_My dear Jane:_
"Let them gild the dome of the Hotel des Invalides," said Napoleon to
an officer, who informed him that unless the war in Italy was
discontinued, there would certainly be a revolution in Paris. The
mandate was issued, the dome covered with the shining leaf, and the
minds of the people immediately turned from the operations of war, to
those of the artisans employed on the cupola of the military asylum.
Napoleon foresaw this, for well he knew the character of his subjects.
A mere trifle, having _novelty_ to recommend it, attracts their
notice, engages their attention, and forms the theme of their
conversation for a long while--at least, until another new bubble
arises. This we must own is a happy disposition, and better calculated
to render a nation contented and joyous, than the sober, phlegmatic
temperament of our Islanders.
Thus, my dear Jane, have I managed to describe to you in a very few
words--the dome of the Invalids and the character of the Parisians.
Knowing you hate prolixity, I rejoice at my success, and for the same
reason, proceed without delay, to give you an account of the Hospital
in question. It is a stately edifice, and was erected by Louis 14th,
for the reception of brave and disabled old soldiers. In approaching
it, you traverse a vast esplanade embellished with a fountain and
bordered by a grove of lofty trees, with seats beneath them, to tempt
the lounger and rest the weary; some of them were occupied by veterans
whom I readily imagined to be telling "how fields were won." We spent
three hours in their noble asylum, examining its spacious halls and
dormitories, its cleanly and well arranged kitchen, its library and
magnificent church, and its cabinet of architecture, which consists of
two large rooms, containing models of all the fortified towns in the
kingdom. These are most ingeniously and beautifully executed, and give
you a perfect idea of the places they represent. The council chamber
adjoins the library, and this and two other apartments are decorated
with the portraits of the deceased marshals of France; while the
originals are living, their likenesses are deposited in the "Salle des
Marécheaux," at the Palace of the Tuilleries. In the church we saw the
mausoleum of Turenne and that of the famous engineer Vauban.[1] The
interior of the dome and the ceilings of six chapels surrounding it
are richly painted, and the tesselated pavement, interspersed with
fleurs de lis and other symbols, is exceedingly beautiful. Three
hundred flags, the spoils of different nations, were once suspended
from the dome; but when the allies entered Paris the _invalid_
warriors tore them down to prevent their being retaken.
[Footnote 1: He was deformed, and being once asked by the king what
his enemies thought of his back,--"Sire, (he replied) they have never
seen it."]
From the Hotel des Invalides we rode to the Chamber of Deputies,
adjoining the palace of Bourbon, and situated on the southern bank of
the Seine, which separates it from the "Place Louis Quinze." It is a
handsome building, adorned with statues and corinthian columns, and
has a pleasant garden attached to it; the deputies hold their
assemblies in a semicircular hall, lighted from the top and
appropriately arranged. Monsieur de N---- was so kind and polite as to
send us tickets, and we have been twice to hear the debates; they were
very animated, though whenever a member wished to speak, he was
obliged to curb the _spirit that moved him_, until he could cross the
floor and mount a rostrum, which delay I should think is most
unfavorable to extemporary eloquence. Returning, we passed over the
Pont Louis Seize, and examined the twelve colossal figures of white
marble, that have recently been placed on it; they are masterly pieces
of sculpture, but too gigantic for the size of the bridge and their
approximation to you. There are no less than seventeen bridges athwart
the Seine, but not one of them can be compared to those of Waterloo,
Blackfriar's, or Westminster at London, as regards strength or
magnitude. The Pont Neuf is the largest; it is more than sixty feet
wide, and lined on each side with stalls of every description; the
passengers are continually beset by the importunities of the
shoe-black, the dog-shaver, the ballad singer, the bird seller, the
fruiterer, the pedler, the vender of second-hand books, and various
other petty dealers. Good night, dear sister. My paper and candle warn
me to conclude, which I fear you will not regret.