Voltaire · Complete work
Chapter V
Chapter V of 30. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
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Tempête, naufrage, tremblement de terre, et ce qui advint du docteur Pangloss, de Candide, et de l’anabaptiste Jacques.
La moitié des passagers affaiblis, expirants de ces angoisses inconcevables que le roulis d’un vaisseau porte dans les nerfs et dans toutes les humeurs du corps agitées en sens contraires, n’avait pas même la force de s’inquiéter du danger. L’autre moitié jetait des cris et fesait des prières; les voiles étaient déchirées, les mâts brisés, le vaisseau entr’ouvert. Travaillait qui pouvait, personne ne s’entendait, personne ne commandait. L’anabaptiste aidait un peu à la manoeuvre; il était sur le tillac; un matelot furieux le frappe rudement et l’étend sur les planches; mais du coup qu’il lui donna, il eut lui-même une si violente secousse, qu’il tomba hors du vaisseau, la tête la première. Il restait suspendu et accroché à une partie de mât rompu. Le bon Jacques court à son secours, l’aide à remonter, et de l’effort qu’il fait, il est précipité dans la mer à la vue du matelot, qui le laissa périr sans daigner seulement le regarder. Candide approche, voit son bienfaiteur qui reparaît un moment, et qui est englouti pour jamais. Il veut se jeter après lui dans la mer: le philosophe Pangloss l’en empêche, en lui prouvant que la rade de Lisbonne avait été formée exprès pour que cet anabaptiste s’y noyât. Tandis qu’il le prouvait à priori, le vaisseau s’entr’ouvre, tout périt à la réserve de Pangloss, de Candide, et de ce brutal de matelot qui avait noyé le vertueux anabaptiste; le coquin nagea heureusement jusqu’au rivage, où Pangloss et Candide furent portés sur une planche.
Quand ils furent revenus un peu à eux, ils marchèrent vers Lisbonne; il leur restait quelque argent, avec lequel ils espéraient se sauver de la faim après avoir échappé à la tempête.
A peine ont-ils mis le pied dans la ville, en pleurant la mort de leur bienfaiteur, qu’ils sentent la terre trembler sous leurs pas; la mer s’élève en bouillonnant dans le port, et brise les vaisseaux qui sont à l’ancre. Des tourbillons de flammes et de cendres couvrent les rues et les places publiques; les maisons s’écroulent, les toits sont renversés sur les fondements, et les fondements se dispersent; trente mille habitants de tout âge et de tout sexe sont écrasés sous des ruines. Le matelot disait en sifflant et en jurant: il y aura quelque chose à gagner ici. Quelle peut être la raison suffisante de ce phénomène? disait Pangloss. Voici le dernier jour du monde! s’écriait Candide. Le matelot court incontinent au milieu des débris, affronte la mort pour trouver de l’argent, en trouve, s’en empare, s’enivre, et ayant cuvé son vin, achète les faveurs de la première fille de bonne volonté qu’il rencontre sur les ruines des maisons détruites, et au milieu des mourants et des morts. Pangloss le tirait cependant par la manche: Mon ami, lui disait-il, cela n’est pas bien, vous manquez à la raison universelle, vous prenez mal votre temps. Tête et sang, répondit l’autre, je suis matelot et né à Batavia; j’ai marché quatre fois sur le crucifix dans quatre voyages au Japon; tu as bien trouvé ton homme avec ta raison universelle!
Quelques éclats de pierre avaient blessé Candide; il était étendu dans la rue et couvert de débris. Il disait à Pangloss: Hélas! procure-moi un peu de vin et d’huile; je me meurs. Ce tremblement de terre n’est pas une chose nouvelle, répondit Pangloss; la ville de Lima éprouva les mêmes secousses en Amérique l’année passée; mêmes causes, mêmes effets; il y a certainement une traînée de soufre sous terre depuis Lima jusqu’à Lisbonne. Rien n’est plus probable, dit Candide; mais, pour Dieu, un peu d’huile et de vin. Comment probable? répliqua le philosophe, je soutiens que la chose est démontrée. Candide perdit connaissance, et Pangloss lui apporta un peu d’eau d’une fontaine voisine.
Le lendemain, ayant trouvé quelques provisions de bouche en se glissant à travers des décombres, ils réparèrent un peu leurs forces. Ensuite ils travaillèrent comme les autres à soulager les habitants échappés à la mort. Quelques citoyens, secourus par eux, leur donnèrent un aussi bon dîner qu’on le pouvait dans un tel désastre: il est vrai que le repas était triste; les convives arrosaient leur pain de leurs larmes; mais Pangloss les consola, en les assurant que les choses ne pouvaient être autrement: Car, dit-il, tout ceci est ce qu’il y a de mieux; car s’il y a un volcan à Lisbonne, il ne pouvait être ailleurs; car il est impossible que les choses ne soient pas où elles sont, car tout est bien.
