Chapter 4: The Envious Man
Original French
L'envieux.
Zadig voulut se consoler, par la philosophie et par l'amitié, des maux que lui avait faits la fortune. Il avait, dans un faubourg de Babylone, une maison ornée avec goût, où il rassemblait tous les arts et tous les plaisirs dignes d'un honnête homme. Le matin sa bibliothèque était ouverte à tous les savants; le soir, sa table l'était à la bonne compagnie; mais il connut bientôt combien les savants sont dangereux; il s'éleva une grande dispute sur une loi de Zoroastre, qui défendait de manger du griffon. Comment défendre le griffon, disaient les uns, si cet animal n'existe pas? Il faut bien qu'il existe, disaient les autres, puisque Zoroastre ne veut pas qu'on en mange. Zadig voulut les accorder, en leur disant, S'il y a des griffons, n'en mangeons point; s'il n'y en a point, nous en mangerons encore moins; et par là nous obéirons tous à Zoroastre.
Un savant qui avait composé treize volumes sur les propriétés du griffon, et qui de plus était grand théurgite, se hâta d'aller accuser Zadig devant un archimage nommé Yébor, le plus sot des Chaldéens, et partant le plus fanatique. Cet homme aurait fait empaler Zadig pour la plus grande gloire du soleil, et en aurait récité le bréviaire de Zoroastre d'un ton plus satisfait. L'ami Cador (un ami vaut mieux que cent prêtres) alla trouver le vieux Yébor, et lui dit:
Vivent le soleil et les griffons! gardez-vous bien de punir Zadig: c'est un saint; il a des griffons dans sa basse-cour, et il n'en mange point; et son accusateur est un hérétique qui ose soutenir que les lapins ont le pied fendu, et ne sont point immondes. Eh bien! dit Yébor en branlant sa tête chauve, il faut empaler Zadig pour avoir mal pensé des griffons, et l'autre pour avoir mal parlé des lapins. Cador apaisa l'affaire par le moyen d'une fille d'honneur à laquelle il avait fait un enfant, et qui avait beaucoup de crédit dans le collège des mages. Personne ne fut empalé; de quoi plusieurs docteurs murmurèrent, et en présagèrent la décadence de Babylone. Zadig s'écria: A quoi tient le bonheur! tout me persécute dans ce monde, jusqu'aux êtres qui n'existent pas. Il maudit les savants, et ne voulut plus vivre qu'en bonne compagnie.
Il rassemblait chez lui les plus honnêtes gens de Babylone, et les dames les plus aimables; il donnait des soupers délicats, souvent précédés de concerts, et animés par des conversations charmantes dont il avait su bannir l'empressement de montrer de l'esprit, qui est la plus sûre manière de n'en point avoir, et de gâter la société la plus brillante. Ni le choix de ses amis, ni celui des mets, n'étaient faits par la vanité; car en tout il préférait l'être au paraître, et par là il s'attirait la considération véritable, à laquelle il ne prétendait pas.
Vis-à-vis sa maison demeurait Arimaze, personnage dont la méchante âme était peinte sur sa grossière physionomie. Il était rongé de fiel et bouffi d'orgueil, et pour comble, c'était un bel esprit ennuyeux. N'ayant jamais pu réussir dans le monde, il se vengeait par en médire. Tout riche qu'il était, il avait de la peine à rassembler chez lui des flatteurs. Le bruit des chars qui entraient le soir chez Zadig l'importunait, le bruit de ses louanges l'irritait davantage. Il allait quelquefois chez Zadig, et se mettait à table sans être prié: il y corrompait toute la joie de la société, comme on dit que les harpies infectent les viandes qu'elles touchent. Il lui arriva un jour de vouloir donner une fête à une dame qui, au lieu de la recevoir, alla souper chez Zadig. Un autre jour, causant avec lui dans le palais, ils abordèrent un ministre qui pria Zadig à souper, et ne pria point Arimaze. Les plus implacables haines n'ont pas souvent des fondements plus importants. Cet homme, qu'on appelait l'Envieux dans Babylone, voulut perdre Zadig, parcequ'on l'appelait l'Heureux. L'occasion de faire du mal se trouve cent fois par jour, et celle de faire du bien, une fois dans l'année, comme dit Zoroastre.
