CHAPTER I.

VOLTAIRE'S ROMANCES

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.

_A NEW EDITION_,

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS.

[Illustration: M. de VOLTAIRE.]

I choose that a story should be founded on probability, and not

always resemble a dream. I desire to find nothing in it trivial or

extravagant; and I desire above all, that under the appearance of

fable there may appear some latent truth, obvious to the discerning

eye, though it escape the observation of the vulgar.--_Voltaire._

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.

NEW YORK:

PUBLISHED BY PETER ECKLER,

35 FULTON STREET.

1889.

[Illustration: Ancient writing implements, Pompeii.]

PUBLISHER'S PREFACE

Voltaire wrote what the people thought, and consequently his writings

were universally read. He wittily ridiculed established abuses, and

keenly satirized venerable absurdities. For this he was consigned to the

Bastile, and this distinction served to increase his popularity and

extend his influence. He was thus enabled to cope successfully with the

papal hierarchy, and laugh at the murmurs of the Vatican. The struggle

commenced in his youth, and continued till his death. It was a struggle

of light against darkness--of freedom against tyranny; and it ended in

the triumph of truth over error and of toleration over bigotry.

Educated by the Jesuits, he early learned their methods, and his great

ability enabled him to circumvent their wiles. The ceremonious

presentation of his tragedy of _Mahomet_[1] to Pope Benedict XIV., is an

example of his daring audacity;--his success with the "head of the

church" shows his intellectual superiority--whilst the gracious reply of

"his Holiness" fitly illustrates the pontiff's vanity. From priest to

bishop, from cardinal to pope, all felt his intellectual power and all

dreaded his merciless satire.

[Illustration: Voltaire at seventy.]

He was famous as poet, dramatist, historian, and philosopher. An

experienced courtier and polished writer, he gracefully and politely

conquered his clerical opponents, and with courteous irony overthrew his

literary critics. From his demeanor you could not judge of his thoughts

or intentions, and while listening to his compliments, you instinctively

dreaded his sarcasms. But venture to approach this grand seigneur, this

keen man of the world, this intellectual giant, and plead in favor of

human justice--appeal to his magnanimity and love of toleration--and you

then had no cause to question his earnestness, no reason to doubt his

sincerity. His blood boiled, says Macaulay,[2] at the sight of cruelty

and injustice, and in an age of religious persecution, judicial torture,

and arbitrary imprisonment, he made manful war, with every faculty he

possessed, on what he considered as abuses; and on many signal

occasions, placed himself gallantly between the powerful and the

oppressed. "When an innocent man was broken on the wheel at Toulouse,

when a youth, guilty only of an indiscretion, was beheaded at Abbéville,

when a brave officer, borne down by public injustice, was dragged, with

a gag in his mouth, to die on the Place de Grêve, a voice instantly went

forth from the banks of Lake Leman, which made itself heard from Moscow

to Cadiz, and which sentenced the unjust judges to the contempt and

detestation of all Europe."

"None can read these stories of the horrible religious bigotry of the

day," says Alex. A. Knox, in _The Nineteenth Century_,[3] "without

feeling for Voltaire reverence and respect."

The following extract from the above named Review will explain the

religious cruelty to which Macaulay refers:

"Jean Calas, a Protestant, kept a small shop in Toulouse. He had a

scape-grace of a son, Marc Antoine by name, who hanged himself in

his father's shop. The poor father and mother were up stairs at the

time, at supper, in company with the second son. The evidence was

so clear that a coroner's jury at a public-house would not have

turned round upon it. The priests and the priest party got hold of

it, and turned it into a religious crime. The Protestant, or

Huguenot parents were charged with murdering their son for fear he

should turn Catholic. The body was taken to the Hôtel de Ville, and

then escorted by priests to the cathedral. The religious

orders--White Penitents and others--held solemn ceremonies for the

repose of Marc Antoine's soul. The churches resounded with the

exhortations of the priests, informing the people what evidence was

required to procure the condemnation of the Calas, and directing

them to come forward as witnesses. Upon such assumptions as these

horrible people could devise, the poor old man was stretched till

his limbs were torn out of the sockets. He was then submitted to

the _question extraordinaire_. This consisted in pouring water into

his mouth from a horn till his body was swollen to twice its size.

The man had been drowned a hundred times over, but he was still

alive. He was then carried to the scaffold and his limbs were

broken with an iron bar, and he was left for two hours to die. He

did not then die, and so the executioner strangled him at last; but

he died without confessing his crime. The man was innocent; he had

no confession to make. The poor creature by his unutterable agony

thus saved the lives of his wife and family, all as innocent as

himself. Two daughters were thrust into a convent: a son shammed

conversion to Catholicism and was released. The servant escaped

into a convent. The property of the family was confiscated. The

poor mother slipped away unseen. Finally, another son, who had been

apprenticed to a watchmaker of Nismes, escaped to Geneva. This is a

picture of France in the eighteenth century.

"Voltaire took poor young Calas into his family. He tried at once

to interest the Cardinal de Bernis, the Duc de Choiseul, and others

in this horrible story. He found for the widow a comfortable

retreat at Paris; he employed the best lawyers he could find to

give practical form to the business; he sent the daughters to join

the mother. He paid all the expenses out of his own pocket. He

reached the Chancellor; he made his appeal to Europe. He employed a

clever young advocate M. Elie de Beaumont, to conduct the cast. The

Queen of England, Frederick the Great, Catharine of Russia, were

induced by Voltaire to help the Calas.

"The case of the Sirvens was well-nigh as bad as that of the Calas.

Sirven lived with his wife and three daughters, all Protestants,

near Toulouse. The story is so illustrative of the France of the

eighteenth century, and of what Voltaire was about, that it

deserves a few lines. Sirven's housekeeper, a Roman Catholic, with

the assent of the Bishop of Castres, spirited away the youngest

daughter, and placed her in a convent of the Black Ladies with a

view to her conversion. She returned to her parents in a state of

insanity, her body covered with the marks of the whip. She never

recovered from the cruelties she had endured at the convent. One

day, when her father was absent on his professional duties, she

threw herself into a well, at the bottom of which she was found

drowned. It was obvious to the authorities that the parents had

murdered their child because she wished to become a Roman Catholic.

They most wisely did not appear, and were sentenced to be hanged

when they could be caught. In their flight the married daughter

gave premature birth to a child; and Madame Sirven died in despair.

It took Voltaire ten years to get this abominable sentence

reversed, and to turn wrong into right.

"A Protestant gentleman, M. Espinasse, had been condemned to the

galleys for life and his estate confiscated because he had given

supper and lodging to a Protestant clergyman. He served

twenty-three years; but in 1763 Voltaire obtained his release, and

ultimately obtained back for the family a portion of their

property.

"The Chevalier de la Barre was another victim. Some person or

persons unknown had hacked with a knife a wooden crucifix which

stood on a bridge at Abbéville over the Somme. The same night a

crucifix on one of the cemeteries was bespattered with mud. The

bishop of the place set to work to stir up excitement, praying for

punishment 'on those who had rendered themselves worthy of the

severest punishment known to the world's law.' Young De la Barre

was arrested. The evidence against him was that he, with certain

companions, had been known to pass within thirty yards of a

procession bearing the Sacrament without taking off their hats. It

was further proved in evidence that he and his friends had sung

certain objectionable songs, and that not only some novels had been

found in his rooms, but also two small volumes of Voltaire's

_Dictionnaire Philosophique_. On this evidence he was sentenced to

be subjected to the torture, ordinary and extraordinary; to have

his tongue torn out by the roots with pincers of iron, to have his

right hand cut off at the door of the principal church at

Abbéville, to be drawn in a cart to the market-place, and there to

be burned to death by a slow fire. The sentence was mitigated so

far that he was allowed to be beheaded before he was burned. This

sentence was carried out on the 1st of July, 1766. These are

samples of what was occurring in France. Was there not enough to

rouse indignation to fever-heat?

"When one reads such stories, even at this distance of time, he

understands the French Revolution and Voltaire."

In all his writings Voltaire claimed to be religious, and was as ready

to oppose with his sarcasms the agnostic or atheist, as the catholic. In

speaking of Tully as a doubter, he makes Pococurante exclaim: "I once

had some liking for his philosophical works; but when I found he

doubted of everything, I thought I knew as much as himself, and had no

need of a guide to learn ignorance."

But while Voltaire was a Theist--as Lord Brougham says,[4] "without any

hesitation or any intermission, a Theist"--and was a firm believer in

the existence of a Creator and ruler of the universe,--he was also an

avowed opponent of Catholicism; and when not engaged in the production

of works which have added dignity to the literature of France, his life

was passed in open warfare with the church of Rome. To this church he

was as sincerely opposed as Martin Luther, and although his methods of

attack and opposition differed entirely from that of the great German

reformer, who shall say that his efforts have not proved even more

successful? Macaulay has shown[5] that no Catholic nation has become

Protestant since the period of the Reformation; while on the other hand,

no nation once Protestant, has returned to Catholicism. Each party has

retained its own territory, and the only gain has been in favor of

religious freedom. The sincere and earnest appeals of Luther, which

convulsed Germany, produced but little or no effect on the versatile

mind of France. But the brilliant writings of Voltaire were welcomed by

his countrymen, and have not been without their influence on French

civilization. And although France has not been claimed as a protestant

nation, yet freethinkers have there attained great power and influence,

whilst Germany, once the stronghold of Protestantism, is now the chosen

and hospitable home of freethought.

Voltaire in his day was an acknowledged leader of public opinion. His

thoughts engrossed the attention of the world. "Whole nations," says

Quinet,[6] "emulously repeat every syllable that falls from his pen:"

and the lapse of time has but confirmed the verdict of his

cotemporaries, that of all the great reformers, his writings are the

most useful to mankind.

"If we judge of men by what they have _done_" says Lamartine,[7] "then

Voltaire is incontestably the greatest writer of modern Europe. No one

has caused, through the powerful influence of his genius alone, and the

perseverance of his will, so great a commotion in the minds of men; his

pen aroused a world, and has shaken a far mightier empire than that of

Charlemagne, the European empire of a theocracy. His genius was not

_force_ but _light_. Heaven had destined him not to destroy but to

illuminate, and wherever he trod light followed him, for reason (which

is _light_) had destined him to be first her poet, then her apostle, and

lastly her idol."

At seventeen years of age Voltaire wrote _Œdipus_, at eighty-three he

wrote _Irène_. During the intervening years he enriched the world of

thought with seventy volumes of irresistible humor--of brilliant and

caustic wit,--in truth, a mine of literary gems undimmed with

mediocrity's prosy dullness. In fact, it was this quality of humor and

mirth that made Voltaire's writings so distasteful to his opponents--so

welcome to mankind. Other writers, who went far beyond Voltaire, were

not considered dangerous, because they were never read. They were

sincere and learned, but tedious and austere. Their disbelief was

condoned by its metaphysical obscurity--their skepticism was redeemed by

its unmitigated dullness. But with Voltaire the case was very different.

His writings were read and appreciated by old or young, grave or gay,

sage or sophist, prince or peasant. To answer him was impossible--to

abuse him was thought commendable.

"Napoleon, during fifteen years," says Lamartine,[8] "paid writers who

degrade, vilify, and deny the genius of Voltaire; he hated his name as

_might_ must ever _hate intellect_; and so long as men yet cherished the

memory of Voltaire--so long he felt his position was not secure." The

church voluntarily joined in this work of aspersion. To the priests it

was no hardship,--it was a welcome task--a labor of love. They hated the

writings they could not answer--the genius they could not destroy.

"The church," says Macaulay,[9] "made no defense, except by acts of

power. Censures were pronounced; books were seized; insults were offered

to the remains of infidel writers but no Bossuet, no Pascal, came forth

to encounter Voltaire. There appeared not a single defense of the

catholic doctrine which produced any considerable effect, or which is

even now remembered."

"His element," says Schlosser,[10] "was the lighter kind of poetry, and

his fugitive verses, his sharp wit, his bold opinions, produced effects

in his time, like flashes of lightning, for they illuminated at the same

time the night of Jesuitical superstition, and struck and shivered to

pieces the majestic towers and gothic domes of the middle ages.

"The so-called fugitive pieces alone, if he had written nothing else,

would have been sufficient to secure Voltaire's immortality; for in

these he is altogether in his sphere; he has only to think of the people

whom he calls exclusively the world, and he can direct every spark of

his genius to the production of instantaneous effect, delight his reader

by his fancy, and surprise him by his wit.

"The chief aim of each one of Voltaire's small novels is the overthrow

and refutation of some ruling opinion, and this object is admirably

attained by the story itself, and by weaving in sarcasms, because this

rendered all reply and refutation impossible. Seriousness could never

have reached the readers of these novels, or would immediately weary

them; and every attempt to rival Voltaire in a strain of pleasantry and

satire, would have been a folly.

"In _Zadig_ he shows palpably and obviously how entirely devoid of

reason and taste the usual moral and edifying considerations upon the

way of Providence, upon a God who thinks, counsels, acts, and conducts

the affairs of the world as a man, must appear to the bold scoffer.

Voltaire, we would say, confined and limited the doctrine of an

immediate guidance of human affairs by the hand of Divine Providence,

wholly to the church and to the faith of the people; he roofed it out of

higher life and out of science by means of his dreadful ridicule. By his

narratives he made that obvious, which indeed is easily made palpable

enough, because it is undeniable, that the theory of a palpable guidance

of human affairs by an ever-manifesting interposing Providence, may be

just as easily refuted as proved by history and experience. In _Memnon_

is shown, in an admirable manner, how the multitude are enamoured of

their prudence, and laugh at nature and its feelings. In the _Ingenu_,

the witty man yields himself up wholly to his humor and to accident, and

brings forth a rich abundance of wit and flashes of genius with respect

to the most various subjects."

"Voltaire had the genius of criticism," says Lamartine,[11] "that power

of raillery which withers all it overthrows. He had made human nature

laugh at itself, had felled it low in order to raise it, had laid bare

before it all errors, prejudices, iniquities, and crimes of ignorance;

he had urged it to rebellion against consecrated ideas, not by the ideal

but by sheer contempt. Destiny gave him eighty years of existence, that

he might slowly decompose the decayed age; he had the time to combat

against time, and when he fell he was the conqueror.

"Such were the elements of the revolution in religious matters. Voltaire

laid hold of them, at the precise moment, with that _coup d'œil_ of

strong instinct which sees clearer than genius itself. To an age young,

fickle, and unreflecting, he did not present reason under the form of an

austere philosophy, but beneath the guise of a facile freedom of ideas,

and a scoffing irony. He would not have succeeded in making his age

think, he did succeed in making it smile. He never attacked it in front,

nor with his face uncovered, in order that he might not set the laws in

array against him; and to avoid the fate of Servetus, he, the modern

Æsop, attacked under imaginary names the tyranny which he wished, to

destroy. He concealed his hate in history, the drama, light poetry,

romance, and even in jests. His genius was a perpetual allusion,

comprehending all his age, but impossible to be seized on by his

enemies. He struck, but his hand was concealed. Yet the struggle of a

man against a priesthood, an individual against an institution, a life

against eighteen centuries, was by no means destitute of courage.

"There is an incalculable power of conviction and devotion of idea, in

the daring of one against all. To brave at once, with no other power

than individual reason, with no other support than conscience, human

consideration, that cowardice of the mind, masked under respect for

error; to dare the hatred of earth and the anathema of heaven, is the

heroism of the writer. Voltaire was not a martyr in his body, but he

consented to be one in his name, and devoted it during his life and

after his death. He condemned his own ashes to be thrown to the winds,

and not to have either an asylum or a tomb. He resigned himself even to

lengthened exile in exchange for the liberty of a free combat. He

isolated himself voluntarily from men, in order that their too close

contact might not interfere with his thoughts.

"At eighty years of age, feeble, and feeling his death nearly

approaching, he several times made his preparations hastily, in order to

go and struggle still, and die at a distance from the roof of his old

age. The unwearied activity of his mind was never checked for a moment.

He carried his gaiety even to genius, and under that pleasantry of his

whole life we may perceive a grave power of perseverance and conviction.

Such was the character of this great man. The enlightened serenity of

his mind concealed the depth of its workings: under the joke and laugh

his constancy of purpose was hardly sufficiently recognized. He suffered

all with a laugh, and was willing to endure all, even in absence from

his native land, in his lost friendships, in his refused fame, in his

blighted name, in his memory accursed. He took all--bore all--for the

sake of the triumph of the independence of human reason."

The manners and customs of the eighteenth century differ widely from

those of the nineteenth. Certain words and phrases that were then in

common use are now wisely suppressed. Lecky says very truly,[12] that "a

Roman of the age of Pliny, an Englishman of the age of Henry VIII., and

an Englishman of our own day, would all agree in regarding humanity as a

virtue, and its opposite as a vice; but their judgments of the acts

which are compatible with a humane disposition would be widely

different."

The enemies of freethought have taken advantage of this fact--this

change in modes of expression--this refinement in literature--to defame

the memory of Voltaire. They denounce _La Pucelle_ or _The Maid of

Orleans_ for language and expressions, formerly popular in court circles

and sanctioned by the nobility and ladies of fashion, but which,

happily, have now become obsolete. They judge the license of the

eighteenth century--the license and profligacy which accompany

ecclesiasticism and monasticism--by nineteenth century standards. If the

same rule were applied to other writers, none would have cause to

complain. But, unfortunately, an exception has been unjustly made in

favor of the language employed by historians like Moses and Solomon, by

poets like Shakspeare and Pope, by theologians like Rabelais and Swift,

by novelists like Fielding and Smollett. In short, immodest language

cannot be redeemed by wit, by learning, or by pretended revelation, and

should always and invariably be suppressed; but writers should be judged

by the manners and customs of their age, and not by modern standards.

There are many passages in the old classic authors that were formerly

considered in good taste, which cannot now be commended. Still, the gold

outweighs the dross, and we should remember the laxity and

licentiousness of the times in which those books were written.

The romances and tales in this publication have been selected for their

graceful and sprightly wit, as well as genial humor and keen satire; and

further, because they are free from even a suspicion of impropriety.

They each teach a lesson of wisdom and morality--they teach courage,

fortitude and resignation, and, what is perhaps of even greater

importance, they also tend to free the mind from the baneful errors of

priestcraft and superstition.

"The most interesting adventures are related to no sort of purpose,"

says Voltaire in one of his essays, "if they do not convey, at the same

time, a description of manners. And even this is but a frivolous

amusement, if that description does not contribute to inspire us with

sentiments of virtue. I dare assert that, from the _Henriade_ to _Zara_

and down to the Chinese tragedy of _The Orphan of Tchao_ such was always

the aim I proposed, and the principle that conducted me. In the history

of the age of Louis the fourteenth, I have celebrated my king and

country, without flattering either. In these endeavors have I spent

above forty years. But here is the advice of a Chinese philosopher,

whose writings are translated into Spanish, by the famous _Navarette_:

"'If you write a book, show it only to your friends. Dread the public

and your brother authors. They will embitter your expressions,

misrepresent your meaning, and impute to you, what you never thought of.

Calumny, which has an hundred mouths, will open them against you; and

truth, which is silent, will remain with you.'"

It has been said of Voltaire that he was "not only just, but generous in

his dealings with others. With open purse and open heart, helpful to all

who approached him. Collini, his secretary, said he was a miser _only of

his time_, which was always usefully employed. But we are also told that

there was one person to whom he could not even deny his time--it was

Mademoiselle de Varicourt--_Belle-et-Bonne_--whom he had adopted, and

who was afterward married to the Marquis de Villette. "She could never

disturb him," says A.A. Knox, "not even when he was giving the last

touches to _Irène_. If he were in a passion with anybody else, and she

appeared in the room, he was at once gentle and calm. There is something

very affecting in the old man's love and tenderness for this young

girl."

After the success of the French Revolution, to which the writings of

Voltaire had so greatly contributed, when the National Assembly ordered

the removal of his remains to the Pantheon, to repose between the ashes

of Descartes and Mirabeau--when France honored herself in honoring the

great philosopher--it was _Belle-et-Bonne_--in the full splendor of her

majestic beauty--her heart overflowing with tenderness and

gratitude--her eyes dimmed with pathetic tears--who placed with loving

hands on the bier of her noble benefactor the wreath of filial

affection--the grandest tribute that humanity can bestow.

PETER ECKLER.

_New York, Jan. 28, 1885._

[1] This work, says Prof. F.C. Schlosser in his _History of the

Eighteenth Century_, (vol. ii, p. 122.) "was sent to the pope, and very

favorably received by him; although it could not possibly escape the

notice of the pope, that the piece was indebted for its chief effect

upon the public, to the vehement expressions against religious

fanaticism which it contained. The pope felt himself flattered by the

transmission of the _Mahomet_, and notified his approbation, of which

Voltaire cunningly enough availed himself, for the advantage of his new

principles."

[2] _Critical and Historical Essays_, page 553.

[3] Vol. iv, No. 39.

[4] _Men of Letters of the time of George III._

[5] _Critical & Historical Essays_, p. 553.

[6] _Lectures on the Romish Church._

[7] _History of the Girondists_, vol. i, p. 152.

[8] _History of the Girondists_, vol. i, p. 152.

[9] _Critical and Historical Essays_, p. 553.

[10] _History of the Eighteenth Century_, vol. i, pp. 263-269.

[11] _History of the Girondists_, vol. i, pp. 15, 154, 155, 156.

[12] _History of European Morals_, vol. i, page iii.

* * * * *

The illustrations in this work and a few notes have been added by the

publisher. The head of Voltaire in the frontispiece is from a bust by

Houdon, and is copied from an engraving published by Messrs. J. & H.L.

Hunt, London, 1824. It represents the gifted author as he appeared in

his eighty-third year. The full-length portrait of Voltaire on page iii,

shows him in his seventieth year, and the remaining portrait, on page

xii, gives his likeness in early manhood; it is from a French edition of

his works published in 1746.

[Illustration: Voltaire at thirty.]

CONTENTS.

THE WHITE BULL: A SATIRICAL ROMANCE.

CHAPTER I. How the Princess Amasidia meets a bull.

CHAPTER II. How the wise Mambres, formerly magician

of Pharoah, knew again the old woman, and was known

by her.

CHAPTER III. How the beautiful Amasidia had a secret

conversation with a beautiful serpent.

CHAPTER IV. How they wanted to sacrifice the bull and

exorcise the Princess.

CHAPTER V. How the wise Mambres conducted himself wisely.

CHAPTER VI. How Mambres met three prophets, and gave

them a good dinner.

CHAPTER VII. How king Amasis wanted to give the White

Bull to be devoured by the fish of Jonah, and did not

do it.

CHAPTER VIII. How the serpent told stories to the

Princess to comfort her.

CHAPTER IX. How the serpent did not comfort the Princess.

CHAPTER X. How they wanted to behead the Princess, and

did not do it.

CHAPTER XI. Apotheosis of the White Bull. Triumph of the

wise Mambres. The seven years proclaimed by Daniel are

accomplished. Nebuchadnezzar resumes the human form, marries

the beautiful Amasidia, and ascends the throne of Babylon.

ZADIG; OR FATE.

Approbation.

Epistle dedicatory to the Sultana Sheraa.

I. The Blind of one Eye.

II. The Nose.

III. The Dog and the Horse.

IV. The Envious Man.

V. The Generous.

VI. The Minister.

VII. The Disputes and the Audiences.

VIII. Jealousy.

IX. The Woman Beater.

X. Slavery.

XI. The Funeral Pile.

XII. The Supper.

XIII. The Rendezvous.

XIV. The Robber.

XV. The Fisherman.

XVI. The Basilisk.

XVII. The Combats.

XVIII. The Hermit.

XIX. The Enigmas.

THE SAGE AND THE ATHEIST.

Introduction

CHAPTER I. Adventures of Johnny, a young Englishman,

written by Donna Las Nalgas

CHAPTER II. Continuation of the adventures of John,

the young Englishman; also those of his worthy father,

D.D., M.P., and F.R.S.

CHAPTER III. Summary of the controversy of the "Buts,"

between Mr. Freind and Don Inigo-y-Medroso, y-Comodios,

y-Papalamiendos, Bachelor of Salamanca

CHAPTER IV. John returns to London and is led into

bad company

CHAPTER V. They want to get John married

CHAPTER VI. A terrible adventure

CHAPTER VII. What happened in America

CHAPTER VIII. Dialogue between Freind and Birton

on Atheism

CHAPTER IX. On Atheism

CHAPTER X. On Atheism

CHAPTER XI. Return to England--John's marriage

THE PRINCESS OF BABYLON.

I. Royal contest for the hand of Formosanta

II. The King of Babylon convenes his Council and consults

the Oracle

III. Royal festival given in honor of the kingly visitors.

The bird converses eloquently with Formosanta

IV. The beautiful bird is killed by the King of Egypt.

Formosanta begins a journey. Aldea elopes with the King

of Scythia

V. Formosanta visits China and Scythia in search of

Amazan

VI. The Princess continues her journey

VII. Amazan visits Albion

VIII. Amazan leaves Albion to visit the land of Saturn

IX. Amazan visits Rome

X. An unfortunate adventure in Gaul

XI. Amazan and Formosanta become reconciled

THE MAN OF FORTY CROWNS.

I. National Poverty

II. Disaster of the Man of Forty Crowns

III. Conversation with a Geometrician

IV. An adventure with a Carmelite

V. Audience of the Comptroller General

VI. The Man of Forty Crowns marries, becomes a father,

and discants upon the monks

VII. On taxes paid to a foreign power

VIII. On Proportions

IX. A great quarrel

X. A rascal repulsed

XI. The good sense of Mr. Andrew

XII. The good supper at Mr. Andrew's

THE HURON; OR, PUPIL OF NATURE.

I. The Huron arrives in France

II. The Huron, called the Ingenu, acknowledged by

his relatives

III. The Huron converted

IV. The Huron baptized

V. The Huron in love

VI. The Huron flies to his mistress, and becomes

quite furious

VII. The Huron repulses the English

XIII. The Huron goes to Court. Sups upon the road with

some Huguenots

IX. The arrival of the Huron at Versailles. His reception

at Court

X. The Huron is shut up in the Bastile with a Jansenist

XI. How the Huron discloses his genius

XII. The Huron's sentiments upon theatrical pieces

XIII. The beautiful Miss St. Yves goes to Versailles

XIV. Rapid progress of the Huron's intellect

XV. The beautiful Miss St. Yves visits M. de St. Pouange

XVI. Miss St. Yves consults a Jesuit

XVII. The Jesuit triumphs

XVIII. Miss St. Yves delivers her lover and a Jansenist

XIX. The Huron, the beautiful Miss St. Yves, and their

relatives, are convened

XX. The death of the beautiful Miss St. Yves and its

consequences

MICROMEGAS.

I. A voyage to the planet Saturn, by a native of Sirius

II. The conversation between Micromegas and the inhabitant

of Saturn

III. The voyage of these inhabitants of other worlds

IV. What befell them upon this our globe

V. The travelers capture a vessel

VI. What happened in their intercourse with men

THE WORLD AS IT GOES

THE BLACK AND THE WHITE

MEMNON THE PHILOSOPHER

ANDRÉ DES TOUCHES AT SIAM

BABABEC

THE STUDY OF NATURE.

I. Introduction

II. The study of Nature

III. Good advice

IV. Dialogue upon the soul and other topics

A CONVERSATION WITH A CHINESE

PLATO'S DREAM

PLEASURE IN HAVING NO PLEASURE

AN ADVENTURE IN INDIA

JEANNOT AND COLIN

THE TRAVELS OF SCARMENTADO

THE GOOD BRAMIN

THE TWO COMFORTERS

ANCIENT FAITH AND FABLE

ILLUSTRATIONS.

