CHAPTER V
SOME FAMOUS SORCERERS AND MAGICIANS
AMIDST a great multiplicity of commentaries and studies on the work of Dante, no one, that we are aware, has signalised its characteristic-in-chief. The masterpiece of the glorious Ghibelline is a declaration of war against the papacy by a daring revelation of mysteries. The epic of Dante is Johannite and Gnostic; it is a bold application of Kabalistic figures and numbers to Christian dogmas, and is further a secret negation of the absolute element therein; his visit to the supernatural worlds takes place like an initiation into the Mysteries of Eleusis and Thebes. He is guided and protected by Virgil amidst the circles of the new Tartarus, as if the tender and melancholy prophet of the destinies of the son of Pollio were, in the eyes of the Florentine poet, the illegitimate yet true father of the Christian epic. Thanks to the pagan genius of Virgil, Dante emerges from that gulf above the door of which he had read the sentence of despair; he escapes by standing on his head, which means by reversing dogma. So does he ascend to the light, using the demon himself, like a monstrous ladder; by the force of terror he emerges from terror, from the horrible by the power of horror. He seems to testify that hell is without egress for those only who cannot go back on themselves; he takes the devil against the grain, if I may use so familiar an expression, attains emancipation andby audacity.1 This is truly protestantism surpassed, and the poet of Rome's enemies has already divined Faust ascending to heaven on the head of the defeated Mephistopheles. Observe also that the hell of Dante is but a negative purgatory, by which is meant that his puigatory seems to take form in his hell, as if in a mould; it is like the lid or stopper of the gulf, and it will be understood that the Florentine titan in scaling Paradise meant to kick purgatory into hell.2
His heaven is composed of a series of Kabalistic circles divided by a cross, like the pantacle of Ezekiel; in the centre of this cross a rose blossoms, thus for the first time manifesting publicly and almost explaining categorically the symbol of the Rosicrucians. We say for the first time because William of Lorris, who died in 1260, five years before the birth of Dante, did not complete the Romance of the Rose, his mantle falling upon Clopinel some fifty years later. It will be discovered with a certain astonishment that the Romance of the Rose and the Divine Comedy are two opposite forms of a single work—initiation by independence of spirit, satire on all contemporary institutions and an allegorical formula of the grand secrets of the Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross.
These important manifestations of occultism coincide with the fall of the Templars, since Jean de Meung, or Clopinel, a contemporary of Dante in the old age of the latter, flourished during his best years at the court of Philip the Fair. The Romance of the Rose is the epic of old France, a profound work in a trivial form, a revelation of occult mysteries as instructed as that of Apuleius. The roses of Flamel, Jean de Meung and Dante belong to the same bush.
A genius like Dante could not be an arch-heretic. Great men give an impetus to intelligence, and the impetus takes effect subsequently in activities which are startled by restless mediocrities. It may have been that Dante was never read—and he would assuredly not have been understood—by Luther. This notwithstanding, the mission of the Ghibellines, made fruitful by the potent thought of the poet, raised up the empire against the papacy by slow degrees; it was continued from century to century under various names, and in the end it made Germany protestant. It was certainly not Luther who produced the Reformation; it was the latter which took possession of Luther and impelled him forward. This square-shouldered monk could boast only obstinacy and daring, but he was the needful instrument for revolutionary ideas. Luther was the Danton of anarchic theology; superstitious and rash, he believed that he was obsessed by the devil; it was the devil who dictated his arguments against the Church, made him declaim, spout nonsense, and above all things write. The inspiring genius of all the Cains asked nothing at that time but ink, preassured that, given this fluid flowing from the pen of Luther, there would be presently a sea of blood. Luther was conscious of the fact, and he hated the devil because he was another master; one day he threw the ink-horn at his head, as if to satiate him by the violent libation. The episode recalls that jocular regicide who daubed his accomplices with ink when he signed the death-warrant of Charles I.
The device of Luther was, “Turk rather than papist”; and as a fact protestantism at its root is, like Islamism, simple Deism organised into a conventional cultus, or if it differs therefrom it is only by its remnants of catholicism imperfectly effaced. From the standpoint of the negation of catholic dogma, the protestants are Moslems with a few superstitious the more and a prophet the less.
