Voltaire's Candide adapted as a dramatic scene

¶ … Candide written Voltaire. You Candide-Literture.org find story. It long. Here a web site

Characters

Candide

Young Baron

Cunegonde

The Old Woman

Cacambo

Pangloss

Paquette

Brother Giroflee

Dervish

Scene I: Candide's farm, a fairly lonesome plot of land with doting greenery lining the unkempt fields. In the back there are a few dilapidated farmhouses, anemic looking cows, and other visible signs that the place is in a state of decline. Candide stands before the Young Baron, an incredulous look smeared across his face. The Young Baron returns his glance with a look of defiance more befitting his father than a man of the Young Baron's stature; Cunegonde, virtually cock-eyed and drained from an overdose of sun and lack of luxury, anxiously taps her foot on the ground, looking between the two men nervously, yet remains silent.

Candide (struggling to restrain the smile that keeps tugging at his lips): "Again, good Baron, you maintain that this is your final position on the matter? There is nothing I can do to dissuade you, and convince you of my honorable intentions to marry your, uh, lovely sister?

Young Baron (puffing his chest out some, as if his speech has been well rehearsed in advance): The only thing that could alter my position on this matter would be if some Baron of the Empire appeared out of thin air, ceremoniously adopted you, then proceeded to slit his own throat so that the sum of his inheritance and his name was bestowed upon you as his sole heir. In that case, I would perform the wedding ceremony between you and my sister myself. But since that scenario is as likely to happen as flying aircraft transporting passengers back and forth between continents, my answer is and always will be no, you will never marry lady Cunegonde so long as I, and she, live.

[Eruption occurs. Candide unabashedly pumps his fist several times in the air, alternately exclaiming shouts of "yes," while making mock gestures of prayer for gratitude. Cacambo, Pangloss and Martin exchange high fives, slapping each other on the back and shouting "told you. Didn't I tell you so?" Cunegonde, for her part, promptly bursts into tears and has to be consoled by the old woman, who holds while making dirty looks at Candide. The Young Baron takes in the reaction in a confused sort of way, yet struggles to maintain his typical pomp and dignity.]

Candide [struggling to regain composure]: My apologies, Baron, for such an unbridled display of emotion. My intended response was to acquiesce respectfully, since in this, as in virtually all other matters, your judgment is unparalleled and your resolution is without error. [Beaming at Cunegonde, a look of triumph adorning his visage]. I have learned better than to contradict those superior to me in nobility, bloodline, and morals. It is with great…sadness, that I am unable to fulfill my promise of marrying you.

[Cunegonde's sobs turn to wails; she still refuses to look up and instead bawls into The Old Woman's shoulder. The crowd begins to dissipate, Candide and Pangloss leave together, as do Martin and Cacambo after the latter begrudgingly gives the other a few banknotes due to a recently settled wager. Suddenly, the voice of The Old Woman rings through the farm, halting virtually all in their tracks.

The Old Woman: Halt! Before this congregation disperses, I should like to be permitted to make an inquiry of Pangloss. Are you not a renowned philosopher and academician, who has spent a significant amount of time teaching the theories of causes and effects to Candide, the Young Baron and to his disheartened sister?

Pangloss [straightening up some]: That is true in every respect?

The Old Woman: Therefore, being that every cause has an effect, is it not true that the cause of the Baron's perspective regarding his lineage and that of his sister can in some measure be attributed to your teachings?

Pangloss [scratching his head]: I suppose, in some measure it may be argued that one of the causes producing the effect produced by such a cause very well may be

The Old Woman: And has the terrible, virtually unutterable misfortunes befallen upon this small company, including not only your own but also that befalling Cunegonde and the Young Baron, not given you and all of this company sufficient reason to consider the very cause of this cause and effect theory? Has it not given you cause to effect a point-of-view that may not be your own, or verifiably proven?

Pangloss [utterly baffled at this point]: Well, that is, if you insist

The Old Woman: Then need not we confirm the veracity of this philosophy, or even the existence of any and all philosophy so that we can assure ourselves of the authority of all metaphsico-theologo-cosmolonigology in order to guarantee that the words of the Young Baron were not uttered under the pretense of a false teaching?

[Suddenly, Cunegonde ceases her crying in mid-sob. Cacambo and Martin, heretofore looking uninterested, visibly perk up while the Young Baron also takes an abrupt interest in the line of questioning. Candide, renewed by the fresh burst of ugliness he catches within the facade and figure of his possible bride, suddenly starts slinking away.

Pangloss [Alternating glances between Candide's slowly shrinking figure and The Old Woman's staunch stance]: I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that which you were

The Old Woman: Lest you fear revealing yourself to be a quack, and therefore disavowing the education of these three good souls we see before us, you are obligated to verify the means of your philosophy with the One-Who-Knows-All.

Pangloss [starting to sweat]: You don't mean

The Old Woman: That's exactly who I mean…the Whirling Dervish.

Scene II

The entire party (Candide, Cacambo, Pangloss, The Old Woman, Martin, The Young Baron and Cunegonde) outside the front window of the home of the Whirling Dervish. All stand enrapture (mouths agape, paused in mid-stride) at some sort of activity taking place inside. Inside, the Whirling Dervish pays no heed to his unannounced visitors, as he is too engulfed in the loud music being played by a small band consisting of a flute, conga drums, and a guitar. The entire house is diffused in a palpable mist of smoke, and the Dervish intermittently passes a pipe of some sort to the band members, who take long pulls while continuing to play. Before long, the Dervishes finger snapping, toe-tapping and head-nodding take flight into a full blown dance routine, as he spontaneously wiggles about the domicile, dancing and chanting to the sounds of the music.

