CHAPTER II
What Befell Candide Among the Bulgarians
Candide, thus driven out of this terrestrial paradise, wandered a long time, without knowing where he went; sometimes he raised his eyes, all bedewed with tears, towards heaven, and sometimes he cast a melancholy look towards the magnificent castle where dwelt the fairest of young baronesses. He laid himself down to sleep in a furrow, heartbroken and supperless. The snow fell in great flakes, and, in the morning when he awoke, he was almost frozen to death; however, he made shift to crawl to the next town, which was called Waldberghoff-trarbk-dikdorff, without a penny in his pocket, and half dead with hunger and fatigue. He took up his stand at the door of an inn. He had not been long there, before two men dressed in blue fixed their eyes steadfastly upon him.
“Faith, comrade,” said one of them to the other, “yonder is a well-made young fellow, and of the right size.”
Thereupon they made up to Candide, and with the greatest civility and politeness invited him to dine with them.
“Gentlemen,” replied Candide, with a most engaging modesty, “you do me much honour, but, upon my word, I have no money.”
“Money, Sir!” said one of the men in blue to him, “young persons of your appearance and merit never pay anything; why, are not you five feet five inches high?”
“Yes, gentlemen, that is really my size,” replied he, with a low bow.
“Come then, Sir, sit down along with us; we will not only pay your reckoning, but will never suffer such a clever young fellow as you to want money. Mankind were born to assist one another.”
“You are perfectly right, gentlemen,” said Candide; “that is precisely the doctrine of Master Pangloss; and I am convinced that everything is for the best.”
His generous companions next entreated him to accept of a few crowns, which he readily complied with, at the same time offering them his note for the payment, which they refused, and sat down to table.
“Have you not a great affection for”
“Oh yes!” he replied, “I have a great affection for the lovely Miss Cunegund.”
“May be so,” replied one of the men, “but that is not the question! We are asking you whether you have not a great affection for the King of the Bulgarians?”
“For the King of the Bulgarians?” said Candide. “Not at all. Why, I never saw him in my life.”
“Is it possible! Oh, he is a most charming king! Come, we must drink his health.”
“With all my heart, gentlemen,” Candide said, and he tossed off his glass.
“Bravo!” cried the blues; “you are now the support, the defender, the hero of the Bulgarians; your fortune is made; you are on the high road to glory.”
So saying, they put him in irons, and carried him away to the regiment. There he was made to wheel about to the right, to the left, to draw his ramrod, to return his ramrod, to present, to fire, to march, and they gave him thirty blows with a cane; the next day he performed his exercise a little better, and they gave him but twenty; the day following he came off with ten, and was looked upon as a young fellow of surprising genius by all his comrades.
Candide was struck with amazement, and could not for the soul of him conceive how he came to be a hero. One fine spring morning, he took it into his head to take a walk, and he marched straight forward, conceiving it to be a privilege of the human species, as well as of the brute creation, to make use of their legs how and when they pleased. He had not gone above two leagues when he was overtaken by four other heroes, six feet high, who bound him neck and heels, and carried him to a dungeon. A court-martial sat upon him, and he was asked which he liked best, either to run the gauntlet six and thirty times through the whole regiment, or to have his brains blown out with a dozen musket-balls. In vain did he remonstrate to them that the human will is free, and that he chose neither; they obliged him to make a choice, and he determined, in virtue of that divine gift called free will, to run the gauntlet six and thirty times. He had gone through his discipline twice, and the regiment being composed of two thousand men, they composed for him exactly four thousand strokes, which laid bare all his muscles and nerves, from the nape of his neck to his rump. As they were preparing to make him set out the third time, our young hero, unable to support it any longer, begged as a favour they would be so obliging as to shoot him through the head. The favour being granted, a bandage was tied over his eyes, and he was made to kneel down. At that very instant, his Bulgarian Majesty, happening to pass by, inquired into the delinquent’s crime, and being a prince of great penetration, he found, from what he heard of Candide, that he was a young metaphysician, entirely ignorant of the world; and therefore, out of his great clemency, he condescended to pardon him, for which his name will be celebrated in every journal, and in every age. A skilful surgeon made a cure of Candide in three weeks, by means of emollient unguents prescribed by Dioscorides. His sores were now skinned over, and he was able to march, when the King of the Bulgarians gave battle to the King of the Abares.