3) The Transformation of Gothic Libertinism: From Romanticism, Victorianism and Post-Millennial Fiction- Chapter Two: Carmilla

The vampire is prone to be fascinated with an engrossing vehemence, resembling the passion of love […] it will never desist until it has satiated its passion and drained the very life of its coveted victim.[1]

The Victorian era saw a drastic shift in the representation of the libertine within Gothic literature. As Gothic horror transformed from the violent terrors of rape and murder at the hands of Satan and his demonic minions, the Victorian era instead focussed increasingly more upon the monstrosity and complexities of the human mind. Novels such as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) and Wilkie Collins’s The Woman in White (1859) emphasised the human culpability for evil, and libertines no longer had the denizens of hell plaguing their hearts as an excuse for influencing them to commit heinous sins. This transition was partly brought about by the scientific advancements of the era, especially in the introduction of human psychology and physiology, forming contemporary anxieties regarding human accountability for evil and how the mind works. Individuals who deviated slightly from the established and rigid sexual norms were instantly branded as sexual degenerates or ‘hellish’ libertines.[2] Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla (1871) was a Victorian text accused of portraying a distasteful appreciation of ‘exotic libertinism’ with its homosexual seductress Carmilla wooing the delicate virginal Laura. [3] However, the libertine in Le Fanu’s tale, whilst somewhat brazen and bold, shows significant signs of sexual repression and subjugation.  Compared to the shameless acts of degeneracy that Romantic libertines such as Dacre and Lewis’s characters portrayed, Carmilla is remarkably censored and inoffensive. Whilst Carmilla’s libertine desires and ‘lunacy’ are only discussed and never overtly portrayed, Le Fanu’s novel still manages to reflect similar messages to Dacre and De Sade by focussing upon the effects of societally mandated repression of the libertine.[4] For Le Fanu, libertinism is still a key method by which he can express his own troubled sexuality and comment on the rigid rules of Victorian society, however, his writing must remain relatively restricted for fear of persecution and judgement.

Le Fanu’s decision to make Carmilla a vampire is one key feature of the mysterious young woman that renders her instantly libertine. Judith Halberstam notes that vampires commonly serve as psychological ‘symbol[s] for the transformation of identity […] through the mechanism of failed repression’ and in Carmilla this titular character represents Laura’s own repressed desires to become libertine in an era even more rigidly censored than the Romantic era.[5] The Victorian era went through a period aptly named the Decadent movement, as influenced by Enlightenment philosopher Montesquieu, emphasising the glamorous role of the degenerate who symbolised excess and gluttony, ’inducing the human organism to sinful behaviours’.[6] Carmilla is a literal member of the un-dead, diseased, immoral and the ultimate degenerate. She is the literal manifestation of Laura’s forbidden desires to revel in decadent excess, particularly of the sexual variety. This is repeatedly reflected in Carmilla’s overly suggestive, hyperbolic language towards Laura, as she asks her to be ‘mine, you shall be mine, you and I are one forever.’[7] As a member of the undead Carmilla need not conform to the rigid rules society prescribes to its citizens, she can be sexually promiscuous and anti-religious, notably as is characteristic of the libertine. Carmilla, however, also embodies an additional level of libertinism, much akin to Dacre’s Victoria, as she is the first female vampire who can finally ‘def[y] established patriarchal systems’.[8] Prior vampire novels, such as John Polidori’s The Vampyre (1819) and James Malcolm Rymer’s Varney the Vampire (1847) feature exclusively male vampires whose bold sexual appetites only further reinforce the double-standard that only men feel sexual desires. Most libertine novels, such as De Sade’s Juliette; 120 Days of Sodom, often involve characters whose lives become much happier upon embracing the libertine ideology, and Carmilla depicts this also. Carmilla’s brief allusions to her human (and, therefore, non-libertine) life are merely described as unhappy and wrought with ‘illness […] pain and weakness’. This is, however, ‘forgot[ten]’ when she converts into the undead (and therefore libertine) vampire, describing her life now as liberating and freeing.[9] Le Fanu certainly seems to support the idea that the libertine enjoys greater freedom, as Laura serves under the reign of her domineering father, ‘lonely […and] melancholy’ whilst the multiple men of the novel are powerless to stop Carmilla’s reign of terror, at least until the novel’s final few pages.[10] Le Fanu’s message much reflects Dacre’s own; that libertines may succumb to society’s harsh judgement in the end, however, they will have lived happier and freer than any of those who seek to destroy them. These messages became very frequently utilised within the Victorian Gothic tradition, Bram Stoker’s infamous novel Dracula similarly utilising the vampire as a symbol for humanity’s innate desires to become libertine and be freed from their shackles. This is clear most notably in the character of Lucy Westenra, who questions why women ‘can’t marry as many men as want her’, before transforming into a vampire who can finally be free to satiate her own desires.[11] The act of sustaining one’s life by feeding upon another, as is characteristic of the vampire, overtly echoes the libertine notion of selfishness in order to prosper in a cruel world of ‘sexual immorality’, as is continually discussed in many of De Sade’s works.[12] The symbolism of blood equating to semen even further increases the erotic, libertine messages the vampire conveys, as Carmilla’s feeding on Laura equates to a metaphorical re-enacting of the sexual desires they so lust after, Carmilla’s ‘long, thin and sharp teeth’ phallic and penetrative.[13] This is very clear when Laura describes the first time she is fed upon by Carmilla in the dead of night;

