Candide | Page 4

orator's wife happened to put her head out of the window at that
instant, when, seeing a man who doubted whether the Pope was
Antichrist, she discharged upon his head a utensil full of water. Good
heavens, to what excess does religious zeal transport womankind!
A man who had never been christened, an honest Anabaptist named
James, was witness to the cruel and ignominious treatment showed to
one of his brethren, to a rational, two-footed, unfledged being. Moved
with pity he carried him to his own house, caused him to be cleaned,
gave him meat and drink, and made him a present of two florins, at the
same time proposing to instruct him in his own trade of weaving
Persian silks, which are fabricated in Holland.
Candide, penetrated with so much goodness, threw himself at his feet,
crying, "Now I am convinced that my Master Pangloss told me truth
when he said that everything was for the best in this world; for I am
infinitely more affected with your extraordinary generosity than with
the inhumanity of that gentleman in the black cloak and his wife."

CHAPTER 4
How Candide Found His Old Master Pangloss Again and What
Happened to Him
The next day, as Candide was walking out, he met a beggar all covered
with scabs, his eyes sunk in his head, the end of his nose eaten off, his
mouth drawn on one side, his teeth as black as a cloak, snuffling and
coughing most violently, and every time he attempted to spit out
dropped a tooth.

Candide, divided between compassion and horror, but giving way to
the former, bestowed on this shocking figure the two florins which the
honest Anabaptist, James, had just before given to him. The specter
looked at him very earnestly, shed tears and threw his arms about his
neck. Candide started back aghast.
"Alas!" said the one wretch to the other, "don't you know dear
Pangloss?"
"What do I hear? Is it you, my dear master! you I behold in this piteous
plight? What dreadful misfortune has befallen you? What has made you
leave the most magnificent and delightful of all castles? What has
become of Miss Cunegund, the mirror of young ladies, and Nature's
masterpiece?"
"Oh, Lord!" cried Pangloss, "I am so weak I cannot stand," upon which
Candide instantly led him to the Anabaptist's stable, and procured him
something to eat.
As soon as Pangloss had a little refreshed himself, Candide began to
repeat his inquiries concerning Miss Cunegund.
"She is dead," replied the other.
"Dead!" cried Candide, and immediately fainted away; his friend
restored him by the help of a little bad vinegar, which he found by
chance in the stable.
Candide opened his eyes, and again repeated: "Dead! is Miss Cunegund
dead? Ah, where is the best of worlds now? But of what illness did she
die? Was it of grief on seeing her father kick me out of his magnificent
castle?"
"No," replied Pangloss, "her body was ripped open by the Bulgarian
soldiers, after they had subjected her to as much cruelty as a damsel
could survive; they knocked the Baron, her father, on the head for
attempting to defend her; My Lady, her mother, was cut in pieces; my
poor pupil was served just in the same manner as his sister; and as for

the castle, they have not left one stone upon another; they have
destroyed all the ducks, and sheep, the barns, and the trees; but we have
had our revenge, for the Abares have done the very same thing in a
neighboring barony, which belonged to a Bulgarian lord."
At hearing this, Candide fainted away a second time, but, not
withstanding, having come to himself again, he said all that it became
him to say; he inquired into the cause and effect, as well as into the
sufficing reason that had reduced Pangloss to so miserable a condition.
"Alas," replied the preceptor, "it was love; love, the comfort of the
human species; love, the preserver of the universe; the soul of all
sensible beings; love! tender love!"
"Alas," cried Candide, "I have had some knowledge of love myself, this
sovereign of hearts, this soul of souls; yet it never cost me more than a
kiss and twenty kicks on the backside. But how could this beautiful
cause produce in you so hideous an effect?"
Pangloss made answer in these terms:
"O my dear Candide, you must remember Pacquette, that pretty wench,
who waited on our noble Baroness; in her arms I tasted the pleasures of
Paradise, which produced these Hell torments with which you see me
devoured. She was infected with an ailment, and perhaps has since died
of it; she received this present of a learned Franciscan, who derived it
from the fountainhead; he was