ibe found
its way to Paris, was printed there, and copies of it made their way
back to Prussia by mail. Everybody was reading it, everybody laughing,
people fought for copies of the satire, which spread over Europe. The
king, enraged by this treacherous disobedience, as he deemed it,
retorted on Voltaire by having the pamphlet burned in the Place d'Armes.

This brought matters to a crisis. The next day Voltaire sent his
commissions and orders back to Frederick; the next, Frederick returned
them to him. He was bent on leaving Prussia at once, but wished to do it
without a quarrel with the king.

"I sent the Solomon of the North," he wrote to Madame Denis, "for his
present, the cap and bells he gave me, with which you reproached me so
much. I wrote him a very respectful letter, for I asked him for leave to
go. What do you think he did? He sent me his great factotum, Federshoff,
who brought me back my toys; he wrote me a letter saying that he would
rather have me to live with than Maupertuis. What is quite certain is
that I would rather not live with either the one or the other."

In truth, Frederick could not bear to lose Voltaire. Vexed as he was
with him, he was averse to giving up that charming conversation from
which he had derived so much enjoyment. Voltaire wanted to get away;
Frederick pressed him to stay. There was protestation, warmth, coolness,
a gradual breaking of links, letters from France urging the poet to
return, communications from Frederick wishing him to remain, and a
growing attraction from Paris drawing its flown son back to that centre
of the universe for a true Frenchman.

At length Frederick yielded; Voltaire might go. The poet approached him
while reviewing his troops.

"Ah! Monsieur Voltaire," said the king, "so you really intend to go
away?"

"Sir, urgent private affairs, and especially my health, leave me no
alternative."

"Monsieur, I wish you a pleasant journey."

This was enough for Voltaire; in an hour he was in his carriage and on
the road to Leipsic. He thought he was done for the rest of his life
with the "exactions" and "tyrannies" of the King of Prussia. He was to
experience some more of them before he left the land. Frederick bided
his time.

It was on March 26, 1753, that Voltaire left Potsdam. It was two months
afterwards before he reached Frankfort. He had tarried at Leipsic and at
Gotha, engaged in the latter place on a dry chronicle asked for by the
duchess, entitled