Chapter 17: The Fisherman
Original French
Le pêcheur.
A quelques lieues du château d'Arbogad, il se trouva sur le bord d'une petite rivière, toujours déplorant sa destinée, et se regardant comme le modèle du malheur. Il vit un pêcheur couché sur la rive, tenant à peine d'une main languissante son filet, qu'il semblait abandonner, et levant les yeux vers le ciel.
Je suis certainement le plus malheureux de tous les hommes, disait le pêcheur. J'ai été, de l'aveu de tout le monde, le plus célèbre marchand de fromages à la crème dans Babylone, et j'ai été ruiné. J'avais la plus jolie femme qu'homme pût posséder, et j'en ai été trahi. Il me restait une chétive maison, je l'ai vue pillée et détruite. Réfugié dans une cabane, je n'ai de ressource que ma pêche, et je ne prends pas un poisson. O mon filet! je ne te jetterai plus dans l'eau, c'est à moi de m'y jeter. En disant ces mots il se lève, et s'avance dans l'attitude d'un homme qui allait se précipiter et finir sa vie.
Eh quoi! se dit Zadig à lui-même, il y a donc des hommes aussi malheureux que moi! L'ardeur de sauver la vie au pêcheur fut aussi prompte que cette réflexion. Il court à lui, il l'arrête, il l'interroge d'un air attendri et consolant. On prétend qu'on en est moins malheureux quand on ne l'est pas seul: mais, selon Zoroastre, ce n'est pas par malignité, c'est par besoin. On se sent alors entraîné vers un infortuné comme vers son semblable. La joie d'un homme heureux serait une insulte; mais deux malheureux sont comme deux arbrisseaux faibles qui, s'appuyant l'un sur l'autre, se fortifient contre l'orage.
Pourquoi succombez-vous à vos malheurs? dit Zadig au pêcheur. C'est, répondit-il, parceque je n'y vois pas de ressource. J'ai été le plus considéré du village de Derlback auprès de Babylone, et je fesais, avec l'aide de ma femme, les meilleurs fromages à la crème de l'empire. La reine Astarté et le fameux ministre Zadig les aimaient passionnément. J'avais fourni à leurs maisons six cents fromages. J'allai un jour à la ville pour être payé; j'appris en arrivant dans Babylone que la reine et Zadig avaient disparu. Je courus chez le seigneur Zadig, que je n'avais jamais vu; je trouvai les archers du grand desterham, qui, munis d'un papier royal, pillaient sa maison loyalement et avec ordre. Je volai aux cuisines de la reine; quelques uns des seigneurs de la bouche me dirent qu'elle était morte; d'autres dirent qu'elle était en prison; d'autres prétendirent qu'elle avait pris la fuite; mais tous m'assurèrent qu'on ne me paierait point mes fromages. J'allai avec ma femme chez le seigneur Orcan, qui était une de mes pratiques: nous lui demandâmes sa protection dans notre disgrâce. Il l'accorda à ma femme, et me la refusa. Elle était plus blanche que ces fromages à la crème qui commencèrent mon malheur; et l'éclat de la pourpre de Tyr n'était pas plus brillant que l'incarnat qui animait cette blancheur. C'est ce qui fit qu'Orcan la retint, et me chassa de sa maison. J'écrivis à ma chère femme la lettre d'un désespéré. Elle dit au porteur: Ah, ah! oui! je sais quel est l'homme qui m'écrit, j'en ai entendu parler: on dit qu'il fait des fromages à la crème excellents; qu'on m'en apporte, et qu'on les lui paie.
Dans mon malheur, je voulus m'adresser à la justice. Il me restait six onces d'or: il fallut en donner deux onces à l'homme de loi que je consultai, deux au procureur qui entreprit mon affaire, deux au secrétaire du premier juge. Quand tout cela fut fait, mon procès n'était pas encore commencé, et j'avais déjà dépensé plus d'argent que mes fromages et ma femme ne valaient. Je retournai à mon village dans l'intention de vendre ma maison pour avoir ma femme.
Ma maison valait bien soixante onces d'or; mais on me voyait pauvre et pressé de vendre. Le premier à qui je m'adressai m'en offrit trente onces; le second, vingt; et le troisième, dix. J'étais prêt enfin de conclure, tant j'étais aveuglé, lorsqu'un prince d'Hyrcanie vint à Babylone, et ravagea tout sur son passage. Ma maison fut d'abord saccagée, et ensuite brûlée.
Ayant ainsi perdu mon argent, ma femme, et ma maison, je me suis retiré dans ce pays où vous me voyez; j'ai tâché de subsister du métier de pêcheur. Les poissons se moquent de moi comme les hommes; je ne prends rien, je meurs de faim; et sans vous, auguste consolateur, j'allais mourir dans la rivière.
