Copyright © 1997 The Johns Hopkins University Press. All rights reserved.

Eighteenth-Century Life 21.2 (1997) 222-232

 

Deadly Fears: Dom Augustin Calmet's Vampires and the Rule Over Death

Marie-Hélène Huet

The Transgressive Monster

One of the most unlikely best-sellers of the Age of Reason came from the pen of a Benedictine monk, Dom Augustin Calmet, and was published in 1746 under the title Dissertations sur les apparitions des anges, des démons et des esprits, et sur les revenants et vampires de Hongrie, de Bohême, de Moravie, et de Silésie. This extraordinary collection of ghost stories was soon sold out. In 1749, a revised and expanded version was published under the title Traité sur les Apparitions des esprits et sur les vampires ou les revenans de Hongrie, de Moravie etc. (note the disappearance of angels). The revised Traité, which was itself reedited several times and translated into German and Italian, became one of the most important literary sources of the fantastique movement that would culminate in the nineteenth century. Thus, long before E. T. A. Hoffmann, Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Edgar Allan Poe, or Bram Stoker, Calmet spread stories of bloodsucking vampires and hideous ghosts, and recounted all forms of terrifying deeds on the part of the dead who would not rest in eternal peace.

Roland Villeneuve, the modern editor of Calmet's Traité, is led to wonder how "in the middle of the eighteenth century which is persistently described as the age of Rationalism and Enlightenment, men professed different ideas regarding the reality of vampires.... Spectropathie, founded on visual and tactile hallucinations suddenly reached epidemic proportions.... Sadness, hypochondria and nightmares, created a contagious climate of collective terror." 1 Indeed, far from being an isolated best-seller, Calmet's book belonged to an already flourishing genre that, under the pretense of putting superstitions to rest, indulged in bloodcurdling tales from beyond the grave. 2 Villeneuve interprets these publications as symptoms of serious and widespread social anxieties:

The appearance and expansion of Vampirism in the eighteenth-century can be explained by: premature burials following cataleptic phenomena or highly contagious epidemics; folk beliefs and superstitions regarding the spitefulness of the dead; revenge of excommunicated persons; deaths by suicide for which villagers believed themselves responsible; the 'miraculous' preservation of bodies buried in places entirely without air, or in arsenic-rich soil;

 

schizophrenics who fear being confined and become senseless; and porphyria, a hereditary blood disease frequently found in Transylvania...which causes cutaneous anomalies, dental malformations and creates a desire for blood.

(pp. 31-32)

[End Page 222]

Although it would be difficult to assess with precision whether the popularity of eighteenth-century ghost stories resulted entirely from such social phenomena as epidemic fears and collective hallucinations, such narratives reveal, on close reading, a series of unsettling questions about the nature of death and the proper place of the dead among the living. In L'Homme devant la mort (Paris, 1977), Philippe Ariès links the Enlighten-ment's anxieties about death and the dead to two primary factors: the fear of premature burial; and the growing practice of dissection, which led to the robbing of fresh corpses (a practice called resurrectionism in England). But as we shall see, Calmet's revenants bring back to life more profound and disquieting problems.

Resting Places

If one were to read Calmet's work as a simple reflection about death, one of its most surprising factors would be the absolute absence of mourning. Once dead, the most cherished mortals--parents, lovers, children--become a burden. The first predicament is to find the proper place for their burial--a theme that will haunt the eighteenth century, and one Calmet explores at great length, first by relating a number of tales on what constitutes the proper burial places for excommunicated bodies. In one tale, he quotes the bishop of Cahors, who testified that a knight who had died while being excommunicated was nonetheless buried in sacred ground, without the bishop's permission, by soldiers and noble friends.

The next morning, his body was found disinterred, thrown naked far from his grave. The grave had been untouched and showed no sign of having been disturbed. The soldiers and gentlemen who had buried him opened the grave and found nothing but the shroud in which the body had been wrapped; they buried him again, covering the grave with a considerable amount of soil and stones. The following day, they again found the body outside the grave, without any sign that the grave had been touched. The same thing happened five times; until finally they buried him in unconsecrated ground, which filled the neighboring lords with such terror that they all came clamoring for peace.

(pp. 121-22)

Calmet adds to the bishop's tale: "The circumstances that surround this fact are such as to make it undeniable" (p. 122).

