Candide (reprised)

I was quite taken with Voltaire's Candide, especially the closing line about "we must cultivate our garden." Maybe it was a good idea to wait until age 54 to read it; that approach looks better and better over time.

In any event, I was vaguely aware that a musical of some kind had been written based on Candide. Today I was listening to a CD (or MP3 collection) from the San Francisco Symphony Choir and heard a song I've heard many times (particularly liking Dawn Upshaw's version) . . . finally made the connection . . . it' s "Make Our Garden Grow".

Leonard Bernstein wrote this. It's beautiful. Sounds like the operetta was a failure at the outset, but was revised and has gained a great deal of popularity.

Lyrics below, along with video version of the last performance Bernstein conducted (London symphony orchestra). I'm convinced Voltaire wouldn't have approved this song (except perhaps for the cow dying (per lyrics below, but not part of this musical presentation - instead we have Pangloss at the end)). But I like it.



CANDIDE
You've been a fool
And so have I,
But come and be my wife.
And let us try,
Before we die,
To make some sense of life.
We're neither pure, nor wise, nor good
We'll do the best we know.
We'll build our house and chop our wood
And make our garden grow...
And make our garden grow.

CUNEGONDE
I thought the world
Was sugar cake
For so our master said.
But, now I'll teach
My hands to bake
Our loaf of daily bread.

CANDIDE AND CUNEGONDE
We're neither pure, nor wise, nor good
We'll do the best we know.
We'll build our house and chop our wood
And make our garden grow...
And make our garden grow.

(ensemble enters in gardening gear and a cow walks on)

CANDIDE, CUNEGONDE, MAXIMILLIAN, PAQUETTE, OLD LADY, DR. PANGLOSS
Let dreamers dream
What worlds they please
Those Edens can't be found.
The sweetest flowers,
The fairest trees
Are grown in solid ground.

ENSEMBLE (a cappella)
We're neither pure, nor wise, nor good
We'll do the best we know.
We'll build our house and chop our wood
And make our garden grow.
And make our garden grow!

(The cow dies)

VOLTAIRE
Ah, me! The pox!