Le pêcheur ne fit point ce récit tout de suite; car à tout moment Zadig ému et transporté lui disait: Quoi! vous ne savez rien de la destinée de la reine? Non, seigneur, répondait le pêcheur; mais je sais que la reine et Zadig ne m'ont point payé mes fromages à la crème, qu'on a pris ma femme, et que je suis au désespoir. Je me flatte, dit Zadig, que vous ne perdrez pas tout votre argent. J'ai entendu parler de ce Zadig; il est honnête homme; et s'il retourne à Babylone, comme il l'espère, il vous donnera plus qu'il ne vous doit; mais pour votre femme, qui n'est pas si honnête, je vous conseille de ne pas chercher à la reprendre. Croyez-moi, allez à Babylone; j'y serai avant vous, parceque je suis à cheval, et que vous êtes à pied. Adressez-vous à l'illustre Cador; dites-lui que vous avez rencontré son ami; attendez-moi chez lui; allez; peut-être ne serez-vous pas toujours malheureux.
O puissant Orosmade! continua-t-il, vous vous servez de moi pour consoler cet homme; de qui vous servirez-vous pour me consoler? En parlant ainsi il donnait au pêcheur la moitié de tout l'argent qu'il avait apporté d'Arabie, et le pêcheur, confondu et ravi, baisait les pieds de l'ami de Cador, et disait: Vous êtes un ange sauveur.
Cependant Zadig demandait toujours des nouvelles, et versait des larmes. Quoi! seigneur, s'écria le pêcheur, vous seriez donc aussi malheureux, vous qui faites du bien? Plus malheureux que toi cent fois, répondait Zadig. Mais comment se peut-il faire, disait le bonhomme, que celui qui donne soit plus à plaindre que celui qui reçoit? C'est que ton plus grand malheur, reprit Zadig, était le besoin, et que je suis infortuné par le coeur. Orcan vous aurait-il pris votre femme? dit le pêcheur. Ce mot rappela dans l'esprit de Zadig toutes ses aventures; il répétait la liste de ses infortunes, à commencer depuis la chienne de la reine jusqu'à son arrivée chez le brigand Arbogad. Ah! dit-il au pêcheur, Orcan mérite d'être puni. Mais d'ordinaire ce sont ces gens-là qui sont les favoris de la destinée. Quoi qu'il en soit, va chez le seigneur Cador, et attends-moi. Ils se séparèrent: le pêcheur marcha en remerciant son destin, et Zadig courut en accusant toujours le sien.
Musean translation
Complete machine-assisted Musean translation made directly from Voltaire’s French in Beuchot’s 1829 edition: Approbation, dedicatory epistle and all twenty-one chapters, including The Dance and Blue Eyes. Voltaire’s notes are retained; later editors’ notes are omitted. Source-language review is recorded with the source witness.
The Fisherman.
A few leagues from Arbogad’s castle, he found himself beside a little river, still lamenting his destiny and seeing himself as the very model of misfortune. He saw a fisherman lying on the bank, barely holding in one limp hand a net he seemed about to abandon, his eyes raised to heaven.
“I am certainly the most unfortunate of men,” the fisherman was saying. “By everyone’s admission, I was the most celebrated seller of cream cheeses in Babylon, and I was ruined. I had the prettiest wife a man could possess, and she betrayed me. I had one wretched house left, and I saw it plundered and destroyed. Taking refuge in a hut, I have nothing to live on but my fishing, and I cannot catch a single fish. Oh, my net! I will throw you into the water no more; it is my turn to throw myself in.” With these words he rose and moved forward like a man about to plunge into the river and end his life.
“What!” Zadig said to himself. “Are there men as unfortunate as I am?” His impulse to save the fisherman’s life was as swift as the thought. He ran to him, stopped him, and questioned him with tenderness and comfort in his manner. They say we feel less wretched when we are not alone in our misery; but according to Zoroaster, this comes not from malice but from need. We feel drawn to a fellow sufferer as to one of our own kind. A happy man’s joy would be an insult; but two unfortunate men are like two frail shrubs that lean on one another and gain strength against the storm.