Men renounce God less unwillingly than they give up the devil, as the apostates of all times have proved abundantly. Speedily subdivided by anarchy, the disciples of Luther had but one bond of belief in common; all had faith in Satan, and this spectre, magnifying in proportion as their spirit of revolt took them the farther from God, reached terrible proportions at last. Carlostad, archdeacon of Würtemberg, being one day in the pulpit, saw a black man enter the temple, take a seat in front of him and stare at him with dreadful fixity through the entire length of his sermon. He became anxious, left the pulpit and questioned the assistants; but no one had seen the phantom. Carlostad returned home in a state of dismay; he was met by the youngest of his sons, who said that a stranger in black had inquired for him and promised to return in three days. There was no room, for doubt in the mind of the hallucinated archdeacon; that stranger was the spectre of his vision. A fever was brought on by his terror; he retired to bed and died before the third day.
These unhappy heretics were afraid of their own shadows; their consciences had remained catholic and consigned them to hell without pity. Walking one evening with his wife Catherine de Bora, Luther looked up to heaven, which was bright with stars, and said in an undertone, as he sighed deeply: “Ah, beautiful sky, which I shall never see !”—“What !” exclaimed his wife. “Do you then think that you are condemned?” Luther answered: “Who knows whether God will not punish us for having been unfaithful to our vows?” Supposing that Catherine, seeing his lack of self-confidence, had cursed and left him, it may be that the reformer, overcome by the Divine Warning, would have recognised his criminal offence in betraying that Church which was his first spouse and would have turned weeping towards the cloister which he had left wilfully. But God, Who withstands the proud, doubtless found him unworthy of this saving affliction. The sacrilegious comedy of Luther's marriage was the providential punishment of his pride, and as he remained obstinate in his sin, that punishment was always with him and derided him to the end. He died between the devil and his wile, appalled at the one and exceedingly embarrassed by the other.
Corruption and superstition are well paired together. The epoch of the dissolute Renaissance, equally persecuting and credulous, was certainly not that of the second birth of reason. Catherine de' Medici was a sorceress, Charles IX consulted necromancers, Henry III played at devotion and debauch. It was the heyday then of astrologers, though a few of them were tortured from time to time, to make them change their predictions. There were, moreover, the court sorcerers, who dabbled a little in poisoning and deserved the hangman's rope. Trois-Êchelles, the magician of Charles IX, was a juggler and rogue; one day he made confession to the King and his misdeeds were not peccadilloes; the King lorgave him, but promised his cure on the gallows if he had a relapse; he did relapse, and was hanged in due course.1
When the League vowed the death of the weakly and miserable Henri III it had recourse to witchcraft and Black Magic. L'Étoile1 declares that a wax image of the King was set on the altars where priests of the League said Mass, and that the image was stabbed with a knife during a prayer embodying maledictions and anathemas. When the King failed to die with sufficient celerity, it was concluded that he was also a sorcerer. Pamphlets were published representing Henri III as holding conventions where the crimes of Sodom and Gomorrah were but the prelude of more frightful and unheard-of outrages. Included among the King's minions there was said to be one who was the devil in person, and young virgins were abducted and prostituted by force to Beelzebub.2 The people believed these fables, and a fanatic was found at last to execute the threats of sorcery. Jacques Clément suffered from visions and imperious voices, which commanded him to kill the King; he sought regicide like a martyr and died laughing like the heroes of Scandinavian mythology. Scandalmongering chronicles have pretended that a great lady of the court supplemented the inspirations of the monk's solitude by the magnetism of her caresses; but the anecdote is wanting in probability. It was the monk's continence which promoted his exaltation, and had he begun to lead the blind life of passion an unsatiable appetite for pleasure would have possessed his entire nature and he would not have been willing to die.
Whilst religious wars incamardined the world, secret illuministic associations, which were nothing but theurgic and magical schools, were incorporated in Germany. The most ancient of these seems to have been that of the Rosicrucians, whose symbols go back to the times of the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, as we see by the allegories in the poem of Dante and by the emblems in the Romance of the Rose.
