Voltaire · Complete work
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIII of 30. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
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Comment Candide fut obligé de se séparer de la belle Cunégonde et de la vieille.
La belle Cunégonde, ayant entendu l’histoire de la vieille, lui fit toutes les politesses qu’on devait à une personne de son rang et de son mérite. Elle accepta la proposition; elle engagea tous les passagers, l’un après l’autre, à lui conter leurs aventures. Candide et elle avouèrent que la vieille avait raison. C’est bien dommage, disait Candide, que le sage Pangloss ait été pendu contre la coutume dans un auto-da-fé; il nous dirait des choses admirables sur le mal physique et sur le mal moral qui couvrent la terre et la mer, et je me sentirais assez de force pour oser lui faire respectueusement quelques objections.
A mesure que chacun racontait son histoire, le vaisseau avançait. On aborda dans Buénos-Ayres. Cunégonde, le capitaine Candide, et la vieille, allèrent chez le gouverneur don Fernando d’Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza. Ce seigneur avait une fierté convenable à un homme qui portait tant de noms. Il parlait aux hommes avec le dédain le plus noble, portant le nez si haut, élevant si impitoyablement la voix, prenant un ton si imposant, affectant une démarche si altière, que tous ceux qui le saluaient étaient tentés de le battre. Il aimait les femmes à la fureur. Cunégonde lui parut ce qu’il avait jamais vu de plus beau. La première chose qu’il fit fut de demander si elle n’était point la femme du capitaine. L’air dont il fit cette question alarma Candide: il n’osa pas dire qu’elle était sa femme, parcequ’en effet elle ne l’était point; il n’osait pas dire que c’était sa soeur, parcequ’elle ne l’était pas non plus; et quoique ce mensonge officieux eût été autrefois très à la mode chez les anciens, et qu’il pût être utile aux modernes, son âme était trop pure pour trahir la vérité. Mademoiselle Cunégonde, dit-il, doit me faire l’honneur de m’épouser, et nous supplions votre excellence de daigner faire notre noce.
Don Fernando d’Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza, relevant sa moustache, sourit amèrement, et ordonna au capitaine Candide d’aller faire la revue de sa compagnie. Candide obéit; le gouverneur demeura avec mademoiselle Cunégonde. Il lui déclara sa passion, lui protesta que le lendemain il l’épouserait à la face de l’Église, ou autrement, ainsi qu’il plairait à ses charmes. Cunégonde lui demanda un quart d’heure pour se recueillir, pour consulter la vieille, et pour se déterminer.
La vieille dit à Cunégonde: Mademoiselle, vous avez soixante et douze quartiers et pas une obole; il ne tient qu’à vous d’être la femme du plus grand seigneur de l’Amérique méridionale, qui a une très belle moustache; est-ce à vous de vous piquer d’une fidélité à toute épreuve? Vous avez été violée par les Bulgares; un Juif et un inquisiteur ont eu vos bonnes grâces: les malheurs donnent des droits. J’avoue que si j’étais à votre place, je ne ferais aucun scrupule d’épouser monsieur le gouverneur, et de faire la fortune de monsieur le capitaine Candide. Tandis que la vieille parlait avec toute la prudence que l’âge et l’expérience donnent, on vit entrer dans le port un petit vaisseau; il portait un alcade et des alguazils, et voici ce qui était arrivé.
La vieille avait très bien deviné que ce fut un cordelier à la grande manche qui vola l’argent et les bijoux de Cunégonde dans la ville de Badajos, lorsqu’elle fuyait en hâte avec Candide. Ce moine voulut vendre quelques unes des pierreries à un joaillier. Le marchand les reconnut pour celles du grand-inquisiteur. Le cordelier, avant d’être pendu, avoua qu’il les avait volées: il indiqua les personnes, et la route qu’elles prenaient. La fuite de Cunégonde et de Candide était déjà connue. On les suivit à Cadix: on envoya, sans perdre de temps, un vaisseau à leur poursuite. Le vaisseau était déjà dans le port de Buénos-Ayres. Le bruit se répandit qu’un alcade allait débarquer, et qu’on poursuivait les meurtriers de monseigneur le grand-inquisiteur. La prudente vieille vit dans l’instant tout ce qui était à faire. Vous ne pouvez fuir, dit-elle à Cunégonde, et vous n’avez rien à craindre; ce n’est pas vous qui avez tué monseigneur, et d’ailleurs le gouverneur, qui vous aime, ne souffrira pas qu’on vous maltraite; demeurez. Elle court sur-le-champ à Candide: Fuyez, dit-elle, ou dans une heure vous allez être brûlé. Il n’y avait pas un moment à perdre; mais comment se séparer de Cunégonde, et où se réfugier?
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.
How Candide Was Forced to Part from the Beautiful Cunégonde and the Old Woman.
Having heard the old woman’s story, the beautiful Cunégonde showed her every courtesy due to a person of her rank and merit. She accepted the proposal and persuaded all the passengers, one after another, to tell her their adventures. She and Candide admitted that the old woman was right. “It is a great pity,” Candide said, “that the wise Pangloss was hanged, contrary to custom, at an auto-da-fé. He would tell us marvelous things about the physical and moral evil that covers earth and sea; and I feel I should have strength enough to dare, with all respect, to raise a few objections.”
As each passenger told a story, the ship moved on. They landed at Buénos-Ayres. Cunégonde, Captain Candide, and the old woman went to see the governor, Don Fernando d’Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza. This lord had a pride befitting a man who bore so many names. He spoke to men with the noblest disdain, held his nose so high, raised his voice so mercilessly, assumed so commanding a tone, and affected so haughty a walk that everyone who greeted him was tempted to beat him. He had a furious passion for women. Cunégonde struck him as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His first act was to ask whether she was the captain’s wife. The manner in which he asked alarmed Candide. He did not dare say she was his wife, since in fact she was not; he did not dare say she was his sister, since she was not that either. Though this obliging falsehood had once been much in fashion among the ancients and might still be useful to modern people, his soul was too pure to betray the truth. “Miss Cunégonde,” he said, “is to do me the honor of marrying me, and we beg Your Excellency to graciously conduct our wedding.”
