But Voltaire’s daring was equal to a greater defiance than Frederick imagined.  Despite the work of the flames, a copy of the diatribe 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 “The Annals of the Empire.”  During this time also, in direct disregard of a promise he had made Frederick, there appeared a supplement to “Doctor Akakia,” more offensive than the main text.  It was followed by a virulent correspondence with Maupertuis.  Voltaire was filling up the vials of wrath of the king.