Candide was quite stupefied at this affecting scene; he had suffered Cunegund to depart without thinking of the proper measures which are always to be kept with those who know our secrets, when Cacambo presented himself to his sight. They embraced each other with tenderness. Candide informed him of the conversation he had just had; he was very much afflicted for the loss of the great Pangloss, who, after having been hanged and burnt, was at last unhappily drowned. They spoke with that free effusion of heart which friendship inspires. A little billet thrown in at the window by Zenoida put an end to the conversation. Candide opened it, and found in it these words: "Fly, my dear lover! All is discovered. An innocent inclination, which Nature authorizes, and which hurts no one, is a crime in the eyes of credulous and cruel men. Wolhall has just left my chamber, and has treated me with the utmost, inhumanity. He is gone to obtain an order for thee to be. clapped into a dungeon, there to perish, Fly, my ever dear lover! Preserve a life which them canst not pass any longer near me. Those happy moments are no more in which we gave proofs of our reciprocal tenderness. Ah! sad Zenoida, how hast thou offended Heaven to merit so rigorous a fate? But I wander from the purpose. Remember always thy precious, dear Zenoida, and thou, my dear lover, shalt live eternally within my heart. Thou hast never thoroughly understood how much I loved thee. Canst thou receive upon my lips my last adieu? I find myself ready to join my unhappy father in the grave. The light is hateful to me; it serves only to reveal crimes." Cacambo, always wise and prudent, drew Candide, who no longer was himself, along with him. They made the best of their way out of the city. Candide opened not his mouth, and they were already a good way from Copenhagen before he was roused out of that lethargy in which he was buried. At last he looked at his faithful Cacambo, and spoke in these terms. |
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