Chapter 1: The One-Eyed Man
Original French
Le borgne.
Du temps du roi Moabdar il y avait à Babylone un jeune homme nommé Zadig, né avec un beau naturel fortifié par l'éducation. Quoique riche et jeune, il savait modérer ses passions; il n'affectait rien; il ne voulait point toujours avoir raison, et savait respecter la faiblesse des hommes. On était étonné de voir qu'avec beaucoup d'esprit il n'insultât jamais par des railleries à ces propos si vagues, si rompus, si tumultueux, à ces médisances téméraires, à ces décisions ignorantes, à ces turlupinades grossières, à ce vain bruit de paroles, qu'on appelait conversation dans Babylone. Il avait appris, dans le premier livre de Zoroastre, que l'amour-propre est un ballon gonflé de vent, dont il sort des tempêtes quand on lui a fait une piqûre. Zadig surtout ne se vantait pas de mépriser les femmes et de les subjuguer. Il était généreux; il ne craignait point d'obliger des ingrats, suivant ce grand précepte de Zoroastre, Quand tu manges, donne à manger aux chiens, dussent-ils te mordre. Il était aussi sage qu'on peut l'être; car il cherchait à vivre avec des sages. Instruit dans les sciences des anciens Chaldéens, il n'ignorait pas les principes physiques de la nature, tels qu'on les connaissait alors, et savait de la métaphysique ce qu'on en a su dans tous les âges, c'est-à-dire fort peu de chose. Il était fermement persuadé que l'année était de trois cent soixante et cinq jours et un quart, malgré la nouvelle philosophie de son temps, et que le soleil était au centre du monde; et quand les principaux mages lui disaient, avec une hauteur insultante, qu'il avait de mauvais sentiments, et que c'était être ennemi de l'état que de croire que le soleil tournait sur lui-même, et que l'année avait douze mois, il se taisait sans colère et sans dédain.
Zadig, avec de grandes richesses, et par conséquent avec des amis, ayant de la santé, une figure aimable, un esprit juste et modéré, un coeur sincère et noble, crut qu'il pouvait être heureux. Il devait se marier à Sémire, que sa beauté, sa naissance et sa fortune rendaient le premier parti de Babylone. Il avait pour elle un attachement solide et vertueux, et Sémire l'aimait avec passion. Ils touchaient au moment fortuné qui allait les unir, lorsque, se promenant ensemble vers une porte de Babylone, sous les palmiers qui ornaient le rivage de l'Euphrate, ils virent venir à eux des hommes armés de sabres et de flèches. C'étaient les satellites du jeune Orcan, neveu d'un ministre, à qui les courtisans de son oncle avaient fait accroire que tout lui était permis. Il n'avait aucune des grâces ni des vertus de Zadig; mais, croyant valoir beaucoup mieux, il était désespéré de n'être pas préféré. Cette jalousie, qui ne venait que de sa vanité, lui fit penser qu'il aimait éperdument Sémire. Il voulait l'enlever. Les ravisseurs la saisirent, et dans les emportements de leur violence ils la blessèrent, et firent couler le sang d'une personne dont la vue aurait attendri les tigres du mont Imaüs. Elle perçait le ciel de ses plaintes. Elle s'écriait, Mon cher époux! on m'arrache à ce que j'adore. Elle n'était point occupée de son danger; elle ne pensait qu'à son cher Zadig. Celui-ci, dans le même temps, la défendait avec toute la force que donnent la valeur et l'amour. Aidé seulement de deux esclaves, il mit les ravisseurs en fuite, et ramena chez elle Sémire évanouie et sanglante, qui en ouvrant les yeux vit son libérateur. Elle lui dit: O Zadig! je vous aimais comme mon époux, je vous aime comme celui à qui je dois l'honneur et la vie. Jamais il n'y eut un coeur plus pénétré que celui de Sémire; jamais bouche plus ravissante n'exprima des sentiments plus touchants par ces paroles de feu qu'inspirent le sentiment du plus grand des bienfaits et le transport le plus tendre de l'amour le plus légitime. Sa blessure était légère; elle guérit bientôt. Zadig était blessé plus dangereusement; un coup de flèche reçu près de l'oeil lui avait fait une plaie profonde. Sémire ne demandait aux dieux que la guérison de son amant. Ses yeux étaient nuit et jour baignés de larmes: elle attendait le moment où ceux de Zadig pourraient jouir de ses regards; mais un abcès survenu à l'oeil blessé fit tout craindre. On envoya jusqu'à Memphis chercher le grand médecin Hermès, qui vint avec un nombreux cortège. Il visita le malade, et déclara qu'il perdrait l'oeil; il prédit même le jour et l'heure où ce funeste accident devait arriver. Si c'eût été l'oeil droit, dit-il, je l'aurais guéri; mais les plaies de l'oeil gauche sont incurables. Tout Babylone, en plaignant la destinée de Zadig, admira la profondeur de la science d'Hermès. Deux jours après l'abcès perça de lui-même; Zadig fut guéri parfaitement. Hermès écrivit un livre où il lui prouva qu'il n'avait pas dû guérir. Zadig ne le lut point; mais, dès qu'il put sortir, il se prépara à rendre visite à celle qui fesait l'espérance du bonheur de sa vie, et pour qui seule il voulait avoir des yeux. Sémire était à la campagne depuis trois jours. Il apprit en chemin que cette belle dame, ayant déclaré hautement qu'elle avait une aversion insurmontable pour les borgnes, venait de se marier à Orcan la nuit même. A cette nouvelle il tomba sans connaissance; sa douleur le mit au bord du tombeau; il fut long-temps malade, mais enfin la raison l'emporta sur son affliction; et l'atrocité de ce qu'il éprouvait servit même à le consoler.
