Part 9

Pardon me, once again, said Candide to the baron; pardon me, my reverend father, for having given you a great thrust of my sword through the body.

Let us speak of it no more, said the baron; I was a little too hasty, I admit; but since you wish to know by what chance you found me among the galley slaves, I shall tell you that after being cured of my wound by the apothecary brother of the college, I was attacked and carried off by a Spanish party; they put me in prison at Buenos Aires at the very time my sister had just left it. I asked to return to Rome to the father general. I was appointed to serve as chaplain at Constantinople with the French ambassador. It was not eight days since I had entered upon my functions, when one evening I came upon a young icoglan of very fine figure. It was very hot: the young man wished to bathe; I took this occasion to bathe also. I did not know that it was a capital crime for a Christian to be found naked with a young Muslim. A cadi had me given a hundred blows with a stick under the soles of my feet, and condemned me to the galleys. I do not believe a more horrible injustice was ever done. But I should like very much to know why my sister is in the kitchen of a sovereign of Transylvania refugee among the Turks.

But you, my dear Pangloss, said Candide, how is it possible that I see you again?

It is true, said Pangloss, that you saw me hanged; I was naturally to have been burned, but you will remember that it rained in torrents when they were about to cook me: the storm was so violent that they despaired of lighting the fire; I was hanged, because they could do no better: a surgeon bought my body, carried me to his house, and dissected me. He first made a crucial incision in me from the navel to the collarbone. One could not have been more badly hanged than I had been. The executioner of the holy inquisition, who was a subdeacon, burned people marvelously well, to be sure, but he was not used to hanging: the rope was wet and slipped badly, it was badly knotted; in short I still breathed: the crucial incision made me give so great a cry, that my surgeon fell backward; and believing he was dissecting the devil, he fled, dying of fright, and fell again on the stairs as he ran. His wife came running at the noise from an adjoining room: she saw me stretched on the table with my crucial incision; she was even more afraid than her husband, fled, and fell upon him. When they had somewhat recovered, I heard the surgeon's wife say to the surgeon: My good man, what possessed you to dissect a heretic? do you not know that the devil is always in the body of such folk? I will go quickly for a priest to exorcise him. I shuddered at this, and gathered the little strength remaining in me to cry: Have pity on me! At last the Portuguese barber took heart: he sewed up my skin; his wife even took care of me; I was on my feet at the end of fifteen days. The barber found me a situation, and made me footman to a knight of Malta who was going to Venice: but my master having no means to pay me, I entered the service of a Venetian merchant, and followed him to Constantinople.

One day it took my fancy to enter a mosque; there was only an old iman and a very pretty young devotee saying her beads; her bosom was all uncovered: between her two breasts she had a fine bouquet of tulips, roses, anemones, ranunculuses, hyacinths, and bear's-ears: she let her bouquet fall; I picked it up, and returned it to her with very respectful eagerness. I was so long in returning it, that the iman grew angry, and seeing that I was a Christian, he cried for help. They took me before the cadi, who had me given a hundred blows with a rod under the soles of my feet, and sent me to the galleys. I was chained precisely in the same galley and at the same bench as the baron. There were in that galley four young men of Marseilles, five Neapolitan priests, and two monks of Corfu, who told us that such adventures happened every day. The baron maintained that he had suffered a greater injustice than I; I maintained, for my part, that it was much more permissible to replace a bouquet on a woman's bosom than to be naked with an icoglan. We argued incessantly, and received twenty blows of oxhide a day, when the concatenation of the events of this universe brought you to our galley, and you ransomed us.

Well! my dear Pangloss, said Candide to him, when you had been hanged, dissected, beaten with blows, and had rowed in the galleys, did you always think that all was for the best in the world?

I am still of my first sentiment, answered Pangloss; for after all I am a philosopher; it does not befit me to go back on my word, Leibniz cannot be wrong, and pre-established harmony being besides the finest thing in the world, as well as the plenum and subtle matter.

CHAPTER XXIX. How Candide found Cunégonde and the old woman again.

While Candide, the baron, Pangloss, Martin, and Cacambo, were recounting their adventures, reasoning upon the contingent or non-contingent events of this universe, disputing about effects and causes, about moral evil and physical evil, about liberty and necessity, about the consolations one may feel when in the galleys in Turkey, they landed on the shore of the Propontis, at the house of the prince of Transylvania. The first objects that presented themselves were Cunégonde and the old woman, who were spreading napkins on strings to dry them.