Voltaire, by Houdon--_Frontispiece._

Voltaire, at seventy

Ancient Writing implements, from Pompeii

Voltaire in early manhood

The White Bull

Apis

Silence

Amasidia

The Witch of Endor

The Serpent

Nebuchadnezzar

Lot and his Family

Daniel, Ezekiel & Jeremiah

Egyptian Priests

Winged Bull

The Scape Goat

Caravan approaching Babylon

The Cup

Egyptian Archer

The Funeral Pyre

Oannes--The Fish God

Almona

Zadig and the Brigand

The Basilisk

Zadig and the Queen

Cador concealing Astarte

The Combats

The Hermit

Freind and his wayward Son

Don Jeronimo Bueno Caracurador

Condemned by the Inquisition

Epictetus the Slave

Grand Entrance to Palace

The Phœnix

The King of Scythia rescued from the Lion

The Shrine at Bassora

Consulting the Oracle

Religious Wars in Albion

The Old Man of the Seven Mountains

Kissing an Old Man's Toe

Gaiety and Frivolity

Preservers of Ancient Customs

Dancing a _Tambourin_

Clio, the Muse of History

The Tax Collector

Barefooted Carmelites

Entering the Convent

The Rack

The Priory Entrance

The Huron Identified

Baptism of Hercules

The Separation

The Confessional

Father Tout-à-tous

The Meeting

Death of Miss St. Yves

A Medieval Exploring Vessel

Micromegas captures a Ship

The Blank Book

The Spiritual Rulers of Persepolis

Burying the Dead in Churches

Good and Evil Genii

Young Memnon

Memnon and the Distressed Ninevite

Des Touches and Croutef

Boodh supported by Serpents

The Fakir

The Sphinx

The Study of Nature

The Poor Clergyman

Kwan-yin, Burmese, Buddha, and Chinese Ivory Figure

The Birth of Minerva and Eve--Androgynous Deities

Bacchus and Ariadne

Envy

Plato

Visiting Seignor Pococurante

The "Yawning Oysters"

The School at Issoire

Jeannot and Colin

Religious Emblems

Brama, Vishna, and Siva

The happy Bigot

The two Comforters

The Winged Dragon

[Illustration: The White Bull. A Satyrical Romance.--"Daniel changed a

monarch into this bull, and I have changed this bull into a god!"]

TAURUS.

The object and significance of ancient Tauric and Phallic worship

have been clearly set forth by Dupuis, Payne Knight, and other

learned authors, and we have, even at the present day, a survival

of the ancient faith, in the Mayday festivals of India and Britain,

which were originally instituted to celebrate the entrance of the

sun into the zodiacal sign Taurus, at the vernal equinox, when the

god Osiris was worshiped in Egypt under the form of a bull called

Apis.

"The general devotion of the ancients to the worship of the BULL,"

says the Rev. Mr. Maurice in his learned work on the _Antiquities

of India_, "I have had frequent occasion to remark, and more

particularly in the Indian history, by their devotion to it at that

period 'when the Bull with his horns opened the Vernal year.' I

observed that all nations seem anciently to have vied with each

other in celebrating that blissful epoch; and that the moment the

sun entered the sign Taurus, were displayed the signals of triumph

and the incentives to passion; that memorials of the universal

festivity indulged at that season, are to be found in the records

and customs of people otherwise the most opposite in manners and

most remote in situation;... that the Apis, or Sacred Bull of

Egypt, was only the symbol of the sun in the vigor of vernal youth;

and that the Bull of Japan, breaking with his horn the mundane egg,

was evidently connected with the same bovine species of

superstition, founded on the mixture of astronomy and mythology."

"In many of the most ancient temples or India," says Godfrey

Higgins in the _Anacalypsis_, "the Bull, as an object of adoration

makes a most conspicuous figure. A gigantic image of one protrudes

from the front of the temple of _the Great Creator_, called in the

language of the country, Jaggernaut, in Orissa. This is the Bull of

the Zodiac,--the emblem of the sun when the equinox took place in

the first degree of the sign of the Zodiac, Taurus. In consequence

of the precession of the equinoxes, the sun at the vernal equinox

left Taurus, and took place in Aries, which it has left also for a

great number of years, and it now takes place in Aquarius. Thus it

keeps receding about one degree in seventy-two years, and about a

whole _sign_ in 2,160 years. M. Dupuis has demonstrated that the

labors of Hercules are nothing but a history of the passage of the

sun through the signs of the zodiac; and that Hercules is the sun

in Aries or the Ram, Bacchus the sun in Taurus or the Bull. The

adoration of the Bull of the zodiac is to be met with everywhere

throughout the world, in the most opposite climes. The examples of

it are innumerable and incontrovertable; they admit of no dispute.

"It appears from the book or history of the Exod, that it was on

the leaving of Egypt that Moses changed the object of adoration

from Taurus to Aries. It appears that the change took place on the

mountain of _Sin_, or Nisi, or Bacchus, which was evidently its old

name before Moses arrived there. The Israelites were punished for

adhering to the old worship, that of the Calf, in opposition to the

paschal Lamb, which Moses had substituted--'the Lamb which taketh

away the sins of the world,'--in place of the Bull or Calf which

took away the sins of the world.

"The planets were in later times all called by names appropriated

to the days of the week, which were dedicated by astrologers to the

gods who were typified by the Bull: Monday to the horned _Isis_;

Tuesday to Mercury, the same as Hermes and Osiris; Wednesday to

Woden, Fo, Buddha, and Surya; Thursday or Thor-day, or _Tur_, or

Taurus, or Bull-day, to Jove or Jupiter, who, as a Bull, stole

Europa; Friday was dedicated to Venus, Ashteroth or beeve-horned

Astarte; Saturday to Saturn, identified by Mr. Faber with Moloch

and the _Centaur Cronus_ or Taschter; Sunday to the Sun, everywhere

typified by Taurus. All these, I think, must have taken their names

after the entrance of the Sun into Taurus; and before this date all

history and even mythology fails us.

"In ancient collections we often meet with a person in the prime of

life killing a young bull. He is generally accompanied with a

number of astrological emblems. This Bull was the mediatorial

Mithra, slain to make atonement for, and to take away the sins of

the world. This was the God Bull, to whom the prayers were

addressed which we find in Bryant and Faber, and in which he is

expressly called the Mediator. This is the Bull of Persia, which

Sir. William Jones and Mr. Faber identify with Buddha or Mahabad.

The sacrifice of the Bull, which taketh away the sins of the world,

was succeeded by the sacrifice of the Agni or of Fire, by our

Indians in, comparatively speaking, modern times; it was closely

connected with the two principles spoken of above. While the sun

was in Taurus, the Bull was slain as the vicarious sacrifice; when

it got into Aries, the Ram or Lamb was substituted.

"M. Dupuis observes, that the lamb was a symbol or mark of

initiation into the Christian mysteries, a sort of proof of

admission into the societies of the initiated of the lamb, like the

private sign of the free-masons. It follows, then, that the

mysteries of Christ are the mysteries of the Lamb, and that the

mysteries of the Lamb are mysteries of the same nature as those of

the Mithraitic Bull to which they succeeded by the effect of the

precession of the equinoxes, which substituted the slain _lamb_ for

the slain _bull_."--E.

[Illustration: Apis.][1]

THE WHITE BULL.

CHAPTER I.

HOW THE PRINCESS AMASIDIA MEETS A BULL.

The princess Amasidia, daughter of Amasis, King of Tanis in Egypt, took

a walk upon the highway of Peluaium with the ladies of her train. She

was sunk in deep melancholy. Tears gushed from her beautiful eyes. The

cause of her grief was known, as well as the fears she entertained lest

that grief should displease the king, her father. The old man, Mambres,

ancient magician and eunuch of the Pharoahs, was beside her, and seldom

left her. He was present at her birth. He had educated her, and taught

her all that a fair princess was allowed to know of the sciences of

Egypt. The mind of Amasidia equaled her beauty. Her sensibility and

tenderness rivaled the charms of her person; and it was this sensibility

which cost her so many tears.

The princess was twenty-four years old, the magician, Mambres, about

thirteen hundred. It was he, as every one knows, who had that famous

dispute with Moses, in which the victory was so long doubtful between

these two profound philosophers. If Mambres yielded, it was owing to

the visible protection of the celestial powers, who favored his rival.

It required gods to overcome Mambres!

Amasis made him superintendent of his daughter's household, and he

acquitted himself in this office with his usual prudence. His compassion

was excited by the sighs of the beautiful Amasidia.

"O, my lover!" said she to herself, "my young, my dear lover! O,

greatest of conquerors, most accomplished, most beautiful of men! Almost

seven years hast thou disappeared from the world. What God hath snatched

thee from thy tender Amasidia? Thou art not dead. The wise Egyptian

prophets confess this. But thou art dead to me. I am alone in the world.

To me it is a desert. By what extraordinary prodigy hast thou abandoned

thy throne and thy mistress?--thy throne, which was the first in the

world--however, that is a matter of small consequence; but to abandon

me, who adores thee! O, my dear Ne--"

She was going on.

"Tremble to pronounce that fatal name," said Mambres, the ancient eunuch

and magician of the Pharoahs. "You would perhaps be discovered by some

of the ladies of your court. They are all very much devoted to you, and

all fair ladies certainly make it a merit to serve the noble passions of

fair princesses. But there may be one among them indiscreet, and even

treacherous. You know that your father, although he loves you, has sworn

to put you to death, should you pronounce the terrible name always ready

to escape your lips. This law is severe; but you have not been educated

in Egyptian wisdom to be ignorant of the government of the tongue.

Remember that Hippocrates, one of our greatest gods, has always his

finger upon his mouth."

[Illustration: Silence.]

The beautiful Amasidia wept, and was silent.

As she pensively advanced toward the banks of the Nile she perceived at

a distance, under a thicket watered by the river, an old woman in a

tattered gray garment, seated on a hillock. This old woman had beside

her a she-ass, a dog, and a he-goat. Opposite to her was a serpent,

which was not like the common serpents; for its eyes were mild, its

physiognomy noble and engaging, while its skin shone with the liveliest

and brightest colors. A huge fish, half immersed in the river, was not

the least astonishing figure in the group; and on a neighboring tree

were perched a raven and a pigeon. All these creatures seemed to carry

on a very animated conversation.

[Illustration: Amasidia.--"O, my lover! my young, my dear lover! O,

greatest of conquerors, most accomplished, most beautiful of men!"]

"Alas!" said the princess in a low tone, "these animals undoubtedly

speak of their loves, and it is not so much as allowed me to mention the

name of mine."

The old woman held in her hand a slender steel chain a hundred fathoms

long, to which was fastened a bull who fed in the meadow. This bull was

white, perfectly well-made, plump, and at the same time agile, which is

a thing seldom to be found. He was indeed the most beautiful specimen

that was ever seen of his kind. Neither the bull of Pasiphæ, nor that in

whose shape Jupiter appeared when he carried off Europa, could be

compared to this noble animal. The charming young heifer into which Isis

was changed, would have scarce been worthy of his company.

As soon as the bull saw the princess he ran toward her with the

swiftness of a young Arabian horse, who pricks up his ears and flies

over the plains and rivers of the ancient Saana to approach the lovely

consort whose image reigns in his heart. The old woman used her utmost

efforts to restrain the bull. The serpent wanted to terrify him by its

hissing. The dog followed him and bit his beautiful limbs. The she-ass

crossed his way and kicked him to make him return. The great fish

remounted the Nile and, darting himself out of the water, threatened to

devour him. The he-goat remained immovable, apparently struck with fear.

The raven fluttered round his head as if it wanted to tear out his eyes.

The pigeon alone accompanied him from curiosity, and applauded him by a

sweet murmur.

So extraordinary a sight threw Mambres into serious reflections. In the

meanwhile, the white bull, dragging after him his chain and the old

woman, had already reached the princess, who was struck with

astonishment and fear. He threw himself at her feet. He kissed them. He

shed tears. He looked upon her with eyes in which there was a strange

mixture of grief and joy. He dared not to low, lest he should terrify

the beautiful Amasidia. He could not speak. A weak use of the voice,

granted by Heaven to certain animals, was denied him; but all his

actions were eloquent. The princess was delighted by him. She perceived

that a trifling amusement could suspend for some moments even the most

poignant grief.

"Here," said she, "is a most amiable animal. I could wish much to have

him in my stable."

At these words he bull bent himself on his knees and kissed the ground.

"He understands me," cried the princess. "He shows me that he wants to

be mine. Ah, heavenly magician! ah, divine eunuch! Give me this

consolation. Purchase this beautiful bovine. Settle the price with the

old woman, to whom he no doubt belongs. This animal must be mine. Do not

refuse me this innocent comfort."

All the ladies joined their requests to the entreaties of the princess.

Mambres yielded to them, and immediately went to speak to the old woman.

[1] According to Eschenburg, Apis is the name of the ox in which Osiris

was supposed to reside, rather than a distinct deity. The ox thus

honored was known by certain marks; his body was all black, excepting a

square spot of white on his forehead, and a white crescent or sort of

half-moon on his right side; on his back was the figure of an eagle;

under his tongue a sort of knot resembling a beetle (_cantharus_), and

two sorts of hair upon his tail. This ox was permitted to live

twenty-five years. His body was then embalmed, placed in a chest, and

buried with many solemnities. A season of mourning then followed, until

a new Apis, or ox properly marked, was discovered.--E.

CHAPTER II.

HOW THE WISE MAMBRES, FORMERLY MAGICIAN OF PHAROAH, KNEW AGAIN THE OLD

WOMAN, AND WAS KNOWN BY HER.

"Madam," said Mambres to her, "you know that ladies, and particularly

princesses, have need of amusement. The daughter of the king is

distractedly fond of your bull. I beg that you will sell him to us. You

shall be paid in ready money."

"Sir," answered the old woman, "this precious animal does not belong to

me. I am charged, together with all the beasts which you see, to keep

him with care, to watch all his motions, and to give an exact account of

them. God forbid that I should ever have any inclination to sell this

invaluable animal."

[Illustration: The remarkable witch of Endor.--"What, is it indeed you,"

cried Mambres, "who are so famous upon the banks of your little Jordan,

and the first person in the world for raising apparitions?"]

Mambres, upon this discourse, began to have a confused remembrance of

something which he could not yet properly distinguish. He eyed the old

woman in the gray cloak with greater attention.

"Respectable lady," said he to her, "I either mistake, or I have seen

you formerly."

"I make no mistake, sir," replied the old woman. "I have seen you seven

hundred years ago, in a journey which I made from Syria into Egypt some

months after the destruction of Troy, when Hiram the second reigned at

Tyre, and Nephel Keres in ancient Egypt."

"Ah! madam," cried the old man, "you are the remarkable witch of Endor."

"And you, sir," said the sorceress, embracing him, "are the great

Mambres of Egypt."

"O, unforeseen meeting! memorable day! eternal decrees!" said Mambres.

"It certainly is not without permission of the universal providence that

we meet again in this meadow upon the banks of the Nile near the noble

city of Tanis. What, is it indeed you," continued Mambres, "who are so

famous upon the banks of your little Jordan, and the first person in the

world for raising apparitions?"

"What, is it you, sir," replied Miss Endor, "who are so famous for

changing rods into serpents, the day into darkness, and rivers into

blood?"

"Yes, madam, but my great age has in part deprived me of my knowledge

and power. I am ignorant from whence you have this beautiful bull, and

who these animals are that, together with you, watch round him."

The old woman, recollecting herself, raised her eyes to heaven, and then

replied.

"My dear Mambres. We are of the same profession, but it is expressly

forbidden me to tell you who this bull is. I can satisfy you with regard

to the other animals. You will easily know them by the marks which

characterize them. The serpent is that which persuaded Eve to eat an

apple, and to make her husband partake of it. The ass, that which spoke

to your contemporary, Balaam, in a remarkable discourse. The fish, which

always carries its head above water, is that which swallowed Jonah a few

years ago. The dog is he who followed Raphael and the young Tobit in

their journey to Ragusa in Media, in the time of the great Salamanzar.

This goat is he who expiates all the sins of your nation. The raven and

the pigeon, those which were in the ark of Noah. Great event! universal

catastrophe! of which almost all the world is still ignorant. You are

now informed. But of the bull you can know nothing."

Mambres, having listened with respect, said:

"The Eternal, O illustrious witch! reveals and conceals what he thinks

proper. All these animals who, together with you, are entrusted with the

custody of the white bull, are only known to your generous and agreeable

nation, which is itself unknown to almost all the world. The miracles

which you and yours, I and mine, have performed, shall one day be a

great subject of doubt and scandal to inquisitive philosophers. But

happily these miracles shall find belief with the devout sages, who

shall prove submissive to the enlightened in one corner of the world;

and this is all that is necessary."

As he spoke these words, the princess pulled him by the sleeve, and said

to him,--

"Mambres, will you not buy my bull?"

The magician, plunged into a deep reverie, made no reply, and Amasidia

poured forth her tears.

She then addressed herself to the old woman.

"My good woman," said she, "I conjure you, by all you hold most dear in

the world, by your father, by your mother, by your nurse, who are

certainly still alive, to sell me not only your bull, but likewise your

pigeon, which seems very much attached to him.

"As for the other animals, I do not want them; but I shall catch the

vapors if you do not sell me this charming bull, who will be all the

happiness of my life."

The old woman respectfully kissed the fringe of her gauze robe, and

replied,--

"Princess, my bull is not to be sold. Your illustrious magician is

acquainted with this. All that I can do for your service is, to permit

him to feed every day near your palace. You may caress him, give him

biscuits, and make him dance about at your pleasure; but he must always

be under the eyes of all these animals who accompany me, and who are

charged with the keeping of him. If he does not endeavor to escape from

them, they will prove peaceable; but if he attempt once more to break

his chain, as he did upon seeing you, woe be unto him. I would not then

answer for his life. This large fish, which you see, will certainly

swallow him, and keep him longer than _three_ days in his belly; or this

serpent, who appears to you so mild, will give him a mortal sting."

The white bull, who understood perfectly the old woman's conversation,

but was unable to speak, humbly accepted all the proposals. He laid

himself down at her feet; he lowed softly, and, looking tenderly at

Amasidia, seemed to say to her,

"Come and see me sometimes upon the lawn."

The serpent now took up the conversation:

"Princess," said he, "I advise you to act implicitly, as mademoiselle of

Endor has told you."

The she-ass likewise put in her word, and was of the opinion of the

serpent.

Amasidia was afflicted that this serpent and this ass should speak so

well; while a beautiful bull, who had such noble and tender sentiments,

was unable to express them.

"Alas," said she, in a low voice, "nothing is more common at court. One

sees there every day fine lords who cannot converse, and contemptible

wretches who speak with assurance."

"This serpent," said Mambres, "is not a contemptible wretch. He is

perhaps the personage of the greatest importance."

The day now declined, and the princess was obliged to return home, after

having promised to come back next day at the same hour. Her ladies of

the palace were astonished, and understood nothing of what they had seen

or heard. Mambres made reflections. The princess recollecting that the

serpent called the old woman Miss, concluded at random that she was

still unmarried, and felt some affliction that such was also her own

condition. Respectable affliction! which she concealed, however, with as

much care as the name of her lover.

CHAPTER III.

HOW THE BEAUTIFUL AMASIDIA HAD A SECRET CONVERSATION WITH A BEAUTIFUL

SERPENT.

The beautiful princess recommended secrecy to her ladies with regard to

what they had seen. They all promised it, and kept their promise for a

whole day.

We may believe that Amasidia slept little that night. An inexplicable

charm continually recalled the idea of her beautiful bull. As soon,

therefore, as she was at freedom with her wise Mambres, she said to him:

"O, sage! this animal turns my head."

"He employs mine very much," said Mambres. "I see plainly that this

bovine is very much superior to those of his species. I see that there

is a great mystery, and I suspect a fatal event. Your father Amasis is

suspicious and violent; and this affair requires that you conduct

yourself with the greatest precaution."

"Ah!" said the princess, "I have too much curiosity to be prudent. It is

the only sentiment which can unite in my heart with that which preys

upon me on account of the lover I have lost. Can I not know who this

white bull is that gives me such strange disquiet?"

Mambres replied,--

"I have already confessed to you, frankly, that my knowledge declines in

proportion as my age advances; but I mistake much if the serpent is not

informed of what you are so very desirous of knowing. He does not want

sense. He expresses himself with propriety. He has been long accustomed

to interfere in the affairs of the ladies."

"Ah! undoubtedly," said Amasidia, "this is the beautiful serpent of

Egypt, who, by fixing his tail into his mouth, becomes the emblem of

eternity; who enlightens the world when he opens his eyes, and darkens

it when he shuts them?"

"No, Miss."

"It is then the serpent of Æsculapius?"

"Still less."

"It is perhaps Jupiter under the figure of a serpent?"

"Not at all."

"Ah, now I see, I see. It is the rod which you formerly changed into a

serpent?"

"No, indeed, it is not; but all these serpents are of the same family.

This one has a very high character in his own country. He passes there

for the most extraordinary serpent that was ever seen. Address yourself

to him. However, I warn you it is a dangerous undertaking. Were I in

your place, I would hardly trouble myself either with the bull, the

she-ass, the he-goat, the serpent, the fish, the raven, or the pigeon.

But passion hurries you on; and all I can do is to pity you, and

tremble."

The princess conjured him to procure her a tête-à-tête with the serpent.

Mambres, who was obliging, consented, and making profound reflections,

he went and communicated to the witch in so insinuating a manner the

whim of the princess, that the old woman told him Amasidia might lay her

commands upon her; that the serpent was perfectly well bred, and so

polite to the ladies, that he wished for nothing more than to oblige

them, and would not fail to keep the princess's appointment.

The ancient magician returned to inform the princess of this good news;

but he still dreaded some misfortune, and made reflections.

"You desire to speak with the serpent, mademoiselle. This you may

accomplish whenever your highness thinks proper. But remember you must

flatter him; for every animal has a great deal of self-love, and the

serpent in particular. It is said he was formerly driven out of heaven

for excessive pride."

"I have never heard of it," replied the princess.

"I believe it," said the old man.

He then informed her of all the reports which had been spread about this

famous serpent.

"But, my dear princess, whatever singular adventures may have happened

to him, you never can extort these secrets from him but by flattery.

Having formerly deceived women, it is equitable that a woman in her turn

should deceive him."

"I will do my utmost," said the princess; and departed with her maids of

honor. The old woman was feeding the bull at a considerable distance.

Mambres left Amasidia to herself, and went and discoursed with the

witch. One lady of honor chatted with the she-ass, the others amused

themselves with the goat, the dog, the raven, and the pigeon. As for the

large fish that frightened every body, he plunged himself into the Nile

by order of the old woman.

The serpent then attended the beautiful Amasidia into the grove, where

they had the following conversation.

SERPENT.--You cannot imagine, mademoiselle, how much I am flattered with

the honor which your highness deigns to confer upon me.

PRINCESS.--Your great reputation, sir, the beauty of your countenance,

and the brilliancy of your eyes, have emboldened me to seek for this

conversation. I know by public report (if it be not false) that you were

formerly a very great lord in the empyrean heaven.

SERPENT.--It is true, miss, I had there a very distinguished place. It

is pretended I am a disgraced favorite. This is a report which once went

abroad in India. The Brahmins were the first who gave a history of my

adventures. And I doubt not but one day or other the poets of the north

will make them the subject of an extravagant epic poem;[1] for in truth

it is all that can be made of them. Yet I am not so much fallen, but

that I have left in this globe a very extensive dominion. I might

venture to assert that the whole earth belongs to me.

PRINCESS.--I believe it; for they tell me that your powers of persuasion

are irresistible, and to please is to reign.

SERPENT.--I feel, mademoiselle, while I behold and listen to you, that

you have over me the same power which you ascribe to me over so many

others.

PRINCESS.--You are, I believe, an amiable conqueror. It is said that

your conquests among the fair sex have been numerous, and that you began

with our common mother, whose name I have unfortunately forgotten.

SERPENT.--They do me injustice. She honored me with her confidence, and

I gave her the best advice. I desired that she and her husband should

eat heartily of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. I imagined in doing

this that I should please the ruler of all things. It seemed to me that

a tree so necessary to the human race was not planted to be entirely

useless. Would the supreme being have wished to have been served by

fools and idiots? Is not the mind formed for the acquisition of

knowledge and for improvement? Is not the knowledge of good and evil

necessary for doing the one and avoiding the other? I certainly merited

their thanks.

PRINCESS.--Yet, they tell me that you have suffered for it. Probably it

is since this period that so many ministers have been punished for

giving good advice, and so many real philosophers and men of genius

persecuted for their writings that were useful to mankind.

SERPENT.--It is my enemies who have told you these stories. They say

that I am out of favor at court. But a proof that my influence there has

not declined, is their own confession that I entered into the council

when it was in agitation to try the good man Job; and I was again called

upon when the resolution was taken to deceive a certain petty king

called Ahab. I alone was charged with this honorable commission.

PRINCESS.--Ah, sir! I do not believe that you are formed to deceive. But

since you are always in the ministry, may I beg a favor of you? I hope

so amiable a lord will not deny me.

SERPENT.--Mademoiselle, your requests are laws; name your commands.

PRINCESS.--I intreat that you will tell me who this white bull is, for

whom I feel such extraordinary sentiments, which both affect and alarm

me. I am told that you would deign to inform me.

SERPENT.--Curiosity is necessary to human nature, and especially to your

amiable sex. Without it they would live in the most shameful ignorance.

I have always satisfied, as far as lay in my power, the curiosity of the

ladies. I am accused indeed of using this complaisance only to vex the

ruler of the world. I swear to you, that I could propose nothing more

agreeable to myself than to obey you; but the old woman must have

informed you that the revealing of this secret will be attended with

some danger to you.

PRINCESS.--Ah! it is that which makes me still more curious.

SERPENT.--In this I discover the sex to whom I have formerly done

service.

PRINCESS.--If you possess any feeling; if rational beings should

mutually assist each other; if you have compassion for an unfortunate

creature, do not refuse my request.

SERPENT.--You affect me. I must satisfy you; but do not interrupt me.

PRINCESS.--I promise you I will not.

SERPENT.--There was a young king, beautiful, charming, in love,

beloved--

PRINCESS.--A young king! beautiful, charming, in love, beloved! And by

whom? And who was this king? How old was he? What has become of him?

Where is his kingdom? What is his name?

SERPENT.--See, I have scarce begun, and you have already interrupted me.

Take care. If you have not more command over yourself, you are undone.

PRINCESS.--Ah, pardon me, sir. I will not repeat my indiscretion. Go on,

I beseech you.

SERPENT.--This great king, the most valiant of men, victorious wherever

he carried his arms, often dreamed when asleep, and forgot his dreams

when awake. He wanted his magicians to remember and inform him what he

had dreamed, otherwise he declared he would hang them; for that nothing

was more equitable. It is now near seven years since he dreamed a fine

dream, which he entirely forgot when he awoke; and a young Jew, full of

experience, having revealed it to him, this amiable king was immediately

changed into an ox for--

PRINCESS.--Ah! it is my dear Neb----

She could not finish, she fainted away. Mambres, who listened at a

distance, saw her fall, and believed her dead.

[Illustration: Serpent.]

[1] A prophetic reference by the serpent to Milton's _Paradise

Lost_.--E.

[Illustration: Nebuchadnezzar.--Nebuchadnezzar, transformed into a white

bull, is recognized by Amasidia.]

CHAPTER IV.

HOW THEY WANTED TO SACRIFICE THE BULL, AND EXORCISE THE PRINCESS.

Mambres runs to her weeping. The serpent is affected. He, alas, cannot

weep; but he hisses in a mournful tone. He cries out, "She is dead." The

ass repeats, "She is dead." The raven tells it over again. All the other

animals appeared afflicted, except the fish of Jonah, which has always

been merciless. The lady of honor, the ladies of the court, arrive and

tear their hair. The white bull, who fed at a distance and heard their

cries, ran to the grove dragging the old woman after him, while his loud

bellowings made the neighboring echoes resound. To no purpose did the

ladies pour upon the expiring Amasidia their bottles of rose-water, of

pink, of myrtle, of benzoin, of balm of Gilead, of amomum, of

gilly-flower, of nutmeg, of ambergris. She had not as yet given the

smallest signs of life. But as soon as she perceived that the beautiful

white bull was beside her, she came to herself, more blooming, more

beautiful and lively than ever. A thousand times did she kiss this

charming animal, who languishingly leaned his head on her snowy bosom.

She called him, "My master, my king, my dear, my life!" She throws her

fair arms around his neck, which was whiter than the snow. The light

straw does not adhere more closely to the amber, the vine to the elm,

nor the ivy to the oak. The sweet murmur of her sighs was heard. Her

eyes were seen, now sparkling with a tender flame, and now obscured by

those precious tears which love makes us shed.

We may easily judge into what astonishment the lady of honor and ladies

of her train were thrown. As soon as they entered the palace, they

related to their lovers this extraordinary adventure, and every one with

different circumstances, which increased its singularity, and which

always contributes to the variety of all histories.

No sooner was Amasis, king of Tanis, informed of these events, than his

royal breast was inflamed with just indignation. Such was the wrath of

Minos, when he understood that his daughter Pasiphæ lavished her tender

favors upon the father of the Minotaur. Thus raged Juno, when she beheld

Jupiter caressing the beautiful cow Io, daughter of the river Inachus.

Following the dictates of passion, the stern Amasis imprisoned his

unhappy daughter, the beautiful Amasidia, in her chamber and placed over

her a guard of black eunuchs. He then assembled his privy council.

The grand magician presided there, but had no longer the same influence

as formerly. All the ministers of state concluded that this white bull

was a sorcerer. It was quite the contrary. He was bewitched. But in

delicate affairs they are always mistaken at court.

