The Portable Voltaire (Portable Library)

by Francois Voltaire

  On the first day Ogul was quite out of breath and thought he would have died of weariness. On the second he was less tired and slept better. In a week he had recovered all his health, strength, and agility, and the gaiety of his most blooming years.

  “You have played at ball and kept sober,” Zadig told him. “Learn that there is no such thing as a basilisk, that with temperance and exercise one is always well. The art of making intemperance and health dwell together is as chimerical as the philosopher’s stone, judicial astrology, and the theology of the Magi.”

  Ogul’s chief doctor, seeing how dangerous this man was to the art of medicine, joined forces with the apothecary of the household to send Zadig to look for basilisks in the next world. Thus, having always been punished for doing good, he was about to perish for curing a lordly glutton. He was invited to an excellent dinner. He was to be poisoned during the second course, but during the first he received a messenger from beautiful Astarte. He left the table and the castle.

  When one is loved by a beautiful woman, says the great Zarathustra, one always finds a way out of one’s troubles in this world.

  XIX. THE TOURNAMENTS

  The queen had been received in Babylon with the delight people always have in a beautiful princess who has been unfortunate. The city seemed quite calm. The Prince of Hyrcania had been killed in a battle. The Babylonian victors declared that Astarte should marry the man they chose as king. They did not wish the first place in the world to be dependent on intrigues and cabals, and they therefore swore to recognize as king the wisest and bravest man. A great arena surrounded by magnificently decorated galleries was built a few leagues from the city. The combatants had to present themselves in full armor. Behind the galleries each had a separate apartment where he was to remain unseen and unknown. Each combatant had to ride against four lances. Those that were fortunate enough to beat four knights would fight afterwards against each other, so that he who finally remained master of the field would be proclaimed winner of the games. The winner had to return four days later with the same arms, and solve riddles propounded by the Magi. If he did not solve the riddles he would not be king, and it would be necessary to joust again until a man was found to win in both contests; for the people insisted on having the bravest man and the wisest. During this time the queen was to be closely guarded, and she could be present at the games only if she were veiled. She was forbidden to speak to any claimant, so that there might be neither favor nor injustice.

  This was the news Astarte made known to her lover, in the hope that for her sake he would show greater courage and wit than anybody else. He set out praying that Venus would steel his courage and illumine his mind.

  Zadig reached the banks of the Euphrates on the eve of the great day. He wrote down his emblem with those of the other combatants, concealing his name and face as the law commanded, and went to rest himself in the apartment that fate had allotted him. His friend Cador, who had returned to Babylon after searching Egypt for him in vain, arranged for a complete suit of armor from the queen to be sent to his dressing-room. He had sent from her also the most beautiful horse in Persia. Zadig recognized that these presents were from Astarte: his courage and love gathered new hope and strength.

  On the morrow, when the queen was seated under her canopy studded with precious stones, and the galleries were crowded with every lady of every class in Babylon, the combatants appeared in the arena. Each placed his armorial shield at the feet of the Grand Magus. The drawing was by lot, and Zadig was drawn last.

  The first to advance was a very rich lord named Itobad, a very vain fellow, of little courage, very clumsy and witless. His servants had persuaded him that a man like him ought to be king, and he had replied: “A man like me is born to rule!” Thus had they armed him from head to foot. He wore golden armor enameled green, a green plume, a lance decorated with green ribbons. It was obvious at once from the way Itobad managed his horse that it was not for “a man like him” heaven was reserving the scepter of Babylon. The first knight who rode against him dismounted him; the second knocked him backwards on his horse’s crupper, his legs in the air and his arms outstretched. Itobad recovered his seat, but with so bad a grace that everyone in the galleries started laughing. A third did not deign to use his lance, but made a pass, seized him by the right leg, and turning him half-round sent him sprawling on the sand. The stewards ran to him laughing, and put him back in the saddle. The fourth combatant took him by the left leg and made him fall on the other side. He was led back to his room amid hooting: there by law he had to pass the night. And as he picked his painful way back he said: “What an adventure for a man like mel”

  The other knights did their duty better. Some of them beat two combatants running, others three even. Only Prince Otame beat four. At last Zadig’s turn came. He dismounted four knights one after the other with all the grace in the world. The situation then was—who would win, Otame or Zadig? The former wore blue and gold armor with a similar plume. Zadig’s arms were white. The blue knight and the white knight were equal favorites with the crowd. The queen prayed with beating heart that white might win.

  The two champions made their thrusts and volts with so much agility, each of them gave such good blows with the lance, each was so firm in his seat, that everyone but the queen hoped there would be two kings in Babylon. At last, their horses being tired and their lances broken, Zadig had resort to this artifice: he passed behind the blue prince, sprang on his horse’s crupper, seized the prince by the middle, threw him to the ground, seated himself in the saddle instead, and circled round Otame, who lay stretched on the ground.

  “The white knight wins!” cried the whole gallery.

