Candide

Candide

By Voltaire(vôl-,vōlˈte(ə)r)

I

HOW CANDIDE WAS BROUGHT UP IN A MAGNIFICENT(magˈnifəsənt) CASTLE(ˈkasəl), AND HOW HE WAS EXPELLED(ikˈspel) THENCE(T͟Hens).

In a castle of Westphalia(-ˈfālēə,wes(t)ˈfālyə), belonging to the Baron(ˈbarən) of Thunder(ˈTHəndər)-ten-Tronckh, lived a youth, whom nature(ˈnāCHər) had endowed(enˈdou) with the most gentle(ˈjentl) manners(ˈmanər). His countenance(ˈkountn-əns) was a true(tro͞o) picture of his soul(sōl). He combined a true judgment with simplicity(simˈplisitē) of spirit(ˈspirit), which was the reason, I apprehend(ˌapriˈhend), of his being called Candide. The old servants(ˈsərvənt) of the family suspected him to have been the son of the Baron’s sister, by a good, honest gentleman of the neighborhood(ˈnābərˌho͝od), whom that young lady would never marry because he had been able to prove(pro͞ov) only seventy-one quarterings(ˈkwôrtəriNG), the rest of his genealogical(ˌjēnēəˈläjikəl) tree having been lost through the injuries(ˈinjərē) of time.

The Baron was one of the most powerful lords(lôrd) in Westphalia, for his castle had not only a gate, but windows. His great hall(hôl), even, was hung(həNG) with tapestry(ˈtapistrē). All the dogs of his farmyards(ˈfärmˌyärd) formed a pack of hounds(hound) at need; his grooms(gro͝om,gro͞om) were his huntsmen(ˈhəntsmən); and the curate(-ˌrāt,ˈkyo͝orət,ˈkyo͝oˌrāt) of the village(ˈvilij) was his grand(grand) almoner(ˈalmənər,ˈäm-). They called him “My Lord,” and laughed at all his stories.

The Baron’s lady weighed(wā) about three hundred and fifty pounds, and was therefore(ˈT͟He(ə)rˌfôr) a person of great consideration, and she did the honours(ˈänər) of the house with a dignity(ˈdignitē) that commanded(kəˈmand) still greater respect(riˈspekt). Her daughter(ˈdä-,ˈdôtər) Cunegonde was seventeen(ˈsevənˌtēn,ˌsevənˈtēn) years of age, fresh(freSH)-coloured(ˈkələr), comely(ˈkəmlē), plump(pləmp), and desirable(dəˈzī(ə)rəbəl). The Baron’s son seemed to be in every respect worthy(ˈwərT͟Hē) of his father. The Preceptor(priˈseptər,ˈprēˌseptər) Pangloss(-gläs,ˈpanglôs) was the oracle(ˈôrəkəl) of the family, and little Candide heard his lessons with all the good faith(fāTH) of his age and character(ˈkariktər).

Pangloss was professor(prəˈfesər) of metaphysico(ˈmetə)-theologico-cosmolo-nigology. He proved admirably(ˈadmərəbəl) that there is no effect without a cause, and that, in this best of all possible worlds, the Baron’s castle was the most magnificent of castles, and his lady the best of all possible Baronesses.

“It is demonstrable(diˈmänstrəbəl),” said he, “that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for all being created for an end, all is necessarily(ˌnesəˈse(ə)rəlē) for the best end. Observe(əbˈzərv), that the nose(nōz) has been formed to bear(be(ə)r) spectacles(ˈspektəkəl)—thus(T͟Həs) we have spectacles. Legs(leg) are visibly(ˈvizəbəl) designed(dəˈzīn) for stockings(ˈstäkiNG)—and we have stockings. Stones(stōn) were made to be hewn, and to construct castles—therefore my lord has a magnificent castle; for the greatest baron in the province(ˈprävins) ought(ôt) to be the best lodged(läj). Pigs were made to be eaten—therefore we eat pork all the year round. Consequently(-ˌkwentlē,ˈkänsikwəntlē) they who assert(əˈsərt) that all is well have said a foolish thing, they should have said all is for the best.”