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Aline and Valcour, or, the Philosophical Novel, Vol. II
Set against the impending riptide of the French Revolution and composed while Sade was imprisoned in the Bastille, Aline and Valcour is a sprawling and intellectually sweeping work. Unlike 120 Days of Sodom, the famous scroll that lay concealed in his cell as he wrote, while not pornographic, Aline and Valcour embodies the multiple themes and ideas that would become the hallmark of Sade’s far more sulfurous Juliette and Philosophy in the Bedroom.
Ostensibly an epistolary novel, Aline and Valcour actually combines genres, interweaving the adventure story, libertine novel, and the novel of feelings out of which emerges a unitary tale enlivened by complex and carefully nuanced characters. Turbulence and turpitude disrupt virtuous peoples’ lives as libertines work evil schemes and incestuous designs upon them that don’t stop with abduction and seduction; its protagonists face obstacles to love and harsh threats imposed by crime upon traditional morality and religion. Embedded within Aline and Valcour are sojourns in two exotic lands in Africa and the South Seas: Butua, a brutal cannibalistic dystopia, and Tamoé, a utopian paradise headed by a philosopher-king. In Butua, a brutal chief and priesthood rule over a cowed and doomed populace, and the most atrocious crimes are committed in broad daylight, while in Tamoé, happiness and prosperity flourish amidst benevolent anarchy. Sade infuses his novel with a sort of philosophical anthropology that prefigures not just Karl Marx and the 19th century utopian socialists, but Claude Levi-Strauss and Michel Foucault. Dark humor and social satire echo throughout.
Sade’s inspirations for Aline and Valcour, which signal his ambition for what he subtitled “the philosophical novel,” include an array of novels in addition to Richardson’s epistolary Pamela, Rousseau’s best-selling Julie, Laclos’ Les liaisons dangereuses, Gulliver’s Travels, and Don Quixote. Aline and Valcour also owes a special debt to the ancient Roman poet Lucretius, whose Epicurean and materialist philosophy lends it a contemporary feel wholly missing from many 18th century novels.
Although not sexually explicit, Aline and Valcour shared the fate of Sade’s other works — banned in 1815, in 1825 it was entered onto the French government’s list of prohibited works. Published clandestinely, it was Man Ray’s favorite Sadean novel, and during WWII, the surrealist Radovan Ivšić traded half his library for a single copy. It did not appear in bookstores until after WWII, when Jean-Jacques Pauvert undertook publication of a new edition of Sade’s works and eventually succeeded in overcoming more than a century of censorship. It has remained continuously in print in France and today forms part of the first volume of the Pléiade edition.
This is the very first rendering of the book into English since its publication in 1795.
Ostensibly an epistolary novel, Aline and Valcour actually combines genres, interweaving the adventure story, libertine novel, and the novel of feelings out of which emerges a unitary tale enlivened by complex and carefully nuanced characters. Turbulence and turpitude disrupt virtuous peoples’ lives as libertines work evil schemes and incestuous designs upon them that don’t stop with abduction and seduction; its protagonists face obstacles to love and harsh threats imposed by crime upon traditional morality and religion. Embedded within Aline and Valcour are sojourns in two exotic lands in Africa and the South Seas: Butua, a brutal cannibalistic dystopia, and Tamoé, a utopian paradise headed by a philosopher-king. In Butua, a brutal chief and priesthood rule over a cowed and doomed populace, and the most atrocious crimes are committed in broad daylight, while in Tamoé, happiness and prosperity flourish amidst benevolent anarchy. Sade infuses his novel with a sort of philosophical anthropology that prefigures not just Karl Marx and the 19th century utopian socialists, but Claude Levi-Strauss and Michel Foucault. Dark humor and social satire echo throughout.