“Why do you give way to your misfortunes?” Zadig asked the fisherman. “Because,” he answered, “I see no way out of them. I was the most respected man in the village of Derlback, near Babylon, and with my wife’s help I made the finest cream cheeses in the empire. Queen Astarté and the famous minister Zadig were passionately fond of them. I had supplied their households with six hundred cheeses. One day I went to the city to be paid. On arriving in Babylon, I learned that the queen and Zadig had disappeared. I ran to Lord Zadig’s house—I had never seen him—and found the Great Desterham’s archers, armed with a royal warrant, loyally plundering his house in good order. I flew to the queen’s kitchens. Some of the lords of the royal table told me she was dead; others said she was in prison; others maintained that she had fled. But all assured me that I would not be paid for my cheeses. My wife and I went to Lord Orcan’s, who was one of my customers. We asked for his protection in our misfortune. He granted it to my wife and refused it to me. She was whiter than those cream cheeses with which my troubles began, and the splendor of Tyrian purple was no more brilliant than the rosy color that brought that whiteness to life. That was why Orcan kept her and drove me out of his house. I wrote my dear wife a desperate man’s letter. She said to the messenger, ‘Ha, ha! Yes! I know who the man writing to me is; I have heard of him. They say he makes excellent cream cheeses. Have some brought to me, and see that he is paid.’
“In my misery I decided to seek justice. I had six ounces of gold left. I had to give two ounces to the legal adviser I consulted, two to the attorney who took my case, and two to the chief judge’s secretary. When all that was done, my lawsuit had not yet begun, and I had already spent more money than my cheeses and my wife were worth. I returned to my village intending to sell my house to recover my wife.
“My house was easily worth sixty ounces of gold; but people could see that I was poor and in a hurry to sell. The first man I approached offered me thirty ounces; the second, twenty; and the third, ten. I was so blinded that I was finally ready to agree, when a prince of Hyrcania came to Babylon, ravaging everything in his path. My house was first ransacked and then burned.
“Having thus lost my money, my wife, and my house, I withdrew to this country where you see me now. I tried to live by fishing. The fish mock me just as people do. I catch nothing; I am starving; and without you, noble comforter, I was about to die in the river.”
The fisherman did not tell this story without interruption, for at every turn Zadig, moved and beside himself, said, “What! Do you know nothing of the queen’s fate?” “No, my lord,” the fisherman answered. “But I know that the queen and Zadig never paid me for my cream cheeses, that my wife has been taken from me, and that I am in despair.” “I trust,” said Zadig, “that you will not lose all your money. I have heard of this Zadig. He is an honorable man, and if he returns to Babylon, as he hopes to do, he will give you more than he owes you. But as for your wife, who is not so honorable, I advise you not to try to get her back. Believe me, go to Babylon. I will be there before you, because I am on horseback and you are on foot. Call on the illustrious Cador; tell him you met his friend, and wait for me at his house. Go; perhaps you will not always be unhappy.”
“Oh, mighty Orosmade!” he continued. “You use me to comfort this man; whom will you use to comfort me?” As he spoke he gave the fisherman half of all the money he had brought from Arabia. Overwhelmed and delighted, the fisherman kissed the feet of Cador’s friend, saying, “You are a saving angel.”
Still Zadig kept asking for news, and shedding tears. “What, my lord!” the fisherman cried. “Can you be unhappy too, you who do good?” “A hundred times unhappier than you,” Zadig answered. “But how can it be,” the good man said, “that the giver deserves more pity than the receiver?” “Because your greatest misfortune,” Zadig replied, “was poverty, while mine is of the heart.” “Has Orcan taken your wife?” the fisherman asked. These words brought all Zadig’s adventures back to his mind. He recounted the list of his misfortunes, beginning with the queen’s female dog and ending with his arrival at the robber Arbogad’s. “Ah!” he told the fisherman. “Orcan deserves to be punished. But as a rule it is people like him who are destiny’s favorites. Whatever happens, go to Lord Cador’s and wait for me.” They parted: the fisherman walked on thanking his destiny, and Zadig hurried away, still accusing his own.
Plain English translation
Complete machine-assisted Plain English translation made independently and directly from the French, in separate source-only translation tasks, not from the Musean edition or a published English translation. Same complete scope and author’s notes; later editors’ notes are omitted. Source-language review is recorded with the source witness.
The Fisherman.
A few leagues from Arbogad's castle, Zadig came to the bank of a small river. He was still mourning his fate and thinking of himself as the very model of an unhappy man. He saw a fisherman lying on the bank. His limp hand barely held his net, which he seemed ready to give up, and his eyes were turned toward the sky.
"I must be the unhappiest man alive," the fisherman said. "Everyone agreed that I was the most famous seller of cream cheese in Babylon, and I was ruined. I had the prettiest wife a man could have, and she betrayed me. I had one poor little house left, and I saw it looted and destroyed. I took shelter in a hut. Fishing is my only way to survive, and I can't catch a single fish. Oh, my net! I won't throw you into the water again. It's time to throw myself in." As he spoke, he got up and moved forward like a man about to jump in and end his life.
