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In the foreword of El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha (1605, 1615), the narrator recommends that his readers lower their expectations because he conceived his work in prison, a space full of noise and interruptions: “se engendró en una cárcel, donde toda incomodidad tiene su asiento y donde todo triste ruido hace su habitación.”1 Francisco Rodríguez Marín suggests that this prison is the Real Prison of Seville, where Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547–1616) stayed in 1597.2 Two centuries later, in another infamous prison in Paris, one cell was particularly ‘infected’ with Don Quijote’s deranged influence: the cell belonging to Donatien Alphonse, marquis de Sade (1740–1814).3 Like Cervantes, Sade undertook from his dungeon the colossal task of rewriting and exhausting a literary genre: the pornographic.

120 Days of Sodom (written in 1785, published in 1904) tells the story of four libertines who sequester themselves for four months in the castle of Silling along with 42 people, 30 of whom are tortured and ultimately assassinated.4 Four bawds recount their adventures as prostitutes, inspiring the libertines to perform a total of 600 acts of sex and torture. While Sade remained imprisoned in the Bastille (where the manuscript for 120 was found), he outlined an anonymous, but distinctly Spanish, novel that [End Page 21] appears to anticipate 120.5 For this “philosophical novel,” he listed Hispanic names like the duke of Corte Real, don Gaspard, or don Carlos, for its main characters. He also asked close friends for the names of the brothels, lodgings, and main streets of Madrid, Lisbon, and Toledo: “je veux … le nom de deux ou trois rues de beau monde et autant dans le quartier des courtisanes avec celui des principales promenades de … Lisbonne, Toledo, et Madrid.”6 While Sade’s interest in the Spanish Black Legend and the Inquisition clearly resonate in 120, Sade’s fascination with Cervantes’s work, especially with Don Quijote and the Novelas ejemplares (1613), truly unlocks a vantage point to the poetic understanding of 120, his opera prima.7 Sade considered Cervantes the root of “all evils,” that is, of all of his writing; in Idées sur les romans (1799), Sade pays homage to Cervantes, Don Quijote, and the Novelas, and he even confesses that he would have loved being their author.8 Idées precedes twelve novels collectively entitled Crimes de l’amour, a Sadean take on Cervantes’ Novelas.9 In 1791, he also presented a play called Oxtiern ou les malheurs du libertinage—a rewriting of Cervantes’s La fuerza de la sangre.10 In his diary, Sade placed La fuerza de la sangre in a list of novellas that gravitated around a perversion or, as he called them, a “passion,” placing it under the title “rape.” Cervantes thus influenced Sade’s work and, more importantly, 120.

120 can be considered quixotic insofar as Sade aims to write the most important piece of obscene literature in mankind’s history by conjuring (that is, both invoking and destroying) all previous masterpieces. In Don Quijote, the narrator says that he would like his novel to be “el más hermoso, el más gallardo y más discreto [texto] que pudiera imaginarse.”11 Similarly, Sade presents the reader with “le plus impur [texte] qui ait jamais été fait depuis que le monde existe.”12 Both writers want to write not only the best novel in their particular genre but also the best novel ever written. In order to achieve their goal, they had to include all previous masterpieces … if only to destroy them. By connecting with these previous works, Don Quijote and 120 found a niche for their own narratives. Don Quijote pays homage to its predecessors by naming chivalric works such as Amadís de Gaula, Tirant Le Blanc, or Palmerín de Inglaterra. Sade, however, never mentions the key works that informed 120Fanny Hill (1748), Thérèse Philosophe (1748), or Dom Bougre (1741)—but his novel does include all of the subgenres of enlightened pornography: the autobiography of the whore, the catalogue of postures, and the sexually-charged anticlerical novel. Sade may not mention any other novel (Don Quijote included) in order to highlight the singularity of 120, yet his text shows both the coordinates of the enlightened pornographic genre and more importantly, the legacy of Cervantes and his work. [End Page 22]

