Voltaire · Complete work
Chapter XIX
Chapter XIX of 30. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
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Ce qui leur arriva à Surinam, et comment Candide fit connaissance avec Martin.
La première journée de nos deux voyageurs fut assez agréable. Ils étaient encouragés par l’idée de se voir possesseurs de plus de trésors que l’Asie, l’Europe, et l’Afrique, n’en pouvaient rassembler. Candide transporté écrivit le nom de Cunégonde sur les arbres. A la seconde journée deux de leurs moutons s’enfoncèrent dans des marais, et y furent abîmés avec leurs charges; deux autres moutons moururent de fatigue quelques jours après; sept ou huit périrent ensuite de faim dans un désert; d’autres tombèrent au bout de quelques jours dans des précipices. Enfin, après cent jours de marche, il ne leur resta que deux moutons. Candide dit à Cacambo: Mon ami, vous voyez comme les richesses de ce monde sont périssables; il n’y a rien de solide que la vertu et le bonheur de revoir mademoiselle Cunégonde. Je l’avoue, dit Cacambo; mais il nous reste encore deux moutons avec plus de trésors que n’en aura jamais le roi d’Espagne; et je vois bien de loin une ville que je soupçonne être Surinam, appartenante aux Hollandais. Nous sommes au bout de nos peines et au commencement de notre félicité.
En approchant de la ville, ils rencontrèrent un nègre étendu par terre, n’ayant plus que la moitié de son habit, c’est-à-dire d’un caleçon de toile bleue; il manquait à ce pauvre homme la jambe gauche et la main droite. Eh! mon Dieu! lui dit Candide en hollandais, que fais-tu là, mon ami, dans l’état horrible où je te vois? J’attends mon maître, M. Vanderdendur, le fameux négociant, répondit le nègre. Est-ce M. Vanderdendur, dit Candide, qui t’a traité ainsi? Oui, monsieur, dit le nègre, c’est l’usage. On nous donne un caleçon de toile pour tout vêtement deux fois l’année. Quand nous travaillons aux sucreries, et que la meule nous attrape le doigt, on nous coupe la main: quand nous voulons nous enfuir, on nous coupe la jambe: je me suis trouvé dans les deux cas. C’est à ce prix que vous mangez du sucre en Europe. Cependant, lorsque ma mère me vendit dix écus patagons sur la côte de Guinée, elle me disait: Mon cher enfant, bénis nos fétiches, adore-les toujours, ils te feront vivre heureux; tu as l’honneur d’être esclave de nos seigneurs les blancs, et tu fais par là la fortune de ton père et de ta mère. Hélas! je ne sais pas si j’ai fait leur fortune, mais ils n’ont pas fait la mienne. Les chiens, les singes, et les perroquets, sont mille fois moins malheureux que nous: les fétiches hollandais qui m’ont converti me disent tous les dimanches que nous sommes tous enfants d’Adam, blancs et noirs. Je ne suis pas généalogiste; mais si ces prêcheurs disent vrai, nous sommes tous cousins issus de germain. Or vous m’avouerez qu’on ne peut pas en user avec ses parents d’une manière plus horrible.
O Pangloss! s’écria Candide, tu n’avais pas deviné cette abomination; c’en est fait, il faudra qu’à la fin je renonce à ton optimisme. Qu’est-ce qu’optimisme? disait Cacambo. Hélas! dit Candide, c’est la rage de soutenir que tout est bien quand on est mal; et il versait des larmes en regardant son nègre; et en pleurant, il entra dans Surinam.
La première chose dont ils s’informent, c’est s’il n’y a point au port quelque vaisseau qu’on pût envoyer à Buénos-Ayres. Celui à qui ils s’adressèrent était justement un patron espagnol qui s’offrit à faire avec eux un marché honnête. Il leur donna rendez-vous dans un cabaret. Candide et le fidèle Cacambo allèrent l’y attendre avec leurs deux moutons.
