After a long walk in which I passed the Luxembourg palace, but could not get admission that day, I found myself in the Boulevards of the southern quarter of Paris. This quarter is much duller than that to the north of the river, consisting principally of large houses standing alone, and surrounded with high-walled gardens.
Proceeding along the Boulevard, I at length arrived at the Hôtel des Invalides, the Chelsea hospital of Paris; it is a noble building, and one of the most conspicuous in the city, owing to its high and splendid dome, half covered with gilt copper: this dome is very similar in form to those at Greenwich. I went into the chapel, which differs from all the churches I have seen here, in having convenient benches for the congregation. The architecture of that part of the building supporting the dome is very fine, but that of the other parts of this edifice is plain; I am told that in one of its galleries there is a collection of models of all the fortified towns of France, but it requires a special order to obtain admission into it. This building affords a comfortable asylum for 7000 officers and soldiers, who are clothed in an old-fashioned military dress, like our Chelsea pensioners, and who do the military duty of the place.
Not far from the Hôpital des Invalides is the Palais Bourbon, an extensive building but very low. A new front has been added to it on the side of the river, at the end of one of the bridges. This, the most elegant thing I know, is one vast portico, and is the entrance to the chamber of deputies composing the corps legislatif. It must be, I think, an imitation of one of the celebrated temples of Greece or Rome, its architecture is so classical and chaste. Upon four low pedestals at the foot of the steps, by which you ascend to the doors, are four colossal figures sitting, representing Sully and Colbert with two other celebrated statesmen, dressed in the habiliments of their respective offices.
In the evening I again went to the opera, and was much pleased with the excellent acting in the Vestal and in Nina. Old Vestris still keeps his pre-eminent station among the dancers in the ballet: they say that he is more than sixty years of age. The illustrious commander of the forces was there in his box, with some of his staff. All this on Sunday evening, recollect!
Next day, the 18th, I rode to Boulogne, and found myself, by chance of war, billeted at a boarding-school, in a very good apartment, and thought myself in high luck. I dined with Colonels —— and —— who requested me to form one of their mess, which honour I of course accepted.
On Tuesday, the 19th, I attended the battalion inspection of Lieutenant General Sir H. Clinton, the general officer commanding the 2d division: they were formed for this purpose, with the 91st regiment, in one of the great walks in the garden of St. Cloud. The bridge, over which we passed, is a very long one: it was blown up by the French on the advance of the allies to Paris this last time, and is now repaired only in a temporary manner.
The country about St. Cloud is very picturesque; the river winds luxuriantly through a valley, enclosed by hills planted with vineyards, and there are an immense number of country seats to be seen in all directions. On the top of a hill in the neighbourhood is Mount Calvary, on which a superb edifice has been commenced for the education of the children of deceased soldiers, but I believe it has not been proceeded with since the return of Louis XVIII.; the revenues of the state, I suppose, not being sufficient to enable the government to spend much on charitable purposes; and charity, no doubt, in France, as elsewhere, begins at home.
In the afternoon I returned to Paris, at a very slow pace, in a miserable cabriolet.
On Wednesday, Dec. 20, I went with my American acquaintance, to whom I had become a Ciceroni, to shew him the Corn Hall. This is a new, immense, circular building of brick and stone, having an enormous dome, which is constructed wholly of metal; the rafters are of iron; the inside of it is of tinned iron, and the outside of sheet copper. It is lighted by a large skylight in the centre. Its whole area beneath, into which you enter by a dozen or more gates, is paved, and completely covered by piles of flour and different grain in sacks.
On the outside there has been placed an old doric pillar of a great height, on which there is a curiously constructed sun-dial, which points out every moment of the day: the column, I suppose, is nearly an hundred feet high; at its bottom there is a small fountain. The Emperor of Russia, it is said, expressed greater admiration at the sight of the Corn Hall than of all the other public buildings in Paris.