The two broad eyes approached my face, and suddenly I felt a stinging pain as if two large needles darted, an inch or two apart, deep into my breast. I waked with a scream.[14]

Similarly to Dacre’s Victoria, dreams for Laura symbolise her own gradual transformation into the libertine as ‘strange sensations visited [her] in her sleep’.[15]Laura’s desires for libertinism are emphasised primarily while she is in an unconscious ‘reverie’, as her awakened body cannot consciously process those desires which she is too afraid to accept, supporting Sigmund Freud’s theory of the unconscious representing one’s true desires.[16] The ‘large needles’ that Laura describes carry phallic connotations, whilst the allusion to her ‘breast’ makes the description eerily sexualised.[17] If Carmilla serves as a symbol of Laura’s unconscious desire for libertinism, then the young, devout Laura clearly has been harbouring forbidden feelings of rebellion through most of her life, as she recognises Carmilla as ‘the very face which had visited me in my childhood at night.’[18]. Throughout much of the novel Laura utilises the psychoanalytical coping technique of projection. By projecting her forbidden desires onto Carmilla, she can believe that she herself is pure and devout. This façade, however, cannot last long when Carmilla so explicitly trails ‘soft kisses’ and ‘caress[es]’ onto Laura and tries so relentlessly to convert her into a vampiric libertine.[19] As the novella progresses, Laura indeed starts to realise how she feels, but has been so thoroughly conditioned by the rigid rules of Victorian society that she feels a mix of both desire to join with Carmilla, as well as feeling intense revulsion at the idea. Robert Tracy notes that ‘morbid dread always signifies sexual wishes’ and Laura’s internal monologues describing a strange attraction, as well as disgust, for Carmilla support the idea that Laura is confused by her desires for the unacceptable libertine and the philosophy she embodies;[20]

In these mysterious moods I did not like her. I experienced a strange, tumultuous excitement that was pleasurable, ever and anon, mingled with a vague sense of fear and disgust. I had no distinct thoughts about her while such scenes lasted, but I was conscious of a love growing into adoration, and also of abhorrence. This I know is paradox, but I can make no other attempt to explain the feeling.[21]

If Laura were to become truly libertine then the hyperbolic ‘abhorrence’ she feels would vanish and she would finally be able to embrace her various desires. Laura’s innate repression of any unacceptable feelings is clear as she refuses to admit anything but a slight ‘thought’ of attraction for Carmilla.[22] To any libertine, Laura would appear extremely oppressed and unhappy, as is demonstrated by the confused and disorientated language she uses when depicting the sensations she feels when around Carmilla’s ‘unrestrained sexuality’. Carmilla is the ‘externalisation of [Laura’s] own sexuality’, her other half who shows Laura what she truly desires to be, should she also embrace the libertine philosophy.[23]

