Voltaire · Complete work
Chapter X
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Open the complete readerOriginal French
Dans quelle détresse Candide, Cunégonde, et la vieille, arrivent à Cadix, et leur embarquement.
Qui a donc pu me voler mes pistoles et mes diamants? disait en pleurant Cunégonde; de quoi vivrons-nous? comment ferons-nous? où trouver des inquisiteurs et des Juifs qui m’en donnent d’autres? Hélas! dit la vieille, je soupçonne fort un révérend père cordelier, qui coucha hier dans la même auberge que nous à Badajos; Dieu me garde de faire un jugement téméraire! mais il entra deux fois dans notre chambre, et il partit long-temps avant nous. Hélas! dit Candide, le bon Pangloss m’avait souvent prouvé que les biens de la terre sont communs à tous les hommes, que chacun y a un droit égal. Ce cordelier devait bien, suivant ces principes, nous laisser de quoi achever notre voyage. Il ne vous reste donc rien du tout, ma belle Cunégonde? Pas un maravédis, dit-elle. Quel parti prendre? dit Candide. Vendons un des chevaux, dit la vieille; je monterai en croupe derrière mademoiselle, quoique je ne puisse me tenir que sur une fesse, et nous arriverons à Cadix.
Il y avait dans la même hôtellerie un prieur de bénédictins; il acheta le cheval bon marché. Candide, Cunégonde, et la vieille, passèrent par Lucena, par Chillas, par Lebrixa, et arrivèrent enfin à Cadix. On y équipait une flotte, et on y assemblait des troupes pour mettre à la raison les révérends pères jésuites du Paraguai, qu’on accusait d’avoir fait révolter une de leurs hordes contre les rois d’Espagne et de Portugal, auprès de la ville du Saint-Sacrement. Candide, ayant servi chez les Bulgares, fit l’exercice bulgarien devant le général de la petite armée avec tant de grâce, de célérité, d’adresse, de fierté, d’agilité, qu’on lui donna une compagnie d’infanterie à commander. Le voilà capitaine; il s’embarque avec mademoiselle Cunégonde, la vieille, deux valets, et les deux chevaux andalous qui avaient appartenu à M. le grand-inquisiteur de Portugal.
Pendant toute la traversée ils raisonnèrent beaucoup sur la philosophie du pauvre Pangloss. Nous allons dans un autre univers, disait Candide; c’est dans celui-là, sans doute, que tout est bien: car il faut avouer qu’on pourrait gémir un peu de ce qui se passe dans le nôtre en physique et en morale. Je vous aime de tout mon coeur, disait Cunégonde; mais j’ai encore l’âme tout effarouchée de ce que j’ai vu, de ce que j’ai éprouvé. Tout ira bien, répliquait Candide; la mer de ce nouveau monde vaut déjà mieux que les mers de notre Europe; elle est plus calme, les vents plus constants. C’est certainement le Nouveau-Monde qui est le meilleur des univers possibles. Dieu le veuille! disait Cunégonde: mais j’ai été si horriblement malheureuse dans le mien, que mon coeur est presque fermé à l’espérance. Vous vous plaignez, leur dit la vieille; hélas! vous n’avez pas éprouvé des infortunes telles que les miennes. Cunégonde se mit presque à rire, et trouva cette bonne femme fort plaisante de prétendre être plus malheureuse qu’elle. Hélas! lui dit-elle, ma bonne, à moins que vous n’ayez été violée par deux Bulgares, que vous n’ayez reçu deux coups de couteau dans le ventre, qu’on n’ait démoli deux de vos châteaux, qu’on n’ait égorgé à vos yeux deux mères et deux pères, et que vous n’ayez vu deux de vos amants fouettés dans un auto-da-fé, je ne vois pas que vous puissiez l’emporter sur moi; ajoutez que je suis née baronne avec soixante et douze quartiers, et que j’ai été cuisinière. Mademoiselle, répondit la vieille, vous ne savez pas quelle est ma naissance; et si je vous montrais mon derrière, vous ne parleriez pas comme vous faites, et vous suspendriez votre jugement. Ce discours fit naître une extrême curiosité dans l’esprit de Cunégonde et de Candide. La vieille leur parla en ces termes.
Musean translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the French text of all thirty chapters (Beuchot edition, 1829) for fidelity, the author’s force and cadence, and modern clarity. The editor’s notes are omitted.
The Distress in Which Candide, Cunégonde, and the Old Woman Reach Cádiz, and Their Embarkation.
“Who could have stolen my pistoles and my diamonds?” said Cunégonde through her tears. “What shall we live on? What shall we do? Where shall we find inquisitors and Jews to give me more?” “Alas,” said the old woman, “I strongly suspect a reverend Franciscan father who slept in the same inn as we did yesterday at Badajos. God preserve me from rash judgment! But he came into our room twice, and left long before we did.” “Alas,” said Candide, “good Pangloss often proved to me that the goods of the earth belong to all mankind, and everyone has an equal right to them. By those principles, this friar should certainly have left us enough to finish our journey. So you have nothing at all left, my beautiful Cunégonde?” “Not a single maravedi,” she said. “What are we to do?” said Candide. “Sell one of the horses,” said the old woman. “I shall ride behind the young lady, though I can sit on only one buttock, and we shall reach Cádiz.”
