break 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.

"What!" said Zadig to himself, "are there men as wretched as I?" His
eagerness to save the fisherman's life was as this reflection. He ran to
him, stopped him, and spoke to him with a tender and compassionate air. It
is commonly supposed that we are less miserable when we have companions in
our misery. This, according to Zoroaster, does not proceed from _malice_,
but necessity. We feel ourselves insensibly drawn to an unhappy person as
to one like ourselves. The joy of the happy would be an insult; but two
men in distress are like two slender trees, which, mutually supporting
each other, fortify themselves against the storm.

"Why," said Zadig to the fisherman, "dost thou sink under thy
misfortunes?"

"Because," rep