Les Invalides, the Art of Left Bank Living

The 7th arrondissement has a rare talent: everything here is monumental, and nothing is loud. The golden dome of Les Invalides, the esplanade sloping down toward the Seine, the Eiffel Tower appearing suddenly at the corner of an avenue. And yet at 8 p.m., you can hear the blackbirds. This is the neighborhood we recommend to anyone who wants postcard Paris without honking Paris.

The story is a beautiful one: in 1670, Louis XIV decided to give his wounded soldiers a home. Libéral Bruant designed fifteen courtyards and a two-hundred-meter façade; Hardouin-Mansart crowned it all with his dome. The gold leaf has just been redone — go see it at sunset from the esplanade. Since 1861, Napoleon has slept there in a sarcophagus of red quartzite. All around, the faubourg filled with hôtels particuliers built "between courtyard and garden" — that quintessentially French invention where the house turns its back on the street. Ours is one of them: that is why you hear nothing at all.

But what we truly love here is the village life that slips in between the monuments. The market on the rue Cler, where the cheesemonger knows your face within two weeks. The gardens of the Musée Rodin, three hectares of roses around The Thinker, for just a few euros: our official summer office. The Champ de Mars at 8 a.m., when the Eiffel Tower belongs only to the runners. And on Sundays, the esplanade fills with picnics and games of pétanque, facing one of the most beautiful monuments in the world — and no one finds this the least bit extraordinary.

Add Le Bon Marché a twenty-minute walk away (the oldest department store in the world, whose Grande Épicerie is worth the trip on its own), the pâtisseries of the rue Saint-Dominique, the antique dealers of the Carré Rive Gauche. To live at Les Invalides is to choose that particular Paris: the one that has everything, and feels no need to say so.