Whilst Carmilla represents Laura’s libertine double, there is a more specific, degenerative desire that Carmilla also represents; that of the homoerotic. This is demonstrated via what Robert Tracy describes as the very ‘overt lesbian theme[s] pervading’ the story.[24] These stem from Samuel Taylor Coleridge famous poem, Christabel (1797-1800), which tells the story of a young woman falling victim to a ‘beautiful’ vampiress who puts a ‘rapture in [Christabel’s] breast’, suggestive of a deep homoerotic bond between the two girls.[25] Laura’s relationship with Carmilla is ‘increasingly [more] sinister’ than that of Christabel’s and Geraldine’s, but Le Fanu’s debt to this suggestive Romantic poem is very clear.[26] Laura’s libertine desires breed from her seclusion and confinement as a child as well as her desires for same-sex relationships, most notably with the ‘abject’ Carmilla herself, who ‘does not respect the dictates of the law which set down the proper rules of sexual conduct’.[27] The dread Laura exhibits, alongside intense attraction, for Carmilla reflect this boldly and unapologetically, as the descriptions the two girls give of one another are highly eroticised and seductive, much akin to Victoria’s descriptions of Zofloya in Zofloya; or, the Moor.

‘I wonder whether you feel as strangely drawn to me as I do to you […]’ She sighed, and her fine dark eyes gazed passionately on me. Now the truth is, I felt rather unaccountably towards the beautiful stranger. I did feel, as she said, drawn towards her. […] The sense of attraction immediately prevailed. She interested and won me; she was so beautiful and so indescribably engaging. […] she as certainly the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.’[28]

As a homosexual libertine Carmilla is unafraid to display how ’passionately’ she feels for Laura, and makes it her ambition to display her desires as overtly as she can, without terrifying Laura with such forbidden suggestions. Carmilla’s exclamative declarations of loving no one ‘unless it should be […] you!’ are difficult to read as anything other than a homosexual longing for the other girl, a topic which, to Victorian readers, would render Carmilla instantly a degenerative libertine.[29] Laura’s own language also suggests her own longing for the vampiress. Laura’s extensive listing, depicting Carmilla as ‘beautiful and so indescribably engaging’ can be immediately compared to Victoria’s eroticised descriptions of Zofloya.[30] Victoria also eroticises the Moor as ‘beautiful’ and ‘brilliant’, both of these supernatural libertines seen as the ultimate desirable figures.[31] Both characters evoke ‘admiration’ and desire within the two convertible libertines, Laura and Victoria.[32] Piya Pal-Lapiski argues, unfortunately dismissing Zofloya; or, the Moor, that before the introduction of the Victorian vampire, libertinism was ‘solely [a] masculine’ genre and philosophy and this was indeed often the case with pornography solely marketed at male readers.[33] Carmilla, perhaps, more effectively than Zofloya; or, the Moor, manages to shift this into a female-exclusive realm, escaping from what Nina Auerbach notes is the usual lesbian ‘male pornographic fantasy’.[34] By creating a libertine partnership that is solely all-female, the male libertine is wholly excluded, reclaiming the transgressive Gothic libertine and making it even more revolutionary, despite the less explicit sexual violence when compared to Dacre or De Sade’s works. Sex was innately linked with evil in the Victorian period, adding an increased emphasis on the Gothic libertine to enact his desires metaphorically, rather than overtly raping and violating characters such as Victoria and Ambrosio do. The scientific advancements of the era emphasised sex as solely for the purpose of reproduction, and homosexuality between men was outlawed in 1885, individuals being punished severely if caught. These strict sexual regulations influenced Le Fanu to compose Carmilla due to his own ‘sexually conflicted’ identity.[35] Whilst his sexual orientation was never openly discussed, Le Fanu admitted that he often left his wife feeling unloved and felt unable to ‘bond with her’ sexually, possibly due to his own homosexual proclivities.[36] In relation to women, homosexuality was never discussed, even less banned. Women in the Victorian era were assumed largely asexual, something Dacre and Le Fanu abruptly prove to not be the case, with Carmilla’s ‘warm lips [that] kissed [Laura…] lovingly’ suggesting more than mere platonic relations.[37]