It was carried by a great majority that the princess should be

exorcised, and the old woman and the bull sacrificed.

The wise Mambres contradicted not the opinion of the king and council.

The right of exorcising belonged to him. He could delay it under some

plausible pretence. The god Apis had lately died at Memphis. A god ox

dies just like another ox. And it was not allowed to exorcise any person

in Egypt until a new ox was found to replace the deceased.

It was decreed in the council to wait until the nomination should be

made of a new god at Memphis.

The good old man, Mambres, perceived to what danger his dear princess

was exposed. He knew who her lover was. The syllables NEBU----, which

had escaped her, laid open the whole mystery to the eyes of this sage.

The dynasty of Memphis belonged at that time to the Babylonians. They

preserved this remainder of the conquests they had gained under the

greatest king of the world, to whom Amasis was a mortal enemy. Mambres

had occasion for all his wisdom to conduct himself properly in the midst

of so many difficulties. If the king Amasis should discover the lover of

his daughter, her death would be inevitable. He had sworn it. The great,

the young, the beautiful king of whom she was enamored, had dethroned

the king her father, and Amasis had only recovered his kingdom about

seven years. From that time it was not known what had become of the

adorable monarch--the conqueror and idol of the nations--the tender and

generous lover of the charming Amasidia. Sacrificing the white bull

would eventually occasion the death of the beautiful princess.

[Illustration: Lot and his wayward daughters leaving Sodom.--From a

celebrated picture in S. Marks, Florence, by Domenico Cresti, named il

Passigiano.]

DESTRUCTION OF SODOM AND GOMORRAH.

A STRANGE METAMORPHOSIS.

In the preceding engraving the artist has pictured the "Cities of

the Plain" in flames, ignited by a shower of "fire and brimstone

out of heaven." Warned by an angel, Lot and his family are fleeing

from the conflagration. The madame has, however, unfortunately

changed her mind, and is seen returning toward the doomed locality.

She dearly loves her home, and braves danger--even death--in its

protection. Her husband and her children heartlessly forsake her.

Lot does not look like the coward he is represented to have been,

who basely offered to surrender his daughters to the horrible abuse

of a Sodomite mob; and the daughters--innocent and beautiful--seem

incapable of the depravity with which they are charged in the

nineteenth chapter of Genesis.

The comical statement that Madame Lot was transformed into "a

pillar of salt" for merely _looking back_ toward her old home in

Sodom, rests on bible authority, and is believed by all the world

excepting intelligent clergymen, scientists, philosophers and

reasonable people.

The assertion of Mambres, (page 15), that this estimable "pillar"

has become "very sharp tasted," rests on the authority of certain

eastern travelers who claim to have examined and tasted the saline

remains of this unfortunate female. But as this last claim is based

on a French romance and not on Hebrew revelation, readers may be

pardoned for receiving it with the greatest caution. Indeed, all

that is absolutely necessary for even the orthodox to believe is

that, "once upon a time," a Sodomite matron was chemically changed

into pure chloride of sodium, and not that said sodium still

retains its sharp and acrid flavor.--E.

What could Mambres do in such critical circumstances? He went, after the

council had broken up, to find his dear foster daughter.

"My dear child," he says, "I will serve you; but I repeat it, they will

behead you if ever you pronounce the name of your lover."

"Ah! what signifies my neck," replied the beautiful Amasidia, "if I

cannot embrace that of Nebu--? My father is a cruel man. He not only

refuses to give me a charming prince whom I adore, but he declares war

against him; and after he was conquered by my lover, he has found the

secret of changing him into an ox. Did one ever see more frightful

malice? If my father were not my father, I do not know what I should do

to him."

"It was not your father who played him this cruel trick," said the wise

Mambres. "It was a native of Palestine, one of our ancient enemies, an

inhabitant of a little country comprehended in that crowd of kingdoms

which your lover subdued in order to polish and refine them.

"Such metamorphoses must not surprise you. You know that formerly I

performed more extraordinary. Nothing was at that time more common than

those changes which at present astonish philosophers. True history,

which we have read together, informs us that Lycaon, king of Arcadia,

was changed into a wolf; the beautiful Calista, his daughter, into a

bear; Io, the daughter of Inachus, our venerable Isis, into a cow;

Daphne into a laurel; Sirinx into a flute; the fair Edith, wife of

Lot--the best and most affectionate husband and father ever known in the

world--has she not become, in our neighborhood, a pillar of salt, very

sharp tasted, which has preserved both her likeness and form, as the

great men attest who have seen it? I was witness to this change in my

youth. I saw seven powerful cities in the most dry and parched situation

in the world, all at once transformed into a beautiful lake. In the

early part of my life, the whole world was full of metamorphoses.

"In fine, madam, if examples can soothe your grief, remember that Venus

changed Cerastes into an ox."

"I do not know," said the princess, "that examples comfort us. If my

lover were dead, could I comfort myself by the idea that all men die?"

"Your pain may at least be alleviated," replied the sage; "and since

your lover has become an ox, it is possible from an ox he may become a

man. As for me, I should deserve to be changed into a tiger or a

crocodile, if I did not employ the little power I have in the service of

a princess worthy of the adoration of the world,--if I did not labor for

the beautiful Amasidia, whom I have nursed upon my knees, and whom fatal

destiny exposes to such rude trials."

CHAPTER V.

HOW THE WISE MAMBRES CONDUCTED HIMSELF WISELY.

The sage Mambres having said every thing he could to comfort the

princess, but without succeeding in so doing, ran to the old woman.

"My companion," said he to her, "ours is a charming profession, but a

very dangerous one. You run the risk of being hanged, and your ox of

being burned, drowned or devoured, I don't know what they will do with

your other animals; for, prophet as I am, I know very little; but do you

carefully conceal the serpent, and the fish. Let not the one show his

head above water, nor the other venture out of his hole. I will place

the ox in one of my stables in the country. You shall be there with him,

since you say that you are not allowed to abandon him. The good

scape-goat may upon this occasion serve as an expiation. We will send

him into the desert loaded with the sins of all the rest. He is

accustomed to this ceremony, which does him no harm; and every one knows

that sin is expiated by means of a he-goat, who walks about for his own

amusement. I only beg of you to lend me immediately Tobit's dog, who is

a very swift greyhound; Balaam's ass, who runs better than a dromedary;

the raven and the pigeon of the ark, who fly with amazing swiftness. I

want to send them on an embassy to Memphis. It is an affair of great

consequence."

The old woman replied to the magician:

"You may dispose as you please of Tobit's dog,[1] of Balaam's ass, of

the raven and the pigeon of the ark, and of the scape-goat; but my ox

cannot enter into a stable. It is said, Daniel, v:21,--That he must be

always made fast to an iron chain, be always wet with the dew of heaven,

and eat the grass of the field, and his portion be with the wild beasts.

"He is entrusted to me, and I must obey. What would Daniel, Ezekiel, and

Jeremiah, think of me, if I trusted my ox to any other than to myself? I

see you know the secret of this extraordinary animal, but I have not to

reproach myself with having revealed it to you. I am going to conduct

him far from this polluted land, toward the lake Sirbon, where he will

be sheltered from the cruelties of the king of Tanis. My fish and my

serpent will defend me. I fear nobody when I serve my master."

"My good woman," answered the wise Mambres, "let the will of God be

done! Provided I can find your white bull again, the lake Sirbon, the

lake Maris, or the lake of Sodom, are to me perfectly indifferent. I

want to do nothing but good to him and to you. But why have you spoken

to me of Daniel, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah?"

"Ah! sir," answered the old woman, "you know as well as I what concern

they have in this important affair. But I have no time to lose. I don't

desire to be hanged. I want not that my bull should be burned, drowned,

or devoured. I go to the lake Sirbon by Canopus, with my serpent and my

fish. Adieu."

The bull followed her pensively, after having testified his gratitude to

the beneficent Mambres.

The wise Mambres was greatly troubled. He saw that Amasis, king of

Tanis, distracted by the strange passion of his daughter for this

animal, and believing her bewitched, would pursue everywhere the

unfortunate bull, who would infallibly be burned as a sorcerer in the

public place of Tanis, or given to the fish of Jonah, or be roasted and

served up for food. Mambres wanted at all events to save the princess

from this cruel disaster.

He wrote a letter in sacred characters, to his friend, the high priest

of Memphis, upon the paper of Egypt, which was not yet in use. Here are

the identical words of this letter:

"Light of the world, lieutenant of Isis, Osiris, and Horus, chief

of the circumcised, you whose altar is justly raised above all

thrones! I am informed that your god, the ox Apis, is dead. I have

one at your service. Come quickly with your priests to acknowledge,

to worship him, and to conduct him into the stable of your temple.

May Isis, Osiris, and Horus, keep you in their holy and worthy

protection, and likewise the priests of Memphis in their holy care.

Your affectionate friend,

Mambres."

He made four copies of this letter for fear of accidents, and enclosed

them in cases of the hardest ebony. Then calling to him his four

couriers, whom he had destined for this employment, (these were the ass,

the dog, the raven, and the pigeon,) he said to the ass:

"I know with what fidelity you served Balaam my brother. Serve me as

faithfully. There is not an unicorn who equals you in swiftness. Go, my

dear friend, and deliver this letter to the person himself to whom it is

directed, and return."

The ass answered:

"Sir, as I served Balaam, I will serve you. I will go, and I will

return."

The sage put the box of ebony into her mouth, and she swiftly departed.

He then called Tobit's dog.

"Faithful dog," said Mambres, "more speedy in thy course than the

nimble-footed Achilles, I know what you performed for Tobit, son of

Tobit, when you and the angel Raphael accompanied him from Nineveh to

Ragusa in Medea, and from Ragusa to Nineveh, and that he brought back to

his father ten talents, which the slave Tobit, the father, had lent to

the slave Gabellus; for the slaves at that time were very rich. Carry

this letter as it is directed. It is much more valuable than ten talents

of silver."

The dog then replied:

"Sir, if I formerly followed the messenger Raphael, I can with equal

ease execute your commission."

Mambres put the letter into his mouth.

He next spoke in the same manner to the pigeon, who replied.

"Sir, if I brought back a bough into the ark, I will likewise bring you

back an answer."

She took the letter in her bill, and the three messengers were out of

sight in a moment. Then Mambres addressed the raven,

"I know that you fed the great prophet Elijah, when he was concealed

near the torrent of Cherith, so much celebrated in the world. You

brought him every day good bread and fat pullets. I only ask of you to

carry this letter to Memphis."

The raven answered in these words:

"It is true, sir, that I carried every day a dinner to the great prophet

Elijah the Tishbite. I saw him mount in a chariot of fire drawn by fiery

horses, although this is not the usual method of traveling. But I always

took care to eat half the dinner myself. I am very well pleased to carry

your letter, provided you make me certain of two good meals every day,

and that I am paid money in advance for my commission."

Mambres, angry, replied:

"Gluttonous and malicious creature, I am not astonished that Apollo has

made you black as a mole, after being white as a swan, as you was

formerly before you betrayed in the plains of Thessaly the beautiful

Coronis, the unfortunate mother of Æsculapius. Tell me, did you eat ribs

of beef and pullets every day when you was ten whole months in the ark?"

"Sir," said the raven, "we had there very good cheer. They served up

roast meat twice a day to all the fowls of my species who live upon

nothing but flesh, such as the vultures, kites, eagles, buzzards,

sparrow-hawks, owls, tarsels, falcons, great owls, and an innumerable

crowd of birds of prey. They furnished, with the most plentiful

profusion, the tables of the lions, leopards, tigers, panthers, hyænas,

wolves, bears, foxes, polecats, and all sorts of carnivorous quadrupeds.

There were in the ark eight persons of distinction, (and the only ones

who were then in the world,) continually employed in the care of our

table and our wardrobe; Noah and his wife, who were about six hundred

years old, their three sons and their three wives. It was charming to

see with what care, what dexterity, what cleanliness, our eight

domestics served four thousand of the most ravenous guests, without

reckoning the amazing trouble which about ten or twelve thousand other

animals required, from the elephant and the giraffe, to the silk-worm

and fly. What astonishes me is, that our purveyor Noah is unknown to all

the nations of whom he is the stem, but I don't much mind it. I had

already been present at a similar entertainment with Xesustres king of

Thrace. Such things as these happen from time to time for the

instruction of ravens. In a word, I want to have good cheer, and to be

paid in ready money."

The wise Mambres took care not to give his letter to such a discontented

and babbling animal; and they separated very much dissatisfied with each

other.

But it is necessary to know what became of the white bull, and not to

lose sight of the old woman and the serpent. Mambres ordered his

intelligent and faithful domestics to follow them; and as for himself,

he advanced in a litter by the side of the Nile, always making

reflections.

[Illustration: Daniel, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah.--"A boatman singing a

jovial song, made fast a small boat by the side of the river, and three

grave personages, half clothed in dirty, tattered garments, landed from

it; but preserved, under the garb of poverty the most majestic and

august air. These strangers were Daniel, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah."]

"How is it possible," said he to himself, "that a serpent should be

master of almost all the world, as he boasts, and as so many learned men

acknowledge, and that he nevertheless obeys an old woman? How is it,

that he is sometimes called to the council of the Most High, while he

creeps upon earth? In what manner can he enter by his power alone into

the bodies of men, and that so many men pretend to dislodge him by means

of words? In short, why does he pass with a small neighboring people,

for having ruined the human race? And how is it that the human race are

entirely ignorant of this? I am old, I have studied all my life, but I

see a crowd of inconsistencies which I cannot reconcile. I cannot

account for what has happened to myself, neither for the great things

which I long ago performed, nor those of which I have been witness.

Every thing well considered, I begin to think that this world subsists

by contradictions, _rerum concordia discors_, as my master Zoroaster

formerly said."

While he was plunged in this obscure metaphysical reasoning,--obscure

like all metaphysics,--a boatman singing a jovial song, made fast a

small boat by the side of the river, and three grave personages, half

clothed in dirty tattered garments, landed from it; but preserved, under

the garb of poverty, the most majestic and august air. These strangers

were Daniel, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah.

[1] "Histories," says Pope, in his _Poetical Works_, vol. 4, p. 245,

"are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends, but:

I will only say for the honor of dogs, that the two most ancient and

estimable books, sacred and profane, extant, viz. the Scripture and

Homer, have shown a particular regard to these animals. That of Tobit is

the most remarkable, because there seemed no manner of reason to take

notice of the dog, besides the great humanity of the author. ['And the

dog went after them,' _Tobit_, xi: 4.] Homer's account of Ulysses's dog,

Argus, is the most pathetic imaginable, all the circumstances

considered, and an excellent proof of the old bard's good nature....

Plutarch, relating how the Athenians were obliged to abandon Athens in

the time of Themistocles, steps back again out of the way of his

history, purely to describe the lamentable cries and howlings of the

poor dogs they left behind. He makes mention of one that followed his

master across the sea to Salamis, where he died, and was honored with a

tomb by the Athenians, who gave the name of the Dog's Grave to that part

of the island where he was buried. This respect to a dog, in the most

polite people of the world, is very observable. A modern instance of

gratitude to a dog is, that the chief order of Denmark, (now injuriously

called the order of the elephant), was instituted in memory of the

fidelity of a dog, named Wildbrat, to one of their kings who had been

deserted by his subjects. He gave his order this motto, or to this

effect, (which still remains), 'Wildbrat was faithful.' Sir William

Trumbull has told me a story, which he heard from one that was present.

King Charles I. being with some of his Court, during his troubles, a

discourse arose what sort of dogs deserved pre-eminence, and it being on

all hands agreed to belong either to the spaniel or greyhound, the King

gave his opinion on the part of the greyhound, because (said he) it has

all the good-nature of the other without the fawning."

This satire upon fawning would no doubt have been as applicable to the

court of king Amasis as to that of Charles I., for fawning has ever been

the besetting sin of dogs and courtiers.

It is indeed a grand testimonial to the value of the greyhound, that his

fleetness and fidelity were appreciated by Mambres, the great Egyptian

magician, five thousand years before they were endorsed by the

unfortunate English king. Miss Endor, Homer, Ulysses, Mambres, Tobit,

Plutarch, the polite Athenians, Charles I., and Alexander Pope are

certainly as respectable a list of references as the most aristocratic

greyhound could desire.--E.

CHAPTER VI.

HOW MAMBRES MET THREE PROPHETS, AND GAVE THEM A GOOD DINNER.

These three great men who had the prophetic light in their countenance,

knew the wise Mambres to be one of their brethren, by some marks of the

same light which he had still remaining, and prostrated themselves

before his litter. Mambres likewise knew them to be prophets, more by

their uncouth dress, than by those gleams of fire which proceeded from

their august heads. He conjectured that they came to learn news of the

white bull; and conducting himself with his usual propriety, he alighted

from his carriage and advanced a few steps toward them, with dignified

politeness. He raised them up, caused tents to be erected, and prepared

a dinner, of which he rightly judged that the prophets had very great

need.

He invited the old woman to it, who was only about five hundred paces

from them. She accepted the invitation, and arrived leading her white

bull.

Two soups were served up, one _de Bisque_, and the other _a la Reine_.

The first course consisted of a carp's tongue pie, livers of eel-pouts,

and pikes; fowls dressed with pistachios, pigeons with truffles and

olives; two young turkeys with gravy of cray fish, mushrooms, and

morels; and a chipotata. The second course was composed of pheasants,

partridges, quails, and ortalons, with four salads; the epergne was in

the highest taste; nothing could be more delicious than the side dishes,

nothing more brilliant and more ingenious than the dessert. But the wise

Mambres took great care to have no boiled beef, nor short ribs, nor

tongue, nor palate of an ox, nor cows' udder, lest the unfortunate

monarch near at hand should think that they insulted him.

This great and unfortunate prince was feeding near the tent; and never

did he feel in a more cruel manner the fatal revolution which had

deprived him of his throne for seven long years.

"Alas!" said he, to himself, "this Daniel who has changed me into a

bull, and this sorceress my keeper, make the best cheer in the world;

while I, the sovereign of Asia, am reduced to the necessity of eating

grass, and drinking water."

When they had drank heartily of the wine of Engaddi, of Tadmor, and of

Sebiras, the prophets and the witch conversed with more frankness than

at the first course.

"I must acknowledge," said Daniel, "that I did not live so well in the

lion's den."

"What, sir," said Mambres, "did they put you into a den of lions? How

came you not to be devoured?"

"Sir," said Daniel, "you know very well that lions never eat prophets."

"As for me," said Jeremiah, "I have passed my whole life starving of

hunger. This is the only day I ever ate a good meal; and were I to spend

my life over again, and had it in my power to choose my condition, I

must own I would much rather be comptroller-general or bishop of

Babylon, than prophet at Jerusalem."

Ezekiel cried, "I was once ordered to sleep three hundred and ninety

days upon my left side, and to eat all that time bread of wheat, and

barley, and beans, and lentiles, cooked in the strangest manner. Still I

must own that the cookery of Seigneur Mambres is much more delicate.

However, the prophetic trade has its advantages, and the proof is, that

there are many who follow it."

After they had spoken thus freely, Mambres entered upon business. He

asked the three pilgrims the reason of their journey into the dominions

of the king of Tanis. Daniel replied, "That the kingdom of Babylon had

been all in a flame since Nebuchadnezzar had disappeared: that according

to the custom of the court, they had persecuted all the prophets, who

passed their lives in sometimes seeing kings humbled at their feet, and

sometimes receiving a hundred lashes from them; that at length they had

been obliged to take refuge in Egypt for fear of being starved."

Ezekiel and Jeremiah likewise spoke a long time in such fine terms, that

it was almost impossible to understand them. As for the witch, she had

always a strict eye over her charge. The fish of Jonah continued in the

Nile, opposite to the tent, and the serpent sported upon the grass.

After drinking coffee, they took a walk by the side of the Nile; and the

white bull, perceiving the three prophets, his enemies, bellowed most

dreadfully, ran furiously at them, and gored them with his horns. As

prophets never have anything but skin upon their bones, he would

certainly have run them through; but the ruler of the world, who sees

all and remedies all, changed them immediately into magpies; and they

continued to chatter as before. The same thing happened since to the

Pierides;[1] so much has fable always imitated sacred history.

This incident caused new reflections in the mind of Mambres.

"Here," said he, "are three great prophets changed into magpies. This

ought to teach us never to speak too much, and always to observe a

suitable discretion."

He concluded that wisdom was better than eloquence, and thought

profoundly as usual; when a great and terrible spectacle presented

itself to his eyes.

[1] The nine daughters of Pierus, king of Emathia, were called Pierides.

They entered into a contest with the Muses, and being conquered were

metamorphosed into birds.--E.

CHAPTER VII.

HOW KING AMASIS WANTED TO GIVE THE WHITE BULL TO BE DEVOURED BY THE FISH

OF JONAH, AND DID NOT DO IT.

Clouds of dust floated from south to north. The noise of drums, fifes,

psalteries, harps, and sackbuts was heard. Several squadrons and

battalions advanced, and Amasis, king of Tanis, was at their head upon

an Arabian horse caparisoned with scarlet trappings embroidered with

gold. The heralds proclaimed that they should seize the white bull, bind

him, and throw him into the Nile, to be devoured by the fish of Jonah;

"for the king our lord, who is just, wants to revenge himself upon the

white bull, who has bewitched his daughter."

The good old man Mambres made more reflections than ever. He saw very

plainly that the malicious raven had told all to the king, and that the

princess ran a great risk of being beheaded.

"My dear friend," said he to the serpent, "go quickly and comfort the

fair Amasidia, my foster daughter. Bid her fear nothing whatever may

happen, and tell her stories to alleviate her inquietude; for stories

always amuse the ladies, and it is only by interesting them that one can

succeed in the world."

Mambres next prostrated himself before Amasis, king of Tanis, and thus

addressed him:

"O king, live for ever! The white bull should certainly be sacrificed,

for your majesty is always in the right, but the ruler of the world has

said, this bull must not be swallowed up by the fish of Jonah till

Memphis shall have found a god to supply the place of him who is dead.

Then thou shalt be revenged, and thy daughter exorcised, for she is

possessed. Your piety is too great not to obey the commands of the ruler

of the universe."

Amasis, king of Tanis, remained for some time silent and in deep

thought.

"The god Apis," said he, at length, "is dead! God rest his soul! When do

you think another ox will be found to reign over the fruitful Egypt?"

"Sire," replied Mambres, "I ask but eight days."

"I grant them to you," replied the king, who was very religious, "and I

will remain here the eight days. At the expiration of that time I will

sacrifice the enemy of my daughter."

Amasis immediately ordered that his tents, cooks, and musicians should

be brought, and remained here eight days, as it is related in Manethon.

The old woman was in despair that the bull she had in charge had but

eight days to live. She raised phantoms every night, in order to

dissuade the king from his cruel resolution; but Amasis forgot in the

morning the phantoms he had seen in the night; similar to

Nebuchadnezzar, who had always forgotten his dreams.

CHAPTER VIII.

HOW THE SERPENT TOLD STORIES TO THE PRINCESS TO COMFORT HER.

Meanwhile the serpent told stories to the fair Amasidia to soothe her.

He related to her how he had formerly cured a whole nation of the bite

of certain little serpents, only by showing himself at the end of a

staff. (_Num. xx:9._) He informed her of the conquests of a hero who

made a charming contrast with Amphion, architect of Thebes. Amphion

assembled hewn stones by the sound of his violin. To build a city he had

only to play a rigadoon and a minuet; but the other hero destroyed them

by the sound of rams' horns. He executed thirty-one powerful kings in a

country of four leagues in length and four in breadth. He made stones

rain down from heaven upon a battalion of routed Amorites; and having

thus exterminated them, he stopped the sun and moon at noon-day between

Gibeon and Ajalon, in the road to Beth-horon, to exterminate them still

more, after the example of Bacchus, who had stopped the sun and the moon

in his journey to the Indies.

The prudence which every serpent ought to have, did not allow him to

tell the fair Amasidia of the powerful Jephthah, who made a vow and

beheaded his daughter, because he had gained a battle. This would have

struck terror into the mind of the fair princess. But he related to her

the adventures of the great Sampson, who killed a thousand Philistines

with the jaw-bone of an ass, who tied together three hundred foxes by

the tail, and who fell into the snares of a lady, less beautiful, less

tender, and less faithful than the charming Amasidia.

He related to her the story of the unfortunate Sechem and Dinah, as well

as the more celebrated adventures of Ruth and Boaz; those of Judah and

Tamar; those even of Lot's two daughters; those of Abraham and Jacob's

servant maids; those of Reuben and Bilhah; those of David and

Bath-sheba; and those of the great king Solomon. In short, every thing

which could dissipate the grief of a fair princess.

CHAPTER IX.

HOW THE SERPENT DID NOT COMFORT THE PRINCESS.

"All these stories tire me," said Amasidia, for she had understanding

and taste. "They are good for nothing but to be commented upon among the

Irish by that madman Abbadie, or among the Welsh by that prattler

d'Houteville. Stories which might have amused the great, great, great

grandmother of my grandmother, appear insipid to me who have been

educated by the wise Mambres, and who have read _Human Understanding_ by

the Egyptian philosopher named Locke[1] and the _Matron of Ephesus_. I

choose that a story should be founded on probability, and not always

resemble a dream. I desire to find nothing in it trivial or extravagant;

and I desire above all, that under the appearance of fable there may

appear some latent truth, obvious to the discerning eye, though it

escape the observation of the vulgar."

"I am weary of a sun and of a moon which an old beldam disposes of at

her pleasure, of mountains which dance, of rivers which return to their

sources, and of dead men who rise again; but I am above measure

disgusted when such insipid stories are written in a bombastic and

unintelligible manner. A lady who expects to see her lover swallowed up

by a great fish, and who is apprehensive of being beheaded by her own

father, has need of amusement; but suit amusement to my taste."

"You impose a difficult task upon me," replied the serpent. "I could

have formerly made you pass a few hours agreeably enough, but for some

time past I have lost both my imagination and memory. Alas! what has

become of those faculties with which I formerly amused the ladies? Let

me try, however, if I can recollect one moral tale for your

entertainment.

"Five and twenty thousand years ago king Gnaof and queen Patra reigned

in Thebes with its hundred gates. King Gnaof was very handsome, and

queen Patra still more beautiful. But their home was unblest with

children, and no heirs were born to continue the royal race.

"The members of the faculty of medicine and of the academy of surgery

wrote excellent treatises upon this subject. The queen was sent to drink

mineral waters; she fasted and prayed; she made magnificent presents to

the temple of Jupiter Ammon, but all was to no purpose. At length a----"

"Mon Dieu!" said the princess, "but I see where this leads. This story

is too common, and I must likewise tell you that it offends my modesty.

Relate some very true and moral story, which I have never yet heard, to

complete the improvement of my understanding and my heart, as the

Egyptian professor Lenro says."

"Here then, madam," said the beautiful serpent, "is one most

incontestably authentic.

"There were three prophets all equally ambitious and discontented with

their condition. They had in common the folly to wish to be kings: for

there is only one step from the rank of a prophet to that of a monarch,

and man always aspires to the highest step in the ladder of fortune. In

other respects, their inclinations and their pleasures were totally

different. The first preached admirably to his assembled brethren, who

applauded him by clapping their hands; the second was distractedly fond

of music; and the third was a passionate lover of the fair sex.

"The angel Ithuriel presented himself one day to them when they were at

table discoursing on the sweets of royalty.

"'The ruler of the world,' said the angel to them, 'sends me to you to

reward your virtue. Not only shall you be kings, but you shall

constantly satisfy your ruling passions. Your first prophet, I make king

of Egypt, and you shall continually preside in your council, who shall

applaud your eloquence and your wisdom; and you, second prophet, I make

king over Persia, and you shall continually hear most heavenly music;

and you, third prophet, I make king of India, and I give you a charming

mistress who shall never forsake you.'

"He to whose lot Egypt fell, began his reign by assembling his council,

which was composed only of two hundred sages. He made them a long and

eloquent speech, which was very much applauded, and the monarch enjoyed

the pleasing satisfaction of intoxicating himself with praises

uncorrupted by flattery.

"The council for foreign affairs succeeded to the privy council. This

was much more numerous; and a new speech received still greater

encomiums. And it was the same in the other councils. There was not a

moment of intermission in the pleasures and glory of the prophet king of

Egypt. The fame of his eloquence filled the world.

"The prophet king of Persia began his reign by an Italian opera, whose

choruses were sung by fifteen hundred eunuchs. Their voices penetrated

his soul even to the very marrow of the bones, where it resides. To this

opera succeeded another, and to the second a third, without

interruption.

