HOW THE OLD WOMAN TOOK CARE OF CANDIDE, AND
HOW HE FOUND THE OBJECT OF HIS LOVE
Candide followed the old woman, though without taking courage, to a
decayed house, where she gave him a pot of pomatum to anoint his sores,
showed him a very neat bed, with a suit of clothes hanging by it; and set
victuals and drink before him.
"There", said she, "eat, drink, and sleep, and may Our Lady of Atocha, and
the great St. Anthony of Padua, and the illustrious St. James of
Compostella, take you under their protection. I shall be back tomorrow."
Candide, struck with amazement at what he had seen, at what he had
suffered, and still more with the charity of the old woman, would have shown
his acknowledgment by kissing her hand.
"It is not my hand you ought to kiss", said the old woman. "I shall be back
tomorrow. Anoint your back, eat, and take your rest."
Candide, notwithstanding so many disasters, ate and slept. The next
morning, the old woman brought him his breakfast; examined his back, and
rubbed it herself with another ointment. She returned at the proper time, and
brought him his dinner; and at night, she visited him again with his supper.
The next day she observed the same ceremonies.
"Who are you?" said Candide to her. "Who has inspired you with so much
goodness? What return can I make you for this charitable assistance?"
The good old beldame kept a profound silence. In the evening she returned,
but without his supper.
"Come along with me", said she, "but do not speak a word."
She took him by the arm, and walked with him about a quarter of a mile into
the country, till they came to a lonely house surrounded with moats and
gardens. The old conductress knocked at a little door, which was
immediately opened, and she showed him up a pair of back stairs, into a
small, but richly furnished apartment. There she made him sit down on a
brocaded sofa, shut the door upon him, and left him. Candide thought
himself in a trance; he looked upon his whole life, hitherto, as a frightful
dream, and the present moment as a very agreeable one.
The old woman soon returned, supporting, with great difficulty, a young
lady, who appeared scarce able to stand. She was of a majestic mien and
stature, her dress was rich, and glittering with diamonds, and her face was
covered with a veil.
"Take off that veil", said the old woman to Candide.
The young man approached, and, with a trembling hand, took off her veil.
What a happy moment! What surprise! He thought he beheld Miss
Cunegonde; he did behold her -it was she herself. His strength failed him,
he could not utter a word, he fell at her feet. Cunegonde fainted upon the
sofa. The old woman bedewed them with spirits; they recovered-they began
to speak. At first they could express themselves only in broken accents;
their questions and answers were alternately interrupted with sighs, tears,
and exclamations. The old woman desired them to make less noise, and
after this prudent admonition left them together.
"Good heavens!" cried Candide, "is it you? Is it Miss Cunegonde I behold,
and alive? Do I find you again in Portugal? then you have not been
ravished? they did not rip open your body, as the philosopher Pangloss
informed me?"
"Indeed but they did", replied Miss Cunegonde; "but these two accidents do
not always prove mortal."
"But were your father and mother killed?"
"Alas!" answered she, "it is but too true!" and she wept.
"And your brother?"
"And my brother also."
"And how came you into Portugal? And how did you know of my being
here? And by what strange adventure did you contrive to have me brought
into this house? And how-"
"I will tell you all", replied the lady, "but first you must acquaint me with all
that has befallen you since the innocent kiss you gave me, and the rude
kicking you received in consequence of it."
Candide, with the greatest submission, prepared to obey the commands of
his fair mistress; and though he was still filled with amazement, though his
voice was low and tremulous, though his back pained him, yet he gave her a
most ingenuous account of everything that had befallen him, since the
moment of their separation. Cunegonde, with her eyes uplifted to heaven,
shed tears when he related the death of the good Anabaptist, James, and of
Pangloss; after which she thus related her adventures to Candide, who lost
not one syllable she uttered, and seemed to devour her with his eyes all the
time she was speaking.