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.
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