Chapter: The faithful Cacambo had already prevailed upon the Turkish skipper, who
was to conduct the Sultan Achmet to Constantinople, to receive Candide
and Martin on his ship. They both embarked after having made their
obeisance to his miserable Highness.

"You see," said Candide to Martin on the way, "we supped with six
dethroned kings, and of those six there was one to whom I gave charity.
Perhaps there are many other princes yet more unfortunate. For my part,
I have only lost a hundred sheep; and now I am flying into Cunegonde's
arms. My dear Martin, yet once more Pangloss was right: all is for the
best."

"I wish it," answered Martin.

"But," said Candide, "it was a very strange adventure we met with at
Venice. It has never before been seen or heard that six dethroned kings
have supped together at a public inn."

"It is not more extraordinary," said Martin, "than most of the things
that have happened to us. It is a very common thing for kings to be
dethroned; and as for the honour we have had of supping in their
company, it is a trifle not worth our attention."

No sooner had Candide got on board the vessel than he flew to his old
valet and friend Cacambo, and tenderly embraced him.

"Well," said he, "what news of Cunegonde? Is she still a prodigy of
beauty? Does she love me still? How is she? Thou hast doubtless bought
her a palace at Constantinople?"

"My dear master," answered Cacambo, "Cunegonde washes dishes on the
banks of the Propontis, in the service of a prince, who has very few
dishes to wash; she is a slave in the family of an ancient sovereign
named Ragotsky,[35] to whom the Grand Turk allows three crowns a day in
his exile. But what is worse still is, that she has lost her beauty and
has become horribly ugly."

"Well, handsome or ugly," replied Candide, "I am a man of honour, and it
is my duty to love her still. But how came she to be reduced to so
abject a state with the five or six millions that you took to her?"

"Ah!" said Cacambo, "was I not to give two millions to Senor Don
Fernando d'Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza,
Governor of Buenos Ayres, for permitting Miss Cunegonde to come away?
And did not a corsair bravely rob us of all the rest? Did not this
corsair carry us to Cape Matapan, to Milo, to Nicaria, to Samos, to
Petra, to the Dardanelles, to Marmora, to Scutari? Cunegonde and the old
woman serve the prince I now mentioned to you, and I am slave to the
dethroned Sultan."

"What a series of shocking calamities!" cried Candide. "But after all, I
have some diamonds left; and I may easily pay Cunegonde's ransom. Yet it
is a pity that she is grown so ugly."

Then, turning towards Martin: "Who do you think," said he, "is most to
be pitied--the Sultan Achmet, the Emperor Ivan, King Charles Edward, or
I?"

"How should I know!" answered Martin. "I must see into your hearts to be
able to tell."

"Ah!" said Candide, "if Pangloss were here, he could tell."

"I know not," said Martin, "in what sort of scales your Pangloss would
weigh the misfortunes of mankind and set a just estimate on their
sorrows. All that I can presume to say is, that there are millions of
people upon earth who have a hundred times more to complain of than King
Charles Edward, the Emperor Ivan, or the Sultan Achmet."

"That may well be," said Candide.

In a few days they reached the Bosphorus, and Candide began by paying a
very high ransom for Cacambo. Then without losing time, he and his
companions went on board a galley, in order to search on the banks of
the Propontis for his Cunegonde, however ugly she might have become.

Among the crew there were two slaves who rowed very badly, and to whose
bare shoulders the Levantine captain would now and then apply blows from
a bull's pizzle. Candide, from a natural impulse, looked at these two
slaves more attentively than at the other oarsmen, and approached them
with pity. Their features though greatly disfigured, had a slight
resemblance to those of Pangloss and the unhappy Jesuit and Westphalian
Baron, brother to Miss Cunegonde. This moved and saddened him. He looked
at them still more attentively.

"Indeed," said he to Cacambo, "if I had not seen Master Pangloss hanged,
and if I had not had the misfortune to kill the Baron, I should think it
was they that were rowing."

At the names of the Baron and of Pangloss, the two galley-slaves uttered
a loud cry, held fast by the seat, and let drop their oars. The captain
ran up to them and redoubled his blows with the bull's pizzle.

