CHAPTER XVII. How Candide had a mind to kill himself, and did not do it. What happened to him at an inn. "DEAR CACAMBO--formerly my valet, now my equal and always my friend thou hast borne a share in my misfortunes; thou hast given me salutary advice; and thou hast been witness to my love for Miss Cunegund--" "Alas, my old master," says Cacambo, "it is she who has served you this scurvy trick; it is she who, after having learned from your fellow-servants that your love for Zenoida was as great as hers for you, revealed the whole to the barbarous Wolhall." "If this is so," says Candide, "I have nothing further to do but die." Our philosopher pulled out of his pocket a little knife, and began whetting it with a coolness worthy of an ancient Roman or an Englishman. "What do you mean to do?" says Cacambo "To cut my throat," answers Candide. "A most noble thought!" replied Cacambo. "But the philosopher ought not to take any resolution but upon reflection. You will always have it in your power to kill yourself if your mind does not alter. Be advised by me, my dear master. Defer your resolution till to-morrow. The longer you delay it the more courageous will the action be." "I perceive the strength of thy reasoning," says Candide. "Besides, if I should cut my throat immediately, the Gazetteer of Trevoux would insult my memory. I am determined, therefore, that I will not kill myself till two or three days hence." As they talked thus they arrived at Elsinore, a pretty considerable town, not far from Copenhagen. There they lay that night, and Cacambo hugged himself for the good effect which sleep had produced on Candide. They left the town at daybreak. Candide, still the philosopher (for the prejudices of childhood are never effaced), entertained his friend Cacambo on the subject of physical good and evil, the discourses of the sage Zenoida, and the striking truths which he had learned from her conversation. |
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