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$Title{Works of Voltaire
Candide: Chapters 25 - 30}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Voltaire}
$Affiliation{Assistant Professor Of History, Hofstra University}
$Subject{candide
pangloss
cunegonde
martin
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baron
pococurante
cacambo
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constantinople}
$Date{}
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Title:       Works of Voltaire
Book:        Candide
Author:      Voltaire
Critic:      Sobel, Robert
Affiliation: Assistant Professor Of History, Hofstra University

Candide: Chapters 25 - 30

Chapter Twenty-Five A Visit To Count Pococurante, A Noble Venetian

     Candide and Martin visit Pococurante the next day. The senator greeted
them cordially, but coldly: Candide was unnerved, but Martin (perhaps because
he expected nothing) was pleased. They are served by two pretty girls.
Pococurante says that he sometimes sleeps with them, as the ladies of the town
annoy him. But the two serving-girls are becoming a bore, and he may get rid
of them soon.

     After they finish their refreshments, Pococurante takes them for a walk
along his gallery, where they are shown beautiful paintings, some by Raphael.
But these give the senator no pleasure; he no longer looks at them. Then,
before dinner, they hear some music. Candide thinks it beautiful, but it only
bores Pococurante. They argue a little, but discreetly. For his part, Martin
agrees with the senator.

     The three have an excellent dinner, and afterwards retire to the
library. Candide looks at the books, and spies a finely bound copy of Homer.
He compliments Pococurante on his taste; Pangloss used to say that it was a
most excellent book, and Pangloss was the most famous German philosopher,
Pococurante doesn't particularly care for Homer-he bores him to distraction.
He has found that the endless succession of battles and gods bore many learned
men. Does the senator feel the same about Virgil? Pococurante likes parts of
the Aeneid, but this too doesn't interest him greatly. He prefers Tasso and
Ariosto. Then does the senator like Horace? Pococurante launches into a
learned disquisition on Horace, but ends with disapproval. "I read only to
please myself, and enjoy only what suits my taste."

     This astonishes Candide, who had been raised never to rely upon his own
judgement. Martin agreed with everything Pococurante had to say. Candide then
asks the senator his opinion of Cicero. His host has never read his works;
Cicero is always in doubt about everything. "I decided that I knew as much as
he and needed no one's help to remain ignorant." Martin asks Pococurante about
the eighty volumes of the proceedings of the Scientific Academy which line the
walls. There must be interesting items in those works. There might be, says
the senator, if the authors had devoted their time to useful pursuits, like
the making of pins. As it is, they wrote of vain philosophical systems
"devoid of any useful information." But what of all the fine plays, asks
Candide? The senator says that he has three thousand of them, and not three
dozen are any good. His collection of sermons is utterly useless, and no one
has ever opened any of his books on theology, including himself.

     Martin turns to a shelf full of English books. He believes that many of
these will appeal to the senator, who is, after all, a republican. Pococurante
agrees that it is a great privilege to write what one thinks; the English do
this. Italians never do this. "Those who live in the country of the Caesars
and the Antonines dare not entertain an idea without the permission of a
cleric. But the same liberty which inspires the English leads to the
corruption of factions, which tends to destroy liberty." Then Candide notices
a volume of Milton's works, and asks Pococurante's opinion of that author. He
is told that Milton is a barbarian, who distorts the meaning of the Book of
Genesis, who has spoiled Tasso's conception of Hell and the Devil, does not
understand the humor of Ariosto, and in other ways proves his inferiority. It
was despised by the English when first published, and Pococurante agrees with
this assessment. All of this distresses Candide, who admires Milton and Homer.
He whispers to Martin that their host probably has a low opinion of German
poets as well. Martin sees no harm in this. But Candide believes Pococurante
is a genius; nothing pleases him.

     The senator then takes his guests into his garden. Candide admires its
beauty, but Pococurante will only say that it is not displeasing. He plans to
revamp the garden the following day.

