icet_ an
arbour; and, moreover, in the act of eating preserved lemon-rind and
pistachio nuts."

"What you say is true," answered Candide, "but we have to cultivate our
garden."

And here I hasten to remark, that although I have quoted and translated
these seven immortal words, I would on no account be answerable for
their original and exact meaning, any more than for the meaning of more
officially grave and reverend texts, albeit perhaps not wiser or nobler
ones.

Did the long-suffering hero of the Sage of Ferney accept the chain of
cause and effect, and agree that without the kicks, the earthquake, the
_auto-da-fe_, and all the other items of his uneasy career, it was
impossible he should be eating pistachio nuts and preserved lemon-rind
in that arbour? And, in consideration of the bitter sweet of these
delicacies, was he prepared to welcome (retrospectively) the painful
preliminaries as blessings in disguise? Did he even, rising to stoical
or mystic heights, identify these superficially different phenomena and
recognize that their apparent contradiction was real sameness?

Or, should we take it that, refraining from such essential questions,
and passing over his philosophical friend's satisfaction in the _causal
nexus_, poor Candide was satisfied with pointing out the only practical
lesson to be drawn from the whole matter, to wit, that in order to
partake of such home-grown dainties, it had been necessary, and most
likely would remain necessary, to put a deal of good work into whatever
scrap of the soil of life had not been devastated by those Leibnitzian
Powers who further Man's felicity in a fashion so energetic but so
roundabout?

All these points remain obscure. But even as a play is said to be only
the better for the various interpretations which it affords to as many
great actors; so methinks, the wisest sayings are often those which
state some principle in general terms, leaving to individuals the
practical working out, according to their nature and circumstances. So,
whether we incline to optimism or to pessimism, we must do our best in
the half-hours we can bestow upon our little garden.

I speak advisedly of half-hours, and I would repeatedly insist upon the
garden being little. For the garden, whatever its actual size, and were
it as extensive as those of Eden and the Hesperides set on end, does not
afford the exercise needful for spiritual health and vigour. And
whatever we may succeed in growing