Candide
The lady then put a plump hand out from the bed, and Candide bathed it
with his tears and afterwards filled it with diamonds, leaving a bag of
gold upon the easy chair.
In the midst of these transports in came an officer, followed by the
Abbe and a file of soldiers.
"There," said he, "are the two suspected foreigners," and at the same
time he ordered them to be seized and carried to prison.
"Travellers are not treated thus in El Dorado," said Candide.
"I am more a Manichean now than ever," said Martin.
"But pray, sir, where are you going to carry us?" said Candide.
"To a dungeon," answered the officer.
Martin, having recovered himself a little, judged that the lady who
acted the part of Cunegonde was a cheat, that the Perigordian Abbe was a
knave who had imposed upon the honest simplicity of Candide, and that
the officer was another knave whom they might easily silence.
Candide, advised by Martin and impatient to see the real Cunegonde,
rather than expose himself before a court of justice, proposed to the
officer to give him three small diamonds, each worth about three
thousand pistoles.
"Ah, sir," said the man with the ivory baton, "had you committed all the
imaginable crimes you would be to me the most honest man in the world.
Three diamonds! Each worth three thousand pistoles! Sir, instead of
carrying you to jail I would lose my life to serve you. There are orders
for arresting all foreigners, but leave it to me. I have a brother at
Dieppe in Normandy! I'll conduct you thither, and if you have a diamond
to give him he'll take as much care of you as I would."
"And why," said Candide, "should all foreigners be arrested?"
"It is," the Perigordian Abbe then made answer, "because a poor beggar
of the country of Atrebatie[28] heard some foolish things said. This
induced him to commit a parricide, not such as that of 1610 in the month
of May,[29] but such as that of 1594 in the month of December,[30] and
such as others which have been committed in other years and other months
by other poor devils who had heard nonsense spoken."
The officer then explained what the Abbe meant.
"Ah, the monsters!" cried Candide. "What horrors among a people who
dance and sing! Is there no way of getting quickly out of this country
where monkeys provoke tigers? I have seen no bears in my country, but
_men_ I have beheld nowhere except in El Dorado. In the name of God,
sir, conduct me to Venice, where I am to await Miss Cunegonde."
"I can conduct you no further than lower Normandy," said the officer.
Immediately he ordered his irons to be struck off, acknowledged himself
mistaken, sent away his men, set out with Candide and Martin for Dieppe,
and left them in the care of his brother.
There was then a small Dutch ship in the harbour. The Norman, who by the
virtue of three more diamonds had become the most subservient of men,
put Candide and his attendants on board a vessel that was just ready to
set sail for Portsmouth in England.
This was not the way to Venice, but Candide thought he had made his way
out of hell, and reckoned that he would soon have an opportunity for
resuming his journey.
XXIII
CANDIDE AND MARTIN TOUCHED UPON THE COAST OF ENGLAND, AND WHAT THEY SAW
THERE.
"Ah, Pangloss! Pangloss! Ah, Martin! Martin! Ah, my dear Cunegonde, what
sort of a world is this?" said Candide on board the Dutch ship.
"Something very foolish and abominable," said Martin.
"You know England? Are they as foolish there as in France?"
"It is another kind of folly," said Martin. "You know that these two
nations are at war for a few acres of snow in Canada,[31] and that they
spend over this beautiful war much more than Canada is worth. To tell
you exactly, whether there are more people fit to send to a madhouse in
one country than the other, is what my imperfect intelligence will not
permit. I only know in general that the people we are going to see are
very atrabilious."
Talking thus they arrived at Portsmouth. The coast was lined with crowds
of people, whose eyes were fixed on a fine man kneeling, with his eyes
bandaged, on board one of the men of war in the harbour. Four soldiers
stood opposite to this man; each of them fired three balls at his head,
with all the calmness in the world; and the whole assembly went away
very well satisfied.
"What is all this?" said Candide; "and what demon is it that exercises
his empire in this country?"
He then asked who was that fine man who had been killed with so much
ceremony. They answered, he was an Admiral.[32]
"And why kill this Admiral?"
"It is because he did not kill a sufficient number of men himself. He
gave battle to a French Admiral; and it has been proved that he was not
near enough to him."
"But," replied Candide, "the French Admiral was as far from the English
Admiral."
"There is no doubt of it; but in this country it is found good, from
time to time, to kill one Admiral to encourage the others."
Candide was so shocked and bewildered by what he saw and heard, that he
would not set foot on shore, and he made a bargain with the Dutch
skipper (were he even to rob him like the Surinam captain) to conduct
him without delay to Venice.
The skipper was ready in two days. They coasted France; they passed in
sight of Lisbon, and Candide trembled. They passed through the Straits,
and entered the Mediterranean. At last they landed at Venice.
"God be praised!" said Candide, embracing Martin. "It is here that I
shall see again my beautiful Cunegonde. I trust Cacambo as myself. All
is well, all will be well, all goes as well as possible."
XXIV
OF PAQUETTE AND FRIAR GIROFLEE.
Upon their arrival at Venice, Candide went to search for Cacambo at
every inn and coffee-house, and among all the ladies of pleasure, but to
no purpose. He sent every day to inquire on all the ships that came in.
But there was no news of Cacambo.
