Candide | Page 8

sofa, shut the door upon him, and left him.
Candide thought himself in a trance; he looked upon his whole life,
hitherto, as a frightful dream, and the present moment as a very
agreeable one.
The old woman soon returned, supporting, with great difficulty, a
young lady, who appeared scarce able to stand. She was of a majestic
mien and stature, her dress was rich, and glittering with diamonds, and
her face was covered with a veil.
"Take off that veil," said the old woman to Candide.
The young man approached, and, with a trembling hand, took off her
veil. What a happy moment! What surprise! He thought he beheld Miss
Cunegund; he did behold her -it was she herself. His strength failed
him, he could not utter a word, he fell at her feet. Cunegund fainted
upon the sofa. The old woman bedewed them with spirits; they
recovered-they began to speak. At first they could express themselves
only in broken accents; their questions and answers were alternately
interrupted with sighs, tears, and exclamations. The old woman desired
them to make less noise, and after this prudent admonition left them
together.
"Good heavens!" cried Candide, "is it you? Is it Miss Cunegund I
behold, and alive? Do I find you again in Portugal? then you have not
been ravished? they did not rip open your body, as the philosopher
Pangloss informed me?"
"Indeed but they did," replied Miss Cunegund; "but these two accidents
do not always prove mortal."
"But were your father and mother killed?"
"Alas!" answered she, "it is but too true!" and she wept.
"And your brother?"

"And my brother also."
"And how came you into Portugal? And how did you know of my
being here? And by what strange adventure did you contrive to have
me brought into this house? And how-"
"I will tell you all," replied the lady, "but first you must acquaint me
with all that has befallen you since the innocent kiss you gave me, and
the rude kicking you received in consequence of it."
Candide, with the greatest submission, prepared to obey the commands
of his fair mistress; and though he was still filled with amazement,
though his voice was low and tremulous, though his back pained him,
yet he gave her a most ingenuous account of everything that had
befallen him, since the moment of their separation. Cunegund, with her
eyes uplifted to heaven, shed tears when he related the death of the
good Anabaptist, James, and of Pangloss; after which she thus related
her adventures to Candide, who lost not one syllable she uttered, and
seemed to devour her with his eyes all the time she was speaking.

CHAPTER 8
Cunegund's Story
I was in bed, and fast asleep, when it pleased Heaven to send the
Bulgarians to our delightful castle of Thunder-ten-tronckh, where they
murdered my father and brother, and cut my mother in pieces. A tall
Bulgarian soldier, six feet high, perceiving that I had fainted away at
this sight, attempted to ravish me; the operation brought me to my
senses. I cried, I struggled, I bit, I scratched, I would have torn the tall
Bulgarian's eyes out, not knowing that what had happened at my
father's castle was a customary thing. The brutal soldier, enraged at my
resistance, gave me a wound in my left leg with his hanger, the mark of
which I still carry."
"Methinks I long to see it," said Candide, with all imaginable

simplicity.
"You shall," said Cunegund, "but let me proceed."
"Pray do," replied Candide.
She continued. "A Bulgarian captain came in, and saw me weltering in
my blood, and the soldier still as busy as if no one had been present.
The officer, enraged at the fellow's want of respect to him, killed him
with one stroke of his sabre as he lay upon me. This captain took care
of me, had me cured, and carried me as a prisoner of war to his quarters.
I washed what little linen he possessed, and cooked his victuals: he was
very fond of me, that was certain; neither can I deny that he was well
made, and had a soft, white skin, but he was very stupid, and knew
nothing of philosophy: it might plainly be perceived that he had not
been educated under Dr. Pangloss. In three months, having gambled
away all his money, and having grown tired of me, he sold me to a Jew,
named Don Issachar, who traded in Holland and Portugal, and was
passionately fond of women. This Jew showed me great kindness, in
hopes of gaining my favors; but he never could prevail on me to yield.
A modest woman may be once ravished; but her virtue is greatly
strengthened thereby. In order to make sure of me,