United States or Saint Helena, Ascension, and Tristan da Cunha ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"What you say is true," answered Candide, "but we have to cultivate our garden." And here I hasten to remark, that although I have quoted and translated these seven immortal words, I would on no account be answerable for their original and exact meaning, any more than for the meaning of more officially grave and reverend texts, albeit perhaps not wiser or nobler ones.
"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?"
"What a number!" said Martin. Candide was very pleased with an actress who played Queen Elizabeth in a somewhat insipid tragedy sometimes acted. "That actress," said he to Martin, "pleases me much; she has a likeness to Miss Cunegonde; I should be very glad to wait upon her." The Perigordian Abbé offered to introduce him.
The author does not know a word of Arabic, yet the scene is in Arabia; moreover he is a man that does not believe in innate ideas; and I will bring you, to-morrow, twenty pamphlets written against him." "How many dramas have you in France, sir?" said Candide to the Abbé. "Five or six thousand." "What a number!" said Candide. "How many good?" "Fifteen or sixteen," replied the other.
Then, full of fury, he went and shut himself up in his own chamber, where he went raging to and fro, till startled by a noise like a clap of thunder. The fairy Candide stood before him. "Prince," said she, in a severe voice, "I promised your father to give you good counsels and to punish you if you refused to follow them. My counsels were forgotten, my punishment despised.
The lady insisted upon being called the Marchioness of Parolignac. Her daughter, aged fifteen, was among the punters, and notified with a covert glance the cheatings of the poor people who tried to repair the cruelties of fate. The Perigordian Abbé, Candide and Martin entered; no one rose, no one saluted them, no one looked at them; all were profoundly occupied with their cards.
"Yes, madame," answered Candide. The Marchioness replied to him with a tender smile: "You answer me like a young man from Westphalia. A Frenchman would have said, 'It is true that I have loved Miss Cunegonde, but seeing you, madame, I think I no longer love her." "Alas! madame," said Candide, "I will answer you as you wish."
"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.
"It is not their fault then," said Martin. Most of the punters, who understood nothing of this language, drank, and Martin reasoned with the scholar, and Candide related some of his adventures to his hostess. After supper the Marchioness took Candide into her boudoir, and made him sit upon a sofa. "Ah, well!" said she to him, "you love desperately Miss Cunegonde of Thunder-ten-Tronckh?"
The Norman, who by the virtue of three more diamonds had become the most subservient of men, put Candide and his attendants on board a vessel that was just ready to set sail for Portsmouth in England. This was not the way to Venice, but Candide thought he had made his way out of hell, and reckoned that he would soon have an opportunity for resuming his journey. "Ah, Pangloss! Pangloss! Ah, Martin!
Word Of The Day