  Otame, exasperated, rose and drew his sword. Zadig leaped from his horse with his saber in his hand. There they were both on foot engaging in a new battle in which strength and skill triumphed alternately. The plumes on their casques, the studs on their armlets, the links of their armor, flew far and wide beneath a thousand rapid blows. They strike with the point, with the edge, right and left, on head and on breast. They draw back, they advance, they measure each other, they lock again, they seize each other, twist themselves round each other like snakes, attack like lions. At last, Zadig has a moment to gather his wits, he stops, feints, thrusts, makes Otame fall, and disarms him.

  “White knight,” cries Otame,“ ’tis you shall rule over Babylon.”

  The queen’s joy was unbounded. The blue knight and the white knight, as well as all the others, were led back to their apartments, as laid down by the law. Mutes attended on them and brought them food. As may be guessed, it was the queen’s little mute who waited on Zadig. Afterwards they were left to sleep till morning, when the victor had to bring his armorial shield to the Grand Magus for comparison, and to make himself known.

  Although Zadig was in love he was so tired that he slept. Itobad, who rested near him, slept not at all. He rose during the night, entered Zadig’s room, took Zadig’s white armor and armorial shield, and left his own green armor in its place. When day came he went proudly to the Grand Magus and announced that “a man like him” was the victor. His identity caused some surprise, but he was proclaimed victor while Zadig was still asleep. Astarte was bewildered and returned to Babylon with despair in her heart. The galleries were already almost empty when Zadig awoke. He looked for his arms, and found only the green suit. He was forced to put it on as he had nothing else with him. Taken aback and indignant, he dressed in fury and went forward in this apparel.

  All the people left in the gallery and the arena received him with hoots. He was surrounded and insulted to his face. Never did man endure such humiliating mortification. He lost patience, and with blows from his saber sent flying the rabble which dared abuse him. But he did not know what action to take. He could not see the queen; he could not claim the white armor she had sent him—that would have meant compromising her. Thus, while he was plunged in sorrow he was steeped in fury and uneasiness.

  He went for
a walk along the banks of the Euphrates, persuaded that his star destined him to be unfortunate despite all his efforts. He ran over all his afflictions in his mind from the adventure of the woman who hated one-eyed men down to that of his armor. “That is what comes of waking too late,” he said. “If I had slept less I should be King of Babylon, I should possess Astarte. Knowledge, morality, courage have therefore ever served only to my undoing.” A murmur against Providence escaped him at last, and he was tempted to believe that everything was ordered by a cruel destiny which oppressed the good and made green knights prosper. One of his vexations was that he had to wear the green armor which had called forth so much jeering. A merchant passed, Zadig sold it to him for a song and took from him a robe and a high conical hat. In this apparel he walked along the banks of the Euphrates, filled with despair and secretly reproaching the Providence which persisted in persecuting him.

  XX. THE HERMIT

  While he was walking along he came across a hermit whose venerable white beard reached to his waist. In his hand he held a book which he was studying intently. Zadig stopped and made a deep bow. The hermit greeted him with a gesture at once so gentle and so dignified that Zadig was curious to talk to him. He asked what book the hermit was reading.

  “It is the book of destiny,” answered the hermit. “Would you like to read some of it?”

  He placed the book in Zadig’s hand, and although Zadig was acquainted with several languages he could not decipher one word of the book. This redoubled his curiosity.

  “You look very sad,” said the good father.

  “I have good reason to be, alas!” replied Zadig.

  “If you will allow me to accompany you,” the old man went on, “perhaps I can be useful to you. I have been able sometimes to bring comfort to the souls of the distressed.”

  Zadig felt somewhat in awe of the hermit’s appearance, of his beard and his book, and he found in his conversation a high wisdom. The hermit spoke of fate, of justice and ethics, of sovereign good and human frailty, of virtue and vice, with such live and moving eloquence that Zadig felt drawn to him irresistibly, and begged the old man not to leave him until they were back in Babylon.

  “It is I who ask this favor of you,” returned the hermit. “Swear to me by Ormuzd that no matter what I may do you will not leave me for the next few days.”

  Zadig swore, and they set off together.

  That evening the travelers arrived at a magnificent castle. The hermit asked hospitality for himself and the young man with him. The porter, whom one would have taken for a great lord, let them in with a kind of disdainful good-nature. They were presented to a chief servant who showed them the master’s splendid apartments. They were allowed to sit at the lower end of the table without the lord of the castle even honoring them with a glance, but they were served like the others with daintiness and profusion of food. After the meal they were given a golden bowl, studded with emeralds and rubies, to wash in. They were taken to a beautiful room to sleep, and on the following morning a servant brought them each a piece of gold, after which he sent them on their way.

  “The master of the house,” observed Zadig when they were on the road, “seems to be a generous man, although somewhat haughty; his hospitality is indeed liberal.” As he spoke he noticed that a sort of pouch the hermit wore seemed to be bulging, and in it he saw the golden bowl studded with gems which the old gentleman had stolen. At first he did not dare mention it, but he was very surprised.

  Toward noon the hermit went to the door of a very small house where dwelt a rich miser, and asked hospitality for a few hours. A badly dressed old servant received him rudely, and led Zadig and the hermit to the stable, where they were given a few moldy olives, some musty bread, and stale beer. The hermit ate and drank as contentedly as on the evening before; then, addressing the old servant, who was watching them both to see they stole nothing and hurrying their departure, gave him the two pieces of gold he had received in the morning, and thanked him for all his attention. “Let me speak to your master, please,” he added.