Candide, qui avait le coeur sur les lèvres, conta à l’Espagnol toutes ses aventures, et lui avoua qu’il voulait enlever mademoiselle Cunégonde. Je me garderai bien de vous passer à Buénos-Ayres, dit le patron: je serais pendu, et vous aussi; la belle Cunégonde est la maîtresse favorite de monseigneur. Ce fut un coup de foudre pour Candide, il pleura longtemps; enfin il tira à part Cacambo. Voici, mon cher ami, lui dit-il, ce qu’il faut que tu fasses. Nous avons chacun dans nos poches pour cinq ou six millions de diamants, tu es plus habile que moi; va prendre mademoiselle Cunégonde à Buénos-Ayres. Si le gouverneur fait quelque difficulté, donne-lui un million: s’il ne se rend pas, donne-lui-en deux; tu n’as point tué d’inquisiteur, on ne se défiera point de toi. J’équiperai un autre vaisseau, j’irai t’attendre à Venise: c’est un pays libre où l’on n’a rien à craindre ni des Bulgares, ni des Abares, ni des Juifs, ni des inquisiteurs. Cacambo applaudit, à cette sage résolution. Il était au désespoir de se séparer d’un bon maître devenu son ami intime; mais le plaisir de lui être utile l’emporta sur la douleur de le quitter. Ils s’embrassèrent en versant des larmes: Candide lui recommanda de ne point oublier la bonne vieille. Cacambo partit dès le jour même: c’était un très bon homme que ce Cacambo.
Candide resta encore quelque temps à Surinam, et attendit qu’un autre patron voulût le mener en Italie lui et les deux moutons qui lui restaient. Il prit des domestiques, et acheta tout ce qui lui était nécessaire pour un long voyage; enfin M. Vanderdendur, maître d’un gros vaisseau, vint se présenter à lui. Combien voulez-vous, demanda-t-il à cet homme, pour me mener en droiture à Venise, moi, mes gens, mon bagage, et les deux moutons que voilà? Le patron s’accorda à dix mille piastres: Candide n’hésita pas.
Oh! oh! dit à part soi le prudent Vanderdendur, cet étranger donne dix mille piastres tout d’un coup! il faut qu’il soit bien riche. Puis revenant un moment après, il signifia qu’il ne pouvait partir à moins de vingt mille. Eh bien! vous les aurez, dit Candide.
Ouais, se dit tout bas le marchand, cet homme donne vingt mille piastres aussi aisément que dix mille. Il revint encore, et dit qu’il ne pouvait le conduire à Venise à moins de trente mille piastres. Vous en aurez donc trente mille, répondit Candide.
Oh! oh! se dit encore le marchand hollandais, trente mille piastres ne coûtent rien à cet homme-ci; sans doute les deux moutons portent des trésors immenses; n’insistons pas davantage: faisons-nous d’abord payer les trente mille piastres, et puis nous verrons. Candide, vendit deux petits diamants, dont le moindre valait plus que tout l’argent que demandait le patron. Il le paya d’avance. Les deux moutons furent embarqués. Candide suivait dans un petit bateau pour joindre le vaisseau à la rade; le patron prend son temps, met à la voile, démarre; le vent le favorise. Candide éperdu et stupéfait le perd bientôt de vue. Hélas! cria-t-il, voilà un tour digne de l’Ancien Monde. Il retourne au rivage, abîmé dans la douleur; car enfin il avait perdu de quoi faire la fortune de vingt monarques.
Il se transporte chez le juge hollandais; et, comme il était un peu troublé, il frappe rudement à la porte; il entre, expose son aventure, et crie un peu plus haut qu’il ne convenait. Le juge commença par lui faire payer dix mille piastres pour le bruit qu’il avait fait: ensuite il l’écouta patiemment, lui promit d’examiner son affaire sitôt que le marchand serait revenu, et se fit payer dix mille autres piastres pour les frais de l’audience.
Ce procédé acheva de désespérer Candide; il avait à la vérité essuyé des malheurs mille fois plus douloureux; mais le sang froid du juge, et celui du patron dont il était volé, alluma sa bile, et le plongea dans une noire mélancolie. La méchanceté des hommes se présentait à son esprit dans toute sa laideur, il ne se nourrissait que d’idées tristes. Enfin un vaisseau français étant sur le point de partir pour Bordeaux, comme il n’avait plus de moutons chargés de diamants à embarquer, il loua une chambre du vaisseau à juste prix, et fit signifier dans la ville qu’il paierait le passage, la nourriture, et donnerait deux mille piastres à un honnête homme qui voudrait faire le voyage avec lui, à condition que cet homme serait le plus dégoûté de son état, et le plus malheureux de la province.