Whilst Carmilla remains subtle and less libertine in overt content when compared to works of the Romantic period, some of Carmilla’s desires being dismissed as merely ‘sweet and tender’ affections for a friend, the text still retains a strong masturbatory tone. [38] This theme never encroaches upon the realm of the pornographic, unlike its Romantic libertine predecessors, however, the sexual suggestions are still remarkably bold. Laura notes repeatedly throughout the novel that her own presence seems to illicit an orgasmic response within the vampiric libertine;

[Carmilla began] breathing so fast that her dress rose and fell with the tumultuous respiration. It was like the ardour of a lover; it embarrassed me.[39]

When reading the two girls as a Gothic double, Laura can be said to pose as the Ego, a rational, normative character who conforms to societies dictations. Her alternate half is Carmilla, who poses as the Id; instinctive and animalistic, she makes no attempt to subdue the ‘tumultuous’ feelings Laura elicits within her groin, as she rubs her legs together erotically at the mere sight of her friend.[40] The descriptions of Carmilla are notably similar to those of Christabel in Coleridge’s eponymous poem, as her dreams of sexual deviancy make her ‘moan and leap’.[41] To the Laura who still remains largely ignorant of her own desires, she presumes worrisomely that Carmilla’s reactions to herself are so sexually depraved that Carmilla must be a ‘boyish lover […] who has sought to prosecute his suit in masquerade’.[42] Le Fanu also makes the erotic as bold as possible, without being overtly sexual, with his use of hyperbole when describing the two young girls. John Phillips notes that Sadean libertine texts are ‘always superlative’ when describing their naïve, sexual victims.[43] Justine, alongside all other women, are always the most beautiful, most sexually arousing women who the libertines have ever laid eyes on, and Le Fanu’s language reflects how Laura and Carmilla feel this way concerning one another;

‘Looking up, while I was still upon my knees, I saw you- most assuredly you- as I see you now; a beautiful young lady, with golden hair and large blue eyes, and lips- your lips- you, as you are here. Your looks won me.’[44]

Laura and Carmilla embody the perfect pornographic sexual desire for each other, as demonstrated by Laura’s resemblance to the Sadean victim, with her ‘golden hair and large blue eyes’, alongside the elongated description of her lips.[45] Laura especially describes Carmilla in an idealised way multiple times with ‘fondness’, as her forbidden lesbian desires for Carmilla continue to grow despite her determinations towards the opposite.[46] Laura declared herself to be delighted by Carmilla ‘in many respects’, but what these respects are exactly Le Fanu is hesitant to say.[47] As Laura only ever seems to focus on the outward beauty of Carmilla, readers can only assume Laura is delighted by the sexual attractiveness of this vampiric libertine, which in itself also renders Laura libertine. The recent advancements in science in the nineteenth century also led to the study of Victorian physiognomy, in which doctors stated that if someone is attractive with pleasing features then they must be pure of heart. Le Fanu, as well as Dacre a century beforehand, openly mocks this, making Carmilla’s beauty a ‘disguise for unspeakable crimes’, much akin to other Gothic texts such as Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890).[48] This only makes Carmilla more off-limits, thereby making her increasingly more desirable to Laura, who wants to rebel. Additionally, Carmilla is polyamorous, as she sleeps with and converts multiple women into both vampires and libertines. Again, evidence of libertine novels growing more subtle and less transgressive is evident, as, unlike Victoria, Carmilla is never depicted as explicitly engaging in sexual relations with any of these women, it is merely suggested. However, Le Fanu strongly suggests this to be the case as the General describes having ‘lost [his] darling daughter’ to the mysterious ‘fiend’ Millarca’s charms.[49] Carmilla, like many Victorian vampires, can change the shape of both herself and others. Her transforming of other girls into vampires is symbolic of her converting them into libertines. This fearful depiction is used by Le Fanu to reflect that everyone has libertine desires inside them, they merely need awakening, much like how Zofloya awakens them for Victoria.