Un petit homme noir, familier de l’inquisition, lequel était à côté de lui, prit poliment la parole et dit: Apparemment que monsieur ne croit pas au péché originel; car si tout est au mieux, il n’y a donc eu ni chute ni punition.
Je demande très humblement pardon à votre excellence, répondit Pangloss encore plus poliment, car la chute de l’homme et la malédiction entraient nécessairement dans le meilleur des mondes possibles. Monsieur ne croit donc pas à la liberté? dit le familier. Votre excellence m’excusera, dit Pangloss; la liberté peut subsister avec la nécessité absolue; car il était nécessaire que nous fussions libres; car enfin la volonté déterminée…… Pangloss était au milieu de sa phrase, quand le familier fit un signe de tête à son estafier qui lui servait à boire du vin de Porto ou d’Oporto.
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.
Storm, Shipwreck, Earthquake, and What Befell Doctor Pangloss, Candide, and the Anabaptist Jacques.
Half the passengers, weakened and dying from the inconceivable agonies that a ship's rolling sends through the nerves and through all the bodily fluids tossed in contrary directions, had not even the strength to worry about the danger. The other half cried out and prayed; the sails were torn, the masts broken, the ship split open. Whoever could, worked; no one could hear anyone else, and no one was in command. The Anabaptist was helping a little with the rigging on deck. A furious sailor struck him hard and knocked him down on the planks; but the force of his blow threw the sailor himself off balance, and he fell headfirst overboard. He hung suspended, caught on a piece of broken mast. Good Jacques ran to his aid and helped him climb back aboard; in the effort Jacques fell into the sea before the sailor's eyes, and the sailor let him perish without even deigning to look at him. Candide came over and saw his benefactor surface for a moment, then sink forever. He wanted to throw himself into the sea after him, but the philosopher Pangloss stopped him, proving that the harbor of Lisbon had been formed expressly for this Anabaptist to drown in it. While he was proving this a priori, the ship split open; everyone perished except Pangloss, Candide, and the brutal sailor who had drowned the virtuous Anabaptist. The scoundrel swam safely to shore, where Pangloss and Candide were carried on a plank.
When they had recovered a little, they walked toward Lisbon. They still had some money, with which they hoped to escape starvation after escaping the storm.
Hardly had they set foot in the city, mourning their benefactor's death, when they felt the earth shake beneath them. The sea rose and churned in the harbor, smashing the ships at anchor. Whirlwinds of flame and ash covered the streets and public squares; houses collapsed, roofs were overturned onto foundations, and foundations scattered; thirty thousand inhabitants of every age and sex were crushed beneath the ruins. Whistling and swearing, the sailor said, “There'll be something to gain here.” “What can be the sufficient reason for this phenomenon?” said Pangloss. “This is the last day of the world!” cried Candide. The sailor immediately ran into the wreckage, risked death to find money, found some, seized it, got drunk, and, when he had sobered up, bought the favors of the first willing girl he met among the ruins of destroyed houses, amid the dying and the dead. Pangloss meanwhile tugged at his sleeve. “My friend,” he said, “this is not right. You are violating universal reason; you have chosen the wrong moment.” “By blood and thunder,” the other answered, “I'm a sailor and was born in Batavia. I have trampled on the crucifix four times in four voyages to Japan. You've found just the man for your universal reason!”
Fragments of stone had wounded Candide; he lay in the street covered in debris. He said to Pangloss, “Alas! Get me a little wine and oil; I'm dying.” “This earthquake is nothing new,” Pangloss replied. “The city of Lima suffered the same shocks in America last year: the same causes, the same effects. There is certainly a seam of sulfur underground from Lima to Lisbon.” “Nothing could be more probable,” said Candide, “but for God's sake, a little oil and wine.” “What do you mean, probable?” replied the philosopher. “I maintain that it has been proved.” Candide lost consciousness, and Pangloss brought him a little water from a nearby fountain.
The next day, having found some food by slipping through the rubble, they regained a little strength. Then they worked with the others to help the inhabitants who had escaped death. Some citizens whom they had helped gave them as good a dinner as could be had amid such a disaster. The meal was sad, it is true: the guests watered their bread with tears. But Pangloss consoled them, assuring them that things could not have been otherwise. “For,” he said, “all this is for the best. For if there is a volcano at Lisbon, it could not be anywhere else; for things cannot possibly be anywhere other than where they are; for all is well.”
A little dark-complexioned man, an agent of the Inquisition seated beside him, politely took up the conversation. “Apparently, sir, you do not believe in original sin; for if all is for the best, there was neither a Fall nor a punishment.”
