In the country of Westphalia, in the castle of the most noble
Baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, lived a youth whom Nature had endowed
with a most sweet disposition. His face was the true index of his
mind. He had a solid judgment joined to the most unaffected
simplicity; and hence, I presume, he had his name of Candide. The
old servants of the house suspected him to have been the son of the
Baron’s sister, by a very good sort of a gentleman of the
neighborhood, whom that young lady refused to marry, because he
could produce no more than threescore and eleven quarterings in his
arms; the rest of the genealogical tree belonging to the family having
been lost through the injuries of time.

The Baron was one of the most powerful lords in Westphalia, for
his castle had not only a gate, but even windows, and his great hall
was hung with tapestry. He used to hunt with his mastiffs and spaniels
instead of greyhounds; his groom served him for huntsman; and the
parson of the parish officiated as his grand almoner. He was called
“My Lord” by all his people, and he never told a story but everyone
laughed at it.

My Lady Baroness, who weighed three hundred and fifty pounds,
consequently was a person of no small consideration; and then she
did the honors of the house with a dignity that commanded universal
respect. Her daughter was about seventeen years of age, fresh-colored,
comely, plump, and desirable. The Baron’s son seemed to be a youth
in every respect worthy of the father he sprung from. Pangloss, the
preceptor, was the oracle of the family, and little Candide listened
to his instructions with all the simplicity natural to his age and
disposition.

Master Pangloss taught the metaphysico-theologo-cosmolonigology.
He could prove to admiration that there is no effect without a
cause; and, that in this best of all possible worlds, the Baron’s
castle was the most magnificent of all castles, and My Lady the best
of all possible baronesses.

“It is demonstrable,” said he, “that things cannot be otherwise than
as they are; for as all things have been created for some end, they
must necessarily be created for the best end. Observe, for instance,
the nose is formed for spectacles, therefore we wear spectacles. The
legs are visibly designed for stockings, accordingly we wear
stockings. Stones were made to be hewn and to construct castles,
therefore My Lord has a magnificent castle; for the greatest baron
in the province ought to be the best lodged. Swine were intended to be
eaten, therefore we eat pork all the year round: and they, who
assert that everything is right, do not express themselves
correctly; they should say that everything is best.”

Candide listened attentively and believed implicitly, for he thought
Miss Cunegund excessively handsome, though he never had the courage to
tell her so. He concluded that next to the happiness of being Baron of
Thunder-ten-tronckh, the next was that of being Miss Cunegund, the
next that of seeing her every day, and the last that of hearing the
doctrine of Master Pangloss, the greatest philosopher of the whole
province, and consequently of the whole world.

One day when Miss Cunegund went to take a walk in a little
neighboring wood which was called a park, she saw, through the bushes,
the sage Doctor Pangloss giving a lecture in experimental philosophy
to her mother’s chambermaid, a little brown wench, very pretty, and
very tractable. As Miss Cunegund had a great disposition for the
sciences, she observed with the utmost attention the experiments which
were repeated before her eyes; she perfectly well understood the force
of the doctor’s reasoning upon causes and effects. She retired greatly
flurried, quite pensive and filled with the desire of knowledge,
imagining that she might be a sufficing reason for young Candide,
and he for her.

On her way back she happened to meet the young man; she blushed,
he blushed also; she wished him a good morning in a flattering tone,
he returned the salute, without knowing what he said. The next day, as
they were rising from dinner, Cunegund and Candide slipped behind
the screen. The miss dropped her handkerchief, the young man picked it
up. She innocently took hold of his hand, and he as innocently
kissed hers with a warmth, a sensibility, a grace-all very particular;
their lips met; their eyes sparkled; their knees trembled; their hands
strayed. The Baron chanced to come by; he beheld the cause and effect,
and, without hesitation, saluted Candide with some notable kicks on
the breech and drove him out of doors. The lovely Miss Cunegund
fainted away, and, as soon as she came to herself, the Baroness
boxed her ears. Thus a general consternation was spread over this most
magnificent and most agreeable of all possible castles.