Cervantes’ and Quijote’s further connection to 120 is clear in Sade’s strong belief in the performativity of the language, 120’s quixotism, and its metafictional nature. Cervantes and Sade share a strong belief that saying and naming translates to doing or being. By naming his world, Quijote creates a reality for himself and for some people who surround him (namely Sancho).13 Similarly, the four libertines believe in the effects of narrative on the human body.14 Thus the bawds tell stories to incite their desires and, as the libertines listen, they perform or direct sexual scenes. Annie Le Brun argues that “Sade dramatizes both the testing of ideas by the body and the testing of the body by ideas.”15 Roland Barthes and Emmanuel Sauvage note that in 120’s mise-en-abîme, the bawds’ stories that incite the libertines to act may also incite readers to act too since they may be aroused by these sexual representations.16

Secondly, the Cervantine legacy in Sade’s work reveals itself in both authors’ clash with their own projects, in other words, in their quixotism. Although their novels are ambitious, they face tensions and pitfalls. Both writers fight with a text that resists their “plan,” and, in the case of Sade, with a body that resists too.17 The struggle between the ideal and the real makes Don Quijote the greatest metaphor for the boundaries of the human imagination and it helps us understand the inner workings of 120. 120 aimed to be an “erotic encyclopedia” containing all possible desires and pleasures but this project is challenged by a resisting body (a defined number of sexual fantasies, postures, or tortures) and a resisting text that suffers from delays and chaos.18 In the same way, Don Quijote’s narrator sets high expectations for both his hero and the novel, but he becomes more cautious and less confident in the second part as he faces internal and external criticisms as well as the threat of an apocryphal Quijote.

Metafiction is the most salient feature of Don Quijote and the touchstone by which 120 appropriated Don Quijote’s poetics. 120 follows Don Quijote closely insofar as it highlights the creation of the novel. Both texts have a metanarrative that explains the structure to the reader, that makes the reader an active participant, and that constantly verifies the success or failure of their project. This unveiling of the literary mechanism is a sign of knowledge and mastery. Cervantes and Sade know the art of narrating so well that they can play with it and show the reader the machinery behind the scenes.

As Robert Spires and Nicholas Spadaccini note, Cervantes’ Don Quijote became a model for the metafictional novel in early modern European literature.19 Don Quijote’s narrator clearly states that this novel is made of novels with a mission to attack them all: “una invectiva contra los libros de caballería.”20 Its strategy is to imitate the best in the best way: “la imitación … cuanto fuere más perfecta, tanto mejor será lo que se escribiere.”21 This [End Page 23] polyphony of texts is mimicked by the polyphony of writers who are creating the story: there is a first author who leaves the story incomplete, a second author (Cide Hamete) who continues it, a Moorish translator who may have modified it, and a final author who may be Cervantes himself.22 In the second part, the novel includes the first part as an actual book in circulation. Now Quijote, Sancho, and their friends are aware of being characters in a book that is being read by thousands of readers, and many of the characters who cross Quijote’s path assume that they will be part of a future novel.

In 120, although characters are not aware of being in a book, they see themselves as fictional elements in the libertines’ theatre. The libertines and the bawds assume a narrative role when they turn ideas and stories into theatrical representations. Although both novels differ in location due to the fact that Don Quijote happens outdoors and 120 indoors, the duke’s castle in Don Quijote resembles (and maybe inspired) 120 insofar as in both locations episodes and adventures are staged for the protagonists to see or experience. As a consequence, Henry Sullivan has described the duke’s castle in Don Quijote as a “sadistic theatre of cruelty.”23

The metafictional polyphony in Don Quijote also appears in 120 but in a different manner. We encounter two metanarratives that complement the story and guide both the reader and the narrator’s “future-self.”24 The first metanarrative addresses the reader. Just as Cervantes talks to his “desocupado” or “amable lector” drawing him into writer’s confidence, Sade appeals to his “cher” or “ami lecteur” with an informal “tu” that creates a sense of intimacy that is particular to 120.25 Because 120 is a pornographic novel, the narrator confesses that his ultimate goal is to please his reader both poetically and physically; as a consequence, his tone is both cordial and vehement. Simultaneously, a second metanarrative addresses the narrator’s future self. Here a tyrannical narrator dictates specific ways to make descriptions and to unravel the plot in order to achieve a desired response: “l’accroissement d’un désir … qui doit … conduire à une certaine fureur lubrique.”26 This other narrator only gives orders with no room for negotiation: “Ne vous écartez en rien de ce plan: tout y est combiné … avec la plus grande exactitude.”27