Even when Carmilla is destroyed, penetrated by a phallic stake in a patriarchal, assertive declaration of conformity, Laura still fancies she ‘heard the light step of Carmilla at the drawing-room door.’[50] Whilst the libertine in Zofloya; or, the Moor, is killed and completely eradicated from the narrative, it is not so simple here. Laura’s libertine desires that were awakened by Carmilla will never be gone. Carmilla’s chilling footsteps are an echo of the desires that Laura still has, but now must even more rigidly contain, if she wishes to avoid the same fate as her lover.

One of the primary reasons why Laura is also so fearful of embracing her libertine desires is due to the fear of religious persecution in a society which still remained devoutly Christian. Religion began to be viewed by more people than just the seasoned libertine as extremely limiting and out-dated when compared to the Industrial Revolution’s ground-breaking new advancements. Contemporary scientists also had a better understanding of how we are born and what happens to us when we die, knowledge which seemed implicitly Godless and devoid of any religious interference. These topics were often discussed by writers such as H.G. Wells and Arthur Machen, who also depicted worlds with the Darwinian, and notably libertine ideologies, of the survival of the fittest. Laura’s homosexual desires and libertines beliefs, had she fully accepted them, would have been blasphemous and instantly labelled her a sinner, something Laura dares not let happen. Laura’s childhood conditioning to conform to religious principles is especially clear when she considers Carmilla possibly being ‘subject to brief visitations of insanity’, for not openly portraying herself as religious.[51] The libertine hatred of religion is instead displayed within the fearless Carmilla, who William Veeder notes ‘shrinks from holy things [and is…] highly adverse’ to any discussions of God.[52] Carmilla’s mild indifference towards religion is drastically different to De Sade’s blazing, rage-fuelled debates regarding the futility of all religion, but the same message regarding religious hypocrisy and ridiculousness is still the same. Le Fanu’s Carmilla still denounces all religion, only ever ‘exhibit[ing] anything like temper’ when forced to acknowledge the doctrines of Christianity.[53] This further reflects the repression beginning to take hold in the Victorian era, which effectively tries to silence authors from expressing libertine desires or notions, something which had not yet taken firm root in the Romantic period and so enabled Lewis and Dacre to boldly renounce God in their novels. Hypocrisy of religion certainly started to take more shape in the Victorian period, however, authors and their depictions of atheist characters were still somewhat subtle and took less brazen actions against religion, when compared with those of Dacre, Lewis or De Sade.

Vampires are anti-religious in nature, much akin to how they are overtly sexual and libertine in nature. Their role as the resurrected dead goes directly against God’s scriptures regarding heaven and hell. The vampire is an exceptional identity, one who has sinned but escapes the persecution and endless torment of Hell, instead able to prosper and live a gluttonous life on earth. Vampires can drown in pleasure without any consequence, Peter Day suggesting they are ‘fiercely alive’, much more so than any human who cannot act freely.[54] Carmilla openly blasphemes, stating that when everyone dies they ‘are all happier when they do.’[55] Dacre and Le Fanu’s anti-religious characters, Carmilla and Zofloya, are notably described very similarly; to the converted libertine heroine they are attractive and alluring, whereas to the conforming outsider, they are both ‘black creature[s]’, dark and inherently evil.[56] Carmilla is described as a ‘malignity of hell’ merely because she does not conform to the prescribed ideal of womanhood, and therefore she must be labelled libertine for being different.[57] Carmilla’s aversion to prayer scares Laura in the beginning of the novella, Laura believing that Carmilla must surely pray and believe in God in some way, for to be atheist and libertine is the ultimate sin;

I often wondered whether our pretty guest ever said her prayers. I certainly had never seen her upon her knees. In the morning she never came down until long after our family prayers were over, and at night she never left the drawing-room to attend our brief evening prayers in the hall. […] Religion was a subject on which I had never heard her speak a word.[58]