A Benedictine prior was staying at the same inn; he bought the horse cheaply. Candide, Cunégonde, and the old woman passed through Lucena, Chillas, and Lebrixa, and at last reached Cádiz. There a fleet was being fitted out and troops assembled to bring the reverend Jesuit fathers of Paraguai to heel: they were accused of inciting one of their hordes to revolt against the kings of Spain and Portugal near the town of Saint-Sacrement. Having served among the Bulgarians, Candide performed the Bulgarian drill before the commander of the little army with such grace, speed, skill, pride, and agility that he was given an infantry company to command. So he was a captain. He embarked with Miss Cunégonde, the old woman, two servants, and the two Andalusian horses that had belonged to His Lordship the Grand Inquisitor of Portugal.
Throughout the crossing they discussed poor Pangloss’s philosophy at length. “We are going to another universe,” said Candide. “There, no doubt, all is well. For one must admit that what happens in our own world, in matters both physical and moral, could give us some cause to lament.” “I love you with all my heart,” said Cunégonde, “but my soul is still shaken by what I have seen and suffered.” “All will be well,” Candide replied. “The sea of this new world is already better than the seas of our Europe: it is calmer, and its winds are steadier. The New World is surely the best of all possible universes.” “God grant it!” said Cunégonde. “But I have been so horribly unhappy in mine that my heart is almost closed to hope.” “You complain,” the old woman told them. “Alas, you have not suffered misfortunes such as mine.” Cunégonde almost laughed, finding this good woman most amusing for claiming to be unhappier than she was. “Alas, my dear,” she said, “unless you have been raped by two Bulgarians, stabbed twice in the belly, had two of your castles demolished, seen two mothers and two fathers slaughtered before your eyes, and watched two of your lovers whipped at an auto-da-fé, I cannot see how you can outdo me. Add that I was born a baroness with seventy-two noble lines of ancestry, and I have been a cook.” “Miss,” replied the old woman, “you do not know my birth. If I showed you my backside, you would not speak as you do, and you would suspend judgment.” These words aroused intense curiosity in Cunégonde and Candide. The old woman spoke to them as follows.
Plain English translation
Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the French text of all thirty chapters (Beuchot edition, 1829). The editor’s notes are omitted.
The Trouble Candide, Cunégonde, and the Old Woman Were In When They Reached Cadiz, and How They Set Sail.
“Who could have stolen my gold coins and diamonds?” Cunégonde said, crying. “What will we live on? What will we do? Where can we find inquisitors and Jews to give me more?” “Oh,” said the old woman, “I strongly suspect a Franciscan friar who slept at the same inn as we did yesterday in Badajos. God forbid that I should judge anyone too quickly! But he came into our room twice, and he left long before we did.” “Oh,” said Candide, “good Pangloss often proved to me that the goods of the earth belong to everyone and that everyone has an equal right to them. According to those principles, this friar ought to have left us enough to finish our journey. So you have nothing at all left, my beautiful Cunégonde?” “Not a single maravedi,” she said. “What should we do?” said Candide. “Sell one of the horses,” said the old woman. “I'll ride behind the young lady, even though I can only sit on one buttock, and we'll reach Cadiz.”
A Benedictine prior was staying at the same inn. He bought the horse cheaply. Candide, Cunégonde, and the old woman went through Lucena, Chillas, and Lebrixa, and finally reached Cadiz. A fleet was being fitted out there, and troops were gathering to bring the Jesuit fathers of Paraguai into line. They were accused of having stirred up one of their groups to rebel against the kings of Spain and Portugal near the town of the Holy Sacrament. Candide had served in the Bulgarian army. He performed the Bulgarian drills before the general of the small army with such grace, speed, skill, pride, and agility that he was given command of an infantry company. Now he was a captain. He boarded a ship with Miss Cunégonde, the old woman, two servants, and the two Andalusian horses that had belonged to the grand inquisitor of Portugal.
Throughout the crossing they talked a great deal about poor Pangloss's philosophy. “We're going to another world,” Candide said. “Surely everything is good there. After all, you have to admit that what's happening in our own world, in nature and in human behavior, gives us some reason to complain.” “I love you with all my heart,” Cunégonde said, “but everything I've seen and suffered has still left me shaken.” “Everything will be fine,” Candide replied. “The sea in this new world is already better than the seas of Europe. It's calmer, and the winds are steadier. The New World is certainly the best of all possible worlds.” “I hope so!” said Cunégonde. “But I've been so terribly unhappy in my own world that I can hardly hope anymore.” “You're complaining,” the old woman told them. “Oh, you haven't suffered the kind of misfortunes I have.” Cunégonde almost laughed. She thought it absurd that this good woman could claim to be more miserable than she was. “My dear woman,” she told her, “unless you've been raped by two Bulgarians, stabbed twice in the stomach, had two of your castles destroyed, seen two mothers and two fathers have their throats cut before your eyes, and seen two of your lovers whipped at an auto-da-fé, I don't see how you can outdo me. And I was born a baroness with seventy-two noble lines in my ancestry and ended up a cook.” “Miss,” the old woman replied, “you don't know what family I come from. And if I showed you my backside, you wouldn't talk that way. You'd reserve judgment.” This made Cunégonde and Candide extremely curious. The old woman spoke to them as follows.