 Chapter 29 How Candide Found Kunaganda and the Old Woman Again While Candide, the Baron, Pangloss, Martin, and Kakamba were relating their several adventures were reasoning on the contingent or non-contingent events of the universe, disputing on effects and causes, on moral and physical evil, on liberty and necessity, and on the consolations a slave may feel even on a Turkish galley, they arrived at the house of the Transylvanian Prince on the banks of the propontus. The first objects which met their sight were Kunaganda and the Old Woman hanging towels out to dry. The Baron paled at this sight, the tender loving Candide, seeing his beautiful Kunaganda in brown with bloodshot eyes, withered neck, wrinkled cheeks, and rough red arms, recoiled three paces, seized with horror, and then advanced out of good manners. She embraced Candide and her brother, they embraced the Old Woman, and Candide ransomed them both. There was a small farm in the neighborhood which the Old Woman proposed to Candide to make a shift with till the company could be provided for in a better manner. Kunaganda did not know she had grown ugly, for nobody had told her of it, and she reminded Candide of his promise in so positive a tone that the good man durst not refuse her. He therefore intimated to the Baron that he intended marrying his sister. I will not suffer, said the Baron, such meanness on her part, and such insolence on yours. I will never be reproached with this scandalous thing. My sister's children would never be able to enter the church in Germany. No, my sister shall only marry a Baron of the Empire. Kunaganda flung herself at his feet and bathed them with her tears. Still he was inflexible. Thou foolish fellow, said Candide, I have delivered thee out of the galleys. I have paid thy ransom and thy sister's also. She was a scullion, and it's very ugly, yet I am so condescending as to marry her. And dost thou pretend to oppose the match? I should kill thee again, were I only to consult my anger. Now mayest kill me again, said the Baron, but thou shalt not marry my sister, at least whilst I am living. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE CONCLUSION At the bottom of his heart, Candide had no wish to marry Kunaganda, but the extreme impertinence of the Baron determined him to conclude the match, and Kunaganda pressed him so strongly that he could not go from his word. He consulted Pangloss, Martin, and the faithful Kakambo. Pangloss drew up an excellent memorial wherein he proved that the Baron had no right over his sister, and that according to all the laws of the empire, she might marry Candide with her left hand. Martin was for throwing the Baron into the sea. Kakambo decided that it would be better to deliver him up again to the captain of the galle, after which they thought to send him back to the general father of the order at Rome by the first ship. This advice was well received. The old woman approved it. They said not a word to his sister. The thing was executed for a little money, and they had the double pleasure of entrapping a Jesuit and punishing the pride of a German Baron. It is natural to imagine that after so many disasters, Candide married and living with the philosopher Pangloss, the philosopher Martin, the prudent Kakambo and the old woman, having besides brought so many diamonds from the country of the ancient Incas, must have led a very happy life. That he was so much imposed upon by the Jews that he had nothing left except his small farm. His wife became uglier every day, more peevish and unsupportable. The old woman was in firm and even more fretful than Kunaganda. Kakambo, who worked in the garden and took vegetables for a sale to Constantinople, was fatigued with hard work and cursed his destiny. Pangloss was in despair at not shining in some German university. For Martin he was firmly persuaded that he would be as badly off elsewhere and therefore bore things patiently. Candide, Martin, and Pangloss sometimes disputed about morals and metaphysics. They often saw passing under the windows of their farm boats full of effindees, poshers and cuddies who were going into banishment to Lemnos, Mytilene, or Erzurum. And they saw other cuddies, poshers and effindies, coming to supply the place of the exiles, and afterwards exiled in their turn. They saw heads decently impaled for presentation to the sublime port. Such spectacles as these increased the number of their dissertations, And when they did not dispute, time hung so heavily upon their hands, That one day the old woman ventured to say to them, I want to know which is worse. To be ravished a hundred times by negro pirates, To have a buttock cut off, To run the gauntlet among the Bulgarians, To be whipped and hanged at an autodoffee, To be dissected, to row in the galleys, In short to go through all the miseries we have undergone, Or to stay here and have nothing to do. 