ven private friends, being a good deal uncertain
about his movements. Rumor now ran, since his reappearance in the Cleve
Countries, that Friedrich meant to have a look at Holland before going
home, And that had, in fact, been a notion or intention of Friedrich's.
"Holland? We could pass through Brussels on the way, and see Voltaire!"
thought he.

In Brussels this was, of course, the rumor of rumors. As Voltaire's
Letters, visibly in a twitter, still testify to us. King of
Prussia coming! Madame du Chatelet, the "Princess Tour" (that is,
Tour-and-Taxis), all manner of high Dames are on the tiptoe. Princess
Tour hopes she shall lodge this unparalleled Prince in her Palace: "You,
Madame?" answers the Du Chatelet, privately, with a toss of her head:
"His Majesty, I hope, belongs more to M. de Voltaire and me: he shall
lodge here, please Heaven!" Voltaire, I can observe, has sublime
hostelry arrangements chalked out for his Majesty, in case he go to
Paris; which he does n't, as we know. Voltaire is all on the alert,
awake to the great contingencies far and near; the Chatelet-Voltaire
breakfast-table,--fancy it on those interesting mornings, while the post
comes round! [Voltaire, xxii. 238-256 (Letters 22d August-22d September,
1740).]

Alas, in the first days of September,--Friedrich's Letter is dated
"Wesel, 2d" (and has the STRASBURD DOGGEREL enclosed in it),--the
Brussels Postman delivers far other intelligence at one's door; very
mortifying to Madame: "That his Majesty is fallen ill at Wesel; has
an aguish fever hanging on him, and only hopes to come:" VOILA,
Madame!--Next Letter, Wesel, Monday, 5th September, is to the effect:
"Do still much hope to come; to-morrow is my trembling day; if that
prove to be off!"--Out upon it, that proves not to be off; that is on:
next Letter, Tuesday, September 6th, which comes by express (Courier
dashing up with it, say on the Thursday following) is,--alas,
Madame!--here it is:--

KING FRIEDRICH TO M. DE VOLTAIRE AT BRUSSELS.

"WESEL, 6th September, 1740. "MY DEAR VOLTAIRE,--In spite of myself,
I have to yield to the Quartan Fever, which is more tenacious than a
Jansenist; and whatever desire I had of going to Antwerp and Brussels, I
find myself not in a condition to undertake such a journey without risk.
I would ask of you, then, if the road from Brussels to Cleve would not
to you seem too long for a meeting; it is the one means of seeing you
which remains to me. Confess that I a