Zadig resolved to comfort himself by philosophy and friendship for the
evils he had suffered from fortune. He had in the suburbs of Babylon a
house elegantly furnished, in which he assembled all the arts and all the
pleasures worthy the pursuit of a gentleman. In the morning his library
was open to the learned. In the evening his table was surrounded by good
company. But he soon found what very dangerous guests these men of letters
are. A warm dispute arose on one of Zoroaster's laws, which forbids the
eating of a griffin. "Why," said some of them, "prohibit the eating of a
griffin, if there is no such an animal in nature?" "There must necessarily
be such an animal," said the others, "since Zoroaster forbids us to eat
it." Zadig would fain have reconciled them by saying, "If there are no
griffins, we cannot possibly eat them; and thus either way we shall obey
Zoroaster."
A learned man who had composed thirteen volumes on the properties of the
griffin, and was besides the chief theurgite, hastened away to accuse
Zadig before one of the principal magi, named Yebor, the greatest
blockhead and therefore the greatest fanatic among the Chaldeans. This man
would have impaled Zadig to do honors to the sun, and would then have
recited the breviary of Zoroaster with greater satisfaction. The friend
Cador (a friend is better than a hundred priests) went to Yebor, and said
to him, "Long live the sun and the griffins; beware of punishing Zadig; he
is a saint; he has griffins in his inner court and does not eat them; and
his accuser is an heretic, who dares to maintain that rabbits have cloven
feet and are not unclean."
"Well," said Yebor, shaking his bald pate, "we must impale Zadig for
having thought contemptuously of griffins, and the other for having spoken
disrespectfully of rabbits." Cador hushed up the affair by means of a maid
of honor with whom he had a love affair, and who had great interest in the
College of the Magi. Nobody was impaled.
This levity occasioned a great murmuring among some of the doctors, who
from thence predicted the fall of Babylon. "Upon what does happiness
depend?" said Zadig. "I am persecuted by everything in the world, even on
account of beings that have no existence." He cursed those men of
learning, and resolved for the future to live with none but good company.
He assembled at his house the most worthy men and the most beautiful
ladies of Babylon. He gave them delicious suppers, often preceded by
concerts of music, and always animated by polite conversation, from which
he knew how to banish that affectation of wit which is the surest method
of preventing it entirely, and of spoiling the pleasure of the most
agreeable society. Neither the choice of his friends nor that of the
dishes was made by vanity; for in everything he preferred the substance to
the shadow; and by these means he procured that real respect to which he
did not aspire.
Opposite to his house lived one Arimazes, a man whose deformed countenance
was but a faint picture of his still more deformed mind. His heart was a
mixture of malice, pride, and envy. Having never been able to succeed in
any of his undertakings, he revenged himself on all around him by loading
them with the blackest calumnies. Rich as he was, he found it difficult to
procure a set of flatterers. The rattling of the chariots that entered
Zadig's court in the evening filled him with uneasiness; the sound of his
praises enraged him still more. He sometimes went to Zadig's house, and
sat down at table without being desired; where he spoiled all the pleasure
of the company, as the harpies are said to infect the viands they touch.
It happened that one day he took it in his head to give an entertainment
to a lady, who, instead of accepting it, went to sup with Zadig. At
another time, as he was talking with Zadig at court, a minister of state
came up to them, and invited Zadig to supper without inviting Arimazes.
The most implacable hatred has seldom a more solid foundation. This man,
who in Babylon was called the Envious, resolved to ruin Zadig because he
was called the Happy. "The opportunity of doing mischief occurs a hundred
times in a day, and that of doing good but once a year," as sayeth the
wise Zoroaster.
The envious man went to see Zadig, who was walking in his garden with two
friends and a lady, to whom he said many gallant things, without any other
intention than that of saying them. The conversation turned upon a war
which the king had just brought to a happy conclusion against the prince
of Hircania, his vassal. Zadig, who had signalized his courage in this
short war, bestowed great praises on the king, but greater still on the
lady. He took out his pocket-book, and wrote four lines extempore, which
he gave to this amiable person to read. His friends begged they might see
them; but modesty, or rather a well-regulated self love, would not allow
him to grant their request. He knew that extemporary verses are never
approved of by any but by the person in whose honor they are written. He
therefore tore in two the leaf on which he had wrote them, and threw both
the pieces into a thicket of rose-bushes, where the rest of the company
sought for them in vain. A slight shower falling soon after obliged them
to return to the house. The envious man, who stayed in the garden,
continued the search till at last he found a piece of the leaf. It had
been torn in such a manner that each half of a line formed a complete
sense, and even a verse of a shorter measure; but what was still more
surprising, these short verses were found to contain the most injurious
reflections on the king. They ran thus:
To flagrant crimes
His crown he owes,
To peaceful times
The worst of foes.
The envious man was now happy for the first time of his life. He had it in
his power to ruin a person of virtue and merit. Filled with this fiendlike
joy, he found means to convey to the king the satire written by the hand
of Zadig, who, together with the lady and his two friends, was thrown into
prison.
His trial was soon finished, without his being permitted to speak for
himself. As he was going to receive his sentence, the envious man threw
himself in his way and told him with a loud voice that his verses were
good for nothing. Zadig did not value himself on being a good poet; but it
filled him with inexpressible concern to find that he was condemned for
high treason; and that the fair lady and his two friends were confined in
prison for a crime of which they were not guilty. He was not allowed to
speak because his writing spoke for him. Such was the law of Babylon.
Accordingly he was conducted to the place of execution, through an immense
crowd of spectators, who durst not venture to express their pity for him,
but who carefully examined his countenance to see if he died with a good
grace. His relations alone were inconsolable, for they could not succeed
to his estate. Three-fourths of his wealth were confiscated into the
king's treasury, and the other fourth was given to the envious man.
Just as he was preparing for death the king's parrot flew from its cage
and alighted on a rosebush in Zadig's garden. A peach had been driven
thither by the wind from a neighboring tree, and had fallen on a piece of
the written leaf of the pocketbook to which it stuck. The bird carried off
the peach and the paper and laid them on the king's knee. The king took up
the paper with great eagerness and read the words, which formed no sense,
and seemed to be the endings of verses. He loved poetry; and there is
always some mercy to be expected from a prince of that disposition. The
adventure of the parrot set him a-thinking.
The queen, who remembered what had been written on the piece of Zadig's
pocketbook, caused it to be brought. They compared the two pieces together
and found them to tally exactly; they then read the verses as Zadig had
wrote them.
TYRANTS ARE PRONE TO FLAGRANT CRIMES.
TO CLEMENCY HIS CROWN HE OWES.
TO CONCORD AND TO PEACEFUL TIMES.
LOVE ONLY IS THE WORST OF FOES.
The king gave immediate orders that Zadig should be brought before him,
and that his two friends and the lady should be set at liberty. Zadig fell
prostrate on the ground before the king and queen; humbly begged their
pardon for having made such bad verses and spoke with so much propriety,
wit, and good sense, that their majesties desired they might see him
again. He did himself that honor, and insinuated himself still farther
into their good graces. They gave him all the wealth of the envious man;
but Zadig restored him back the whole of it. And this instance of
generosity gave no other pleasure to the envious man than that of having
preserved his estate.
The king's esteem for Zadig increased every day. He admitted him into all
his parties of pleasure, and consulted him in all affairs of state. From
that time the queen began to regard him with an eye of tenderness that
might one day prove dangerous to herself, to the king, her august comfort,
to Zadig, and to the kingdom in general. Zadig now began to think that
happiness was not so unattainable as he had formerly imagined.