L'Envieux alla chez Zadig, qui se promenait dans ses jardins avec deux amis et une dame à laquelle il disait souvent des choses galantes, sans autre intention que celle de les dire. La conversation roulait sur une guerre que le roi venait de terminer heureusement contre le prince d'Hyrcanie, son vassal. Zadig, qui avait signalé son courage dans cette courte guerre, louait beaucoup le roi, et encore plus la dame. Il prit ses tablettes, et écrivit quatre vers qu'il fit sur-le-champ, et qu'il donna à lire à cette belle personne. Ses amis le prièrent de leur en faire part: la modestie, ou plutôt un amour-propre bien entendu, l'en empêcha. Il savait que des vers impromptus ne sont jamais bons que pour celle en l'honneur de qui ils sont faits: il brisa en deux la feuille des tablettes sur laquelle il venait d'écrire, et jeta les deux moitiés dans un buisson de roses, où on les chercha inutilement. Une petite pluie survint; on regagna la maison. L'Envieux, qui resta dans le jardin, chercha tant, qu'il trouva un morceau de la feuille. Elle avait été tellement rompue, que chaque moitié de vers qui remplissait la ligne fesait un sens, et même un vers d'une plus petite mesure; mais, par un hasard encore plus étrange, ces petits vers se trouvaient former un sens qui contenait les injures les plus horribles contre le roi; on y lisait:
Par les plus grands forfaitsSur le trône affermi,Dans la publique paixC'est le seul ennemi.
L'Envieux fut heureux pour la première fois de sa vie. Il avait entre les mains de quoi perdre un homme vertueux et aimable. Plein de cette cruelle joie, il fit parvenir jusqu'au roi cette satire écrite de la main de Zadig: on le fit mettre en prison, lui, ses deux amis, et la dame. Son procès lui fut bientôt fait, sans qu'on daignât l'entendre. Lorsqu'il vint recevoir sa sentence, l'Envieux se trouva sur son passage, et lui dit tout haut que ses vers ne valaient rien. Zadig ne se piquait pas d'être bon poëte; mais il était au désespoir d'être condamné comme criminel de lèse-majesté, et de voir qu'on retînt en prison une belle dame et deux amis pour un crime qu'il n'avait pas fait. On ne lui permit pas de parler, parceque ses tablettes parlaient. Telle était la loi de Babylone. On le fit donc aller au supplice à travers une foule de curieux dont aucun n'osait le plaindre, et qui se précipitaient pour examiner son visage, et pour voir s'il mourrait avec bonne grâce. Ses parents seulement étaient affligés, car ils n'héritaient pas. Les trois quarts de son bien étaient confisqués au profit du roi, et l'autre quart au profit de l'Envieux.
Dans le temps qu'il se préparait à la mort, le perroquet du roi s'envola de son balcon, et s'abattit dans le jardin de Zadig sur un buisson de roses. Une pêche y avait été portée d'un arbre voisin par le vent; elle était tombée sur un morceau de tablettes à écrire auquel elle s'était collée. L'oiseau enleva la pêche et la tablette, et les porta sur les genoux du monarque. Le prince curieux y lut des mots qui ne formaient aucun sens, et qui paraissaient des fins de vers. Il aimait la poésie, et il y a toujours de la ressource avec les princes qui aiment les vers: l'aventure de son perroquet le fit rêver. La reine, qui se souvenait de ce qui avait été écrit sur une pièce de la tablette de Zadig, se la fit apporter.
On confronta les deux morceaux, qui s'ajustaient ensemble parfaitement; on lut alors les vers tels que Zadig les avait faits:
Par les plus grands forfaits j'ai vu troubler la terre.Sur le trône affermi le roi sait tout dompter.Dans la publique paix l'amour seul fait la guerre:C'est le seul ennemi qui soit à redouter.
Le roi ordonna aussitôt qu'on fît venir Zadig devant lui, et qu'on fît sortir de prison ses deux amis et la belle dame. Zadig se jeta le visage contre terre aux pieds du roi et de la reine: il leur demanda très humblement pardon d'avoir fait de mauvais vers: il parla avec tant de grâce, d'esprit, et de raison, que le roi et la reine voulurent le revoir. Il revint, et plut encore davantage. On lui donna tous les biens de l'Envieux, qui l'avait injustement accusé: mais Zadig les rendit tous; et l'Envieux ne fut touché que du plaisir de ne pas perdre son bien. L'estime du roi s'accrut de jour en jour pour Zadig. Il le mettait de tous ses plaisirs, et le consultait dans toutes ses affaires. La reine le regarda dès-lors avec une complaisance qui pouvait devenir dangereuse pour elle, pour le roi son auguste époux, pour Zadig, et pour le royaume. Zadig commençait à croire qu'il n'est pas si difficile d'être heureux.