Multiple paragraphs of the novella are dedicated solely to the fact that Carmilla does not pray, a detail establishing how incredibly over-emphasised religion is in Victorian society. Le Fanu’s comments regarding how Laura prays ‘in the morning’, as well as attending ‘evening prayers in the hall’ is also utilised by Le Fanu to suggest such excessive amount of prayers prove futile, when the libertine embodiment of evil is living right in their own home.[59] It is notable that Carmilla, despite her refusal to pray and believe in any deity, still prospers, at least until the very end of the novel. Being a libertine in a religious world, to Le Fanu, means prospering as there is not necessarily any god to punish you for your sins, a bold assertation for Le Fanu to make in this era of religious anxiety. Le Fanu’s messages very strongly echo those of De Sade, who frequently makes every attempt to mock religion as futile, especially in his novel Justine; or, the Misfortunes of Virtue, where he states ‘religion is superstitious nonsense, arising from ignorance and primitive thinking […] whether you conduct yourself well or ill, it amounts to the same’.[60] Carmilla openly mocks those who are religious, much akin to De Sade’s libertines, stating that they are merely a flock of sheep following the herd. Le Fanu certainly supports this idea, his use of such similar names for every male character such as Spielsdorf and Doctor Spielsberg in the novella seemingly suggesting that they are unimportant and symbolise the ‘loss of conscious individuality’. In bold contrast, Carmilla connotes ‘dangerous unpredictab[ility]’, a trait which renders her intriguing and therefore granting her the novel’s central focus.[61]

Faith appears to be the only topic what makes Laura see Carmilla as anything but beautiful, as when the topic arises, Carmilla abruptly embodies a Sadean libertine, full of anger, at the prospect of anything religious. Carmilla’s identity is in itself a mockery of religion, as Dorothy Ivey notes becoming vampire to be a ‘divine punishment for sins’, whilst Carmilla’s life is completely devoid of punishment, until the final few pages of the novella.[62] At the mere mention by a psychic of giving Laura a charm, to protect her from Carmilla, the eponymous protagonist ‘looked very angry’ and enters upon a tumultuous, rage-fuelled frenzy;[63]

‘How dares that mountebank insult us so? […] My father would have had the wretch tied up to the pump and flogged with a cart-whip, and burnt to the bones with the castle brand!’[64]

Whilst these negative and cruel portrayals of Carmilla, embittered by rage, may seem from one perspective to suggest that libertines are unpleasant and evil, Le Fanu ensures to emphasise that the religious characters of the novel are no better. Whilst Laura’s father and the General claim to be servants of God who are free of sin, when they discover Carmilla’s true identity they lose all moral standing and become more violent and bloodthirsty than the vampire herself, ignoring the religious doctrine ‘you shall not murder’.[65] The men’s hands shake ‘ferociously’ at the mere thought of murdering the young girl, and the final scene of Carmilla’s assumed death is gory and unforgiving.[66] Carmilla’s bloody murder is much more graphic and unpleasant than how any of Carmilla’s misdeeds are described, suggesting an inherent ‘male nervousness about voracious [and athiest] women’, whilst suggesting religious people are the true hypocrites and monsters;[67]

The body, therefore, in accordance with the ancient practice, was raised, and a sharp stake driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek […] the head was struck off, and a torrent of blood flowed from the severed neck. The body and head [… were] reduced to ashes, which were thrown upon the river and borne away.[68]

Le Fanu’s message is inherently libertine here with its cynical view of religion and human hypocrisy, echoing De Sade’s own philosophies; religion is false and those who claim to be saints are just as sinful as those who openly admit to their sins. Whilst Carmilla is a literal monster she does not kill her victims, she merely converts her ‘dearest’ lovers in order to render them free of societal constraints.[69] Carmilla suggests that religion is cruel and oppressive in how it ‘forces people to comply with [its rules…] through fear and intimidation’.[70] In the Victorian Gothic, and to Le Fanu, becoming libertine risks you becoming ostracised from society, but it is a price worth paying to be free from society’s oppression.

Part Two | Part Four

[1] Sheridan, Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), p. 317.

[2] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 293.

[3] Piya, Pal-Lapinski, ‘Dangerous Pleasures: Halian Vampire-Courtesans and Male Odalosques in British Fiction, 1800-1850’, in The Exotic Woman In Nineteenth-Century British Fiction and Culture: A Reconsideration, (London: UPNE, 2005), p. 28.