Puisque j'ai essuyé, dit-il, un si cruel caprice d'une fille élevée à la cour, il faut que j'épouse une citoyenne. Il choisit Azora, la plus sage et la mieux née de la ville; il l'épousa, et vécut un mois avec elle dans les douceurs de l'union la plus tendre. Seulement il remarquait en elle un peu de légèreté, et beaucoup de penchant à trouver toujours que les jeunes gens les mieux faits étaient ceux qui avaient le plus d'esprit et de vertu.
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 One-Eyed Man.
In the time of King Moabdar there lived at Babylon a young man named Zadig, born with a fine nature strengthened by education. Though rich and young, he knew how to govern his passions; he put on no airs, did not insist on always being right, and knew how to respect human weakness. People were astonished that, with so much wit, he never mocked and insulted those vague, disjointed, tumultuous remarks, those reckless slanders, ignorant pronouncements, coarse jests, and empty clamor of words that Babylon called conversation. In the first book of Zoroaster he had learned that self-love is a balloon inflated with wind, which lets out tempests when pricked. Above all, Zadig did not boast of despising women and subduing them. He was generous, and had no fear of serving the ungrateful, following Zoroaster's great precept: When you eat, feed the dogs, even if they should bite you. He was as wise as a man can be, for he sought the company of the wise. Trained in the sciences of the ancient Chaldeans, he knew the physical principles of nature as they were then understood, and knew as much metaphysics as anyone has known in any age—that is, very little. Despite the new philosophy of his day, he firmly believed that the year was three hundred and sixty-five days and a quarter long, and that the sun was at the center of the world; and when the leading magi told him with insulting arrogance that his views were unsound, and that believing the sun turned on its own axis and the year had twelve months made him an enemy of the state, he remained silent, without anger or disdain.
Zadig, possessing great wealth and consequently friends, good health, a pleasing face, a sound and moderate mind, and a sincere and noble heart, believed that he could be happy. He was to marry Sémire, whose beauty, birth, and fortune made her the foremost match in Babylon. His attachment to her was steadfast and virtuous, and Sémire loved him passionately. They were approaching the happy moment of their union when, walking together toward one of Babylon's gates beneath the palms that adorned the bank of the Euphrates, they saw men coming toward them armed with swords and arrows. These were the henchmen of young Orcan, a minister's nephew, whom his uncle's courtiers had persuaded that everything was permitted him. He had none of Zadig's graces or virtues; but believing himself far superior, he was furious not to be preferred. This jealousy, born entirely of vanity, made him imagine that he was madly in love with Sémire. He meant to abduct her. The kidnappers seized her, and in the frenzy of their violence wounded her, shedding the blood of a woman whose very sight would have softened the tigers of Mount Imaus. Her cries pierced the heavens. “My dear husband!” she cried. “They are tearing me from the one I adore.” She gave no thought to her danger, only to her dear Zadig. He meanwhile defended her with all the strength courage and love can give. Helped by only two slaves, he put the kidnappers to flight and brought Sémire home unconscious and bleeding. When she opened her eyes, she saw her deliverer. “Oh, Zadig!” she said. “I loved you as my husband; I love you now as the man to whom I owe my honor and my life.” Never was a heart more deeply moved than Sémire's; never did a lovelier mouth express more touching feelings in those burning words inspired by gratitude for the greatest of services and the tenderest transports of the most rightful love. Her wound was slight, and soon healed. Zadig was more dangerously hurt: an arrow striking near his eye had left a deep wound. Sémire asked the gods for nothing but her lover's recovery. Her eyes were bathed in tears day and night; she awaited the moment when Zadig's could enjoy her gaze. But an abscess forming in the injured eye gave cause to fear the worst. They sent as far as Memphis for the great physician Hermes, who arrived with a numerous retinue. He examined the patient and declared that he would lose his eye; he even predicted the day and hour when this disaster would occur. “Had it been the right eye,” he said, “I should have cured it; but wounds of the left eye are incurable.” All Babylon, pitying Zadig's fate, admired the depth of Hermes' learning. Two days later the abscess burst of itself; Zadig made a perfect recovery. Hermes wrote a book proving that he ought not to have recovered. Zadig did not read it; but as soon as he could go out, he prepared to visit the woman on whom he had set his hopes of lifelong happiness, and for whom alone he wished to have eyes. Sémire had been in the country for three days. On his way he learned that this beautiful lady, having loudly declared an insurmountable aversion to one-eyed men, had married Orcan that very night. At the news he lost consciousness; grief brought him to the edge of the grave. He lay ill for a long time, but at last reason overcame his sorrow, and the very atrocity of what he had suffered helped console him.