Despite the narrator’s quest for precision, Sade faced multiple obstacles in the making of 120, notably the time and paper constraints imposed by writing in the Bastille. 120 can thus be considered incomplete: only the first part is developed, and the last three parts, made of sketches and notes, remain in skeletal form. Although the work may seem “incomplete,” Mladen Kozul observes that the lists of murdered people, dates, and scarce details are crucial components of Sade’s plan.28 These lists highlight the metafictional nature of Sade’s work. In other words, the auto-referential commentaries [End Page 24] that expose the bare bones of the narrative project become a direct outlet for fiction to talk about itself.

In 120, Sade conceived a sexual encyclopedia encompassing all desires and pleasures, a sort of erotic ars combinatoria.29 When Sade uses terms such as “plan,” “system,” “program,” or “combination,” we discern 120’s emphasis on computation.30 Sade was obsessed with numbers. As his diaries show, he counted everything: food, money, or his days in prison. Michel Delon stresses that 120 is the only novel whose title is explicitly written in numbers.31 This novel is mathematic and programmatic: 4 libertines go to a castle with 42 individuals: 4 wives, 4 bawds, 4 hags, 4 sodomites, 4 men, 8 girls, 8 boys, and 6 servants. 4 is the novel’s pattern. Only the number 6 deviates from the pattern because the servants are not seen as victims. The libertines will stay 4 months: November, December, January, and February. Every bawd will tell 150 stories in 30 days, around 5 per day, aiming to a total of 600 passions in 120 days. The protagonists are named after consecutive letters in alphabetical order: B for Blangis, C for Curval, D for Durcet, and E for l’evêque (the bishop).32 Emmanuel Sauvage notes the perfection embedded in the quadrangular structure: four temperaments, elements, seasons, and cardinal points.33 Joan De Jean argues that this symmetry leads the reader to experience “an aesthetic response,” which Lucienne FrappierMazur refers to as an “aesthetics of violence.”34 Symmetry, combination, and programming lead to a sense of perfection, thereby distracting the reader from the horrific and alienating violence perpetrated in the story.

120’s ars combinatoria can be expressed as follows: “Il fait chier une fille A et une autre B; puis il force B à manger l’étron de A, et A de manger l’étron de B.”35 Éric Bordas suggests that “combination” rules the Sadean world.36 The narrator establishes the variables: spaces (in the castle), times (months), characters (lower, upper class), and “passions” that once combined provide a “système,” as Sade calls it, of human desire, pleasure, and imagination.37 Cervantes in Don Quijote also changed variables, especially when narrating love stories: there is always a trio composed of two men who fight for a woman (Cardenio-Fernando-Luscinda or Lotario-Anselmo-Camila). In Don Quijote however, repetition does not tend to expand the imagination but in Sade, the ars combinatoria seeks to generate new desires and crimes or, at least, that is the narrator’s promise: “se varient à l’infini,” “mille et mille crimes peuvent naître de ce système.”38

The narrative perfection sought by Sade and Cervantes cannot be achieved without rigor and control, occurring in both novels in several sorts of regimes (the “Règlements” in the case of 120). In Don Quijote, the knight controls Sancho and himself in terms of food and language. Quijote barely eats, but Sancho struggles to comply with these rules.39 In regard to language, Quijote [End Page 25] and other characters attempt to regulate speech: from censoring “evil” books to controlling people’s ways of narrating. Quijote insists on silencing Sancho, especially in the second part when he feels embarrassed by Sancho’s use of proverbs (“Yo te vea mudo antes que me muera”).40 Regulating narration is paramount in Don Quijote, and thus the knight reprimands Sancho for being a bad narrator and applauds Pedro for being a good one: “Si desa manera cuentas tu cuento, Sancho … no acabarás en dos días” versus “el cuento es muy bueno, y vos, Pedro, le contáis con muy buena gana.”41 Don Quijote scolds most of the story-tellers, and his influence is so strong that even Sancho, in the second part, attempts to regulate speech when he tells a businessman: “venid al punto sin rodeos ni callejuelas.”42

