“The good old man smiled.
"My friend," said he, "we are all priests. The King and all the heads of families sing solemn canticles of thanksgiving every morning, accompanied by five or six thousand musicians."
"What! have you no monks who teach, who dispute, who govern, who cabal, and who burn people that are not of their opinion?"
"We must be mad, indeed, if that were the case," said the old man; "here we are all of one opinion, and we know not what you mean by monks."
During this whole discourse Candide was in raptures, and he said to himself:”