Chapter 21 — France in sight

At last they sight the coast of France. Have you been to France, Mr. Martin? Yes, in several provinces. In some, half the people are fools; in others, they are too clever by half. In all, the main occupation is love, the second slander, the third nonsense. But have you seen Paris? Yes, briefly. He arrived; pickpockets at the fair of Saint-Germain robbed him of everything; he was mistaken for a thief and spent eight days in prison; he then worked as a proofreader to earn enough to walk back to Holland.

Candide says he has no desire to see France. After a month in El Dorado, there is nothing left on earth he wants to see except Cunégonde. He will wait for her in Venice; they will pass through France on the way to Italy; will Martin come? Gladly, says Martin: they say Venice is only good for its own nobility but takes foreigners gladly if they have money; he has none, Candide has plenty, so he will follow him to the ends of the earth. They turn to skeptical questions. Do you believe the earth was originally a sea? Not a word of it. For what purpose was the world made? To torment us.

Then Candide asks the chapter's central question. Do you believe that men have always slaughtered each other the way they do today — that they have always been liars, cheats, traitors, ingrates, brigands, idiots, thieves, scoundrels, gluttons, drunkards, misers, envious, ambitious, bloodthirsty, slanderers, debauchees, fanatics, hypocrites, and fools? Martin replies: do you believe that hawks have always eaten pigeons whenever they caught them? Yes, without a doubt, says Candide. Well then, says Martin, if hawks have always had the same character, why imagine that men might have changed theirs? Candide protests: there's a vast difference, because free will — and in the middle of the protest the ship arrives at Bordeaux. Voltaire cuts him off mid-sentence. The argument the eighteenth century has been having about human nature is left, exactly there, unfinished.