Il se présenta une foule de prétendants qu’une flotte n’aurait pu contenir. Candide, voulant choisir entre les plus apparents, il distingua une vingtaine de personnes qui lui paraissaient sociables, et qui toutes prétendaient mériter la préférence. Il les assembla dans son cabaret, et leur donna à souper, à condition que chacun ferait serment de raconter fidèlement son histoire, promettant de choisir celui qui lui paraîtrait le plus à plaindre et le plus mécontent de son état, à plus juste titre, et de donner aux autres quelques gratifications.
La séance dura jusqu’à quatre heures du matin. Candide, en écoutant toutes leurs aventures, se ressouvenait de ce que lui avait dit la vieille en allant à Buénos-Ayres, et de la gageure qu’elle avait faite, qu’il n’y avait personne sur le vaisseau à qui il ne fût arrivé de très grands malheurs. Il songeait à Pangloss à chaque aventure qu’on lui contait. Ce Pangloss, disait-il, serait bien embarrassé à démontrer son système. Je voudrais qu’il fût ici. Certainement si tout va bien, c’est dans Eldorado, et non pas dans le reste de la terre. Enfin il se détermina en faveur d’un pauvre savant qui avait travaillé dix ans pour les libraires à Amsterdam. Il jugea qu’il n’y avait point de métier au monde dont on dût être plus dégoûté.
Ce savant, qui était d’ailleurs un bon-homme, avait été volé par sa femme, battu par son fils, et abandonné de sa fille, qui s’était fait enlever par un Portugais. Il venait d’être privé d’un petit emploi duquel il subsistait; et les prédicants de Surinam le persécutaient, parcequ’ils le prenaient pour un socinien. Il faut avouer que les autres étaient pour le moins aussi malheureux que lui; mais Candide espérait que le savant le désennuierait dans le voyage. Tous ses autres rivaux trouvèrent que Candide leur fesait une grande injustice; mais il les apaisa en leur donnant à chacun cent piastres.
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.
What Happened to Them in Surinam, and How Candide Met Martin.
The first day of our two travelers’ journey was pleasant enough. They were heartened by the thought that they owned more treasure than Asia, Europe, and Africa together could assemble. Candide, overcome with joy, wrote Cunégonde’s name on the trees. On the second day two of their sheep sank into marshes and disappeared with their loads. Two more sheep died of exhaustion a few days later; seven or eight then perished of hunger in a desert; others fell into precipices after a few more days. At last, after one hundred days’ travel, they had only two sheep left. Candide said to Cacambo, “My friend, you see how perishable the riches of this world are. Nothing endures but virtue and the happiness of seeing Miss Cunégonde again.” “I grant you that,” said Cacambo, “but we still have two sheep carrying more treasure than the king of Spain will ever possess; and far off I can make out a town I believe to be Surinam, which belongs to the Dutch. We are at the end of our troubles and the beginning of our happiness.”
As they approached the town they came upon a Black man lying on the ground, with only half his clothing left—that is, a pair of blue linen drawers. The poor man was missing his left leg and his right hand. “Oh, my God!” Candide said to him in Dutch. “What are you doing here, my friend, in this dreadful condition?” “I am waiting for my master, Mr. Vanderdendur, the famous merchant,” answered the man. “Was it Mr. Vanderdendur,” asked Candide, “who treated you this way?” “Yes, sir,” said the man. “That is the custom. We are given a pair of linen drawers as our entire clothing twice a year. When we work in the sugar mills and the mill catches a finger, they cut off our hand; when we try to run away, they cut off our leg. Both things happened to me. This is the price of the sugar you eat in Europe. Yet when my mother sold me on the coast of Guinea for ten patagon crowns, she said to me: ‘My dear child, bless our fetishes and always worship them; they will make you happy. You have the honor of being a slave to our white lords, and in that way you make your father’s and mother’s fortune.’ Alas, I do not know whether I made their fortune, but they did not make mine. Dogs, monkeys, and parrots are a thousand times less miserable than we are. The Dutch fetishes who converted me tell me every Sunday that we are all children of Adam, white and Black alike. I am no genealogist; but if these preachers speak the truth, we are all second cousins. And you must admit that no one could treat his own relatives more horribly.”
“Oh, Pangloss!” cried Candide. “You never imagined this abomination. That settles it: in the end I shall have to renounce your optimism.” “What is optimism?” asked Cacambo. “Alas,” said Candide, “it is the mania for insisting that all is well when one is in misery.” Tears ran down his face as he looked at the man; still weeping, he entered Surinam.