The baron grew pale at this sight. The tender lover Candide, seeing his beautiful Cunégonde grown swarthy, with bloodshot eyes, a dry bosom, wrinkled cheeks, red and scaly arms, recoiled three steps, seized with horror, and then advanced out of good breeding. She embraced Candide and her brother: they embraced the old woman: Candide ransomed them both.

There was a small farm in the neighborhood; the old woman proposed to Candide to make shift with it, until the whole company should have a better destiny. Cunégonde did not know she was grown ugly, no one had warned her of it: she reminded Candide of his promises with so absolute a tone, that the good Candide dared not refuse her. He therefore signified to the baron that he was going to marry his sister.

I will never suffer, said the baron, such baseness on her part, and such insolence on yours; this infamy shall never be laid to my charge: the children of my sister could not enter the chapters of Germany. No, never shall my sister marry any but a baron of the empire.

Cunégonde threw herself at his feet, and bathed them with tears; he was inflexible.

Mad fool, said Candide to him, I rescued you from the galleys, I paid your ransom, I paid that of your sister; she was washing dishes here, she is ugly, I have the goodness to make her my wife; and you still pretend to oppose it! I would kill you again if I listened to my anger.

You may kill me again, said the baron, but you shall not marry my sister while I live.

CHAPTER XXX. Conclusion.

Candide, in the bottom of his heart, had no desire to marry Cunégonde; but the extreme impertinence of the baron determined him to conclude the marriage; and Cunégonde pressed him so lively that he could not go back on it. He consulted Pangloss, Martin, and the faithful Cacambo. Pangloss drew up a fine memoir whereby he proved that the baron had no right over his sister, and that she might, according to all the laws of the empire, marry Candide with the left hand. Martin concluded to throw the baron into the sea; Cacambo decided that he must be given back to the Levantine patron, and sent back to the galleys, after which he would be sent to Rome to the father general by the first vessel. The advice was found very good; the old woman approved it; nothing was said of it to his sister; the thing was executed for a little money, and they had the pleasure of catching a Jesuit, and of punishing the pride of a German baron.

It was quite natural to imagine that after so many disasters, Candide married to his mistress, and living with the philosopher Pangloss, the philosopher Martin, the prudent Cacambo, and the old woman, having besides brought back so many diamonds from the land of the ancient Incas, would lead the most agreeable life in the world; but he was so cheated by the Jews, that there remained to him nothing but his little farm; his wife becoming uglier every day became shrewish and insupportable: the old woman was infirm, and was of even worse humor than Cunégonde. Cacambo, who worked in the garden, and went to sell vegetables at Constantinople, was worn out with toil, and cursed his destiny. Pangloss was in despair at not shining in some university of Germany. As for Martin, he was firmly persuaded that one is equally badly off everywhere; he took things in patience. Candide, Martin, and Pangloss, sometimes disputed on metaphysics and morality. They often saw pass under the windows of the farm boats laden with effendis, bachas, cadis, who were sent into exile to Lemnos, to Mytilene, to Erzeroum: they saw come other cadis, other bachas, other effendis, who took the place of the expelled, and were expelled in their turn: they saw heads properly stuffed which were being taken to present to the sublime Porte. These spectacles made the dissertations redouble; and when they did not dispute, boredom was so excessive, that the old woman one day dared tell them: I should like to know which is the worse, either to be violated a hundred times by negro pirates, to have a buttock cut off, to run the gauntlet among the Bulgarians, to be whipped and hanged in an auto-da-fé, to be dissected, to row in a galley, to undergo finally all the miseries through which we have all passed, or else to remain here doing nothing?

It is a great question, said Candide.

This discourse gave birth to new reflections, and Martin especially concluded that man was born to live either in the convulsions of uneasiness, or in the lethargy of boredom. Candide did not agree, but he affirmed nothing. Pangloss acknowledged that he had always suffered horribly; but having once maintained that all went marvelously, he still maintained it, and believed none of it.

One thing finished confirming Martin in his detestable principles, making Candide hesitate more than ever and embarrassing Pangloss. It is that they saw one day land at their farm Paquette and brother Giroflée, who were in the extremest misery; they had very quickly eaten their three thousand piastres, had parted, had made it up, had quarreled, had been put in prison; had fled, and at last brother Giroflée had turned Turk. Paquette continued her trade everywhere, and gained nothing by it.

I had foreseen it, said Martin to Candide, that your presents would soon be dissipated, and would only make them more miserable. You overflowed with millions of piastres, you and Cacambo, and you are no happier than brother Giroflée and Paquette.