The rose, which from all times has been the type of beauty, life, love and pleasure, expressed mystically the secret thought of all protests manifested at the Renaissance.3 It was the flesh in rebellion against the oppression of spirit; it was Nature testifying that, like grace, she was a daughter of God; it was love refusing to be stifled by the celibate; it was life in revolt against sterility; it was humanity aspiring towards natural religion, full of reason and love, founded on the revelations of the harmony of being, of which the rose, for initiates, was the living floral symbol. It is in truth a pantacle; the form is circular, the leaves of the corolla are heart-shaped and rest harmoniously on one another; its tint offers the most harmonious shades of the primitive colours; its calyx is of purple and gold. We have seen that Flamel, or rather the Book of Abraham the Jew, represents it as the hieroglyphical sign of the fulfilment of the Great Work.1 Here is the key to the romance of Clopinel and William de Lorris. The conquest of the rose was the problem offered by initiation to science, whilst religion was at work to prepare and to establish the universal, exclusive and final triumph of the Cross.
The problem proposed by high initiation was the union of the Rose and the Cross, and in effect occult philosophy, being the universal synthesis, must take into account all phenomena of being. Considered solely as a physiological fact, religion is the revelation and satisfaction of a need of souls. Its existence as a fact is scientific, and to deny it would be a denial of humanity itself. No one has invented it; like laws and civilisations, it is formed by the necessities of moral life. From this merely philosophical and restrained standpoint, religion must be regarded as fatal if one explains all by fatality, and as Divine if one confesses to a Supreme Intelligence as the mainspring of natural laws.2 Hence it follows that the characteristic of' every religion, properly so called, being to depend directly from Divinity by a supernatural revelation—no other mode of transmission poviding a sufficient sanction of dogma—it must be concluded that the true natural religion is religion that has been revealed: this is to say, it is natural to adopt a religion only on the understanding that it has been revealed, every true religion exhorting sacrifices, and man having neither the power nor right to impose the same on his fellow creatures, outside and especially above the ordinary conditions of humanity.
Proceeding from this strictly rational principle, the Rosicrucians were led to respect the dominant hierarchic and revealed religion. They could be therefore no more the enemies of the papacy than of legitimate monarchy, while if they conspired against popes and kings, it was because they considered these or those personally as apostates in respect of duty and supreme abettors of anarchy.3 What in fact is a despot—whether spiritual or temporal—but a crowned anarchist? It is possible to explain in this manner the protestantism and even radicalism of certain great adepts, who were assuredly more catholic than some popes and more monarchic than some kings—of certain eccentric adepts, such as Henry Khunrath and the true illuminati of his school.
By all but those who have made a particular study of the occult sciences, Khunrath is practically unknown; he is a master notwithstanding, and one of the first rank. He is a sovereign prince of the Rosy Cross, worthy in all respects of this scientific and mystical title.1 His pantacles are splendid as the light of the Book of Splendour, called Zohar; they are learned as Trithemius, precise like Pythagoras, complete in their disclosure of the Great Work as the book of Abraham and Nicholas Flamel.
Khunrath, who was chemist and physician, was born in 1502, and he was forty-two years old when he attained transcendent theosophical initiation.2 The Amphitheatre of Eternal Wisdom, which is the most remarkable of his works, was published in 1598, for the approbation of the Emperor Rudolph annexed thereto was dated on June 1 of the year in question.3 Though professing a radical protestantism, the author claims loudly the titles of catholic and orthodox; he testifies that he possesses, but keeps secret as he ought, a key to the Apocalypse, which key is one and threefold, even as universal science. The division of the work is sevenfold, and through these sections are distributed the seven degrees of initiation into transcendental philosophy. The text is a mystical commentary on the oracles of Solomon,4 and the work ends with a series of synoptic schedules which are the synthesis of Magic and the occult Kabalah—so far as concerns that which can be made public in writing. The rest, being the esoteric and inexpressible part of the science, is formulated in magnificent pantacles carefully designed and engraved. These are nine in number, as follows: (1) The dogma of Hermes; (2) Magical realisation; (3) The path of wisdom and the initial procedure in the work; (4) The Gate of the Sanctuary enlightened by seven mystic rays; (5) A Rose of Light, in the centre of which a human figure is extending its arms in the form of a cross; (6) The magical laboratory of Khunrath, demonstrating the necessary union of prayer and work; (7) The absolute synthesis of science; (8) Universal equilibrium; (9) A summary of Khunrath's personal doctrine, embodying an energetic protest against all his detractors.1 It is a Hermetic pantacle surrounded by a German caricature, full of liveliness and ingenuous choler. The philosopher's enemies are depicted as insects, zanies, oxen and asses, the whole being decorated with Latin legends and gross German epigrams. Khunrath is shewn on the right in the garb of a citizen, and on the left in that of his student's apartment; in both he makes faces at his adversaries. As a townsman he is armed with a sword and tramples on the tail of a serpent; as a student he is carrying a pair of tongs and is crushing the serpent's head. In public he demonstrates and at home instructs, but, as indicated by his gestures, the truth is the same always and expressed with disdain for the impure breath of his adversaries. The latter notwithstanding is so pestilential that the birds of heaven fall dead at their feet. This exceedingly curious plate is wanting in many copies of the work.