     After taking leave of Pococurante, Candide tells Martin that the senator
is the happiest man alive; he is superior to all he possesses. But Martin does
not accept this: Pococurante is disgusted with everything he has. But, says
Candide, there is pleasure in criticizing all and uncovering faults where
others see beauty. Are you saying, asks Martin, that there is pleasure in not
being pleased? Candide does not answer, but again changes the subject: he will
be happy when he sees Cunegonde again. Martin is dubious, but says there is no
harm in hoping. His pessimism seems well-founded, as Cacambo does not appear
after more weeks of waiting.

Comment:

     This chapter is dominated by Pococurante, the jaded, intellectual, and
sometimes cynical nobleman. At times, the senator resembles Voltaire himself.
His opinions of Homer and Milton are those of the author, and Voltaire's
opinions can be found in other parts of the chapter. This may best be seen in
the senator's opinion of the English. After slighting the English in the
previous chapter, he alludes to them in the scene in the senator's library.
Pococurante admires the English, but warns of the dangers of extreme freedom
in politics; so did Voltaire on many occasions. After leaving the senator,
Candide and Martin discuss him; this is Voltaire looking at himself, and
revealing himself to the reader. Is he really happy? Martin thinks not, for
what joy is there in criticizing all. Voltaire calls for high standards, and
does not find them. This does not mean that he is happy; on the contrary, he
is one of the saddest of men, for he sees the world more clearly than others.

Chapter Twenty-Six How Candide And Martin Supped With Six Strangers, And Who
They Were

     One evening, while Candide and Martin had supper with some strangers at
the inn, they were approached by a dark man, who grabbed our hero by the arm.
He told Candide to be ready to leave with him. Candide looked up, and
immediately recognized Cacambo. He was overjoyed to see him; "surely Cunegonde
is here too," he thought. He demanded to be taken to her at once, so that they
could die of joy together. Cacambo said that Cunegonde was not in Venice, but
in Constantinople. Candide was surprised, but undaunted: he would go to his
beloved even if she were in China. He tells Cacambo he wishes to leave for
Constantinople at once. Cacambo replied that they can leave after supper. He
adds that he is a slave, and his master is waiting for him.

     Candide was delighted with the news, but saddened to learn that Cacambo
was a slave. Still, he sat with Martin and others till the meal was over.
Cacambo served one of the guests, and when he was finished, approached him and
said that "Your Majesty can leave when you wish. The gondola is ready." He
then left the room. The other guests, who were there for a carnival, were
astonished. Then another servant approached and said "Sire, Your Majesty's
carriage is at Padua, and the boat is ready." The master nodded, and the
servant left. The remaining guests seemed puzzled. Then a third valet
approached a third guest, and similar messages were given. The same thing
happened with the fourth and fifth guests. Candide and Martin thought that all
were characters taking part in a carnival masquerade. But then a sixth servant
approached the sixth guest, and said that he had no more credit; he feared
they both would be in jail before long, and was taking his leave.

     After all the servants disappeared, Candide spoke to the six guests.
Could it be that all were kings? Cacambo's master spoke first, telling Candide
that he was Grand Sultan for several years, only to be dethroned. His nephew,
the new Grand Sultan, has allowed him to go to Venice for the carnival. The
second guest turned out to be the former Emperor Ivan of Russia; he too had
come for the carnival. The third was Charles Edward, King of England, who was
dethroned for brutality; he is on his way to Rome to visit his father, who was
also a dethroned monarch. The fourth, a dethroned King of Poland, was in
Venice for the carnival. The fifth was also a former King of Poland, but he
was fortunate enough to become King of the Sarmatians; he was in Venice for
the same reason as the others. Then the sixth monarch spoke. Although not of
noble birth, he was once King of Corsica. Once rich and powerful, he now has
nothing. But he, too, has come to Venice for the carnival.

     The five kings were touched, and gave money to the sixth. On his part,
Candide gave him a large diamond. The others were surprised; who was this
wealthy commoner? They rose from the table and prepared to leave. As they did,
four more former kings arrived, wishing to see the remainder of the carnival.
But Candide did not notice them; he thought only of Cunegonde and
Constantinople.