Sade’s inspirations for Aline and Valcour, which signal his ambition for what he subtitled “the philosophical novel,” include an array of novels in addition to Richardson’s epistolary Pamela, Rousseau’s best-selling Julie, Laclos’ Les liaisons dangereuses, Gulliver’s Travels, and Don Quixote. Aline and Valcour also owes a special debt to the ancient Roman poet Lucretius, whose Epicurean and materialist philosophy lends it a contemporary feel wholly missing from many 18th century novels.
Although not sexually explicit, Aline and Valcour shared the fate of Sade’s other works — banned in 1815, in 1825 it was entered onto the French government’s list of prohibited works. Published clandestinely, it was Man Ray’s favorite Sadean novel, and during WWII, the surrealist Radovan Ivšić traded half his library for a single copy. It did not appear in bookstores until after WWII, when Jean-Jacques Pauvert undertook publication of a new edition of Sade’s works and eventually succeeded in overcoming more than a century of censorship. It has remained continuously in print in France and today forms part of the first volume of the Pléiade edition.
This is the very first rendering of the book into English since its publication in 1795.
260 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1795
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36 people want to read
About the author
Marquis de Sade
581 books2,317 followersA preoccupation with sexual violence characterizes novels, plays, and short stories that Donatien Alphonse François, comte de Sade but known as marquis de Sade, of France wrote. After this writer derives the word sadism, the deriving of sexual gratification from fantasies or acts that involve causing other persons to suffer physical or mental pain.
This aristocrat, revolutionary politician, and philosopher exhibited famous libertine lifestyle.
His works include dialogues and political tracts; in his lifetime, he published some works under his own name and denied authorship of apparently anonymous other works. His best erotic works combined philosophical discourse with pornography and depicted fantasies with an emphasis on criminality and blasphemy against the Catholic Church. Morality, religion or law restrained not his "extreme freedom." Various prisons and an insane asylum incarcerated the aristocrat for 32 years of his life: ten years in the Bastile, another year elsewhere in Paris, a month in Conciergerie, two years in a fortress, a year in Madelonnettes, three years in Bicêtre, a year in Sainte-Pélagie, and 13 years in the Charenton asylum. During the French revolution, people elected this criminal as delegate to the National Convention. He wrote many of his works in prison.
This aristocrat, revolutionary politician, and philosopher exhibited famous libertine lifestyle.
His works include dialogues and political tracts; in his lifetime, he published some works under his own name and denied authorship of apparently anonymous other works. His best erotic works combined philosophical discourse with pornography and depicted fantasies with an emphasis on criminality and blasphemy against the Catholic Church. Morality, religion or law restrained not his "extreme freedom." Various prisons and an insane asylum incarcerated the aristocrat for 32 years of his life: ten years in the Bastile, another year elsewhere in Paris, a month in Conciergerie, two years in a fortress, a year in Madelonnettes, three years in Bicêtre, a year in Sainte-Pélagie, and 13 years in the Charenton asylum. During the French revolution, people elected this criminal as delegate to the National Convention. He wrote many of his works in prison.
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March 13, 2021
Volume One of the Contra Mundum Press edition of Sade's 1795 novel, Aline and Valcour, ended with the arrival of the mysterious young couple Sainville and Léonore; Sainville claims to be returning to his regiment in Calais but the company at Vertfeuille suspect they're not telling the truth. Volume Two consists of a single letter from Déterville to Valcour recounting Sainville's story—that's a 216 page letter! I also like Sade's footnote for this letter which reads: Any reader who would take what follows as a pointless episode, to be read or passed over at will, would be making a grievous error. Just in case we were thinking of skipping this volume.