Their first inquiry was whether there was a ship in port that could be sent to Buenos Aires. The man they approached happened to be a Spanish skipper who offered to make them a fair bargain. He arranged to meet them at an inn. Candide and the faithful Cacambo went there to await him with their two sheep.
Candide, whose heart was always on his lips, told the Spaniard of all his adventures and confessed that he meant to carry Miss Cunégonde away. “I shall take great care not to carry you to Buenos Aires,” said the skipper. “I would be hanged, and so would you. The beautiful Cunégonde is his lordship’s favorite mistress.” This struck Candide like a thunderbolt, and he wept for a long time. Finally he took Cacambo aside. “Here is what you must do, my dear friend,” he told him. “We each have five or six million in diamonds in our pockets. You are more capable than I am: go and fetch Miss Cunégonde from Buenos Aires. If the governor makes any difficulty, give him a million; if he will not yield, give him two. You have killed no inquisitor; no one will suspect you. I shall fit out another ship and wait for you in Venice. It is a free country, where we have nothing to fear from the Bulgars, the Avars, the Jews, or the inquisitors.” Cacambo approved of this wise resolution. He was in despair at being separated from a good master who had become his close friend, but the pleasure of doing him a service overcame the pain of leaving him. They embraced in tears. Candide reminded him not to forget the good old woman. Cacambo left that very day; that Cacambo was an excellent man.
Candide stayed some time longer in Surinam, waiting for another skipper willing to take him and the two sheep he had left to Italy. He hired servants and bought everything he needed for a long voyage. At last Mr. Vanderdendur, master of a large ship, presented himself. “How much do you want,” Candide asked him, “to take me straight to Venice, with my people, my baggage, and those two sheep?” The skipper agreed to ten thousand piastres. Candide did not hesitate.
“Oh, ho,” the prudent Vanderdendur said to himself, “this stranger offers ten thousand piastres on the spot! He must be very rich.” Returning a moment later, he announced that he could not sail for less than twenty thousand. “Very well, you shall have it,” said Candide.
“Well now,” the merchant whispered to himself, “this man gives twenty thousand piastres as readily as ten thousand.” He came back again and said he could not take him to Venice for less than thirty thousand piastres. “Then you shall have thirty thousand,” answered Candide.
“Oh, ho,” the Dutch merchant said to himself again, “thirty thousand piastres cost this man nothing. No doubt the two sheep carry immense treasures. Let us press no further: first get the thirty thousand piastres paid, and then we shall see.” Candide sold two small diamonds, the lesser of which was worth more than all the money the skipper had asked for. He paid him in advance. The two sheep were put aboard. Candide followed in a small boat to join the ship in the roadstead; the skipper seized his chance, set sail, and cast off. The wind favored him. Candide, distraught and dumbfounded, soon lost sight of him. “Alas!” he cried. “There is a trick worthy of the Old World.” He returned to shore, overwhelmed by grief; after all, he had lost enough to make the fortunes of twenty monarchs.
He rushed to the Dutch judge and, being somewhat agitated, knocked loudly on the door. He went in, explained what had happened, and raised his voice a little higher than was proper. The judge began by making him pay ten thousand piastres for the noise he had made. Then he listened to him patiently, promised to consider his case as soon as the merchant returned, and charged him another ten thousand piastres for the costs of the hearing.
This treatment drove Candide to the end of his patience. He had, it is true, suffered misfortunes a thousand times more painful; but the cold composure of the judge, and of the skipper who had robbed him, inflamed his anger and plunged him into black melancholy. Human wickedness stood before his mind in all its ugliness; he fed on nothing but gloomy thoughts. At last, when a French ship was about to sail for Bordeaux, and he no longer had any diamond-laden sheep to put aboard, he hired a cabin at a fair price. He had word spread throughout the town that he would pay the passage and board, and give two thousand piastres as well, to an honest man willing to travel with him, provided that the man was the most disgusted with his lot and the most wretched in the province.
A crowd of applicants came forward, more than a fleet could have carried. Wishing to choose among the most promising, Candide singled out some twenty people who seemed companionable and who all claimed to deserve preference. He gathered them at his inn and gave them supper on the condition that each swear to tell his story faithfully. He promised to choose the one who seemed to him most deserving of pity and most justly dissatisfied with his lot, and to give the others small rewards.