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 Envious Man.
Zadig sought consolation in philosophy and friendship for the injuries fortune had done him. In a suburb of Babylon he had a tastefully adorned house, where he assembled all the arts and pleasures worthy of an honorable man. In the morning his library was open to scholars; in the evening his table was open to good company. But he soon learned how dangerous scholars are. A great dispute arose over a law of Zoroaster forbidding the eating of griffins. “How can griffins be forbidden,” said some, “if the animal does not exist?” “It must exist,” said others, “since Zoroaster does not want it eaten.” Zadig tried to reconcile them. “If there are griffins,” he said, “let us not eat them; if there are none, we shall eat still fewer; and in this way we shall all obey Zoroaster.”
A scholar who had composed thirteen volumes on the properties of the griffin, and was also a great practitioner of sacred magic, hastened to denounce Zadig before an arch-magus named Yébor, the stupidest of Chaldeans, and consequently the most fanatical. This man would have had Zadig impaled for the greater glory of the sun, and recited Zoroaster's breviary in a more contented tone for it. His friend Cador—a friend is worth more than a hundred priests—went to see old Yébor and said:
“Long live the sun and the griffins! Be very careful not to punish Zadig: he is a saint. He keeps griffins in his poultry yard and does not eat them; and his accuser is a heretic who dares maintain that rabbits have cloven feet and are not unclean.” “Well!” said Yébor, shaking his bald head. “Zadig must be impaled for thinking wrongly about griffins, and the other for speaking wrongly about rabbits.” Cador settled the matter through a maid of honor with whom he had fathered a child, and who had great influence in the college of magi. No one was impaled; several doctors grumbled at this, and foresaw the decline of Babylon. “How precarious happiness is!” Zadig exclaimed. “Everything in this world persecutes me, even beings that do not exist.” He cursed scholars and resolved to live only in good company.
He gathered at his house the most honorable men of Babylon and the most charming women. He gave exquisite suppers, often preceded by concerts and enlivened by delightful conversation from which he had contrived to banish the eagerness to show wit—the surest way of having none and spoiling the most brilliant company. Neither his friends nor his dishes were chosen out of vanity, for in everything he preferred substance to appearance, and thereby attracted the genuine esteem to which he made no claim.
Opposite his house lived Arimaze, a man whose coarse features portrayed his wicked soul. He was eaten up with gall and swollen with pride, and to crown it all, he was a tedious wit. Never having succeeded in society, he took revenge by maligning it. Rich as he was, he had trouble collecting flatterers at his house. The sound of carriages arriving at Zadig's each evening annoyed him; the sound of his praises irritated him still more. He sometimes went to Zadig's and sat down to dinner uninvited, poisoning all the company's pleasure as harpies are said to foul the food they touch. Once he wished to give an entertainment for a lady who, rather than accept it, went to supper at Zadig's. Another day, chatting with him in the palace, they approached a minister who invited Zadig to supper and did not invite Arimaze. The most implacable hatreds often rest on no more important foundations. This man, whom Babylon called the Envious, wished to ruin Zadig because they called him the Happy. As Zoroaster says, the chance to do harm comes a hundred times a day, and the chance to do good once a year.
The Envious Man went to Zadig's, where he was walking in the gardens with two friends and a lady to whom he often paid compliments with no intention beyond paying them. The conversation turned on a war the king had just brought to a successful close against his vassal, the prince of Hyrcania. Zadig, who had distinguished himself by his courage in this brief war, warmly praised the king, and the lady still more. He took his writing tablets, composed four lines on the spot, and gave them to the beautiful woman to read. His friends begged him to share them. Modesty, or rather a well-understood self-love, prevented him. He knew that impromptu verses are good only for the woman in whose honor they are written. He broke in two the leaf of his tablets on which he had just written and threw both halves into a rosebush, where they were sought in vain. A little rain began, and everyone went back indoors. The Envious Man stayed in the garden and searched so long that he found a piece of the leaf. It had broken in such a way that each half-line made sense and was itself a shorter line of verse; but by a still stranger accident, these short lines formed a meaning containing the most horrible insults against the king. They read:
By the gravest crimes,Firm upon his throne,In the public peace,He is the sole enemy.