"The king of India shut himself up with his mistress, and enjoyed

perfect pleasure in her society. He considered the necessity of always

flattering her as the highest felicity, and pitied the wretched

situation of his two brethren, of whom one was obliged always to convene

his council, and the other to be continually at an opera.

"It happened at the end of a few days, that each of these kings became

disgusted with his occupation, and beheld from his window, certain

wood-cutters who came from an ale-house, and who were going to work in a

neighboring forest. They walked arm in arm with their sweet-hearts, with

whom they were happy. The kings begged of the angel Ithuriel, that he

would intercede with the ruler of the world, and make them

wood-cutters."

"I do not know whether the ruler of the world granted their request or

not," interrupted the tender Amasidia, "and I do not care much about it;

but I know very well that I should ask for nothing of any one, were I

with my lover, with my dear NEBUCHADNEZZAR!"

The vaults of the palace resounded this mighty name. At first Amasidia

had only pronounced Ne--, afterwards Neb--, then Nebu----. At length

passion hurried her on, and she pronounced entire the fatal name,

notwithstanding the oath she had sworn to the king, her father. All the

ladies of the court repeated Nebuchadnezzar, and the malicious raven did

not fail to carry the tidings to the king. The countenance of Amasis,

king of Tanis, sunk, because his heart was troubled. And thus it was

that the serpent, the wisest and most subtle of animals, always beguiled

the women, thinking to do them service.

Amasis, in a fury, sent twelve alguazils for his daughter. These men are

always ready to execute barbarous orders, because they are paid for it.

[1] The doctrine of metempsychosis must be relied upon to explain this

seeming anachronism.--E.

[Illustration: Egyptian priests.]

CHAPTER X.

HOW THEY WANTED TO BEHEAD THE PRINCESS, AND DID NOT DO IT.

No sooner had the princess entered the camp of the king, than he said to

her: "My daughter, you know that all princesses who disobey their

fathers are put to death; without which it would be impossible that a

kingdom could be well governed. I charged you never to mention the name

of your lover, Nebuchadnezzar, my mortal enemy, who dethroned me about

seven years ago, and disappeared. In his place, you have chosen a white

bull, and you have cried Nebuchadnezzar. It is just that I behead you."

The princess replied: "My father, thy will be done: but grant me some

time to bewail my sad fate."

"That is reasonable," said King Amasis; "and it is a rule established

among the most judicious princes. I give you a whole day to bewail your

destiny, since it is your desire. To-morrow, which is the eighth day of

my encampment, I will cause the white bull to be swallowed up by the

fish, and I will behead you precisely at nine o'clock in the morning."

The beautiful Amasidia then went forth in sorrow, to bewail her father's

cruelty, and wandered by the side of the Nile, accompanied with the

ladies of her train.

The wise Mambres pondered beside her, and reckoned the hours and the

moments.

"Well! my dear Mambres," said she to him, "you have changed the waters

of the Nile into blood, according to custom, and cannot you change the

heart of Amasis, king of Tanis, my father? Will you suffer him to behead

me to-morrow, at nine o'clock in the morning?"

"That depends," replied the reflecting Mambres, "upon the speed and

diligence of my couriers."

The next day, as soon as the shadows of the obelisks and pyramids marked

upon the ground the ninth hour of the day, the white bull was securely

bound, to be thrown to the fish of Jonah; and they brought to the king

his large sabre.

"Alas! alas!" said Nebuchadnezzar to himself, "I, a king, have been a

bull for near seven years; and scarcely have I found the mistress I had

lost when I am condemned to be devoured by a fish."

Never had the wise Mambres made such profound reflections; and he was

quite absorbed in his melancholy thoughts when he saw at a distance all

he expected. An innumerable crowd drew nigh. Three figures of Isis,

Osiris, and Horus, joined together, advanced, drawn in a carriage of

gold and precious stones, by a hundred senators of Memphis, preceded by

a hundred girls, playing upon the sacred sistrums. Four thousand

priests, with their heads shaved, were each mounted upon a hippopotamus.

At a great distance, appeared with the same pomp, the sheep of Thebes,

the dog of Babastes, the cat of Phoebe, the crocodile of Arsinoe, the

goat of Mendez, and all the inferior gods of Egypt, who came to pay

homage to the great ox, to the mighty Apis, as powerful as Isis, Osiris,

and Horus, united together.

In the midst of the demi-gods, forty priests carried an enormous basket,

filled with sacred onions. These were, it is true, gods, but they

resembled onions very much.

On both sides of this aisle of gods, followed by an innumerable crowd of

people, marched forty thousand warriors, with helmets on their heads,

scimitars upon their left thighs, quivers at their shoulders, and bows

in their hands.

All the priests sang in chorus, with a harmony which ravished the soul,

and which melted it.

"Alas! alas! our ox is dead--

We'll have a finer in its stead."

And at every pause was heard the sound of the sistrums, of cymbals, of

tabors, of psalteries, of bagpipes, harps, and sackbuts.

Amasis, king of Tanis, astonished at this spectacle, beheaded not his

daughter. He sheathed his scimitar.

[Illustration: Winged bull.]

CHAPTER XI.

APOTHEOSIS OF THE WHITE BULL. TRIUMPH OF THE WISE MAMBRES. THE SEVEN

YEARS PROCLAIMED BY DANIEL ARE ACCOMPLISHED. NEBUCHADNEZZAR RESUMES THE

HUMAN FORM, MARRIES THE BEAUTIFUL AMASIDIA, AND ASCENDS THE THRONE OF

BABYLON.

"Great king," said Mambres to him, "the order of things is now changed.

Your majesty must set the example. O king! quickly unbind the white

bull, and be the first to adore him."

Amasis obeyed, and prostrated himself with all his people. The high

priest of Memphis presented to the new god Apis the first handful of

hay; the Princess Amasidia tied to his beautiful horse festoons of

roses, anemonies, ranunculuses, tulips, pinks, and hyacinths. She took

the liberty to kiss him, but with a profound respect. The priests

strewed palms and flowers on the road by which they were to conduct him

to Memphis. And the wise Mambres, still making reflections, whispered to

his friend, the serpent:

"_Daniel changed this monarch into a bull, and I have changed this bull

into a god!"_

They returned to Memphis in the same order, and the king of Tanis, in

some confusion, followed the band. Mambres, with a serene and diplomatic

air, walked by his side. The old woman came after, much amazed. She was

accompanied by the serpent, the dog, the she-ass, the raven, the pigeon,

and the scape-goat. The great fish mounted up the Nile. Daniel, Ezekiel,

and Jeremiah, changed into magpies, brought up the rear.

When they had reached the frontiers of the kingdom, which are not far

distant, King Amasis took leave of the bull Apis, and said to his

daughter:

"My daughter, let us return into my dominions, that I may behead you, as

it has been determined in my royal breast, because you have pronounced

the name of Nebuchadnezzar, my enemy, who dethroned me seven years ago.

When a father has sworn to behead his daughter, he must either fulfill

his oath, or sink into hell for ever; and I will not damn myself out of

love for you."

The fair princess Amasidia replied to the King Amasis:

"My dear father, whom it pleases you go and behead, but it shall not be

me. I am now in the territories of Isis, Osiris, Horus, and Apis. I will

never forsake my beautiful white bull, and I will continue to kiss him,

till I have seen his apotheosis in his stable in the holy city of

Memphis. It is a weakness pardonable in a young lady of high birth."

Scarce had she spoken these words, when the ox Apis cried out:

"My dear Amasidia, I will love you whilst I live!"

This was the first time that the god Apis had been heard to speak during

the forty thousand years that he had been worshiped.

The serpent and the she-ass cried out, "the seven years are

accomplished!" And the three magpies repeated, "the seven years are

accomplished!"

All the priests of Egypt raised their hands to heaven.

The god on a sudden was seen to lose his two hind legs, his two fore

legs were changed into two human legs; two white strong muscular arms

grew from his shoulders; his taurine visage was changed to the face of a

charming hero; and he once more became the most beautiful of mortals.

"I choose," cried he, "rather to be the lover of the beautiful Amasidia

than a god. I am NEBUCHADNEZZAR, KING OF KINGS!"

This metamorphosis astonished all the world, except the wise Mambres.

But what surprised nobody was, that Nebuchadnezzar immediately married

the fair Amasidia in presence of this assembly.

He left his father-in-law in quiet possession of the kingdom of Tanis;

and made noble provision for the she-ass, the serpent, the dog, the

pigeon, and even for the raven, the three magpies, and the large fish;

showing to all the world that he knew how to forgive as well as to

conquer.

The old woman had a considerable pension placed at her disposal.

The scape-goat was sent for a day into the wilderness, that all past

sins might be expiated; and had afterwards twelve sprightly goats for

his companions.

The wise Mambres returned to his palace, and made reflections.

Nebuchadnezzar, after having embraced the magician, his benefactor,

governed in tranquillity the kingdoms of Memphis, Babylon, Damascus,

Balbec, Tyre, Syria, Asia Minor, Scythia, the countries of Thiras,

Mosok, Tubal, Madai, Gog, Magog, Javan, Sogdiana, Aroriana, the Indies,

and the Isles; and the people of this vast empire cried out aloud every

morning at the rising of the sun:

_"Long live great Nebuchadnezzar, king of kings, who is no longer an

ox!"_

Since which time it has been a custom in Babylon, when the sovereign,

deceived by his satraps, his magicians, treasurers or wives, at length

acknowledges his errors, and amends his conduct, for all the people to

cry out at his gate:

_Long live our great king, who is no longer an ox._

[Illustration: The scape-goat]

ZADIG; OR FATE.

AN ORIENTAL HISTORY.

APPROBATION.

I, the underwritten, who have obtained the character of a learned,

and even of an ingenious man, have read this manuscript, which, in

spite of myself, I have found to be curious, entertaining, moral,

philosophical, and capable of affording pleasure even to those who

hate romances. I have therefore decried it; and have assured the

cadi-lesquier that it is an abominable performance.

* * * * *

EPISTLE DEDICATORY TO THE SULTANA SERAA.

_The 18th of the month Schewal, in the 837th year of the Hegira._

Delight of the eyes, torment of the heart, and light of the mind, I

kiss not the dust of thy feet, because thou never walkest; or

walkest only on the carpets of Iran, or in paths strewn with roses.

I offer thee the translation of a book, written by an ancient sage,

who, having the happiness to have nothing to do, amused himself in

composing the _History of Zadig_; a work which performs more than

it promises.

I beseech thee to read and examine it; for, though thou art in the

spring of life, and every pleasure courts thee to its embrace;

though thou art beautiful, and thy beauty be embellished by thy

admirable talents; though thou art praised from morning to evening,

and, on all these accounts, hast a right to be devoid of common

sense, yet thou hast a sound judgment and a fine taste; and I have

heard thee reason with more accuracy than the old dervises, with

their long beards and pointed bonnets.

Thou art discreet without being distrustful; gentle without

weakness; and beneficent with discernment. Thou lovest thy friends,

and makest thyself no enemies. Thy wit never borrows its charms

from the shafts of detraction. Thou neither sayest nor doest any

ill, notwithstanding that both are so much in thy power.

In a word, thy soul hath always appeared to me to be as pure and

unsullied as thy beauty. Besides, thou hast some little knowledge

in philosophy, which makes me believe that thou wilt take more

pleasure than others of thy sex in perusing the work of this

venerable sage.

It was originally written in the ancient Chaldee, a language which

neither thou nor I understand. It was afterward translated into the

Arabic, to amuse the famous sultan Oulougbeg, much about the time

that the Arabians and the Persians began to write the _Thousand and

One Nights_, the _Thousand and One Days_, _etc._

Ouloug was fond of reading _Zadig_, but the sultanas were fonder of

the _Thousand and One_. "How can you prefer," said the wise Ouloug

to them, "those stories which have neither sense nor meaning?" "It

is for that very reason," replied the sultanas, "that we prefer

them."

I flatter myself that thou wilt not resemble these, thy

predecessors; but that thou wilt be a true Ouloug. I even hope,

that when thou art tired with those general conversations, which

differ from the _Thousand and One_ in nothing but in being less

agreeable, I shall have the honor to entertain thee for a moment

with a rational discourse.

Hadst thou been Thalestris in the time of Scander, the son of

Philip; hadst thou been the Queen of Sheba in the time of Solomon;

these are the very kings that would have paid thee a visit.

I pray the heavenly powers, that thy pleasures may be unmixed, thy

beauty never fading, and thy happiness without end.

SADI.

[Illustration: Caravan approaching Babylon.]

I.

THE BLIND OF ONE EYE.

There lived at Babylon, in the reign of King Moabdar, a young man, named

Zadig, of a good natural disposition, strengthened and improved by

education. Though rich and young, he had learned to moderate his

passions. He had nothing stiff or affected in his behavior. He did not

pretend to examine every action by the strict rules of reason, but was

always ready to make proper allowances for the weakness of mankind. It

was a matter of surprise, that, notwithstanding his sprightly wit, he

never exposed by his raillery those vague, incoherent, and noisy

discourses; those rash censures, ignorant decisions, coarse jests, and

all that empty jingle of words which at Babylon went by the name of

conversation. He had learned, in the first book of Zoroaster, that

self-love is a foot-ball swelled with wind, from which, when pierced,

the most terrible tempests issue forth. Above all, Zadig never boasted

of his conquests among the women, nor affected to entertain a

contemptible opinion of the fair sex. He was generous, and was never

afraid of obliging the ungrateful; remembering the grand precept of

Zoroaster, "When thou eatest, give to the dogs, should they even bite

thee." He was as wise as it is possible for man to be, for he sought to

live with the wise. Instructed in the sciences of the ancient Chaldeans,

he understood the principles of natural philosophy, such as they were

then supposed to be; and knew as much of metaphysics as hath ever been

known in any age, that is, little or nothing at all. He was firmly

persuaded, notwithstanding the new philosophy of the times, that the

year consisted of three hundred and sixty-five days and six hours, and

that the sun was the centre of the solar system. When the principal magi

told him, with a haughty and contemptuous air, that his sentiments were

of a dangerous tendency, and that it was to be an enemy to the state to

believe that the sun revolved round its own axis, and that the year had

twelve months, he held his tongue with great modesty and meekness.

Possessed as he was of great riches, and consequently of many friends,

blessed with a good constitution, a handsome figure, a mind just and

moderate, and a heart noble and sincere, he fondly imagined that he

might easily be happy. He was going to be married to Semira, who, in

point of beauty, birth, and fortune, was the first match in Babylon. He

had a real and virtuous affection for this lady, and she loved him with

the most passionate fondness. The happy moment was almost arrived that

was to unite them for ever in the bands of wedlock, when happening to

take a walk together toward one of the gates of Babylon, under the

palm-trees that adorn the banks of the Euphrates, they saw some men

approaching, armed with sabres and arrows. These were the attendants of

young Orcan, the minister's nephew, whom his uncle's creatures had

flattered into an opinion that he might do everything with impunity. He

had none of the graces nor virtues of Zadig; but thinking himself a much

more accomplished man, he was enraged to find that the other was

preferred before him. This jealousy, which was merely the effect of his

vanity, made him imagine that he was desperately in love with Semira;

and accordingly he resolved to carry her off. The ravishers seized her;

in the violence of the outrage, they wounded her, and made the blood

flow from a person, the sight of which would have softened the tigers

of mount Imaus. She pierced the heavens with her complaints. She cried

out: "My dear husband! they tear me from the man I adore!"

Regardless of her own danger, she was only concerned for the fate of her

dear Zadig, who, in the meantime, defended himself with all the strength

that courage and love could inspire. Assisted only by two faithful

slaves, he put the cowardly ravishers to flight, and carried home

Semira, insensible and bloody as she was.

"O Zadig," said she, on opening her eyes, and beholding her deliverer,

"I loved thee formerly as my intended husband, I now love thee as the

preserver of my honor and my life!"

Never was heart more deeply affected than that of Semira. Never did a

more charming mouth express more moving sentiments, in those glowing

words inspired by a sense of the greatest of all favors, and by the most

tender transports of a lawful passion. Her wound was slight, and was

soon cured. Zadig was more dangerously wounded. An arrow had pierced him

near his eye, and penetrated to a considerable depth, Semira wearied

heaven with her prayers for the recovery of her lover. Her eyes were

constantly bathed in tears; she anxiously waited the happy moment when

those of Zadig should be able to meet hers; but an abscess growing on

the wounded eye, gave everything to fear. A messenger was immediately

dispatched to Memphis, for the great physician Hermes, who came with a

numerous retinue. He visited the patient, and declared that he would

lose his eye. He even foretold the day and hour when this fatal event

would happen.

"Had it been the right eye," said he, "I could easily have cured it; but

the wounds of the left eye are incurable."

All Babylon lamented the fate of Zadig, and admired the profound

knowledge of Hermes. In two days the abscess broke of its own accord,

and Zadig was perfectly cured. Hermes wrote a book, to prove that it

ought not to have been cured. Zadig did not read it: but, as soon as he

was able to go abroad, he went to pay a visit to her in whom all his

hopes of happiness were centered, and for whose sake alone he wished to

have eyes. Semira had been in the country for three days past. He

learned on the road, that that fine lady, having openly declared that

she had an unconquerable aversion to one-eyed men, had the night before

given her hand to Orcan. At this news he fell speechless to the ground.

His sorrows brought him almost to the brink of the grave. He was long

indisposed; but reason at last got the better of his affliction; and the

severity of his fate served even to console him.

"Since," said he, "I have suffered so much from the cruel caprice of a

woman educated at court, I must now think of marrying the daughter of a

citizen."

He pitched upon Azora, a lady of the greatest prudence, and of the best

family in town. He married her, and lived with her for three months in

all the delights of the most tender union. He only observed that she had

a little levity; and was too apt to find that those young men who had

the most handsome persons were likewise possessed of the most wit and

virtue.

II.

THE NOSE.

One morning Azora returned from a walk in a terrible passion and

uttering the most violent exclamations.

"What aileth thee," said he, "my dear spouse? What is it that can thus

have disturbed thee?"

"Alas!" said she, "thou wouldst have been as much enraged as I am, hadst

thou seen what I have just beheld. I have been to comfort the young

widow Cosrou, who, within these two days, hath raised a tomb to her

young husband, near the rivulet that washes the skirts of this meadow.

She vowed to heaven, in the bitterness of her grief, to remain at this

tomb whilst the water of the rivulet should continue to run near it."

"Well," said Zadig, "she is an excellent woman, and loved her husband

with the most sincere affection."

"Ah!" replied Azora, "didst thou but know in what she was employed when

I went to wait upon her!"

"In what, pray tell me, beautiful Azora? Was she turning the course of

the rivulet?"

Azora broke out into such long invectives, and loaded the young widow

with such bitter reproaches, that Zadig was far from being pleased with

this ostentation of virtue.

Zadig had a friend named Cador; one of those young men in whom his wife

discovered more probity and merit than in others. He made him his

confidant, and secured his fidelity as much as possible by a

considerable present. Azora, having passed two days with a friend in the

country, returned home on the third. The servants told her, with tears

in their eyes, that her husband died suddenly the night before; that

they were afraid to send her an account of this mournful event; and that

they had just been depositing his corpse in the tomb of his ancestors,

at the end of the garden. She wept, she tore her hair, and swore she

would follow him to the grave. In the evening, Cador begged leave to

wait upon her, and joined his tears with hers. Next day they wept less,

and dined together. Cador told her, that his friend had left him the

greater part of his estate; and that he should think himself extremely

happy in sharing his fortune with her. The lady wept, fell into a

passion, and at last became more mild and gentle. They sat longer at

supper than at dinner. They now talked with greater confidence. Azora

praised the deceased; but owned that he had many failings from which

Cador was free.

During supper, Cador complained of a violent pain in his side. The lady,

greatly concerned, and eager to serve him, caused all kinds of essences

to be brought, with which she anointed him, to try if some of them might

not possibly ease him of his pain. She lamented that the great Hermes

was not still in Babylon. She even condescended to touch the side in

which Cador felt such exquisite pain.

"Art thou subject to this cruel disorder?" said she to him, with a

compassionate air.

"It sometimes brings me," replied Cador, "to the brink of the grave; and

there is but one remedy that can give me relief--and that is, to apply

to my side the nose of a man who is lately dead."

"A strange remedy, indeed!" said Azora.

"Not more strange," replied he, "than the satchels of Arnou, against the

apoplexy."

This reason, added to the great merit of the young man, at last

determined the lady.

"After all," says she, "when my husband shall cross the bridge Tchinavar

in his journey to the other world, the angel Asrael will not refuse him

a passage because his nose is a little shorter in the second life than

it was in the first."

She then took a razor, went to her husband's tomb, bedewed it with her

tears, and drew near to cut off the nose of Zadig, whom she found

extended at full length in the tomb. Zadig arose, holding his nose with

one hand, and putting back the razor with the other.

"Madam," said he, "don't exclaim so violently against the widow Cosrou.

The project of cutting off my nose is equal to that of turning the

course of a rivulet."

III.

THE DOG AND THE HORSE.

Zadig found by experience, that the first month of marriage, as it is

written in the book of Zend, is the moon of honey, and that the second

is the moon of wormwood. He was some time after obliged to repudiate

Azora, who became too difficult to be pleased; and he then sought for

happiness in the study of nature.

"No man," said he, "can be happier than a philosopher, who reads in this

great book, which God hath placed before our eyes. The truths he

discovers are his own; he nourishes and exalts his soul; he lives in

peace; he fears nothing from men; and his tender spouse will not come to

cut off his nose."

Possessed of these ideas, he retired to a country house on the banks of

the Euphrates. There he did not employ himself in calculating how many

inches of water flow in a second of time under the arches of a bridge,

or whether there fell a cube-line of rain in the month of the mouse

more than in the month of the sheep. He never dreamed of making silk of

cobwebs, or porcelain of broken bottles: but he chiefly studied the

properties of plants and animals; and soon acquired a sagacity that made

him discover a thousand differences where other men see nothing but

uniformity.

One day, as he was walking near a little wood, he saw one of the queen's

eunuchs running toward him, followed by several officers, who appeared

to be in great perplexity, and who ran to and fro like men distracted,

eagerly searching for something they had lost of great value.

"Young man," said the first eunuch, "hast thou seen the queen's dog?"

"It is a bitch," replied Zadig, with great modesty, "and not a dog."

"Thou art in the right," returned the first eunuch.

"It is a very small she-spaniel," added Zadig; "she has lately whelped;

she limps on the left fore-foot, and has very long ears."

"Thou hast seen her," said the first eunuch, quite out of breath.

"No," replied Zadig, "I have not seen her, nor did I so much as know

that the queen had a bitch."

Exactly at the same time, by one of the common freaks of fortune, the

finest horse in the king's stable had escaped from the jockey in the

plains of Babylon. The principal huntsman, and all the other officers,

ran after him with as much eagerness and anxiety as the first eunuch had

done after the bitch. The principal huntsman addressed himself to Zadig,

and asked him if he had not seen the king's horse passing by.

"He is the fleetest horse in the king's stable," replied Zadig, "he is

five feet high, with very small hoofs, and a tail three feet and an half

in length; the studs on his bit are gold, of twenty-three carats, and

his shoes are silver of eleven penny-weights."

"What way did he take? where is he?" demanded the chief huntsman.

"I have not seen him," replied Zadig, "and never heard talk of him

before."

The principal huntsman and the first eunuch never doubted but that

Zadig had stolen the king's horse and the queen's bitch. They therefore

had him conducted before the assembly of the grand desterham, who

condemned him to the knout, and to spend the rest of his days in

Siberia. Hardly was the sentence passed, when the horse and the bitch

were both found. The judges were reduced to the disagreeable necessity

of reversing their sentence; but they condemned Zadig to pay four

hundred ounces of gold for having said that he had not seen what he had

seen. This fine he was obliged to pay; after which, he was permitted to

plead his cause before the counsel of the grand desterham, when he spoke

to the following effect.

"Ye stars of justice, abyss of sciences, mirrors of truth, who have the

weight of lead, the hardness of iron, the splendor of the diamond, and

many of the properties of gold; since I am permitted to speak before

this august assembly, I swear to you by Oromazes, that I have never seen

the queen's respectable bitch, nor the sacred horse of the king of

kings. The truth of the matter is as follows: I was walking toward the

little wood, where I afterward met the venerable eunuch, and the most

illustrious chief huntsman. I observed on the sand the traces of an

animal, and could easily perceive them to be those of a little dog. The

light and long furrows impressed on little eminences of sand between the

marks of the paws, plainly discovered that it was a bitch, whose dugs

were hanging down, and that therefore she must have whelped a few days

before. Other traces of a different kind, that always appeared to have

gently brushed the surface of the sand near the marks of the fore-feet,

showed me that she had very long ears; and as I remarked that there was

always a slighter impression made on the sand by one foot than by the

other three, I found that the bitch of our august queen was a little

lame, if I may be allowed the expression. With regard to the horse of

the king of kings, you will be pleased to know, that walking in the

lanes of this wood, I observed the marks of a horse's shoes, all at

equal distances. This must be a horse, said I to myself, that gallops

excellently. The dust on the trees in a narrow road that was but seven

feet wide, was a little brushed off, at the distance of three feet and

a half from the middle of the road. This horse, said I, has a tail

three feet and a half long, which, being whisked to the right and left,

has swept away the dust. I observed under the trees that formed an arbor

five feet in height, that the leaves of the branches were newly fallen,

from whence I inferred that the horse had touched them, and that he must

therefore be five feet high. As to his bit, it must be gold of

twenty-three carats, for he had rubbed its bosses against a stone which

I knew to be a touchstone, and which I have tried. In a word, from a

mark made by his shoes on flints of another kind, I concluded that he

was shod with silver eleven deniers fine."

All the judges admired Zadig for his acute and profound discernment. The

news of this speech was carried even to the king and queen. Nothing was

talked of but Zadig in the anti-chambers, the chambers, and the cabinet;

and though many of the magi were of opinion that he ought to be burnt as

a sorcerer, the king ordered his officers to restore him the four

hundred ounces of gold which he had been obliged to pay. The register,

the attorneys, and bailiffs, went to his house with great formality to

carry him back his four hundred ounces. They only retained three hundred

and ninety-eight of them to defray the expenses of justice; and then

their servants demanded their fees.

Zadig saw how extremely dangerous it sometimes is to appear too knowing,

and therefore resolved, that on the next occasion of the like nature he

would not tell what he had seen.

Such an opportunity soon offered. A prisoner of state made his escape

and passed under the windows of Zadig's house. Zadig was examined and

made no answer. But it was proved that he had looked at the prisoner

from this window. For this crime he was condemned to pay five hundred

ounces of gold; and, according to the polite custom of Babylon, he

thanked his judges for their indulgence.

"Great God!" said he to himself, "what a misfortune it is to walk in a

wood through which the queen's bitch or the king's horse have passed!

how dangerous to look out at a window! and how difficult to be happy in

this life!"

IV.

THE ENVIOUS MAN.

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 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, hasted 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 empaled Zadig to do honor 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 empale Zadig for

having thought contemptuously of griffins, and the other party for

having spoken disrespectfully of rabbits."

Cador hushed up the affair by appealing to a person who had great

interest in the college of the magi. Nobody was empaled. This lenity

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 by any but by the person in whose honor they are

written. He therefore tore in two the leaf on which he had written 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 remained in the garden, continued to 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 in his life. He had it

in his power to ruin a person of virtue and merit. Killed with this

fiend-like joy, he found means to convey to the king the satire written

by the hand of Zadig, who was immediately thrown into prison, together

with the lady and Zadig's two friends.

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 rose bush 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 pocket-book 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 caused him to reflect.

The queen, who remembered what had been written on the piece of Zadig's

pocket-book, ordered it to be brought. They compared the two pieces

together, and found them to tally exactly. They then read the verses as

Zadig had written 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 consort, to Zadig, and to

the kingdom in general. Zadig now began to think that happiness was not

so unattainable as he had formerly imagined.

V.

THE GENEROUS.

The time had now arrived for celebrating a grand festival, which

returned every five years. It was a custom in Babylon solemnly to

declare, at the end of every five years, which of the citizens had

performed the most generous action. The grandees and the magi were the

judges. The first satrap, who was charged with the government of the

city, published the most noble actions that had passed under his

administration. The competition was decided by votes; and the king

pronounced the sentence. People came to this solemnity from the

extremities of the earth. The conqueror received from the monarch's

hands a golden cup adorned with precious stones, his majesty at the same

time making him this compliment: "Receive this reward of thy generosity,

and may the gods grant me many subjects like to thee."

This memorable day having come, the king appeared on his throne,

surrounded by the grandees, the magi, and the deputies of all the

nations that came to these games, where glory was acquired not by the

swiftness of horses, nor by strength of body, but by virtue. The first

satrap recited, with an audible voice, such actions as might entitle

the authors of them to this invaluable prize. He did not mention the

greatness of soul with which Zadig had restored the envious man his

fortune, because it was not judged to be an action worthy of disputing

the prize.