The book as a whole contains all mysteries of the highest initiation. As the title announces, it is Christo-Kabalistic, Divine-magical, physicochemical, threefold-one, and universal. It is a true manual of Transcendental Magic and Hermetic Philosophy. A more complete and perfect initiation cannot be found elsewhere, unless indeed it is in the Sepher Yetzirah and Zohar. In the four important corollaries which follow the explanation of the third figure, Khunrath establishes: That the cost of accomplishing the Great Work (apart from the operator's maintenance and personal expenses) should not exceed the sum of thirty thalers. He adds, “I speak with authority, having learned from one who had knowledge; those who expend more deceive themselves and waste their money.” It follows that either Khunrath had not himself composed the Philosophical Stone or did not wish to admit it for fear of persecution. He proceeds to establish the duty of the adept not to devote more than the tenth part of his wealth to his personal use, the rest being consecrated to the glory of God and works of charity. Finally, he affirms that the mysteries of Christianity and Nature interpret and illuminate one another, and that the future reign of Messiah will rest on the dual foundation of science and faith. The oracles of the Gospel being thus confirmed by the book of Nature, it will be possible to convince Jews and Mohammedans regarding the truth of Christianity on the grounds of science and reason, so that—with the help of Divine Grace—they will be converted infalliby to the religion of unity. He ends with this maxim: “The seal of Nature and of Art is simplicity.”
Contemporary with Khunrath there was another initiated doctor, Hermetic philosopher and disciple of Paracelsian medicine; this was Oswald Crollius, author of the Book of Signatures, or True and Vital Anatomy of the Greater and Lesser World.1 The preface to this work is a sketch of Hermetic philosophy, exceedingly well done; Crollius seeks to demonstrate that God and Nature have, so to speak, signed all their works, that every product of a given natural force bears the stamp of that force printed in indelible characters, so that he who is initiated in the occult writings can read, as in an open book, the sympathies and antipathies of things, the properties of substances and all other secrets of creation. The characters of different writings were borrowed primitively from these natural signatures existing in stars and flowers, on mountains and the smallest pebble. The figures of crystals, the marks on minerals, were impressions of the thought which the Creator had in their formation. The idea is rich in poetry and grandeur, but we lack any grammar of this mysterious language of worlds and a methodical vocabulary of this primitive and absolute speech. King Solomon alone is credited with having accomplished the dual labour; but the books of Solomon are lost. The enterprise of Crollius was not a reconstitution of these, but an attempt to discover the fundamental principles obtaining in the universal language of the creative Word.
It was recognised on these principles that the original hieroglyphics, based on the prime elements of geometry, corresponded to the constitutive and essential laws of forms, determined by alternating or combined movements, which, in their turn, were determined by equilibratory attractions. Simples were distinguished from composites by their external figures; and by the correspondence between figures and numbers it became possible to make a mathematical classification of all substances revealed by the lines of their surfaces. At the root of these endeavours, which are reminiscences of Edenic science, there is a whole world of discoveries awaiting the sciences. Paracelsus had divined them, Crollius indicates them, another who shall follow will realise and provide the demonstration concerning them. What seemed the folly of yesterday will be the genius of tomorrow, and progress will háil the sublime seekers who first looked into this lost and recovered world, this Atlantis of human knowledge.