Ah! ah! said Pangloss to Paquette, heaven sends you back here among us then. My poor child! do you know well that you cost me the tip of my nose, an eye, and an ear? How you are made! eh! what a world is this!

This new adventure engaged them to philosophize more than ever.

There was in the neighborhood a very famous dervish who passed for the best philosopher in Turkey; they went to consult him; Pangloss carried the word, and said to him: Master, we come to beg you to tell us why so strange an animal as man was formed.

What is it to you? said the dervish; is that your business? But, my reverend father, said Candide, there is horribly much evil on earth.

What matters it, said the dervish, whether there is evil or good? when his highness sends a vessel to Egypt, does he care whether the mice that are in the vessel are at their ease or not?

What then must be done? said Pangloss.

Hold your tongue, said the dervish.

I flattered myself, said Pangloss, of reasoning a little with you on effects and causes, on the best of possible worlds, on the origin of evil, on the nature of the soul, and on pre-established harmony. At these words the dervish shut the door in their faces.

During this conversation, the news had spread that they had just strangled at Constantinople two viziers of the bench and the mufti, and had impaled several of their friends. This catastrophe made everywhere a great noise for some hours. Pangloss, Candide, and Martin, returning to the little farm, met a good old man who was taking the air at his door under an arbor of orange trees. Pangloss, who was as curious as he was argumentative, asked him how the mufti who had just been strangled was named.

I know nothing of it, answered the good man, and I have never known the name of any mufti or of any vizier. I am absolutely ignorant of the adventure you speak to me of; I presume in general that those who meddle with public affairs sometimes perish miserably, and that they deserve it; but I never inquire what is done at Constantinople; I content myself with sending thither to sell the fruits of the garden that I cultivate. Having said these words, he had the strangers enter his house; his two daughters and his two sons presented them several sorts of sherbets which they made themselves, mocha coffee not mixed with the bad coffee of Batavia and the islands, kaïmak spiced with candied citron peel, oranges, lemons, limes, pineapples, dates, pistaches. After which the two daughters of this good Muslim perfumed the beards of Candide, of Pangloss, and of Martin.

You must have, said Candide to the Turk, a vast and magnificent estate?

I have but twenty acres, answered the Turk; I cultivate them with my children; work keeps from us three great evils, boredom, vice, and want.

Candide, returning to his farm, made deep reflections on the Turk's discourse. He said to Pangloss and to Martin: This good old man seems to me to have made himself a lot far preferable to that of the six kings with whom we had the honor to sup.

Greatnesses, said Pangloss, are very dangerous, according to the report of all philosophers; for in short Eglon, king of the Moabites, was assassinated by Ehud; Absalom was hanged by the hair and pierced with three darts; king Nadab, son of Jeroboam, was killed by Baasha; king Elah, by Zimri; Ahaziah, by Jehu; Athaliah, by Jehoiada; the kings Jehoiakim, Jeconiah, Zedekiah, were slaves. You know how died Croesus, Astyages, Darius, Dionysius of Syracuse, Pyrrhus, Perseus, Hannibal, Jugurtha, Ariovistus, Caesar, Pompey, Nero, Otho, Vitellius, Domitian, Richard II of England, Edward II, Henry VI, Richard III, Mary Stuart, Charles I, the three Henrys of France, the emperor Henry IV? You know….

I know also, said Candide, that we must cultivate our garden.

You are right, said Pangloss; for, when man was placed in the garden of Eden, he was placed there _ut operaretur eum_, that he might work; which proves that man is not born for rest.

Let us work without reasoning, said Martin, it is the only means of rendering life supportable.

The whole little society entered into this laudable design; each set about exercising his talent. The little land yielded much. Cunégonde was, to be sure, very ugly; but she became an excellent pastry-cook; Paquette embroidered; the old woman took care of the linen. There was not even brother Giroflée who did not render service; he became a very good carpenter, and even became an honest man: and Pangloss sometimes said to Candide: All events are chained in the best of possible worlds; for in short if you had not been kicked out of a fine castle with great blows of the foot in the behind for the love of mademoiselle Cunégonde, if you had not been put in the inquisition, if you had not run across America on foot, if you had not given the baron a good sword thrust, if you had not lost all your sheep of the good land of Eldorado, you would not be eating here candied citrons and pistaches.

That is well said, answered Candide, but we must cultivate our garden[1].

[1] See, in the _Mélanges_, year 1759, the _Letter to the authors of the Journal encyclopédique_, dated April 1. B.

END OF CANDIDE.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”