But Sir Humphrey, it is not alive" - he replies that it's more alive than half the people round his table and fondles it with fetishistic fascination, like a genuine agalmatophile. 

Pushed to provide an example of living beauty, Pengallan decides to introduce his beloved Nancy: "The most beautiful creature west of Exeter." This turns out to be a fine-looking horse, rather than the young woman anticipated, much to the bemused astonishment of his guests. One thinks of Caligula and his horse Incitatus ...  

Pengallan, is, however, also partial to young women. No surprise then when he takes an immediate shine to Mary Yellan, played by the lovely nineteen-year-old Irish actress Maureen O'Hara. When Mary arrives unexpected and uninvited at his house, he half removes her coat in order to admire her exquisite shape, as if she too were a prized object or animal. Keen to display his literary leanings, Pengallan then quotes to her from Byron:

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes [2]

Unimpressed, Mary amusingly responds: "Thank you, sir, but I didn't come for poetry, but for a horse."

My favourite scene between Mary and Penhallan happens towards the end of the film, however, when the latter kidnaps the former, ties and gags her, and tells her that he plans to make her his own now that she has no one else in the world. He drives her, still tied up and covered by a heavy cloak, to the harbour, where they board a ship bound for France. It's what's known in BDSM circles as a Sweet Gwendoline scene. [3]  

But my favourite scene of all comes at the climax of the movie and involves Pengallan jumping to his death from atop a ship's mast rather than surrender to the authorities. Addressing the crowd below, he says: "What are you all waiting for? A Spectacle? You shall have it! And tell your children how the great age ended. Make way for Pengallan!"

If and when I jump to my own death - which, as a philosopher, would be my preferred method of suicide (thereby continuing a noble tradition which can be traced from Empodocoles to Gilles Deleuze) - these are the lines I shall recite.   

Notes

[1] Although when interviewed Hitchcock referred to Charles Laughton as a charming man, one doubts he was happy with the latter's meddling with the film's script, casting, and direction, which, as a co-producer as well as the lead actor, Laughton doubtless felt he had every right to do, insisting, for example, that his own character be accorded greater screen time and that O'Hara be given the role of Mary. Laughton's method of acting - described in some quarters as ham and in others as camp - was also a problem for Hitchcock, though, again, I love his portrayal of Pengallan as a dandy libertine mincing around to the beat of a German waltz. 

As for du Maurier, she was so disappointed by the adaptation that she briefly considered withholding the film rights to Rebecca which, as film fans will know, Hitchcock directed the following year, 1940, to great critical acclaim (and du Maurier's complete satisfaction).  

[2] Byron, 'She Walks in Beauty' (1814). Readers who wish to read this short lyrical verse in full can click here to access it on the Poetry Foundation website.

[3] Sweet Gwendoline is the chief damsel in distress in the works of bondage artist John Willie, who first appeared in Robert Harrison's girlie magazine Wink from June 1947 to February 1950, and who invariably finds herself tied up and in need of rescue. I am aware, of course, that in this era of #MeToo such scenes of sexual sadism involving violence against women are no longer viewed in the same way. 

Readers who are interested in watching Hitchcock's Jamaica Inn can do so on YouTube by clicking here. The scenes I mention above are are at 9.30-14.50, 1:26-1:28, and 1:37-1:38.  

On This Day I Complete My Fifty-Sixth Year

Richard Westall: Lord Byron (1813)

Oil on canvas (36" x 28")

National Portrait Gallery (NPG 4243)

I would describe my character as more ironic than Byronic. However, there are many things I admire about the Romantic English poet and traits which we might be said to have in common, including, for example, a fondness for animals.* 

We are also, Byron and I, astrological kin; each blessed by being born beneath the sign of Aquarius. But, like him, I'm also prone to a certain melancholy whenever another birthday rolls around and another step taken towards the Abyss: 


My days are in the yellow leaf;

The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm - the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!**


That just about sums up how I'm feeling today ...

Still, as Byron also noted, the great object of life is to feel something, even if that something is pain or existential angst. Only when the heart is completely unmoved by anything should one consider seeking out a soldier's grave.

Notes

* Byron loved his dog, Boatswain, so much that when the latter contracted rabies, he nursed him without any thought or fear of infection and, although deep in debt at the time, he commissioned a large marble monument for Boatswain at Newstead Abbey when the dog succumbed to the disease. Byron also kept a tame bear whilst a student at Cambridge, thereby amusingly circumventing rules forbidding the keeping of pet dogs. At one point he even considered applying for a fellowship on the creature's behalf. 

** Byron, 'On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year', written on 22 January, 1824: click here to read in full on the Poetry Foundation website.  