He first presented a judge, who having made a citizen lose a

considerable cause by a mistake, for which, after all, he was not

accountable, had given him the whole of his own estate, which was just

equal to what the other had lost.

He next produced a young man, who being desperately in love with a lady

whom he was going to marry, had yielded her up to his friend, whose

passion for her had almost brought him to the brink of the grave, and at

the same time had given him the lady's fortune.

He afterwards produced a soldier, who, in the wars of Hircania, had

given a still more noble instance of generosity. A party of the enemy

having seized his mistress, he fought in her defence with great

intrepidity. At that very instant he was informed that another party, at

the distance of a few paces, were carrying off his mother; he therefore

left his mistress with tears in his eyes, and flew to the assistance of

his mother. At last he returned to the dear object of his love, and

found her expiring. He was just going to plunge his sword in his own

bosom; but his mother remonstrating against such a desperate deed, and

telling him that he was the only support of her life, he had the courage

to endure to live.

The judges were inclined to give the prize to the soldier. But the king

took up the discourse, and said:

"The action of the soldier, and those of the other two, are doubtless

very great, but they have nothing in them surprising. Yesterday, Zadig

performed an action that filled me with wonder. I had a few days before

disgraced Coreb, my minister and favorite. I complained of him in the

most violent and bitter terms; all my courtiers assured me that I was

too gentle, and seemed to vie with each other in speaking ill of Coreb.

I asked Zadig what he thought of him, and he had the courage to commend

him. I have read in our histories of many people who have atoned for an

error by the surrender of their fortune; who have resigned a mistress;

or preferred a mother to the object of their affection, but never

before did I hear of a courtier who spoke favorably of a disgraced

minister, that labored under the displeasure of his sovereign. I give to

each of those whose generous actions have been now recited, twenty

thousand pieces of gold; but the cup I give to Zadig."

"May it please your majesty," said Zadig, "thyself alone deservest the

cup. Thou hast performed an action of all others the most uncommon and

meritorious, since, notwithstanding thy being a powerful king, thou wast

not offended at thy slave, when he presumed to oppose thy passion."

The king and Zadig were equally the object of admiration. The judge who

had given his estate to his client; the lover who had resigned his

mistress to his friend, and the soldier, who had preferred the safety of

his mother to that of his mistress, received the king's presents, and

saw their names enrolled in the catalogue of generous men. Zadig had the

cup, and the king acquired the reputation of a good prince, which he did

not long enjoy. The day was celebrated by feasts that lasted longer than

the law enjoined; and the memory of it is still preserved in Asia. Zadig

said: "Now I am happy at last." But he found himself fatally deceived.

VI.

THE MINISTER.

The king had lost his first minister, and chose Zadig to supply his

place. All the ladies in Babylon applauded the choice; for, since the

foundation of the empire, there had never been such a young minister.

But all the courtiers were filled with jealousy and vexation. The

envious man, in particular, was troubled with a spitting of blood, and a

prodigious inflammation in his nose. Zadig, having thanked the king and

queen for their goodness, went likewise to thank the parrot.

"Beautiful bird," said he, "tis thou that hast saved my life, and made

me first minister. The queen's bitch and the king's horse did me a great

deal of mischief; but thou hast done me much good. Upon such slender

threads as these do the fates of mortals hang! but," added he, "this

happiness perhaps will vanish very soon."

[Illustration: The cup.--"May it please your majesty," said Zadig,

"thyself alone deservest the cup."]

"Soon," replied the parrot.

Zadig was somewhat startled at this word. But as he was a good natural

philosopher, and did not believe parrots to be prophets, he quickly

recovered his spirits, and resolved to execute his duty to the best of

his power.

He made every one feel the sacred authority of the laws, but no one felt

the weight of his dignity. He never checked the deliberations of the

divan; and every vizier might give his opinion without fear of incurring

the minister's displeasure. When he gave judgment, it was not he that

gave it; it was the law; the rigor of which, however, whenever it was

too severe, he always took care to soften; and when laws were wanting,

the equity of his decisions was such as might easily have made them pass

for those of Zoroaster.

It is to him that the nations are indebted for this grand principle, to

wit, that it is better to run the risk of sparing the guilty than to

condemn the innocent. He imagined that laws were made as well to secure

the people from the suffering of injuries as to restrain them from the

commission of crimes. His chief talent consisted in discovering the

truth, which all men seek to obscure. This great talent he put in

practice from the very beginning of his administration.

A famous merchant of Babylon, who died in the Indies, divided his estate

equally between his two sons, after having disposed of their sister in

marriage, and left a present of thirty thousand pieces of gold to that

son who should be found to have loved him best. The eldest raised a tomb

to his memory; the youngest increased his sister's portion, by giving

her a part of his inheritance. Every one said that the eldest son loved

his father best, and the youngest his sister; and that the thirty

thousand pieces belonged to the eldest.

Zadig sent for both of them, the one after the other. To the eldest he

said:

"Thy father is not dead; but has survived his last illness, and is

returning to Babylon."

"God be praised," replied the young man; "but his tomb cost me a

considerable sum."

Zadig afterwards repeated the same story to the youngest son.

"God be praised," said he; "I will go and restore to my father all that

I have; but I could wish that he would leave my sister what I have given

her."

"Thou shalt restore nothing," replied Zadig, "and thou shalt have the

thirty thousand pieces, for thou art the son who loves his father best."

A widow, having a young son, and being possessed of a handsome fortune,

had given a promise of marriage to two magi; who were both desirous of

marrying her.

"I will take for my husband," said she, "the man who can give the best

education to my beloved son."

The two magi contended who should bring him up, and the cause was

carried before Zadig. Zadig summoned the two magi to attend him.

"What will you teach your pupil?" said he to the first.

"I will teach him," said the doctor, "the eight parts of speech, logic,

astrology, pneumatics, what is meant by substance and accident, abstract

and concrete, the doctrine of the monades, and the pre-established

harmony."

"For my part," said the second, "I will endeavor to give him a sense of

justice, and to make him worthy the friendship of good men."

Zadig then cried:

"Whether thou art the child's favorite or not, thou shalt have his

mother."

VII.

THE DISPUTES AND THE AUDIENCES.

In this manner he daily discovered the subtlety of his genius and the

goodness of his heart. The people at once admired and loved him. He

passed for the happiest man in the world. The whole empire resounded

with his name. All the ladies ogled him. All the men praised him for his

justice. The learned regarded him as an oracle; and even the priests

confessed that he knew more than the old arch-magi Yebor. They were now

so far from prosecuting him on account of the griffins, that they

believed nothing but what he thought credible.

There had continued at Babylon, for the space of fifteen hundred years,

a violent contest that had divided the empire into two sects. The one

pretended that they ought to enter the temple of Mithra with the left

foot foremost; the other held this custom in detestation, and always

entered with the right foot first. The people waited with great

impatience for the day on which the solemn feast of the sacred fire was

to be celebrated, to see which sect Zadig would favor. All the world had

their eyes fixed on his two feet, and the whole city was in the utmost

suspense and perturbation. Zadig jumped into the temple with his feet

joined together; and afterward proved, in an eloquent discourse, that

the Sovereign of heaven and earth, who accepteth not the persons of men,

maketh no distinction between the right and the left foot. The envious

man and his wife alleged that his discourse was not figurative enough,

and that he did not make the rocks and mountains dance with sufficient

agility.

"He is dry," said they, "and void of genius. He does not make the sea to

fly, and stars to fall, nor the sun to melt like wax. He has not the

true oriental style."

Zadig contented himself with having the style of reason. All the world

favored him, not because he was in the right road, or followed the

dictates of reason, or was a man of real merit, but because he was prime

vizier.

He terminated with the same happy address the grand dispute between the

black and the white magi. The former maintained that it was the height

of impiety to pray to God with the face turned toward the east in

winter; the latter asserted that God abhorred the prayers of those who

turned toward the west in summer. Zadig decreed that every man should be

allowed to turn as he pleased.

Thus he found out the happy secret of finishing all affairs, whether of

a private or a public nature, in the morning. The rest of the day he

employed in superintending and promoting the embellishments of Babylon.

He exhibited tragedies that drew tears from the eyes of the spectators,

and comedies that shook their sides with laughter,--a custom which had

long been disused, and which his good taste now induced him to revive.

He never affected to be more knowing in the polite arts than the artists

themselves. He encouraged them by rewards and honors, and was never

jealous of their talents. In the evening the king was highly entertained

with his conversation, and the queen still more.

"Great minister!" said the king.

"Amiable minister!" said the queen; and both of them added, "It would

have been a great loss to the state had such a man been hanged."

Meanwhile Zadig perceived that his thoughts were always distracted, as

well when he gave audience as when he sat in judgment. He did not know

to what to attribute this absence of mind, and that was his only sorrow.

He had a dream, in which he imagined that he laid himself down upon a

heap of dry herbs, among which there were many prickly ones that gave

him great uneasiness, and that he afterward reposed himself on a soft

bed of roses, from which there sprung a serpent that wounded him to the

heart with its sharp venomed fangs. "Alas," said he, "I have long lain

on these dry and prickly herbs, I am now on the bed of roses; but what

shall be the serpent?"

VIII.

JEALOUSY.

Zadig's calamities sprung even from his happiness, and especially from

his merit. He every day conversed with the king and his august consort.

The charms of Zadig's conversation were greatly heightened by that

desire of pleasing which is to the mind what dress is to beauty. His

youth and graceful appearance insensibly made an impression on Astarte,

which she did not at first perceive. Her passion grew and flourished in

the bosom of innocence. Without fear or scruple, she indulged the

pleasing satisfaction of seeing and hearing a man who was so dear to her

husband, and to the empire in general. She was continually praising him

to the king. She talked of him to her women, who were always sure to

improve on her praises. And thus everything contributed to pierce her

heart with a dart, of which she did not seem to be sensible. She made

several presents to Zadig, which discovered a greater spirit of

gallantry than she imagined. She intended to speak to him only as a

queen satisfied with his services; and her expressions were sometimes

those of a woman in love.

Astarte was much more beautiful than that Semira who had such a strong

aversion to one-eyed men, or that other woman who had resolved to cut

off her husband's nose. Her unreserved familiarity, her tender

expressions, at which she began to blush; and her eyes, which, though

she endeavored to divert them to other objects, were always fixed upon

his, inspired Zadig with a passion that filled him with astonishment. He

struggled hard to get the better of it. He called to his aid the

precepts of philosophy, which had always stood him in stead; but from

thence, though he could derive the light of knowledge, he could procure

no remedy to cure the disorders of his love-sick heart. Duty, gratitude,

and violated majesty, presented themselves to his mind, as so many

avenging gods. He struggled, he conquered. But this victory, which he

was obliged to purchase afresh every moment, cost him many sighs and

tears. He no longer dared to speak to the queen with that sweet and

charming familiarity which had been so agreeable to them both. His

countenance was covered with a cloud. His conversation was constrained

and incoherent. His eyes were fixed on the ground; and when, in spite of

all his endeavors to the contrary, they encountered those of the queen,

they found them bathed in tears, and darting arrows of flame. They

seemed to say, We adore each other, and yet are afraid to love; we are

consumed with a passion which we both condemn.

Zadig left the royal presence full of perplexity and despair, and having

his heart oppressed with a burden which he was no longer able to bear.

In the violence of his perturbation he involuntarily betrayed the secret

to his friend Cador, in the same manner as a man, who, having long

endured a cruel disease, discovers his pain by a cry extorted from him

by a more severe attack, and by the cold sweat that covers his brow.

"I have already discovered," said Cador, "the sentiments which thou

wouldst fain conceal from thyself. The symptoms by which the passions

show themselves are certain and infallible. Judge, my dear Zadig, since

I have read thy heart, whether the king will not discover something in

it that may give him offence. He has no other fault but that of being

the most jealous man in the world. Thou canst resist the violence of thy

passion with greater fortitude than the queen, because thou art a

philosopher, and because thou art Zadig. Astarte is a woman. She suffers

her eyes to speak with so much the more imprudence, as she does not as

yet think herself guilty. Conscious of her own innocence, she unhappily

neglects those external appearances which are so necessary. I shall

tremble for her so long as she has nothing wherewithal to reproach

herself. A growing passion which we endeavor to suppress, discovers

itself in spite of all our efforts to the contrary."

Meanwhile, the queen mentioned the name of Zadig so frequently, and with

such a blushing and downcast look. She was sometimes so lively, and

sometimes so perplexed, when she spoke to him in the king's presence,

and was seized with such a deep thoughtfulness at his going away, that

the king began to be troubled. He believed all that he saw, and imagined

all that he did not see. He particularly remarked, that his wife's shoes

were blue, and that Zadig's shoes were blue; that his wife's ribbons

were yellow, and that Zadig's bonnet was yellow, and these were terrible

symptoms to a prince of so much delicacy. In his jealous mind suspicion

was turned into certainty.

All the slaves of kings and queens are so many spies over their hearts.

They soon observed that Astarte was tender, and that Moabdar was

jealous. The envious man persuaded his wife to send anonymously to the

king her garter, which resembled those of the queen; and to complete the

misfortune, this garter was blue. The monarch now thought of nothing but

in what manner he might best execute his vengeance. He one night

resolved to poison the queen, and in the morning to put Zadig to death

by the bowstring. The orders were given to a merciless eunuch, who

commonly executed his acts of vengeance.

There happened at that time to be in the king's chamber a little dwarf,

who, though dumb, was not deaf. He was allowed, on account of his

insignificance, to go wherever he pleased; and, as a domestic animal,

was a witness of what passed in the most profound secrecy.

This little mute was strongly attached to the queen and Zadig. With

equal horror and surprise, he heard the cruel orders given; but how

could he prevent the fatal sentence that in a few hours was to be

carried into execution? He could not write, but he could paint; and

excelled particularly in drawing a striking resemblance. He employed a

part of the night in sketching out with his pencil what he meant to

impart to the queen. The piece represented the king in one corner,

boiling with rage, and giving orders to the eunuch; a blue bowstring,

and a bowl on a table, with blue garters and yellow ribbons; the queen

in the middle of the picture, expiring in the arms of her woman, and

Zadig strangled at her feet. The horizon represented a rising sun, to

express that this shocking execution was to be performed in the morning.

As soon as he had finished the picture, he ran to one of Astarte's

women, awoke her, and made her understand that she must immediately

carry it to the queen.

At midnight a messenger knocks at Zadig's door, awakes him, and gives

him a note from the queen. He doubts whether it is not a dream; and

opens the letter with a trembling hand. But how great was his surprise,

and who can express the consternation and despair into which he was

thrown upon reading these words? "Fly, this instant, or thou art a dead

man! Fly, Zadig, I conjure thee by our mutual love and my yellow

ribbons. I have not been guilty, but I find that I must die like a

criminal."

Zadig was hardly able to speak. He sent for Cador, and, without uttering

a word, gave him the note. Cador forced him to obey, and forthwith to

take the road to Memphis.

"Shouldst thou dare," said he, "to go in search of the queen, thou wilt

hasten her death. Shouldst thou speak to the king, thou wilt infallibly

ruin her. I will take upon me the charge of her destiny; follow thy own.

I will spread a report that thou hast taken the road to India. I will

soon follow thee, and inform thee of all that shall have passed in

Babylon."

At that instant, Cador caused two of the swiftest dromedaries to be

brought to a private gate of the palace. Upon one of these he mounted

Zadig, whom he was obliged to carry to the door, and who was ready to

expire with grief. He was accompanied by a single domestic, and Cador,

plunged in sorrow and astonishment, soon lost sight of his friend.

This illustrious fugitive arriving on the side of a hill, from whence he

could take a view of Babylon, turned his eyes toward the queen's palace,

and fainted away at the sight; nor did he recover his senses but to shed

a torrent of tears, and to wish for death. At length, after his thoughts

had been long engrossed in lamenting the unhappy fate of the loveliest

woman and the greatest queen in the world, he for a moment turned his

views on himself, and cried:

"What then is human life? O virtue, how hast thou served me? Two women

have basely deceived me; and now a third, who is innocent, and more

beautiful than both the others, is going to be put to death! Whatever

good I have done hath been to me a continual source of calamity and

affliction; and I have only been raised to the height of grandeur, to be

tumbled down the most horrid precipice of misfortune."

Filled with these gloomy reflections, his eyes overspread with the veil

of grief, his countenance covered with the paleness of death, and his

soul plunged in an abyss of the blackest despair, he continued his

journey toward Egypt.

IX.

THE WOMAN BEATER.

Zadig directed his course by the stars. The constellation of Orion, and

the splendid Dogstars, guided his steps toward the pole of Canopæa. He

admired those vast globes of light which appear to our eyes as so many

little sparks, while the earth, which in reality is only an

imperceptible point in nature, appears to our fond imaginations as

something so grand and noble. He then represented to himself the human

species, as it really is, as a parcel of insects devouring one another

on a little atom of clay. This true image seemed to annihilate his

misfortunes, by making him sensible of the nothingness of his own being,

and that of Babylon. His soul launched out into infinity, and detached

from the senses, contemplated the immutable order of the universe. But

when afterward, returning to himself, and entering into his own heart,

he considered that Astarte had perhaps died for him, the universe

vanished from his sight, and he beheld nothing in the whole compass of

nature but Astarte expiring, and Zadig unhappy.

While he thus alternately gave up his mind to this flux and reflux of

sublime philosophy and intolerable grief, he advanced toward the

frontiers of Egypt; and his faithful domestic was already in the first

village, in search of a lodging.

Meanwhile, as Zadig was walking toward the gardens that skirted the

village, he saw, at a small distance from the highway, a woman bathed in

tears and calling heaven and earth to her assistance, and a man in a

furious passion pursuing her.

This madman had already overtaken the woman, who embraced his knees,

notwithstanding which he loaded her with blows and reproaches. Zadig

judged by the frantic behavior of the Egyptian, and by the repeated

pardons which the lady asked him, that the one was jealous, and the

other unfaithful. But when he surveyed the woman more narrowly, and

found her to be a lady of exquisite beauty, and even to have a strong

resemblance to the unhappy Astarte, he felt himself inspired with

compassion for her, and horror toward the Egyptian.

"Assist me," cried she to Zadig, with the deepest sighs, "deliver me

from the hands of the most barbarous man in the world. Save my life."

Moved by these pitiful cries, Zadig ran and threw himself between her

and the barbarian. As he had some knowledge of the Egyptian language, he

addressed him in that tongue.

"If," said he, "thou hast any humanity, I conjure thee to pay some

regard to her beauty and weakness. How canst thou behave in this

outrageous manner to one of the masterpieces of nature, who lies at thy

feet, and hath no defence but her tears?"

"Ah, ah!" replied the madman, "thou art likewise in love with her. I

must be revenged on thee too."

So saying, he left the lady, whom he had hitherto held with his hand

twisted in her hair, and taking his lance attempted to stab the

stranger. Zadig, who was in cold blood, easily eluded the blow aimed by

the frantic Egyptian. He seized the lance near the iron with which it

was armed. The Egyptian strove to draw it back; Zadig to wrest it from

the Egyptian; and in the struggle it was broken in two. The Egyptian

draws his sword; Zadig does the same. They attack each other. The former

gives a hundred blows at random; the latter wards them off with great

dexterity. The lady, seated on a turf, re-adjusts her head-dress, and

looks at the combatants. The Egyptian excelled in strength: Zadig in

address. The one fought like a man whose arm was directed by his

judgment; the other like a madman, whose blind rage made him deal his

blows at random. Zadig closes with him, and disarms him; and while the

Egyptian, now become more furious, endeavors to throw himself upon him,

he seizes him, presses him close, and throws him down; and then holding

his sword to his breast, offers him his life. The Egyptian, frantic with

rage, draws his poniard, and wounds Zadig at the very instant that the

conqueror was granting a pardon. Zadig, provoked at such brutal

behavior, plunged his sword in the bosom of the Egyptian, who giving a

horrible shriek and a violent struggle, instantly expired. Zadig then

approached the lady, and said to her with a gentle tone:

"He hath forced me to kill him. I have avenged thy cause. Thou art now

delivered from the most violent man I ever saw. What further, madam,

wouldest thou have me do for thee?

"Die, villain," replied she, "thou hast killed my lover. O that I were

able to tear out thy heart!"

"Why truly, madam," said Zadig, "thou hadst a strange kind of a man for

a lover; he beat thee with all his might, and would have killed thee,

because thou hadst entreated me to give thee assistance."

"I wish he were beating me still," replied the lady with tears and

lamentation. "I well deserved it; for I had given him cause to be

jealous. Would to heaven that he was now beating me, and that thou wast

in his place."

Zadig, struck with surprise, and inflamed with a higher degree of

resentment than he had ever felt before, said:

"Beautiful as thou art, madam, thou deservest that I should beat thee in

my turn for thy perverse and impertinent behavior. But I shall not give

myself the trouble."

So saying, he remounted his camel, and advanced toward the town. He had

proceeded but a few steps, when he turned back at the noise of four

Babylonian couriers, who came riding at full gallop. One of them, upon

seeing the woman, cried:

"It is the very same. She resembles the description that was given us."

They gave themselves no concern about the dead Egyptian, but instantly

seized the lady. She called out to Zadig:

"Help me once more, generous stranger. I ask pardon for having

complained of thy conduct. Deliver me again, and I will be thine for

ever."

Zadig was no longer in the humor of fighting for her.

"Apply to another," said he, "thou shalt not again ensnare me in thy

wiles."

Besides, he was wounded; his blood was still flowing, and he himself had

need of assistance: and the sight of four Babylonians, probably sent by

King Moabdar, filled him with apprehension. He therefore hastened toward

the village, unable to comprehend why four Babylonian couriers should

come and seize this Egyptian woman, but still more astonished at the

lady's behavior.

X.

SLAVERY.

As he entered the Egyptian village, he saw himself surrounded by the

people. Every one said:

"This is the man who carried off the beautiful Missouf, and assassinated

Clitofis."

"Gentleman," said he, "God preserve me from carrying off your beautiful

Missouf. She is too capricious for me. And with regard to Clitofis, I

did not assassinate him, I only fought with him in my own defence. He

endeavored to kill me, because I humbly interceded for the beautiful

Missouf, whom he beat most unmercifully. I am a stranger, come to seek

refuge in Egypt; and it is not likely, that in coming to implore your

protection, I should begin by carrying off a woman, and assassinating a

man."

The Egyptians were then just and humane. The people conducted Zadig to

the town-house. They first of all ordered his wound to be dressed, and

then examined him and his servant apart, in order to discover the truth.

They found that Zadig was not an assassin; but as he was guilty of

having killed a man, the law condemned him to be a slave. His two camels

were sold for the benefit of the town: all the gold he had brought with

him was distributed among the inhabitants; and his person, as well as

that of the companion of his journey, was exposed for sale in the

market-place. An Arabian merchant, named Setoc, made the purchase; but

as the servant was fitter for labor than the master, he was sold at a

higher price. There was no comparison between the two men. Thus Zadig

became a slave subordinate to his own servant. They were linked together

by a chain fastened to their feet, and in this condition they followed

the Arabian merchant to his house.

By the way Zadig comforted his servant, and exhorted him to patience;

but he could not help making, according to his usual custom, some

reflections on human life. "I see," said he, "that the unhappiness of my

fate hath an influence on thine. Hitherto everything has turned out to

me in a most unaccountable manner. I have been condemned to pay a fine

for having seen the marks of a bitch's feet. I thought that I should

once have been empaled alive on account of a griffin. I have been sent

to execution for having made some verses in praise of the king. I have

been on the point of being strangled, because the queen had yellow

ribbons; and now I am a slave with thee, because a brutal wretch beat

his mistress. Come, let us keep a good heart; all this will perhaps have

an end. The Arabian merchants must necessarily have slaves; and why not

me as well as another, since, as well as another, I am a man? This

merchant will not be cruel. He must treat his slaves well if he expects

any advantage from them."

But while he spoke thus, his heart was entirely engrossed by the fate of

the queen of Babylon.

Two days after, the merchant Setoc set out for Arabia Deserta, with his

slaves and his camels. His tribe dwelt near the desert of Oreb. The

journey was long and painful. Setoc set a much greater value on the

servant than the master, because the former was more expert in loading

the camels, and all the little marks of distinction were shown to him. A

camel having died within two days journey of Oreb, his burden was

divided and laid on the backs of the servants; and Zadig had his share

among the rest. Setoc laughed to see all his slaves walking with their

bodies inclined. Zadig took the liberty to explain to him the cause, and

inform him of the laws of the balance. The merchant was astonished, and

began to regard him with other eyes. Zadig, finding he had raised his

curiosity, increased it still further by acquainting him with many

things that related to commerce; the specific gravity of metals and

commodities under an equal bulk; the properties of several useful

animals; and the means of rendering those useful that are not naturally

so.

At last Setoc began to consider Zadig as a sage, and preferred him to

his companion, whom he had formerly so much esteemed. He treated him

well, and had no cause to repent of his kindness.

As soon as Setoc arrived among his own tribe he demanded the payment of

five hundred ounces of silver, which he had lent to a Jew in presence of

two witnesses; but as the witnesses were dead, and the debt could not be

proved, the Hebrew appropriated the merchant's money to himself, and

piously thanked God for putting it in his power to cheat an Arabian.

Setoc imparted this troublesome affair to Zadig, who had now become his

counsel.

"In what place," said Zadig, "didst thou lend the five hundred ounces to

this infidel?"

"Upon a large stone," replied the merchant, "that lies near the mountain

of Oreb."

"What is the character of thy debter?" said Zadig.

"That of a knave," returned Setoc.

"But I ask thee, whether he is lively or phlegmatic; cautious or

imprudent?"

"He is, of all bad payers," said Setoc, "the most lively fellow I ever

knew."

"Well," resumed Zadig, "allow me to plead thy cause."

In effect, Zadig having summoned the Jew to the tribunal, addressed the

judge in the following terms:

"Pillow of the throne of equity, I come to demand of this man, in the

name of my master, five hundred ounces of silver, which he refuses to

repay."

"Hast thou any witnesses?" said the judge.

"No, they are dead; but there remains a large stone upon which the money

was counted; and if it please thy grandeur to order the stone to be

sought for, I hope that it will bear witness. The Hebrew and I will

tarry here till the stone arrives. I will send for it at my master's

expense."

"With all my heart," replied the judge, and immediately applied himself

to the discussion of other affairs.

When the court was going to break up, the judge said to Zadig:

"Well, friend, hath not thy stone yet arrived?"

The Hebrew replied with a smile:

"Thy grandeur may stay here till to-morrow, and after all not see the

stone. It is more than six miles from hence and it would require fifteen

men to move it."

"Well," cried Zadig, "did I not say that the stone would bear witness?

Since this man knows where it is, he thereby confesses that it was upon

it that the money was counted."

The Hebrew was disconcerted, and was soon after obliged to confess the

truth. The judge ordered him to be fastened to the stone, without meat

or drink, till he should restore the five hundred ounces, which were

soon after paid.

The slave Zadig and the stone were held in great repute in Arabia.

[Illustration: Egyptian archer.]

XI.

THE FUNERAL PILE.

Setoc, charmed with the happy issue of this affair, made his slave his

intimate friend. He had now conceived as great an esteem for him as ever

the king of Babylon had done; and Zadig was glad that Setoc had no wife.

He discovered in his master a good natural disposition, much probity of

heart, and a great share of good sense; but he was sorry to see that,

according to the ancient custom of Arabia, he adored the host of heaven;

that is, the sun, moon, and stars. He sometimes spoke to him on this

subject with great prudence and discretion. At last he told him that

these bodies were like all other bodies in the universe, and no more

deserving of our homage than a tree or a rock.

"But," said Setoc, "they are eternal beings; and it is from them we

derive all we enjoy. They animate nature; they regulate the seasons;

and, besides, are removed at such an immense distance from us, that we

cannot help revering them."

"Thou receivest more advantage," replied Zadig, "from the waters of the

Red Sea, which carry thy merchandize to the Indies. Why may not it be as

ancient as the stars? and if thou adorest what is placed at a distance

from thee, thou shouldest adore the land of the Gangarides, which lies

at the extremity of the earth."

"No," said Setoc, "the brightness of the stars commands my adoration."

At night Zadig lighted up a great number of candles in the tent where he

was to sup with Setoc; and the moment his patron appeared, he fell on

his knees before these lighted tapers, and said:

"Eternal and shining luminaries! be ye always propitious to me."

Having thus said, he sat down at the table, without taking the least

notice of Setoc.

"What art thou doing?" said Setoc in amaze[TR: amazement?].