Comment:

     In this short chapter, Voltaire tells us that Cunegonde is in
Constantinople, and so sets the scene for Candide's next journey. In addition,
he tells the story of the six kings. There is not much complexity to this
tale; Voltaire merely tries to show that a member of royalty is just like
other men and is humanly subject to good and bad fortune. Thus, he dismisses
the concept of divine rights.

Chapter Twenty-Seven Candide's Journey To Constantinople

     Cacambo interceded for Candide with the Turkish captain who was to take
his master back to Constantinople. And so Candide and Martin embarked for that
city and Cunegonde. While on their way to the ship, Candide remarked on the
wonder of their dinner with the six kings. He, a commoner, has been able to
help a monarch! Perhaps there are other monarchs as unfortunate as the one
they met. Candide considers himself lucky (as he does whenever things turn for
the better; at heart, he is always the disciple of Pangloss); all he has lost
is a number of sheep. Thus, he concludes, Pangloss was right. Martin is not so
sure; all he can say is "I hope so."

     Once aboard ship, Candide found Cacambo and spoke with him. How is
Cunegonde? Is she still as beautiful as ever? Did Cacambo buy her a palace at
Constantinople? Cacambo replies that Cunegonde has become an old, ugly slave,
who washes dishes for an old Prince, who himself is a refugee. Candide takes
the news quite well. Whether Cunegonde is beautiful or ugly, he is still an
honest man, and will love her always. But how did Cacambo lose all the money?
The servant showed impatience. He had to give the Governor of Buenos Aires two
million to take Cunegonde away from that city. The rest was stolen by a
pirate, who forced him to become a slave. Candide is sorry for Cacambo, and
reflects that he still has enough money to purchase Cunegonde's freedom, and
how sad it is that she is now ugly. But he is no longer sure that he is so
fortunate. He asks Martin whether he is any better off than some of the
deposed kings. Martin answers that he cannot know until he looks into their
hearts. Candide thinks that Pangloss would be able to answer the question if
he were there. Martin is dubious; what scales would the philosopher use to
measure misery? As for him, he thinks there are millions of men with more to
complain about than the kings. This is possible, says Candide, whose optimism
has been shaken by his conversation with Cacambo.

     Eventually the ship reached Constantinople, and Candide bought Cacambo's
freedom. Then he set off to look for Cunegonde. Among the galley slaves on
his ship were two very poor rowers. Candide took an interest in them, and
noticed at once that they resembled Pangloss and Cunegonde's brother. He spoke
of this resemblance to Cacambo, and the slaves overheard the conversation.
They dropped their oars in amazement, an act which led the captain to whip
them with gusto. Candide begged him to stop, and offered to buy the slaves.
The slaves looked at him, and said "Good Heavens! It's Candide!" It seems that
Candide was not mistaken. The two slaves were indeed Pangloss and the Baron!
Martin is also amazed. Looking at Pangloss, he asks, "Is that the great
philosopher?"

     Candide asks the captain to set a price for the two slaves. The captain
thinks about it, and says that since Candide is a Christian cur, and these
men are obviously important, he will ask fifty thousand sequins apiece.
Candide says he will pay the price, and then, forgetting his mission for the
moment, tells the captain to take him back to Constantinople. But then he
remembers Cunegonde, and asks the captain to go to her. But the captain heard
the first command, and headed the ship back to the city.

     Candide embraced Pangloss and the Baron, and each was overjoyed at seeing
the other. On arriving at Constantinople, Candide found a Jew to whom he sold
a diamond worth one hundred thousand sequins for fifty thousand; the Jew
swore by Abraham he could pay no more. Candide took the money, and with it
liberated Pangloss and the Baron. They then discussed the question of finding
Cunegonde. Candide sold more diamonds to two Jews and off they went.

Comment:

     Candide's spirits rise and fall sharply in this chapter, but
they end on a high note, as he once again finds the Baron and Dr. Pangloss.
They have not yet told their stories; this will come in the next chapter.
Another important note is Candide's reaction to the news that Cunegonde is now
an old, ugly, slave. True to the code of chivalry, still alive in the
eighteenth century, he vows not to desert her, and to love her always. Still,
a part of him wonders as to the wisdom of this course of action.

