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Chapter XXX
Chapter XXX of 30. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
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Conclusion.
Candide, dans le fond de son coeur, n’avait aucune envie d’épouser Cunégonde; mais l’impertinence extrême du baron le déterminait à conclure le mariage; et Cunégonde le pressait si vivement qu’il ne pouvait s’en dédire. Il consulta Pangloss, Martin, et le fidèle Cacambo. Pangloss fit un beau mémoire par lequel il prouvait que le baron n’avait nul droit sur sa soeur, et qu’elle pouvait, selon toutes les lois de l’empire, épouser Candide de la main gauche. Martin conclut à jeter le baron dans la mer; Cacambo décida qu’il fallait le rendre au levanti patron, et le remettre aux galères, après quoi on l’enverrait à Rome au père général par le premier vaisseau. L’avis fut trouvé fort bon; la vieille l’approuva; on n’en dit rien à sa soeur; la chose fut exécutée pour quelque argent, et on eut le plaisir d’attraper un jésuite, et de punir l’orgueil d’un baron allemand.
Il était tout naturel d’imaginer qu’après tant de désastres, Candide marié avec sa maîtresse, et vivant avec le philosophe Pangloss, le philosophe Martin, le prudent Cacambo, et la vieille, ayant d’ailleurs rapporté tant de diamants de la patrie des anciens Incas, mènerait la vie du monde la plus agréable; mais il fut tant friponné par les Juifs, qu’il ne lui resta plus rien que sa petite métairie; sa femme devenant tous les jours plus laide devint acariâtre et insupportable: la vieille était infirme, et fut encore de plus mauvaise humeur que Cunégonde. Cacambo, qui travaillait au jardin, et qui allait vendre des légumes à Constantinople, était excédé de travail, et maudissait sa destinée. Pangloss était au désespoir de ne pas briller dans quelque université d’Allemagne. Pour Martin, il était fermement persuadé qu’on est également mal partout; il prenait les choses en patience. Candide, Martin, et Pangloss, disputaient quelquefois de métaphysique et de morale. On voyait souvent passer sous les fenêtres de la métairie des bateaux chargés d’effendis, de bachas, de cadis, qu’on envoyait en exil à Lemnos, à Mytilène, à Erzeroum: on voyait venir d’autres cadis, d’autres bachas, d’autres effendis, qui prenaient la place des expulsés, et qui étaient expulsés à leur tour: on voyait des têtes proprement empaillées qu’on allait présenter à la sublime Porte. Ces spectacles fesaient redoubler les dissertations; et quand on ne disputait pas, l’ennui était si excessif, que la vieille osa un jour leur dire: Je voudrais savoir lequel est le pire, ou d’être violée cent fois par des pirates nègres, d’avoir une fesse coupée, de passer par les baguettes chez les Bulgares, d’être fouetté et pendu dans un auto-da-fé, d’être disséqué, de ramer en galère, d’éprouver enfin toutes les misères par lesquelles nous avons tous passé, ou bien de rester ici à ne rien faire? C’est une grande question, dit Candide.
Ce discours fit naître de nouvelles réflexions, et Martin surtout conclut que l’homme était né pour vivre dans les convulsions de l’inquiétude, ou dans la léthargie de l’ennui. Candide n’en convenait pas, mais il n’assurait rien. Pangloss avouait qu’il avait toujours horriblement souffert; mais ayant soutenu une fois que tout allait à merveille, il le soutenait toujours, et n’en croyait rien.
Une chose acheva de confirmer Martin dans ses détestables principes, de faire hésiter plus que jamais Candide et d’embarrasser Pangloss. C’est qu’ils virent un jour aborder dans leur métairie Paquette et le frère Giroflée, qui étaient dans la plus extrême misère; ils avaient bien vite mangé leurs trois mille piastres, s’étaient quittés, s’étaient raccommodés, s’étaient brouillés, avaient été mis en prison; s’étaient enfuis, et enfin frère Giroflée s’était fait turc. Paquette continuait son métier partout, et n’y gagnait plus rien. Je l’avais bien prévu, dit Martin à Candide, que vos présents seraient bientôt dissipés, et ne les rendraient que plus misérables. Vous avez regorgé de millions de piastres, vous et Cacambo, et vous n’êtes pas plus heureux que frère Giroflée et Paquette. Ah! ah! dit Pangloss à Paquette, le ciel vous ramène donc ici parmi nous. Ma pauvre enfant! savez-vous bien que vous m’avez coûté le bout du nez, un oeil, et une oreille? Comme vous voilà faite! eh! qu’est-ce que ce monde! Cette nouvelle aventure les engagea à philosopher plus que jamais.