Don Fernando d’Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza stroked his mustache, smiled bitterly, and ordered Captain Candide to inspect his company. Candide obeyed; the governor remained with Miss Cunégonde. He declared his passion and vowed to marry her the next day before the Church, or otherwise, whichever pleased her charms. Cunégonde asked him for a quarter of an hour to collect herself, consult the old woman, and decide.
The old woman said to Cunégonde: “Miss, you have seventy-two noble lines of ancestry and not a penny. You have only to say the word to become the wife of the greatest lord in South America, a man with a very fine mustache. Is it for you to pride yourself on fidelity that nothing can shake? You were raped by the Bulgarians; a Jew and an inquisitor have enjoyed your favors. Misfortunes confer rights. I confess that if I were in your place, I would have no scruple about marrying His Excellency the governor and making Captain Candide’s fortune.” While the old woman spoke with all the prudence that age and experience bestow, a small ship was seen entering the harbor. It carried a magistrate and constables, and this is what had happened.
The old woman had guessed quite correctly that it was a friar with wide sleeves who had stolen Cunégonde’s money and jewels in Badajos when she was fleeing in haste with Candide. The monk tried to sell some of the gems to a jeweler. The merchant recognized them as the Grand Inquisitor’s. Before he was hanged, the friar confessed that he had stolen them, and identified the people and the route they had taken. Cunégonde’s and Candide’s escape was already known. They were followed to Cádiz; without losing time, a ship was sent in pursuit. The ship was already in the harbor of Buénos-Ayres. Word spread that a magistrate was about to land and that the murderers of His Lordship the Grand Inquisitor were being pursued. The prudent old woman saw at once what had to be done. “You cannot flee,” she told Cunégonde, “and you have nothing to fear. You did not kill His Lordship, and besides, the governor, who loves you, will not permit anyone to mistreat you. Stay here.” She ran straight to Candide. “Flee,” she said, “or within the hour you will be burned.” There was not a moment to lose. But how could he part from Cunégonde, and where could he find refuge?
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.
How Candide Had to Leave Beautiful Cunégonde and the Old Woman.
After hearing the old woman's story, beautiful Cunégonde showed her all the courtesy due to someone of her rank and merit. She accepted her suggestion and asked each passenger in turn to tell her their adventures. She and Candide admitted that the old woman was right. “It's a great pity,” Candide said, “that wise Pangloss was hanged at an auto-da-fé, against the usual practice. He would tell us wonderful things about the physical and moral evils that cover the land and sea. I think I would be brave enough to raise a few respectful objections.”
As each person told their story, the ship kept moving forward. They landed in Buenos Aires. Cunégonde, Captain Candide, and the old woman went to see the governor, don Fernando d’Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza. This gentleman had all the pride appropriate for a man with so many names. He spoke to men with the grandest contempt. He held his nose so high, raised his voice so mercilessly, spoke in such a commanding tone, and walked with such an arrogant air that everyone who greeted him was tempted to beat him. He was mad about women. Cunégonde seemed to him the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His first move was to ask whether she was the captain's wife. The way he asked frightened Candide. He did not dare say she was his wife, because in fact she was not. He did not dare say she was his sister, because she was not that either. The ancients had once been very fond of this convenient lie, and it might have helped modern people too, but Candide's heart was too pure to betray the truth. “Miss Cunégonde intends to do me the honor of marrying me,” he said, “and we ask Your Excellency to be kind enough to perform our wedding.”
Don Fernando d’Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza twirled his mustache, smiled bitterly, and ordered Captain Candide to go review his company. Candide obeyed. The governor stayed with Miss Cunégonde. He declared his love and promised to marry her the next day, before the Church or otherwise, as her charms might please. Cunégonde asked for a quarter of an hour to collect her thoughts, consult the old woman, and decide.
The old woman told Cunégonde, “Miss, you have seventy-two noble lines in your ancestry and not a penny. You could become the wife of the greatest lord in South America, a man with a very fine mustache. Are you really in a position to insist on perfect loyalty? The Bulgarians raped you. A Jew and an inquisitor have enjoyed your favors. Misfortune gives you rights. I admit that in your place I would have no qualms about marrying the governor and making Captain Candide's fortune too.” While the old woman was speaking with all the good sense that age and experience bring, a small ship was seen entering the harbor. It carried a magistrate and some officers of the law. Here is what had happened.
The old woman had guessed correctly: it was a friar with wide sleeves who stole Cunégonde's money and jewels in Badajos while she was fleeing in haste with Candide. The monk tried to sell some of the gems to a jeweler. The jeweler recognized them as belonging to the grand inquisitor. Before he was hanged, the friar admitted stealing them. He identified the people involved and the route they were taking. Cunégonde and Candide's flight was already known. They were tracked to Cadiz, and a ship was sent after them at once. That ship was already in the harbor of Buenos Aires. Word spread that a magistrate was about to come ashore and that the killers of his lordship the grand inquisitor were being pursued. The sensible old woman immediately saw what had to be done. “You can't run away,” she told Cunégonde, “and you have nothing to fear. You didn't kill his lordship, and besides, the governor loves you. He won't let anyone mistreat you. Stay here.” She rushed straight to Candide. “Run,” she said, “or you'll be burned within an hour.” There was not a moment to lose. But how could he leave Cunégonde, and where could he take refuge?