waters of Plombières, taking with him his Order, his gold key, and a volume of the king's poetry.
So far then, the object had been attained of withdrawing from the Prussian Court, if finally, yet without discredit, or obvious dismissal. But the real end of Voltaire's connection with the king was to be of a less pacific character. Arrived in Saxony, he could not forbear the opportunity of taking a parting shot or two at his foe the President—who, in a rage, sent him a threatening letter, drawing from Voltaire a satirical reply which once more made poor Maupertuis the laughing-stock of Europe. Hereupon the king, considering that the chamberlain had now forfeited all title to consideration, sent instructions to an official at Frankfort to stop Voltaire when on his passage to France, and to cause him to deliver up the cross, the key, and the book of verses. The poet, on arriving, was much astonished at this new demand. There was a great deal of ignoble protestation and squabbling with officials, for personal dignity was never Voltaire's strong point. On the other hand, the stupid literalness with which the German agents executed their orders entailed many unnecessary annoyances and indignities, such as must have been most grievous to one of Voltaire's excitable nature, on both him and his niece, Madame Denis, who had crossed the Rhine to meet him. At last, bereft of cross, key, and book, but with a new stock of grievances, he made his final exit from Germany in July 1753. Being by no means the man to sit patiently under an injury, he relieved his feelings by composing what he called 'Memoirs of the Life of M. de Voltaire,' in which all the king's faults and foibles, real or imaginary, as well as his literary pretensions,