Il y avait dans le voisinage un derviche très fameux qui passait pour le meilleur philosophe de la Turquie; ils allèrent le consulter; Pangloss porta la parole, et lui dit: Maître, nous venons vous prier de nous dire pourquoi un aussi étrange animal que l’homme a été formé.
De quoi te mêles-tu? lui dit le derviche; est-ce là ton affaire? Mais, mon révérend père, dit Candide, il y a horriblement de mal sur la terre. Qu’importé, dit le derviche, qu’il y ait du mal ou du bien? quand sa hautesse envoie un vaisseau en Égypte, s’embarrasse-t-elle si les souris qui sont dans le vaisseau sont à leur aise ou non? Que faut-il donc faire? dit Pangloss. Te taire, dit le derviche. Je me flattais, dit Pangloss, de raisonner un peu avec vous des effets et des causes, du meilleur des mondes possibles, de l’origine du mal, de la nature de l’âme, et de l’harmonie préétablie. Le derviche, à ces mots, leur ferma la porte au nez.
Pendant cette conversation, la nouvelle s’était répandue qu’on venait d’étrangler à Constantinople deux vizirs du banc et le muphti, et qu’on avait empalé plusieurs de leurs amis. Cette catastrophe fesait partout un grand bruit pendant quelques heures. Pangloss, Candide, et Martin, en retournant à la petite métairie, rencontrèrent un bon vieillard qui prenait le frais à sa porte sous un berceau d’orangers. Pangloss, qui était aussi curieux que raisonneur, lui demanda comment se nommait le muphti qu’on venait d’étrangler. Je n’en sais rien, répondit le bon-homme, et je n’ai jamais su le nom d’aucun muphti ni d’aucun vizir. J’ignore absolument l’aventure dont vous me parlez; je présume qu’en général ceux qui se mêlent des affaires publiques périssent quelquefois misérablement, et qu’ils le méritent; mais je ne m’informe jamais de ce qu’on fait à Constantinople; je me contente d’y envoyer vendre les fruits du jardin que je cultive. Ayant dit ces mots, il fit entrer les étrangers dans sa maison; ses deux filles et ses deux fils leur présentèrent plusieurs sortes de sorbets qu’ils fesaient eux-mêmes, du kaïmak piqué d’écorces de cédrat confit, des oranges, des citrons, des limons, des ananas, des dattes, des pistaches, du café de Moka qui n’était point mêlé avec le mauvais café de Batavia et des îles. Après quoi les deux filles de ce bon musulman parfumèrent les barbes de Candide, de Pangloss, et de Martin.
Vous devez avoir, dit Candide au Turc, une vaste et magnifique terre? Je n’ai que vingt arpents, répondit le Turc; je les cultive avec mes enfants; le travail éloigne de nous trois grands maux, l’ennui, le vice, et le besoin.
Candide en retournant dans sa métairie fit de profondes réflexions sur le discours du Turc. Il dit à Pangloss et à Martin: Ce bon vieillard me paraît s’être fait un sort bien préférable à celui des six rois avec qui nous avons eu l’honneur de souper. Les grandeurs, dit Pangloss, sont fort dangereuses, selon le rapport de tous les philosophes; car enfin Églon, roi des Moabites, fut assassiné par Aod; Absalon fut pendu par les cheveux et percé de trois dards; le roi Nadab, fils de Jéroboam, fut tué par Baasa; le roi Éla, par Zambri; Ochosias, par Jéhu; Athalie, par Joïada; les rois Joachim, Jéchonias, Sédécias, furent esclaves. Vous savez comment périrent Crésus, Astyage, Darius, Denys de Syracuse, Pyrrhus, Persée, Annibal, Jugurtha, Arioviste, César, Pompée, Néron, Othon, Vitellius, Domitien, Richard II d’Angleterre, Édouard II, Henri VI, Richard III, Marie Stuart, Charles Ier, les trois Henri de France, l’empereur Henri IV? Vous savez….. Je sais aussi, dit Candide, qu’il faut cultiver notre jardin. Vous avez raison, dit Pangloss; car, quand l’homme fut mis dans le jardin d’Éden, il y fut mis ut operaretur eum, pour qu’il travaillât; ce qui prouve que l’homme n’est pas né pour le repos. Travaillons sans raisonner, dit Martin, c’est le seul moyen de rendre la vie supportable.
