This great talent he put in practice from the very beginning of his administration.  A famous merchant of Babylon, who died in the Indies, divided his estate equally between his two sons, after having disposed of their sister in marriage, and left a present of thirty thousand pieces of gold to that son who should be found to have loved him best.  The eldest raised a tomb to his memory; the youngest increased his sister’s portion, by giving her part of his inheritance.  Everyone said that the eldest son loved his father best, and the youngest his sister; and that the thirty thousand pieces belonged to the eldest.

Zadig sent for both of them, the one after the other.  To the eldest he said:  “Thy father is not dead; he is recovered of his last illness, and is returning to Babylon.”  “God be praised,” replied the young man; “but his tomb cost me a considerable sum.”  Zadig afterwards said the same to the youngest.  “God be praised,” said he, “I will go and restore to my father all that I have; but I could wish that he would leave my sister what I have given her.”  “Thou shalt restore nothing,” replied Zadig, “and thou shalt have the thirty thousand pieces, for thou art the son who loves his father best.”

THE DISPUTES AND THE AUDIENCES

In this manner he daily discovered the subtilty of his genius and the goodness of his heart.  The people at once admired and loved him.  He passed for the happiest man in the world.  The whole empire resounded with his name.  All the ladies ogled him.  All the men praised him for his justice.  The learned regarded him as an oracle; and even the priests confessed that he knew more than the old arch-magi Yebor.  They were now so far from prosecuting him on account of the griffin, that they believed nothing but what he thought credible.

There had reigned in Babylon, for the space of fifteen hundred years, a violent contest that had divided the empire into two sects.  The one pretended that they ought to enter the temple of Mitra with the left foot foremost; the other held this custom in detestation and always entered with the right foot first.  The people waited with great impatience for the day on which the solemn feast of the sacred fire was to be celebrated, to see which sect Zadig would favor.  All the world had their eyes fixed on his two feet, and the whole city was in the utmost suspense and perturbation.  Zadig jumped into the temple with his feet joined together, and afterwards proved, in an eloquent discourse, that the Sovereign of heaven and earth, who accepted not the persons of men, makes no distinction between the right and left foot.  The envious man and his wife alleged that his discourse was not figurative enough, and that he did not make the rocks and mountains to dance with sufficient agility.

“He is dry,” said they, “and void of genius; he does not make the flea to fly, and stars to fall, nor the sun to melt wax; he has not the true Oriental style.”  Zadig contented himself with having the style of reason.  All the world favored him, not because he was in the right road or followed the dictates of reason, or was a man of real merit, but because he was prime vizier.