More questionable reports, in Calmet's view, give accounts of sinners buried in churches who rise en masse from their graves to leave the church at the precise moment in the ritual when the priest, before starting to say Mass, asks all those

who have been excommunicated to leave during the service. In a somewhat more complex version of postmortem crime and punishment, Calmet mentions that, despite Saint Gothard's excommunicating several persons for their rebellion and sins, [End Page 223]

they insisted on coming to church in spite of the saint's prohibition, while even the dead who had been buried for several years inside the church because no one knew they had been excommunicated all obeyed the saint, arose from their graves and left the church. After Mass, the saint, addressing the rebels, reproached them for their callousness and told them that, on Judgement day, these dead souls would testify against them. He then came out of the church and gave absolution to the excommunicated dead, thus allowing them to return within the church and rest forever in their graves.

(pp. 120-21)

These accounts are of interest in that they relate to a double anxiety concerning the role of religion at the time of death, and the proper place of the dead among the living. Although Voltaire's indignation when Adrienne Lecouvreur was denied religious burial is well-known, the repeated scenes of profanation and violence that marred the peace of eighteenth-century churches and cemeteries have been all but forgotten. In 1710, when Louis XIV ordered the complete destruction of the church and monastery of Port-Royal des Champs, horrible displays of desecration took place. The Abbé Cerveau reported:

Hunters from Versailles, finding themselves near Port-Royal, were curious to see the sacred place in its greatest desolation. [They] entered the monastery and found several men, whom they first thought were gravediggers, who were busy disinterring bodies, and, as they were drunk, engaged in all sorts of indecent behavior with much free and dishonest talk, pulling nuns' entire bodies from the ground, some of them still in their clothes.... They found the bodies thrown in a heap inside the church, and several dogs devouring the remaining flesh and chewing the bones. 3

Such postmortem persecution continued throughout the century: all those suspected of Jansenism and who were not given an opportunity, or refused, to recognize the Bulle on their deathbed, were deprived of religious burial. This interdiction not only expelled them from religious cemeteries, it also authorized extraordinary scenes of mob violence. Jacqueline Thibaut-Payen notes that "The treatment reserved for the [excommunicated] body is sometimes insulting; sometimes the body is even trampled underfoot, dragged by ropes, often with the face against the ground" (pp. 106-7). During the first half of the century, repeated incidents were reported throughout France, testifying both to exasperated religious intolerance and, more to our purpose, to a growing furor against the dead.

In 1740, the Nouvelles Ecclésiastiques reported the brutal burial of Claudette Guérin, from Langres, who had been for several years the servant of a priest,

since exiled for his Jansenist beliefs. On the day following her death,

the corpse was dragged by the feet, face against the ground, down the staircase and along the streets.... In the portion of the cemetery reserved for [such cases], a grave had been dug, but so disproportionately small, [End Page 224] that they were unable to put the body there, except by kicking it, smashing it to pieces with shovels and stones so that they smashed its brains apart.

(qtd. in Thibaut-Payen, p. 107)

This scene throws new light on the powerful meaning of the words dévots or fanatisme in the work of another citizen from Langres, Diderot's Pensées philosophiques (1746).

Reports of similar scenes are mentioned with alarming regularity in the Nouvelles Ecclésiastiques. After many years of complex negotiations, foreign Protestants were granted their own cemeteries in Paris and La Rochelle, thus gaining protection from popular furor. But it was not until 1787 that French Protestants were legally entitled to a decent burial in a reserved piece of land.

In view of these acts of desecration and governmental obstruction, Calmet's accounts of the dead rising from their graves, inside the church, to leave sacred ground under a priest's injunctions, take on a new meaning. On the one hand, these accounts serve to designate and reaffirm a traditional geography of death and privilege. They naively, but forcefully, describe an inside (the grave/the church) and an outside (anywhere, along public roads), a clear demarcation line visible to all, which affects the fate of corpses just as being within the church or expelled from the church affects the soul.

On the other hand, these tales reaffirm the Church's complete authority over death. The power to excommunicate transcends life and death. It is enough to order an excommunicated body to leave sacred ground: without waiting for Judgment Day, those among the dead who have defied the Church's order will abandon their usurped graves. Although the geography of death is reaffirmed with a clear separation between excommunicated and absolved bodies, the line between the living and the dead is blurred. As will become increasingly evident, death alone does not make a dead body.

