← catalogue

Voltaire's Romances, Complete in One Volume

by Voltaire · English · Gutenberg #35595 · 1,051,600 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Voltaire's Romances, Complete in One Volume
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Voltaire's Romances, Complete in One Volume

Author: Voltaire


        
Release date: March 17, 2011 [eBook #35595]
                Most recently updated: March 19, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35595

Credits: Produced by Andrea Ball, Christine Bell & Marc D'Hooghe (From images generously made available by Internet Archive.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VOLTAIRE'S ROMANCES, COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME ***

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 pries

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/35595