In a similar, albeit more dramatic way, there are strict regimens for Silling’s dwellers. These restrictions are stated in the “Règlements” that the four libertines wrote, promulgated, and were expected to follow, along with their harem. These rules control dress, speech, and bodily acts.43 There is also a regime of language and a specific demand of detail when bawds engage in storytelling: “Duclos … ne vous a-t-on pas prévenue qu’il faut à vos récits les détails les plus grands et les plus étendus?”44 Yet both the narrator and the bawds exert a “rhetoric of patience,” or, as I consider it, a “rhetoric of continence,” in which the act of narrating consists of releasing information in small doses.45 Joan De Jean calls this phenomenon a discipline of “both the body of narrative and the body in narrative.”46 120’s narrator explains that if we obey the law of saying/not saying, knowing/not knowing, we will obtain the greatest aesthetic and sexual experience. By delaying details to both the libertines (and the reader), the narrator ensures the increase of their desire and their sexual furor. Narrative mortification here mimics the sexual mortification that the libertines experience.

Sexual continence is key to the success of the libertine’s sexual program and can be explained as a strategy to cope with their impotency, a condition that characterizes both the protagonists and the narrator.47 Of the four libertines, only two (Blangis and Curval) are sexually active and the other two (Durcet and the bishop) seem to have erectile dysfunction: “deux seulement étaient en état de pouvoir procéder à cet acte, l’un des deux autres, le traitant, n’éprouvant plus absolument aucune érection.”48 Three of them have a frail body: the bishop vanishes during orgasms, Durcet fails to achieve them, and Curval has difficulties ejaculating.49 Only Blangis delivers himself to full ejaculations.50 Continence thus allows them to stay active in the orgy. They have to restrain their bodies and impose upon themselves a regime of food, sleep, and sexual release in order to increase their impact on victims. Curval proposes to control pleasure in a way that he masters his semen instead of being overcome by it: “Jamais le foutre ne doit ni dicter, ni dirigerles [End Page 26] principes; c’est aux principes à régler la manière de le perdre.”51 In this sense, ideas should control the real, and philosophy must rule the body. Despite this apparent sovereignty over the senses, the excessive control or continence results in a situation of total anorgasmia incompatible with the orgy.52 The libertines experience a lack of sensuality and find it impossible either to obtain pleasure or achieve orgasm.

Quijote, on his side, although far from the orgiastic intention of the libertines, also imposes a regimen of sexual continence on himself. Paradoxically, he believes that all of the damsels he encounters fall in love with him. Yet when he has the opportunity to engage in a sexual relationship (with Altisidora, for example) he resists it, fearing his most repressed desires (“mis deseos que duermen”).53 Quijote and the four libertines control their body’s impulses and take great pride in their continence. Exercising restraint can be a mark of mastery but also a frustrating experience. Especially in 120, the tension between inciting and delaying pleasure may ultimately inhibit it. If the libertines ejaculate rarely and poorly, the narrative—which is also subjected to a rhetoric of continence—seems to discharge in a similar fashion: the last three months (and especially the climatic last one) are short and brisk telegrams or premature ejaculations.