"Stop! stop! sir," cried Candide. "I will give you what money you
please."

"What! it is Candide!" said one of the slaves.

"What! it is Candide!" said the other.

"Do I dream?" cried Candide; "am I awake? or am I on board a galley? Is
this the Baron whom I killed? Is this Master Pangloss whom I saw
hanged?"

"It is we! it is we!" answered they.

"Well! is this the great philosopher?" said Martin.

"Ah! captain," said Candide, "what ransom will you take for Monsieur de
Thunder-ten-Tronckh, one of the first barons of the empire, and for
Monsieur Pangloss, the profoundest metaphysician in Germany?"

"Dog of a Christian," answered the Levantine captain, "since these two
dogs of Christian slaves are barons and metaphysicians, which I doubt
not are high dignities in their country, you shall give me fifty
thousand sequins."

"You shall have them, sir. Carry me back at once to Constantinople, and
you shall receive the money directly. But no; carry me first to Miss
Cunegonde."

Upon the first proposal made by Candide, however, the Levantine captain
had already tacked about, and made the crew ply their oars quicker than
a bird cleaves the air.

Candide embraced the Baron and Pangloss a hundred times.

"And how happened it, my dear Baron, that I did not kill you? And, my
dear Pangloss, how came you to life again after being hanged? And why
are you both in a Turkish galley?"

"And it is true that my dear sister is in this country?" said the Baron.

"Yes," answered Cacambo.

"Then I behold, once more, my dear Candide," cried Pangloss.

Candide presented Martin and Cacambo to them; they embraced each other,
and all spoke at once. The galley flew; they were already in the port.
Instantly Candide sent for a Jew, to whom he sold for fifty thousand
sequins a diamond worth a hundred thousand, though the fellow swore to
him by Abraham that he could give him no more. He immediately paid the
ransom for the Baron and Pangloss. The latter threw himself at the feet
of his deliverer, and bathed them with his tears; the former thanked him
with a nod, and promised to return him the money on the first
opportunity.

"But is it indeed possible that my sister can be in Turkey?" said he.

"Nothing is more possible," said Cacambo, "since she scours the dishes
in the service of a Transylvanian prince."

Candide sent directly for two Jews and sold them some more diamonds, and
then they all set out together in another galley to deliver Cunegonde
from slavery.




"I ask your pardon once more," said Candide to the Baron, "your pardon,
reverend father, for having run you through the body."

"Say no more about it," answered the Baron. "I was a little too hasty, I
own, but since you wish to know by what fatality I came to be a
galley-slave I will inform you. After I had been cured by the surgeon of
the college of the wound you gave me, I was attacked and carried off by
a party of Spanish troops, who confined me in prison at Buenos Ayres at
the very time my sister was setting out thence. I asked leave to return
to Rome to the General of my Order. I was appointed chaplain to the
French Ambassador at Constantinople. I had not been eight days in this
employment when one evening I met with a young Ichoglan, who was a very
handsome fellow. The weather was warm. The young man wanted to bathe,
and I took this opportunity of bathing also. I did not know that it was
a capital crime for a Christian to be found naked with a young
Mussulman. A cadi ordered me a hundred blows on the soles of the feet,
and condemned me to the galleys. I do not think there ever was a greater
act of injustice. But I should be glad to know how my sister came to be
scullion to a Transylvanian prince who has taken shelter among the
Turks."

"But you, my dear Pangloss," said Candide, "how can it be that I behold
you again?"

