Voltaire brought with him his newly written tragedy of "Irene." He had the notion indelibly impressed, that, to secure his position in Paris, he must acquire popularity; and that a successful tragedy was the sure means of acquiring it. In the present instance he did not need such support. No conqueror, returned from enslaving a province, was ever received with such enthusiastic marks of triumph. La Harpe well observes, that the generation who had witnessed Voltaire's earlier struggles and clouded fame, had nearly died away; all those born during the space of the last forty years found the world full of his fame. His persecutions, his mode of life, his attacks on religion and on persons, the mischief he had caused, and the good he had done, were the chief topics of interest: more than all, the brilliancy of his genius dazzled, its versatility delighted mankind. Even his pettishnesses, his whims, his follies, ever varying and upheld by him with earnestness and vigour, kept alive public attention. That this man, the subject of all tongues and all pens, should emerge from his seclusion among the Alps, and, in his eighty-fifth year, come to take his part in society, and gather the applause of a theatrical audience, excited, nearly to frenzy, the curiosity, the admiration, and interest of every inhabitant of Paris. Condorcet, who witnessed his arrival, in his "Life of Voltaire," madame du Deffand, in her "Letters to Horace Walpole," and Grimm, in his "Literary Correspondence," give a vivid picture of this last triumphant but fatal visit to Paris. He arrived in good health; though his first note to madame du Deffand said, "I arrive, dying; and only wish to revive to throw myself at your feet." He received all his friends with cordiality and gaiety, and delighted them with the charm that belonged to his manners. All Paris pressed to see him; his apartment was never empty: he received more than 300 persons, one after the other, and had something witty and agreeable to say to all. Meanwhile, as he was in reality afflicted by a weakening and very painful disease, his more familiar friends began to tremble for the result of this new and exciting scene. "I paid him my second visit yesterday," writes madame du Deffand, "on the 22d of February. It was not so agreeable as the first. We were received by his niece, who is certainly the best woman in the world, but the most tiresome; by M. de Villette, who is the dullest man, and his young wife, who, they say, is amiable, and goes by the name of Belle et Bonne with Voltaire and his friends. We did not find him in the drawing-room; he was shut up with his secretary, and begged me to wait. His friends told me that he was overwhelmed with fatigue; that he had read the whole of his tragedy that afternoon to the actors, and had made them rehearse, and was so exhausted that he could scarcely speak. I wished to go away; but they detained me, and Voltaire sent me four lines