HOW CANDIDE WAS BROUGHT UP IN A MAGNIFICENT CASTLE, AND HOW HE WAS EXPELLED THENCE.
In a castle of Westphalia, belonging to the Baron of Thunder-ten-Tronckh, lived a youth, whom nature had endowed with the most gentle manners. His countenance was a true picture of his soul. He combined a true judgment with simplicity of spirit, which was the reason, I apprehend, of his being called Candide. The old servants of the family suspected him to have been the son of the Baron's sister, by a good, honest gentleman of the neighborhood, whom that young lady would never marry because he had been able to prove only seventy-one quarterings, the rest of his genealogical tree having been lost through the injuries of time.
The Baron was one of the most powerful lords in Westphalia, for his castle had not only a gate, but windows. His great hall, even, was[Pg 2] hung with tapestry. All the dogs of his farm-yards formed a pack of hounds at need; his grooms were his huntsmen; and the curate of the village was his grand almoner. They called him "My Lord," and laughed at all his stories.
The Baron's lady weighed about three hundred and fifty pounds, and was therefore a person of great consideration, and she did the honours of the house with a dignity that commanded still greater respect. Her daughter Cunegonde was seventeen years of age, fresh-coloured, comely, plump, and desirable. The Baron's son seemed to be in every respect worthy of his father. The Preceptor Pangloss[1] was the oracle of the family, and little Candide heard his lessons with all the good faith of his age and character.
Pangloss was professor of metaphysico-theologico-cosmolo-nigology. He proved admirably 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," said he, "that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for all being created for an end, all is necessarily for the best end. Observe, that the nose has been formed to bear spectacles—thus we have spectacles. Legs are visibly designed for stockings[Pg 3]—and we have stockings. Stones were made to be hewn, and to construct castles—therefore my lord has a magnificent castle; for the greatest baron in the province ought to be the best lodged. Pigs were made to be eaten—therefore we eat pork all the year round. Consequently they who assert that all is well have said a foolish thing, they should have said all is for the best."
I have always enjoyed Voltaire because he led such a diverse life and was not afraid to challenge ignorance and authorities even to the point of censorship and imprisonment. He was witty and sarcastic. He fought against hypocrisy and injustice in a way that some of his targets could not see that they were the targets, but others could. I remember reading about the disaster in Lisbon and then seeing the brilliance of Voltaire in connecting that disaster in "Candide" with the irrational philosophy of Dr. Pangloss that Lisbonites "lived in the best of all possible worlds" (Warburton, 95), and with Voltaire's personal philosophy of doing what we can to be "cultivating our garden...doing something useful for humanity" (97). It is certainly something that is relevant today. I have also been intrigued by his long relationship with the brilliant mathematician Madame du Chalet, one of the few people of the time who understood and translated Newton's "Principia." Two great minds who accumulated one of the largest personal libraries of the time must have had some incredible discussions about scientific, social, political, and economic issues. How much of the thoughts he expressed so well may have included some of her thoughts as well over their sixteen years of being together.
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