"It is true," said Pangloss, "that you saw me hanged. I should have been
burnt, but you may remember it rained exceedingly hard when they were
going to roast me; the storm was so violent that they despaired of
lighting the fire, so I was hanged because they could do no better. A
surgeon purchased my body, carried me home, and dissected me. He began
with making a crucial incision on me from the navel to the clavicula.
One could not have been worse hanged than I was. The executioner of the
Holy Inquisition was a sub-deacon, and knew how to burn people
marvellously well, but he was not accustomed to hanging. The cord was
wet and did not slip properly, and besides it was badly tied; in short,
I still drew my breath, when the crucial incision made me give such a
frightful scream that my surgeon fell flat upon his back, and imagining
that he had been dissecting the devil he ran away, dying with fear, and
fell down the staircase in his flight. His wife, hearing the noise,
flew from the next room. She saw me stretched out upon the table with my
crucial incision. She was seized with yet greater fear than her husband,
fled, and tumbled over him. When they came to themselves a little, I
heard the wife say to her husband: 'My dear, how could you take it into
your head to dissect a heretic? Do you not know that these people always
have the devil in their bodies? I will go and fetch a priest this minute
to exorcise him.' At this proposal I shuddered, and mustering up what
little courage I had still remaining I cried out aloud, 'Have mercy on
me!' At length the Portuguese barber plucked up his spirits. He sewed up
my wounds; his wife even nursed me. I was upon my legs at the end of
fifteen days. The barber found me a place as lackey to a knight of Malta
who was going to Venice, but finding that my master had no money to pay
me my wages I entered the service of a Venetian merchant, and went with
him to Constantinople. One day I took it into my head to step into a
mosque, where I saw an old Iman and a very pretty young devotee who was
saying her paternosters. Her bosom was uncovered, and between her
breasts she had a beautiful bouquet of tulips, roses, anemones,
ranunculus, hyacinths, and auriculas. She dropped her bouquet; I picked
it up, and presented it to her with a profound reverence. I was so long
in delivering it that the Iman began to get angry, and seeing that I was
a Christian he called out for help. They carried me before the cadi, who
ordered me a hundred lashes on the soles of the feet and sent me to the
galleys. I was chained to the very same galley and the same bench as the
young Baron. On board this galley there were four young men from
Marseilles, five Neapolitan priests, and two monks from Corfu, who told
us similar adventures happened daily. The Baron maintained that he had
suffered greater injustice than I, and I insisted that it was far more
innocent to take up a bouquet and place it again on a woman's bosom than
to be found stark naked with an Ichoglan. We were continually disputing,
and received twenty lashes with a bull's pizzle when the concatenation
of universal events brought you to our galley, and you were good enough
to ransom us."

"Well, my dear Pangloss," said Candide to him, "when you had been
hanged, dissected, whipped, and were tugging at the oar, did you always
think that everything happens for the best?"

"I am still of my first opinion," answered Pangloss, "for I am a
philosopher and I cannot retract, especially as Leibnitz could never be
wrong; and besides, the pre-established harmony is the finest thing in
the world, and so is his _plenum_ and _materia subtilis_."





While Candide, the Baron, Pangloss, Martin, and Cacambo were relating
their several adventures, were reasoning on the contingent or
non-contingent events of the universe, disputing on effects and causes,
on moral and physical evil, on liberty and necessity, and on the
consolations a slave may feel even on a Turkish galley, they arrived at
the house of the Transylvanian prince on the banks of the Propontis. The
first objects which met their sight were Cunegonde and the old woman
hanging towels out to dry.

The Baron paled at this sight. The tender, loving Candide, seeing his
beautiful Cunegonde embrowned, with blood-shot eyes, withered neck,
wrinkled cheeks, and rough, red arms, recoiled three paces, seized with
horror, and then advanced out of good manners. She embraced Candide and
her brother; they embraced the old woman, and Candide ransomed them
both.

There was a small farm in the neighbourhood which the old woman
proposed to Candide to make a shift with till the company could be
provided for in a better manner. Cunegonde did not know she had grown
ugly, for nobody had told her of it; and she reminded Candide of his
promise in so positive a tone that the good man durst not refuse her. He
therefore intimated to the Baron that he intended marrying his sister.

"I will not suffer," said the Baron, "such meanness on her part, and
such insolence on yours; I will never be reproached with this scandalous
thing; my sister's children would never be able to enter the church in
Germany. No; my sister shall only marry a baron of the empire."

Cunegonde flung herself at his feet, and bathed them with her tears;
still he was inflexible.