Martin: Who is yon idiot whose poor taste in music is only surpassed by his inordinate lack of rhythm.

Pangloss: You are looking upon the Whirling Dervish, the most renowned philosopher on this continent, whose teaching taught the teachings of teachers everywhere, including mine, and whose teachings taught the teachings I taught to all who would teach.

Young Baron [visibly unimpressed]: Is he of royalty?

Pangloss: The nobility of this pedagogue and the wealth of knowledge which he professes is not to be surpassed by any king, queen, nor baron throughout this or any other land. He may be the most learned man who ever lived. Best, I think, to leave the communication to me.

[After several unheeded attempts to knock on the door, Pangloss finally succeeds in kicking the door in, which brings the Dervishes whirling, and his accompanying music, to an abrupt halt].

Scene III

[Back at the farm, Candide is jubilant, whistling, jumping about, a broad grin creasing his face. Cunegonde at The Old Woman appear to be pensive, contemplative, Pangloss himself is lost in thought. The Young Baron is nowhere to be found, while Cacambo and Martin keep looking about from time to time, as is expecting something -- or someone.

Candide: It has never been more clear. We journeyed to the Whirling Dervish, he who is renowned for knowledge and insight from here to the coasts, and he concurs that I am not obligated to send the rest of my life with this…woman.

The Old Woman: In truth, young man, we have yet to decipher what the Dervish has said.

Cunegonde: 'Tis a riddle most perplexing, one which even the great Pangloss has yet to uncover.

Pangloss: That's because you keep talking while I'm attempting to ruminate on the necessary language of going and coming. This much is known, however, the Dervish was telling us to look for a sign, some sort of coming or going that will properly answer the questions of his, and my, philosophy, so we'll know whether the Young Baron's condemnation of Candide's marriage proposal was justified or not.

Cunegonde: Where is my brother? I have scarcely seen him since we returned from our outing this afternoon.

Martin: He disappeared down the road alone. He doesn't appear to be a believer in the Whirling Dervish -- just in his own obstinacy.

Pangloss: It's a sign I tell you. Something is bound to happen, some additional effect will be produced from a cause that none can dispute that will decide this simple matter.

Cunegonde: 'Tis so, the Dervish has revealed so. What he hasn't revealed, Candide, is why you seem so pleased at the opportunity for disavowing the word you gave to me or our marriage in good standing.

Candide: It is not for learned men to state the obvious. Whereas once you were broad as a house, now you are woefully thin from prolonged labor. Whereas once your eyes sparkled, now they wouldn't reflect the gaze of the sun itself. Whereas The Old Woman: Your point has been made, Candide. However, it should be noted that a man of nobility, a man of worth, a man of rank and stature of a Baron always keeps his word; indeed, such commitments are the very essence of life itself.

Candide [slowly]: You mean, wherever you go

The Old Woman: Your word is bond.

Candide: And wherever you are

The Old Woman: Your word has bound you.

Candide: So that in all circumstances

The Old Woman: Your word has roped you and tied you to a stake. Thus, is honor preserved. So it was in my day, and so it shall be until honor rises no more.

Candide: Then by my not honoring my word, I am less noble, and less honorable than the Young Baron? It has nothing to do with birth, or title, or castles and tapestry, but just of words.

The Old Woman: Wherever you go, there you are.

Pangloss: Silent! I think I've figured it out. Wherever a man goes, he must keep his word. Therefore, wherever you are, the word must still be kept.

Cunegonde: The mystery is revealed. The good Pangloss has said so, it must be true. Lover of mine, soon to be groom of mine, come here and give me a taste of our wedding night. [She puckers up, closes her eyes, a grotesque sight which makes Candide squirm as he realizes he must either embrace Cunegonde or admit to the inferiority which the Young Baron has always professed of him But suddenly…].

Martin: Who's that? Two forms rising over the horizon, approaching this way.

Cacambo: From where?

Martin: Over yonder.

Pangloss [rising]: Why, it can't be. But it is! None other than Brother Giroflee and Paquette, headed this way.

Candide: It's a sign! Something, some reason must have brought them over to us.

Martin: They do not appear to be doing so well.

Brother Giroflee: Marriage, does not bode well for men, and for women either. Despite all the money that was given to us, Candide, we were made none the more happy than when we were alone. In fact, it can be said that we were more happy when we were alone and we had left each other.

Candide: None the more happy? So then, you would not recommend my marriage to this most, (gulp), lovely of ladies?

Paquette: Lovely of ladies? I see a shriveled up raisin, there appears to be no ladies here but me. I wouldn't put a ring on her finger is she was the last woman standing.

Cunegonde: That can easily be arraigned [She pulls out a knife, and proceeds to chase Paquette back to where the latter came from].

Cunegonde: And for you Candide, since you refuse to honor the word which you gave so long ago, I would have you know that you fathered my child long ago when we first reunited after the Bulgarian invasion. He is nearly a man now, and has amassed a private fortune by being the best thief in all the seven lands. What birth can engender old fashioned money can buy, and your refusal to claim me as your wife also signifies your refusal to claim your son's wealth and inheritance and name. Therefore it is you who will suffer, while I, The Old Woman, and my brother, go on to live as royalty in our castle in Alaska.