The colossal task of writing the perfect novel is daunting. Cervantes and Quijote had high expectations for their works, and they created a number of strategies (like control and rigor) to achieve them, but they could not hide their own self-awareness of the challenges that they faced as they wrote. As the narrators show the tension between order and chaos that guides their processes of writing, we see how metafiction conducts a self-study of the novel’s successes or failures. In Don Quijote, both the narrator and the characters verify the accuracy of the given information or the effectiveness of the narration, especially in the second part. If in the first part, self-criticism is mostly ironic and based on the formula of the captatio benevolentiae, or the classical rhetorical technique of winning the goodwill of listeners, in the second part, the narrator is highly critical of the first part, emphasizing its shortcomings.54 He complains about the narrative meandering, some gaps in information (for example, the name of the thief who stole Sancho’s donkey), or the unfortunate insertion of tales like “El curioso impertinente:” “una de las tachas que ponen a la tal historia.”55 The second part thus shows a more anxious and doubtful narrator who constantly keeps himself in check.56 All in all, Don Quijote is not a well-oiled machine. Sancho’s wife, for example, has at least four different names: Juana or Mari Gutiérrez in the first part, and Juana or Teresa Panza in the second. Additionally, the promise made in the first part that Quijote will go to Zaragoza is not accomplished in the second part—maybe due to Avellaneda’s fake Quijote [End Page 27] who actually visited the city. In terms of chronology, the narrator says that Quijote was supposed to go to Barcelona for Saint John’s festival on June 24, yet previous letters are dated in July and August.57 Just like Don Quijote, 120 harbors a number of inaccuracies and acknowledges its own pitfalls. Peter Cryle notes that “in spite of its thematic show of arithmetical rigor, the novel does not respond satisfactorily to a careful audit.”58 A worried narrator notes various “omissions” and mistakes and asks his future-self to correct them.59 Moreover, although the narrator promises to say it all, on several occasions, he fails to be omniscient and finds himself apologizing for it. Although Mladen Kozul considers chaos to be part of Sade’s program, the narrator is sensitive to criticism because he seeks a rigorous narration.60

Both Don Quijote and 120’s narrators fear repetition and monotony, but, as Michel Delon argues, repetition is predictable in works like 120.61 The search for difference necessarily ends up in succession and repetition. The promised plethora of scenes is ultimately reduced to a definite number, and this split between the ideal and the real threatens to collapse the program. Durcet confesses how hard it is to face reality when imagination knows no border: “j’avoue que mon imagination a toujours été sur cela au-delà de mes moyens.”62 Nature limits his and all human imagination. Just like don Quijote faces the painful blow of reality every time he fights windmills instead of giants, 120’s narrator sees both his power and the power of the novel’s ars combinatoria constantly restricted. The more the libertines or the narrator want to control the body or the text, the more they escape from their grasping hands.

Don Quijote and 120 Days of Sodom are works written in prison that exude an environment full of madness and genius, and they turn to death as if it were the only possible end to chaos. Death as a trope, however, differs significantly in the two works. Don Quijote could easily have been a one-book feat, but the publication of the Quijote (1614) by Avellaneda (ca. 1597–1616) prompted Cervantes to write the second part. By writing a second part, he reclaimed his book, reappropriating Quijote so that he—and only he—could kill him.63 Cervantes sacrifices don Quijote and by killing him, he kills madness. In 120, by contrast, Sade kills almost everyone except the four madmen and their 12 servants (4 bawds, 1 wife, 4 sodomites, and 3 cooks). If poetically these two books are linked, ethically they find themselves at opposite ends of the spectrum. Don Quijote is—in the Sadean universe—the Justine who embraces virtue and detests vice, and Sade is the murderous Juliette who prescribes her own anti-ethical approach to the world.

It becomes evident that by appropriating Cervantes and his work, Sade fictionalized a version of his favorite author, just as he did with La Mettrie according to Jean Deprun.64 Yet there is something to be said when Sade [End Page 28] catalogues Cervantes’s works under the rubric of rape, because then he casts Cervantes’s imagery in a new light. In other words, in Cervantes’s novels, rape and other sexual crimes abound. By considering “La fuerza de la sangre” as a core piece in the making of 120, Sade posits a veiled ethics of sexual crimes consented to and sugar-coated under the guise of chivalric misogyny. The full implications of Cervantes’ ethics of sexual violence have not yet been fully acknowledged in Cervantine criticism, and they are a topic worthy of further investigation.65

