Voltaire · Complete work
Chapter XX
Chapter XX of 30. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
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Ce qui arriva sur mer à Candide et à Martin.
Le vieux savant, qui s’appelait Martin, s’embarqua donc pour Bordeaux avec Candide. L’un et l’autre avaient beaucoup vu et beaucoup souffert; et quand le vaisseau aurait dû faire voile de Surinam au Japon par le cap de Bonne-Espérance, ils auraient eu de quoi s’entretenir du mal moral et du mal physique pendant tout le voyage.
Cependant Candide avait un grand avantage sur Martin, c’est qu’il espérait toujours revoir mademoiselle Cunégonde, et que Martin n’avait rien à espérer; de plus il avait de l’or et des diamants; et, quoiqu’il eût perdu cent gros moutons rouges chargés des plus grands trésors de la terre, quoiqu’il eût toujours sur le coeur la friponnerie du patron hollandais; cependant quand il songeait à ce qui lui restait dans ses poches, et quand il parlait de Cunégonde, surtout à la fin du repas, il penchait alors pour le système de Pangloss.
Mais vous, monsieur Martin, dit-il au savant, que pensez-vous de tout cela? quelle est votre idée sur le mal moral et le mal physique? Monsieur, répondit Martin, mes prêtres m’ont accusé d’être socinien; mais la vérité du fait est que je suis manichéen. Vous vous moquez de moi, dit Candide; il n’y a plus de manichéens dans le monde. Il y a moi, dit Martin: je ne sais qu’y faire; mais je ne peux penser autrement. Il faut que vous ayez le diable au corps, dit Candide. Il se mêle si fort des affaires de ce monde, dit Martin, qu’il pourrait bien être dans mon corps, comme partout ailleurs: mais je vous avoue qu’en jetant la vue sur ce globe, ou plutôt sur ce globule, je pense que Dieu l’a abandonné à quelque être malfaisant; j’en excepte toujours Eldorado. Je n’ai guère vu de ville qui ne désirât la ruine de la ville voisine, point de famille qui ne voulût exterminer quelque autre famille. Partout les faibles ont en exécration les puissants devant lesquels ils rampent, et les puissants les traitent comme des troupeaux dont on vend la laine et la chair. Un million d’assassins enrégimentés, courant d’un bout de l’Europe à l’autre, exerce le meurtre et le brigandage avec discipline pour gagner son pain, parcequ’il n’a pas de métier plus honnête; et dans les villes qui paraissent jouir de la paix, et où les arts fleurissent, les hommes sont dévorés de plus d’envie, de soins, et d’inquiétudes, qu’une ville assiégée n’éprouve de fléaux. Les chagrins secrets sont encore plus cruels que les misères publiques. En un mot j’en ai tant vu et tant éprouvé, que je suis manichéen.
Il y a pourtant du bon, répliquait Candide. Cela peut être, disait Martin; mais je ne le connais pas.
Au milieu de cette dispute, on entendit un bruit de canon. Le bruit redouble de moment en moment. Chacun prend sa lunette. On aperçoit deux vaisseaux qui combattaient à la distance d’environ trois milles: le vent les amena l’un et l’autre si près du vaisseau français, qu’on eut le plaisir de voir le combat tout à son aise. Enfin l’un des deux vaisseaux lâcha à l’autre une bordée si bas et si juste, qu’il le coula à fond. Candide et Martin aperçurent distinctement une centaine d’hommes sur le tillac du vaisseau qui s’enfonçait; ils levaient tous les mains au ciel, et jetaient des clameurs effroyables: en un moment tout fut englouti.
Eh bien! dit Martin, voilà comme les hommes se traitent les uns les autres. Il est vrai, dit Candide, qu’il y a quelque chose de diabolique dans cette affaire. En parlant ainsi, il aperçut je ne sais quoi d’un rouge éclatant, qui nageait auprès de son vaisseau. On détacha la chaloupe pour voir ce que ce pouvait être; c’était un de ses moutons. Candide eut plus de joie de retrouver ce mouton, qu’il n’avait été affligé d’en perdre cent tous chargés de gros diamants d’Eldorado.
