Voltaire · Complete work
Chapter II
Chapter II of 30. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
Open the complete readerOriginal French
Ce que devint Candide parmi les Bulgares.
Candide, chassé du paradis terrestre, marcha longtemps sans savoir où, pleurant, levant les yeux au ciel, les tournant souvent vers le plus beau des châteaux qui renfermait la plus belle des baronnettes; il se coucha sans souper au milieu des champs entre deux sillons; la neige tombait à gros flocons. Candide, tout transi, se traîna le lendemain vers la ville voisine, qui s’appelle Valdberghoff-trarbk-dikdorff, n’ayant point d’argent, mourant de faim et de lassitude. Il s’arrêta tristement à la porte d’un cabaret. Deux hommes habillés de bleu le remarquèrent: Camarade, dit l’un, voilà un jeune homme très bien fait, et qui a la taille requise; ils s’avancèrent vers Candide et le prièrent à dîner très civilement.—Messieurs, leur dit Candide avec une modestie charmante, vous me faites beaucoup d’honneur, mais je n’ai pas de quoi payer mon écot.—Ah! monsieur, lui dit un des bleus, les personnes de votre figure et de votre mérite ne paient jamais rien: n’avez-vous pas cinq pieds cinq pouces de haut?—Oui, messieurs, c’est ma taille, dit-il en fesant la révérence.—Ah! monsieur, mettez-vous à table; non seulement nous vous défraierons, mais nous ne souffrirons jamais qu’un homme comme vous manque d’argent; les hommes ne sont faits que pour se secourir les uns les autres.—Vous avez raison, dit Candide; c’est ce que M. Pangloss m’a toujours dit, et je vois bien que tout est au mieux. On le prie d’accepter quelques écus, il les prend et veut faire son billet; on n’en veut point, on se met à table. N’aimez-vous pas tendrement?….—Oh! oui, répond-il, j’aime tendrement mademoiselle Cunégonde.—Non, dit l’un de ces messieurs, nous vous demandons si vous n’aimez pas tendrement le roi des Bulgares?—Point du tout, dit-il, car je ne l’ai jamais vu.—Comment! c’est le plus charmant des rois, et il faut boire à sa santé.—Oh! très volontiers, messieurs. Et il boit. C’en est assez, lui dit-on, vous voilà l’appui, le soutien, le défenseur, le héros des Bulgares; votre fortune est faite, et votre gloire est assurée. On lui met sur-le-champ les fers aux pieds, et on le mène au régiment. On le fait tourner à droite, à gauche, hausser la baguette, remettre la baguette, coucher en joue, tirer, doubler le pas, et on lui donne trente coups de bâton; le lendemain, il fait l’exercice un peu moins mal, et il ne reçoit que vingt coups; le surlendemain, on ne lui en donne que dix, et il est regardé par ses camarades comme un prodige.
Candide, tout stupéfait, ne démêlait pas encore trop bien comment il était un héros. Il s’avisa un beau jour de printemps de s’aller promener, marchant tout droit devant lui, croyant que c’était un privilège de l’espèce humaine, comme de l’espèce animale, de se servir de ses jambes à son plaisir. Il n’eut pas fait deux lieues que voilà quatre autres héros de six pieds qui l’atteignent, qui le lient, qui le mènent dans un cachot. On lui demanda juridiquement ce qu’il aimait le mieux d’être fustigé trente-six fois par tout le régiment, ou de recevoir à-la-fois douze balles de plomb dans la cervelle. Il eut beau dire que les volontés sont libres, et qu’il ne voulait ni l’un ni l’autre, il fallut faire un choix; il se détermina, en vertu du don de Dieu qu’on nomme liberté, à passer trente-six fois par les baguettes; il essuya deux promenades. Le régiment était composé de deux mille hommes; cela lui composa quatre mille coups de baguette, qui, depuis la nuque du cou jusqu’au cul, lui découvrirent les muscles et les nerfs. Comme on allait procéder à la troisième course, Candide, n’en pouvant plus, demanda en grâce qu’on voulût bien avoir la bonté de lui casser la tête; il obtint cette faveur; on lui bande les yeux; on le fait mettre à genoux. Le roi des Bulgares passe dans ce moment, s’informe du crime du patient; et comme ce roi avait un grand génie, il comprit, par tout ce qu’il apprit de Candide, que c’était un jeune métaphysicien fort ignorant des choses de ce monde, et il lui accorda sa grâce avec une clémence qui sera louée dans tous les journaux et dans tous les siècles. Un brave chirurgien guérit Candide en trois semaines avec les émollients enseignés par Dioscoride. Il avait déjà un peu de peau et pouvait marcher, quand le roi des Bulgares livra bataille au roi des Abares.
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 Became of Candide Among the Bulgarians.