“Since I have endured such a cruel whim from a girl brought up at court,” he said, “I must marry a woman of the city.” He chose Azora, the wisest and best-born woman there, married her, and lived with her for a month in the delights of the tenderest union. He noticed only a little flightiness in her, and a marked inclination to think that the handsomest young men were always the wittiest and most virtuous.
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 One-Eyed Man.
In King Moabdar's time, a young man named Zadig lived in Babylon. He had been born with a good character, and his education had strengthened it. Although he was young and rich, he knew how to control his passions. He never put on an act, never insisted on always being right, and knew how to make allowances for human weakness. People were surprised that someone so intelligent never made fun of the vague, disconnected, noisy remarks, the reckless gossip, the ignorant judgments, the crude jokes, and the empty flood of words that people in Babylon called conversation. He had learned from the first book of Zoroaster that self-love is a balloon full of wind: prick it, and storms come out. Above all, Zadig never boasted of despising women and making them submit to him. He was generous. He was not afraid to help ungrateful people, following Zoroaster's great rule: When you eat, feed the dogs, even if they bite you. He was as wise as anyone can be, because he tried to live among wise people. He had studied the learning of the ancient Chaldeans and knew the physical principles of nature as people understood them then. He knew as much about metaphysics as anyone has ever known: very little. He firmly believed that the year was three hundred and sixty-five and a quarter days long, despite the new philosophy of his time, and that the sun was at the center of the universe. When the leading magi told him, with insulting arrogance, that his beliefs were wrong, and that anyone who believed the sun turned on its axis and the year had twelve months was an enemy of the state, he stayed quiet, without anger or contempt.
Zadig was very wealthy and therefore had friends. He was healthy and good-looking, with a fair, levelheaded mind and an honest, generous heart. He thought he could be happy. He was going to marry Sémire, whose beauty, birth, and wealth made her the most desirable match in Babylon. His love for her was steady and honorable, and she loved him passionately. They were close to the happy moment of their marriage when, walking together near one of Babylon's gates, under the palm trees along the bank of the Euphrates, they saw men coming toward them armed with swords and arrows. These were the hired men of young Orcan, a minister's nephew. His uncle's courtiers had led him to believe he could do anything he liked. He had none of Zadig's charm or good qualities, but he thought himself much better and was furious that Sémire did not prefer him. This jealousy, which came entirely from his vanity, made him think he was madly in love with her. He meant to abduct her. His men seized her. In their violent fury they wounded her, drawing the blood of someone whose very appearance would have softened the tigers of Mount Imaus. Her cries pierced the sky. "My dear husband!" she cried. "They're tearing me away from the man I adore!" She was not thinking about her danger, only about her dear Zadig. Meanwhile, he was defending her with all the strength that courage and love can give. With help from just two slaves, he drove the kidnappers away and took Sémire home, unconscious and bleeding. When she opened her eyes, she saw the man who had rescued her. "Oh, Zadig!" she told him. "I loved you as my husband. Now I love you as the man who saved my honor and my life." No heart had ever been more deeply moved than Sémire's. No more beautiful mouth had ever expressed more touching feelings, in the passionate words inspired by gratitude for the greatest possible service and the tender excitement of the most rightful love. Her wound was slight and soon healed. Zadig was hurt more seriously. An arrow had struck near his eye, leaving a deep wound. Sémire asked the gods for nothing but her lover's recovery. Her eyes were wet with tears day and night. She waited for the moment when Zadig's eyes could once again enjoy her loving looks. But an abscess developed in the wounded eye, giving them reason to fear the worst. They sent all the way to Memphis for the great physician Hermes, who arrived with a large following. He examined the patient and announced that he would lose his eye. He even predicted the day and hour when this terrible event would happen. "If it had been the right eye," he said, "I would have cured it. But wounds to the left eye cannot be cured." All Babylon pitied Zadig's fate and admired the depth of Hermes's knowledge. Two days later, the abscess burst on its own, and Zadig recovered completely. Hermes wrote a book proving to him that he should not have recovered. Zadig did not read it. As soon as he could go out, he prepared to visit the woman who was his hope for a happy life, the only person he wanted eyes for. Sémire had been in the country for three days. On the way, he learned that this beautiful woman had publicly announced her insurmountable disgust for one-eyed men, and had just married Orcan that very night. At the news, he fainted. His grief brought him close to death. He was ill for a long time, but eventually reason overcame his distress. The very cruelty of what had happened even helped to console him.
"Since a girl brought up at court has treated me with such cruel fickleness," he said, "I must marry a woman from the city." He chose Azora, the most sensible and best-born woman in the city. He married her, and for a month they enjoyed the sweetness of the most loving marriage. He noticed only a little flightiness in her, and a strong tendency always to think that the best-looking young men were also the most intelligent and virtuous.
About this section
Chapter 1: The One-Eyed Man 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 3 of 23 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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