"What!" said he to Martin, "I have had time to voyage from Surinam to
Bordeaux, to go from Bordeaux to Paris, from Paris to Dieppe, from
Dieppe to Portsmouth, to coast along Portugal and Spain, to cross the
whole Mediterranean, to spend some months, and yet the beautiful
Cunegonde has not arrived! Instead of her I have only met a Parisian
wench and a Perigordian Abbe. Cunegonde is dead without doubt, and there
is nothing for me but to die. Alas! how much better it would have been
for me to have remained in the paradise of El Dorado than to come back
to this cursed Europe! You are in the right, my dear Martin: all is
misery and illusion."
He fell into a deep melancholy, and neither went to see the opera, nor
any of the other diversions of the Carnival; nay, he was proof against
the temptations of all the ladies.
"You are in truth very simple," said Martin to him, "if you imagine that
a mongrel valet, who has five or six millions in his pocket, will go to
the other end of the world to seek your mistress and bring her to you to
Venice. If he find her, he will keep her to himself; if he do not find
her he will get another. I advise you to forget your valet Cacambo and
your mistress Cunegonde."
Martin was not consoling. Candide's melancholy increased; and Martin
continued to prove to him that there was very little virtue or happiness
upon earth, except perhaps in El Dorado, where nobody could gain
admittance.
While they were disputing on this important subject and waiting for
Cunegonde, Candide saw a young Theatin friar in St. Mark's Piazza,
holding a girl on his arm. The Theatin looked fresh coloured, plump, and
vigorous; his eyes were sparkling, his air assured, his look lofty, and
his step bold. The girl was very pretty, and sang; she looked amorously
at her Theatin, and from time to time pinched his fat cheeks.
"At least you will allow me," said Candide to Martin, "that these two
are happy. Hitherto I have met with none but unfortunate people in the
whole habitable globe, except in El Dorado; but as to this pair, I would
venture to lay a wager that they are very happy."
"I lay you they are not," said Martin.
"We need only ask them to dine with us," said Candide, "and you will see
whether I am mistaken."
Immediately he accosted them, presented his compliments, and invited
them to his inn to eat some macaroni, with Lombard partridges, and
caviare, and to drink some Montepulciano, Lachrymae Christi, Cyprus and
Samos wine. The girl blushed, the Theatin accepted the invitation and
she followed him, casting her eyes on Candide with confusion and
surprise, and dropping a few tears. No sooner had she set foot in
Candide's apartment than she cried out:
"Ah! Mr. Candide does not know Paquette again."
Candide had not viewed her as yet with attention, his thoughts being
entirely taken up with Cunegonde; but recollecting her as she spoke.
"Alas!" said he, "my poor child, it is you who reduced Doctor Pangloss
to the beautiful condition in which I saw him?"
"Alas! it was I, sir, indeed," answered Paquette. "I see that you have
heard all. I have been informed of the frightful disasters that befell
the family of my lady Baroness, and the fair Cunegonde. I swear to you
that my fate has been scarcely less sad. I was very innocent when you
knew me. A Grey Friar, who was my confessor, easily seduced me. The
consequences were terrible. I was obliged to quit the castle some time
after the Baron had sent you away with kicks on the backside. If a
famous surgeon had not taken compassion on me, I should have died. For
some time I was this surgeon's mistress, merely out of gratitude. His
wife, who was mad with jealousy, beat me every day unmercifully; she was
a fury. The surgeon was one of the ugliest of men, and I the most
wretched of women, to be continually beaten for a man I did not love.
You know, sir, what a dangerous thing it is for an ill-natured woman to
be married to a doctor. Incensed at the behaviour of his wife, he one
day gave her so effectual a remedy to cure her of a slight cold, that
she died two hours after, in most horrid convulsions. The wife's
relations prosecuted the husband; he took flight, and I was thrown into
jail. My innocence would not have saved me if I had not been
good-looking. The judge set me free, on condition that he succeeded the
surgeon. I was soon supplanted by a rival, turned out of doors quite
destitute, and obliged to continue this abominable trade, which appears
so pleasant to you men, while to us women it is the utmost abyss of
misery. I have come to exercise the profession at Venice. Ah! sir, if
you could only imagine what it is to be obliged to caress indifferently
an old merchant, a lawyer, a monk, a gondolier, an abbe, to be exposed
to abuse and insults; to be often reduced to borrowing a petticoat, only
to go and have it raised by a disagreeable man; to be robbed by one of
what one has earned from another; to be subject to the extortions of the
officers of justice; and to have in prospect only a frightful old age, a
hospital, and a dung-hill; you would conclude that I am one of the most
unhappy creatures in the world."[33]
Paquette thus opened her heart to honest Candide, in the presence of
Martin, who said to his friend:
"You see that already I have won half the wager."
Friar Giroflee stayed in the dining-room, and drank a glass or two of
wine while he was waiting for dinner.
"But," said Candide to Paquette, "you looked so gay and content when I
met you; you sang and you behaved so lovingly to the Theatin, that you
seemed to me as happy as you pretend to be now the reverse."
"Ah! sir," answered Paquette, "this is one of the miseries of the trade.
Yesterday I was robbed and beaten by an officer; yet to-day I must put
on good humour to please a friar."
Candide wanted no more convincing; he owned that Martin was in the