"My dear master," replied Cacambo, "Miss Cunegund washes dishes on
the banks of the Propontis, in the house of a prince who has very
few to wash. She is at present a slave in the family of an ancient
sovereign named Ragotsky, whom the Grand Turk allows three crowns a
day to maintain him in his exile; but the most melancholy circumstance
of all is, that she is turned horribly ugly."

  "Ugly or handsome," said Candide, "I am a man of honor and, as such,
am obliged to love her still. But how could she possibly have been
reduced to so abject a condition, when I sent five or six millions
to her by you?"

  "Lord bless me," said Cacambo, "was not I obliged to give two
millions to Seignor Don Fernando d'Ibaraa y Figueora y Mascarenes y
Lampourdos y Souza, the Governor of Buenos Ayres, for liberty to
take Miss Cunegund away with me? And then did not a brave fellow of
a pirate gallantly strip us of all the rest? And then did not this
same pirate carry us with him to Cape Matapan, to Milo, to Nicaria, to
Samos, to Petra, to the Dardanelles, to Marmora, to Scutari? Miss
Cunegund and the old woman are now servants to the prince I have
told you of; and I myself am slave to the dethroned Sultan."

  "What a chain of shocking accidents!" exclaimed Candide. "But
after all, I have still some diamonds left, with which I can easily
procure Miss Cunegund's liberty. It is a pity though she is grown so
ugly."

  Then turning to Martin, "What think you, friend," said he, "whose
condition is most to be pitied, the Emperor Achmet's, the Emperor
Ivan's, King Charles Edward's, or mine?"

  "Faith, I cannot resolve your question," said Martin, "unless I
had been in the breasts of you all."

  "Ah!" cried Candide, "was Pangloss here now, he would have known,
and satisfied me at once."

  "I know not," said Martin, "in what balance your Pangloss could have
weighed the misfortunes of mankind, and have set a just estimation
on their sufferings. All that I pretend to know of the matter is
that there are millions of men on the earth, whose conditions are a
hundred times more pitiable than those of King Charles Edward, the
Emperor Ivan, or Sultan Achmet."

  "Why, that may be," answered Candide.

  In a few days they reached the Bosphorus; and the first thing
Candide did was to pay a high ransom for Cacambo; then, without losing
time, he and his companions went on board a galley, in order to search
for his Cunegund on the banks of the Propontis, notwithstanding she
was grown so ugly.

  There were two slaves among the crew of the galley, who rowed very
ill, and to whose bare backs the master of the vessel frequently
applied a lash. Candide, from natural sympathy, looked at these two
slaves more attentively than at any of the rest, and drew near them
with an eye of pity. Their features, though greatly disfigured,
appeared to him to bear a strong resemblance with those of Pangloss
and the unhappy Baron Jesuit, Miss Cunegund's brother. This idea
affected him with grief and compassion: he examined them more
attentively than before.

  "In troth," said he, turning to Martin, "if I had not seen my master
Pangloss fairly hanged, and had not myself been unlucky enough to
run the Baron through the body, I should absolutely think those two
rowers were the men."

  No sooner had Candide uttered the names of the Baron and Pangloss,
than the two slaves gave a great cry, ceased rowing, and let fall
their oars out of their hands. The master of the vessel, seeing
this, ran up to them, and redoubled the discipline of the lash.

  "Hold, hold," cried Candide, "I will give you what money you shall
ask for these two persons."

  "Good heavens! it is Candide," said one of the men.

  "Candide!" cried the other.

  "Do I dream," said Candide, "or am I awake? Am I actually on board
this galley? Is this My Lord the Baron, whom I killed? and that my
master Pangloss, whom I saw hanged before my face?"

  "It is I! it is I!" cried they both together.

  "What! is this your great philosopher?" said Martin.

  "My dear sir," said Candide to the master of the galley, "how much
do you ask for the ransom of the Baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, who
is one of the first barons of the empire, and of Monsieur Pangloss,
the most profound metaphysician in Germany?"

  "Why, then, Christian cur," replied the Turkish captain, "since
these two dogs of Christian slaves are barons and metaphysicians,
who no doubt are of high rank in their own country, thou shalt give me
fifty thousand sequins."

  "You shall have them, sir; carry me back as quick as thought to
Constantinople, and you shall receive the money immediately-No!
carry me first to Miss Cunegund."