He had had an idea of visiting the clever and delightful Margravine of Bayreuth with whom he so often corresponded; but all the circumstances considered, he thought she was too nearly related to Frederick, and that a visit to her might endanger the little liberty he had obtained.
No doubt, as he lumbered along in the great travelling carriage, he congratulated himself on at last getting out of Prussia, at once easily and gracefully.
He left Gotha on May 25, 1753.
He rested a night or two with the Landgrave of Hesse at Wabern, near Cassel. At Cassel, Baron Pollnitz of the suppers was staying; as Frederick’s spy, Voltaire seems to have suspected. By May 30th the travelling party were at Marburg. After leaving there they passed through Fredeburg, where they visited the Salt Springs. And on May 31, 1753, Voltaire reached the “Golden Lion” at Frankfort-on-Main, meaning to proceed on his journey the next day.
CHAPTER XXV
THE COMEDY OF FRANKFORT
Frederick the Great had the misfortune to suffer now from subordinates so loyal that they went beyond their master’s commands, and officials with a blundering zeal not according to knowledge.
The second part of “Akakia” had flung him into one of the greatest furies of his life. The unmeasured terms in which he wrote of Voltaire to his sister have been recorded. Wilhelmina’s propitiating answer did not propitiate him. Voltaire was maddeningly and devilishly clever. The sting of the “Akakia” supplements lay in part for Frederick the Great in the fact that he could hardly prevent himself from laughing at such an exquisite humour, nor withhold his admiration of such a dazzling and daring genius. But add to this, that in making a fool of his President, Voltaire had also made a fool of the President’s friend and King; that that King had cringed to win Voltaire to Prussia, and cringed to keep him. Still extant were the royal letters filled with the wildest hyperbole of devotion and of admiration. He had stooped to entreat. He had licked dust to keep the Frenchman his property; and he had done it in vain. It may be forgiven him that, like Naaman the Syrian, he went away in a rage.
Before he went to Silesia he had caused to be written on April 11th that memorable order to Freytag, before alluded to, wherein he commanded Freytag to deprive Voltaire on his arrival at Frankfort of that Key, Cross and Order, all papers in the King’s handwriting, and—“the book specified in the note enclosed.” Only—there was no note enclosed, and no book specified at all.
A conscientious and fussy old busybody was Freytag; worryingly anxious to do right, and fretfully and rightly suspecting himself to be no match for Voltaire. Back he writes to Potsdam on April 21st, asking further instructions about that unspecified book; and “If Voltaire says he has sent on his luggage ahead, are we to keep him a prisoner at Frankfort till he has brought it back?”
“Yes,” comes back the answer on April 29th. “Keep him in sight till the luggage is brought back and he has given to you the royal manuscripts, especially the book called ‘Œuvre de Poésie.’”