Le capitaine français aperçut bientôt que le capitaine du vaisseau submergeant était espagnol, et que celui du vaisseau submergé était un pirate hollandais; c’était celui-là même qui avait volé Candide. Les richesses immenses dont ce scélérat s’était emparé furent ensevelies avec lui dans la mer, et il n’y eut qu’un mouton de sauvé. Vous voyez, dit Candide à Martin, que le crime est puni quelquefois; ce coquin de patron hollandais a eu le sort qu’il méritait. Oui, dit Martin; mais fallait-il que les passagers qui étaient sur son vaisseau périssent aussi? Dieu a puni ce fripon, le diable a noyé les autres.
Cependant le vaisseau français et l’espagnol continuèrent leur route, et Candide continua ses conversations avec Martin. Ils disputèrent quinze jours de suite, et au bout de quinze jours ils étaient aussi avancés que le premier. Mais enfin ils parlaient, ils se communiquaient des idées, ils se consolaient. Candide caressait son mouton. Puisque je t’ai retrouvé, dit-il, je pourrai bien retrouver Cunégonde.
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 Candide and Martin at Sea.
The old scholar, whose name was Martin, accordingly embarked for Bordeaux with Candide. Both had seen and suffered much; and even if the ship had had to sail from Surinam to Japan by way of the Cape of Good Hope, they would have had enough to say about moral and physical evil to fill the whole voyage.
Yet Candide had a great advantage over Martin: he still hoped to see Miss Cunégonde again, while Martin had nothing to hope for. Besides, Candide had gold and diamonds; and although he had lost a hundred large red sheep laden with the greatest treasures on earth, although the Dutch skipper’s roguery still weighed on his heart, nevertheless, when he thought of what remained in his pockets and spoke of Cunégonde—especially toward the end of a meal—he would lean toward Pangloss’s system.
“But you, Mr. Martin,” he said to the scholar, “what do you make of all this? What is your view of moral and physical evil?” “Sir,” answered Martin, “my priests accused me of being a Socinian; but the truth is that I am a Manichaean.” “You are making fun of me,” said Candide. “There are no Manichaeans left in the world.” “There is me,” said Martin. “I cannot help it; I can think no other way.” “You must have the devil inside you,” said Candide. “He meddles so much in the affairs of this world,” said Martin, “that he might well be inside me, as he is everywhere else. But I confess that when I look at this globe—or rather, this little globule—I think God has abandoned it to some malevolent being. I always except Eldorado. I have scarcely seen a town that did not wish for the ruin of the next town, or a family that did not want to wipe out some other family. Everywhere the weak detest the powerful before whom they grovel, and the powerful treat them as flocks whose wool and flesh can be sold. A million killers organized into regiments, roaming from one end of Europe to the other, commit murder and robbery under discipline to earn their bread, because they have no more honest occupation. And in cities that seem to enjoy peace, where the arts flourish, men are consumed by more envy, cares, and anxieties than a besieged city suffers calamities. Private sorrows are even crueler than public miseries. In short, I have seen and suffered so much that I am a Manichaean.”
“There is good in the world, all the same,” Candide replied. “Perhaps there is,” said Martin, “but I do not know it.”
In the midst of this dispute they heard cannon fire. The sound grew louder by the moment. Everyone took up a telescope. They saw two ships fighting at a distance of about three miles; the wind brought them both so close to the French ship that the passengers had the pleasure of watching the battle in perfect comfort. At last one of the ships fired a broadside so low and so true that it sent the other to the bottom. Candide and Martin could plainly make out about a hundred men on the deck of the sinking ship; they were all raising their hands to heaven and uttering terrible cries. In a moment all were swallowed up.
“Well,” said Martin, “that is how men treat one another.” “It is true,” said Candide, “that there is something diabolical in this business.” As he spoke, he noticed something bright red floating beside their ship. They lowered the boat to see what it might be; it was one of his sheep. Candide felt more joy at finding that sheep than he had felt grief at losing a hundred, all loaded with great diamonds from Eldorado.
