There was in Westphalia, in the castle of the most noble Baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, a young man on whom nature had bestowed the most gentle manners. His face was the true index of his mind. He had a solid judgment joined to the most unaffected simplicity; and hence, I presume, he had his name of Candide.
The old preceptor Pangloss was the oracle of the family, and little Candide listened to his instructions with all the good faith of his age and character. Pangloss taught metaphysico-theologo-cosmonigology. He could prove admirably that there is no effect without a cause, and in this best of all possible worlds, the Baron's castle was the most magnificent of all castles, and my lady the best of all possible baronesses.
It is demonstrable, said he, that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for as all things have been created for some end, they must necessarily be created for the best end. Observe, for instance, the nose is formed for spectacles, therefore we wear spectacles.
Candide listened attentively and believed implicitly; for he thought Mademoiselle Cunegund was a thing of perfect beauty, though he had never had the courage to tell her so.
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