The session lasted until four in the morning. As Candide heard all their adventures, he recalled what the old woman had told him on the way to Buenos Aires, and the wager she had made that there was not a person on the ship who had not suffered great misfortunes. Every story he was told put him in mind of Pangloss. “That Pangloss,” he said, “would find it very hard to prove his system. I wish he were here. If all goes well anywhere, it is certainly in Eldorado, not on the rest of the earth.” At last he decided in favor of a poor scholar who had worked for the booksellers in Amsterdam for ten years. He judged that there was no trade in the world of which a man had more reason to be sick.
This scholar, otherwise a good man, had been robbed by his wife, beaten by his son, and abandoned by his daughter, who had run off with a Portuguese man. He had just lost the small position on which he lived; and the preachers of Surinam were persecuting him because they took him for a Socinian. One must admit that the others were at least as unfortunate as he was; but Candide hoped the scholar would relieve the tedium of the voyage. All his rivals felt that Candide was doing them a grave injustice; but he pacified them by giving each a hundred piastres.
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.
What happened to them in Surinam, and how Candide met Martin.
The first day of our two travelers' journey was quite pleasant. They were cheered by the thought that they owned more treasure than Asia, Europe, and Africa could gather together. Candide was so excited that he wrote Cunégonde's name on the trees. On the second day, two of their sheep sank into swamps and disappeared with their loads. A few days later, two more sheep died of exhaustion. Then seven or eight starved to death in a desert. Others fell over cliffs after a few more days. At last, after a hundred days of walking, they had only two sheep left. Candide said to Cacambo, "My friend, you see how easily the riches of this world disappear. Nothing lasts except virtue and the happiness of seeing Miss Cunégonde again." "That's true," said Cacambo, "but we still have two sheep carrying more treasure than the king of Spain will ever own. And I can see a town in the distance. I think it's Surinam, which belongs to the Dutch. Our troubles are ending, and our happiness is beginning."
As they approached the town, they met an enslaved Black man lying on the ground. He had only half his clothing left, that is, part of a pair of blue linen shorts. The poor man was missing his left leg and his right hand. "Oh my God!" Candide said to him in Dutch. "My friend, what are you doing here in such a terrible condition?" "I'm waiting for my master, Mr. Vanderdendur, the famous merchant," the man replied. "Was it Mr. Vanderdendur," Candide asked, "who did this to you?" "Yes, sir," the man said. "That's the custom. Twice a year we are given a pair of linen shorts, our only clothing. When we work in the sugar mills and the millstone catches one of our fingers, they cut off our hand. When we try to run away, they cut off our leg. Both things happened to me. That's the price of the sugar you eat in Europe. And yet, when my mother sold me for ten patagon écus on the coast of Guinea, she said, 'My dear child, bless our idols and always worship them. They'll make you happy. You have the honor of being a slave to our white masters, and in that way you're making your father and mother rich.' Well, I don't know whether I made them rich, but they didn't make me rich. Dogs, monkeys, and parrots are a thousand times less miserable than we are. The Dutch priests who converted me tell me every Sunday that we are all children of Adam, Black and white alike. I don't study family trees, but if those preachers are right, we are all second cousins. And you have to admit that no one could treat their relatives in a more horrible way."
"Oh, Pangloss!" cried Candide. "You never imagined such an outrage. That's enough. In the end I'll have to give up your optimism." "What is optimism?" asked Cacambo. "It's the obsession with claiming everything is fine when things are going badly," said Candide. He shed tears as he looked at the enslaved man, and he was still crying when he entered Surinam.
The first thing they asked was whether there was a ship in the harbor that could be sent to Buenos Aires. The man they spoke to happened to be a Spanish captain who offered to make a fair deal with them. He arranged to meet them at an inn. Candide and faithful Cacambo went there to wait for him with their two sheep.
Candide, who said everything that was on his mind, told the Spaniard all his adventures. He admitted that he wanted to take Miss Cunégonde away. "I certainly won't take you to Buenos Aires," said the captain. "I'd be hanged, and so would you. The beautiful Cunégonde is His Excellency's favorite mistress." This news hit Candide like a thunderbolt, and he cried for a long time. At last he took Cacambo aside. "Here's what you must do, my dear friend," he said. "We each have five or six million worth of diamonds in our pockets. You're more capable than I am. Go and get Miss Cunégonde in Buenos Aires. If the governor gives you trouble, give him a million. If that doesn't win him over, give him two. You haven't killed an inquisitor, so no one will suspect you. I'll outfit another ship and wait for you in Venice. It's a free country where we have nothing to fear from Bulgars, Avars, Jews, or inquisitors." Cacambo approved of this wise plan. He hated to part from a good master who had become a close friend, but the pleasure of helping Candide outweighed the pain of leaving him. They embraced in tears. Candide reminded him not to forget the kind old woman. Cacambo left that same day. He was a very good man, that Cacambo.