[4] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 251.

[5] Judith, Halberstam, Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters (Duke: Duke University Press, 2012), p. 9.

[6] Kelly, Hurley, The Gothic Body: Sexuality, Materialism and Degeneration at the Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 71.

[7] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 264.

[8] Elizabeth, Signorotti, ‘Reposessing the Body: Transgressive Desire in Carmilla and Dracula’, Criticism, 38:4: (1996), 610.

[9] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 270.

[10] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 245.

[11] Bram, Stoker, Dracula (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), p. 58.

[12] Tamar, Heller, ‘The Vampire in the House: Hysteria, Female Sexuality and Female Knowledge in Le Fanu’s Carmilla’ in The New Nineteenth-Century: Feminist Readings of Underread Victorian Fiction (Oxford: Taylor and Francis, 1996), p. 81.

[13] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 310.

[14] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 278.

[15] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 282.

[16] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 319.

[17] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 278.

[18] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 251.

[19] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 281.

[20] Robert, Tracy, ‘Introduction’, In a Glass Darkly (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), p. xxiv.

[21] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 264.

[22] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 264.

[23] Signorotti, ‘Repossessing the Body’, p. 614.

[24] Robert, Tracy, ‘Introduction’ in In a Glass Darkly, p. xix.

[25] Samuel, Taylor Coleridge, ‘Christabel’ in Three Vampire Tales, ed. by Anne, Williams (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2003), pp. 27, 29.

[26] Signorotti, ‘Repossessing the Body’, p. 611.

[27] Barbara, Creed, The Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis (London: Routledge, 2012), p. 61.

[28] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 260-1.

[29] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, pp. 260, 273.

[30] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 259.

[31] Charlotte, Dacre, Zofloya; or, the Moor (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 234, 235.

[32] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 210.

[33] Piya, Pal-Lapinski, ‘Dangerous Pleasures’ in The Exotic Woman in Nineteenth-Century British Fiction and Culture, p. 27.

[34] Nina, Auerbach, Our Vampires, Ourselves (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012), p. 53.

[35] Amy, Leal, ‘Unnameable Desires in Le Fanu’s Carmilla’, Names: A Journal of Onomastics, 55:1: (2007), 38.

[36] Tracy, ‘Introduction’ in In a Glass Darkly, p. xxvi.

[37] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 281.

[38] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darky, p. 283.

[39] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 264.

[40] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 273.

[41] Samuel, Taylor Coleridge, ‘Christabel’ in Three Vampire Tales, ed. by Anne, Williams (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2003), p. 26.

[42] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 265.

[43] John, Phillips, ‘Sade and Transcendence’ in Sade: The Libertine Novels (London: Pluto Press, 2001), p. 159.

[44] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 260.

[45] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 260.

[46] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 261.

[47] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 261.

[48] Halberstam, Skin Shows, p. 65.

[49] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 250.

[50] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 319.

[51] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 265.

[52] William, Veeder, ‘Carmilla: The Arts of Repression’, Texas Studies in Literature and Language, 22:2: (1980), 221.

[53] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 267.

[54] Peter, Day, Vampire: Myths and Metaphors of Enduring Religion (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2006), p. 31.

[55] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 266.

[56] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 311.

[57] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 293.

[58] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 233.

[59] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 233.

[60] Marquis, De Sade, Justine; or, the Misfortunes of Virtue (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), pp 156, 286.

[61] Patrick, R. Casey, ‘Vampire God: The Allure of the Undead in Western Culture’, Journal of the Fantastic in the Arts, 23:2: (2012), 295-296.

[62] Dorothy, Ivey, ‘The Vampire Myth and Christianity’, Master of Liberal Studies Thesis, 16:1: (2010), 22.

[63] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 268.

[64] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 269.

[65] ‘Exodus 20:3:’ in Holy Bible (Colorado: Biblico, 2011), p. 745.

[66] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 314.

[67] Heller, ‘The Vampire in the House’ in The New Nineteenth-Century, p. 78.

[68] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 315-6

[69] Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, p. 263.

[70] Ivey, ‘The Vampire Myth and Christianity’, p. 63.

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