"I act like thee," replied Zadig, "I adore these candles, and neglect

their master and mine."

Setoc comprehended the profound sense of this apologue. The wisdom of

his slave sunk deep into his soul. He no longer offered incense to the

creatures, but he adored the eternal Being who made them.

There prevailed at that time in Arabia a shocking custom, sprung

originally from Scythia, and which, being established in the Indies by

the credit of the Brahmins, threatened to over-run all the East. When a

married man died, and his beloved wife aspired to the character of a

saint, she burned herself publicly on the body of her husband. This was

a solemn feast, and was called the Funeral Pile of Widowhood; and that

tribe in which most women had been burned was the most respected. An

Arabian of Setoc's tribe being dead, his widow, whose name was Almona,

and who was very devout, published the day and hour when she intended to

throw herself into the fire, amidst the sound of drums and trumpets.

Zadig remonstrated against this horrible custom. He showed Setoc how

inconsistent it was with the happiness of mankind to suffer young widows

to burn themselves--widows who were capable of giving children to the

state, or at least of educating those they already had; and he convinced

him that it was his duty to do all that lay in his power to abolish such

a barbarous practice.

"The women," said Setoc, "have possessed the right of burning themselves

for more than a thousand years; and who shall dare to abrogate a law

which time hath rendered sacred? Is there anything more respectable than

ancient abuses?"

"Reason is more ancient," replied Zadig: "meanwhile, speak thou to the

chiefs of the tribes, and I will go to wait on the young widow."

Accordingly, he was introduced to her, and after having insinuated

himself into her good graces by some compliments on her beauty, and told

her what a pity it was to commit so many charms to the flames, he at

last praised her for her constancy and courage.

"Thou must surely have loved thy husband," said he to her, "with the

most passionate fondness."

"Who, I?" replied the lady, "I loved him not at all. He was a brutal,

jealous, and insupportable wretch; but I am firmly resolved to throw

myself on his funeral pile."

[Illustration: The funeral pyre.--"The women," said Setoc, "have

possessed the right of burning themselves for more than a thousand

years; and who shall dare to abrogate a law which time hath rendered

sacred? Is there anything more respectable than ancient abuses?"]

"It would appear then," said Zadig, "that there must be a very delicious

pleasure in being burnt alive."

"Oh! it makes me shudder," replied the lady, "but that must be

overlooked. I am a devotee; I should lose my reputation; and all the

world would despise me, if I did not burn myself."

Zadig having made her acknowledge that she burned herself to gain the

good opinion of others, and to gratify her own vanity, entertained her

with a long discourse calculated to make her a little in love with life,

and even went so far as to inspire her with some degree of good will for

the person who spoke to her.

"And what wilt thou do at last," said he, "if the vanity of burning

thyself should not continue?"

"Alas!" said the lady, "I believe I should desire thee to marry me."

Zadig's mind was too much engrossed with the idea of Astarte not to

elude this declaration; but he instantly went to the chiefs of the

tribes, told them what had passed, and advised them to make a law by

which a widow should not be permitted to burn herself, till she had

conversed privately with a young man for the space of an hour. Since

that time not a single widow hath burned herself in Arabia. They were

indebted to Zadig alone for destroying in one day a cruel custom that

had lasted for so many ages; and thus he became the benefactor of

Arabia.

XII.

THE SUPPER.

Setoc, who could not separate himself from this man in whom dwelt

wisdom, carried Zadig to the great fair of Balzora, whither the richest

merchants of the earth resorted. Zadig was highly pleased to see so many

men of different countries united in the same place. He considered the

whole universe as one large family assembled at Balzora. The second day

he sat at table with an Egyptian, an Indian, an inhabitant of Cathay, a

Greek, a Celtic, and several other strangers, who, in their frequent

voyages to the Arabian Gulf, had learned enough of the Arabic to make

themselves understood.

The Egyptian seemed to be in a violent passion. "What an abominable

country," said he, "is Balzora! They refuse me a thousand ounces of gold

on the best security in the world."

"How!" said Setoc. "On what security have they refused thee this sum?"

"On the body of my aunt," replied the Egyptian. "She was the most

notable woman in Egypt; she always accompanied me in my journeys; she

died on the road. I have converted her into one of the nest mummies in

the world; and in my own country I could obtain any amount by giving her

as a pledge. It is very strange that they will not here lend me a

thousand ounces of gold on such a solid security."

Angry as he was, he was going to help himself to a bit of excellent

boiled fowl, when the Indian, taking him by the hand, cried out in a

sorrowful tone, "Ah! what art thou going to do?"

"To eat a bit of this fowl," replied the man who owned the mummy.

"Take care that thou dost not," replied the Indian. "It is possible that

the soul of the deceased may have passed into this fowl; and thou

wouldst not, surely, expose thyself to the danger of eating thy aunt? To

boil fowls is a manifest outrage on nature."

"What dost thou mean by thy nature and thy fowls?" replied the choleric

Egyptian. "We adore a bull, and yet we eat heartily of beef."

"You adore a bull! is it possible?" said the Indian.

"Nothing is more possible," returned the other; "we have done so for

these hundred and thirty-five thousand years; and nobody amongst us has

ever found fault with it."

"A hundred and thirty-five thousand years!" said the Indian. "This

account is a little exaggerated. It is but eighty thousand years since

India was first peopled, and we are surely more ancient than you are.

Brahma prohibited our eating of ox-flesh before you thought of putting

it on your spits or altars."

[Illustration: Oannes--the Fish God.--"Thou art mistaken," said a

Chaldean. "It is to the fish Oannes that we owe these great advantages;

and it is just that we should render homage to none but him. All the

world will tell thee, that he is a divine being, with a golden tail, and

a beautiful human head; and that for three hours every day he left the

water to preach on dry land."]

OANNES--THE FISH AVATAR.

"The accompanying engraving of the fish-god is from a drawing by

Gentil, given in _Calmet's Dictionary_. The god was worshiped under

the name of Dagon by the Syrians, and Oannes by the Chaldeans. The

image represented the body of a fish with the head and arms of a

man; and while all figures of the god are not exactly alike, they

all combine a human form with that of a fish.

"Owing to the precession of the equinoxes," says the Rev. Mr.

Maurice in the _Antiquities of India_, "after the rate of

seventy-two years to a degree, a total alteration has taken place

through all the signs of the ecliptic, insomuch that those stars

which formerly were in Aries have now got into Taurus, and those of

Taurus into Gemini. Now the vernal equinox, after the rate of that

precession, could not have coincided with the first of May less

than 4000 years before Christ."

An Avatar in the form of the celestial _Taurus_ (♉) then occurred,

and Osiris was worshiped in the form of a bull, by credulous

believers. Next in the course of revolving years, we have the

celestial _Aries_, (♈) and the god then became incarnate in the

form of a lamb, and in that form received the adoration of devout

multitudes. Later still the Zodiacal sign had progressed to

_Pisces_, (♓) and mankind were then called upon to worship the

astrological emblem of the amphibious being called Oannes--the

sacred god of the land and the sea--whose representative on earth

still claims to be the _Great Fisherman_, and who has entangled in

the meshes of his net of faith the intellects and consciences of

innumerable devotees.

"In Berosus and other authors," says Godfrey Higgins in the

_Anacalypsis_, "the being half man, half fish, called Oannes, is

said to have come out of the Erythræan Sea, and to have taught the

Babylonians all kinds of useful knowledge. This is clearly the fish

Avatar of India; whether or not it be the I-oannes of Jonas I leave

to the reader. I apprehend it is the same as the Dagon of Pegu and

the fish sign of the Zodiac. Very little is known about it, but it

exactly answers the description of an Avatar.

"The apostles of Jesus, I believe, were most of them fishermen.

There are many stories of miraculous draughts of fish, and other

matters connected with fishes, in the Gospel histories; and Peter,

the son of John, I-oannes or Oannes, the great fisherman, inherited

the power of ruling the church from the Lamb of God. The fisherman

succeeded to the shepherd. The Pope calls himself the great

fisherman, and boasts of the contents of his Poitrine.

"In the Pentateuch, which is the sacred book of the Israelites, we

meet with no Dagon, Fish or God. But we do meet with it in the book

of Judges. I believe this Dagon to be the fish Avatar of India--the

Dagon of Syrian in Pegu; in fact the emblem of the entrance of the

sun into Pisces.

"In the earliest time, perhaps, of which we have any history, God

the creator was adored under the form or emblem of a Bull. After

that, we read of him under the form of a calf or two calves,

afterward in the form of the Ram and the Lamb, and the devotees

were called lambs: then came the fish or two fishes. It is a fact,

not a theory, that he was called a fish, and that the devotees were

called Pisciculi or little fishes. I suppose few persons will

attribute these appearances of system to accident. As we have

_lambs_ and _little fishes_ in the followers of the Ram, Aries, and

the constellation Pisces, it is only in character to have the

followers of the Bull called _calves_, and I am by no means certain

that we have not them in the Cyclops.

"At first, no doubt, my reader will be very much surprised at the

idea of the devotees having converted Jesus into the _fish_ Avatar:

but why was he called the lamb? And why were his followers called

his flock, and his sheep, and his lambs? Not many circumstances are

more striking than that of Jesus Christ being originally worshiped

under the form of a Lamb--the actual lamb of God which taketh away

the sins of the world. It does not appear to me to be more

extraordinary that his followers, as it is admitted that they did,

should call him a _fish_ and the believers in him pisciculi, than

that they should call him a lamb, and his followers lambs. He was

originally represented as a lamb until one of the popes changed his

effigy to that of a man on a cross. Applying the astronomical

emblem of Pisces (♓) to Jesus, does not seem more absurd than

applying the astronomical emblem of the Lamb (♈) They applied to

him the monogram of Bacchus, ΙΗΣ; the astrological and alchymical

mark or sign of Aries, or the Ram (♈) and, in short, what was there

that was Heathenish that they have not applied to him? They have

actually loaded his simple and sublime religion with every

absurdity of Gentilism. I know not one absurdity that can be

excepted."

In one of the windows of the Magnificent Cathedral of the

Incarnation, erected by Mrs. A.T. Stewart, at Garden City, N.Y., is

a painting representing the Sea of Tiberias. The "risen Lord,"

clothed in rich robes of green, scarlet, and gold, is standing on

the seashore, with four of the apostles. Prominent among them is

the _great fisherman_ St. Peter, who is grasping the end of a

seine. In the background is seen the mast and rigging of a fishing

boat. At the feet of Christ a fire is burning, and on the coals are

_two fishes_, like the two fishes in the Zodiacal sign _Pisces_

(♓). The artist has thus reproduced the ancient myth, regardless of

its astrological origin, and the mythical fishes of the zodiac,

with other ancient Pagan emblems, now symbolize Christian faith in

the so-called Cathedral of the Incarnation.--E.

"This Brahma of yours," said the Egyptian, "is a pleasant sort of an

animal, truly, to compare with our Apis. What great things hath your

Brahma done?"

"It was he," replied the Brahmin, "that taught mankind to read and

write, and to whom the world is indebted for the game of chess."

"Thou art mistaken," said a Chaldean who sat near him. "It is to the

fish Oannes that we owe these great advantages; and it is just that we

should render homage to none but him. All the world will tell thee, that

he is a divine being, with a golden tail, and a beautiful human head;

and that for three hours every day he left the water to preach on dry

land. He had several children, who were kings, as every one knows. I

have a picture of him at home, which I worship with becoming reverence.

We may eat as much beef as we please; but it is surely a great sin to

dress fish for the table. Besides, you are both of an origin too recent

and ignoble to dispute with me. The Egyptians reckon only a hundred and

thirty-five thousand years, and the Indians but eighty thousand, while

we have almanacs of four thousand ages. Believe me; renounce your

follies; and I will give to each of you a beautiful picture of Oannes."

The man of Cathay took up the discourse, and said:

"I have a great respect for the Egyptians, the Chaldeans, the Greeks,

the Celtics, Brahma, the bull Apis, and the beautiful fish Oannes; but I

could think that Li, or Tien, as he is commonly called, is superior to

all the bulls on the earth, or all the fish in the sea. I shall say

nothing of my native country; it is as large as Egypt, Chaldea, and the

Indies put together. Neither shall I dispute about the antiquity of our

nation; because it is of little consequence whether we are ancient or

not; it is enough if we are happy. But were it necessary to speak of

almanacs, I could say that all Asia takes ours, and that we had very

good ones before arithmetic was known in Chaldea."

"Ignorant men, as ye all are," said the Greek; "do you not know that

Chaos is the father of all; and that form and matter have put the world

into its present condition?"

The Greek spoke for a long time, but was at last interrupted by the

Celtic, who, having drank pretty deeply while the rest were disputing,

imagined he was now more knowing than all the others, and said, with an

oath, that there were none but Teutat and the mistletoe of the oak that

were worth the trouble of a dispute; that, for his own part, he had

always some mistletoe in his pocket, and that the Scythians, his

ancestors, were the only men of merit that had ever appeared in the

world; that it was true they had sometimes eaten human flesh, but that,

notwithstanding this circumstance, his nation deserved to be held in

great esteem; and that, in fine, if any one spoke ill of Teutat, he

would teach him better manners.

The quarrel had now become warm, and Setoc feared the table would be

stained with blood.

Zadig, who had been silent during the whole dispute, arose at last. He

first addressed himself to the Celtic, as the most furious of the

disputants. He told him that he had reason on his side, and begged a few

mistletoes. He then praised the Greek for his eloquence, and softened

all their exasperated spirits. He said but little to the man of Cathay,

because he had been the most reasonable of them all. At last he said:

"You were going, my friends, to quarrel about nothing; for you are all

of one mind."

At this assertion they all cried out in dissent.

"Is it not true," said he to the Celtic, "that you adore not this

mistletoe, but him that made both the mistletoe and the oak?"

"Most undoubtedly," replied the Celtic.

"And thou, Mr. Egyptian, dost not thou revere, in a certain bull, him

who created the bulls?"

"Yes," said the Egyptian.

"The fish Oannes," continued he, "must yield to him who made the sea and

the fishes. The Indian and the Cathaian," added he, "acknowledge a first

principle. I did not fully comprehend the admirable things that were

said by the Greek; but I am sure he will admit a superior being on whom

form and matter depend."

The Greek, whom they all admired, said that Zadig had exactly taken his

meaning.

"You are all then," replied Zadig, "of one opinion and have no cause to

quarrel."

All the company embraced him.

Setoc, after having sold his commodities at a very high price, returned

to his own tribe with his friend Zadig; who learned, upon his arrival,

that he had been tried in his absence and was now going to be burned by

a slow fire.

XIII.

THE RENDEZVOUS.

During his journey to Balzora the priests of the stars had resolved to

punish Zadig. The precious stones and ornaments of the young widows whom

they sent to the funeral pile belonged to them of right; and the least

they could now do was to burn Zadig for the ill office he had done them.

Accordingly they accused him of entertaining erroneous sentiments of the

heavenly host. They deposed against him, and swore that they had heard

him say that the stars did not set in the sea. This horrid blasphemy

made the judges tremble; they were ready to tear their garments upon

hearing these impious words; and they would certainly have torn them had

Zadig had wherewithal to pay them for new ones. But, in the excess of

their zeal and indignation, they contented themselves with condemning

him to be burnt by a slow fire. Setoc, filled with despair at this

unhappy event, employed all his interest to save his friend, but in

vain. He was soon obliged to hold his peace. The young widow, Almona,

who had now conceived a great fondness for life, for which she was

obliged to Zadig, resolved to deliver him from the funeral pile, of the

abuse of which he had fully convinced her. She resolved the scheme in

her own mind, without imparting it to any person whatever. Zadig was to

be executed the next day. If she could save him at all, she must do it

that very night; and the method taken by this charitable and prudent

lady was as follows:

She perfumed herself, she heightened her beauty by the richest and

gayest apparel, and went to demand an audience of the chief priest of

the stars. As soon as she was introduced to the venerable old man, she

addressed him in these terms:

"Eldest son of the great bear, brother of the bull, and cousin of the

great dog, (such were the titles of this pontiff,) I come to acquaint

thee with my scruples. I am much afraid that I have committed a heinous

crime in not burning myself on the funeral pile of my dear husband; for,

indeed, what had I worth preserving? Perishable flesh, thou seest, that

is already entirely withered." So saying, she drew up her long sleeves

of silk, and showed her naked arms, which were of an elegant shape and a

dazzling whiteness. "Thou seest," said she, that these are little worth.

The priest found in his heart that they were worth a great deal. He

swore that he had never in his life seen such beautiful arms. "Alas!"

said the widow, "my arms, perhaps, are not so bad as the rest; but thou

wilt confess that my neck is not worthy of the least regard." She then

discovered the most charming neck that nature had ever formed. Compared

to it a rose-bud on an apple of ivory would have appeared like madder on

the box-tree, and the whiteness of new-washed lambs would have seemed of

a dusky yellow. Her large black eyes, languishing with the gentle lustre

of a tender fire; her cheeks animated with the finest pink, mixed with

the whiteness of milk; her nose, which had no resemblance to the tower

of Mount Lebanon; her lips, like two borders of coral, inclosing the

nest pearls in the Arabian Sea; all conspired to make the old man fancy

and believe that he was young again. Almona, seeing his admiration, now

entreated him to pardon Zadig. "Alas!" said he, "my charming lady,

should I grant thee his pardon, it would be of no service, as it must

necessarily be signed by three others, my brethren." "Sign it, however,"

said Almona. "With all my heart," said the priest. "Be pleased to visit

me," said Almona, "when the bright star of Sheat shall appear in the

horizon."

Almona then went to the second pontiff. He assured her that the sun, the

moon, and all the luminaries of heaven, were but glimmering meteors in

comparison to her charms. She asked the same favor of him, and he also

granted it readily. She then appointed the second pontiff to meet her at

the rising of the star Algenib. From thence she went to the third and

fourth priest, always taking their signatures, and making an appointment

from star to star. She then sent a message to the judges, entreating

them to come to her house on an affair of great importance. They

obeyed her summons. She showed them the four names, and told them that

the priests had granted the pardon of Zadig. Each of the pontiffs

arrived at the hour appointed. Each was surprised at finding his

brethren there, but still more at seeing the judges also present. Zadig

was saved; and Setoc was so charmed with the skill and address of Almona

that he at once made her his wife.

[Illustration: Almona.--Almona, seeing his admiration, now entreated him

to pardon Zadig. "Alas!" said he, "my charming lady, should I grant thee

his pardon, it would be of no service, as it must necessarily be signed

by three others, my brethren. Sign it, however," said Almona.]

Business affairs now required Setoc's presence in the island of

Serendib; but during the first month of his marriage--the month which is

called the honeymoon--he could not permit himself to leave Almona, nor

even to think he could ever leave her, and he requested Zadig to make

the journey in his place. "Alas!" said Zadig, "must I put a still

greater distance between the beautiful Astarte and myself? But it would

be ungrateful not to serve my friend, and I will endeavor to do my

duty."

Setoc and Zadig now took leave of each other with tears in their eyes,

both swearing an eternal friendship, and promising to always share their

fortunes with each other. Zadig then, after having thrown himself at the

feet of his fair deliverer, set out on his journey to Serendib, still

musing on the unhappy Astarte, and meditating on the severity of

fortune, which seemed to persistently make him the sport of her cruelty

and the object of her persecution.

"What!" said he to himself, "fined four hundred ounces of gold for

having observed a bitch! condemned to lose my head for four bad verses

in praise of the king! sentenced to be strangled because the queen had

shoes the color of my turban! reduced to slavery for having succored a

woman who was beaten! and on the point of being burned for having saved

the lives of all the young widows of Arabia!"

* * * * *

XIII.(1)

THE DANCE.

Arriving in due time at the island of Serendib, Zadig's merits were at

once recognized, and he was popularly regarded as an extraordinary man.

He became the friend of the wise and learned, the arbitrator of

disputes, and the advisor of the small number of those who were willing

to take advice. He was duly presented to the king, who was pleased with

his affability, and soon chose him for his friend. But this royal favor

caused Zadig to tremble; for he well remembered the misfortunes which

the kindness of king Moabdar had formerly brought upon him. "I please

the king," said he; "shall I not therefore be lost?" Still he could not

refuse the king's friendship, for it must be confessed that Nabussan,

king of Serendib, son of Nassanab, son of Nabassun, son of Sanbusna, was

one of the most amiable princes in Asia.

But this good prince was always flattered, deceived, and robbed. It was

a contest who should most pillage the royal treasury. The example set by

the receiver-general of Serendib was universally followed by the

inferior officers.

This the king knew. He had often changed his treasurers, but had never

been able to change the established custom of dividing the revenues into

two unequal parts, of which the smaller came to his majesty, and the

larger to his officers.

This custom Nabussan explained to Zadig. "You, whose knowledge embraces

so many subjects," said he, "can you not tell me how to select a

treasurer who will not rob me?" "Assuredly," said Zadig; "I know a sure

method for finding you a man who will keep his hands clean."

The king was charmed, and asked, while he embraced him, how this was to

be done.

"You have only," said Zadig, "to cause all those who apply for the

office of treasurer to dance. He who dances the lightest will surely

prove to be the most honest man."

"You jest," said the king. "A strange way, certainly, of choosing a

receiver of my revenues. What! do you pretend that he who cuts the

neatest caper will be the most just and skillful financier?"

"I will not answer," returned Zadig, "for his being the most skillful,

but I assure you he will be the most honest."

Zadig spoke with so much confidence that the king imagined he had some

supernatural test for selecting honest financiers.

"I do not like the supernatural," said Zadig: "people and books dealing

in prodigies have always displeased me. If your majesty will permit me

to make the test, you will be convinced it is the easiest and simplest

thing possible."

Nabussan consented, and was more astonished to hear that the test was

simple, than if it had been claimed as a miracle.

"Leave all the details to me," said Zadig: "You will gain more by this

trial than you imagine."

The same day he made proclamation in the king's name, that all

candidates for the office of receiver-in-chief of the revenues of his

gracious majesty Nabussan, son of Nussanab, must present themselves in

dresses of light silk, on the first day of the month of the crocodile,

in the king's anti-chamber. The candidates came, accordingly, to the

number of sixty-four. Musicians were placed in an adjoining room, and

all was prepared for the dance. As the door of the saloon was closed, it

was necessary, in order to enter it, to pass through a small gallery

which was slightly darkened. An usher directed each candidate in

succession through this obscure passage, in which he was left alone for

some moments. The king, being aware of the plan, had temptingly spread

out in this gallery many of his choicest treasures. When all the

candidates were assembled in the saloon, the king ordered the band to

play and the dance to begin. Never had dancers performed more

unwillingly or with less grace. Their heads were down, their backs bent,

their hands pressed to their sides.

"What rascals!" murmured Zadig.

One alone danced with grace and agility,--his head up, his look assured,

his body erect, his arms free, his motions natural.

"Ah, the honest man, the excellent man!" cried Zadig.

The king embraced this upright dancer, appointed him treasurer, and

punished all the others with the utmost justice, for each one had, while

passing through the gallery, filled his pockets till he could hardly

walk. His majesty was distressed at this exhibition of dishonesty, and

regretted that among these sixty-four dancers there should be

sixty-three thieves. This dark gallery was then named the Corridor of

Temptation.

In Persia these sixty-three lords would have been impaled; in other

countries a chamber of justice would have consumed in costs three times

the money stolen, replacing nothing in the king's coffers; in yet

another kingdom they would have been honorably acquitted, and the light

dancer disgraced; in Serendib they were only sentenced to add to the

public treasure, for Nabussan was very indulgent.

He was also very grateful, and willingly gave Zadig a larger sum than

any treasurer had ever stolen from the revenue. This wealth Zadig used

to send a courier to Babylon to learn the fate of queen Astarte. His

voice trembled when directing the courier. His blood seemed to stagnate

in his veins. His heart almost ceased to beat. His eyes were suffused

with tears.

XIII.(2)

BLUE EYES.

After the courier had gone, Zadig returned to the palace; and forgetting

that he was not in his own room, almost unconsciously uttered the word

LOVE.

"Ah! love," exclaimed the king, "that is indeed the cause of my

unhappiness. You have divined what it is that causes me pain. You are

indeed a great man. I hope you will assist me in my search for a woman,

perfect in all respects, and of whose affection I may feel assured. You

have proved your ability for this service by selecting for me an honest

financier, and I have entire confidence in your success."

Zadig, having recovered his composure, promised to serve the king in

love as he had in finance, although the task seemed to him far more

difficult.

"The body and the heart," said the king.

At these words Zadig could not refrain from interrupting his majesty:

"You show good taste," said he, "by not saying the mind and the heart;

for we hear nothing but these words in the talk of Babylon. We see

nothing but books which treat of the heart and mind, written by people

who have neither the one nor the other: but pardon me, sire, and deign

to continue."

"I have in my palace," said the king, "one hundred women who are all

called charming, graceful, beautiful, affectionate even, or pretending

to be so when in my company; but I have too often realized that it is to

the king of Serendib they pay court, and that they care very little for

Nabussan. This pretended affection does not satisfy my desires. I would

find a consort that loves me for myself, and who would willingly be all

my own. For such a treasure I would joyfully barter the hundred

beauties whose forced smiles afford me no delight. Let us see if out of

these hundred queens you can select one true woman to bless me with her

love."

Zadig replied to him as he had previously done in regard to the

finances: "Sire, allow me to make the attempt, and permit me to again

use the treasure formerly displayed in the Corridor of Temptation. I

will render you a faithful account."

The king willingly acceded to this request, and permitted Zadig to do as

he desired. He first chose thirty-three of the ugliest little hunchbacks

that could be procured in Serendib, then thirty-three of the handsomest

pages to be found, and, lastly, thirty-three bonzes, (priests), the most

eloquent and robust he could select. He gave them all liberty to enter

the king's private apartments in the palace, and secure a partner if

they so desired. Each little hunchback had four thousand gold pieces

given to him: and on the first day each had secured a companion. The

pages, who had nothing to give but themselves, did not succeed in many

cases until the end of two or three days. The priests had still more

trouble in obtaining partners, but, finally, thirty-three devotees

joined their fortunes with these pious suitors. The king, through the

blinds which opened into his apartments, saw all these trials, and was

astounded. Of these hundred women, ninety-nine discarded his protection.

There still remained one, however, still quite young, with whom his

majesty had never conversed. They sent to her one, two, three

hunchbacks, who displayed before her twenty thousand pieces of gold. She

still remained firm, and could not refrain from laughing at the idea of

these cripples, that wealth could change their appearance. They then

presented before her the two most beautiful pages. She said she thought

the king was still more beautiful. They attacked her with the most

eloquent of the priests, and afterward with the most audacious. She

found the first a prattler, and could not perceive any merit in the

second.

"The heart," said she, "is everything. I will never yield to the

hunchbacks' gold, the pages' vanity, or the pompous prattle of the

priests. I love only Nabussan, son of Nussanab, and I will wait until he

condescends to love me in return."

The king was transported with joy, astonishment, and love. He took back

all the money that had brought success to the hunchbacks, and made a

present of it the beautiful Falide, which was the name of this charming

lady. He gave her his heart, which she amply deserved, for never were

glances from female eyes more brilliant than her own, nor the charms of

youthful beauty more enchanting. Envy, it is true, asserted that she

courtesied awkwardly; but candor compels the admission that she danced

like the fairies, acted like the graces, sang like the sirens, and that

she was in truth the very embodiment of intelligence and virtue.

Nabussan loved and adored her; but, alas! she had BLUE EYES, and this

apparently trivial fact was the cause of the gravest misfortunes.

There was an old law in Serendib forbidding the kings to marry those to

whom the Greeks applied the word [Greek: _boôpis_] _Βοῶπις_.[1] A

high-priest had established this law thousands of years ago. He had

anathematized blue eyes in order that he might secure for himself the

hand of the king's favorite. The various orders of the empire now

remonstrated with Nabussan for disregarding this organic law and loving

the beautiful Falide. They publicly asserted that the last days of the

kingdom had arrived--that this act of royal love was the height of

sacrilege--that all nature was threatened with a sinister ending--and

all because Nabussan, son of Nussanab, loved two magnificent blue eyes.

The cripples, the capitalists, the bonzes and the brunettes filled the

kingdom with their complaints.

The barbarians of the northern provinces profited by the general

discontent. They invaded the territory of the good Nabussan and demanded

a tribute from his subjects. The priests, who possessed half the

revenues of the state, contented themselves with raising their hands to

heaven, and refused to put them in their coffers to aid the king. They

chanted beautiful prayers, and left the state a prey to the invaders.

"Oh! my dear Zadig," sadly cried Nabussan, "can you not rescue me from

this impending danger?"