Toute la petite société entra dans ce louable dessein; chacun se mit à exercer ses talents. La petite terre rapporta beaucoup. Cunégonde était, à la vérité, bien laide; mais elle devint une excellente pâtissière; Paquette broda; la vieille eut soin du linge. Il n’y eut pas jusqu’à frère Giroflée qui ne rendît service; il fut un très bon menuisier, et même devint honnête homme: et Pangloss disait quelquefois à Candide: Tous les événements sont enchaînés dans le meilleur des mondes possibles; car enfin si vous n’aviez pas été chassé d’un beau château à grands coups de pied dans le derrière pour l’amour de mademoiselle Cunégonde, si vous n’aviez pas été mis à l’inquisition, si vous n’aviez pas couru l’Amérique à pied, si vous n’aviez pas donné un bon coup d’épée au baron, si vous n’aviez pas perdu tous vos moutons du bon pays d’Eldorado, vous ne mangeriez pas ici des cédrats confits et des pistaches. Cela est bien dit, répondit Candide, mais il faut cultiver notre jardin.
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.
Conclusion.
In the depths of his heart, Candide had no desire at all to marry Cunégonde; but the baron’s extreme insolence made him determined to go through with the marriage, and Cunégonde pressed him so urgently that he could not back out. He consulted Pangloss, Martin, and the faithful Cacambo. Pangloss composed an elegant memorandum proving that the baron had no rights over his sister, and that under every law of the empire she could marry Candide with the left hand. Martin’s conclusion was that the baron should be thrown into the sea; Cacambo decided they should return him to his Levantine master and put him back in the galleys, after which he could be sent to the father general in Rome on the first ship. The advice was thought excellent; the old woman approved it; his sister was told nothing; for a little money it was put into effect, and they had the pleasure of outwitting a Jesuit and punishing the pride of a German baron.
It was only natural to imagine that after so many disasters, Candide, married to his beloved and living with the philosopher Pangloss, the philosopher Martin, the prudent Cacambo, and the old woman, and having brought back so many diamonds from the homeland of the ancient Incas, would lead the most agreeable life in the world. But he was so thoroughly swindled by the Jews that he had nothing left but his little farm. His wife grew uglier every day and became ill-tempered and unbearable; the old woman was infirm and in even worse humor than Cunégonde. Cacambo worked in the garden and went to Constantinople to sell vegetables; exhausted by the labor, he cursed his fate. Pangloss despaired of not shining at some German university. Martin, for his part, was firmly convinced that people were equally wretched everywhere; he bore things patiently. Candide, Martin, and Pangloss sometimes disputed metaphysics and morals. Beneath the windows of the farm they often saw boats passing, loaded with effendis, pashas, and cadis being sent into exile at Lemnos, Mytilene, or Erzeroum; then other cadis, other pashas, other effendis arrived to take the exiles’ places, only to be expelled in turn. They saw neatly stuffed heads being carried off for presentation to the Sublime Porte. These spectacles set their arguments raging afresh; and when they were not arguing, their boredom was so intense that one day the old woman ventured to say to them, “I should like to know which is worse: to be raped a hundred times by Black pirates, to have one buttock cut off, to run the gauntlet among the Bulgarians, to be whipped and hanged at an auto-da-fé, to be dissected, to row in a galley, in short, to endure all the miseries through which we have all passed—or to sit here doing nothing?” “That is a great question,” said Candide.
Her speech gave rise to fresh reflections, and Martin in particular concluded that man was born to live either amid the convulsions of anxiety or in the lethargy of boredom. Candide did not agree, but he made no definite claim. Pangloss admitted that he had always suffered horribly; yet, having once maintained that everything went wonderfully, he went on maintaining it, though he believed none of it.
