Candide (12 page)

“O Pangloss!” cried out Candide, “such horrid doings never entered your imagination. Here is an end of the matter; I find myself, after all, obliged to renounce your optimism.” “Optimism,” said Cacambo, “what is that?” “Alas!” replied Candide, “it is the obstinacy of maintaining that everything is best when it is worst”; and so saying, he turned his eyes towards the poor negro, and shed a flood of tears; and in this weeping mood he entered the town of Surinam.

Immediately upon their arrival our travellers asked if there was any ship in the harbour which could be sent to Buenos Ayres. The person they asked happened to be the master of a Spanish boat, who offered to make a fair bargain with them and arranged for them to meet at a café. Candide and his faithful Cacambo went to wait for him there, taking with them their two sheep.

Candide, who was all frankness and sincerity, gave an ingenious retelling of his adventures to the Spaniard, and he confessed that he wanted to recapture Miss Cunégonde from the Governor of Buenos Ayres. “Oh, oh!” said the shipmaster, “if that is the case get someone else to carry you to Buenos Ayres; for my part, I wash my hands of the affair. I would be hanged and so would you. The fair Cunégonde is the Governor’s favourite mistress.” These words were like a clap of thunder to Candide; he wept bitterly for a long time, and taking Cacambo aside, he said: ”I’ll tell you, my dear friend, what you must do. We each have in our pockets five or six millions in diamonds; you are cleverer at these matters than I; you must go to Buenos Ayres and bring back Miss Cunégonde. If the Governor gives you any difficulty, give him a million; if he holds out, give him two; you have not killed an Inquisitor, no one will suspect you: I’ll outfit another ship and go to Venice, where I will wait for you. Venice is a free country, where we will have nothing to fear from Bulgarians, Abares, Jews, or Inquisitors.” Cacambo greatly applauded this wise plan. He was in despair at the thought of parting with so good a master, who treated him more like an intimate friend than a servant; but the pleasure of being able to do him a service soon got the better of his sorrow. They embraced each other amid a flood of tears. Candide urged him not to forget the old woman. Cacambo set out the same day. This Cacambo was a very honest fellow.

Candide continued some days longer at Surinam, waiting for any captain to carry him and his two remaining sheep to Italy. He hired domestics, and purchased many things necessary for the long voyage ; finally, Mynheer Vanderdendur, skipper of a large Dutch vessel, came and offered his service. “What will you charge,” said Candide, “to carry me, my servants, my baggage, and these two sheep you see here, directly to Venice?” The skipper asked for ten thousand piastres; and Candide agreed to his demand without hesitation.

“Ho, ho!” said the cunning Vanderdendur to himself, “this stranger must be very rich; he agrees to give me ten thousand piastres without hesitation.” Returning a little while later, he told Candide that, upon second consideration he could not undertake the voyage for less than twenty thousand. “Very well, you shall have them,” said Candide.

“Well!” said the skipper to himself, “this man agrees to pay twenty thousand piastres with as much ease as ten.” So he went back again to say that he will not carry him to Venice for less than thirty thousand piastres. “Then you shall have thirty thousand,” said Candide.

“Ah ha!” said the Dutchman once more to himself, “thirty thousand piastres mean nothing to this man. Those sheep must certainly be laden with an immense treasure. I’ll stop here and ask no more; but make him pay up front the thirty thousand piastres, and then we’ll see.” Candide sold two small diamonds, the least of which was worth more than all the skipper asked. He paid him in advance; the two sheep were put on board, and Candide followed in a small boat to join the vessel at its anchorage. The skipper took his opportunity, hoisted sail, and put out to sea with a favourable wind. Candide, confounded and amazed, soon lost sight of the ship. “Alas!” said he, “this is a trick worthy of our old world!” He returned back to the shore overwhelmed with grief; and indeed he had lost what would have made the fortune of twenty monarchs.

Immediately upon his landing he applied to the Dutch magistrate. Because he was feeling troubled, he thundered at the door, went in, made his case, and talked a little louder than was necessary. The magistrate began by fining him ten thousand piastres for making such a racket, and then listened very patiently to what he had to say; promised to look into the affair on the skipper’s return; and ordered him to pay ten thousand piastres more for the fees of the court.

This treatment completed Candide’s despair. It is true he had suffered misfortunes a thousand times more grievous; but the cool insolence of the judge and the villainy of the skipper raised his anger and threw him into a deep melancholy. The villainy of mankind presented itself to his mind in all its deformity, and his mind dwelt only on gloomy thoughts. After some time, hearing that the captain of a French ship was ready to set sail for Bordeaux, as he had no more sheep loaded with diamonds to put on board, he took a cabin at a fair price; and made it known in the town that he would pay the passage and board of any honest man who would keep him company during the voyage, besides making him a present of ten thousand piastres, on condition that such person must be the most disgusted with his own condition, and the most unhappy in the whole province.

This drew such a crowd of candidates that a large fleet could not have contained them. Candide, willing to choose among those who appeared most likely to answer his intention, selected twenty, who seemed to him the most companionable, and who all pretended to be more miserable than all the others. He invited them to his inn, and promised to treat them to supper, on condition that every man would swear to tell his own history; declaring at the same time that he would select that person who appeared to him the most deserving of compassion and the most truly dissatisfied with his condition of life, and that he would distribute various gifts among the rest.

This extraordinary assembly continued sitting till four in the morning. Candide, while he was listening to their adventures, recalled what the old woman had said to him during their voyage to Buenos Ayres, and the bet she had made that there was not a person on board the ship who had not met with some great misfortunes. Every story he heard made him think of Pangloss. “My old master,” said he, “would be hard pressed to prove his system. If only he were here! Certainly, if everything is for the best, it is in El Dorado, and not in the other parts of the world.” Finally he selected a poor scholar, who had worked ten years for the booksellers at Amsterdam. He decided that no employment could be more detestable.