The beginning of the seventeenth century was the great epoch of alchemy; it was the period of Philip Müller, John Torneburg, Michael Maier, Ortelius, Poterius, Samuel Norton, Baron de Beausoleil, David Planis Campe, Jean Duchesne, Robert Fludd, Benjamin Mustapha, D'Espagnet, the Cosmopolite—who is in the first rank—de Nuisement, who translated and published the Cosmopolite's writings, John Baptist van Helmont, Eirenaæus Philalethes, Rodolph Glauber, the sublime shoemaker Jacob Böhme.2 The chief among these initiates were devoted to the researches of Transcendental Magic, but they concealed most carefully that detested name under the veil of Hermetic experiments. The Mercury of the Wise which they desired to discover and hand on to their disciples was the scientific and religious synthesis, the peace which abides in the sovereign unity. The mystics themselves were but blind believers in the true illuminati, while illuminism, properly so called, was the universal science of light.
In the spring of 1623 the following strange proclamation was placarded through the streets of Paris: “We who are the authorised messengers of the Brothers of the Rosy Cross, making visible and invisible sojourn in this town, by the grace of the Most High, towards Whom the hearts of sages turn, do give instruction, without external means, in speaking the language of the countries wherein we dwell,2 and do rescue men who are our fellow-workers from terror and from death. If anyone shall seek us out of mere curiosity, he will never communicate with us; but if he be actuated by an earnest desire to be inscribed on the register of our fraternity, we, who are discerners of thoughts, will make manifest to such an one the truth of our promises, so only that we do not disclose the place of our abode, since thought in its union with the firm will of the reader shall be sufficient to make us known to him and him likewise to us.”
Public opinion took hold of this mysterious manifesto, and if anyone asked openly who were those Brothers of the Rosy Cross, an unknown personage would perchance take the inquirer apart, and say to him gravely: 3 “Predestined to the reformation which must take place speedily in the whole universe, the Rosicrucians are depositaries of supreme wisdom, and as undisturbed possessors of all gifts of Nature, they can dispense these at pleasure. In whatsoever place they may be, they know all things which are going on in the rest of the world better than if they were present amongst them; they are superior to hunger and thirst and have neither age nor disease to fear. They can command the most powerful spirits and genii. God has covered them with a cloud to protect them from their enemies, and they cannot be seen except by their own consent—had anyone eyes more piercing than those of the eagle. Their general assemblies are held in the pyramids of Egypt; but, even as the rock whence issued the spring of Moses, these pyramids proceed with them into the desert and will follow them until they enter the Promised Land.”
1 Éliphas Lévi, who rather misquotes Dante, held that he had performed the same kind of mental pilgrimage, and had escaped in the same manner—by reversing dogma. He says elsewhere: “It was after he had descended from gulf to gulf and from horror to horror to the bottom of the seventh circle of the abyss…that Dante…rose consoled and victorious to the light. We have performed the same journey, and we present ourselves before the world with tranquillity on our countenance and peace in our heart…to assure mankind that hell and the devil…and all the rest of the dismal phantasmagoria are a nightmare of madness.”
2 The interpretation of the Divine Comedy as embodying an act of war against the papacy was begun by Gabriele Rossetti, about 1830, in his Disquisitions on the AntiPapal Spirit which produced the Reformation. For the obscure and dubious tenets to which Éliphas Lévi gives the name of Johannite, he substitutes the doctrines of Albigenses and Waldenses. The same thesis, taken over from its Italian deviser, was maintained in the same interest by Eugène Aroux, firstly in Les Mystêres de la Chevalerie, and afterwards in the great body of annotation attached to his translation of Dante. The latter work appeared in 1856. The interpretation of Lévi is a variant of that of Aroux. The disquisitions of the French writer are a fountain of joy for criticisms. He produced yet another monument, being Dante Hérétique, Révolutionnaireet Socialiste, 1854. He was a devoted member of the Latin Church, though I think that there would have been joy among the faithful had his books been burnt at Rome.
1 The authority is the demonographer Bodin. Trois-Échelles confessed to the King that he had given himself over to a spirit who enabled him to perform prodigies. He was forgiven on condition that he denounced others who were guilty of sorcery. It is supposed that his subsequent condemnation was the consequence of new operations on his own part
1 That is, Pierre de I'Étoile. See Véritable Fatalité de Satn' Cloud, art. 8.
2 This account is drawn from Garinet, who cites two pamphlets of the period: (A) Les Sorcelleries de Henri de Valois, et les Oblations qu'il faisait au Diable dans le Bois de Vincennes, 1589; (B) Remonstrances à Henri de Valois sur les choses horribles envoyées par un enfant de Paris, 1589.