Chapter Twenty-Eight What Happened To Candide, Cunegonde, Pangloss, Martin,
And The Rest

     This is another of those chapters in which leading characters tell
the amazing stories of their activities while away from Candide.

     Candide asks the Baron to forgive him for having struck him with a sword.
The Baron thinks Candide behaved badly, but forgives him. He will now tell
Candide what happened to him after that incident. He was cured by an
apothecary (druggist) at the college, and soon after was captured by Spaniards
and imprisoned in Buenos Aires. The Baron then asked to be sent to Rome, and
this request was granted. He became chaplain for the French Ambassador at
Constantinople after a stay in Rome. One evening, while in Constantinople,
he went bathing in the nude with a handsome young page. Although the incident
might have been innocent enough, it is a crime for a Christian to be found
naked with a Moslem, and so he was sent to the galleys. He doesn't seem to
have minded this so much, and is more interested in learning of the fate of
his sister.

     Candide then turn to Pangloss. What has happened to him? It is true that
Candide saw the philosopher executed, but he was supposed to have been burned
at the stake. Since it was raining things got so wet that the executioners
despaired of lighting the fire, and Pangloss was hanged instead. Afterwards,
the body was taken to a surgeon for dissection. The surgeon made an incision
from the collar bone to the navel. It seems that Pangloss had been hanged by
an incompetent, a man who was fine at burning but knew little of hangings.
And so, he was not really dead! When the scalpel went into him, he let out a
shout. The surgeon thought he had the devil himself on the table, and ran
away, hoping to consult with his wife. She asked why he had to pick a heretic
to dissect; didn't he realize that the devil was in each of them? She then
ran to a priest, whom she hoped would exorcize the devil. Pangloss was shaken
by all of this, but was saved at last by a Portuguese barber who sewed him up.
He was well enough after two weeks, and the barber found him a job as footman
to a Maltese knight who was on his way to Venice. Once there, Pangloss found
employment with a Venetian businessman, who took him to Constantinople. It
was there that he got into serious trouble. One day he went into a mosque and
saw an old priest and a pretty young girl, who was saying her prayers. There
was a bunch of flowers between her breasts, and as she prayed, they fell out.
Always the gentleman, Pangloss picked them up and replaced them reverently.
But he took so long with the job that the priest was angered. Seeing that he
was a Christian, he called for help. Pangloss was taken before a judge and
sentenced to the galleys for his crime. It was there that he found the Baron,
along with five Neopolitan priests and two monks from Corfu; all had had
similar adventures. He and the Baron used to argue over which on had been
done the greater injustice, and each received twenty lashes a day, "until the
sequence of events ordained in this universe brought you to our galley to
ransom us."

     Now Candide asks the vital question: did all of these misadventures
shake Pangloss' belief that everything was for the best in this world?
Pangloss answers that he has not changed his mind on the subject. He is a
philosopher, and it would not be proper for philosophers to recant,
"especially as Leibnitz cannot be wrong; and besides, the pre-established
harmony, together with the plenum and the materia subtilis, is the most
beautiful thing in the world."

Comment:

     The Baron's story is of the type we have come to expect in
Candide. Candide is told that he was taken to the galley for an episode with a
young man; thus, Voltaire intimates that homosexuality is to be added to the
many other crimes of the clergy. Pangloss' story is the more important. In
it Voltaire tells us that the Inquisition has become so specialized as the
result of "good business" that the functions of execution have been broken
down into hanging and burning, and that burners know little of hanging and
vice versa. Because of this, Pangloss was saved. Then Voltaire pokes fun
once more at doctors. The body was dissected by a doctor-a man of science who
was supposed to be above superstition. Yet, when Pangloss moved, the doctor
was convinced that the devil was about to emerge. In the end, the philosopher
is saved by an ordinary barber, who apparently knew little of medicine, and so
could sew up the cut with no difficulty. Then Pangloss tells us of how he
became a galley slave. Once again, a woman was the cause of his ruin. His
story is transparent enough; we know what happened in the mosque. The priest
was no fool. He first ascertained whether Pangloss was a Christian before
calling the police. He knew that such a charge against a Moslem might put him
in the galleys! After all of this, Pangloss is still the optimist. Nothing
can change his mind, since he is a philosopher. In this way, Voltaire disposes
of many of the philosophes who, when confronted with the choice between their
ideas about reality and their observations, choose the former. These men are
not trustworthy observers or thinkers. They have ideas about man, but have
either ignored mankind itself or choose to deny what their senses tell them.
Voltaire ends with a direct blast at Liebnitz, who is mentioned by name as
expected, Pangloss says that Liebnitz (apparently his mentor) cannot be wrong
under any circumstances, and so the world must be for the best.