For the first time in his life, the Envious Man was happy. He held the means to destroy a virtuous and charming man. Filled with this cruel joy, he had the satire in Zadig's own hand conveyed to the king. Zadig, his two friends, and the lady were imprisoned. His trial was soon over, without anyone deigning to hear him. When he came to receive his sentence, the Envious Man stood in his path and told him loudly that his verses were worthless. Zadig did not pride himself on being a good poet; but he despaired at being condemned for treason and seeing a beautiful lady and two friends held in prison for a crime he had not committed. He was not allowed to speak, because his tablets spoke. Such was the law of Babylon. He was therefore led to execution through a crowd of onlookers, none of whom dared pity him, all jostling to examine his face and see whether he would die gracefully. Only his relatives were distressed, for they would not inherit. Three-quarters of his property were confiscated for the king, and the remaining quarter for the Envious Man.
As he was preparing to die, the king's parrot flew from its balcony and settled on a rosebush in Zadig's garden. The wind had carried a peach there from a neighboring tree; it had fallen onto a piece of writing tablet and stuck to it. The bird picked up the peach and tablet and brought them to the monarch's lap. Curious, the prince read words there that made no sense and seemed to be the ends of verses. He loved poetry, and there is always hope with princes who love verse: his parrot's adventure set him thinking. The queen remembered what had been written on one piece of Zadig's tablet and sent for it.
The two pieces were compared and fitted together perfectly. The verses were then read as Zadig had written them:
By the gravest crimes I have seen the earth unsettled.Firm upon his throne, the king knows how to master all.In the public peace, love alone makes war:He is the sole enemy that need be feared.
The king at once ordered Zadig brought before him, and his two friends and the beautiful lady released from prison. Zadig fell face down at the feet of the king and queen, humbly begging their pardon for writing bad verse. He spoke with such grace, wit, and good sense that the king and queen wished to see him again. He returned and pleased them still more. He was given all the property of the Envious Man, who had falsely accused him; but Zadig returned every bit of it, and the Envious Man was moved only by the pleasure of not losing his property. The king's esteem for Zadig grew daily. He included him in all his pleasures and consulted him on all his affairs. From then on the queen looked on him with a favor that might become dangerous to her, to the king her august husband, to Zadig, and to the kingdom. Zadig was beginning to believe that happiness was not so hard to find.
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 Envious Man.
Zadig wanted to find comfort in philosophy and friendship after the troubles fortune had brought him. In a suburb of Babylon, he had a tastefully furnished house where he brought together all the arts and pleasures fit for a decent man. In the morning his library was open to all scholars. In the evening his table was open to good company. But he soon discovered how dangerous scholars are. A great argument broke out over a law of Zoroaster that forbade eating griffin. "How can anyone forbid eating griffin," some asked, "if the animal doesn't exist?" "It must exist," the others said, "since Zoroaster doesn't want us to eat it." Zadig tried to settle their argument. "If there are griffins, let's not eat them," he said. "If there aren't any, we'll eat even fewer. That way we'll all obey Zoroaster."
One scholar had written thirteen volumes on the characteristics of griffins and was also a great expert in invoking divine powers. He hurried to accuse Zadig before a chief magus named Yébor, the stupidest of the Chaldeans and therefore the most fanatical. This man would have had Zadig impaled for the greater glory of the sun, and would have recited Zoroaster's prayer book all the more contentedly for it. His friend Cador—a friend is worth more than a hundred priests—went to see old Yébor and said:
"Long live the sun and the griffins! Be very careful not to punish Zadig. He's a saint. He keeps griffins in his poultry yard and doesn't eat them. His accuser is a heretic who dares to claim that rabbits have split hooves and are not unclean." "Well," said Yébor, shaking his bald head, "Zadig must be impaled for thinking wrongly about griffins, and the other man for speaking wrongly about rabbits." Cador settled the matter through a maid of honor with whom he had fathered a child, and who had great influence in the college of magi. No one was impaled. Several learned men grumbled about this and predicted the decline of Babylon. Zadig cried out, "What fragile things our happiness depends on! Everything in this world persecutes me, even creatures that don't exist." He cursed scholars and decided from then on to live only among good company.
He brought together the most decent people and the most charming women in Babylon at his house. He gave fine suppers, often with concerts beforehand and lively, delightful conversations during the meal. He had managed to keep out the urge to show off one's wit, which is the surest way to show none and to spoil the most brilliant gathering. Vanity played no part in his choice of friends or food. In everything, he preferred reality to appearances. This earned him genuine respect, which he had not been seeking.
