by Voltaire
—Yes, replied Pococurante, it’s a fine thing to write as you think; it is mankind’s privilege. In all our Italy, people write only what they do not think; men who inhabit the land of the Caesars and Antonines dare not have an idea without the permission of a Dominican. I would rejoice in the freedom that breathes through English genius, if partisan passions did not corrupt all that is good in that precious freedom.
Candide, noting a Milton, asked if he did not consider this author a great man.
—Who? said Pococurante. That barbarian who made a long commentary on the first chapter of Genesis in ten books of crabbed verse? That clumsy imitator of the Greeks, who disfigures creation itself, and while Moses represents the eternal being as creating the world with a word, has the messiah take a big compass out of a heavenly cupboard in order to design his work? You expect me to admire the man who spoiled Tasso’s hell and devil? who disguises Lucifer now as a toad, now as a pigmy? who makes him rehash the same arguments a hundred times over? who makes him argue theology? and who, taking seriously Ariosto’s comic story of the invention of firearms, has the devils shooting off cannon in heaven? Neither I nor anyone else in Italy has been able to enjoy these gloomy extravagances.99 The marriage of Sin and Death, and the monster that Sin gives birth to, will nauseate any man whose taste is at all refined; and his long description of a hospital is good only for a gravedigger. This obscure, extravagant, and disgusting poem was despised at its birth; I treat it today as it was treated in its own country by its contemporaries. Anyhow, I say what I think, and care very little whether other people agree with me.
Candide was a little cast down by these diatribes; he respected Homer, and had a little affection for Milton.
—Alas, he said under his breath to Martin, I’m afraid this man will have a supreme contempt for our German poets.
—No harm in that, said Martin.
—Oh what a superior man, said Candide, still speaking softly, what a great genius this Pococurante must be! Nothing can please him.
Having thus looked over all the books, they went down into the garden. Candide praised its many beauties.
—I know nothing in such bad taste, said the master of the house; we have nothing but trifles here; tomorrow I am going to have one set out on a nobler design.
When the two visitors had taken leave of his excellency: —Well now, said Candide to Martin, you must agree that this was the happiest of all men, for he is superior to everything he possesses.
—Don’t you see, said Martin, that he is disgusted with everything he possesses? Plato said, a long time ago, that the best stomachs are not those which refuse all food.
—But, said Candide, isn’t there pleasure in criticizing everything, in seeing faults where other people think they see beauties?
—That is to say, Martin replied, that there’s pleasure in having no pleasure?
—Oh well, said Candide, then I am the only happy man … or will be, when I see Miss Cunégonde again.
—It’s always a good thing to have hope, said Martin.
But the days and the weeks slipped past; Cacambo did not come back, and Candide was so buried in his grief, that he did not even notice that Paquette and Brother Giroflée had neglected to come and thank him.
CHAPTER 26
About a Supper that Candide and Martin Had with Six Strangers, and Who They Were
One evening when Candide, accompanied by Martin, was about to sit down for dinner with the strangers staying in his hotel, a man with a soot-colored face came up behind him, took him by the arm, and said: —Be ready to leave with us, don’t miss out.
He turned and saw Cacambo. Only the sight of Cunégonde could have astonished and pleased him more. He nearly went mad with joy. He embraced his dear friend.
—Cunégonde is here, no doubt? Where is she? Bring me to her, let me die of joy in her presence.
—Cunégonde is not here at all, said Cacambo, she is at Constantinople.
—Good Heavens, at Constantinople! but if she were in China, I must fly there, let’s go.
—We will leave after supper, said Cacambo; I can tell you no more; I am a slave, my owner is looking for me, I must go wait on him at table; mum’s the word; eat your supper and be prepared.
Candide, torn between joy and grief, delighted to have seen his faithful agent again, astonished to find him a slave, full of the idea of recovering his mistress, his heart in a turmoil, his mind in a whirl, sat down to eat with Martin, who was watching all these events coolly, and with six strangers who had come to pass the carnival season at Venice.
Cacambo, who was pouring wine for one of the strangers, leaned respectfully over his master at the end of the meal, and said to him: —Sire, Your Majesty may leave when he pleases, the vessel is ready.