“I most humbly beg Your Excellency's pardon,” Pangloss answered still more politely, “for the Fall of man and the curse were necessarily part of the best of all possible worlds.” “Then you do not believe in free will?” said the agent. “Your Excellency will forgive me,” said Pangloss. “Free will can coexist with absolute necessity; for it was necessary that we should be free; for, after all, the determined will…” Pangloss was halfway through his sentence when the agent nodded to the attendant who was serving him wine from Porto or Oporto.
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.
Storm, shipwreck, earthquake, and what happened to Doctor Pangloss, Candide, and the Anabaptist Jacques.
Half the passengers were weak and close to death from the unimaginable distress caused by the ship's rolling, which shook their nerves and all the fluids in their bodies back and forth. They did not even have the strength to worry about the danger. The other half screamed and prayed. The sails were torn, the masts broken, and the ship was splitting open. Anyone who could worked, but no one could hear anyone else and no one was in charge. The Anabaptist was helping a little with the ship's handling. He was on deck when an enraged sailor struck him hard and knocked him down on the planks. But the blow made the sailor himself lose his balance so badly that he fell headfirst overboard. He was left hanging from a piece of broken mast. Good Jacques rushed to help him and pulled him back up. In doing so, Jacques was thrown into the sea before the sailor's eyes. The sailor let him die without even bothering to look at him. Candide came over and saw his benefactor surface for a moment, then sink forever. He wanted to jump into the sea after him, but the philosopher Pangloss stopped him. Pangloss proved to him that the harbor of Lisbon had been made expressly for this Anabaptist to drown in it. While he was proving this from first principles, the ship split open. Everyone died except Pangloss, Candide, and the brutal sailor who had drowned the virtuous Anabaptist. The scoundrel managed to swim ashore, while Pangloss and Candide floated in on a plank.
Once they had recovered a little, they walked toward Lisbon. They had some money left and hoped it would save them from hunger now that they had survived the storm.
They had barely set foot in the city, still mourning their benefactor, when they felt the earth shake beneath them. The sea surged in the harbor and smashed the ships at anchor. Swirls of fire and ash covered the streets and public squares. Houses collapsed, roofs crashed down onto their foundations, and the foundations broke apart. Thirty thousand residents of every age and sex were crushed under the ruins. The sailor whistled and swore. "There's money to be made here," he said. "What can be the sufficient reason for this phenomenon?" asked Pangloss. "It's the end of the world!" cried Candide. The sailor immediately ran into the rubble, risking his life to find money. He found some and took it. He got drunk, then, once he had sobered up, bought the favors of the first willing woman he met among the ruins of the destroyed houses and amid the dying and the dead. Pangloss tugged at his sleeve. "My friend," he said, "that's not right. You're going against universal reason. You've chosen a bad time." "By blood and thunder," answered the other man, "I'm a sailor, born in Batavia. I've trampled a crucifix four times on four trips to Japan. You've picked the wrong man for your universal reason!"
Flying pieces of stone had injured Candide. He lay in the street covered in debris. He said to Pangloss, "Oh! Get me some wine and oil. I'm dying." "This earthquake is nothing new," replied Pangloss. "The city of Lima in America had the same tremors last year. The same causes, the same effects. There must be a line of sulfur underground from Lima to Lisbon." "Very likely," said Candide, "but for God's sake, a little oil and wine." "What do you mean, likely?" replied the philosopher. "I insist it's been proved." Candide lost consciousness, and Pangloss brought him a little water from a nearby fountain.
The next day they crawled through the rubble, found some food, and recovered a little strength. Then they joined the others in helping the residents who had survived. Some of the citizens they helped gave them as good a dinner as anyone could provide in such a disaster. Admittedly, it was a sad meal: the diners soaked their bread with tears. But Pangloss comforted them by assuring them things could not have been otherwise. "For," he said, "all this is for the best. If there's a volcano in Lisbon, it couldn't be anywhere else. Things can't possibly be anywhere other than where they are. Everything is fine."
A short, dark-haired man sitting beside him, an officer of the Inquisition, spoke up politely. "Apparently, sir, you don't believe in original sin. If everything is for the best, then there has been neither a fall nor a punishment."
"I most humbly beg your excellency's pardon," answered Pangloss, even more politely. "The fall of man and the curse were necessary parts of the best of all possible worlds." "So you don't believe in free will, sir?" said the officer. "Your excellency will excuse me," said Pangloss. "Freedom can exist alongside absolute necessity. It was necessary for us to be free, because, after all, a will that is determined…" Pangloss was in the middle of his sentence when the officer nodded to his attendant, who was serving him Porto or Oporto wine.