Candide did not take courage, but followed the old woman to a decayed house, where she gave him a pot of pomatum to anoint his sores, showed him a very neat little bed, with a suit of clothes hanging up, and left him something to eat and drink.
Candide did not feel any braver. He followed the old woman to a run-down house. She gave him a pot of pomatum to anoint his sores. She showed him a very neat little bed with a suit of clothes hanging up. She left him something to eat and drink.
"Eat, drink, sleep," said she, "and may our lady of Atocha, the great St. Anthony of Padua, and the great St. James of Compostella, receive you under their protection. I shall be back to-morrow."
"Eat, drink, and sleep," she said. "May Our Lady of Atocha take you under her protection. May the great Saint Anthony of Padua and the great Saint James of Compostela protect you. I will be back tomorrow."
"This Notre-Dame is of wood; every year she weeps on the day of her fête, and the people weep also. One day the preacher, seeing a carpenter with dry eyes, asked him how it was that he did not dissolve in tears when the Holy Virgin wept. 'Ah, my reverend father,' replied he, 'it is I who refastened her in her niche yesterday. I drove three great nails through her behind; it is then she would have wept if she had been able.'"—Voltaire, Mélanges.
Candide, amazed at all he had suffered and still more with the charity of the old woman, wished to kiss her hand.
Candide was amazed by all he had suffered. He was even more moved by the old woman's kindness. He wanted to kiss her hand.
"It is not my hand you must kiss," said the old woman; "I shall be back to-morrow. Anoint yourself with the pomatum, eat and sleep."
"It is not my hand you must kiss," said the old woman. "I shall be back tomorrow. Rub yourself with the ointment, eat, and sleep."
Candide, notwithstanding so many disasters, ate and slept. The next morning the old woman brought him his breakfast, looked at his back, and rubbed it herself with another ointment: in like manner she brought him his dinner; and at night she returned with his supper. The day following she went through the very same ceremonies.
Candide, despite all his misfortunes, ate and slept. The next morning the old woman brought him his breakfast. She looked at his back and rubbed it herself with another ointment. She brought him his dinner in the same way. At night she came back with his supper. The next day she repeated the same routine.
"Who are you?" said Candide; "who has inspired you with so much goodness? What return can I make you?"
"Who are you?" Candide asked. "Who inspired so much goodness in you? How can I repay you?"
The good woman made no answer; she returned in the evening, but brought no supper.
The good woman said nothing. She returned in the evening but brought no supper.
"Come with me," she said, "and say nothing."
"Come with me," she said. "Say nothing."
She took him by the arm, and walked with him about a quarter of a mile into the country; they arrived at a lonely house, surrounded with gardens and canals. The old woman knocked at a little door, it opened, she led Candide up a private staircase into a small apartment richly furnished. She left him on a brocaded sofa, shut the door and went away. Candide thought himself in a dream; indeed, that he had been dreaming unluckily all his life, and that the present moment was the only agreeable part of it all.
She took him by the arm and walked with him about a quarter of a mile into the country. They arrived at a lonely house surrounded by gardens and canals. The old woman knocked at a little door, and it opened. She led Candide up a private staircase into a small, richly furnished apartment. She left him on a brocade sofa, shut the door, and went away. Candide thought he was dreaming. Indeed, he thought his whole life had been an unlucky dream, and that the present moment was the only pleasant part of it all.
The old woman returned very soon, supporting with difficulty a trembling woman of a majestic figure, brilliant with jewels, and covered with a veil.
The old woman came back quickly. She was struggling to support a trembling woman with a majestic bearing. The woman sparkled with jewels and was covered by a veil.
"Take off that veil," said the old woman to Candide.
"Take off that veil," the old woman said to Candide.
The young man approaches, he raises the veil with a timid hand. Oh! what a moment! what surprise! he believes he beholds Miss Cunegonde? he really sees her! it is herself! His strength fails him, he cannot utter a word, but drops at her feet. Cunegonde falls upon the sofa. The old woman supplies a smelling bottle; they come to themselves and recover their speech. As they began with broken accents, with questions and answers interchangeably interrupted with sighs, with tears, and cries. The old woman desired they would make less noise and then she left them to themselves.
The young man approaches. He lifts the veil with a timid hand. Oh, what a moment! What a surprise! He thinks he sees Miss Cunegonde? He really sees her! It is really her! His strength fails him. He cannot utter a word. He collapses at her feet. Cunegonde falls onto the sofa. The old woman offers a smelling bottle. They come to themselves and regain their speech. They speak in broken tones. Their questions and answers interrupt each other. Sighs, tears, and cries break their words. The old woman asked them to be quieter and then left them alone.
"What, is it you?" said Candide, "you live? I find you again in Portugal? then you have not been ravished? then they did not rip open your belly as Doctor Pangloss informed me?"
"What, is it you?" said Candide. "You are alive? I find you again in Portugal? So they did not rape you? They did not cut open your belly, as Doctor Pangloss told me?"
"Yes, they did," said the beautiful Cunegonde; "but those two accidents are not always mortal."
"Yes, they did," said the beautiful Cunegonde. "But those two accidents are not always fatal."
"But were your father and mother killed?"
"But were your parents killed?"
"It is but too true," answered Cunegonde, in tears.
"It's all too true," Cunegonde said, crying.
"And your brother?"
"What about your brother?"
"My brother also was killed."
"My brother was killed too."
"And why are you in Portugal? and how did you know of my being here? and by what strange adventure did you contrive to bring me to this house?"
"Why are you in Portugal? How did you learn I was here? And by what strange chance did you manage to bring me to this house?"
"I will tell you all that," replied the lady, "but first of all let me know your history, since the innocent kiss you gave me and the kicks which you received."
"I will tell you all that," replied the lady. "But first tell me what has happened to you since the innocent kiss you gave me and the kicks you received."
Candide respectfully obeyed her, and though he was still in a surprise, though his voice was feeble and trembling, though his back still pained him, yet he gave her a most ingenuous account of everything that had befallen him since the moment of their separation. Cunegonde lifted up her eyes to heaven; shed tears upon hearing of the death of the good Anabaptist and of Pangloss; after which she spoke as follows to Candide, who did not lose a word and devoured her with his eyes.
Candide obeyed her respectfully. He was still surprised. His voice was weak and trembling. His back still hurt. Yet he gave her a very candid account of everything that had happened to him since they separated. Cunegonde lifted her eyes to heaven. She shed tears when she heard of the death of the good Anabaptist and of Pangloss. After that she spoke to Candide. He did not miss a word and drank her in with his eyes.