So, Sainville tells his story which begins three years before: he and Léonore are a young couple in love, and, as with Aline and Valcour, their parents are opposed to their union. Léonore's family has arranged for her to marry Count de Folange but as she refuses to marry him she is sent to a convent. Similarly, Sainville refuses his arranged marriage—it's worth noting here that Sade's marriage was arranged for him, against his will, between his father and his future mother-in-law, Madame de Montreuil. With the help of an aunt Sainville manages to get into the convent, dressed as a woman, and hatch an escape plan with Léonore which involves Léonore posing as a statue of a saint. This is quite an amusing episode in the novel and shows that Sade can be quite frivolous at times. The couple marry themselves in the eyes of God and head for Venice where they spend an idyllic few months before disaster strikes. One day when Sainville goes sight-seeing on his own Léonore is abducted by several men in gondolas. Sainville is prevented from searching for her straight away as he is arrested, but following his release he begins his search for his lover. Sade creates another bizarre scene where Sainville, who is staying in a hotel room before embarking on his journey, observes through a hole in a wall a man open a coffin, which contains a young woman; the man is pleased to find that she is still alive. Sainville can't watch any more as he has to leave to board a ship, but little does he know that the woman in the coffin is Léonore.
Believing that Léonore is on a ship bound for the Cape, Sainville pursues her, ends up lost in Africa and is captured by a tribe of Butuans, a savage race of cannibals, who are ruled over by a tyrant, King Ben Mâacoro.
Sainville eventually escapes from the Butuans and then travels to the South Pacific where he comes across the utopian land of Tamoé, ruled by the philosopher-king, Zamé. Zamé explains to Sainville how Tamoé is organised; in contrast to Butua, Zamé considers himself a First Citizen rather than a king. Property is held collectively, people are free to marry whoever they like and divorce is legal. There are few laws and no prisons as punishing people is anathema to the Tamoéans; shame and exile are their most severe judgements.
On leaving Tamoé Sainville's adventures continue as he manages to escape the Spanish Inquisition; he finally finds Léonore, who is working as an actress in Bordeaux. We are told at the beginning that they were re-acquainted three weeks earlier.
It's now time for Léonore's story but Déterville reveals that there are policemen banging on the doors so we'll have to wait until volume three.
So, Sainville tells his story which begins three years before: he and Léonore are a young couple in love, and, as with Aline and Valcour, their parents are opposed to their union. Léonore's family has arranged for her to marry Count de Folange but as she refuses to marry him she is sent to a convent. Similarly, Sainville refuses his arranged marriage—it's worth noting here that Sade's marriage was arranged for him, against his will, between his father and his future mother-in-law, Madame de Montreuil. With the help of an aunt Sainville manages to get into the convent, dressed as a woman, and hatch an escape plan with Léonore which involves Léonore posing as a statue of a saint. This is quite an amusing episode in the novel and shows that Sade can be quite frivolous at times. The couple marry themselves in the eyes of God and head for Venice where they spend an idyllic few months before disaster strikes. One day when Sainville goes sight-seeing on his own Léonore is abducted by several men in gondolas. Sainville is prevented from searching for her straight away as he is arrested, but following his release he begins his search for his lover. Sade creates another bizarre scene where Sainville, who is staying in a hotel room before embarking on his journey, observes through a hole in a wall a man open a coffin, which contains a young woman; the man is pleased to find that she is still alive. Sainville can't watch any more as he has to leave to board a ship, but little does he know that the woman in the coffin is Léonore.
Believing that Léonore is on a ship bound for the Cape, Sainville pursues her, ends up lost in Africa and is captured by a tribe of Butuans, a savage race of cannibals, who are ruled over by a tyrant, King Ben Mâacoro.
On the altar steps before my eyes was the most horrible scene. The King had just committed a human sacrifice; this palace was also his temple. His just-murdered victims were still palpitating at the feet of the idol. Lacerations covered the wretched victims and blood flowed everywhere, with heads separated from bodies—all of it combined to chill my senses. I flinched from horror.Sainville manages to survive only because King Mâacoro believes he can be of use to him. So, Butua is a dystopia, ruled over by the tyrant king; all his subjects are of little worth to the king, especially women who are treated like cattle or slaves. Sainville learns about Butuan life from a cynical Portuguese man, Sarmiento, who has managed to survive there for several years. Butua is in decline, its population is decreasing, it is constantly at war with neighbouring states, and its industry is negligible. In this section Sade is able to voice his opinions, through Sarmiento, of his ideas of moral relativity, and the benefits of sodomy. It's strange how Sade often uses the most odious characters to put forward what are presumably his own views, and to mix them up with other views that he, presumably, didn't hold.