By illuminating the extent to which Cervantes influenced Sade’s 120, we unveil new dimensions of both of their works. Thus far we know that Cervantes’ books were Sade’s comfort books, ones to which he returned again and again as a way to cope with imprisonment, but, more importantly, they served as a source of inspiration for his own writing. Sade himself claimed that he only read books that informed his writing: “je ne lis que ce qui a rapport à mon ouvrage;” in a novel that has been considered the most obscene novel of all times, Cervantes’ Don Quijote certainly did just that.66

Elena Deanda-Camacho

Elena Deanda-Camacho is Associate Professor at Washington College, and she specializes in eighteenth-century pornographic literature in Spanish and Spanish American literature. She has published in academic journals in Mexico, United States, and Canada. In 2014, she edited the Vanderbilt e-Journal of Luso-Hispanic Studies, “Silence Revisited: Regulation, Censorship, and Freedom of Speech” (v.10). The essay for SECC derives from her NEMLA-sponsored research at the Vatican Library and France’s Bastille Archives in 2014.


1. Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha, vols. 1 and 2, ed. Luis Andrés Murillo (Madrid: Castalia, 1991), 50. Translation: “begotten in a prison, where every discomfort has its place and every mournful sound makes its home?” Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote, trans. Edith Grossman (New York: HarperCollins, 2003): 3.

2. Francisco Rodríguez Marín, La cárcel en que se engendró el Quijote (Madrid: Revista de Archivos, 1916), 65.

3. Anne Gédéon de La Fitte, marquis de Pelleport (1754–1801), penned Les Bohemiens (1790), a rewriting of Don Quijote, in the Bastille. Marquis de Pelleport, Les bohémiens, ed. Robert Darnton (Paris: Mercure, 2010).

4. Donatien Alfonse, marquis de Sade, Les 120 Journées de Sodome (Paris: Le Tripode, 2014). On the manuscript, see Gilbert Lely, “Introduction aux 120 Journées de Sodome” (Paris: 10/18, 1962), 57.

5. My sources are Sade’s manuscripts in the Library of Arsenal in Paris, France: Mss. 12456, 670–760. On Sade’s imprisonment, see Gilbert Lély, “La mort du marquis de Sade,” Botteghe Oscure 18 (1956): 57.

6. “I want … the name of two or three main streets and streets in the red district of Lisbon, Madrid, and Toledo.” My translation. Sade, Mss. 12456, 724. [End Page 29]

7. Miguel de Cervantes, Novelas ejemplares, 2 vols, ed. Harry Sieber (Madrid: Cátedra, 2006). On Sade’s books on Spain, see Haisoo Chung, “Lectures de Sade, prisonnier à Vincennes et à la Bastille (1779–1789),” in ed. Jean Marie Goulemot, Lecture, livres et lecteurs (Tours: Univ. François Rabelais, 2003), 57–85.

8. He considers Cervantes without rival and Don Quijote the best novel ever written. Donatien Alfonse, marquis de Sade, Idées sur les romans, ed. Jean-Marc Levent (Paris: Éditions mille et une nuits, 2003), 15–16.

9. Donatien Alfonse, marquis de Sade, Les crimes de l’amour (Paris: Massé, 1799).

10. Donatien Alfonse, marquis de Sade, Oxtiern ou les malheurs du libertinage (Versailles: Blaisot, 1791). BNF, Arsenal, Mss. 12456, 670–760.

11. Cervantes, Don Quijote I, 50. “the fairest, gayest, and cleverest that could be imagined.” Cervantes, Quixote 3.

12. Sade, Les 120, 84. “the most impure tale that has ever been told since our world began.” Marquis de Sade, The 120 Days of Sodom and Other Writings, trans. Austryn Waihouse and Richard Seaver (New York: Grove Press, 1987), 253.

13. Furthermore, Sancho’s becoming the fake governor of Barataria became the “reality” of the village. Cervantes, Don Quijote II, 433.

14. Blangis wants “what Duclos has just described,” and Curval congratulates Duclos for “the effect of your discourses.” Sade, The 120, 294, 415.

