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ZADIG, OR DESTINY
AN EASTERN TALE
CERTIFICATE OF APPROVAL.—I, the undersigned, who have succeeded in making myself pass for a man of learning and even of wit, have read this manuscript, and found it, in spite of myself, curious and amusing, moral and philosophical, and worthy even of pleasing those who hate romances. So I have disparaged it, and assured the cadi that it is an abominable work.
DEDICATORY EPISTLE OF ZADIG TO THE SULTANA SHERAH, BY SADI.
The 10th day of the month Shawal, in the year 837 of the Hegira.
Delight of the eyes, torment of the heart, and lamp of the soul, I kiss not the dust of thy feet, because thou dost scarcely ever walk, or only on Persian carpets or over rose leaves. I present thee with the translation of a book written by an ancient sage, to whom, being in the happy condition of having nothing to do, there occurred the happy thought of amusing himself by writing the story of Zadig, a work that means more than it seems to do. I beseech thee to read it and form thy judgment on it; for although thou art in the springtime of life, and courted by pleasures of every kind; although thou art fair, and thy talents add to thy beauty; and although thou art loaded with praises from morning to night, and so hast every right to be devoid of common sense, yet thou hast a very sound intelligence and a highly refined taste, and I have heard thee argue better than any old dervish with a long beard and pointed cap. Thou art cautious yet not suspicious; thou art gentle without being weak; thou art beneficent with due discrimination; thou dost love thy friends, and makest to thyself no enemies. Thy wit never borrows its charm from the shafts of slander; thou dost neither say nor do evil, in spite of abundant facilities if thou wert so inclined. Lastly, thy soul has always appeared to me as spotless as thy beauty. Thou hast even a small stock of philosophy, which has led me to believe that thou wouldst take more interest than any other of thy sex in this work of a wise man.
It was originally written in ancient Chaldean, which neither thou nor I understand. It was translated into Arabic for the entertainment of the famous Sultan Oulook, about the time when the Arabs and Persians were beginning to compose The Thousand and One Nights, The Thousand and One Days, etc. Oulook preferred to read Zadig; but the ladies of his harem liked the others better.
“How can you prefer,” said the wise Oulook, “senseless stories that mean nothing?”
“That is just why we are so fond of them,” answered the ladies.
I feel confident that thou wilt not resemble them, but that thou wilt be a true Oulook; and I venture to hope that when thou art weary of general conversation, which is of much the same character as The Arabian Nights Entertainment, except that it is less amusing, I may have the honor of talking to thee for a few minutes in a rational manner. If thou hadst been Thalestris in the time of Alexander, son of Philip, or if thou hadst been the Queen of Sheba in the days of Solomon, those kings would have traveled to thee, not thou to them.
I pray the heavenly powers that thy pleasures may be unalloyed, thy beauty unfading, and thy happiness everlasting.
Chapter 1
The Man of One Eye
IN THE TIME of King Moabdar there lived at Babylon a young man named Zadig, who was born with a good disposition, which education had strengthened. Though young and rich, he knew how to restrain his passions; he was free from all affectation, made no pretension to infallibility himself, and knew how to respect the foibles of others. People were astonished to see that, with all his wit, he never turned his powers of raillery on the vague, disconnected, and confused talk, the rash censures, the ignorant judgments, the scurvy jests, and all that vain babble of words which went by the name of conversation at Babylon. He had learned in the first book of Zoroaster that self-conceit is a bladder puffed up with wind, out of which issue storms and tempests when it is pricked. Above all, Zadig never prided himself on despising women, nor boasted of his conquests over them. Generous as he was, he had no fear of bestowing kindness on the ungrateful, therein following the noble maxim of Zoroaster: When thou eatest, give something to the dogs, even though they should bite thee. He was as wise as man can be, for he sought to live with the wise. Instructed in the sciences of the ancient Chaldeans, he was not ignorant of such principles of natural philosophy as were then known, and knew as much of metaphysics as has been known in any age, that is to say, next to nothing. He was firmly persuaded that the year consists of three hundred sixty-five days and a quarter, in spite of the latest philosophy of his time, and that the sun is the center of our system; and when the leading magi told him with contemptuous arrogance that he entertained dangerous opinions, and that it was a proof of hostility to the government to believe that the sun turned on its own axis and that the year had twelve months, he held his peace without showing either anger or disdain.