Sainville eventually escapes from the Butuans and then travels to the South Pacific where he comes across the utopian land of Tamoé, ruled by the philosopher-king, Zamé. Zamé explains to Sainville how Tamoé is organised; in contrast to Butua, Zamé considers himself a First Citizen rather than a king. Property is held collectively, people are free to marry whoever they like and divorce is legal. There are few laws and no prisons as punishing people is anathema to the Tamoéans; shame and exile are their most severe judgements.
For any citizen who does wrong you must have but one objective. If you wish to be fair, let his punishment be useful to him and others; anything that deviates from that aim is infamy.For the reader dystopias are usually more interesting than utopias, although we'd probably rather live in the utopia, even if it is more dull. But as I was reading this section I couldn't help but wonder how Sade would cope in this utopia he'd created; I'm sure he would have found it all incredibly dull. We have to remember that he wrote Aline and Valcour whilst in the Bastille, he finished it around 1788 but didn't get it published until 1795, after he'd been released from prison again, following his arrest under the revolutionary government. Sade mentions several times in the footnotes, which were presumably added after the revolution, that he'd written it before the revolution whilst he was imprisoned by the ancien régime. The reader in 1795 is presumably supposed to think of Butua as the ancien régime and Zamé as the ideal revolutionary state, yet to be achieved.
On leaving Tamoé Sainville's adventures continue as he manages to escape the Spanish Inquisition; he finally finds Léonore, who is working as an actress in Bordeaux. We are told at the beginning that they were re-acquainted three weeks earlier.
It's now time for Léonore's story but Déterville reveals that there are policemen banging on the doors so we'll have to wait until volume three.
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February 28, 2021The entire second volume of "Aline and Valcour" is devoted to a single letter, no. XXXV, in which his friend Sainville recounts at great length his adventures the world over seeking his lost love, Leonore.
Although the two were passionately in love, their families, bent on mercenary marriages, refused their pleas to wed. Leonore was bundled off to a nunnery, but Sainville got her out; they married and ran off to Italy. In Venice, however, she was kidnapped, sparking Sainville's search the world over for his missing wife.
The heart of the book consists of narratives of Sainville's sojourns in Butua, a kingdom in (it seems) Mozambique, and Tamoe, an island in the far South Pacific. Butua is a dystopia, ruled by a vicious king whose Portuguese assistant, Sarmiento, Sainville is intended to replace. Sarmiento introduces Sainville to the multiplicity of vices Butua has to offer, most of which involve the humiliation and abuse of women (though men are hardly exempt). The two Europeans engage in a running war of words about the morality of Butuan practices; Sarmiento has an answer for every objection, and indeed seems to get the better of every argument. Nevertheless, Sainville refuses to wallow in this swamp of corruption (which he has only entered and stays because he has heard Leonore may be captive in the king's harem) and finally escapes.
Nothing could be further in character from Butua than the island of Tamoe (apparently based on Captain James Cook's account of the Tongo Islands, which he named the "Friendly Islands"). Its leader, Zame, takes Sainville under his wing and provides a lengthy account of the customs and habits he has instilled in the islanders (he's a European by descent) that have turned Tamoe into a utopia. Orderly, virtuous, well-behaved, its citizens devote themselves to agriculture. Entertainments are chaste and moral, with a lesson; young people are educated in dormitories where they live away from their families; no laws oppress; crime is virtually unknown. There are a few flies in this ointment: Zame's son seems to be gay (he's refused sex with his beautiful wife) and an adultress is revealed while watching a play -- though her whole punishment is to confess to her husband and reject her lover. Tamoe is a proto-socialist arrangement, regimented and pretty rigid, but Sainville admires it unstintingly.
