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"You may easily imagine that after spending a month at El Dorado I can desire to behold nothing upon earth but Miss Cunegonde. I go to await her at Venice. We shall pass through France on our way to Italy. Will you bear me company?" "With all my heart," said Martin.
His design was to profit as much as he could by the advantages which the acquaintance of Candide could procure for him. He spoke much of Cunegonde, and Candide told him that he should ask forgiveness of that beautiful one for his infidelity when he should see her in Venice.
I have arranged his marriage with the Princess Marie Cunegonde; the peace of Europe depends upon it for Russia will declare war if the marriage does not take place, and the young fool is so mad about Madame Massena, Marshal Massena's wife, that he actually refuses to be a party to the marriage.
Their little plot of land produced plentiful crops. Cunegonde was, indeed, very ugly, but she became an excellent pastry cook; Paquette worked at embroidery; the old woman looked after the linen. They were all, not excepting Friar Giroflée, of some service or other; for he made a good joiner, and became a very honest man.
Just as they rose from table, in came four Serene Highnesses, who had also been stripped of their territories by the fortune of war, and were come to spend the Carnival at Venice. But Candide paid no regard to these newcomers, his thoughts were entirely employed on his voyage to Constantinople, in search of his beloved Cunegonde.
At this moment, the following is what passed in the soul of Candide, and how he reasoned: If this holy man call in assistance, he will surely have me burnt; and Cunegonde will perhaps be served in the same manner; he was the cause of my being cruelly whipped; he is my rival; and, as I have now begun to kill, I will kill away, for there is no time to hesitate.
The brute gave me a cut in the left side with his hanger, and the mark is still upon me." "Ah! I hope I shall see it," said honest Candide. "You shall," said Cunegonde, "but let us continue." "Do so," replied Candide. Thus she resumed the thread of her story: "A Bulgarian captain came in, saw me all bleeding, and the soldier not in the least disconcerted.
He was on the point of going mad with joy. He embraced his dear friend. "Cunegonde is here, without doubt; where is she? Take me to her that I may die of joy in her company." "Cunegonde is not here," said Cacambo, "she is at Constantinople." "Oh, heavens! at Constantinople! But were she in China I would fly thither; let us be off." "We shall set out after supper," replied Cacambo.
He entered her room trembling, his heart palpitating, his voice sobbing; he wished to open the curtains of the bed, and asked for a light. "Take care what you do," said the servant-maid; "the light hurts her," and immediately she drew the curtain again. "My dear Cunegonde," said Candide, weeping, "how are you? If you cannot see me, at least speak to me." "She cannot speak," said the maid.
This charming, this unhoped-for letter transported Candide with an inexpressible joy, and the illness of his dear Cunegonde overwhelmed him with grief. Divided between those two passions, he took his gold and his diamonds and hurried away, with Martin, to the hotel where Miss Cunegonde was lodged.
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