Zadig, with great riches, and consequently well provided with friends, having health and good looks, a just and well-disciplined mind, and a heart noble and sincere, thought that he might be happy. He was to be married to Semira, a lady whose beauty, birth, and fortune rendered her the first match in Babylon. He felt for her a strong and virtuous attachment, and Semira in her turn loved him passionately. They were close upon the happy moment which was about to unite them, when, walking together towards one of the gates of Babylon, under the palm trees which adorned the banks of the Euphrates, they saw a party of men armed with swords and bows advancing in their direction. They were the satellites of young Orcan, the nephew of a minister of state, whom his uncle’s hangers-on had encouraged in the belief that he might do what he liked with impunity. He had none of the graces nor virtues of Zadig; but, fancying he was worth a great deal more, he was provoked at not being preferred to him. This jealousy, which proceeded only from his vanity, made him think that he was desperately in love with Semira, and he determined to carry her off. The ravishers seized her, and in their outrageous violence wounded her, shedding the blood of one so fair that the tigers of Mount Imaus would have melted at the sight of her. She pierced the sky with her lamentations. She cried aloud:
“My dear husband! They are tearing me from him who is the idol of my heart.”
Taking no heed of her own danger, it was of her beloved Zadig alone that she thought, who, meanwhile, was defending her with all the force that love and valor could bestow. With the help of only two slaves he put the ravishers to flight, and carried Semira to her home unconscious and covered with blood. On opening her eyes she saw her deliverer, and said:
“O Zadig, I loved you before as my future husband, I love you now as the preserver of my life and honor.”
Never was there a heart more deeply moved than that of Semira; never did lips more lovely express sentiments more touching, in words of fire inspired by gratitude for the greatest of benefits and the most tender transports of the most honorable love. Her wound was slight, and was soon cured; but Zadig was hurt more severely, an arrow had struck him near the eye and made a deep wound. Semira’s only prayer to Heaven now was that her lover might be healed. Her eyes were bathed in tears night and day; she longed for the moment when those of Zadig might once more be able to gaze on her with delight; but an abscess which attacked the wounded eye gave every cause for alarm. A messenger was sent as far as Memphis for Hermes, the famous physician, who came with a numerous train. He visited the sick man, and declared that he would lose the eye; he even foretold the day and the hour when this unfortunate event would happen.
“If it had been the right eye,” said he, “I might have cured it, but injuries to the left eye are incurable.”
All Babylon, while bewailing Zadig’s fate, admired the profound scientific research of Hermes. Two days afterwards the abscess broke of itself, and Zadig was completely cured. Hermes wrote a book, in which he proved to him that he ought not to have been cured; but Zadig did not read it. As soon as he could venture forth, he prepared to visit her in whom rested his every hope of happiness in life, and for whose sake alone he desired to have eyes. Now Semira had gone into the country three days before, and on his way he learned that this fair lady, after loudly declaring that she had an insurmountable objection to one-eyed people, had just married Orcan the night before. At these tidings he fell senseless, and his anguish brought him to the brink of the grave; he was ill for a long time, but at last reason prevailed over his affliction, and the very atrocity of his treatment furnished him with a source of consolation.
“Since I have experienced,” said he, “such cruel caprice from a maiden brought up at the court, I must marry one of the townspeople.”
He chose Azora, who came of the best stock and was the best behaved girl in the city. He married her, and lived with her for a month in all the bliss of a most tender union. The only fault he remarked in her was a little giddiness, and a strong tendency to find out that the handsomest young men had always the most intelligence and virtue.
Chapter 2
The Nose
ONE DAY AZORA returned from a walk in a state of vehement indignation and uttering loud exclamations.
“What is the matter with you, my dear wife?” said Zadig; “who can have put you so much out of temper?”
“Alas!” she replied, “you would be as indignant as I, if you had seen the sight which I have just witnessed. I went to console the young widow Cosrou, who two days ago raised a tomb to her young husband beside the stream which forms the boundary of this meadow. She vowed to Heaven, in her grief, that she would dwell beside that tomb as long as the stream flowed by it.”
“Well!” said Zadig, “a truly estimable woman, who really loved her husband!”
“Ah!” returned Azora, “if you only knew how she was occupied when I paid her my visit!”
“How then, fair Azora?”
“She was diverting the course of the brook.”
Azora gave vent to her feelings in such lengthy invectives, and burst into such violent reproaches against the young widow, that this ostentatious display of virtue was not altogether pleasing to Zadig.