Having said these words, he exited. The diners looked at one another in silent amazement, when another servant, approaching his master, said to him: —Sire, Your Majesty’s litter is at Padua, and the bark awaits you.
The master nodded, and the servant vanished. All the diners looked at one another again, and the general amazement redoubled. A third servant, approaching a third stranger, said to him: —Sire, take my word for it, Your Majesty must stay here no longer; I shall get everything ready.
Then he too disappeared.
Candide and Martin had no doubt, now, that it was a carnival masquerade. A fourth servant spoke to a fourth master: —Your majesty will leave when he pleases—and went out like the others. A fifth followed suit. But the sixth servant spoke differently to the sixth stranger, who sat next to Candide. He said: —My word, sire, they’ll give no more credit to Your Majesty, nor to me either; we could very well spend the night in the lockup, you and I. I’ve got to look out for myself, so good-bye to you.
When all the servants had left, the six strangers, Candide, and Martin remained under a pall of silence. Finally Candide broke it.
—Gentlemen, said he, here’s a strange kind of joke. Why are you all royalty? I assure you that Martin and I aren’t.
Cacambo’s master spoke up gravely then, and said in Italian: —This is no joke, my name is Achmet the Third.100 I was grand sultan for several years; then, as I had dethroned my brother, my nephew dethroned me. My viziers had their throats cut; I was allowed to end my days in the old seraglio. My nephew, the Grand Sultan Mahmoud, sometimes lets me travel for my health; and I have come to spend the carnival season at Venice.
A young man who sat next to Achmet spoke after him, and said: —My name is Ivan; I was once emperor of all the Russias.101 I was dethroned while still in my cradle; my father and mother were locked up, and I was raised in prison; I sometimes have permission to travel, though always under guard, and I have come to spend the carnival season at Venice.
The third said: —I am Charles Edward, king of England;102 my father yielded me his rights to the kingdom, and I fought to uphold them; but they tore out the hearts of eight hundred of my partisans, and flung them in their faces. I have been in prison; now I am going to Rome, to visit the king, my father, dethroned like me and my grandfather; and I have come to pass the carnival season at Venice.
The fourth king then spoke up, and said: —I am a king of the Poles;103 the luck of war has deprived me of my hereditary estates; my father suffered the same losses; I submit to Providence like Sultan Achmet, Emperor Ivan, and King Charles Edward, to whom I hope heaven grants long lives; and I have come to pass the carnival season at Venice.
The fifth said: —I too am a king of the Poles;104 I lost my kingdom twice, but Providence gave me another state, in which I have been able to do more good than all the Sarmatian kings ever managed to do on the banks of the Vistula. I too have submitted to Providence, and I have come to pass the carnival season at Venice.
It remained for the sixth monarch to speak.
—Gentlemen, said he, I am no such great lord as you, but I have in fact been a king like any other. I am Theodore; I was elected king of Corsica.105 People used to call me Your Majesty, and now
they barely call me Sir; I used to coin currency, and now I don’t have a cent; I used to have two secretaries of state, and now I scarcely have a valet; I have sat on a throne, and for a long time in London I was in jail, on the straw; and I may well be treated the same way here, though I have come, like your majesties, to pass the carnival season at Venice.
The five other kings listened to his story with noble compassion. Each one of them gave twenty sequins to King Theodore, so that he might buy a suit and some shirts; Candide gave him a diamond worth two thousand sequins.
—Who in the world, said the five kings, is this private citizen who is in a position to give a hundred times as much as any of us, and who actually gives it?106
Just as they were rising from dinner, there arrived at the same establishment four most serene highnesses, who had also lost their kingdoms through the luck of war, and who came to spend the rest of the carnival season at Venice. But Candide never bothered even to look at these newcomers because he was only concerned to go find his dear Cunégonde at Constantinople.
CHAPTER 27
Candide’s Trip to Constantinople
Faithful Cacambo had already arranged with the Turkish captain who was returning Sultan Achmet to Constantinople to make room for Candide and Martin on board. Both men boarded ship after prostrating themselves before his miserable highness. On the way, Candide said to Martin: —Six dethroned kings that we had dinner with! and yet among those six there was one on whom I had to bestow charity! Perhaps there are other princes even more unfortunate. I myself have only lost a hundred sheep, and now I am flying to the arms of Cunégonde. My dear Martin, once again Pangloss is proved right, all is for the best.