"What!" Zadig said to himself. "Are there other men as unhappy as I am?" The urge to save the fisherman's life came as quickly as the thought. He ran to him, stopped him, and questioned him with gentle concern, trying to comfort him. People say we feel less unhappy when we aren't alone in our unhappiness. But according to Zoroaster, this comes from need, not spite. We feel drawn to another unfortunate person as to someone like ourselves. A happy man's joy would be an insult. But two unhappy people are like two weak saplings that lean against each other and grow stronger against the storm.
"Why are you giving in to your troubles?" Zadig asked the fisherman. "Because I see no way out of them," he answered. "I was the most respected man in the village of Derlback near Babylon. With my wife's help, I made the best cream cheeses in the empire. Queen Astarté and the famous minister Zadig were especially fond of them. I had supplied their households with six hundred cheeses. One day I went to the city to collect my money. When I reached Babylon, I learned that the queen and Zadig had disappeared. I hurried to Lord Zadig's house, though I had never seen him. There I found the Great Desterham's guards, armed with a royal order, loyally looting his house in an orderly way. I rushed to the queen's kitchens. Some of the officers in charge of her food told me she was dead. Others said she was in prison, and others claimed she had run away. But they all assured me I wouldn't be paid for my cheeses. My wife and I went to Lord Orcan, who was one of my customers. We asked for his protection in our misfortune. He granted it to my wife and refused it to me. She was whiter than those cream cheeses that started my troubles. The splendor of Tyrian purple was no brighter than the rosy color that brought that whiteness to life. That was why Orcan kept her and threw me out of his house. I wrote my dear wife a desperate man's letter. She told the messenger, 'Ha, ha! Yes! I know the man who's writing to me. I've heard of him. They say he makes excellent cream cheeses. Have some brought to me, and make sure he's paid for them.'
"In my misery, I decided to turn to the courts. I had six ounces of gold left. I had to give two ounces to the lawyer I consulted, two to the attorney who took my case, and two to the chief judge's secretary. When all that was done, my trial hadn't even begun, and I had already spent more money than my cheeses and my wife were worth. I went back to my village, planning to sell my house so I could get my wife back.
"My house was easily worth sixty ounces of gold. But people could see I was poor and needed to sell quickly. The first man I approached offered me thirty ounces, the second twenty, and the third ten. I was so blinded that I was finally ready to accept, when a prince of Hyrcania came to Babylon and laid waste to everything in his path. My house was first ransacked, then burned.
"Having lost my money, my wife, and my house, I came to this country where you see me now. I tried to make a living as a fisherman. The fish mock me just as people do. I catch nothing. I'm starving. Without you, my noble comforter, I would have died in the river."
The fisherman didn't tell this story all at once. Zadig, deeply moved and beside himself, kept interrupting: "What! You know nothing about what happened to the queen?" "No, sir," the fisherman answered. "But I know the queen and Zadig haven't paid me for my cream cheeses, that my wife has been taken from me, and that I'm desperate." "I hope you won't lose all your money," Zadig said. "I've heard of this Zadig. He's an honest man. If he returns to Babylon, as he hopes to do, he'll give you more than he owes you. But as for your wife, who isn't so honest, I advise you not to try to get her back. Take my word for it. Go to Babylon. I'll get there before you, since I'm on horseback and you're on foot. Go to the distinguished Cador. Tell him you met his friend, and wait for me at his house. Go. Perhaps you won't always be unhappy."
"Oh, mighty Orosmade!" he went on. "You use me to comfort this man. Who will you use to comfort me?" As he spoke, he gave the fisherman half of all the money he had brought from Arabia. Overwhelmed with wonder and delight, the fisherman kissed the feet of Cador's friend and said, "You're an angel who has saved me."
Still Zadig kept asking for news and shedding tears. "What, sir!" the fisherman cried. "Can you be unhappy too, when you do so much good?" "A hundred times unhappier than you," Zadig answered. "But how can it be," the good man said, "that the person who gives is more to be pitied than the person who receives?" "Because your greatest trouble was need," Zadig replied, "and mine is a broken heart." "Has Orcan taken your wife too?" asked the fisherman. These words brought all Zadig's adventures back to his mind. He went over the list of his troubles, starting with the queen's female dog and ending with his arrival at the robber Arbogad's home. "Ah!" he told the fisherman. "Orcan deserves to be punished. But it's usually people like him who are fortune's favorites. Whatever happens, go to Lord Cador's house and wait for me." They parted. The fisherman walked on, thanking his fate, while Zadig rode off, still blaming his own.
About this section
Chapter 17: The Fisherman is part of Zadig, or Destiny by Voltaire. This page sets the French original beside 2 direct-source translations, so any line can be checked against the source. It is chapter 19 of 23 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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