authority for his existence than that of the biographer of
Zadig, one Arouet de Voltaire, among whose more conspicuous
merits strict historical accuracy is perhaps hardly to
be reckoned.

Happily Zadig is in the position of a great many other
philosophers. What he was like when he was in the flesh, indeed
whether he existed at all, are matters of no great consequence.
What we care about in a light is that it shows the way, not
whether it is lamp or candle, tallow or wax. Our only real
interest in Zadig lies in the conceptions of which he is the
putative father; and his biographer has stated these with so
much clearness and vivacious illustration, that we need hardly
feel a pang, even if critical research should prove King Moabdar
and all the rest of the story to be unhistorical, and reduce
Zadig himself to the shadowy condition of a solar myth.

Voltaire tells us that, disenchanted with life by sundry
domestic misadventures, Zadig withdrew from the turmoil of
Babylon to a secluded retreat on the banks of the Euphrates,
where he beguiled his solitude by the study of nature.
The manifold wonders of the world of life had a particular
attraction for the lonely student; incessant and patient
observation of the plants and animals about him sharpened his
naturally good powers of observation and of reasoning; until, at
length, he acquired a sagacity which enabled him to perceive
endless minute differences among objects which, to the untutored
eye, appeared absolutely alike.

It might have been expected that this enlargement of the powers