"Thou foolish fellow," said Candide; "I have delivered thee out of the
galleys, I have paid thy ransom, and thy sister's also; she was a
scullion, and is very ugly, yet I am so condescending as to marry her;
and dost thou pretend to oppose the match? I should kill thee again,
were I only to consult my anger."

"Thou mayest kill me again," said the Baron, "but thou shalt not marry
my sister, at least whilst I am living."




At the bottom of his heart Candide had no wish to marry Cunegonde. But
the extreme impertinence of the Baron determined him to conclude the
match, and Cunegonde pressed him so strongly that he could not go from
his word. He consulted Pangloss, Martin, and the faithful Cacambo.
Pangloss drew up an excellent memorial, wherein he proved that the Baron
had no right over his sister, and that according to all the laws of the
empire, she might marry Candide with her left hand. Martin was for
throwing the Baron into the sea; Cacambo decided that it would be better
to deliver him up again to the captain of the galley, after which they
thought to send him back to the General Father of the Order at Rome by
the first ship. This advice was well received, the old woman approved
it; they said not a word to his sister; the thing was executed for a
little money, and they had the double pleasure of entrapping a Jesuit,
and punishing the pride of a German baron.

It is natural to imagine that after so many disasters Candide married,
and living with the philosopher Pangloss, the philosopher Martin, the
prudent Cacambo, and the old woman, having besides brought so many
diamonds from the country of the ancient Incas, must have led a very
happy life. But he was so much imposed upon by the Jews that he had
nothing left except his small farm; his wife became uglier every day,
more peevish and unsupportable; the old woman was infirm and even more
fretful than Cunegonde. Cacambo, who worked in the garden, and took
vegetables for sale to Constantinople, was fatigued with hard work, and
cursed his destiny. Pangloss was in despair at not shining in some
German university. For Martin, he was firmly persuaded that he would be
as badly off elsewhere, and therefore bore things patiently. Candide,
Martin, and Pangloss sometimes disputed about morals and metaphysics.
They often saw passing under the windows of their farm boats full of
Effendis, Pashas, and Cadis, who were going into banishment to Lemnos,
Mitylene, or Erzeroum. And they saw other Cadis, Pashas, and Effendis
coming to supply the place of the exiles, and afterwards exiled in their
turn. They saw heads decently impaled for presentation to the Sublime
Porte. Such spectacles as these increased the number of their
dissertations; and when they did not dispute time hung so heavily upon
their hands, that one day the old woman ventured to say to them:

"I want to know which is worse, to be ravished a hundred times by negro
pirates, to have a buttock cut off, to run the gauntlet among the
Bulgarians, to be whipped and hanged at an _auto-da-fe_, to be
dissected, to row in the galleys--in short, to go through all the
miseries we have undergone, or to stay here and have nothing to do?"

"It is a great question," said Candide.

This discourse gave rise to new reflections, and Martin especially
concluded that man was born to live either in a state of distracting
inquietude or of lethargic disgust. Candide did not quite agree to that,
but he affirmed nothing. Pangloss owned that he had always suffered
horribly, but as he had once asserted that everything went wonderfully
well, he asserted it still, though he no longer believed it.

What helped to confirm Martin in his detestable principles, to stagger
Candide more than ever, and to puzzle Pangloss, was that one day they
saw Paquette and Friar Giroflee land at the farm in extreme misery. They
had soon squandered their three thousand piastres, parted, were
reconciled, quarrelled again, were thrown into gaol, had escaped, and
Friar Giroflee had at length become Turk. Paquette continued her trade
wherever she went, but made nothing of it.

"I foresaw," said Martin to Candide, "that your presents would soon be
dissipated, and only make them the more miserable. You have rolled in
millions of money, you and Cacambo; and yet you are not happier than
Friar Giroflee and Paquette."

"Ha!" said Pangloss to Paquette, "Providence has then brought you
amongst us again, my poor child! Do you know that you cost me the tip of
my nose, an eye, and an ear, as you may see? What a world is this!"

And now this new adventure set them philosophising more than ever.

In the neighbourhood there lived a very famous Dervish who was esteemed
the best philosopher in all Turkey, and they went to consult him.
Pangloss was the speaker.