Like all too many utopian tales, Zame's disquisitions on the virtues of his brainchild get rather tedious after a while. It's one of the ironies of literature that the cruelty and violence of Butua are much more entertaining to read about. Sade's purpose here, obviously, is to add to the abundant utopian literature of Enlightenment Europe, and his efforts at least have the virtue of a plot and, in the case of the dystopia Butua, two opposing interlocutors who debates are quite clever.
This is the second of three volumes into which the publishers decided to divide the translation. It's a bit annoying that the notes in the back sometimes refer to explanations found in volume I or III. That's a small fault, though. For a reader disinclined to plough through all three volumes, this one can stand alone, and has much of interest to mull in the pages where Sarmiento and Sainville have at it. There, in Sarmiento's voice, you can hear Sade honing the arguments for vice he will deploy to such shocking effect in later works like "100 Days of Sodom." The translators Jocelyne Genevieve Barque and John Galbraith Simmons are to be commended for rendering this, Sade' first novel and the place to begin tracing his literary trajectory, into well-turned English.
Although the two were passionately in love, their families, bent on mercenary marriages, refused their pleas to wed. Leonore was bundled off to a nunnery, but Sainville got her out; they married and ran off to Italy. In Venice, however, she was kidnapped, sparking Sainville's search the world over for his missing wife.
The heart of the book consists of narratives of Sainville's sojourns in Butua, a kingdom in (it seems) Mozambique, and Tamoe, an island in the far South Pacific. Butua is a dystopia, ruled by a vicious king whose Portuguese assistant, Sarmiento, Sainville is intended to replace. Sarmiento introduces Sainville to the multiplicity of vices Butua has to offer, most of which involve the humiliation and abuse of women (though men are hardly exempt). The two Europeans engage in a running war of words about the morality of Butuan practices; Sarmiento has an answer for every objection, and indeed seems to get the better of every argument. Nevertheless, Sainville refuses to wallow in this swamp of corruption (which he has only entered and stays because he has heard Leonore may be captive in the king's harem) and finally escapes.
Nothing could be further in character from Butua than the island of Tamoe (apparently based on Captain James Cook's account of the Tongo Islands, which he named the "Friendly Islands"). Its leader, Zame, takes Sainville under his wing and provides a lengthy account of the customs and habits he has instilled in the islanders (he's a European by descent) that have turned Tamoe into a utopia. Orderly, virtuous, well-behaved, its citizens devote themselves to agriculture. Entertainments are chaste and moral, with a lesson; young people are educated in dormitories where they live away from their families; no laws oppress; crime is virtually unknown. There are a few flies in this ointment: Zame's son seems to be gay (he's refused sex with his beautiful wife) and an adultress is revealed while watching a play -- though her whole punishment is to confess to her husband and reject her lover. Tamoe is a proto-socialist arrangement, regimented and pretty rigid, but Sainville admires it unstintingly.
Like all too many utopian tales, Zame's disquisitions on the virtues of his brainchild get rather tedious after a while. It's one of the ironies of literature that the cruelty and violence of Butua are much more entertaining to read about. Sade's purpose here, obviously, is to add to the abundant utopian literature of Enlightenment Europe, and his efforts at least have the virtue of a plot and, in the case of the dystopia Butua, two opposing interlocutors who debates are quite clever.
This is the second of three volumes into which the publishers decided to divide the translation. It's a bit annoying that the notes in the back sometimes refer to explanations found in volume I or III. That's a small fault, though. For a reader disinclined to plough through all three volumes, this one can stand alone, and has much of interest to mull in the pages where Sarmiento and Sainville have at it. There, in Sarmiento's voice, you can hear Sade honing the arguments for vice he will deploy to such shocking effect in later works like "100 Days of Sodom." The translators Jocelyne Genevieve Barque and John Galbraith Simmons are to be commended for rendering this, Sade' first novel and the place to begin tracing his literary trajectory, into well-turned English.
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