One event completed Martin’s confirmation in his detestable principles, made Candide more hesitant than ever, and left Pangloss at a loss. One day they saw Paquette and Brother Giroflée arrive at their farm in the deepest poverty. They had soon spent their three thousand piastres, separated, made up, quarreled, been put in prison, escaped, and at last Brother Giroflée had become a Turk. Paquette continued her trade everywhere and no longer earned anything from it. “I foresaw very well,” Martin said to Candide, “that your gifts would soon be squandered and would only make them more miserable. You and Cacambo have been awash in millions of piastres, and you are no happier than Brother Giroflée and Paquette.” “Ah! Ah!” Pangloss said to Paquette, “so heaven has brought you back among us. My poor child! Do you realize you cost me the tip of my nose, an eye, and an ear? And look at you now! Ah, what a world this is!” This new adventure led them to philosophize more than ever.
In the neighborhood lived a very famous dervish, reputed to be the best philosopher in Turkey. They went to consult him. Pangloss spoke for them: “Master, we have come to ask you why so strange an animal as man was created.”
“What business is that of yours?” the dervish asked him. “Is it your concern?” “But, reverend father,” said Candide, “there is a terrible amount of evil on earth.” “What does it matter,” said the dervish, “whether there is evil or good? When His Highness sends a ship to Egypt, does he concern himself with whether the mice aboard are comfortable?” “What, then, should we do?” asked Pangloss. “Keep quiet,” said the dervish. “I had hoped,” said Pangloss, “to discuss with you for a while effects and causes, the best of all possible worlds, the origin of evil, the nature of the soul, and preestablished harmony.” At that, the dervish shut the door in their faces.
During this conversation, word had spread that two viziers of the bench and the mufti had just been strangled in Constantinople, and several of their friends impaled. For a few hours this catastrophe caused a great stir everywhere. On their way back to the little farm, Pangloss, Candide, and Martin met a good old man enjoying the cool air at his door beneath an arbor of orange trees. Pangloss, as curious as he was argumentative, asked him the name of the mufti who had just been strangled. “I do not know,” replied the good man, “and I have never known the name of any mufti or any vizier. I know absolutely nothing of the affair you mention. I suppose that, as a general rule, those who meddle in public affairs sometimes come to a miserable end, and deserve it; but I never inquire into what goes on in Constantinople. I am content to send the fruit of the garden I cultivate there to be sold.” With that he invited the strangers into his house. His two daughters and two sons offered them several kinds of sorbet they made themselves, kaymak studded with candied citron peel, oranges, citrons, lemons, pineapples, dates, pistachios, and Mocha coffee unblended with the bad coffee of Batavia and the islands. Afterward the two daughters of this good Muslim perfumed the beards of Candide, Pangloss, and Martin.
“You must have,” Candide said to the Turk, “a vast and magnificent estate.” “I have only twenty arpents,” replied the Turk. “I cultivate them with my children; work keeps three great evils away from us: boredom, vice, and want.”
On returning to his farm, Candide reflected deeply on the Turk’s words. He said to Pangloss and Martin, “This good old man seems to me to have made a far better life for himself than the six kings with whom we had the honor of dining.” “Greatness,” said Pangloss, “is very dangerous, according to all the philosophers; for Églon, king of the Moabites, was assassinated by Aod; Absalon was hanged by his hair and pierced with three darts; King Nadab, son of Jéroboam, was killed by Baasa; King Éla by Zambri; Ochosias by Jéhu; Athalie by Joïada; the kings Joachim, Jéchonias, and Sédécias were enslaved. You know how Crésus, Astyage, Darius, Denys of Syracuse, Pyrrhus, Persée, Annibal, Jugurtha, Arioviste, César, Pompée, Néron, Othon, Vitellius, Domitien, Richard II of England, Édouard II, Henri VI, Richard III, Marie Stuart, Charles I, the three Henris of France, and Emperor Henri IV met their ends. You know…” “I also know,” said Candide, “that we must cultivate our garden.” “You are right,” said Pangloss, “for when man was placed in the Garden of Eden, he was placed there ut operaretur eum, so that he might work it; which proves that man was not born for rest.” “Let us work without arguing,” said Martin. “It is the only way to make life bearable.”