"Master," said he, "we come to beg you to tell why so strange an animal
as man was made."

"With what meddlest thou?" said the Dervish; "is it thy business?"

"But, reverend father," said Candide, "there is horrible evil in this
world."

"What signifies it," said the Dervish, "whether there be evil or good?
When his highness sends a ship to Egypt, does he trouble his head
whether the mice on board are at their ease or not?"

"What, then, must we do?" said Pangloss.

"Hold your tongue," answered the Dervish.

"I was in hopes," said Pangloss, "that I should reason with you a little
about causes and effects, about the best of possible worlds, the origin
of evil, the nature of the soul, and the pre-established harmony."

At these words, the Dervish shut the door in their faces.

During this conversation, the news was spread that two Viziers and the
Mufti had been strangled at Constantinople, and that several of their
friends had been impaled. This catastrophe made a great noise for some
hours. Pangloss, Candide, and Martin, returning to the little farm, saw
a good old man taking the fresh air at his door under an orange bower.
Pangloss, who was as inquisitive as he was argumentative, asked the old
man what was the name of the strangled Mufti.

"I do not know," answered the worthy man, "and I have not known the name
of any Mufti, nor of any Vizier. I am entirely ignorant of the event you
mention; I presume in general that they who meddle with the
administration of public affairs die sometimes miserably, and that they
deserve it; but I never trouble my head about what is transacting at
Constantinople; I content myself with sending there for sale the fruits
of the garden which I cultivate."

Having said these words, he invited the strangers into his house; his
two sons and two daughters presented them with several sorts of sherbet,
which they made themselves, with Kaimak enriched with the candied-peel
of citrons, with oranges, lemons, pine-apples, pistachio-nuts, and Mocha
coffee unadulterated with the bad coffee of Batavia or the American
islands. After which the two daughters of the honest Mussulman perfumed
the strangers' beards.

"You must have a vast and magnificent estate," said Candide to the Turk.

"I have only twenty acres," replied the old man; "I and my children
cultivate them; our labour preserves us from three great
evils--weariness, vice, and want."

Candide, on his way home, made profound reflections on the old man's
conversation.

"This honest Turk," said he to Pangloss and Martin, "seems to be in a
situation far preferable to that of the six kings with whom we had the
honour of supping."

"Grandeur," said Pangloss, "is extremely dangerous according to the
testimony of philosophers. For, in short, Eglon, King of Moab, was
assassinated by Ehud; Absalom was hung by his hair, and pierced with
three darts; King Nadab, the son of Jeroboam, was killed by Baasa; King
Ela by Zimri; Ahaziah by Jehu; Athaliah by Jehoiada; the Kings
Jehoiakim, Jeconiah, and Zedekiah, were led into captivity. You know how
perished Croesus, Astyages, Darius, Dionysius of Syracuse, Pyrrhus,
Perseus, Hannibal, Jugurtha, Ariovistus, Caesar, Pompey, Nero, Otho,
Vitellius, Domitian, Richard II. of England, Edward II., Henry VI.,
Richard III., Mary Stuart, Charles I., the three Henrys of France, the
Emperor Henry IV.! You know----"

"I know also," said Candide, "that we must cultivate our garden."

"You are right," said Pangloss, "for when man was first placed in the
Garden of Eden, he was put there _ut operaretur eum_, that he might
cultivate it; which shows that man was not born to be idle."

"Let us work," said Martin, "without disputing; it is the only way to
render life tolerable."

The whole little society entered into this laudable design, according to
their different abilities. Their little plot of land produced plentiful
crops. Cunegonde was, indeed, very ugly, but she became an excellent
pastry cook; Paquette worked at embroidery; the old woman looked after
the linen. They were all, not excepting Friar Giroflee, of some service
or other; for he made a good joiner, and became a very honest man.

Pangloss sometimes said to Candide:

"There is a concatenation of events in this best of all possible worlds:
for if you had not been kicked out of a magnificent castle for love of
Miss Cunegonde: if you had not been put into the Inquisition: if you had
not walked over America: if you had not stabbed the Baron: if you had
not lost all your sheep from the fine country of El Dorado: you would
not be here eating preserved citrons and pistachio-nuts."

