the old woman, having besides brought home so many diamonds from the
country of the ancient Incas, would lead the most agreeable life in
the world. But he had been so robbed by the Jews, that he had
nothing left but his little farm; his wife, every day growing more and
more ugly, became headstrong and insupportable; the old woman was
infirm, and more ill-natured yet than Cunegund. Cacambo, who worked in
the garden, and carried the produce of it to sell in Constantinople,
was above his labor, and cursed his fate. Pangloss despaired of making
a figure in any of the German universities. And as to Martin, he was
firmly persuaded that a person is equally ill-situated everywhere.
He took things with patience.

  Candide, Martin, and Pangloss disputed sometimes about metaphysics
and morality. Boats were often seen passing under the windows of the
farm laden with effendis, bashaws, and cadis, that were going into
banishment to Lemnos, Mytilene and Erzerum. And other cadis,
bashaws, and effendis were seen coming back to succeed the place of
the exiles, and were driven out in their turns. They saw several heads
curiously stuck upon poles, and carried as presents to the Sublime
Porte. Such sights gave occasion to frequent dissertations; and when
no disputes were in progress, the irksomeness was so excessive that
the old woman ventured one day to tell them:

  "I would be glad to know which is worst, to be ravished a hundred
times by Negro pirates, to have one buttock cut off, to run the
gauntlet among the Bulgarians, to be whipped and hanged at an
auto-da-fe, to be dissected, to be chained to an oar in a galley; and,
in short, to experience all the miseries through which every one of us
hath passed, or to remain here doing nothing?"

  "This," said Candide, "is a grand question."

  This discourse gave birth to new reflections, and Martin
especially concluded that man was born to live in the convulsions of
disquiet, or in the lethargy of idleness. Though Candide did not
absolutely agree to this, yet he did not determine anything on that
head. Pangloss avowed that he had undergone dreadful sufferings; but
having once maintained that everything went on as well as possible, he
still maintained it, and at the same time believed nothing of it.

  There was one thing which more than ever confirmed Martin in his
detestable principles, made Candide hesitate, and embarrassed
Pangloss, which was the arrival of Pacquette and Brother Giroflee
one day at their farm. This couple had been in the utmost distress;
they had very speedily made away with their three thousand piastres;
they had parted, been reconciled; quarreled again, been thrown into
prison; had made their escape, and at last Brother Giroflee had turned
Turk. Pacquette still continued to follow her trade; but she got
little or nothing by it.

  "I foresaw very well," said Martin to Candide "that your presents
would soon be squandered, and only make them more miserable. You and
Cacambo have spent millions of piastres, and yet you are not more
happy than Brother Giroflee and Pacquette."

  "Ah!" said Pangloss to Pacquette, "it is Heaven that has brought you
here among us, my poor child! Do you know that you have cost me the
tip of my nose, one eye, and one ear? What a handsome shape is here!
and what is this world!"

  This new adventure engaged them more deeply than ever in
philosophical disputations.

  In the neighborhood lived a famous dervish who passed for the best
philosopher in Turkey; they went to consult him: Pangloss, who was
their spokesman, addressed him thus:

  "Master, we come to entreat you to tell us why so strange an
animal as man has been formed?"

  "Why do you trouble your head about it?" said the dervish; "is it
any business of yours?"

  "But, Reverend Father," said Candide, "there is a horrible deal of
evil on the earth."

  "What signifies it," said the dervish, "whether there is evil or
good? When His Highness sends a ship to Egypt does he trouble his head
whether the rats in the vessel are at their ease or not?"

  "What must then be done?" said Pangloss.

  "Be silent," answered the dervish.

  "I flattered myself," replied Pangloss, "to have reasoned a little
with you on the causes and effects, on 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, news was spread abroad that two viziers of
the bench and the mufti had just been strangled at Constantinople, and
several of their friends impaled. This catastrophe made a great
noise for some hours. Pangloss, Candide, and Martin, as they were
returning to the little farm, met with a good-looking old man, who was
taking the air at his door, under an alcove formed of the boughs of
orange trees. Pangloss, who was as inquisitive as he was
disputative, asked him what was the name of the mufti who was lately
strangled.