Tempest, shipwreck, earthquake and what became of Dr. Pangloss, Candide and James the Anabaptist
ONE half of the passengers being weakened, and ready to breathe their last, with the inconceivable anguish which the rolling of the ship conveyed through the nerves and all the humors of the body, which were quite disordered, were not capable of being alarmed at the danger they were in. The other half uttered cries and made prayers; the sails were rent, the masts broken, and the ship became leaky. Every one worked that was able, nobody cared for any thing,and no order was kept. The Anabapist contributed his assistance to work the ship. As he was upon deck, a furious sailor rudely struck him, and laid him sprawling on the planks; but with the blow he gave him, he himself was so violently jolted, that he tumbled overboard with his head foremost, and remained suspended by a piece of a broken mast. Honest James ran to his assistance, and helped him on deck again; but in the attempt, he fell into the sea, in the sight of the sailor, who suffered him to perish, without deigning to look upon him. Candide drew near and saw his benefactor, one moment emerging, and the next swallowed up for ever. He was just going to throw himself into the sea after him, when the philosopher Pangloss hindered him, by demonstrating to him, that the road to Lisbon had been made on purpose for this Anabaptist to be drowned in. While he was proving this, a priori, the vessel foundered, and all perished except Pangloss, Candide, and the brutal sailor, who drowned the virtuous Anabaptist. The villain luckily swam ashore, whither Pangloss and Candide were carried on a plank.
When they had recovered themselves a little, they walked towards Lisbon. They had some money left, with which they hoped to save themselves from hunger, after having escaped from the storm.
Scarce had they set foot in the city, bewailing the death of their benefactor, when they perceived the earth to tremble under their feet, and saw the sea swell in the harbor, and dash to pieces the ships that were at anchor. The whirling flames and ashes covered the streets and public places, the houses tottered, and their roofs fell to the foundations, and the foundations were scattered; thirty thousand inhabitants of all ages and sexes were crushed to death in the ruins. The sailor, whistling and swearing, said:
"There is some booty to be got here."
"What can be the sufficient reason of this phenomenon?" said Pangloss.
"This is certainly the last day of the world," cried Candide.
The sailor ran quickly into the midst of the ruins, encountered death to find money, found it, laid hold of it, got drunk, and having slept himself sober, purchased the favors of the first willing girl he met with, among the ruins of the demolished houses, and in the midst of the dying and the dead. While he was thus engaged, Pangloss pulled him by the sleeve.
"My friend," said he, "this is not right; you trespass against universal reason, you choose your time badly."
"Brains and blood!" answered the other, "I am a sailor, and was born at Batavia; you have mistaken your man, this time, with your universal reason."
Some pieces of stone having wounded Candide, he lay sprawling in the street, and covered with rubbish.
"Alas!" said he to Pangloss, "get me a little wine and oil, I am dying."
"This trembling of the earth is no new thing," answered Pangloss. "The City of Lima, in America, experienced the same concussions last year; the same cause has the same effects; there is certainly a train of sulphur under the earth, from Lima to Lisbon."
"Nothing is more probable," said Candide, "but, for God's sake, a little oil and wine."
"How probable?" replied the philosopher, "I maintain that the thing is demonstrable."
Candide lost all sense, and Pangloss brought him a little water from a neighboring fountain.
The day following, having found some provisions. in rummaging through the rubbish, they recruited their strength a little. Afterwards, they employed themselves like others, in administering relief to the inhabitants that had escaped from death. Some citizens that had been relieved by them gave them as good a dinner as could be expected amidst such a disaster. It is true that the repast was mournful, and the guests watered their bread with their tears. But Pangloss consoled them by the assurance that things could not be otherwise,
"For," said he, "all this must necessarily be for the best. As this volcano is at Lisbon, it could not be elsewhere, as it is impossible that things should not be what they are, as all is good."
A little man clad in black, who belonged to the inquisition, and sat at his side, took him up very politely, and said:
"It seems, sir, you do not believe in original sin; for if all is for the best, then there has been neither fall not punishment."
"I most humbly ask your excellency's pardon," answered Pangloss, still more politely, "for the fall of man and the curse necessarily entered into the best of worlds possible."
"Then, sir, you do not believe there is liberty," said the inquisitor.
"Your excellency will excuse me," said Pangloss, "liberty can consist with absolute necessity; for it was necessary we should be free; because, in short, the determinate will—"
Pangloss was in the middle of his proposition; when the inquisitor made a signal with his head to the tall armed footman in a cloak, who waited upon him, to bring him a glass of port wine.
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