clos. Frederick at last yielded; he was on the parade, Voltaire
appeared there. "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." Voltaire jumped into his carriage, and hurried to Leipsic; he
thought himself free forever from the exactions and tyrannies of the King
of Prussia.

The poet, according to his custom, had tarried on the way. He had passed
more than a month at Gotha, being overwhelmed with attentions by the
duke, and by the duchess, for whom he wrote the dry chronicle entitled
_Les Annales de L'Empire_. He arrived at Frankfort on the 31st of May
only: the king's orders had arrived before him.

"Here is how this fine adventure came to pass," says Voltaire. "There
was at Frankfort one Freytag, who had been banished from Dresden, and had
become an agent for the King of Prussia. . . . He notified me on
behalf of his Majesty that I was not to leave Frankfort till I had
restored the valuable effects I was carrying away from his Majesty.
'Alack! sir, I am carrying away nothing from that country, if you please,
not even the smallest regret. What, pray, are those jewels of the
Brandenburg crown that you require?' 'It be, sir,' replied Freytag,
'the work of poesy of the king, my gracious master.' 'O! I will give
him back his prose and verse with all my heart,' replied I, 'though,
after all, I have more than one right to the work. He made me a present
of a beautiful copy printed at his expense. Unfortunately this copy is
at Leipsic with my other luggage.' Then Freytag proposed to me to remain
at Frankfort until the treasure which was at Leipsic should have arrived;
and he signed an order for it."

The volume which Frederick claimed, and which he considered it of so much
importance to preserve from Voltaire's indiscretions, contained amongst
other things a burlesque and licentious poem, entitled the Palladium,
wherein the king scoffed at everything and everybody in terms which he
did not care to make public. He knew the reckless malignity of the poet
who was leaving him, and he had a right to be suspicious of it; but
nothing can excuse the severity of his express orders, and still less the
brutality of his agents. The package had arrived; Voltaire, agitated,
anxious, and ill, wanted to get away as soon as possible, accompanied by
Madame Denis, who had