The old woman had advised Cunégonde to get the passengers to tell her their adventures. The latter did so and found that the pessimistic argument was correct. Candide expressed regret that Pangloss was not present to voice his optimistic philosophy and that he would now offer the learned doctor a few objections.
The vessel landed at Buenos Aires, where Cunégonde, Captain Candide, and the old woman called on the proud, often overbearing governor, Don Fernando d'Ibarra y Figueroa y Mascarenes y Lampourdos y Souza. His chief passion was women. Struck by the beauty of Cunégonde, he asked her if she were married to Candide. And Candide, alarmed by what seemed to be implied, stated that the mademoiselle was engaged to him and implored His Excellency to perform their wedding ceremony. In response, the insolent governor ordered Candide to go pass his company in review. He then announced that on the next day he would marry Cunégonde. The young lady asked for a few moments to consult the old woman before making up her mind.
The old woman's advice was practical enough: the high born Cunégonde now was destitute; she could retrieve her fortune by becoming the wife of the greatest lord in South America. Was it for Cunégonde, the old woman asked, to pride herself on an invincible fidelity when the many misfortunes she had experienced conferred rights? The old woman herself would have had no scruple about marrying the governor.
While the woman spoke, a small vessel entered the port, bringing an alcaide (municipal officer) and some alguazils (police officers). From them it was learned that a Franciscan father indeed had stolen Cunégonde's money and jewels. When he tried to sell some jewels, the jeweler recognized them as belonging to the Grand Inquisitor. Before he was hanged, the culprit confessed. The flight of Cunégonde and Candide was known to the town officials, who had then followed them to Cádiz and on to Buenos Aires. When the old woman learned that her companions were being sought by Spanish police, she consoled the young lady: she was not guilty of murder, and she now would be protected by His Lordship. The old woman sought out Candide and urged him to flee. So again the callow youth was to be parted from the incomparable Cunégonde. Where could he go?
We now learn that Candide had brought with him from Spain as his valet one Cacambo, a man of mixed blood and wide experience. In fact, he had been at various times a choirboy, sacristan, monk, merchant's agent, soldier, and lackey. He was loyal and devoted to Candide. When he learned of his master's plight, he quickly saddled the two Andalusian horses and urged Candide to run for it. Candide shed appropriate tears for Cunégonde, whom he had expected to marry immediately. But Cacambo urged him not to worry about her: women were never helpless; God looked after them. So Candide placed himself in the hands of his servant, who told him that, sent to fight the Jesuits, they would instead join the warring Fathers. The Jesuits, he was sure, would welcome a captain who could drill Bulgarian style, and Candide would prosper. The youth learned that Cacambo had been in Paraguay previously; he had been a servant in the College of the Assumption, and he was quite familiar with the Jesuits' government, which he described as most admirable; in truth he knew nothing so divine as the Fathers!
At the first barrier, the two sought an audience with the commandant. Candide and his servant were permitted to appear before him only after having been disarmed and their horses seized. Since Candide proved to be a German, not a Spaniard, the Jesuit leader, who had been at parade following Mass, deigned to meet him in a splendid, ornate arbor, where an excellent breakfast served in golden vessels had been prepared.
The Reverend Father Commander, a very proud young man, saw to it that the two were given back their arms and horses. While Cacambo left to feed the horses, Candide sat down at the table, after first having kissed the hem of the commander's robe. The Jesuit, questioning Candide in German, learned that his guest was from Westphalia and had been born in the castle of Thunder-ten-tronck. There follows another one of those surprising discoveries so typical of the tale: the commander revealed himself as the brother of the fair Cunégonde—the man who, in Candide's words, had been killed by the Bulgarians. How happy Pangloss would have been, had he not been hanged, exclaimed the naive Candide. As for the commander, he thanked God and St. Ignatius a thousand times.
Candide next informed the commander that his sister lived and was in good health, that she was with the governor of Buenos Aires, and that he (Candide) had come to make war against the Jesuits in Paraguay. Germans as they were, the two remained long at the table, the Jesuit baron especially talking at length as he recalled the day when he saw his mother and father killed and his sister raped. Assuming that he had been killed, the Bulgarians had placed his body in a cart along with those of other victims to be taken for burial. A Jesuit discovered that he still lived and rescued him, and his fortunes then turned for the better.
Candide will have remembered, the commander continued, that he was very pretty. As a result of his physical endowments, the Superior had become very fond of him. He was made a novice and later sent to Rome. Ultimately he was among the young German Catholic recruits to be sent to Paraguay. In the new country, his advancement was rapid. He became a sub-deacon and a lieutenant and finally a colonel and a priest. The Spanish troops, he assured Candide, would be soundly beaten and excommunicated.
The baron never tired of embracing Candide, whom he called his brother and savior. Perhaps, he said, they could enter Buenos Aires as conquerors and be reunited with Cunégonde. Nothing would have pleased Candide more, and he then revealed the fact that he expected to marry the baron's sister. Now the baron, who had been so effusive toward Candide, became enraged, and he denounced the hapless youth as an insolent wretch. How could Candide have had the impudence to marry his sister with seventy-two divisions on her coat-of-arms! The petrified young man endeavored to reason with the Jesuit baron, telling how he had rescued her from a Jew and the Grand Inquisitor and adding that Doctor Pangloss had always told him that men are equal. He concluded firmly that he intended to marry Cunégonde.
The baron could not restrain himself. He struck Candide on the face with the flat of his sword, and the youth, drawing his own weapon, paid back the blow with a thrust to the hilt into the Jesuit's body. Appalled that he again had been placed in a position where he was impelled to perform a violent act, Candide bewailed his lot: he, the kindest man in the world, had now killed three men, two of them priests.