The French captain soon learned that the captain of the victorious ship was Spanish, while the captain of the sunken ship was a Dutch pirate—the very man who had robbed Candide. The immense riches this scoundrel had seized were buried with him in the sea, and only one sheep was saved. “You see,” said Candide to Martin, “that crime is sometimes punished. That villainous Dutch skipper met the fate he deserved.” “Yes,” said Martin, “but did the passengers aboard his ship have to perish as well? God punished the thief; the devil drowned the rest.”
Meanwhile the French and Spanish ships continued on their way, and Candide continued his conversations with Martin. They argued for fifteen days running, and after fifteen days they had made no more progress than on the first. Still, they talked, shared their thoughts, and consoled each other. Candide stroked his sheep. “Since I have found you again,” he said, “perhaps I shall find Cunégonde again too.”
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 and Martin at sea.
The old scholar, whose name was Martin, boarded the ship for Bordeaux with Candide. Both had seen and suffered a great deal. Even if the ship had had to sail from Surinam to Japan by way of the Cape of Good Hope, they would have had enough to say about moral and physical evil for the whole trip.
Still, Candide had a big advantage over Martin. He still hoped to see Miss Cunégonde again, while Martin had nothing to hope for. Candide also had gold and diamonds. He had lost a hundred large red sheep loaded with the greatest treasures on earth, and the Dutch captain's swindle still weighed on him. But when he thought about what he still had in his pockets, and when he talked about Cunégonde, especially after a meal, he found himself leaning toward Pangloss's theory.
"But you, Mr. Martin," he said to the scholar, "what do you think of all this? What do you think about moral and physical evil?" "Sir," Martin answered, "my priests have accused me of being a Socinian. The truth is that I'm a Manichaean." "You're joking," said Candide. "There aren't any Manichaeans left in the world." "There's me," said Martin. "I can't help it. I can't think any other way." "You must have the devil inside you," said Candide. "He takes such an active part in the affairs of this world," said Martin, "that he could well be inside me, just as he is everywhere else. But I admit that when I look at this globe, or rather this little ball, I think God has abandoned it to some evil being. I always make an exception for Eldorado. I have hardly seen a city that did not want to ruin the city next to it, or a family that did not want to wipe out another family. Everywhere the weak hate the powerful, even as they grovel before them. The powerful treat them like herds whose wool and meat they can sell. A million killers in uniform rush from one end of Europe to the other. They murder and rob in an orderly way to make a living because they have no more honest occupation. And even in cities that seem peaceful, where the arts flourish, people are eaten up by more envy, worry, and anxiety than a city under siege suffers disasters. Private grief is even crueler than public misery. In short, I have seen and suffered so much that I'm a Manichaean."
"But there is some good," Candide replied. "Maybe there is," said Martin, "but I don't know it."
In the middle of this argument, they heard a cannon firing. The noise grew louder by the moment. Everyone picked up a telescope. They saw two ships fighting about three miles away. The wind brought both ships so close to the French ship that everyone had the pleasure of watching the battle in comfort. At last one ship fired a broadside so low and so accurately that it sank the other. Candide and Martin clearly saw about a hundred men on the deck of the sinking ship. They all raised their hands to the sky and cried out terribly. In a moment, everything was swallowed by the sea.
"Well," said Martin, "that's how people treat each other." "It's true," said Candide, "that there's something devilish about this." As he spoke, he saw something bright red floating beside their ship. They launched a boat to find out what it was. It was one of his sheep. Candide was happier to recover this one sheep than he had been upset to lose a hundred sheep, all loaded with large diamonds from Eldorado.
The French captain soon discovered that the captain of the ship that had sunk the other was Spanish, and that the captain of the sunken ship was a Dutch pirate. It was the very man who had robbed Candide. The enormous riches that the scoundrel had stolen sank with him to the bottom of the sea. Only one sheep was saved. "You see," Candide told Martin, "that crime is sometimes punished. That rogue of a Dutch captain got what he deserved." "Yes," said Martin, "but did the passengers on his ship have to die too? God punished the crook, and the devil drowned everyone else."
Meanwhile the French and Spanish ships continued on their way, and Candide continued his conversations with Martin. They argued for fifteen days straight. At the end of those fifteen days, they were no closer to an answer than they had been at the start. But at least they talked, shared their thoughts, and comforted each other. Candide stroked his sheep. "Since I've found you again," he said, "I may well find Cunégonde again."