“May it please your majesty,” said Zadig, “thyself alone deservest the cup; thou hast performed an action of all others the most uncommon and meritorious, since, notwithstanding thy being a powerful king, thou wast not offended at thy slave when he presumed to oppose thy passion.”  The king and Zadig were equally the object of admiration.  The judge, who had given his estate to his client; the lover, who had resigned his mistress to a friend; and the soldier, who had preferred the safety of his mother to that of his mistress, received the king’s presents and saw their names enrolled in the catalogue of generous men.  Zadig had the cup, and the king acquired the reputation of a good prince, which he did not long enjoy.  The day was celebrated by feasts that lasted longer than the law enjoined; and the memory of it is still preserved in Asia.  Zadig said, “Now I am happy at last”; but he found himself fatally deceived.

THE MINISTER

The king had lost his first minister and chose Zadig to supply his place.  All the ladies in Babylon applauded the choice; for since the foundation of the empire there had never been such a young minister.  But all the courtiers were filled with jealousy and vexation.  The envious man in particular was troubled with a spitting of blood and a prodigious inflammation in his nose.  Zadig, having thanked the king and queen for their goodness, went likewise to thank the parrot.  “Beautiful bird,” said he, “’tis thou that hast saved my life and made me first minister.  The queen’s spaniel and the king’s horse did me a great deal of mischief; but thou hast done me much good.  Upon such slender threads as these do the fates of mortals hang!  But,” added he, “this happiness perhaps will vanish very soon.”

“Soon,” replied the parrot.

Zadig was somewhat startled at this word.  But as he was a good natural philosopher and did not believe parrots to be prophets, he quickly recovered his spirits and resolved to execute his duty to the best of his power.

He made everyone feel the sacred authority of the laws, but no one felt the weight of his dignity.  He never checked the deliberation of the diran; and every vizier might give his opinion without the fear of incurring the minister’s displeasure.  When he gave judgment, it was not he that gave it, it was the law; the rigor of which, however, whenever it was too severe, he always took care to soften; and when laws were wanting, the equity of his decisions was such as might easily have made them pass for those of Zoroaster.  It is to him that the nations are indebted for this grand principle, to wit, that it is better to run the risk of sparing the guilty than to condemn the innocent.  He imagined that laws were made as well to secure the people from the suffering of injuries as to restrain them from the commission of crimes.  His chief talent consisted in discovering the truth, which all men seek to obscure.