Candide (18 page)

W
hile Candide, the Baron, Pangloss, Martin, and Cacambo were relating their adventures, and reasoning on the contingent or non-contingent events of this world,
³¹
on causes and effects, on moral and physical evil, on free-will and necessity, and on the consolation available to a slave on a Turkish galley, they arrived at the house of the Transylvanian prince on the coasts of the Propontis. The first objects they saw there were Miss Cunégonde and the old woman, who were hanging out some table-cloths on a line to dry.

The Baron turned pale at the sight. Even the tender Candide, that affectionate lover, upon seeing his fair Cunégonde all sun-burnt, with bloodshot eyes, a withered neck, her face wrinkled, and her arms red and scaly, started back with horror; but recovering himself, he advanced towards her out of good manners. She embraced Candide and her brother; they embraced the old woman, and Candide ransomed them both.

There was a small farm in the neighbourhood which the old woman suggested to Candide as accommodation till the company should meet with some better fate. Cunégonde, not knowing that she had become ugly, because no one had informed her of it, reminded Candide of his promise in so firm a tone that the good Candide did not dare to refuse her. He then told the Baron that he was going to marry his sister. “I will never put up with,” said the Baron, “such baseness on her part and such insolence on yours; no, I never will be reproached for such infamy: why, my sister’s children would not even qualify for the first ecclesiastical dignities in Germany;
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nor shall a sister of mine ever be the wife of any person below the rank of a baron of the empire.” Cunégonde flung herself at her brother’s feet, and bathed them in her tears, but he still was inflexible. ”You foolish man,” said Candide, ”I freed you from the galleys, paid your ransom and your sister’s, too, who was washing dishes and is very ugly, and yet I condescend to marry her; and will you presume to oppose the match? If I followed the impulses of my anger I would kill you again.” “ You mayest kill me again,” said the Baron, ”but you will not marry my sister while I am living.”

C
andide had in truth no real desire to marry Miss Cunégonde; but the Baron’s extreme impertinence persuaded him to conclude the match; and Cunégonde pressed him so eagerly that he could not back out. He consulted Pangloss, Martin, and the faithful Cacambo. Pangloss composed a fine treatise, by which 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.
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Martin thought they should throw the Baron into the sea; Cacambo decided that he must be delivered to the Turkish captain and sent to the galleys, and then they should send him by the first ship to the Father-General in Rome. This advice seemed to be very good: the old woman approved of it, and nothing was said to his sister. The business was executed at a small price; and they had the pleasure of tricking a Jesuit and punishing the pride of a German baron.

It was altogether natural to suppose that after undergoing so many disasters, Candide, who was married to his mistress, and living with the philosopher Pangloss, the philosopher Martin, the prudent Cacambo, and the old woman, and who had also brought home so many diamonds from the country of the ancient Incas, would lead the most agreeable life in the world. But he had been so cheated by the Jews
³²
that he had nothing else left but his little farm; his wife, every day growing more and more ugly, became headstrong and insupportable; the old woman was infirm, and more ill-natured even than Cunégonde. Cacambo, who worked in the garden, and carried the produce of it to sell at Constantinople, was worn down by this labour, and cursed his fate. Pangloss was in despair at being unable to make a name for himself in any of the German universities. And as to Martin, he was firmly persuaded that things are equally bad everywhere; he endured with patience. Candide, Martin, and Pangloss disputed sometimes about metaphysics and morality. From the windows of the farm they often saw boats passing by carrying effendis, bashaws, and cadis,
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into exile on Lemnos, Mytilene, and Erzeroum; and other cadis, bashaws, and effendis were seen coming back to take the place of the exiles, and were then exiled in turn. They saw several heads very curiously impaled upon poles, which were going to be presented at the Sublime Porte.
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Such sights gave rise to more discussions: and when they were not arguing, the boredom was so excessive that the old woman ventured one day to tell them, “I would be glad to know which is worse: to be raped a hundred times by negro pirates, to have one buttock cut off, to run the gauntlet among the Bulgarians, to be whipped and hanged at an
auto-da-fé
, to be dissected, to be chained to an oar in a galley; and, in short, to experience all the miseries through which every one of us has passed, or to remain here doing nothing?” “This,” said Candide, “is a grand question.”

This discourse gave birth to new reflections, and Martin in particular concluded that man was born to live either in the convulsions of misery, or in the lethargy of boredom. Candide did not agree, but he did not provide any other opinion. Pangloss asserted that he had undergone dreadful sufferings; but having once stated that everything went on as well as possible, he still maintained it, and at the same time didn’t believe it all.

One thing more than ever confirmed Martin in his detestable principles, made Candide hesitate, and embarrassed Pangloss. It was the arrival of Pacquette and Brother Giroflée one day at their farm. This couple had been in the utmost distress; they had quickly spent their three thousand piastres; they had split up, been reconciled; quarrelled again, been thrown into prison; had made their escape, and at last Brother Giroflée turned Turk. Pacquette still continued to follow her trade wherever she went; but she made little or no money at it. “I told you,” said Martin to Candide, “that your presents would soon be squandered, and would only make them more miserable. You and Cacambo have spent millions of piastres, and yet you are not any happier than Brother Giroflée and Pacquette.” “Ah!” said Pangloss to Pacquette, “It is heaven who has brought you here among us, my poor child! Do you know that you have cost me the tip of my nose, one eye and one ear? And look at you now! Eh! What a world!” This new adventure brought them more deeply than ever into philosophical debates.