The Broken Heart Knows No Country

A short guide to D. H. Lawrence country

by Bridget Pugh (Nottinghamshire 

Local History Council, 1972)

I. The View from Walker Street

In a letter to Rolf Gardiner written in December 1926, Lawrence provides a fairly detailed description of the East Midlands landscape in which he grew up; the so-called country of his heart - a phrase much loved by those who would forever tie Lawrence to Eastwood and fix his work within a literary tradition of English Romanticism.  

It is, for me - as for all those who prefer to think of Lawrence as a perverse European modernist, writing after Darwin, Nietzsche and Freud rather than Byron, Shelley and Keats - another of those deeply unfortunate expressions.

Like his self-description as a priest of love, I really wish he'd never said it. But, say it he did. And so let's examine this phrase and see if we can interepret it in a manner that doesn't serve a depressingly provincial purpose - as if the view from Walker Street was the only one that shaped Lawrence's perspective upon the world.

II. The Savage Pilgrimage

As is clear from much of his writing - particularly his letters - one of Lawrence's driving obsessions was to stage an angry engagement with England, whilst also making good his escape from the place of his birth in all its perceived dullness. 

His savage pilgrimage is usually said to begin after the War and refer to a period of voluntary exile. And whilst it's true and important to recall the fact that Lawrence left Britain at the earliest practical opportunity - only returning for brief visits, the last of which was in 1926 - I think we find this schizonomadic desire to flee from the suffocating familiarity of home from the start.

The fact is, Lawrence always hated Eastwood and couldn't wait to get away - first to Nottingham, then to London and to Cornwall, before drifting with Frieda around Europe, America and Australia. In 1913, he once confessed as much to his sister Ada, telling her that he should be glad if the town were one day blown off the face of the earth. 

We shouldn't forget that nostalgia is a type of disease - not a sign of health - and that if Lawrence occasionally displayed symptoms of homesickness he was essentially sick of home: 

"It always depresses me to come to my native district. Now I am turned forty, and have been more or less a wanderer for nearly twenty years, I feel more alien, perhaps, in my home place than anywhere else in the world. I can feel at ease in ... Rome or Paris or Munich or even London. But in Nottingham Road, [Eastwood], I feel at once a devouring nostalgia and an infinite repulsion."

That's the Lawrence I admire: refusing to belong to any community or region; a singular individual who is no longer their Bert - and probably never was.

And as for the heart to which memories of childhood landscapes are said to belong, well, like Lawrence, I would prefer for it to be broken rather than preserved in formaldehyde; for it's wonderfully liberating to abandon the past and to find new things to treasure, new people and places to love, within the dawn-kaleidoscopic loveliness of the crack.

See: 

D. H. Lawrence, letter to Rolf Gardiner, 3 Dec. 1926, in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. V. March 1924 - March 1927, ed. James T. Boulton and Lindeth Vasey, (Cambridge University Press, 1989).

D. H. Lawrence, [Return to Bestwood], Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton, (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 15. 

Punk bonus: Stiff Little Fingers: Gotta Gettaway (Rough Trade, 1979): I'm sure this is how the young Lawrence felt (it's certainly how I felt at 16): click here to play on YouTube.

D. H. Lawrence and the Grand Perverts

Drawing of D. H. Lawrence by David Levine (1968)

According to D. H. Lawrence, in a letter written to Aldous Huxley, behind all of those whom he identifies as grand perverts, lies "ineffable conceit" and boundless ego.

Figures including St. Francis, Michelangelo, Goethe, Kant, Rousseau, Byron, Baudelaire, Wilde and Marcel Proust, are all guilty of the same thing; namely, "attempting to intellectualise and so utterly falsify the phallic consciousness", says Lawrence.

By this, he seems to mean they get their sex in their heads and barter away the sheer intensity of lived experience for mere representation. In other words, they fall into idealism, into narcissism and into solipsism; "the utter incapacity for any development of contact with any other human being".

But, in as much as phallic consciousness is also "the basic consciousness, and the thing we mean, in the best sense, by common sense", I suppose he's also taking a dig at all those who dare to think differently from those who subscribe to the morality of custom and popular prejudice, or what Lawrence mistakes for an instinctive-intuitive form of folk wisdom. 

 
And this, when you think about it, is not only surprising, but bitterly disappointing. That Lawrence - of all people - should end up defending doxa (that form of truth and goodness which goes without saying and from which we should never deviate) and condemning a host of other writers, artists, and thinkers as perverts (a term used in an admittedly idiosyncratic manner, but still in an essentially negative and pejorative sense), is, if nothing else, an outrageous example of the pot calling the kettle - and every other kitchen utensil - black.   


See: D. H. Lawrence, Letter 4358, to Aldous Huxley, 27 March 1928, in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. VI, ed. James. T. Boulton and Margaret H. Boulton, with Gerald M. Lacy, (Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 342.