15. Annie Le Brun, “Sade or the first theatre of atheism,” Paragraph 23.1 (2000): 45.

16. Roland Barthes, Sade, Fourier, Loyola (Paris: Seuil, 1971), 152. Emmanuel Sauvage, “L’évidence du tableau dans Les Cent Vingt Journées du Sodome et les trois Justine du Sade,” Diss. Doctorate (Univ. de Montréal, 2002), 173.

17. Sade, Les 120, 35.

18. Joan de Jean, “Les 120 Journées de Sodome: Disciplining the Body of Narrative,” Romanic Review 74 (1983): 35.

19. Robert Spires, Beyond the Metafictional Mode (Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 1984). Nicholas Spadaccini, “Cervantes and the Question of Metafiction,” Vanderbilt e-Journal of Luso-Hispanic Studies 2 (2005).

20. Cervantes, Don Quijote I, 57. “an invective against books of chivalry.” Cervantes, Quixote, 8.

21. Cervantes, Don Quijote I, 57. “It only has to make use of mimesis in the writing, and the more precise that is, the better the writing will be.” Cervantes, Quixote, 8.

22. On Cervantes as the final author, see Howard Mancing, “Cervantes as Narrator of ‘Don Quijote,’” Bulletin of the Cervantes Society of America 23.1 (2003): 117–140.

23. Henry Sullivan, “The Duke’s Theater of Sadism,” Diana de Armas, ed., Don Quijote, trans. Burton Raffel (New York: Norton, 1999): 147.

24. On the “future-self,” see Will McMorran, “Behind the Mask? Sade and the Cent Vingt Journées de Sodome,” Modern Language Review 108 (2013): 1127.

25. Elias Rivers, Quixotic Scriptures (Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press, 1983), 108. Cervantes, Don Quijote I, 50; Sade, Les 120, 44, 84. Jean Christophe [End Page 30] Abramovici, “Les Cent Vingt Journées de Sodome: Lecture et isolisme,” Lecture, livres et lecteurs, ed. Jean Marie Goulemot (Tours: Univ. François Rabelais, 2003), 96.

26. Sade, Les 120, 45, 71. “the augmentation of a desire … which must … lead to a lascivious fury ….” Sade, The 120, 241.

27. Sade, Les 120, 515. “Under no circumstances deviate from this plan, everything has been worked out … with the greatest care and thoroughness.” Sade, The 120, 673.

28. Mladen Kozul, “L’inachèvement des Cent Vingt Journées de Sodome de Sade,” Cahiers d’Histoire des Littératures, ed. Henning Krauss (Heidelberg: Univ. C. Winter Heidelberg, 1995), 60.

29. On the ars combinatoria, see Gottfried Leibniz, Logic and Metaphysics, trans. K.J. Northcott (Manchester: Manchester Univ. Press, 1964), 47–67.

30. De Jean stresses how the French “raconter” stems from “compter” or to count. De Jean, “Les 120,” 39.

31. Michel Delon, “Introduction and Notes,” Les Cent Vingt Journées de Sodome (Paris: Gallimard, 1990), 1134.

32. Alain Sebbah, “Le Château dans l’imaginaire libertin chez Laclos, Sade et Vivant Denon,” Château et imaginaire, ed. Anne-Marie Cocula (Pessac: Ausonius, 2001), 219.

33. Emmanuel Sauvage, “L’écriture du corps dans Les cent vingt journées de Sodome de Sade,” Tangence 60 (1999): 128.

34. De Jean “Les 120,” 40. Lucienne Frappier-Mazur, “Sadean Libertinage and the Esthetics of Violence,” Yale French Studies 94 (1998): 188.

35. Sade, Les 120, 419. “He has girls A and B shit. Then he forces B to eat A’s turd, and A to eat B’s.” Sade, The 120, 579.

36. Éric Bordas, “Sade ou l’écriture de la destruction: à propos de la structure stylistique des Cent Vingt Journées de Sodome,” The Romanic Review 86 (1995): 676.

