Chapter 2 — among the Bulgarians

Candide, driven from this earthly paradise, walks a long time without knowing where he is going. He sleeps in a field between two furrows. The snow falls in large flakes. The next day, half frozen, he drags himself to the neighboring town. Two men in blue uniforms notice him at the inn door. One observes that he is well-built and the right height. They politely invite him to dinner.

He has no money. They explain that men of his appearance never pay for anything. They ask whether he is five feet five inches tall. Yes, he bows. They sit him down, treat him to dinner, slip him a few crowns. They ask whether he deeply loves the King of the Bulgarians. Candide, never having met him, says no. They tell him the King is the best of kings and they must drink his health. He drinks. They tell him he is now the supporter, defender, hero of the Bulgarians, and clap him in irons. He is dragged to the regiment. He is made to face right, draw his ramrod; the first day he gets thirty strokes; the day after, ten. His comrades regard him as a prodigy.

One fine spring day Candide decides to go for a walk, marching straight ahead, believing it a privilege of the human species, like the animal, to use its legs. He has gone two leagues when four heroes overtake him and haul him to a dungeon. He is asked which he prefers: thirty-six rounds of the gauntlet, or twelve lead balls. By virtue of liberty, he runs the gauntlet. The regiment is two thousand men: four thousand strokes, laying bare every muscle from his neck to his buttocks. After the second pass he begs to be shot. He is made to kneel. The King of the Bulgarians passes by, recognizes a young metaphysician utterly ignorant of the world, and pardons him. A surgeon cures him in three weeks. He is up and marching by the time the King gives battle to the King of the Abarians.