—I hope so, said Martin.
—But, said Candide, that was a most unlikely experience we had at Venice. Nobody ever saw, or heard tell of, six dethroned kings eating together at an inn.
—It is no more extraordinary, said Martin, than most of the things that have happened to us. Kings are frequently dethroned; and as for the honor we had from dining with them, that’s a trifle which doesn’t deserve our notice.107
Scarcely was Candide on board than he fell on the neck of his former servant, his friend Cacambo.
—Well! said he, what is Cunégonde doing? Is she still a marvel of beauty? Does she still love me? How is her health? No doubt you have bought her a palace at Constantinople.
—My dear master, answered Cacambo, Cunégonde is washing dishes on the shores of the Propontis, in the house of a prince who has very few dishes to wash; she is a slave in the house of a onetime king named Ragotski,108 to whom the Great Turk allows three crowns a day in his exile; but, what is worse than all this, she has lost all her beauty and become horribly ugly.
—Ah, beautiful or ugly, said Candide, I am an honest man, and my duty is to love her forever. But how can she be reduced to this wretched state with the five or six millions that you had?
—All right, said Cacambo, didn’t I have to give two millions to Señor don Fernando d’lbaraa y Figueroa y Mascarenes y Lampourdos y Souza, governor of Buenos Aires, for his permission to carry off Miss Cunégonde? And didn’t a pirate cleverly strip us of the rest? And didn’t this pirate carry us off to Cape Matapan, to Melos, Nicaria, Samos, Petra, to the Dardanelles, Marmora, Scutari? Cunégonde and the old woman are working for the prince I told you about, and I am the slave of the dethroned sultan.
—What a lot of fearful calamities linked one to the other, said Candide. But after all, I still have a few diamonds, I shall easily deliver Cunégonde. What a pity that she’s become so ugly!
Then, turning toward Martin, he asked: —Who in your opinion is more to be pitied, the Emperor Achmet, the Emperor Ivan, King Charles Edward, or myself?
—I have no idea, said Martin; I would have to enter men’s hearts in order to tell.
—Ah, said Candide, if Pangloss were here, he would know and he would tell us.
—I can’t imagine, said Martin, what scales your Pangloss would use to weigh out the miseries of men and value their griefs. All I will venture is that the earth holds millions of men who deserve our pity a hundred times more than King Charles Edward, Emperor Ivan, or Sultan Achmet.
—You may well be right, said Candide.
In a few days they arrived at the straits leading to the Black Sea. Candide began by repurchasing Cacambo at an exorbitant price; then, without losing an instant, he flung himself and his companions into a galley to go search out Cunégonde on the shores of Propontis, however ugly she might be.
There were in the chain gang two convicts who bent clumsily to the oar, and on whose bare shoulders the Levantine109 captain delivered from time to time a few lashes with a bullwhip. Candide naturally noticed them more than the other galley slaves, and out of pity came closer to them. Certain features of their disfigured faces seemed to him to bear a slight resemblance to Pangloss and to that wretched Jesuit, that baron, that brother of Miss Cunégonde. The notion stirred and saddened him. He looked at them more closely.
—To tell you the truth, he said to Cacambo, if I hadn’t seen Master Pangloss hanged, and if I hadn’t been so miserable as to murder the baron. I should think they were rowing in this very galley.
At the names of ‘baron’ and ‘Pangloss’ the two convicts gave a great cry, sat still on their bench, and dropped their oars. The Levantine captain came running, and the bullwhip lashes redoubled.
—Stop, stop, captain, cried Candide. I’ll give you as much money as you want.
—What, can it be Candide? cried one of the convicts.
—What, can it be Candide? cried the other.
—Is this a dream? said Candide. Am I awake or asleep? Am I in this galley? Is that my lord the Baron, whom I killed? Is that Master Pangloss, whom I saw hanged?
—It is indeed, they replied.
—What, is that the great philosopher? said Martin.
—Now, sir, Mr. Levantine Captain, said Candide, how much money do you want for the ransom of my lord Thunder-Ten-Tronckh, one of the first barons of the empire, and Master Pangloss, the deepest metaphysician in all Germany?