"Very willingly," replied Zadig: "you shall have for your defence as

much money from the priests as you may desire. Leave, I pray you,

without guard the property of the bonzes, and defend only your own

possessions."

Nabussan wisely followed this advice. The priests became alarmed, threw

themselves at his feet and implored his protection. The king replied

with agreeable music, and chanted forth prayers and invocations to

heaven with much sweetness and melody; finally, the priests reluctantly

contributed the money, and the king brought the war to a happy

termination.

Thus Zadig by his sensible advice and judicious services drew upon

himself the enmity of the most powerful parties in the state. The bonzes

and the brunettes swore to destroy him; the capitalists and the cripples

did not spare him. They caused the good Nabussan to suspect him.

"Services rendered often remain in the anti-chamber, and distrust enters

into the cabinet." So said Zoroaster. Every day there were fresh

accusations: the first is repelled; the second is lightly thought of;

the third wounds; the fourth kills.

Zadig was dismayed, and having now satisfactorily arranged Setoc's

affairs, he only thought of leaving the island in safety.

"But where shall I go?" said he. "If I remain in Serendib the priests

will doubtless have me impaled; in Egypt I would probably be enslaved,

burnt, according to all appearances, in Arabia; strangled in Babylon.

However, I must learn what has become of Queen Astarte, and will go on

and see what sad fate destiny has still in store for me."

[1] Having large, full, finely rounded eyes. In Homer, always applied to

females, and most frequently to the goddess Juno, as a point of majestic

beauty.--E.

XIV.

THE ROBBER.

Arriving on the frontiers which divide Arabia Petræa from Syria, he

passed by a very strong castle from which a party of armed Arabians

sallied forth. They instantly surrounded him and cried:

"All thou hast belongs to us, and thy person is the property of our

master."

Zadig replied by drawing his sword; his servant, who was a man of

courage, did the same. They killed the first Arabians that presumed to

lay hands on them; and though the number was redoubled, they were not

dismayed, but resolved to perish in the conflict. Two men defended

themselves against a multitude; but such combat could not last long,

the master of the castle, whose name was Arbogad, having observed from a

window the prodigies of valor performed by Zadig, conceived a high

esteem for this heroic stranger. He descended in haste, and went in

person to call off his men and deliver the two travelers.

"All that passes over my lands," said he, "belongs to me, as well as

what I find upon the lands of others; but thou seemest to be a man of

such undaunted courage, that I will exempt thee from the common law."

He then conducted him to his castle, ordering his men to treat him well;

and in the evening Arbogad supped with Zadig. The lord of the castle was

one of those Arabians who are commonly called robbers; but he now and

then performed some good actions amidst a multitude of bad ones. He

robbed with a furious rapacity, and granted favors with great

generosity. He was intrepid in action; affable in company; a debauchee

at table, but gay in his debauchery; and particularly remarkable for his

frank and open behavior. He was highly pleased with Zadig, whose lively

conversation lengthened the repast. At last Arbogad said to him:

"I advise thee to enroll thy name in my catalogue. Thou canst not do

better. This is not a bad trade, and thou mayest one day become what I

am at present."

"May I take the liberty of asking thee," said Zadig, "how long thou hast

followed this noble profession?"

"From my most tender youth," replied the lord, "I was servant to a

petty, good-natured Arabian, but could not endure the hardships of my

situation. I was vexed to find that fate had given me no share of the

earth which equally belongs to all men. I imparted the cause of my

uneasiness to an old Arabian, who said to me:

"'My son, do not despair; there was once a grain of sand that lamented

that it was no more than a neglected atom in the deserts; at the end of

a few years it became a diamond, and it is now the brightest ornament in

the crown of the king of the Indies.'

[Illustration: Zadig and The Brigand.--"I advise thee to enroll thy name

in my catalogue. Thou canst not do better," said the robber, "This is

not a bad trade, and thou mayest one day become what I am at present."]

"This discourse made a deep impression on my mind. I was the grain of

sand, and I resolved to become the diamond. I began by stealing two

horses. I soon got a party of companions. I put myself in a condition to

rob small caravans; and thus, by degrees, I destroyed the difference

which had formerly subsisted between me and other men. I had my share of

the good things of this world; and was even recompensed with usury for

the hardships I had suffered. I was greatly respected, and became the

captain of a band of robbers. I seized this castle by force. The satrap

of Syria had a mind to dispossess me of it; but I was too rich to have

any thing to fear. I gave the satrap a handsome present, by which means

I preserved my castle, and increased my possessions. He even appointed

me treasurer of the tributes which Arabia Petræa pays to the king of

kings. I perform my office of receiver with great punctuality; but take

the freedom to dispense with that of paymaster.

"The grand Desterham of Babylon sent hither a petty satrap in the name

of king Moabdar, to have me strangled. This man arrived with his orders.

I was apprised of all. I caused to be strangled in his presence the four

persons he had brought with him to draw the noose; after which I asked

him how much his commission of strangling me might be worth. He replied,

that his fees would amount to above three hundred pieces of gold. I then

convinced him that he might gain more by staying with me. I made him an

inferior robber; and he is now one of my best and richest officers. If

thou wilt take my advice, thy success may be equal to his. Never was

there a better season for plunder, since king Moabdar is killed, and all

Babylon thrown into confusion."

"Moabdar killed!" said Zadig, "and what has become of queen Astarte?"

"I know not," replied Arbogad. "All I know is, that Moabdar lost his

senses and was killed; that Babylon is a scene of disorder and

bloodshed; that all the empire is desolated; that there are some fine

strokes to be made yet; and that, for my own part, I have struck some

that are admirable."

"But the queen," said Zadig; "for heaven's sake, knowest thou nothing of

the queen's fate?"

"Yes," replied he, "I have heard something of a prince of Plircania. If

she was not killed in the tumult, she is probably one of his

concubines. But I am much fonder of booty than news. I have taken

several women in my excursions, but I keep none of them. I sell them at

a high price when they are beautiful, without enquiring who they are. In

commodities of this kind rank makes no difference, and a queen that is

ugly will never find a merchant. Perhaps I may have sold queen Astarte;

perhaps she is dead; but, be it as it will, it is of little consequence

to me, and I should imagine of as little to thee."

So saying, he drank a large draught, which threw all his ideas into such

confusion that Zadig could obtain no farther information.

Zadig remained for some time without speech, sense, or motion. Arbogad

continued drinking, constantly repeated that he was the happiest man in

the world; and exhorted Zadig to put himself in the same condition. At

last the soporiferous fume of the wine lulled him into a gentle repose.

Zadig passed the night in the most violent perturbation.

"What," said he, "did the king lose his senses? and is he killed? I

cannot help lamenting his fate. The empire is rent in pieces: and this

robber is happy. O fortune! O destiny! A robber is happy, and the most

beautiful of nature's works hath perhaps perished in a barbarous manner,

or lives in a state worse than death. O Astarte! what has become of

thee?"

At day break, he questioned all those he met in the castle; but they

were all busy and he received no answer. During the night they had made

a new capture, and they were now employed in dividing the spoil. All he

could obtain in this hurry and confusion was an opportunity of

departing, which he immediately embraced, plunged deeper than ever in

the most gloomy and mournful reflections.

Zadig proceeded on his journey with a mind full of disquiet and

perplexity, and wholly employed on the unhappy Astarte on the king of

Babylon, on his faithful friend Cador, on the happy robber Arbogad, on

that capricious woman whom the Babylonians had seized on the frontiers

of Egypt. In a word, on all the misfortunes and disappointments he had

hitherto suffered.

XV.

THE FISHERMAN.

At few leagues distance from Arbogad's castle he came to the banks of a

small river, still deploring his fate, and considering himself as the

most wretched of mankind. He saw a fisherman lying on the bank of the

river, scarcely holding in his weak and feeble hand a net which he

seemed ready to drop, and lifting up his eyes to heaven.

"I am certainly," said the fisherman, "the most unhappy man in the

world. I was universally allowed to be the most famous dealer in

cream-cheese in Babylon, and yet I am ruined. I had the most handsome

wife that any man in my situation could have; and by her I have been

betrayed. I had still left a paltry house, and that I have seen pillaged

and destroyed. At last I took refuge in this cottage, where I have no

other resource than fishing, and yet I cannot catch a single fish. Oh,

my net! no more will I throw thee into the water; I will throw myself in

thy place."

So saying, he arose and advanced forward, in the attitude of a man ready

to throw himself into the river, and thus to finish his life.

"What," said Zadig, "are there men as wretched as I?"

His eagerness to save the fisherman's life was as sudden as this

reflection. He runs to him, stops him, and speaks to him with a tender

and compassionate air. It is commonly supposed that we are less

miserable when we have companions in our misery. This, according to

Zoroaster, does not proceed from malice, but necessity. We feel

ourselves insensibly drawn to an unhappy person as to one like

ourselves. The joy of the happy would be an insult; but two men in

distress are like two slender trees, which, mutually supporting each

other, fortify themselves against the tempest.

"Why," said Zadig to the fisherman, "dost thou sink under thy

misfortunes?"

"Because," replied he, "I see no means of relief. I was the most

considerable man in the village of Derlback, near Babylon, and with the

assistance of my wife I made the best cream-cheese in the empire. Queen

Astarte, and the famous minister, Zadig, were extremely fond of them. I

had sent them six hundred cheeses, and one day went to the city to

receive my money; but, on my arrival at Babylon, was informed that the

queen and Zadig had disappeared. I ran to the house of Lord Zadig, whom

I had never seen; and found there the inferior officers of the grand

Desterham, who being furnished with a royal license, were plundering it

with great loyalty and order. From thence I flew to the queen's kitchen,

some of the lords of which told me that the queen was dead; some said

she was in prison; and others pretended that she had made her escape;

but they all agreed in assuring me that I would not be paid for my

cheese. I went with my wife to the house of Lord Orcan, who was one of

my customers, and begged his protection in my present distress. He

granted it to my wife, but refused it to me. She was whiter than the

cream-cheeses that began my misfortune, and the lustre of the Tyrian

purple was not more bright than the carnation which animated this

whiteness. For this reason Orcan detained her, and drove me from his

house. In my despair I wrote a letter to my dear wife. She said to the

bearer, 'Ha, ha! I know the writer of this a little. I have heard his

name mentioned. They say he I makes excellent cream-cheeses. Desire him

to send me some and he shall be paid.'

"In my distress I resolved to apply to justice. I had still six ounces

of gold remaining. I was obliged to give two to the lawyer whom I

consulted, two to the procurator who undertook my cause, and two to the

secretary of the first judge. When all this was done, my business was

not begun; and I had already expended more money than my cheese and my

wife were worth. I returned to my own village, with an intention to sell

my house, in order to enable me to recover my wife.

"My house was well worth sixty ounces of gold; but as my neighbors saw

that I was poor and obliged to sell it, the first to whom I applied

offered me thirty ounces, the second twenty, and the third ten. Bad as

these offers were, I was so blind that I was going to strike a bargain,

when a prince of Hircania came to Babylon, and ravaged all in his way.

My house was first sacked and then burned.

"Having thus lost my money, my wife, and my house, I retired into this

country, where thou now seest me. I have endeavored to gain a

subsistence by fishing; but the fish make a mock of thee as well as the

men. I catch none; I die with hunger; and had it not been for thee,

august comforter, I should have perished in the river."

The fisherman was not allowed to give this long account without

interruption; at every moment, Zadig, moved and transported, said:

"What! knowest thou nothing of the queen's fate?"

"No my lord," replied the fisherman; "but I know that neither the queen

nor Zadig have paid me for my cream-cheeses; that I have lost my wife,

and am now reduced to despair."

"I flatter myself," said Zadig, "that thou wilt not lose all thy money.

I have heard of this Zadig; he is an honest man; and if he return to

Babylon, as he expects, he will give thee more than he owes thee. But

with regard to thy wife, who is not so honest, I advise thee not to seek

to recover her. Believe me, go to Babylon; I shall be there before thee,

because I am on horseback, and thou art on foot. Apply to the

illustrious Cador. Tell him thou hast met his friend. Wait for me at his

house. Go, perhaps thou wilt not always be unhappy.

"O powerful Oromazes!" continued he, "thou employest me to comfort this

man. Whom wilt thou employ to give me consolation?"

So saying, he gave the fisherman half the money he had brought from

Arabia. The fisherman, struck with surprise and ravished with joy,

kissed the feet of the friend of Cador, and said:

"Thou art surely an angel sent from heaven to save me!" Meanwhile Zadig

continued to make fresh inquiries and to shed tears. "What! my lord,"

cried the fisherman, "and art thou then so unhappy, thou who bestowest

favors?"

"A hundred times more unhappy than thee," replied Zadig.

"But how is it possible," said the good man, "that the giver can be more

wretched than the receiver?"

"Because," replied Zadig, "thy greatest misery arose from poverty, and

mine is seated in the heart."

"Did Orcan take thy wife from thee?" said the fisherman.

This word recalled to Zadig's mind the whole of his adventures. He

repeated the catalogue of his misfortunes, beginning with the queen's

bitch and ending with his arrival at the castle of the robber Arbogad.

"Ah!" said he to the fisherman, "Orcan deserves to be punished: but it

is commonly such men as those that are the favorites of fortune.

However, go thou to the house of Lord Cador, and there await my

arrival."

They then parted: the fisherman walked, thanking heaven for the

happiness of his condition; and Zadig rode, accusing fortune for the

hardness of his lot.

XVI.

THE BASILISK.

Arriving in a beautiful meadow, he there saw several women, who were

searching for something with great application. He took the liberty to

approach one of them, and to ask if he might have the honor to assist

them in their search.

"Take care that thou dost not," replied the Syrian. "What we are

searching for can be touched only by women."

"Strange," said Zadig. "May I presume to ask thee what it is that women

only are permitted to touch?"

"It is a basilisk," said she.

"A basilisk, madam! and for what purpose, pray, dost thou seek for a

basilisk?"

"It is for our lord and master, Ogul, whose castle thou seest on the

bank of that river, at the end of that meadow. We are his most humble

slaves. The lord Ogul is sick. His physician hath ordered him to eat a

basilisk, stewed in rose-water; and as it is a very rare animal, and can

only be taken by women, the lord Ogul hath promised to choose for his

well-beloved wife the woman that shall bring him a basilisk. Let me go

on in my search; for thou seest what I shall lose if I am forestalled by

my companions."

[Illustration: THE BASILISK.]

THE BASILISK, OR COCKATRICE.

The Basilisk, called "Cockatrice" in "holy writ," was first

described by certain ancient historians of unquestioned imaginative

ability, but of very doubtful veracity; and they have also enriched

the popular mythology with minute descriptions of the Phoenix, the

Griffin, the Centaur, the Chimera, the Unicorn, and many other

fanciful and mythical creations.

The learned and pious naturalist, Charles Owen, D.D., of London,

England, (from whose celebrated _Essay Towards a Natural History of

Serpents_, published in 1742, the preceding engraving has been

copied), tells us that "the Basilisk is a serpent of the Draconick

line--the property of Africa; that in shape it resembles a cock,

the tail excepted; that the Egyptians say it springs from the egg

of the bird Ibis, and others, from eggs of a cock; that it is gross

in body, of fiery eyes and sharp head, on which it wears a crest

like a cock's comb; that it has the honor to be styled Regulus by

the Latins--_the little king of serpents_; that it is terrible to

them, and its voice puts them to flight, that, as tradition adds,

its eyes and breath are killing; that dreadful things are

attributed to it by the poets; and that, according to Pliny, the

venom of the Basilisk is said to be so exalted, that if it bites a

staff 'twill kill the person that makes use of it; but this,"

continues the reverend doctor of divinity, "is tradition without a

voucher."

The "inspired" prophet Isaiah, whose writings are venerated by both

Jews and Christians, and whose prophetic utterances have so long

been discussed with more zeal than discretion by the sectarians,

tells us, (Isaiah xiv. 29), that "Out of the serpent's root shall

come forth a Cockatrice, and his fruit _shall be_ a fiery, flying

serpent." This somewhat incoherent prediction has never been

satisfactorily explained by the learned commentators who are

specially educated in our colleges for solving theological enigmas,

and who have failed to show, to the confusion of scientists and the

admiration of a believing world, how a Cockatrice may emerge from a

"serpent's root," and why a Cockatrice's "fiery and flying fruit"

should have formed a theme for prophetic inspiration.--E.

[Illustration: Zadig discovers Queen Astarte.--"In her hand she held a

small rod with which she was tracing characters on the fine sand that

lay between the turf and the brook."]

Zadig left her and the other Assyrians to search for their basilisk, and

continued his journey through the meadow; when coming to the brink of a

small rivulet, he found a lady lying on the grass, and who was not

searching for any thing. Her person seemed majestic; but her face was

covered with a veil. She was inclined toward the rivulet, and profound

sighs proceeded from her bosom. In her hand she held a small rod with

which she was tracing characters on the fine sand that lay between the

turf and the brook.

Zadig had the curiosity to examine what this woman was writing. He drew

near. He saw the letter Z, then an A; he was astonished: then appeared a

D; he started. But never was surprise equal to his, when he saw the two

last letters of his name. He stood for some time immovable. At last

breaking silence with a faltering voice:

"Oh! generous lady!" pardon a stranger, an unfortunate man, for

presuming to ask thee by what surprising adventure I here find the name

of Zadig traced out by thy divine hand?'

At this voice and these words, the lady lifted up the veil with a

trembling hand, looked at Zadig, sent forth a cry of tenderness,

surprise, and joy, and sinking under the various emotions which at once

assaulted her soul fell speechless into his arms. It was Astarte

herself; it was the queen of Babylon; it was she whom Zadig adored, and

whom he had reproached himself for adoring; it was she whose misfortunes

he had so deeply lamented, and for whose fate he had been so anxiously

concerned. He was for a moment deprived of the use of his senses, when

he had fixed his eyes on those of Astarte, which now began to open again

with a languor mixed with confusion and tenderness:

"O ye immortal powers!" cried he, "who preside over the fates of weak

mortals; do ye indeed restore Astarte to me? At what a time, in what a

place, and in what a condition do I again behold her?"

He fell on his knees before Astarte, and laid his face in the dust at

her feet. The queen of Babylon raised him up, and made him sit by her

side on the brink of the rivulet. She frequently wiped her eyes, from

which the tears continued to flow afresh. She twenty times resumed her

discourse, which her sighs as often interrupted. She asked by what

strange accident they were brought together, and suddenly prevented his

answer by other questions. She waived the account of her own

misfortunes, and desired to be informed of those of Zadig. At last, both

of them having a little composed the tumult of their souls, Zadig

acquainted her in a few words by what adventure he was brought into that

meadow.

"But, O unhappy and respectable queen! by what means do I find thee in

this lonely place, clothed in the habit of a slave, and accompanied by

other female slaves, who are searching for a basilisk, which, by order

of the physician, is to be stewed in rose-water?"

"While they are searching for their basilisk," said the fair Astarte, "I

will inform thee of all I have suffered, for which heaven has

sufficiently recompensed me, by restoring thee to my sight. Thou knowest

that the king, my husband, was vexed to see thee, the most amiable of

mankind; and that for this reason he one night resolved to strangle thee

and poison me. Thou knowest how heaven permitted my little mute to

inform me of the orders of his sublime majesty. Hardly had the faithful

Cador obliged thee to depart, in obedience to my command, when he

ventured to enter my apartment at midnight by a secret passage. He

carried me off, and conducted me to the temple of Oromazes, where the

magi, his brother, shut me up in that huge statue, whose base reaches to

the foundation of the temple, and whose top rises to the summit of the

dome. I was there buried in a manner; but was served by the magi, and

supplied with all the necessaries of life. At break of day his majesty's

apothecary entered my chamber with a potion composed of a mixture of

henbane, opium, hemlock, black hellebore, and aconite; and another

officer went to thine with a bowstring of blue silk. Neither of us were

to be found. Cador, the better to deceive the king, pretended to come

and accuse us both. He said that thou hadst taken the road to the

Indies, and I that to Memphis; on which the king's guards were

immediately dispatched in pursuit of us both.

[Illustration: Cador concealing Astarte in the Temple of Oromazes.]

"The couriers who pursured me did not know me. I had hardly ever shown

my face to any but thee, and to thee only in the presence and by the

order of my husband. They conducted themselves in the pursuit by the

description that had been given of my person. On the frontiers of Egypt

they met with a woman of the same stature with me, and possessed perhaps

of greater charms. She was weeping and wandering. They made no doubt but

that this woman was the queen of Babylon, and accordingly brought her to

Moabdar. Their mistake at first threw the king into a violent passion;

but having viewed this woman more attentively, he found her extremely

handsome, and was comforted. She was called Missouf. I have since been

informed that this name in the Egyptian language signifies the

capricious fair one. She was so in reality; but she had as much cunning

as caprice. She pleased Moabdar, and gained such an ascendency over him

as to make him choose her for his wife. Her character then began to

appear in its true colors. She gave herself up, without scruple, to all

the freaks of a wanton imagination. She would have obliged the chief of

the magi, who was old and gouty, to dance before her; and on his

refusal, she persecuted him with the most unrelenting cruelty. She

ordered her master of the horse to make her a pie of sweetmeats. In vain

did he represent that he was not a pastry-cook. He was obliged to make

it, and lost his place because it was baked a little too hard. The post

of master of the horse she gave to her dwarf, and that of Chancellor to

her page. In this manner did she govern Babylon. Every body regretted

the loss of me. The king, who till the moment of his resolving to poison

me and strangle thee had been a tolerably good kind of man, seemed now

to have drowned all his virtues in his immoderate fondness for this

capricious fair one. He came to the temple on the great day of the feast

held in honor of the sacred fire. I saw him implore the gods in behalf

of Missouf, at the feet of the statue in which I was inclosed. I raised

my voice; I cried out:

"'The gods reject the prayers of a king who is now become a tyrant, and

who attempted to murder a reasonable wife, in order to marry a woman

remarkable for nothing but her folly and extravagance.'

"At these words Moabdar was confounded and his head became disordered.

The oracle I had pronounced, and the tyranny of Missouf, conspired to

deprive him of his judgment, and in a few days his reason entirely

forsook him.

"His madness, which seemed to be the judgment of heaven, was the signal

for a revolt. The people rose, and ran to arms; and Babylon, which had

been so long immersed in idleness and effeminacy, became the theatre of

a bloody civil war. I was taken from the heart of my statue and placed

at the head of a party. Cador flew to Memphis to bring thee back to

Babylon. The prince of Hircania, informed of these fatal events,

returned with his army and made a third party in Chaldea. He attacked

the king, who fled before him with his capricious Egyptian. Moabdar died

pierced with wounds. Missouf fell into the hands of the conqueror. I

myself had the misfortune to be taken by a party of Hircanians, who

conducted me to their prince's tent, at the very moment that Missouf was

brought before him. Thou wilt doubtless be pleased to hear that the

prince thought me more beautiful than the Egyptian; but thou wilt be

sorry to be informed that he designed me for his seraglio. He told me,

with a blunt and resolute air, that as soon as he had finished a

military expedition, which he was just going to undertake, he would come

to me. Judge how great must have been my grief. My ties with Moabdar

were already dissolved; I might have been the wife of Zadig; and I was

fallen into the hands of a barbarian. I answered him with all the pride

which my high rank and noble sentiment could inspire. I had always heard

it affirmed that heaven stamped on persons of my condition a mark of

grandeur, which, with a single word or glance, could reduce to the

lowliness of the most profound respect those rash and forward persons

who presume to deviate from the rules of politeness. I spoke like a

queen, but was treated like a maid-servant. The Hircanian, without even

deigning to speak to me, told his black eunuch that I was impertinent,

but that he thought me handsome. He ordered him to take care of me and

to put me under the regimen of favorites, that, so my complexion being

improved, I might be the more worthy of his favors when he should be at

leisure to honor me with them. I told him, that, rather than submit to

his desires, I would put an end to my life. He replied with a smile,

that women, he believed, were not so blood-thirsty, and that he was

accustomed to such violent expressions; and then left me with the air of

a man who had just put another parrot into his aviary. What a state for

the first queen in the universe, and, what is more, for a heart devoted

to Zadig!"

At these words Zadig threw himself at her feet, and bathed them with his

tears. Astarte raised him with great tenderness, and thus continued her

story:

"I now saw myself in the power of a barbarian, and rival to the foolish

woman with whom I was conned. She gave me an account of her adventures

in Egypt. From the description she gave of your person, from the time,

from the dromedary on which you were mounted, and from every other

circumstance, I inferred that Zadig was the man who had fought for her.

I doubted not but that you were at Memphis, and therefore resolved to

repair thither. 'Beautiful Missouf,' said I, 'thou art more handsome

than I, and will please the prince of Hircania much better. Assist me in

contriving the means of my escape. Thou wilt then reign alone. Thou wilt

at once make me happy and rid thyself of a rival.'

"Missouf concerted with me the means of my flight; and I departed

secretly with a female slave. As I approached the frontiers of Arabia, a

famous robber, named Arbogad, seized me and sold me to some merchants

who brought me to this castle where ford Ogul resides. He bought me

without knowing who I was. He is a voluptuary, ambitious of nothing but

good living, and thinks that God sent him into the world for no other

purpose than to sit at table. He is so extremely corpulent, that he is

always in danger of suffocation. His physician, who has but little

credit with him when he has a good digestion, governs him with a

despotic sway when he has eaten too much. He has persuaded him that a

basilisk stewed in rose-water will effect a complete cure. The ford Ogul

hath promised his hand to the female slave that brings him a basilisk.

Thou seest that I leave them to vie with each other in meriting this

honor; and never was I less desirous of finding the basilisk than since

heaven hath restored thee to my sight."

This account was succeeded by a long conversation between Astarte and

Zadig, consisting of every thing that their long suppressed sentiments,

their great sufferings, and their mutual love, could inspire into

hearts the most noble and tender, and the genii who preside over love

carried their words to the sphere of Venus.

The women returned to Ogul without having found the basilisk. Zadig was

introduced to this mighty lord, and spoke to him in the following terms:

"May immortal health descend from heaven to bless all thy days! I am a

physician. At the first report of thy indisposition I flew to thy

castle, and have now brought thee a basilisk stewed in rose-water. Not

that I pretend to marry thee. All I ask is the liberty of a Babylonian

slave, who hath been in thy possession for a few days; and, if I should

not be so happy as to cure thee, magnificent Lord Ogul, I consent to

remain a slave in her place."

The proposal was accepted. Astarte set out for Babylon with Zadig's

servant, promising, immediately upon her arrival, to send a courier to

inform him of all that had happened. Their parting was as tender as

their meeting. The moment of meeting, and that of parting are the two

greatest epochs of life as sayeth the great book of Zend. Zadig loved

the queen with as much ardor as he professed; and the queen loved Zadig

more than she thought proper to acknowledge.

Meanwhile Zadig spoke thus to Ogul:

"My lord, my basilisk is not to be eaten; all its virtues must enter

through thy pores. I have inclosed it in a little ball, blown up and

covered with a fine skin. Thou must strike this ball with all thy might,

and I must strike it back for a considerable time; and by observing this

regimen for a few days, thou wilt see the effects of my art."

The first day Ogul was out of breath, and thought he should have died

with fatigue. The second, he was less fatigued, and slept better. In

eight days he recovered all the strength, all the health, all the

agility and cheerfulness of his most agreeable years.

"Thou hast played at ball, and hast been temperate," said Zadig. "Know

that there is no such thing in nature as a basilisk; that temperance and

exercise are the two great preservatives of health; and that the art of

reconciling intemperance and health is as chimerical as the

philosopher's stone, judicial astrology, or the theology of the magi."

Ogul's first physician observing how dangerous this man might prove to

the medical art, formed a design, in conjunction with the apothecary, to

send Zadig to search for a basilisk in the other world. Thus, after

having suffered such a long train of calamities on account of his good

actions, he was now upon the point of losing his life for curing a

gluttonous lord. He was invited to an excellent dinner, and was to have

been poisoned in the second course; but, during the first, he happily

received a courier from the fair Astarte.

"When one is beloved by a beautiful woman," says the great Zoroaster,

"he hath always the good fortune to extricate himself out of every kind

of difficulty and danger."

XVII.

THE COMBATS.

The queen was received at Babylon with all those transports of joy which

are ever felt on the return of a beautiful princess who hath been

involved in calamities. Babylon was now in greater tranquillity. The

prince of Hircania had been killed in battle. The victorious Babylonians

declared that the queen should marry the man whom they should choose for

their sovereign. They were resolved that the first place in the world,

that of being husband to Astarte and king of Babylon, should not depend

on cabals and intrigues. They swore to acknowledge for king the man who,

upon trial, should be found to be possessed of the greatest valor and

the greatest wisdom. Accordingly, at the distance of a few leagues from

the city, a spacious place was marked out for the list, surrounded with

magnificent amphitheatres. Thither the combatants were to repair in

complete armor. Each of them had a separate apartment behind the

amphitheatres, where they were neither to be seen nor known by any one.