In addition, these stories echo a more general anxiety regarding the proper place of the dead among the living. Repeated concerns about overcrowded conditions in cemeteries, the noxious fumes rising from the graves, and the popular view that dead bodies of all faiths contaminated the living, led to the major reform of 1776, which began with a prohibition against burying the dead inside churches and eventually culminated in the relocation of cemeteries outside cities. 4

Ashes to Ashes

Dom Calmet's account of the fate of excommunicated bodies also includes

many stories on the theme that serves as title for his chapter entitled "Do excommunicated bodies rot in the earth?" There were persistent reports that such bodies, far from disintegrating properly in the soil, [End Page 225] and peacefully fulfilling another religious injunction, "ashes to ashes," rebelled in death as they had rebelled in life and failed to decompose. "Modern Greeks," notes Calmet, "maintain that the bodies of those who have been excommunicated, do not rot, but become swollen, their skin as tight as a drum; they cannot be corrupted, nor reduced to ashes until they have received absolution from their bishops or priests" (p. 136). The unrotted body signals an unfinished life, one that promises eternal damnation. Once again, religious beliefs and church authority reach beyond death itself, challenging physical laws, to testify to the greater power of God.

In these preoccupations also lingered the fear of revenants, literally "those who return." Any body that did not follow the natural and religious injunction to turn into ashes was a potential and deadly troublemaker. Burdened by its sins, it would rise and haunt the living. Refusing to decompose quickly, the body would spread deadly diseases that would contaminate and destroy the living.

That such preoccupations were of primary importance to the eighteenth century is also attested to by the numerous reports addressed to ecclesiastic and royal authorities regarding the crowded state of the cemeteries. Toward the end of the century, when new legislation finally authorized the closing of overcrowded cemeteries and new locations were chosen, one of the primary concerns was to find a soil where the bodies would decompose quickly. Long before the Cemetery of the Innocents was closed, officials complained that "the soil has difficulty absorbing the bodies buried there" (qtd. in Thibaut-Payen, p. 211). A similar anxiety would spread through Paris during the Revolution, with endless complaints that the guillotined bodies failed to decompose and were rejected by the clay of the Madeleine cemetery where they were first buried.

In the second half of the century, one notices a growing repulsion toward and dread of the dead as the sacred respect due them seemed to be superseded by a rising fear of their nefarious powers. Michel Vovelle quotes a 1781 Lettre du Baron de *** à son ami sur l'affaires des cimetières, from an anonymous author protesting a proposed "lieu de dépôts" or "temporary storage" of the dead in Paris:

A sick person dies and is kept at home twenty four, sometimes forty eight hours: shall we have to keep it uncovered for another twelve hours?... Here is a corpse that casts its most dangerous infection into the air; the many moves one will be obliged to make, to take it to church, onto the cart, moving and emptying the cart, will increase this infection, letting it escape into the air. What will be the scope of this infection, already so dangerous when it comes from a single body, when it is multiplied by all the corpses of Paris and air temperature?... All of Paris, at all times and in all its quarters, will be filled with cadaverous and pestilential putrefaction.

(pp. 202-3)

A growing antipollution movement brought together village priests and villagers, as well as members of the Academy of Medicine and of the Academy of Sciences, all of whom were anxious to relocate cemeteries [End Page 226] outside the cities, far from the living. The famous decision in 1785 to close the Cemetery of the Innocents testifies to several concerns, writes Thibaut-Payen, chief among them, "the dangers of insalubrity presented by the presence of a necropolis inside the city limits" (p. 221).

The View from Hungary

In Hungary, reports Calmet, "people known under the name of Heiduque believe that certain dead persons, which they name "vampires," suck the blood of the living, so that these wither and decline before one's very eye, while the corpses, like leeches, are so filled with blood that it oozes from their pores. This opinion has just been confirmed by several facts, of which I believe there can be no doubt, given the quality of the witnesses" (p. 74). He adds,