The whole little company took up this praiseworthy purpose; each set about making use of their talents. The little plot yielded a great deal. Cunégonde was, to be sure, very ugly, but she became an excellent pastry maker; Paquette embroidered; the old woman looked after the linen. Even Brother Giroflée made himself useful: he became a very good carpenter, and even an honest man. And Pangloss would sometimes say to Candide, “All events are linked together in the best of all possible worlds. For if you had not been kicked out of a fine castle with great blows to the backside for your love of Miss Cunégonde, if you had not been handed over to the Inquisition, if you had not crossed America on foot, if you had not dealt the baron a good thrust of your sword, if you had not lost all your sheep from the good land of Eldorado, you would not be eating candied citrons and pistachios here.” “That is well said,” replied Candide, “but we must cultivate our garden.”
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.
Conclusion.
Deep down, Candide had no desire to marry Cunégonde. But the baron's extreme arrogance made him determined to go through with the marriage, and Cunégonde pressed him so hard that he could not back out. He consulted Pangloss, Martin, and the faithful Cacambo. Pangloss wrote a fine argument proving that the baron had no authority over his sister and that, under all the laws of the empire, she could marry Candide in a marriage of unequal rank. Martin recommended throwing the baron into the sea. Cacambo decided they should hand him back to the Levantine captain and send him to the galleys, then ship him to Rome to the Jesuit superior general on the first available boat. Everyone thought the advice excellent. The old woman approved, and they said nothing to Cunégonde. A little money was enough to get it done. They had the pleasure of tricking a Jesuit and punishing a German baron's pride.
It was natural to suppose that, after so many disasters, Candide would have the most pleasant life in the world. He was married to his beloved and lived with the philosopher Pangloss, the philosopher Martin, the sensible Cacambo, and the old woman. He had also brought back so many diamonds from the land of the ancient Incas. But Jews cheated him so thoroughly that he had nothing left except his small farm. His wife grew uglier every day and became bad-tempered and unbearable. The old woman was disabled and in an even worse mood than Cunégonde. Cacambo worked in the garden and took vegetables to sell in Constantinople. He was worn out by the work and cursed his fate. Pangloss was in despair because he was not making a name for himself at some German university. Martin was firmly convinced that people were just as badly off everywhere, and he put up with things. Candide, Martin, and Pangloss sometimes argued about metaphysics and morals. They often saw boats pass below the farmhouse windows. The boats were full of effendis, pashas, and qadis being sent into exile on Lemnos, Mytilène, or Erzeroum. They saw other qadis, pashas, and effendis arrive to take the exiles' places, only to be expelled in turn. They saw neatly preserved heads on their way to be presented to the Sublime Porte. These sights made their discussions even more intense. And when they were not arguing, their boredom was so great that the old woman dared to ask them one day, "I would like to know which is worse: being raped a hundred times by Black pirates, having one buttock cut off, being made to run a gauntlet of soldiers' sticks by the Bulgarians, being whipped and hanged at an auto-da-fé, being dissected, rowing in a galley, and finally suffering every misery we have all been through—or staying here doing nothing?" "That is a big question," said Candide.
Her words led to more reflection. Martin in particular concluded that human beings were born to live either in the turmoil of anxiety or in the stupor of boredom. Candide did not agree, but he would not claim anything for certain. Pangloss admitted that he had always suffered terribly. But once he had argued that everything was going wonderfully, he kept arguing it, though he did not believe a word of it.
One event confirmed Martin's dreadful principles, made Candide more uncertain than ever, and left Pangloss at a loss. One day they saw Paquette and Brother Giroflée arrive at their farm in extreme poverty. They had quickly spent their three thousand piastres, split up, made up, quarreled, been put in prison, and escaped. In the end Brother Giroflée had become a Turk. Paquette kept working at her trade wherever she went but no longer earned anything from it. "I knew it," Martin told Candide. "Your gifts would soon be spent and would only make them more miserable. You and Cacambo had millions of piastres to spare, and you are no happier than Brother Giroflée and Paquette." "Well, well!" Pangloss said to Paquette. "So heaven has brought you back to us. My poor child! Do you realize you cost me the tip of my nose, an eye, and an ear? Look at the state you're in! Oh, what a world this is!" This new adventure made them philosophize more than ever.
