“Yes,” replied he, “I have heard something of a prince of Hircania; if she was not killed in the tumult, she is probably one of his concubines; but I am much fonder of booty than news.  I have taken several women in my excursions; but I keep none of them.  I sell them at a high price, when they are beautiful, without inquiring who they are.  In commodities of this kind rank makes no difference, and a queen that is ugly will never find a merchant.  Perhaps I may have sold Queen Astarte; perhaps she is dead; but, be it as it will, it is of little consequence to me, and I should imagine of as little to thee.”  So saying he drank a large draught which threw all his ideas into such confusion that Zadig could obtain no further information.

Zadig remained for some time without speech, sense, or motion.  Arbogad continued drinking; told stories; constantly repeated that he was the happiest man in the world; and exhorted Zadig to put himself in the same condition.  At last the soporiferous fumes of the wine lulled him into a gentle repose.

Zadig passed the night in the most violent perturbation.  “What,” said he, “did the king lose his senses? and is he killed?  I cannot help lamenting his fate.  The empire is rent in pieces; and this robber is happy.  O fortune!  O destiny!  A robber is happy, and the most beautiful of nature’s works hath perhaps perished in a barbarous manner or lives in a state worse than death.  O Astarte! what is become of thee?”

At daybreak he questioned all those he met in the castle; but they were all busy, and he received no answer.  During the night they had made a new capture, and they were now employed in dividing the spoils.  All he could obtain in this hurry and confusion was an opportunity of departing, which he immediately embraced, plunged deeper than ever in the most gloomy and mournful reflections.

Zadig proceeded on his journey with a mind full of disquiet and perplexity, and wholly employed on the unhappy Astarte, on the King of Babylon, on his faithful friend Cador, on the happy robber Arbogad; in a word, on all the misfortunes and disappointments he had hitherto suffered.

THE FISHERMAN

At a few leagues’ distance from Arbogad’s castle he came to the banks of a small river, still deploring his fate, and considering himself as the most wretched of mankind.  He saw a fisherman lying on the brink of the river, scarcely holding, in his weak and feeble hand, a net which he seemed ready to drop, and lifting up his eyes to Heaven.

“I am certainly,” said the fisherman, “the most unhappy man in the world.  I was universally allowed to be the most famous dealer in cream cheese in Babylon, and yet I am ruined.  I had the most handsome wife that any man in my station could have; and by her I have been betrayed.  I had still left a paltry house, and that I have seen pillaged and destroyed.  At last I took refuge in this cottage, where I have no other resource than fishing, and yet I cannot catch a single fish.  Oh, my net! no more will I throw thee into the water; I will throw myself in thy place.”  So saying, he arose and advanced forward in the attitude of a man ready to throw himself into the river, and thus to finish his life.