Chapter Twenty-Nine How Candide Found Cunegonde And The Old Woman Once More

     The travellers had many stories to tell one another, and the occupied
themselves easily as the ship went to the place where Cunegonde was a
servant. When they finally arrived at the Prince's house and saw Cunegonde and
the old woman, they were shocked; Cunegonde was old, ugly, and weather beaten.
Even Candide was taken back at the sight. But he composed himself quickly. All
embraced, and Candide purchased her freedom and that of the old woman.

     There was a small farm nearby, and the old woman suggested that the group
go there until their fortunes improved. Cunegonde didn't realize how ugly she
had become (no one had told her) and she reminded Candide of his promises.
Candide did not deny them, and he told the Baron he planned to marry his
sister. But the Baron still maintained that Cunegonde could not marry anyone
so low; if she did, her children could not enter the ranks of German society.
Cunegonde implored her brother to change his mind, but he was firm. Candide
was angry. He told the Baron that he was an unspeakable ass. Without his help
the Baron would still be a galley slave. Cunegonde was an ugly crone, and yet
when he offers to marry her, the Baron has the nerve to object! If he got any
angrier, he would kill the Baron. The Baron remains calm; Candide may kill
him, but he will never marry Cunegonde.

Comment

     This short chapter is part-afterthought, part-preface (for the concluding
chapter). The only point worth mentioning is that the Baron, in common with
others of his status, has no sense of gratitude or (more important) reality.
He doesn't seem to realize that he has nothing and may hope for nothing. As
far as he is concerned status is all. A wealthy commoner may not marry an
impoverished, ugly noble. Voltaire always criticized the short-sightedness of
the nobility, and here we have another example of this criticism.

Chapter Thirty Conclusion

     Candide really didn't want to marry Cunegonde, but the Baron's arrogance
made him decide to go through with it. Besides, Cunegonde was so insistent
that he couldn't very well back down. He consulted Pangloss, Martin, and
Cacambo about the situation. Pangloss proved the Baron had no right to
interfere; in accord with Imperial law she could wed Candide with her left
hand. Martin suggested they throw the Baron into the sea, while Cacambo
thought he might be returned to the galley, and then returned to Rome. They
said nothing of this to Cunegonde, but accepted Cacambo's proposal. Thus, they
had the double pleasure of punishing a Jesuit and a German baron.

     One would think that Candide would now enjoy his life, surrounded by
friends and married to Cunegonde. But he had been so badly cheated by the Jews
that he had little left of his fortune. Cunegonde had become an ugly old
crone, and got worse each day. Cacambo worked in the garden and sold
vegetables, and cursed his lot each moment. Pangloss was annoyed that he had
not become the lumina y of a German university. Martin remained convinced that
it was a miserable world, and suffered in silence. The three-Candide,
Pangloss, and Martin-sometimes discussed metaphysics and morals. From their
farm they could see princes going into exile and others coming to take their
places; this added fuel to their arguments. All were bored, and one day the
old woman was moved to ask what was worse; to have undergone all her
misfortunes or to sit on the farm, with nothing to do? This question produced
a new discussion. Martin thought man was destined either to suffer from
anxiety or boredom. Candide disagreed, but said nothing. Pangloss admitted he
had a hard time of it, but still thought all would turn out well. However, he
really didn't believe it.