Each was to encounter four knights; and those that were so happy as to

conquer four, were then to engage with one another: so that he who

remained the last master of the field, would be proclaimed conqueror at

the games. Four days after he was to return to the same place, and to

explain the enigmas proposed by the magi. If he did not explain the

enigmas, he was not king; and the running at the lances was to begin

afresh, till a man should be found who was conqueror in both these

combats; for they were absolutely determined to have a king possessed of

the greatest wisdom and the most invincible courage. The queen was all

the while to be strictly guarded. She was only allowed to be present at

the games, and even there she was to be covered with a veil; but was not

allowed to speak to any of the competitors, that so they might neither

receive favor, nor suffer injustice.

These particulars Astarte communicated to her lover, hoping that, in

order to obtain her, he would show himself possessed of greater courage

and wisdom than any other person.

Zadig set out on his journey, beseeching Venus to fortify his courage

and enlighten his understanding. He arrived on the banks of the

Euphrates on the eve of this great day. He caused his device to be

inscribed among those of the combatants, concealing his face and his

name, as the law ordained; and then went to repose himself in the

apartment that fell to him by lot. His friend, Cador, who after the

fruitless search he had made for him in Egypt, had now returned to

Babylon, sent to his tent a complete suit of armor, which was a present

from the queen; as also from himself, one of the finest horses in

Persia. Zadig presently perceived that these presents were sent by

Astarte; and from thence his courage derived fresh strength, and his

love the most animating hopes.

Next day, the queen being seated under a canopy of jewels, and the

amphitheatres filled with all the gentlemen and ladies of rank in

Babylon, the combatants appeared in the circus. Each of them came and

laid his device at the feet of the grand magi. They drew their devices

by lot; and that of Zadig was the last. The first who advanced was a

certain lord, named Itobad, very rich and very vain, but possessed of

little courage, of less address, and scarcely of any judgment at all.

His servants had persuaded him that such a man as he ought to be king.

He had said in reply, "Such a man as I ought to reign;" and thus they

had armed him cap-a-pie. He wore an armor of gold enameled with green, a

plume of green feathers, and a lance adorned with green ribbons. It

was instantly perceived by the manner in which Itobad managed his horse,

that it was not for such a man as him that heaven reserved the sceptre

of Babylon. The first knight that ran against him threw him out of his

saddle: the second laid him flat on his horse's buttocks, with his legs

in the air, and his arms extended. Itobad recovered himself, but with so

bad a grace, that the whole amphitheatre burst out a laughing. The third

knight disdained to make use of his lance; but, making a pass at him,

took him by the right leg, and wheeling him half round, laid him

prostrate on the sand. The squires of the games ran to him laughing, and

replaced him in his saddle. The fourth combatant took him by the left

leg, and tumbled him down on the other side. He was conducted back with

scornful shouts to his tent, where, according to the law, he was to pass

the night; and as he limped along with great difficulty, he said: "What

an adventure for such a man as I!"

[Illustration: The combats.]

The other knights acquitted themselves with greater ability and success.

Some of them conquered two combatants; a few of them vanquished three;

but none but prince of Otamus conquered four. At last Zadig fought in

his turn. He successively threw four knights off their saddles with all

the grace imaginable. It then remained to be seen who should be

conqueror, of Otamus or Zadig. The arms of the first were gold and blue,

with a plume of the same color; those of the last were white. The wishes

of all the spectators were divided between the knight in blue and the

knight in white. The queen, whose heart was in a violent palpitation,

offered prayers to heaven for the success of the white color.

The two champions made their passes and vaults with so much agility,

they mutually gave and received such dexterous blows with their lances,

and sat so firmly in their saddles, that every body but the queen wished

there might be two kings in Babylon. At length, their horses being tired

and their lances broken, Zadig had recourse to this stratagem: He passed

behind the blue prince; springs upon the buttocks of his horse; seizes

him by the middle; throws him on the earth; places himself in the

saddle, and wheels around Otamus as he lay extended on the ground. All

the amphitheatre cried out, "Victory to the white knight!" Otamus rises

in a violent passion, and draws his sword; Zadig leaps from his horse

with his sabre in his hand. Both of them are now on the ground, engaged

in a new combat, where strength and agility triumph by turns. The plumes

of their helmets, the studs of their bracelets, and the rings of their

armor are driven to a great distance by the violence of a thousand

furious blows. They strike with the point and the edge; to the right, to

the left; on the head, on the breast; they retreat; they advance; they

measure swords; they close; they seize each other; they bend like

serpents; they attack like lions; and the fire every moment flashes from

their blows. At last Zadig, having recovered his spirits, stops; makes a

feint; leaps upon Otamus; throws him on the ground and disarms him; and

Otamus cries out:

"It is thou alone, O white knight, that oughtest to reign over Babylon!"

The queen was now at the height of her joy. The knight in blue armor,

and the knight in white, were conducted each to his own apartment, as

well as all the others, according to the intention of the law. Mutes

came to wait upon them, and to serve them at table. It may be easily

supposed that the queen's little mute waited upon Zadig. They were then

left to themselves to enjoy the sweets of repose till next morning, at

which time the conqueror was to bring his device to the grand magi, to

compare it with that which he had left, and make himself known.

Zadig, though deeply in love, was so much fatigued that he could not

help sleeping. Itobad, who lay near him, never closed his eyes. He arose

in the night, entered his apartment, took the white arms and the device

of Zadig, and put his green armor in their place. At break of day, he

went boldly to the grand magi, to declare that so great a man as he was

conqueror. This was little expected; however, he was proclaimed while

Zadig was still asleep. Astarte, surprised and filled with despair,

returned to Babylon. The amphitheatre was almost empty when Zadig awoke;

he sought for his arms but could find none but the green armor. With

this he was obliged to cover himself, having nothing else near him.

Astonished and enraged, he put it on in a furious passion and advanced

in this equipage.

The people that still remained in the amphitheatre and the circus

received him with hoofs and hisses. They surrounded him, and insulted

him to his face. Never did man suffer such cruel mortifications. He lost

his patience; with his sabre he dispersed such of the populace as dared

to affront him; but he knew not what course to take. He could not see

the queen; he could not claim the white armor she had sent him without

exposing her; and thus, while she was plunged in grief, he was filled

with fury and distraction. He walked on the banks of the Euphrates,

fully persuaded that his star had destined him to inevitable misery; and

revolving in his mind all his misfortunes, from the adventure of the

woman who hated one-eyed men, to that of his armor:

"This," said he, "is the consequence of my having slept too long. Had I

slept less, I should now have been king of Babylon, and in possession of

Astarte. Knowledge, virtue, and courage, have hitherto served only to

make me miserable."

He then let fall some secret murmurings against providence, and was

tempted to believe that the world was governed by a cruel destiny, which

oppressed the good, and prospered knights in green armor.

XVIII.

THE HERMIT.

One of Zadig's greatest mortifications was his being obliged to wear

that green armor which had exposed him to such contumelious treatment.

A merchant happening to pass by, he sold it to him for a trifle, and

bought a gown and a long bonnet. In this garb he proceeded along the

banks of the Euphrates, filled with despair, and secretly accusing

providence, which thus continued to persecute him with unremitting

severity.

While he was thus sauntering along, he met a hermit whose white and

venerable beard hung down to his girdle. He held a book in his hand,

which he read with great attention. Zadig stopped, and made him a

profound obeisance. The hermit returned the compliment with such a noble

and engaging air, that Zadig had the curiosity to enter into

conversation with him. He asked him what book it was that he had been

reading.

"It is the book of destinies," said the hermit. "Wouldst thou choose to

look into it?"

He put the book into the hands of Zadig, who, thoroughly versed as he

was in several languages, could not decipher a single character of it.

This only redoubled his curiosity.

"Thou seemest," said the good father, "to be in great distress."

"Alas!" replied Zadig, "I have but too much reason."

"If thou wilt permit me to accompany thee," resumed the old man,

"perhaps I may be of some service to thee. I have often poured the balm

of consolation into the bleeding heart of the unhappy."

Zadig felt himself inspired with respect for the dignity, the beard, and

the book of the hermit. He found, in the course of the conversation,

that he was possessed of superior degrees of knowledge. The hermit

talked of fate, of justice, of morals, of the chief good, of human

weakness, and of virtue and vice, with such a spirited and moving

eloquence, that Zadig felt himself drawn toward him by an irresistible

charm. He earnestly entreated the favor of his company till their return

to Babylon.

"I ask the same favor of thee," said the old man. "Swear to me by

Oromazes that, whatever I do, thou wilt not leave me for some days."

Zadig swore, and they set out together. In the evening the two travelers

arrived at a superb castle. The hermit entreated a hospitable reception

for himself and the young man who accompanied him. The porter, whom one

might have mistaken for a great lord, introduced them with a kind of

disdainful civility. He presented them to a principal domestic, who

showed them his master's magnificent apartments. They were admitted to

the lower end of the table, without being honored with the least mark of

regard by the lord of the castle; but they were served, like the rest,

with delicacy and profusion. They were then presented, in a golden basin

adorned with emeralds and rubies, with water to wash their hands. At

last they were conducted to bed in a beautiful apartment; and in the

morning a domestic brought each of them a piece of gold, after which

they took their leave and departed.

"The master of the house," said Zadig, as they were proceeding on the

journey, "appears to be a generous man, though somewhat too proud. He

nobly performs the duties of hospitality."

At that instant he observed that a kind of large pocket, which the

hermit had, was filled and distended; and upon looking more narrowly, he

found that it contained the golden basin adorned with precious stones,

which the hermit had stolen. He durst not then take any notice of it;

but he was filled with a strange surprise.

About noon the hermit came to the door of a paltry house, inhabited by a

rich miser, and begged the favor of an hospitable reception for a few

hours. An old servant, in a tattered garb, received them with a blunt

and rude air, and led them into the stable, where he gave them some

rotten olives, sour wine, and mouldy bread. The hermit ate and drank

with as much seeming satisfaction as he had done the evening before, and

then addressing himself to the old servant who watched them both to

prevent them stealing anything, and had rudely pressed them to depart,

he gave him the two pieces of gold he had received in the morning, and

thanked him for his great civility.

"Pray," added he, "allow me to speak to thy master."

The servant, filled with astonishment, introduced the two travelers.

"Magnificent lord!" said the hermit, "I cannot but return thee my most

humble thanks for the noble manner in which thou hast entertained us. Be

pleased to accept of this golden basin as a small mark of my gratitude."

The miser started, and was ready to fall backwards; but the hermit,

without giving him time to recover from his surprise, instantly departed

with his young fellow traveler.

"Father," said Zadig, "what is the meaning of all this? Thou seemest to

me to be entirely different from other men. Thou stealest a golden basin

adorned with precious stones, from a lord who received thee

magnificently, and givest it to a miser who treats thee with

indignity."

"Son," replied the old man, "this magnificent lord, who receives

strangers only from vanity and ostentation, will hereby be rendered more

wise; and the miser will learn to practice the duties of hospitality. Be

surprised at nothing, but follow me."

Zadig knew not as yet whether he was in company with the most foolish or

the most prudent of mankind' but the hermit spoke with such an

ascendency that Zadig, who was moreover bound by his oath, could not

refuse to follow him.

In the evening they arrived at a house built with equal elegance and

simplicity, where nothing savored either of prodigality or avarice. The

master of it was a philosopher who had retired from the world, and who

cultivated in peace the study of virtue and wisdom, without any of that

rigid and morose severity so commonly found in men of his character. He

had chosen to build this fine house in which he received strangers with

a generosity free from ostentation. He went himself to meet the two

travelers, whom he led into a commodious apartment, and desired them to

repose themselves. Soon after he came and invited them to a decent and

well ordered repast, during which he spoke with great judgment of the

last revolutions in Babylon. He seemed to be strongly attached to the

queen, and wished that Zadig had appeared in the lists to contend for

the crown.

"But the people," added he, "do not deserve to have such a king as

Zadig."

Zadig blushed and felt his griefs redoubled. They agreed, in the course

of the conversation, that the things of this world did not always answer

the wishes of the wise. The hermit maintained that the ways of

providence were inscrutable; and that men were in the wrong to judge of

a whole, of which they understood but the smallest part. They talked of

the passions.

"Ah," said Zadig, "how fatal are their effects!"

"They are the winds," replied the hermit, "that swell the sails of the

ship; it is true, they sometimes sink her, but without them she could

not sail at all. The bile makes us sick and choleric but without the

bile we could not live. Everything in this world is dangerous, and yet

everything in it is necessary."

The conversation turned on pleasure; and the hermit proved that it was a

present bestowed by the deity.

"For," said he, "man cannot either give himself sensations or ideas: he

receives all; and pain and pleasure proceed from a foreign cause as well

as his being."

Zadig was surprised to see a man who had been guilty of such extravagant

actions, capable of reasoning with so much judgment and propriety. At

last, after a conversation equally entertaining and instructive, the

host led back his two guests to their apartment, blessing heaven for

having sent him two men possessed of so much wisdom and virtue. He

offered them money with such an easy and noble air that it could not

possibly give any offence. The hermit refused it, and said that he must

now take his leave of him, as he proposed to set out for Babylon in the

morning before it was light. Their parting was tender. Zadig especially

felt himself filled with esteem and affection for a man of such an

amiable character.

When he and the hermit were alone in their apartment they spent a long

time in praising their host. At break of day the old man awakened his

companion.

"We must now depart," said he; "but while all the family are still

asleep, I will leave this man a mark of my esteem and affection."

So saying he took a candle and set fire to the house. Zadig, struck with

horror, cried aloud, and endeavored to hinder him from committing such a

barbarous action; but the hermit drew him away by a superior force, and

the house was soon in flames. The hermit, who, with his companion, was

already at a considerable distance, looked back to the conflagration

with great tranquillity.

"Thanks be to God," said he, "the house of my dear host is entirely

destroyed! Happy man!"

At these words Zadig was at once tempted to burst out in laughing, to

reproach the reverend father, to beat him, and to run away. But he did

none of all these; for still subdued by the powerful ascendancy of the

hermit, he followed him, in spite of himself, to the next stage.

This was at the house of a charitable and virtuous widow, who had a

nephew fourteen years of age, a handsome and promising youth, and her

only hope. She performed the honors of the house as well us she could.

Next day, she ordered her nephew to accompany the strangers to a bridge,

which being lately broken down, was become extremely dangerous in

passing. The young man walked before them with great alacrity. As they

were crossing the bridge, the hermit said to the youth:

"Come, I must show my gratitude to thy aunt."

He then took him by the hair, and plunged him into the river. The boy

sank, appeared again on the surface of the water, and was swallowed up

by the current.

"O monster! O thou most wicked of mankind!" cried Zadig.

"Thou promised to behave with greater patience," said the hermit,

interrupting him. "Know, that under the ruins of that house which

providence hath set on fire, the master hath found an immense treasure I

know, that this young man, whose life providence hath shortened, would

have assassinated his aunt in the space of a year, and thee in that of

two."

"Who told thee so, barbarian?" cried Zadig, "and though thou hadst read

this event in thy book of destinies, art thou permitted to drown a youth

who never did thee any harm?"

While the Babylonian was thus exclaiming, he observed that the old man

had no longer a beard, and that his countenance assumed the features and

complexion of youth. The hermit's habit disappeared, and four beautiful

wings covered a majestic body resplendent with light.

"O sent of heaven! O divine angel!" cried Zadig, humbly prostrating

himself on the ground, "Hast thou then descended from the empyrean to

teach a weak mortal to submit to the eternal decrees of providence?"

"Men," said the angel Jesrad, "judge of all without knowing any thing;

and, of all men, thou best deservest to be enlightened."

Zadig begged to be permitted to speak:

"I distrust myself," said he, "but may I presume to ask the favor of

thee to clear up one doubt that still remains in my mind. Would it not

have been better to have corrected this youth, and made him virtuous,

than to have drowned him?"

[Illustration: The hermit.]

The poem, called _The Hermit_, by Thomas Parnell, D.D., expresses

views in regard to providence similar to those of Voltaire. The

same thoughts may also be found in the _Divine Dialogues_ of Henry

Moore. Indeed this "tale to prose-men known to verse-men fam'd,"

has been used by many authors. Pope says "the story was written

originally in Spanish;" Goldsmith, in his _Life of Parnell_,

intimates that it was originally of Arabian invention, while, in

fact, it seems to bear internal evidence of Persian or Hindoo

origin.--E.

"Had he become virtuous," replied Jesrad, "and enjoyed a longer life, it

would have been his fate to have been assassinated himself, together

with the wife he would have married, and the child he would have had by

her."

"But why," said Zadig, "is it necessary that there should be crimes and

misfortunes, and that these misfortunes should fall on the good?"

"The wicked," replied Jesrad, "are always unhappy. They serve to prove

and try the small number of the just that are scattered through the

earth; and there is no evil that is not productive of some good."

"But," said Zadig, "suppose there was nothing but good and no evil at

all."

"Then," replied Jesrad, "this earth would be another earth: the chain of

events would be ranged in another order and directed by wisdom. But this

other order, which would be perfect, can exist only in the eternal abode

of the Supreme Being, to which no evil can approach. The Deity hath

created millions of worlds, among which there is not one that resembles

another. This immense variety is the effect of his immense power. There

are not two leaves among the trees of the earth, nor two globes in the

unlimited expanse of heaven, that are exactly similar; and all that thou

seest on the little atom in which thou art born, ought to be, in its

proper time and place, according to the immutable decrees of him who

comprehends all. Men think that this child, who hath just perished, is

fallen into the water by chance; and that it is by the same chance that

this house is burned. But there is no such thing as chance. All is

either a trial, or a punishment, or a reward, or a foresight. Remember

the fisherman, who thought himself the most wretched of mankind.

Oromazes sent thee to change his fate. Cease then, frail mortal, to

dispute against what thou oughtest to adore."

"But," said Zadig--

As he pronounced the word "But," the angel took his flight toward the

tenth sphere. Zadig on his knees adored providence, and submitted. The

angel cried to him from on high:

"Direct thy course toward Babylon."

XIX.

THE ENIGMAS.

Zadig, entranced as it were, and like a man about whose head the thunder

had burst, walked at random. He entered Babylon on the very day when

those who had fought at the tournaments were assembled in the grand

vestibule of the palace to explain the enigmas, and to answer the

questions of the grand magi. All the knights were already present,

except the knight in green armor. As soon as Zadig appeared in the city,

the people crowded around him; every eye was fixed on him, every mouth

blessed him, and every heart wished him the empire. The envious man saw

him pass; he frowned and turned aside. The people conducted him to the

place where the assembly was held. The queen, when informed of his

arrival, became a prey to the most violent agitations of hope and fear.

She was filled with anxiety and apprehension. She could not comprehend

why Zadig was without arms, nor why Itobad wore the white armor.

When the knights who had fought were directed to appear in the assembly,

Zadig said. "I have fought as well as the other knights, but another

here wears my arms; and while I wait for the honor of proving the truth

of my assertion, I demand the liberty of presenting myself to explain

the enigmas."

The question was put to vote, and his reputation for probity was so well

established, that they admitted him without scruple.

The first question proposed by the grand magi, was: "What, of all things

in the world, is the longest and the shortest, the swiftest and the

slowest, the most divisible and the most extended, the most neglected

and the most regretted, without which nothing can be done, which devours

all that is little, and enlivens all that is great?"

Itobad was to speak. He replied, that so great a man as he did not

understand enigmas; and that it was sufficient for him to have conquered

by his strength and valor. Some said that the meaning of the enigma was

fortune; some, the earth; and others, the light. Zadig said that it was

time.

"Nothing," added he, "is longer, since it is the measure of eternity.

Nothing is shorter, since it is insufficient for the accomplishment of

our projects. Nothing more slow to him that expects, nothing more rapid

to him that enjoys. In greatness it extends to infinity, in smallness it

is infinitely divisible. All men neglect it, all regret the loss of it;

nothing can be done without it. It consigns to oblivion whatever is

unworthy of being transmitted to posterity, and it immortalizes such

actions as are truly great."

The assembly acknowledged that Zadig was in the right.

The next question was: "What is the thing which we receive without

thanks, which we enjoy without knowing how, and which we lose without

perceiving it?"

Every one gave his own explanation. Zadig alone guessed that it was

life; and he explained all the other enigmas with the same facility.

Itobad always said that nothing was more easy, and that he could have

answered them with the same readiness, had he chosen to have given

himself the trouble. Questions were then proposed on justice, on the

sovereign good, and on the art of government. Zadig's answers were

judged to be the most solid, and the people exclaimed:

"What a pity it is, that so great a genius should be so bad a knight!"

"Illustrious lords," said Zadig, "I have had the honor of conquering in

the tournaments. It is to me that the white armor belongs. Lord Itobad

took possession of it during my sleep. He probably thought it would fit

him better than the green. I am now ready to prove in your presence,

with my gown and sword, against all that beautiful white armor which he

took from me, that it is I who have had the honor of conquering the

brave of Otamus."

Itobad accepted the challenge with the greatest confidence. He never

doubted but that, armed as he was with a helmet, a cuirass, and

brassarts, he would obtain an easy victory over a champion in a cap and

a night-gown. Zadig drew his sword, saluting the queen, who looked at

him with a mixture of fear and joy. Itobad drew his, without saluting

any one. He rushed upon Zadig, like a man who had nothing to fear; he

was ready to cleave him in two. Zadig knew how to ward off his blows, by

opposing the strongest part of his sword to the weakest of that of his

adversary, in such a manner that Itobad's sword was broken. Upon which

Zadig, seizing his enemy by the waist, threw him on the ground; and

fixing the point of his sword at the extremity of his breast-plate,

exclaimed: "Suffer thyself to be disarmed, or thou art a dead man."

Itobad greatly surprised at the disgrace that happened to such a man as

he, was obliged to yield to Zadig, who took from him with great

composure, his magnificent helmet, his superb cuirass, his fine

brassarts, his shining cuisses; clothed himself with them, and in this

dress ran to throw himself at the feet of Astarte. Cador easily proved

that the armor belonged to Zadig. He was acknowledged king by the

unanimous consent of the whole nation, and especially by that of

Astarte, who, after so many calamities, now tasted the exquisite

pleasure of seeing her lover worthy, in the eyes of the world, to be her

husband. Itobad went home to be called lord in his own house. Zadig was

king, and was happy. He recollected what the angel Jesrad had said to

him. He even remembered the grain of sand that became a diamond. He sent

in search of the robber Arbogad, to whom he gave an honorable post in

his army, promising to advance him to the first dignities, if he behaved

like a true warrior; and threatening to hang him, if he followed the

profession of a robber.

Setoc, with the fair Almona, was called from the heart of Arabia, and

placed at the head of the commerce of Babylon. Cador was preferred and

distinguished according to his great services. He was the friend of the

king; and the king was then the only monarch on earth that had a friend.

The little mute was not forgotten. A fine house was given to the

fisherman; and Orcan was condemned to pay him a large sum of money, and

to restore him his wife; but the fisherman, who had now become wise,

took only the money.

The beautiful Semira could not be comforted for having believed that

Zadig would be blind of an eye; nor did Azora cease to lament her

attempt to cut off his nose: their griefs, however, he softened by his

presents. The capricious beauty, Missouf, was left unnoticed. The

envious man died of rage and shame. The empire enjoyed peace, glory, and

plenty. This was the happiest age of the earth. It was governed by love

and justice. The people blessed Zadig, and Zadig blessed heaven.

[Illustration: Freind and his wayward son.]

THE SAGE AND THE ATHEIST.

INTRODUCTION.

You request me, sir, to give you some account of our worthy friend, and

his singular son. The leisure that the retirement of Lord Peterborough

now affords me, places it in my power to oblige you. You will be as

astonished as I was, and perhaps adopt my opinion on the subject.

You scarcely knew the young and unfortunate Johnny, Freind's only son,

whom his father took with him to Spain when he received the appointment

of chaplain to our armies, in 1705. You started for Aleppo, before my

lord besieged Barcelona; yet you were right when you said, John's

countenance was amiable and interesting, and that he gave proofs of

intelligence and courage. It was quite true. Every one who knew him,

loved him. At first he was intended for the church; but, as he

manifested much aversion for that profession, which, indeed, requires

great skill, management, and finesse, his prudent father considered it a

folly and a crime to oppose his inclination.

John was not twenty years old when he assisted, as a volunteer, at the

attack on Mont-Joui, which was captured, and where the Prince of Hesse

lost his life. Our poor Johnny was wounded, taken prisoner, and carried

into the town. The following is an account of his adventures from the

attack of Mont-Joui till the taking of Barcelona. It is as told by a

Catalonian lady, a little too free and too simple. Such stories do not

find a way to the hearts of your wise men. I received it from her when I

entered Barcelona in the suite of Lord Peterborough. You must read it

without offence, as a true description of the manners of the country.

CHAPTER I.

ADVENTURES OF JOHNNY, A YOUNG ENGLISHMAN. WRITTEN BY DONNA LAS NALGAS.

When we were informed that the same savages who came through the air to

seize on Gibraltar, were come to besiege our beautiful Barcelona, we

began to offer prayers at Notre Dame de Manreze--assuredly the best mode

of defence.

These people, who come from so far, are called by a name very hard to

pronounce, that is, English. Our reverend father inquisitor, Don

Jeronimo Bueno Caracucarador, preached against these brigands. He

anathematized them in Notre Dame d'Elpino. He assured us that the

English had monkey-tails, bears' paws, and parrot-heads; that they

sometimes spoke like men, but invariably made a great hissing; that they

were moreover notorious heretics; that though the Blessed Virgin was

often indulgent to poor sinners, she never forgave heretics, and that

consequently they would all be infallibly exterminated, especially if

they presumed to appear before Mont-Joui. He had scarcely finished his

sermon when he heard that Mont-Joui was taken by storm.

The same evening we learned that a young Englishman, who had been

wounded in the assault, was our prisoner. Throughout the town arose

cries of victory! victory! And the illuminations were very general.

Donna Boca Vermeja, who had the honor to be the reverend inquisitor's

favorite, was very desirous to see what the English animal and heretic

was like. She was my intimate friend. I shared her curiosity. We were

oblished to wait till his wound was cured; and this did not take very

long.

[Illustration: Don Jeronimo Bueno Caracucarador.]

Soon after, we learned that he was in the habit of visiting daily at the

residence of Elbob, my cousin german, who, as every one knows, is the

best surgeon in the town. My friend Boca Vermeja's impatience to see

this singular monster increased two-fold. We had no rest ourselves, and

gave none to our cousin, the surgeon, till he allowed us to conceal

ourselves in a small closet, which we entered on tiptoe without saying a

word and scarcely venturing to breathe, just as the Englishman arrived.

His face was not turned toward us. He took off a small cap which

enclosed his light hair, which then fell in thick curls down the finest

neck I ever beheld. His form presented a plumpness, a finish, an

elegance, approaching, in my opinion, the Apollo Belvidere at Rome--a

copy of which my uncle the sculptor possesses.

Donna Boca Vermeja was transported with surprise, and delighted. I

shared her ecstacy, and could not forbear exclaiming: "O che hermoso

Muchacho!"

These words made the young man turn round. We then saw the face of an

Adonis on the body of a young Hercules. Donna Boca Vermeja nearly fell

backwards at the sight:

"St. James!" she exclaimed, "Holy Virgin! is it possible heretics are

such fine men? How we have been deceived about them."

Donna Boca was soon violently in love with the heretical monster. She is

handsomer than I am, I must confess; and I must also confess that I

became doubly jealous of her on that account. I took care to show her

that to forsake the reverend father inquisitor, Don Jeronimo Bueno

Caracucarador, for an Englishman, would be a crime falling nothing short

of damnation.

"Ah! my dear Las Nalgas," she said, (Las Nalgas is my name) "I would

forsake Melchizedek himself for so fine a young man."

One of the inquisitors who attended four masses daily, to obtain from

Our Lady of Manreze the destruction of the English, heard of our

admiration. The Reverend Father Don Caracucarador whipped us both, and

had our dear Englishman arrested by twenty-four Alguazils of St.

Hermandad. Johnny killed four; and was at length captured by the

remaining twenty. He was confined in a very damp cellar, and sentenced

to be burnt the following Sunday, in full ceremony, clothed in a

San-bénito, wearing a sugar-loaf cap, in honor of our Savior and the

Virgin Mary, his mother. Don Caracucarador prepared a fine sermon, but

had no occasion for it, as the town was taken at four o'clock on the

Sunday morning.

Here Donna Las Nalgas's tale terminates. This lady was not without a

description of wit, which in Spain we call agudéza.