37. Sade, Les 120, 29.

38. Sade, Les 120, 45, 267. “infinitely various,” “a thousand crimes may be the result of such a doctrine.” Sade, The 120, 219, 427.

39. In the first part, Sancho’s body resists, but, in the second part, he complies with the dietary restrictions prescribed by Pedro. Cervantes, Don Quijote II, 425.

40. Cervantes, Don Quijote II, 194. “I see you mute before I die,” Cervantes, Quixote, 590.

41. Cervantes, Don Quijote I, 242, 165. “If you tell your story this way, Sancho … you will not finish in two days” versus “the story is very good, and you, my good Pedro, tell it with a good deal of grace.” Cervantes, Quixote 145, 84.

42. Cervantes, Don Quijote II, 394. “Get to the point without going around in circles.” Cervantes, Quixote, 764.

43. Wives have to be naked and the harem women wear costumes; if people speak about religion, it has to be heretically; and, people defecate according to a schedule. Sade, Les 120, 71–79. [End Page 31]

44. Sade, Les 120, 104. “Duclos … we have, I believe, advised you that your narrations must be decorated with the most numerous and searching details.” Sade, The 120, 271.

45. Abramovici, “Les Cent,” 99. The bawds and the narrator constantly ask the libertines and the reader for their patience.

46. De Jean, “Les 120,” 34.

47. Albeit the narrator promises to say it all, but he ultimately confesses that he ignores what has happened in certain places or on some days. Sade, 120, 309, 353.

48. Sade, Les 120, 19. “only two were capable of proceeding to the act, one of the remaining two, the financier, being absolutely incapable of an erection.” Sade, The 120, 196.

49. Sade, Les 120, 27, 31, 35.

50. Sade, Les 120, 25.

51. Sade, Les 120, 374. “Never ought fuck be allowed to dictate or affect one’s principles; ‘tis for one’s principles to regulate one’s manner of shedding it.” Sade, The 120, 535.

52. Since the 7th day, “no fuck shed;” the 21st day, “no sign of fuck;” on the 28th day, “no one discharged.” Sade, The 120, 346, 474, 537. On anorgasmia, see Jean Marie Goulemot, “Sadean Novels and Pornographic Novels,” Paragraph 23.1 (2000): 67–70.

53. Cervantes, Don Quijote II, 398. “my sleeping desires.” Cervantes, Quixote, 767.

54. The narrator says that his narration is dry and lacking imagination. Cervantes, Don Quijote I, 52.

55. Cervantes, Don Quijote II, 63. “One of the objections people make to the history.” Cervantes, Quixote, 477.

56. The narrator denounces the author and the translator as careless. Cervantes, Don Quijote II, 122, 169.

57. Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch and Luis Murillo justify and dismiss this sequence as an error. See Hartzenbusch, El Quijote de la Mancha (Barcelona: Ramírez, 1874) and Murillo, Don Quijote II, 504.

58. Peter M. Cryle, “Taking Sade Serially: Les cent vingt journées de Sodome,” SubStance 20.1 (1991): 98, 99, 103.

59. In December and January, he notes 151 instead of 150, and in February, 148.

60. Kozul, “L’inachèvement,” 67.

61. Michel Delon, “L’obsession anale de Sade,” Annales historiques de la Révolution Française 3 (2010): 141.

62. Sade, Les 120, 204–205. “I must declare that my imagination has always outdistanced my faculties.” Sade, The 120, 364.

63. The final author claims his right to own Quijote: “For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him; he knew how to act, and I to write; the two of us alone are one.” Cervantes, Quixote, 939.

64. Jean Deprun, “La Mettrie et l’immoralisme sadien,” Annales de Bretagne 83.4 (1976): 748. [End Page 32]

65. Bradley Nelson, “Poet or Pimp? Theatricality and Sexual Crimes in Lope de Vega and Cervantes,” eHumanista Cervantes 4 (2015): 178–195.

66. “I only read what informs my work.” My translation. Chung, “Lectures,” 85. [End Page 33]

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