Candide

by Voltaire

The girl blushed, the Theatin accepted the invitation and she followed him, casting her eyes on Candide with confusion and surprise, and dropping a few tears. No sooner had she set foot in Candide’s apartment than she cried out: “Ah! Mr. Candide does not know Paquette again.

I was very innocent when you knew me. A Grey Friar, who was my confessor, easily seduced me. The consequences were terrible. I was obliged to quit the castle some time after the Baron had sent you away with kicks on the backside. If a famous surgeon had not taken compassion on me, I should have died. For some time I was this surgeon’s mistress, merely out of gratitude. His wife, who was mad with jealousy, beat me every day unmercifully; she was a fury.

You know, sir, what a dangerous thing it is for an ill-natured woman to be married to a doctor. Incensed at the behaviour of his wife, he one day gave her so effectual a remedy to cure her of a slight cold, that she died two hours after, in most horrid convulsions.

My innocence would not have saved me if I had not been good-looking. The judge set me free, on condition that he succeeded the surgeon.

I was soon supplanted by a rival, turned out of doors quite destitute, and obliged to continue this abominable trade, which appears so pleasant to you men, while ...

have come to exercise the profession at Venice. Ah! sir, if you could only imagine what it is to be obliged to caress indifferently an old merchant, a lawyer, a monk, a gondolier, an abbé, to be exposed to abuse and insults; to be often reduced to borrowing a petticoat, only to go and have it raised by a disagreeable man; to be robbed by one of what one has earned from another; to be subject to the extortions of the officers of justice; and to have in prospect only a frig...

But,” said Candide to Paquette, “you looked so gay and content when I met you; you sang and you behaved so lovingly to the Theatin, that you seemed to me as happy as you pretend to be now the reverse.” “Ah! sir,” answered Paquette, “this is one of the miseries of the trade. Yesterday I was robbed and beaten by an officer; yet to-day I must put on good humour to please a friar.

repast

“People talk,” said Candide, “of the Senator Pococurante, who lives in that fine palace on the Brenta, where he entertains foreigners in the politest manner. They pretend that this man has never felt any uneasiness.”

Actually the novel is now taking a emotionally dark turn

“They are by Raphael,” said the Senator. “I bought them at a great price, out of vanity, some years ago. They are said to be the finest things in Italy, but they do not please me at all. The colours are too dark, the figures are not sufficiently rounded, nor in good relief; the draperies in no way resemble stuffs. In a word, whatever may be said, I do not find there a true imitation of nature. I only care for a picture when I think I see nature itself; and there are none of this sort. I have a great many pictures, but I prize them very little.”

Is that Voltaire tslking?

Fools admire everything in an author of reputation. For my part, I read only to please myself. I like only that which serves my purpose.”

Definitely Voltaire speaking

Candide, having been educated never to judge for himself, was much surprised at what he heard.

“Oh! here is Cicero,” said Candide. “Here is the great man whom I fancy you are never tired of reading.” “I never read him,” replied the Venetian. “What is it to me whether he pleads for Rabirius or Cluentius? I try causes enough myself; his philosophical works seem to me better, but when I found that he doubted of everything, I concluded that I knew as much as he, and that I had no need of a guide to learn ignorance.”

“Oh! what a superior man,” said Candide below his breath. “What a great genius is this Pococurante! Nothing can please him.” After their survey of the library they went down into the garden, where Candide praised its several beauties. “I know of nothing in so bad a taste,” said the master. “All you see here is merely trifling. After to-morrow I will have it planted with a nobler design.

“But is there not a pleasure,” said Candide, “in criticising everything, in pointing out faults where others see nothing but beauties?”

“That is to say,” replied Martin, “that there is some pleasure in having no pleasure.” “Well, well,” said Candide, “I find that I shall be the only happy man when I am blessed with the sight of my dear Cunegonde.” “It is always well to hope,” said Martin. However, the days and the weeks passed. Cacambo did not come, and Candide was so overwhelmed with grief that he did not even reflect that Paquette and Friar Giroflée did not return to thank him.

Of a Supper Which Candide and Martin Took with Six Strangers, and Who They Were.

Six kings, all exiled. Why did Voltaire do this? Also cunegod is just out of reach

“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.

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.”

Waah Psuedo meta commentary

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.

Candide's change of heart is complete

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.

... Interesting how no one dies and ends up being slaves. Really interesting tske on the previous absurdity of deaths. Proves thst death is not that sad for voltaire, living is even sadder

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.

“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.”