Five years ago, a certain Heiduque living in Médreïgua, and named Arnold Paul, was crushed by the fall of a hay cart. Thirty days after his death, four people died suddenly, in the manner in which, according to the country's tradition, those molested by vampires die. People then remembered that Arnold Paul had often said that he himself had been tormented by a Turkish vampire around Cassova near the border of Turkish Serbia...but that he had found a way of curing himself by eating soil from the vampire's grave and rubbing himself with its blood. This precaution, however, did not prevent him from becoming a vampire, for he was exhumed forty days after his burial and all the marks of an archvampire were found on his corpse. His body was vermilion, his hair, nails and beard had grown and his veins were all filled with fluid blood that flowed from all over his body onto the shroud he was wrapped in. The hadnagi, or baillif, who was present at the exhumation and was an expert in vampirism, had a very sharp stake plunged into the dead Arnold Paul's heart, as is customary. The stake went through the body, which emitted a piercing scream, as if still alive. This done, his head was cut off, and everything burned. Following that, the same treatment was applied to the four persons dead from vampirism for fear that they, too, might kill others in turn.

(pp. 74-75)

Undoubtedly, most of the elements of the classical vampire story are here. But the most striking part of the story lies in its deep Christianity, in its hardly disguised evocation of Christ's life: the forty days reminiscent of the days spent fasting in the desert, fighting the devil's temptations, the resurrection from the dead. But at the same time, everything is reversed: the vampire's public life starts after his death, and, instead of fasting and resisting temptation, he indulges in blood feasts that cannot be stopped until forty days after his life as a vampire has started. Like an inverted image of Christ, the vampire wins disciples who will, in turn, make their victims into new converts. Vampirism is

not just a plague, it is a false religion. The sacrificial burning of vampires cannot fail to evoke the burning at the stake of heretics and devil worshipers. [End Page 227]

Moreover, the name of the deadly vampire, Arnold Paul (which Calmet remarked himself was a most unlikely name for a Hungarian vampire), must have immediately reminded readers of the great Jansenist Arnauld. Certainly, vampire stories, articulated on countless episodes of grave profanation and extraordinary attacks on Jansenists, provided the Benedictine monk with a thinly disguised religious parable.

Another aspect of vampire lore, the necessity of their execution, is curiously anticipated in the first chapter of the book. Reflecting on the likelihood that people can come back after their death to haunt the living, and wondering whether there are resurrections, Calmet comments on the most sacred resurrection, that of Christ. He notes that Christ did not resuscitate until three days after his burial, "having been killed, so to speak, even after his death" by the lance that pierced his side and heart. The idea of killing someone after his death, another important theme of the Traité, is thus also a repetition of a Gospel scene. But in Calmet's text, it is an execution perpetrated against evil itself, in the hope of preventing a resurrection that, in a way, has already taken place. The vampire must be killed, and killed several times over, after its death: its heart pierced, its head cut, its body burned. There is no possible rest until the entire corpse has been subjected to these multiple executions.

A last unexpected ritual echoes a religious sacrament: the Eucharist. 5 On several occasions, it is suggested that the way to get rid of vampires is to eat them. "In Russia," notes Calmet, "people eat bread mixed with vampire's blood" (p. 100). The vampire thus becomes once more the inverted body of Christ, the unlikely Messiah of a troubled postmortem life, bringing both death and resurrection to his disciples.

Mind Over Matter

From this perspective, the eighteenth-century philosophical redrawing of the line between life and death takes on a new importance. It was now crucial to admit to no resurrection and to dispel forcefully all beliefs that a dead body could rise to haunt the living. In the Pensées philosophiques, Diderot notes: "A man lies on the ground, without feelings, voice, warmth, or movement. They turn him over, and back, shake him, apply fire to him, nothing moves him: a hot iron cannot wrest a single sign of life from him; he is thought dead: is he? No." Diderot quotes the example, given by Saint-Augustine, of the Calame priest who could lose all feelings at will, lie inanimate, not even affected by burns that would make him suffer when "reawakened" later on. Diderot adds: "If certain persons, in our day, had encountered such a subject, they would have taken good advantage of it. We would have been shown a cadaver coming back to life on the ashes of a predestined being; the Jansenist magistrate's collection would have been enriched with a resurrection, and the advocate of

the Bull Unigenitus would find himself confounded." 6 [End Page 228]

This reflection may be linked as well to the generalized fear of being buried prematurely. Ariès talks at great length about the fear of being buried alive and the multiple requests, on the part of the dying, that there be a waiting period before burial. His main source is J.-J. Bruhier's 1740 translation of J. B. Winslaw's Dissertation sur l'incertitude des signes de la mort et de l'abus des enterrements et embaumements précipités, which offers a great number of stories of corpses reanimated by the surgeon's scalpel just before dissection, or living bodies killed after their apparent death, by precipitous burials.