Driven from his earthly paradise, Candide walked a long time without knowing where he was going, weeping, lifting his eyes to heaven, and often turning them toward the finest of castles, which held the fairest of young baronesses. He lay down without supper in the fields, between two furrows; snow fell in thick flakes. The next day Candide, frozen through, dragged himself to the nearby town of Valdberghoff-trarbk-dikdorff, penniless and dying of hunger and exhaustion. He stopped sadly at the door of an inn. Two men dressed in blue noticed him. “Comrade,” said one, “there's a well-built young man of the required height.” They approached Candide and invited him very civilly to dinner. “Gentlemen,” Candide told them with charming modesty, “you do me a great honor, but I have no money to pay my share.” “Ah, sir,” said one of the men in blue, “people of your appearance and merit never pay anything. Aren't you five feet five inches tall?” “Yes, gentlemen, that is my height,” he said, bowing. “Ah, sir, sit down to dinner. Not only will we pay your expenses, we will never allow a man like you to want for money; men were made solely to help one another.” “You are right,” said Candide. “That is what Pangloss always told me, and I see clearly that all is for the best.” They asked him to accept a few crowns; he took them and offered to sign a note, but they would hear none of it, and they sat down to eat. “Do you love tenderly?…” “Oh, yes,” he answered, “I love Cunégonde tenderly.” “No,” said one of the gentlemen, “we are asking whether you love the king of the Bulgarians tenderly.” “Not at all,” he said, “for I have never seen him.” “What! He is the most charming of kings, and we must drink his health.” “Oh, gladly, gentlemen.” And he drank. “That is enough,” they told him. “You are now the pillar, the support, the defender, the hero of the Bulgarians; your fortune is made, and your glory assured.” They immediately put him in leg irons and led him to the regiment. They made him turn right, turn left, raise his ramrod, lower his ramrod, take aim, fire, and march double time, and gave him thirty blows with a stick. The next day he drilled a little less badly and received only twenty blows; the day after that, only ten, and his comrades regarded him as a prodigy.
Candide, utterly bewildered, still could not quite understand how he was a hero. One fine spring day he took it into his head to go for a walk, marching straight ahead, believing that the human species, like the animal species, had the privilege of using its legs as it pleased. He had not gone two leagues when four other heroes, six feet tall, caught him, bound him, and took him to a dungeon. He was asked, in proper legal form, whether he preferred to be flogged thirty-six times by the entire regiment or to receive twelve lead bullets in his brain all at once. He protested in vain that human wills are free, and that he wanted neither. He had to choose. By virtue of God's gift called freedom, he decided to pass through the gauntlet thirty-six times; he endured two marches. The regiment numbered two thousand men, making four thousand strokes of the rod, which laid bare the muscles and nerves from the nape of his neck to his backside. As they were about to begin the third passage, Candide, unable to bear any more, begged them to be so kind as to smash his head instead. This favor was granted. They blindfolded him and made him kneel. At that moment the king of the Bulgarians passed by and inquired into the prisoner's crime. Since this king was a great genius, he understood from what he learned of Candide that the young man was a metaphysician quite ignorant of worldly affairs, and pardoned him with a clemency that would be praised in all the newspapers and in every age. A brave surgeon cured Candide in three weeks with the soothing remedies taught by Dioscorides. He had already grown a little new skin and could walk when the king of the Bulgarians gave battle to the king of the Abares.
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 Candide among the Bulgars.
Driven out of his earthly paradise, Candide walked for a long time without knowing where he was going. He wept and looked up at the sky, often turning his eyes toward the finest of castles, which held the loveliest of young baronesses. He lay down in a field between two furrows without having eaten supper, while heavy snow fell. The next day Candide, frozen through, dragged himself to the nearby town of Valdberghoff-trarbk-dikdorff. He had no money and was dying of hunger and exhaustion. He stopped sadly outside an inn. Two men dressed in blue noticed him. "Comrade," said one, "there's a fine-looking young man, and he's the required height." They went up to Candide and very politely invited him to dinner. "Gentlemen," Candide said with charming modesty, "you do me a great honor, but I can't afford to pay my share." "Oh, sir," said one of the men in blue, "people with your looks and qualities never pay anything. Aren't you five feet five inches tall?" "Yes, gentlemen, that's my height," he said, bowing. "Well, sir, sit down and eat. We'll not only cover your expenses, but we'll never let a man like you go without money. People exist only to help one another." "You're right," said Candide. "That's what Mr. Pangloss always told me, and I can see that everything is for the best." They asked him to accept a few coins. He took them and offered to sign a note, but they refused. They sat down to eat. "Do you love deeply?…" "Oh, yes," he answered, "I love Miss Cunégonde deeply." "No," said one of the gentlemen, "we're asking whether you love the king of the Bulgars deeply." "Not at all," he said. "I've never seen him." "What! He's the most charming king there is, and you must drink to his health." "Oh, gladly, gentlemen." And he drank. "That's enough," they told him. "You are now the mainstay, the support, the defender, the hero of the Bulgars. Your fortune is made and your glory is assured." At once they put him in leg irons and took him to the regiment. They made him turn right and left, raise his ramrod, put it back, aim, fire, and march at double time, then gave him thirty blows with a stick. The next day he performed the drill a little less badly and received only twenty blows. The day after that he got only ten, and his fellow soldiers thought he was a marvel.
Candide was stunned and still did not really understand how he had become a hero. One fine spring day, he decided to go for a walk. He headed straight ahead, believing that humans, like other animals, had the right to use their legs as they pleased. He had not gone two leagues before four more heroes, each six feet tall, caught up with him, tied him up, and took him to a cell. In a formal proceeding they asked which he preferred: to run the gauntlet through the whole regiment thirty-six times, or to take twelve lead bullets in the brain all at once. He argued that people had free will and that he wanted neither. But he had to choose. Using the gift from God called freedom, he chose to run the gauntlet thirty-six times. He made it through twice. The regiment had two thousand men. That meant four thousand blows from the rods, stripping the skin from his neck to his backside and exposing his muscles and nerves. As they prepared for the third run, Candide could bear no more. He begged them kindly to do him the favor of shooting him in the head. They granted his request, blindfolded him, and made him kneel. At that moment the king of the Bulgars passed by and asked what crime the prisoner had committed. Being a man of great genius, the king understood from what he learned about Candide that this was a young metaphysician who knew very little about how the world worked. He pardoned him with a mercy that every newspaper would praise for centuries to come. A capable surgeon healed Candide in three weeks with the soothing treatments taught by Dioscorides. He had grown a little new skin and could walk when the king of the Bulgars went to battle against the king of the Abares.