     One day Martin's pessimism seemed vindicated, much to the distress of
Pangloss and Candide. Pacquette and Brother Giroflee arrived at the farm;
they had spent the money Candide had given them, quarreled, separated, then
come together once more. They went to prison, and then escaped. Giroflee
converted to Islam, while Pacquette returned to her old profession of
prostitution. Martin thought this justified his pessimism; none of them was
happy. Even Pangloss was distraught.

     The companions learned that a famous Turkish philosopher lived nearby,
and they went to visit him. Pangloss, their spokesman, asked the philosopher
why man was born. The philosopher, a dervish, asked why that was any of
Pangloss' business. Candide asked if the philosopher would admit that there
was much evil in the world. So what, asked the philosopher? Does Candide think
the King worries if mice on a ship are comfortable? (He implies here that
God is the King, and he has little concern over the fate of man or his
comfort.) Pangloss asks what should be done. The dervish tells him that the
best thing to do is keep his mouth shut. Pangloss would not be still; he
tells the dervish that he wanted to talk to him about "cause and effect, the
best of all possible worlds, the origin of evil, the nature of the soul, and
pre-established harmony." With this, the dervish slams the door in his face.

     During the time they were with the dervish, some cabinet ministers in
Constantinople where strangled and their friends impaled. This created a stir
of conversation. On their way back to the farm, the companions noticed an old
man sitting at his door, on a nearby farm. Pangloss asked the old man whether
he knew the name of one of the deceased, a judge. The old man confessed he was
ignorant of such things, but knew that those who entered politics came to a
bad end and deserved it. He doesn't bother about such things; his goods are
sent to Constantinople, and that's enough for him. The old man then invited
the companions into his home. They ate, and the old man's daughters perfumed
their beards. Candide thought the old man had a magnificent estate. The old
man said he had only twenty acres, but found that work helps banish boredom,
vice, and poverty.

     Candide thought of the old man's words as they returned to their farm. He
thought the old man had done better for himself than the six kings they had
met in Venice. Pangloss had an answer: high position always brings dangers. He
then lists many rulers who have suffered. "I also know," says Candide, "that
we must go and work in the garden." Pangloss agrees; man was placed in the
Garden of Eden in order to make it better. This proves that man was not meant
for an easy life. Martin thinks that work without argument is the only way to
make life bearable.

     Everyone agreed to that statement, and set about implementing it. The
estate was small, but it prospered. Cunegonde was ugly, but she made excellent
pastry. Pacquette proved clever at embroidery, and the old woman took care of
the linen. All worked, even Brother Giroflee. And from time to time, Pangloss
would say to Candide: "There is a chain of events in this best of all possible
worlds; for if you had not been turned out of the beautiful castle for love of
Lady Cunegonde, and if you had not been involved in the Inquisition, and had
not wandered over America on foot, and had not struck the Baron with your
sword, and lost all those sheep you brought from Eldorado, you would not be
here eating candied fruit and pistachio nuts." Candide agrees, but adds that
"we must go and work in the garden."

Comment

     This is probably the most important chapter in Candide. Here Voltaire
sums up, and presents his answers for the world's ills. His companions all
have troubles, and go to see the famous dervish. All this gentleman can tell
them is to live and shut up. He is impatient with Pangloss, and will not
discuss those great problems which Pangloss, has spent his life analyzing; to
him they are worthless. There is no plan in the universe; only chaos. God
exists, but he does not worry about the individual human, who must learn to
care for himself. Then the companions see the old man. He lives on his small
farm, works hard, does not concern himself with the outside world, and seems
happy. Hard work and minding one's own business is his answer for the world's
problems. With this, Candide and his friends return to their farm, and try the
old man's formula. It seems to work. Only Pangloss clings to the old
philosophy; all has turned out for the best precisely because of all their
difficulties. Candide's answer to this statement is most interesting. This may
be true, he says, but we have to work in the garden. Does Voltaire mean to say
that the best course for mankind is minding its own business? Is he denying
the importance of philosophy?. Does he find that the world's ills can be cured
by a return to the soil? Does he imply that Candide has turned his back on the
Pangloss creed? All of these questions remain unanswered.