From a purely rationalist perspective, if those who resurrect were never dead in the first place, conversely, those who are dead never resurrect except, as the materialists will show, through a decomposition of their mortal flesh and its reabsorption into nature's cycle. But many documents attest to the fact that such a decomposition was also seen as an earned privilege (the reward of not having been excommunicated and of being buried in a proper soil), rather than a natural fate.

The Great Disinterment

To the reader accustomed to the troubling sexuality of the nineteenth-century vampire, or to Morella's haunting and deathly beauty, eighteenth-century vampire tales are singularly lacking in suspense. By contrast with their Romantic heirs, Enlightenment ghosts betray a striking lack of individual character or internalized desires, and their obvious identity as ghosts is never in doubt. At no time are we allowed to wonder whether they belong to the living or to the dead. Calmet's revenants, for the most part, do not exert the fascination and fear that would result from their uncertain status between the living and the dead. There is no Unheimliche. Calmet's ghosts never claim to be living, and we always know them for what they are: as they rise from their graves, they identify themselves as excommunicated souls, vampires, or as the more generic revenants. Whether they exist or not, Calmet suggests they belong to a recognizable group, the damned, and they behave as they are expected to in their unfortunate circumstances. In fact, they do not act as subjects, but rather as possessed agents of a greater evil that has robbed them of their individual identity. Calmet tells us that the fear they elicit among the living may be ultimately related to such an evil.

It is interesting to note that a century into what Michel Foucault called the "great confinement" of the living that filled the wards of hospitals and the cells of jails with madmen, there began the great disinterment of the dead. In Madness and Civilization, Foucault notes,

It is common knowledge that the seventeenth century created enormous houses of confinement; it is less commonly known that more than one out every hundred inhabitants of the city of Paris found themselves confined there.... [W]e know that madmen were subjected to the regime of confinement [End Page 229] for a century and a half, and that they would one day be discovered

in the wards of the Hôpital Général, in the cells of prisons.... From the middle of the seventeenth century, madness was linked with this country of confinement, and with the act which designated confinement as its natural abode. 7

In the eighteenth century, adds Foucault, a new anxiety appears, followed by the creation of the first hospitals specially created for the mad. But the critique of confinement that preceded the Revolution, he stresses, never suggested a reconsideration of madness:

We see how the political critique of confinement functioned in the eighteenth century. Not in the direction of a liberation of the mad; nor can we say that it permitted a more philanthropic or a greater medical attention to the insane. On the contrary, it linked madness more firmly than ever to confinement, and this by a double tie: one which made madness the very symbol of the confining power and its absurd and obsessive representative within the world of confinement; the other which designated madness as the object par excellence of all the measures of confinement.

(p. 227)

The cemeteries conceived in the eighteenth century to remove and confine the dead at a safe distance from the cities, along with the anxiety, betrayed by vampire tales, that the dead were a serious threat to the living, echo and extend the madness of confinement and the confinement of the mad. Vampirism, in all its manifestations, was always associated with madness, and not just because of the irrational behavior of the corpses, their challenges to the laws of God and nature. Belief in vampirism itself is a form of madness, notes Calmet at one point, a madness closely related to melancholia; and he reports that one cause of the belief in vampires had been found in poor nutrition that poisoned the blood "and produced in imagination somber and nefarious thoughts" (p. 89).

Joseph Pitton de Tournefort, a member of the Academy of Sciences, who witnessed the horrendous scenes of exhumation and dismemberment of a suspected vampire on Mikonos in 1701, notes: "Everyone's imagination was struck: and those with the most rational mind were struck just like the rest; it was a true brain disease, as dangerous as mania and rabies" (quoted by Calmet, p. 146). This madness itself duplicates the madness of the presumed vampire: "Every morning we were given a faithful account of the follies of this nocturnal bird; he was accused of the most abominable sins" (pp. 146-47). If vampire tales are nothing but the products of a diseased imagination, Calmet will conclude, they nonetheless testify to an illness--madness--that is so dangerous that it must be taken seriously and controlled at all cost. Moreover, he announces, the eighteenth century is faced with an unprecedented onslaught of this disease: "In this century, a new scene has appeared in the last sixty years in Hungary, Moravia, Silesia, Poland: men who have been dead for several months come back, we are told. They speak, walk, infect villages, mistreat men and animals, suck the blood of their relatives, make them sick and finally [End Page 230] cause their death" (p. 38). Vampirism is a false story that spreads a true disease: the belief in vampirism, which is madness itself, collective and

individual melancholia, and hallucinations.