This scholar, who was in fact a very honest man, had been robbed by his wife, beaten by his son, and forsaken by his daughter, who had run away with a Portuguese. He had also been fired from the little job on which he existed, and he was persecuted by the clergy of Surinam, who took him for a Socinian.
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It must be acknowledged that the other competitors were at least as wretched as he. But Candide hoped that the company of a man of letters would relieve the tediousness of the voyage. All the other candidates complained that Candide had done them great injustice, but he pacified them with a present of a hundred piastres to each.

T
he old philosopher, whose name was Martin, set sail with Candide for Bordeaux. They both had seen and suffered a great deal; and even if the ship had been sailing from Surinam to Japan round the Cape of Good Hope, they would have been able to keep themselves amused during the whole voyage with instances of moral and natural evil.

Candide, however, had one advantage over Martin; he still hoped to see Miss Cunégonde once more, whereas the poor philosopher had nothing to hope for; besides, Candide had money and jewels, and though he had lost a hundred red sheep laden with the greatest treasure on earth, and though he still had in his heart the memory of the Dutch skipper’s villainy, yet when he considered what he had still left, and repeated the name of Cunégonde, especially after meal times, he leaned toward Pangloss’s doctrine.

“And,” said he to Martin, “what is your opinion of this system? What is your idea of moral and natural evil?” “Sir,” replied Martin, “our priest accused me of being a Socinian: but the real truth is, I am a Manichæan.”
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“You’re joking,” said Candide, “there aren’t any more Manichaeans in the world.” “And yet I am one,” said Martin; “but I cannot help it; I cannot think otherwise.” “Surely the devil must be in you,” said Candide. “He is mixed up with so many,” replied Martin, “of the affairs of this world, that it is very probable he may be in me as well as everywhere else; but I must confess, when I cast my eye on this globe, or rather globule, I cannot help thinking that God has abandoned it to some evil being—all of it except El Dorado. I have scarcely seen a city that did not wish the destruction of its neighbouring city, nor a family that did not desire to exterminate some other family. The poor in all parts of the world bear an inveterate hatred against the rich, even while they creep and cringe to them; and the rich treat the poor like sheep, whose wool and flesh they barter for money: a million regimented assassins roam Europe from one end to the other, carrying out murder and robbery with such discipline in order to earn their bread because there is no more honest profession for them. Even in those cities which seem to enjoy the blessings of peace, and where the arts flourish, the inhabitants are devoured by envy, cares and anxieties, which are greater plagues than any experienced in a town when it is under siege. Private griefs are still more dreadful than public calamities. In a word,” concluded the philosopher, “I have seen and suffered so much that I am a Manichaean.”

“And yet there is some good in the world,” replied Candide. “Maybe so,” said Martin; “but it has escaped my knowledge.”

While they were deeply engaged in this dispute they heard the rumble of cannon, which grew louder every moment. Each took out his spy-glass, and they saw two ships fighting at the distance of about three miles away. The wind brought them both so near the French ship that they had the pleasure of seeing the fight with great ease. After several smart broadsides, the one gave the other a shot so well aimed that it sank her outright. Then Candide and Martin could easily see a hundred men on the deck of the vessel which was sinking, who, with hands raised to heaven, sent forth piercing cries and were in a moment swallowed up by the waves.

“Well,” said Martin, “you now see how mankind treat each other.” “It is certain,” said Candide, “that there is something diabolical in this affair.” As he was speaking, he noticed something of a shining red hue, floating close to the sunken vessel. They sent a boat to investigate what it might be, and it proved to be one of his sheep. Candide felt more joy at the recovery of this one animal than he did grief when he lost the other hundred, all laden with the large diamonds of El Dorado.

The French captain quickly realized that the victorious ship belonged to the crown of Spain; that the other was a Dutch pirate and the very same captain who had robbed Candide. The immense riches which this villain had stolen were buried with him in the sea, and only this one sheep was saved. “You see,” said Candide to Martin, “that vice is sometimes punished; this villain the Dutch skipper has met with the fate he deserves.” “Very true,” said Martin “but why should the passengers perish too? God has punished the knave, and the devil has drowned the rest.”

The French and Spanish ships continued on their journey, and Candide and Martin continued their conversation. They disputed for fifteen days in a row and at the end of that time they were just as far advanced as the first moment they began. However, they had the satisfaction of talking, of communicating their ideas, and of comforting each other. Candide embraced his sheep: “Since I have found you again,” said he, “I may possibly find my Cunégonde once more.”

T
hey could finally see the coast of France, when Candide said to Martin: “Mr Martin, were you ever in France?” “Yes, sir,” said Martin, “I have been in several provinces of that kingdom. In some half of the people are fools and madmen; in some they are too sly; in still others they are in general either very good-natured or very brutal; while in others they affect to be witty; and in all their ruling passion is love, the next is slander, and the last is to talk nonsense.” “But, Mr Martin, were you ever in Paris?” “Yes, sir, I have been in that city, and it is a place that contains all species just described. It is a chaos, a confused multitude, where every one seeks pleasure without being able to find it: at least, as far as I have observed during my short stay in that city. At my arrival I was robbed of everything I had by pickpockets at the fair of St. Germain.
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I myself was taken for a robber, and confined in prison a whole week, after which I took a job as a proofreader, in order to get enough money to return on foot to Holland. I knew the whole tribe of scribblers, malcontents and fanatics. It is said that the people of that city are very polite: I believe they may be so.”