CHAPTER XXI
Candide and Martin, While Thus Reasoning with Each Other,
Draw Near to the Coast of France
At length they sighted the coast of France.
“Pray, Mr. Martin,” said Candide, “have you ever been in France?”
“Yes, Sir,” said Martin, “I have been in several provinces of that kingdom. In some, one half of the people are madmen; in some, they are too artful; in others, again, they are in general either very good-natured or very brutal; while in others, they affect to be witty, and in all, their ruling passion is love, the next is slander, and the last is to talk nonsense.”
“But pray, Mr. Martin, were you ever in Paris?”
“Yes, Sir, I have been in that city, and it is a place that contains the several species just described; it is a chaos, a confused multitude, where everyone seeks for pleasure without being able to find it; at least, as far as I have observed during my short stay in that city. At my arrival, I was robbed of all I had in the world by pickpockets and sharpers, at the fair of St. Germain. I was taken up myself for a robber, and confined in prison a whole week; after that I hired myself as corrector to a press in order to get a little money towards defraying my expenses back to Holland on foot. I knew the whole tribe of scribblers, malcontents, and religious convulsionaries. It is said the people of that city are very polite; I believe they may be so.”
“For my part, I have no curiosity to see France,” said Candide; “you may easily conceive, my friend, that, after spending a month at El Dorado, I can desire to behold nothing upon earth but Miss Cunegund; I am going to wait for her at Venice; I intend to pass through France on my way to Italy; will you not bear me company?”
“With all my heart,” said Martin: “they say Venice is agreeable to none but noble Venetians; but that, nevertheless, strangers are well received there
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