The solution to this madness of believing in vampires is their permanent removal. Such creatures, should they exist, (and Calmet's book reaches contrary conclusions) need to be confined forever, like the mad, in an absolute cell, a grave from which they will never rise to destroy the living. And, as these stories (and thousands of exasperated reports on cemeteries) tell us: all the dead are vampires, poisoning the air, the blood, the life of the living, contaminating their body and their soul, robbing them of their sanity.

The history of the translation of the dead from the cities to the outskirts of agglomerations is a long tale of horrendous scenes that deserves its own study. For our purpose, it is enough to note that the deadly mischief reported by Calmet was published at a time of extraordinary concern about death and the influence of the dead on the living. In these accounts, the excommunicated body, the body that is de trop within the church, the corpse that has refused to decompose, or the unsatiated vampire's body, redefine and blur the line between life and death in a way that extends the confining authority beyond the grave itself: beyond the living, social, and political body. The dead are no longer venerated and respected. They are not entitled to a place among the living, be it inside the church or inside the city. Rather, they become the object of fear and the occasion for extraordinary profanations that testify to a deep defiance of traditions. At one point in his history of madness, Foucault writes: "The presence of madmen among the prisoners is not the scandalous limit of confinement, but its truth" (pp. 225-26). Similarly, we could say that in the eighteenth century, the presence of vampires among the dead is not the scandal of death itself, but its truth: death will bring no peace to the soul, no rest to the sinner, and will take its revenge on the already condemned living.

In the political economy of absolutism, the tales carefully collected by Calmet further serve to justify the need for, or the legitimacy of, a confining authority--be it that of the church or that of the king--and to extend the logic of crime and punishment into the afterlife. The truth of vampires is that they must and will be subjected to a greater authority than death or the devil. Power over "the Revenants en corps, les Excommuniés, les Oupires ou Vampires, Brucolaques etc." is nothing but absolute power, absolutism in its manifested essence--the power to confine the living and the dead, and to rule over death by expelling it from the city, the cemetery, and the souls themselves.

University of Michigan

Notes

1. Présentation to Calmet, Dissertation sur les revenants en corps, les excommuniés, les oupires ou vampires, brucolaques etc. (Paris: Jerome Millon, 1986), pp. 19-20. Trans. by Jay L. Caplan. The Dissertation is the 2nd part of Calmet's Traité.

2. Villeneuve mentions a long series of works dedicated to vampires. Among

them: Huetiana, ou pensées diverses de M. Huet, évêque d'Avranches (1722); Boyer d'Argens, Lettres Juives (1754); Louis-Antoine de Caraccioli, Lettres à une illustre morte (1770); Gioseppe Davanzati, Dissertazione sopra I Vampiri (1774); Thomas Burnet, Traité de l'état des morts et ressuscitants (1731); and Jean-Christophe Herenberg, Pensées philosophiques et chrétiennes sur les vampires (1733).

3. Quoted in Jacqueline Thibaut-Payen, Les Morts, l'Eglise et l'Etat, Recherches sur lasépulture et les cimetières dans le ressort du parlement de Paris au XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles (Paris: Ferdinand Lanore, 1977), p. 101.

4. On this subject, see Thibaut-Payen; Michel Vovelle, ed., Mourir autrefois, attitudes collectives devant la mort au XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles (Paris: Gallimard, 1974); Ariès; and Richard A. Etlin, The Transformation of the Cemetery in Eighteenth-Century Paris (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT, 1984).

5. On the relationship between the Eucharist and the king's portrait, see Louis Marin, La Critique du discours, Etudes sur la Logique de Port-Royal et les Pensées de Pascal (Paris: Editions de Minuit, 1975).

6. Oeuvres philosophiques, ed. by Paul Vernière (Paris: Garnier, 1964), pp. 41-42. Trans. by Jay L. Caplan.

7. Trans. Richard Howard (N.Y.: Vintage, 1973), pp. 38-39.

.