Candide and Martin, as the old man identified himself, set sail for Bordeaux, and the topic of moral and physical evil was the dominant one discussed by the two during the voyage, for both had suffered much. But Candide had one thing to sustain him: the hope of seeing Cunégonde again, and he still had some Eldoradoan gold and diamonds. Especially at the end of a meal, he inclined toward Pangloss' philosophy once more.
In the course of their discussion, Martin told Candide that he was not a Socinian but a Manichean (one who, according to an ancient Persian system, believed that man's soul, sprung from the kingdom of light, seeks escape from the body, the kingdom of darkness). He conceded that in view of what he had seen, God must have abandoned the world to some malevolent being—with the exception of Eldorado. Martin then summed up the miseries of the world—personal injustice and cruelties; a million regimented assassins sweeping over Europe as one nation warred against another; the envies, cares, and anxieties even in supposedly cultured cities. Candide insisted that there was some good in the world, but the pessimistic Martin only replied that he had never seen it.
In the midst of their discussion, they heard the sound of gunfire and, along with others aboard the ship, saw two ships, one French, fighting about three miles away. One of the ships was sunk; Candide and Martin saw a good hundred men implore the Heavens for help and then go to their deaths. Martin pointed out that this incident illustrated how men treated each other, and Candide conceded that there was something diabolical in what they had seen. As he spoke, a red object was seen moving toward their ship. To the great joy of Candide, it turned out to be one of his big sheep. It was then revealed that the Dutch captain's ship was the one that had been sunk. The enormous wealth the captain had stolen had gone to the bottom of the sea. Candide was sure that all this proved that crime was sometimes punished. But, asked Martin, why should so many blameless creatures have had to die? God, he concluded, punished the guilty captain, but the devil drowned the others.
The two continued their discussion. Despite the pessimism of Martin, Candide did not lose hope; he had found one of his sheep; now he was sure that he would be reunited with Cunégonde.
When they sighted France, Candide inquired whether Martin had ever been there. The latter answered affirmatively and then provided an unflattering description of the French and especially of the citizens of Paris. In some parts of the country, he said, half the people were mad; elsewhere they were too crafty; still others were rather gentle and stupid. And in every province the chief occupations were love making, malicious gossip, and talking nonsense. As for Paris, it was a mixture of everything found in the provinces. Martin had heard that the Parisians were a very refined people but was not yet convinced that they were.
Candide at first had no desire to tarry in France; he wanted to take the shortest route to Venice. Martin accepted his invitation to accompany him. Martin's logic was impeccable: Candide had money; Martin had none; he had heard that Venice welcomed the rich. And then their philosophical discussion was continued. Nothing that Candide had experienced surprised the old scholar. He had lived too long and seen too much. He believed that man had always been bloodthirsty, greedy, lecherous, hypocritical, and foolish, and he insisted that man no more changed his character than does a predatory bird. Candide objected, as he introduced the subject of free will. When the ship reached Bordeaux, the discussion was still in progress.
At Bordeaux, Candide remained long enough only to sell some Eldorado pebbles and purchase a good two-seated carriage, for he could no longer do without Martin. Since he could not take the sheep along, he regretfully gave it to the Academy of Science, which was particularly interested in sheep with red wool. He had intended to leave France as quickly as possible, but since all the travelers he met on the road said they were going to Paris, he decided to visit that famous city. Candide had just put up at an inn when he became ill from fatigue. Two doctors, many "intimate friends," and two pious and charitable ladies gave him every attention, for they had noticed his big diamond ring and his strongbox. Martin observed that once in Paris, he fell ill but had no one to attend him. "I recovered," he concluded. Thanks to the medicine and blood lettings, Candide became worse. A clergyman who was a regular visitor asked him for a "note payable to the bearer in the next world"; that is, a document signed by a non-Jansenist priest certifying that he was not a Jansenist. (For a time in Paris, extreme unction was refused to anyone who did not have such a document). Candide became incensed, and the two began to quarrel, whereupon Martin took the clergyman by the shoulders and shoved him out of the room. A police report was made of the commotion.
Fortunately, Candide recovered. A number of distinguished people came to supper during his convalescence and gambled with him for high stakes. It was no surprise to Martin that his young friend never held any aces. Among those who showed him Paris was an abbé, a scheming, parasitic individual who sought out strangers, told them scandalous gossip, and offered them pleasure at any price. First he took Candide to see a tragedy and the two were seated near several wits. One of these quibblers insisted that Candide should not have wept because the play was impossible. Tomorrow, he said, he would bring Candide twenty pamphlets written against the dramatist. Candide was informed by the abbé that five or six thousand plays had been written in France, but that only fifteen or sixteen were any good. "That's a lot," said Martin.
Since an actress who had played the role of Queen Elizabeth reminded Candide of his Cunégonde, the young man was attracted to her. The abbé offered to take him to her residence. In response to Candide's inquiry as to how queens of England were treated in France, the abbé told him that they were respected when they are beautiful and thrown into the garbage dump when they are dead. The youth was shocked, especially when Martin confirmed what the abbé had said. The abbé continued his critical description of Paris and its citizens with characteristic malice.
Because the abbé knew that one of his obscure station was not welcome at the home of the actress, he made an excuse and suggested that Candide come with him to visit a lady of quality in whose house he would learn much about Paris. And the abbé did conduct Candide and Martin to the lady's house, where a faro game was in progress. Voltaire described the play in sufficient detail—the tenseness of the players, the attempts to cheat, the characters of the players. So occupied were these people that no one greeted Candide and his companions. Meanwhile the abbé had secured the attention of the self-styled Marquise de Parolignac. (The name derives from paroli and refers to the practice of letting one's winnings ride on the next draw in a card game). She smiled at Candide and gave Martin a nod, and then she offered the youth a seat at the gambling table. Only two draws were required for him to lose 50,000 francs, but he appeared so unconcerned that the servants took him to be an English milord. Supper followed, with the usual unintelligible chatter, witticisms, false rumors, bad reasoning, a little politics, a great deal of slander, and even some discourse on literature, most of it adversely critical, reference being made to the "enormous mass of abominable books." Particularly there was a fairly long discussion of what constituted a good tragedy by one especially impressive and apparently well-informed scholar. Candide thought that he must be another Pangloss, and he asked the man if he subscribed to the optimistic philosophy. The scholar did not—quite the contrary, for everything was going wrong in the country. He referred to widespread ignorance of rank and responsibility and the senseless quarrels—an endless war. "Jansenist against Molinist, Parliament against the Church, men of letters against their fellow writers, courtiers against courtiers, financiers against the people, wives against their husbands, relatives against relatives." The naive Candide again invoked the name of Pangloss and voiced his confidence that all was for the best, arguing that the apparent evil was no more than shadows in a beautiful picture. Martin could not restrain himself. "Your hanged philosopher was an arrogant jester," he exclaimed.