In the neighbourhood lived a very famous dervish who was thought to be the best philosopher in Turkey; they went to consult him. Pangloss, who was their spokesman, addressed him: “Master, we’ve come to beg you to tell us why so strange an animal as man has been created.”

“Why do you trouble your head about it?” said the dervish; “is it any business of yours?” “But my reverend father,” said Candide, “there is a horrible deal of evil on the earth.” “What does it matter,” says the dervish “whether there is evil or good? When his highness sends a ship to Egypt, does he worry whether the rats in the vessel are at their ease or not?” “What must be done then?” says Pangloss. “Be quiet,” answers the dervish. “I had hoped,” replied Pangloss, “to reason a little with you on the causes and effects, on the best of possible worlds, the origin of evil, the nature of the soul, and a pre-established harmony.” At these words the dervish shut the door in their faces.

During this conversation news was spreading aboard that two viziers of the bench and the mufti had just been strangled at Constantinople, and several of their friends impaled. The catastrophe caused a great stir for some hours. Pangloss, Candide, and Martin, as they were returning to the little farm, met with a good-looking old man, who was enjoying some fresh air at his doorway under an alcove formed of the boughs of orange trees. Pangloss, who was as inquisitive as he was argumentative, asked him the name of the mufti who had just been strangled. “I don’t know anything about it,” answered the good old man; “I never knew the name of any mufti or vizier breathing. I am entirely ignorant of the event you speak of; I presume that in general some who meddle in public affairs sometimes meet a miserable end, and they deserve it; but I never inquire about what is happening in Constantinople. I am satisfied with sending the produce of my garden there.” After saying these words, he invited the strangers to come into his house. His two daughters and two sons presented them with all sorts of sherbet which they had made; as well as caymac heightened with the peels of candied citrons, oranges, lemons, pine-apples, pistachio-nuts, and Mocha coffee untainted with the bad coffee of Batavia or the American islands. After which the two daughters of this good Muslim perfumed the beards of Candide, Pangloss and Martin.

“You must certainly have a vast estate,” said Candide to the Turk, who replied, “I have no more than twenty acres of ground, the whole of which I cultivate myself with the help of my children, and our labour keeps us from three great evils—boredom, vice, and want.”

Candide as he was returning home made profound reflections on the Turk’s discourse. “This good old man,” said Martin, “appears to me to have chosen for himself a fate much more preferable to that of the six kings with whom we had the honour to dine.” “Human grandeur,” said Pangloss, “is very dangerous, if we believe the testimonies of almost all philosophers; for we find Eglon, king of Moab, was assassinated by Aod; Absalom was hung by the hair of his head, and pierced with three darts; King Nadab, son of Jeroboam, was slain by Baaza; King Ela by Zimri; Ahaziah by Jehu; Athalia by Jehoiada; the kings Jehoiakim, Jeconiah, and Zedekiah were enslaved. You know of the deaths of Crœsus, Astyages, Darius, Dionysius of Syracuse, Pyrrhus, Perseus, Hannibal, Jugurtha, Ariovistus, Caesar, Pompey, Nero, Otho, Vitellius, Domitian, Richard II of England, Edward II, Henry IV, Richard III, Mary Stuart, Charles I, the three Henrys of France, and the Emperor Henry IV.”
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“I also know,” said Candide, “that we must cultivate our garden.” “You are right,” said Pangloss; for when man was put into the Garden of Eden, he was put there with the idea that he should work the land; and this proves that man was not born to be idle.” “Let’s work, then, without disputing,” says Martin. “It is the only way to make life bearable.”

The little society, one and all, entered into this laudable scheme, and each began to exercise his talents. The little piece of ground yielded a plentiful crop. Cunégonde indeed was very ugly, but she became excellent at pastry-work. Pacquette embroidered, the old woman took care of the linen. Everyone, down to Brother Giroflée, did some service. He was a very good carpenter, and became an honest man. Pangloss sometimes would say to Candide: “All events are linked together in the best of all possible worlds; for, after all, had you not been kicked out of a fine castle for your love of Miss Cunégonde, had you not been put into the Inquisition, had you not travelled across America on foot, had you not stabbed the Baron with your sword, and had you not lost all your sheep which you brought from the good country of El Dorado, then you wouldn’t be here eating preserved citrons and pistachio-nuts.” “Excellently observed,” answered Candide; “but we must cultivate our garden.”

1
(p. 12) “
everything
is best”: Throughout
Candide
, Voltaire ridicules Leibniz’s philosophy; caricaturing and oversimplifying Leibniz’s optimism and terminology and presenting obviously comical, trivial, and grotesque examples. Voltaire scoffs at the doctrine that everything in this world exists for a specific and excellent reason.

2
(p. 14)
the Bulgarians
: The Bulgarians represent the Prussian troops of Frederick the Great in the Seven Years War (1756-1763). Voltaire wishes to insinuate that both the soldiers and their leader are homosexuals ; the French word
bougre
, like the English
bugger
, derives from the word
Bulgarian
, because of the association of Bulgaria with the medieval sect the Bogomils, who were accused of sodomy.