—Dog of a Christian, replied the Levantine captain, since these two dogs of Christian convicts are barons and metaphysicians, which is no doubt a great honor in their country, you will give me fifty thousand sequins for them.
—You shall have them, sir, take me back to Constantinople and you shall be paid on the spot. Or no, take me to Miss Cunégonde.
The Levantine captain, at Candide’s first word, had turned his bow toward the town, and he had them rowed there as swiftly as a bird cleaves the air.
A hundred times Candide embraced the baron and Pangloss.
—And haw does it happen I didn’t kill you, my dear baron? and my dear Pangloss, how can you be alive after being hanged? and why are you both rowing in the galleys of Turkey?
—Is it really true that my dear sister is in this country? asked the baron.
—Yes, answered Cacambo.
—And do I really see again my dear Candide? cried Pangloss.
Candide introduced Martin and Cacambo. They all embraced; they all talked at once. The galley flew, already they were back in port. A jew was called, and Candide sold him for fifty thousand sequins a diamond worth a hundred thousand, while he protested by Abraham that he could not possibly give more for it. Candide immediately ransomed the baron and Pangloss. The latter threw himself at the feet of his liberator, and bathed them with tears; the former thanked him with a nod, and promised to repay this bit of money at the first opportunity.
—But is it really possible that my sister is in Turkey? said he.
—Nothing is more possible, replied Cacambo, since she is a dishwasher in the house of a prince of Transylvania.
At once two more jews were called; Candide sold some more diamonds; and they all departed in another galley to the rescue of Cunégonde.
CHAPTER 28
What Happened to Candide, Cunégonde, Pangloss, Martin, &c.
—
Let me beg your pardon once more, said Candide to the baron, pardon me, reverend father, for having run you through the body with my sword.
—Don’t mention it, replied the baron. I was a little too hasty myself, I confess it; but since you want to know the misfortune which brought me to the galleys, I’ll tell you. After being cured of my wound by the brother who was apothecary to the college, I was attacked and abducted by a Spanish raiding party; they jailed me in Buenos Aires at the time when my sister had just left. I asked to be sent to Rome, to the father general. Instead, I was named to serve as almoner in Constantinople, under the French ambassador. I had not been a week on this job when I chanced one evening on a very handsome young ichoglan.110 The evening was hot; the young man wanted to take a swim; I seized the occasion, and went with him. I did not know that it is a capital offense for a Christian to be found naked with a young Moslem. A cadi sentenced me to receive a hundred blows with a cane on the soles of my feet, and then to be sent to the galleys. I don’t suppose there was ever such a horrible miscarriage of justice. But I would like to know why my sister is in the kitchen of a Transylvanian king exiled among Turks.
—But how about you, my dear Pangloss, said Candide; how is it possible that we have met again?
—It is true, said Pangloss, that you saw me hanged; in the normal course of things, I should have been burned, but you recall that a cloudburst occurred just as they were about to roast me. So much rain fell that they despaired of lighting the fire; thus I was hanged, for lack of anything better to do with me. A surgeon bought my body, carried me off to his house, and dissected me. First he made a cross-shaped incision in me, from the navel to the clavicle. No one could have been worse hanged than I was. In fact, the executioner of the high ceremonials of the Holy Inquisition, who was a subdeacon, burned people marvelously well, but he was not in the way of hanging them. The rope was wet, and tightened badly; it caught on a knot; in short, I was still breathing. The cross-shaped incision made me scream so loudly that the surgeon fell over backwards; he thought he was dissecting the devil, fled in an agony of fear, and fell downstairs in his flight. His wife ran in, at the noise, from a nearby room; she found me stretched out on the table with my cross-shaped incision, was even more frightened than her husband, fled, and fell over him. When they had recovered a little, I heard her say to him: ‘My dear, what were you thinking of, trying to dissect a heretic? Don’t you know those people are always possessed of the devil? I’m going to get a priest and have him exorcised.’ At these words, I shuddered, and collected my last remaining energies to cry: ‘Have mercy on me!’ At last the Portuguese barber111 took courage; he sewed me up again; his wife even nursed me; in two weeks I was up and about. The barber found me a job and made me lackey to a Knight of Malta who was going to Venice; and when this master could no longer pay me, I took service under a Venetian merchant, whom I followed to Constantinople.
