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 afterwards reposed himself on a soft bed of roses from which there sprung a serpent that wounded him to the heart with its sharp and venomed tongue.  “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?”

JEALOUSY

Zadig’s calamities sprung even from his happiness and especially from his merit.  He every day conversed with the king and Astarte, his august comfort.  The charms of his 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 lovesick 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 both burn with a fire which we both condemn.