A very famous dervish lived nearby and was considered the best philosopher in Turkey. They went to consult him. Pangloss spoke for them. "Master," he said, "we have come to ask you why such a strange animal as man was created."
"Why are you meddling in that?" the dervish asked. "Is it your business?" "But, reverend father," said Candide, "there is a terrible amount of evil on earth." "What does it matter," said the dervish, "whether there is evil or good? When His Highness sends a ship to Egypt, does he worry whether the mice aboard are comfortable?" "Then what should we do?" said Pangloss. "Keep quiet," said the dervish. "I had hoped," said Pangloss, "to discuss effects and causes with you a little, and the best of all possible worlds, the origin of evil, the nature of the soul, and preestablished harmony." At that, the dervish shut the door in their faces.
During this conversation, news had spread that two viziers of the bench and the mufti had just been strangled in Constantinople, and several of their friends impaled. For a few hours the disaster caused a great stir everywhere. On their way back to the little farm, Pangloss, Candide, and Martin met a kindly old man enjoying the cool air at his door beneath an arbor of orange trees. Pangloss was as curious as he was fond of reasoning. He asked the man the name of the mufti who had just been strangled. "I don't know," the old man answered, "and I have never known the name of any mufti or any vizier. I know absolutely nothing about the event you mention. I suppose that, in general, people who involve themselves in public affairs sometimes die miserably, and that they deserve it. But I never ask what is happening in Constantinople. I am content to send the fruit I grow in my garden there to be sold." Then he invited the visitors into his house. His two daughters and two sons served them several kinds of sorbet they had made themselves, kaymak with bits of candied citron peel, oranges, lemons, limes, pineapples, dates, pistachios, and coffee from Mocha that had not been mixed with inferior coffee from Batavia and the islands. Afterward the good Muslim's two daughters perfumed the beards of Candide, Pangloss, and Martin.
"You must have a vast and magnificent estate," Candide said to the Turk. "I have only twenty arpents," the Turk replied. "I farm them with my children. Work keeps three great evils away from us: boredom, vice, and need."
As he returned to his farm, Candide thought deeply about what the Turk had said. He told Pangloss and Martin, "That good old man seems to have made a life for himself far better than the lives of the six kings we had the honor of dining with." "High rank is very dangerous," said Pangloss, "according to all the philosophers. After all, Églon, king of the Moabites, was murdered by Aod. Absalon was hung by his hair and pierced with three darts. King Nadab, son of Jéroboam, was killed by Baasa; King Éla by Zambri; Ochosias by Jéhu; and Athalie by Joïada. Kings Joachim, Jéchonias, and Sédécias were enslaved. You know how Crésus, Astyage, Darius, Denys of Syracuse, Pyrrhus, Persée, Annibal, Jugurtha, Arioviste, César, Pompée, Néron, Othon, Vitellius, Domitien, Richard II of England, Édouard II, Henri VI, Richard III, Marie Stuart, Charles I, the three Henris of France, and Emperor Henri IV died. You know…" "I also know," said Candide, "that we must cultivate our garden." "You are right," said Pangloss, "for when man was placed in the Garden of Eden, he was placed there ut operaretur eum, so that he would work it. That proves man was not born to rest." "Let's work instead of reasoning," said Martin. "It's the only way to make life bearable."
The whole little group took up this worthwhile plan. Each person put their skills to use. The small farm produced a great deal. Cunégonde was certainly very ugly, but she became an excellent pastry cook. Paquette embroidered. The old woman took care of the laundry. Even Brother Giroflée made himself useful. He became a very good carpenter, and even an honest man. Pangloss sometimes said to Candide, "All events are linked together in the best of all possible worlds. After all, if you had not been kicked in the backside and driven out of a fine castle for loving Miss Cunégonde, if you had not been handed over to the Inquisition, if you had not crossed America on foot, if you had not given the baron a good thrust with your sword, if you had not lost all your sheep from the good land of Eldorado, you would not be eating candied citrons and pistachios here." "That's well put," Candide answered, "but we must cultivate our garden."