"All that is very well," answered Candide, "but let us cultivate our
garden."

 Cacambo had made arrangements for Candide and himself to sail aboard a ship commanded by a Turkish captain under orders of the Sultan Ahmed. Both prostrated themselves before his "miserable Highness." En route, Candide, in whose breast hope sprang eternal, contemplated the lot of the six kings he had met in Venice and compared their lot with his own, now that he was flying to the arms of Cunegonde. He assured Martin that Pangloss had been right: "All is well." Martin could only express his hope that the youth was right. Unlike his companion, he saw nothing extraordinary in the fact that they had dined with six dethroned rulers; such dethronements were common enough. Cacambo had made arrangements for Candide and himself to sail aboard a ship commanded by a Turkish captain under orders of the Sultan Ahmed. Both prostrated themselves before his "miserable Highness." En route, Candide, in whose breast hope sprang eternal, contemplated the lot of the six kings he had met in Venice and compared their lot with his own, now that he was flying to the arms of Cunegonde. He assured Martin that Pangloss had been right: "All is well." Martin could only express his hope that the youth was right. Unlike his companion, he saw nothing extraordinary in the fact that they had dined with six dethroned rulers; such dethronements were common enough. Candide turned to Cacambo and asked him many questions about Cunegonde. What was she doing? Was she still the peerless beauty? Had Cacambo bought her a palace in Constantinople? He was told that the lady was a lowly servant in the household of a former sovereign named Ragotsky . Much worse, she had lost her beauty. Candide gallantly declared that, ugly or beautiful, it was his duty to love her. But how, he asked, had she been reduced to such an abject state? Did not Cacambo have vast wealth in his possession? The valet told of the ransom he had had to pay to the governor of Buenos Aires, and of the large sums that he had been forced to turn over to the pirates. He himself was a slave to the deposed sultan. Candide consoled himself with the thought that he still had a few diamonds left and that he would be able to rescue Cunegonde. But now he wondered if his lot were not really worse than that of the six kings. He assured Martin that Pangloss would have been able to provide an answer. But Martin was convinced that there were millions far worse off than Candide and the deposed rulers. When they arrived at Bosporus, Candide secured the freedom of Cacambo and, without waste of time, headed for the shores of the Propontis to find Cunegonde. Again there occurred one of those amazing coincidences. Two galley slaves turned out to be none other than Doctor Pangloss and the Jesuit baron, Cunegonde's brother! "Is it a dream?" asked Candide. "Is that My Lord Baron, whom I killed? Is that Doctor Pangloss, whom I saw hanged?" Then he made immediate arrangements with the Levantine captain for ransoming the two. Since they were "dogs of Christian convicts," one a baron and the other a metaphysician, the price was an exorbitant one, but Candide did not protest. He also paid the captain to take them all to the nearest port. Candide introduced Martin and Cacambo to the baron and Pangloss. They all embraced; they all talked at once. When they reached port, Candide sold a diamond worth a hundred thousand sequins for 50,000 and immediately paid the ransom for the two former galley slaves. He sold more diamonds, and they all set out in another galley to deliver Cunegonde, now a kitchen slavey in the household of the Prince of Transylvania. Again Candide implored the baron's pardon for having given him the great sword thrust through the body. "Let's say no more about it," said the baron, and he admitted that he had been a little too hasty himself. He then told his story. After having been cured of his wound by the brother apothecary of the Jesuit College, he was carried off by a party of Spaniards and imprisoned in Buenos Aires just after his sister left; next he was chosen to go to Constantinople and serve as almoner with the ambassador of France. A week after he had assumed his duties, he met a very attractive young page to the sultan. Since it was very hot, the two bathed together. But in Turkey it was a capital crime for a Christian to be found naked with a young Moslem. A cadi sentenced the baron to be given one hundred lashes on the soles of his feet and condemned him to the galleys. This was unjust enough, he concluded, but why should his sister be in the kitchen of a refugee Transylvanian prince? Next Candide turned to Pangloss and asked how it happened that he had survived. Yes, he had been hanged rather than burned because of the heavy downpour of rain. A surgeon had bought his body, took it to his home, and dissected