Candide stayed in Surinam a little longer, waiting for another captain who would take him and his two remaining sheep to Italy. He hired servants and bought everything he needed for a long trip. Finally Mr. Vanderdendur, the master of a large ship, came to see him. "How much do you want," Candide asked him, "to take me straight to Venice, along with my people, my luggage, and these two sheep?" The captain agreed to ten thousand piastres. Candide accepted at once.
"Well, well," the cautious Vanderdendur said to himself. "This stranger agrees to ten thousand piastres just like that! He must be very rich." He came back a moment later and announced that he could not leave for less than twenty thousand. "All right, you'll have it," said Candide.
"Well now," the merchant said softly to himself, "this man agrees to twenty thousand piastres as easily as he agreed to ten thousand." He returned again and said he could not take Candide to Venice for less than thirty thousand piastres. "Then you'll have thirty thousand," Candide replied.
"Well, well," the Dutch merchant said to himself again. "Thirty thousand piastres mean nothing to this man. Those two sheep must be carrying enormous treasures. Let's not ask for more. First we'll make him pay the thirty thousand piastres, and then we'll see." Candide sold two small diamonds, the less valuable of which was worth more than the whole sum the captain asked for. He paid him in advance. The two sheep were loaded onto the ship. Candide followed in a small boat to board the ship in the harbor. The captain picked his moment, set sail, and pulled away. The wind was with him. Soon Candide, frantic and stunned, could no longer see the ship. "Oh no!" he cried. "That's a trick worthy of the Old World." He went back to shore, overwhelmed with grief. After all, he had lost enough wealth to make twenty monarchs rich.
He rushed to the Dutch judge's house. Upset as he was, he banged hard on the door. He went in, told his story, and shouted a little louder than was proper. The judge first made him pay ten thousand piastres for the noise he had made. Then he listened patiently, promised to look into the matter as soon as the merchant returned, and charged him another ten thousand piastres for the cost of the hearing.
This treatment drove Candide to despair. Of course, he had suffered misfortunes a thousand times more painful. But the judge's cool manner, like that of the captain who had robbed him, made him furious and plunged him into deep gloom. He thought about human wickedness in all its ugliness and could think of nothing cheerful. At last a French ship was about to leave for Bordeaux. Since he had no more sheep loaded with diamonds to put aboard, he rented a cabin at a fair price. He had it announced around town that he would pay for the passage and food of an honest man willing to travel with him. He would also give the man two thousand piastres, on condition that he was the person in the province most disgusted with his situation and the most unhappy.
So many applicants came forward that an entire fleet could not have held them. Candide wanted to choose from those who seemed most promising. He picked out about twenty people who seemed pleasant to talk to, each of whom claimed to deserve to be chosen. He brought them together at his inn and gave them dinner. Each had to swear to tell his story honestly. Candide promised to choose the man who seemed to him the most deserving of pity and the most justifiably dissatisfied with his situation. He would give the others some money as well.
The gathering lasted until four in the morning. As Candide listened to their stories, he remembered what the old woman had told him on the way to Buenos Aires. She had bet that there was no one aboard their ship who had not suffered terrible misfortunes. Each story made him think of Pangloss. "Pangloss would have a hard time proving his theory," he said. "I wish he were here. If everything really is for the best, that is true in Eldorado, not in the rest of the world." At last he chose a poor scholar who had spent ten years working for booksellers in Amsterdam. He thought there could be no job in the world more likely to leave a man disgusted.
This scholar, who was otherwise a good man, had been robbed by his wife, beaten by his son, and abandoned by his daughter, who had run off with a Portuguese man. He had just lost the small job he lived on. And the preachers in Surinam were persecuting him because they thought he was a Socinian. To be fair, the others were at least as unhappy as he was. But Candide hoped the scholar would keep him from getting bored on the voyage. All the other candidates thought Candide was doing them a great injustice, but he calmed them down by giving each of them a hundred piastres.