  The astonished servant showed the two travelers in. “Noble lord,” said the hermit, “I can but offer my very humble thanks for the splendid way you have received us. Deign to accept this golden bowl as a small mark of my gratitude.” The miser nearly fell over backwards, but the hermit gave him no time to recover from the shock, and with his young companion left the house as quickly as he could.

  “Father,” said Zadig, “what is all this I see? You seem quite different from other men. You steal a gold bowl studded with precious stones from a nobleman who receives you magnificently, and you give it to a miser who treats you abominably.”

  “My son,” replied the old man, “that lordly man who receives strangers only out of vanity and to have his wealth admired will become wiser: the miser will learn to be more hospitable. Be not surprised at anything, and follow me.”

  Zadig did not yet know whether he had to do with the maddest or wisest of men, but the hermit spoke with such authority that, bound moreover by his oath, he could not help following.

  They arrived that night at a pleasantly, albeit simply, built house, where there was naught of either prodigality or niggardliness. The master of the house was a philosopher who had withdrawn from the world, and peacefully pursued the study of wisdom and virtue: nevertheless, he never felt dull. It had pleased him to build this retreat where he gave strangers a handsome but quite unostentatious reception. He led the way himself for his visitors, whom he first left in a comfortable room to rest themselves. Later, he fetched them himself to invite them to a clean well-ordered meal, during which he spoke discreetly of the recent revolts in Babylon. He seemed to have a sincere attachment for the queen, and wished Zadig had appeared in the lists to fight for the crown. “But men,” he added, “do not deserve to have a king like Zadig.” At which Zadig blushed and felt his sorrows redouble.

  In the course of conversation it was agreed that things in this world did not always accord with the wishes of the wisest men. The hermit maintained that men did not discern the ways of Providence and were wrong to pass judgment on a whole of which they perceived but the smallest part.

  They spoke of the passions. “Ahl” said Zadig, “the passions are disastrous things!”

  “They are the winds that fill the ship’s sails,” returned the hermit. “Sometimes they submerge the ship, but without them the ship could not sail. Bile makes a man ill and choleric, but without bile man could not live. Everything here below is dangerous, and everything is necessary.”

  They spoke of pleasure, and the hermit proved it to be a gift of the gods, “for,” said he, “man can give himself neither ideas nor sensations; he receives everything: pleasure and pain come to him as does his being.”

  Zadig marveled how a man who had done such mad things could reason so well. At last after a talk as instructive as it was agreeable, the host led his guests back to their room, thanking heaven for having sent him two such wise and virtuous men. He offered them money in an easy, big-hearted way which could not offend. The hermit refused it and told him he would take his leave then as he counted on leaving for Babylon before day-break. Their parting was affectionate, Zadig especially feeling much esteem and liking for so lovable a man.

  When the hermit and he were in their room they spoke at length in praise of their host. At dawn the old man waked his comrade. “We must be leaving,” he said: “but while everyone is still sleeping I wish to leave this man a mark of my affection and regard.”

  With these words he took a taper and set fire to the house. Zadig was horrified and cried out, wishing to stop his committing such a frightful act. The hermit with dominating authority hurried him away. The house was ablaze. The hermit, who with his companion was already far enough off, watched it burn tranquilly.

  “Thanks be to God!” he said. “There is my dear host’s house completely destroyed! Happy man!”

  At these words Zadig was tempted to burst out laughing and at the same
time to upbraid him, to beat him, and to flee. But he did nothing of all that, and still dominated by the hermit’s power followed the old man in spite of himself to their last lodging.

  It was in the house of a charitable and virtuous widow who had a very accomplished nephew, her sole hope. She did the honors of her house as well as she was able. The following day she told her nephew to accompany the travelers as far as a bridge which, having been broken recently, had become dangerous to pass over. The young man assiduously walked ahead of them. When they were on the bridge, the hermit called to the lad. “Come here,” he cried, “I must show my gratitude to your aunt.” As he spoke, he seized the boy by the hair and threw him into the river. The child fell, reappeared for a moment on the surface of the water, and was then engulfed in the torrent.

  “You monster!” cried Zadig. “You most infamous of menl”

  “You promised me to be more patient,” interrupted the hermit. “Learn that beneath the ruins of the house to which Providence set fire the master has found immense treasure. Learn that this youth whose neck Providence has wrung would have murdered his aunt in a year’s time, and you in two.”

  “Who told you so, savage?” roared Zadig. “Because you have read this event in the book of the decrees of fate, are you permitted to drown a child who has done you no harm?”

  While the Babylonian was speaking he noticed suddenly that the old man’s beard had gone, that his face was taking on the features of youth. His hermit’s habit disappeared. Four beautiful wings covered a mighty body radiant with light. “O envoy from heaven! O divine angell” cried Zadig, falling on his face. “Have you come from the empyrean to teach a frail mortal how to submit to the commands of eternity?”