it. No one had been worse hanged than Pangloss. The Holy Inquisition's Executor of High Operations, a sub-deacon, did burn people marvelously, but he was a rank amateur at hanging. The wet rope had slipped badly and had become knotted. And thus Pangloss was still breathing. He had cried out loudly when the doctor made an incision in his body, and the frightened man fled, convinced that he had been dissecting a devil. When the doctor's wife came running into the room, she was more frightened than her husband, over whose prone body she stumbled as she ran. "My dear," she said, "what are you thinking of, dissecting a heretic? Don't you know that the devil is always in those people?" When Pangloss heard her say that she would summon a priest quickly to exorcise him, he shuddered and cried out for them to take pity on him. Finally, the "Portuguese barber," as Pangloss called him, recovered enough courage to sew up Pangloss. Further, he found Pangloss a job as lackey to a knight of Malta who was going to Venice. But since the knight was penniless, Pangloss entered the services of a Venetian merchant and went with him to Constantinople. One day he entered a mosque where an old iman and a very seductive appearing young devotee were present. The girl dropped the beautiful bouquet she had placed between her uncovered breasts. The gallant Pangloss retrieved and replaced it, but took so long in doing so that the iman grew angry. Recognizing Pangloss as a Christian, he cried out for help. And, like the baron, Pangloss was taken before a magistrate and given the same sentence his fellow-sufferer had received. In the galley were four young men from Marseilles, five Neapolitan priests, and two monks who told the baron that what had happened to him was a daily occurrence. The baron and Pangloss argued about who had suffered most, the latter insisting that it was far more permissible to replace a bouquet on a woman's bosom than to be stark naked with the page of a sultan, when Candide appeared and ransomed them. "Well, my dear Pangloss," said Candide, "when you were hanged, racked with blows, and rowing in the galleys, did you still think that all was for the best?" And the philosopher assured the youth that he was still of his first opinion, arguing that Leibnitz cannot be wrong. En route to the house of the prince of Transylvania on the shore of the Propontis, Candide, the baron, Pangloss, Martin, and Cacambo talked at length about their adventures, reasoned on the contingent and non-contingent events of the world, argued about causes and effects, moral and physical evil, and free will and necessity. When they landed at the prince's house, they saw Cunegonde and the old woman hanging towels on a line to dry. The baron paled at the sight of his once beautiful sister. She was now dark-skinned; her eyes were blood shot; her cheeks wrinkled; her arms red and rough. No longer did she have the enticing figure he had remembered. She embraced her brother and Candide, who in turn embraced the old woman. Candide ransomed both women. The old woman, never without a plan, suggested that they buy a small farm in the neighborhood and await a better destiny. Poor Cunegonde, who did not know that she had grown ugly, reminded Candide of his promise to marry her. "I shall never endure such baseness on her part or insolence on Candide's," exclaimed the baron. He could not bear the thought that his sister's children would be barred from the aristocracy. Although Cunegonde threw herself at his feet and wept bitter tears, he was adamant. Candide called him the maddest of madmen and reminded him of all he had done for his sister. The baron replied, "You may kill me again, but you shall not marry my sister while I am alive." Candide really had no desire to marry Cunegonde, but the baron's arrogance and Cunegonde's pleading made him determined to do so. He consulted Pangloss, Martin, and the faithful Cacambo. Pangloss prepared a fine memoir by which he proved to his own satisfaction that the baron had no right to interfere, that she could make a morganatic marriage. Martin thought that the baron should be thrown into the sea. Cacambo decided that the baron should be returned to galleys and then be sent by the first ship to the Father General in Rome. All but Cunegonde, who had been told nothing, approved of the plan. So they had the pleasure of trapping a Jesuit and punishing a German baron for excessive pride. It would seem that Candide, married to Cunegonde and living with two philosophers and the prudent Cacambo, would now lead a pleasant life, but he had nothing left but the little farm. His wife became uglier and more shrewish every day. The old woman, now an invalid, became more intolerable than Cunegonde. Nor was Cacambo happy. He was overworked and bewailed his fate. Pangloss was disappointed because he was not flourishing at some German