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. He assumed that he had always suffered horribly, But as he had once asserted that everything went wonderfully well, He asserted it still, though he no longer believed it. What helped to confirm Martin and his detestable principles, To stagger Candide more than ever, And to puzzle Pangloss, was that one day they saw Paquette and Friar Garuffelay land at the farm in extreme misery. They had soon squandered their 3,000 piastres, parted, were reconciled, quarreled again, Were thrown into jail, had escaped, and Friar Garuffelay had at length become turk. Paquette continued her trade wherever she went, but made nothing of it. I foresaw, said Martin to Candide, that your presence would soon be dissipated, But only make them the more miserable. You have rolled in millions of money, you and Cacombo, And yet you are not happier than Friar Garuffelay and Paquette. Ah, said Pangloss to Paquette, Providence has then brought you amongst us again, my poor child. Do you know that you cost me the tip of my nose, and eye, And an ear as you may see? What a world this is! And now this new adventure set them philosophizing more than ever. In the neighborhood there lived a very famous dervish, Who was esteemed the best philosopher in all Turkey, And they went to consult him. Pangloss was the speaker. Master, said he, we come to beg you to tell Why so strange an animal as man was made. With what medallist thou, said the dervish, Is it thy business? But Reverend Father said Candide, There is horrible evil in this world. What signifies it, said the dervish, Whether there be evil or good, When his highness sends a ship to Egypt? Does he trouble his head, Whether the mice on board are at their ease or not? What then must we do, said Pangloss? What's your tongue? Answered the dervish. I was in hopes, said Pangloss, That I should reason with you a little about causes and effects, About the best of possible worlds, The origin of evil, the nature of the soul, And a pre-established harmony. At these words the dervish shut the door in their faces. During this conversation the news was spread That two viziers and the mufti had been strangled At Constantinople, and that several of their friends Had been impaled. This catastrophe made a great noise for some hours. Pangloss, Candide and Martin, returning to the little farm, Saw a good old man taking the fresh air at his door Under an orange bower. Pangloss, who was as inquisitive as he was argumentative, Asked the old man what was the name of the strangled mufti. I do not know, answered the worthy man, And I have not known the name of any mufti, Nor of any vizier. I am entirely ignorant of the event you mention. I presume, in general, that they who meddle With the administration of public affairs Die sometimes miserably, and that they deserve it. But I never trouble my head about What is transacting at Constantinople. I content myself with sending there for sale The fruits of the garden which I cultivate. Having said these words, he invited the strangers Into his house. His two sons and two daughters presented them With several sorts of sherbet, which they made themselves. With chai-mak, enriched with the candied peel of citrons. With oranges, lemons, pineapples, pistachio nuts, And mocha coffee, unadulterated with the bad coffee And matevia, or the American islands. After which the two daughters of the honest musulman Perfumed the strangers' beards. You must have a vast and magnificent estate, said Candied to the Turk. I have only twenty acres, replied the man. I and my children cultivate them. Our labor preserves us from three great evils. Weariness, vice, and want. Heed on his way home made profound reflections On the old man's conversation. This honest Turk, said he to Pangloss and Martin, Seems to be in a situation far preferable to that Of the six kings with whom we had the honor of supping. Granger, said Pangloss, is extremely dangerous According to the testimony of philosophers. For in short, a glon king of Moab was assassinated by Ehud. Absalom was hung by his hair and pierced with three darts. King Nadab, son of Jeroboam, was killed by Basa. King Ela, by Zimri. Ahaziah, by Jehu. Athaliah, by Jehoada. The kings Jehoakim, Jeconiah, and Zedekiah Were led into captivity. You know how perished creases, Astyages, Darius, Deneisius of Syracuse, Pyrrhus, Sposius, Hannibal, Jugurta, Ariovistus, Caesar, Pompey, Nero, Otho, Vitellius, Domitian, Richard II of England, Edward II, Henry VI, Richard III, Mary Stuart, Charles I, the three Henry's of France, the Emperor Henry IV. You know, I also know, said Candide, that we must cultivate our garden. You are right, said Pangloss. For when man was first placed in the Garden of Eden, he was put there, ute, opera retour, ume, that he might cultivate it, which shows that man was not born to be idle. Let us work, said Martin. Without disputing it, it is the only way to render life tolerable. The whole little society entered into this laudable design, according to their different abilities. Their little plot of land produced plentiful crops. Cunaganda 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 accepting friar garaflet of some service or other, for he made a good joiner and became a very honest man. Pangloss sometimes said to Candide, there is a concatenation of events in this best of all possible worlds, for if you had not been kicked out of a magnificent castle for love of Miss Cunaganda, if you had not been put into the Inquisition, if you had not walked over America, if you had not stabbed the Baron, if you had not lost all your sheep from the fine country of El Dorado, you would not be here, eating preserved citrons and pistachio nuts. All that is very well answered, Candide, but let us cultivate our garden. End Chapter 30 and End of the Book. Candide by Voltaire. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Ted DeLorm in Fort Mill, South Carolina during January 2007. Thank you for listening.