The Expected of the Unexpected

                     Love didn’t disappear for Candide. Love revived and emerged itself in his life once again. The appearance and miracle survival of Lady of Cunegonde, is cliché and overly romantic. In a way this happening achieves Voltaire’s discreet and satire approach when mocking romance. Candide and Lady Cunegonde were raised within a scenario that would be typical for a fairy tale; nevertheless, Voltaire mishandles their lives and destroys this stereotypical tale. He ridicules romance by making the happy ending unfeasible. As Candide fights for his lovers’ liberty by killing the priest and the Jew, escaping this hazard is going to take much more precaution as they presumed. Lady Cunegonde, as well as Abigail (her servant) and Candide must not only dodge the violent chasings that will follow, but they will have to heal from the traumatic memories that bruised their minds. After having scrutinized the old woman’s’ vile story and constructed an image in one’s mind of such life, alike the woman herself, as a reader I came to question of suicide.

                The old lady was the daughter of Pope Urban X and the Princess of Palestrina. She portrays the fairy tale life she led, from being the fairest lady of her kingdom, and having fallen in love with the most eligible man; her life came to pieces from one morning to the next. This old lady saw her purity being snatched away, her mother along with her ladies of waiting, split apart and her horrific destiny being exposed upon her ignorant and naive eyes: a presumptuous royal must learn to live the life of a servant. After all, everything happens for the best of all possible worlds. Nevertheless, sometimes life’s lessons drains the strength to survive, and as astonishing as it was that the old lady didn’t self-murder, she was actually able to leave the most clear and honest rationality of why someone who is so miserable still holds on to life.

                  “I have wanted to kill myself hundreds of times, but somehow I am still in love with life. This ridiculous weakness is perhaps one of our most melancholy propensities; for is there anything more stupid than to be eager to go on carrying a burden which one would gladly throw away, to loathe one’s very being and yet to hold it fast, to fondle the snake that devours us until it has eaten our hearts away?” (Pg. 57) The old lady explains that life would be monotonous and dull if everything would be positive and as planned. Life wouldn’t just be lifeless, but without bitter experiences, there wouldn’t be any experiences. This reminds me of Dante’s Inferno and of those souls who did no good nor bad, those who they are eternally doomed in Limbo. How can life come to such unveiling and aimless directions, that one made no difference?  There is no importance to live everyday if a memorable event didn’t change a person. There is only recognition of hope when there are negative incidents. What would be victory without failure? What would be intelligence without ignorance? What would be beauty without unattractiveness? What would be happiness without misery?