university. As for Martin, his pessimism was more pronounced than ever, but he accepted his lot patiently. Candide, Martin, and Pangloss spent much of their time arguing about metaphysics and morality and watching the sights. They often saw Turkish officers of all ranks on farm boats that took them into exile; and they saw other officials arriving to take their places, ones who would later be exiled. They saw "properly impaled heads" being taken to the Sublime Port . These sights redoubled the discourse of the three. But the boredom increased, and the old woman proposed a question: was it worse to be raped a thousand times by pirates, have a buttock cut off, run the gauntlet of the Bulgarians, and be flogged and hanged in the auto-da-fe, be dissected, row in the galleys -- in short, to undergo all the miseries they had experienced -- or stay where they were and do nothing? A great question, as Candide remarked, one that called for reflection. Martin was sure that it was humanity's lot to live in a state of anxiety and boredom. Candide disagreed but asserted nothing. Pangloss admitted that his life had been filled with suffering, but he still defended his position that everything was wonderful, even if he himself did not believe so. When they saw Paquette and Giroflee in a state of utter misery coming to the farm, Martin was absolutely convinced that his dark view of life was the correct one. The two had squandered the money Candide had given them; they had quarreled and then become reconciled to each other; they had been put in prison, from which they had escaped. Now the friar had made good his threat to turn Turk, and the pathetic Paquette endeavored, unsuccessfully, to ply her trade everywhere. Martin told Candide that he had known that the young man and Cacambo would dissipate their wealth, that they were no happier than these two most recent arrivals. As for Pangloss, he greeted Paquette by telling her that she had cost him the end of his nose, an eye, and an ear. This new adventure led them to philosophize more than ever. In an attempt to get some answers to basic questions, they consulted a very famous dervish, one considered to be the best philosopher in Turkey, and posed this question to him: why was such a strange animal as man ever created? The dervish replied that they were meddling in matters that were no concern of theirs, that it does not matter if there is a horrible amount of evil on earth. "When His Highness sends a ship to Egypt, is he bothered about whether the mice in the ship are comfortable or not?" All they should do, the dervish continued, was to hold their tongues. Pangloss was crushed. He had hoped to reason with this man about effects and causes, the best of all possible worlds, the origin of evil, the nature of the soul, and pre-established harmony. But the dervish slammed the door in the face of his visitors. Meanwhile, the news had gone round that in Constantinople the authorities had just strangled two viziers of the Divan and impaled several of their friends. The catastrophe had created quite a stir for a few hours. Upon returning to the farm, Pangloss, Candide, and Martin met an old man relaxing under a bower of orange trees. They asked him the name of the mufti who had just been strangled. The old man professed to know nothing; he had always assumed that those who meddle with public affairs sometime suffer and deserve to do so. As for him, he contented himself with cultivating his garden. Then he invited the three into his house and provided them with refreshments. His two daughters perfumed the visitors' beards. Candide was most impressed. He was sure that his good Moslem must have a vast estate but learned that his host possessed only twenty acres. "I cultivate them with my children," said the Turk. "Work keeps away three great evils: boredom, vice, and need." As he went back to the farm, Candide pondered deeply what the old man had said. He informed Pangloss and Martin that the man had made a life for himself which was far better than that of the six kings they had met in Venice. Pangloss held forth at his usual length, appealing to Biblical and secular history, to prove that great eminence is always dangerous. "I also know," said Candide, "that we must cultivate our garden." His philosopher friend agreed. "Let us work without reason," added Martin. "It is the only way to make life bearable." And so the little society entered into this laudable plan -- Cunegonde, Paquette, Friar Giroflee included. That irrepressible optimist Pangloss sometimes repeated his belief that all events were linked together logically in this best of all possible worlds. He argued that had not Candide been expelled from a fine castle and experienced so many difficulties, he would not now be enjoying candied citrons and pistachios. "That is well said," replied Candide, "but we must cultivate our garden."