He had a friend named Cador, who was one of those young men in whom his wife found more merit and integrity than in others; Zadig took him into his confidence, and secured his fidelity, as far as possible, by means of a considerable present.
Azora, having passed a couple of days with one of her lady friends in the country, on the third day returned home. The servants, with tears in their eyes, told her that her husband had died quite suddenly the night before, that they had not dared to convey to her such sad news, and that they had just buried Zadig in the tomb of his ancestors at the end of the garden. She wept, and tore her hair, and vowed that she would die. In the evening Cador asked if she would allow him to speak to her, and they wept in company. Next day they wept less, and dined together. Cador informed her that his friend had left him the best part of his property, and gave her to understand that he would deem it the greatest happiness to share his fortune with her. The lady shed tears, was offended, allowed herself to be soothed; the supper lasted longer than the dinner, and they conversed together more confidentially. Azora spoke in praise of the deceased, but admitted that he had faults from which Cador was free.
In the middle of supper, Cador complained of a violent pain in the spleen. The lady, anxious and attentive, caused all the essences on her toilet table to be brought, to try if there might not be some one among them good for affections of the spleen. She was very sorry that the famous Hermes was no longer in Babylon. She even condescended to touch the side where Cador felt such sharp pains.
“Are you subject to this cruel malady?” she asked in a tone of compassion.
“It sometimes brings me to the brink of the grave,” answered Cador, “and there is only one remedy which can relieve me: it is to apply to my side the nose of a man who has been only a day or two dead.”
“What a strange remedy!” said Azora.
“Not more strange,” was his reply, “than the scent-bags of Mr. Arnoult being an antidote to apoplexy.”1
That reason, joined to the distinguished merit of the young man, at last decided the lady.
“After all,” said she, “when my husband shall pass from the world of yesterday into the world of tomorrow over the bridge Chinavar, the angel Azrael will not grant him a passage any the less because his nose will be a little shorter in the second life than in the first.”
She then took a razor, and went to her husband’s tomb; after she had watered it with her tears, she approached to cut off Zadig’s nose, whom she found stretched at full length in the tomb, when he suddenly got up, and, holding his nose with one hand, stopped the razor with the other.
“Madam,” said he, “do not cry out so loudly another time against young Cosrou; your intention of cutting off my nose is as bad as that of turning aside a stream.”
Chapter 3
The Dog and the Horse
ZADIG FOUND BY experience that the first month of marriage is, as it is written in the book of the Zendavesta, the moon of honey, and that the second is the moon of wormwood. He was some time afterwards obliged to put away Azora, who became too unmanageable to live with, and he sought for happiness in the study of nature.
“There is no delight,” he said, “equal to that of a philosopher, who reads in this great book which God has set before our eyes. The truths which he discovers are his own: he nurtures and educates his soul, he lives in peace, he fears no man, and no tender spouse comes to cut off his nose.”
Full of these ideas, he retired to a country house on the banks of the Euphrates. There he did not spend his time in calculating how many inches of water flowed in a second under the arches of a bridge, or whether a cubic line of rain fell in the month of the mouse more than in the month of the sheep. He did not contrive how to make silk out of cobwebs, nor porcelain out of broken bottles, but he studied most of all the properties of animals and plants, and soon acquired a sagacity that showed him a thousand differences where other men see nothing but uniformity.
One day, when he was walking near a little wood, he saw one of the queen’s eunuchs running to meet him, followed by several officers, who appeared to be in the greatest uneasiness, and who were running hither and thither like men bewildered and searching for some most precious object which they had lost.
“Young man,” said the chief eunuch to Zadig, “have you seen the queen’s dog?”
Zadig modestly replied: “It is a bitch, not a dog.”
“You are right,” said the eunuch.
“It is a very small spaniel,” added Zadig; “it is not long since she has had a litter of puppies; she is lame in the left forefoot, and her ears are very long.”
“You have seen her, then?” said the chief eunuch, quite out of breath.
“No,” answered Zadig, “I have never seen her, and never knew that the queen had a bitch.”
Just at this very time, by one of those curious coincidences which are not uncommon, the finest horse in the king’s stables had broken away from the hands of a groom in the plains of Babylon. The grand huntsman and all the other officers ran after him with as much anxiety as the chief of the eunuchs had displayed in his search after the queen’s bitch. The grand huntsman accosted Zadig, and asked him if he had seen the ...
