While Bonaparte, known to the universe, was escaping amid curses from France, Louis XVIII., everywhere forgotten, was leaving London under a canopy of white banners and crowns. Napoleon, on landing in the island of Elba, found back his strength there. Louis XVIII., on landing at Calais[183], might have seen Louvel[184]; he met General Maison[185], commissioned, sixteen years after, to put Charles X. on board at Cherbourg. Charles X., apparently to render him worthy of his future mission, later gave M. Maison the baton of a marshal of France, even as a knight, before fighting, conferred knighthood upon the man of lower rank with whom he deigned to measure swords. I dreaded the effect of Louis XVIII.'s appearance. I hastened to go ahead of him to the residence whence Joan of Arc[186] fell into the hands of the English and where I was shown a volume struck by one of the cannon-balls hurled against Bonaparte. What would people think at the sight of the royal invalid replacing the horseman who might have said with Attila: "The grass no longer grows wherever my horse has passed." With no mission or taste for it, I undertook (I was clearly under a spell) a somewhat difficult task, that of describing the arrival at Compiègne, of causing the son of St. Louis to be seen as I idealized him by the aid of the Muses. I expressed myself thus: "The King's coach was preceded by the generals and the marshals of France who had gone to meet his Majesty. There were no more cries of 'God save the King!' but confused clamours amid which one distinguished only accents of tender emotion and joy. The King wore a blue coat, marked only by a star and a pair of epaulettes; his legs were encased in wide gaiters of red velvet, edged with a narrow gold braid. Seated in his arm-chair, with his old-fashioned gaiters, holding his cane between his knees, he suggests Louis XIV.[187] at fifty years of age.... Marshals Macdonald[188], Ney[189], Moncey[190], Sérurier[191], Brune[192], the Prince de Neuchâtel[193], all the generals, all the persons present alike received the most affectionate words from the King. So great in France is the power of the legitimate Sovereign, the magic attached to the name of the King. A man arrives alone from exile, despoiled of everything, without a following, guards, or riches; he has nothing to give, almost nothing to promise. He alights from his carriage, leaning on the arm of a young woman; he shows himself to captains who have never seen him, to grenadiers who hardly know his name. Who is that man? Tis the King! Every one falls at his feet[194]!" [Sidenote: Return of Louis XVIII.]