Across from his house lived Arimaze, a man whose coarse face showed the ugliness of his soul. He was eaten up with bitterness and swollen with pride. To top it all off, he was a tedious wit. Having never been able to succeed in society, he took revenge by speaking badly of it. Rich as he was, he had trouble finding flatterers to gather at his house. The sound of chariots arriving at Zadig's in the evening annoyed him. The sound of people praising Zadig annoyed him even more. He sometimes went to Zadig's and sat down to eat without being invited. He spoiled everyone's enjoyment, just as harpies are said to foul the meat they touch. One day he wanted to give a party for a lady, but instead of accepting, she went to supper at Zadig's. Another day, while he and Zadig were talking in the palace, they approached a minister who invited Zadig to supper but not Arimaze. The most unforgiving hatreds often have no more important cause. This man, known in Babylon as the Envious Man, wanted to ruin Zadig because people called him the Happy Man. As Zoroaster says, a chance to do harm comes a hundred times a day, and a chance to do good comes once a year.
The Envious Man went to Zadig's. Zadig was walking in his gardens with two friends and a lady to whom he often said flattering things, with no intention beyond saying them. They were talking about a war the king had just brought to a successful end against the prince of Hyrcania, his vassal. Zadig had distinguished himself by his courage in this short war. He warmly praised the king, and praised the lady still more. He took out his writing tablets, made up four lines of verse on the spot, wrote them down, and gave them to the beautiful lady to read. His friends asked him to share them, but modesty—or rather, a well-judged concern for himself—stopped him. He knew that verses made up on the spot are only ever good for the woman they honor. He broke the sheet of his writing tablets in two and threw the halves into a rosebush. They searched for them there without success. A light rain began, and everyone went back to the house. The Envious Man stayed in the garden and searched until he found one piece of the sheet. It had broken in such a way that each half-line made sense by itself, and even formed a shorter line of verse. By an even stranger chance, these short lines together made a statement containing the most horrible insults against the king. They read:
By the worst crimesSecure on the throne,Amid the public peace,This is the only enemy.
The Envious Man was happy for the first time in his life. He had in his hands the means to ruin a good, likable man. Filled with this cruel joy, he got the satire, in Zadig's own handwriting, to the king. Zadig, his two friends, and the lady were put in prison. His trial was quickly over, without anyone bothering to hear him. When he came to receive his sentence, the Envious Man stood in his path and told him loudly that his verses were worthless. Zadig did not pride himself on being a good poet. But he was in despair at being condemned for an offense against the king, and at seeing a beautiful lady and two friends kept in prison for a crime he had not committed. He was not allowed to speak because his tablets spoke for him. That was the law in Babylon. So he was taken to his execution through a crowd of curious onlookers. None dared express pity for him. They rushed forward to examine his face and see whether he would die gracefully. Only his relatives were distressed, because they would inherit nothing. Three-quarters of his property was confiscated for the king, and the other quarter for the Envious Man.
As he was preparing to die, the king's parrot flew off the king's balcony and landed on a rosebush in Zadig's garden. The wind had carried a peach there from a nearby tree. It had fallen on a piece of a writing tablet and stuck to it. The bird picked up the peach and the tablet and carried them onto the monarch's lap. Curious, the king read words on it that made no sense and seemed to be the ends of lines of verse. He liked poetry, and there is always some hope with rulers who like verse. His parrot's adventure made him think. The queen remembered what had been written on a piece of Zadig's tablet and had it brought to her.
They compared the two pieces, which fit together perfectly. Now they read the verses as Zadig had written them:
By the worst crimes I have seen the world disturbed.Secure on the throne, the king can overcome everything.Amid the public peace, love alone wages war:This is the only enemy we need to fear.
The king immediately ordered that Zadig be brought before him and that his two friends and the beautiful lady be released from prison. Zadig threw himself facedown at the feet of the king and queen. He very humbly asked their forgiveness for having written bad verses. He spoke with such charm, wit, and good sense that the king and queen wanted to see him again. He came back, and they liked him even more. He was given all the property of the Envious Man, who had accused him unjustly. But Zadig returned it all. The only feeling the Envious Man had was pleasure at not losing his property. The king's respect for Zadig grew from day to day. He included him in all his pleasures and asked his advice on all his affairs. From then on, the queen looked on him with a warmth that could become dangerous for her, for the king, her honored husband, for Zadig, and for the kingdom. Zadig was beginning to think that being happy was not so difficult.
About this section
Chapter 4: The Envious 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 6 of 23 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
Open the work page for the full contents, every edition, and the download links, or go back to Explore to browse other complete works in the European tradition. The reader keeps your place when you are signed in and lets you compare the original with each translation, one edition at a time.