3 Compare Aroux: La Comédie de Dante, vol. ii. p. 33 of his Clef de la Comédie The Rose is “the Albigensian Church and its doctrines . . transformed into a mystic flower”. Hence the immense vogue of the romance of William of Lorris, despite the anathemas of Gerson.
1 The words of Flamel are as follows: “On the fifth leal was a fair rose-tree, flowered, in the midst of a garden, growing up against a hollow oak, at the foot whereof bubbled forth a fountain of pure white water, which ran headlong down into the depths below. Yet it passed through the hands of a great number of people who digged in the earth, seeking after it, but, by reason of their blindness, none of them knew it, except a very few, who considered its weight.” Le Livre de Nicolas Flamel.
2 It will be seen that this is the counter-thesis to the explanation of the spiritual world by means of natural law; it is the explanation of the natural world by means of spiritual law. So also Éliphas Lévi is right when he goes on to affirm in substance that the religion of supernatural grace is the font of natural religion. It is in the tight of the instituted sacraments that we find the hidden grace of those in Nature.
3 “We do now securely call the Pope Antichrist, which was formerly a capital offence…We do hereby condemn the East and the West, meaning the Pope and Mahomet…. He (the Pope) shall be tom in pieces with nails, and a final groan shall end his ass's braying. . The judgment due to the Roman impostor who now poureth his blasphemies with open mouth against Christ…. The mouth of this viper shall be stopped.” See Confessio Fraternitatis, R.C., 1616.
1 The Masonic title of Sovereign Princes Rose-Croix ascribed in France to the members of the Eighteenth Degree, under the obedience of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite, has been changed in England to Excellent and Perfect Princes. The old Rosicrucian title was that of Frater, and the head of the Order was termed Imperator.
2 I have let this date stand, as it is difficult to say what Éliphas Lévi is driving at. Khunrath was born in 1559 or 1560, and he died early in the seventeenth century.
3 This is a mistake. The Amphitheatrum appeared in 1609, the licence having been obtained previously.
4 The work contains (a) 365 versicles drawn from Proverbs and the apocryphal Book of Wisdom, the Latin Vulgate being printed side by side with a new translation by Khunrath. These versicles are divided into seven grades, (b) An interpretation at length of each versicle. (c) An introduction to the first engraved plate; (d) to the second; (e) to the third; (f) to the fourth; and (g) an epilogue or conclusion to the whole work.
1 Éliphas Lévi has misplaced most of the plates, and it is difficult to follow his descriptions. No. I is the laboratory and oratory of the adept. No. 2 is apparently that which he calls the Path of Wisdom. No. 3 is the Philosophical Stone. No. 4 is that which Lévi describes as the Dogma of Hermes, because the sentences of the Emerald Tablet are inscribed on a Rock of Ages or Mountain of Initiation. No. 5 is the Gate of the Sanctuary, but it is enlightened by three rays. No. 6 is that which Lévi terms a Rose of Light, but it is really the sun with Christ in the centre. Nos. 7 and 9 correspond to the descriptions given; but No. 8 is scarcely a doctrine of equilibrium: it is the doctrine of regeneration through Christ, in Whom the law is fulfilled.
1 The Basilica Chymica was translated into French by J. Marcel de Boulene and published at Lyons in 1624. It was reprinted at Paris in 1633. The third part is the Book of Signatures. The Latin edition appeared at Frankfort in 1608.
2 Some of these names are exceedingly obscure, and no importance attaches to their literary remains. Philip Müller wrote Miracula et Mysteria Medico-Chymica, 1614. It was printed eight times at various places. Of John Torneburg I have no record. Ortelis was commentator on Sendivogius; Michael Paterius or Potier was the author of ten alchemical tracts, but I have never heard that they were in estimation among lovers of the art. The Baron de Beausoleil was still more voluminous and is better known. The works of David de Planis Campe were collected into a folio in 1646; he is regarded as an alchemical dreamer. Duchesne was Sieur de la Violette, and his writings are in six volumes. Benjamin Mustapha, or rather Mussaphia, wrote on potable gold. The other names are known to science as, Lévi would express it, and are famous therein.
2 The sum of this intimation is a little obscure. See my Real History of the Rosicrucians, pp. 388-390, for various versions of the proclamation.
3 I have been unable to find the authority for this discourse, as a whole, but some fragments of it are cited by Gabriel Naudé.