The Misfortunes that attended Zadig proceeded, in a great Measure, from his Preferment; but more from his intrinsic Merit. Every Day he had familiar Converse with the King, his Royal Master, and his august Consort, Astarte. And the Pleasure arising from thence was greatly enhanc’d from an innate Ambition of pleasing, which, in regard to Wit, is the same, as Dress is to Beauty. His Youth, and graceful Deportment, had a greater Influence on Astarte, than she was at first aware of. Tho’ her Affection for him daily encreas’d; yet she was perfectly innocent. Astarte would say, without the least Reserve or Apprehension of Fear, that she was extreamly pleas’d with the Company of one, who was, not only a Favourite of her Husband, but the Darling of the whole Empire. She was continually speaking in his Commendation before the King: He was the Subject of her whole Discourse amongst her Ladies of Honour, who were as lavish of their Praises as herself. Such repeated Discourses, however innocent, made a deeper Impression on her Heart, than she at that Time apprehended. She would every now and then send Zadig some little Present or another; which he construed as the Result of a greater Value for him than she intended. She said no more of him, as she thought, than a Queen might innocently do, who was perfectly assur’d of his Attachment to her Husband; sometimes, indeed, she would express her self with an Air of Tenderness and Affection.

Astarte was much handsomer than either his Mistress Semira, who had such a natural Antipathy to a one-eyed Lord, or Azora, his late loving Spouse, that would innocently have cut his Nose off. The Freedoms which Astarte took, her tender Expressions, at which she began to blush, the Glances of her Eye, which she would turn away, if perceiv’d, and which she fix’d upon his, kindled in the Heart of Zadig a Fire, which struck him with Amazement. He did all he could to smother it; he call’d up all the Philosophy he was Master of to his Aid; but all in vain, for no Consolation arose from those Reflections.

Duty, Gratitude, and an injur’d Monarch, presented themselves before his Eyes, as avenging Deities: He bravely struggled; he triumph’d indeed; but this Conquest over his Passions, which he was oblig’d to check every Moment, cost him many a deep Sigh and Tear. He durst not talk with the Queen any more, with that Freedom which was too engaging on both Sides; his Eyes were obnubilated; his Discourse was forc’d and unconnected; he turn’d his Eyes another Way; and when, against his Inclination, they met with those of the Queen, he found, that tho’ drown’d in Tears, they darted Flames of Fire: They seem’d in Silence to intimate, that they were afraid of being in love with each other; and that both burn’d with a Fire which both condemn’d.

Zadig flew from her Presence, like one beside himself, and in Despair; his Heart was over-charg’d with a Burthen, too great for him to bear: In the Heat of his Conflicts, he disclos’d the Secrets of his Heart to his trusty Friend Cador, as one, who, having long groan’d under the Weight of an inexpressible Anguish of Mind, at once makes known the Cause of his Torments by the Groans, as it were, extorted from him, and by the Drops of a cold Sweat, that trickled down his Cheeks.

Cador said to him; ’tis now some considerable Time since, I have discover’d that secret Passion which you have foster’d in your Bosom, and yet endeavour’d to conceal even from your self. The Passions carry along with them such strong Impressions, that they cannot be conceal’d. Tell me ingenuously Zadig; and be your own Accuser, whether or no, since I have made this Discovery, the King has not shewn some visible Marks of his Resentment. He has no other Foible, but that of being the most jealous Mortal breathing. You take more Pains to check the Violence of your Passion, than the Queen herself does; because you are a Philosopher; because, in short, you are Zadig; Astarte is but a weak Woman; and tho’ her Eyes speak too visibly, and with too much Imprudence; yet she does not think her self blame-worthy. Being conscious of her Innocence, to her own Misfortune, as well as yours, she is too unguarded. I tremble for her; because I am sensible her Conscience acquits her. Were you both agreed, you might conceal your Regard for each other from all the World: A rising Passion, that is smother’d, breaks out into a Flame; Love, when once gratified, knows how to conceal itself with Art. Zadig shudder’d at the Proposition of ungratefully violating the Bed of his Royal Benefactor; and never was there a more loyal Subject to a Prince, tho’ guilty of an involuntary Crime. The Queen, however, repeated the Name of Zadig so often, and her Cheeks glow’d with such a red, when ever she utter’d it; she was one while so transported, and at another, so dejected, when the Discourse turn’d upon him in the King’s Presence; she was in such a Reverie, so confus’d and stupid, when he went out of the Presence, that her Deportment made the King extremely uneasy. He was convinc’d of every Thing he saw, and form’d in his Mind an Idea of a thousand Things he did not see. He observ’d, particularly, that Astarte’s Sandals were blue; so Zadig’s were blue likewise; that as the Queen wore yellow Ribbands, Zadig’s Turbet was of the same Colour: These were shocking Circumstances for a Monarch of his Cast of Mind to reflect on! To a Mind, in short, so distemper’d as his was, Suspicions were converted into real Facts.

All Court Slaves,............