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Updated: May 24, 2025
This was the villa which had formerly belonged to the financier Beaujon, in the Rue Fortunee, now the Rue Balzac. The house was not large, it was what might now be described as a "bijou residence," but though out of repair, it had been decorated with the utmost magnificence by Beaujon, and Balzac's discriminating eye quickly discerned its aesthetic possibilities.
"He is dead!" cried the lookers on. "No one could survive such a fall." "Let us take him to the Hospital Beaujon!" exclaimed Vignol. "We are close by there." An ambulance was speedily procured, and the workmen, placing their insensible friend carefully in it, asked permission to carry him to the hospital. One curious event had excited the attention of some of the lookers on.
There was a strange ringing in his ears, and a mist swam before his eyes. At last the bell at the Beaujon Hospital tolled the appointed hour, and roused him from his lethargy. He seemed to hear a voice crying to him in the darkness, "Up! the hour has come!" Trembling, and with tottering limbs, he dragged himself to the little gate opening into the gardens of the Chalusse mansion.
The Chapelle Beaujon, opposite, is by the same founder as the hospital, and may be considered as belonging to it. We must now travel back as far as the British Ambassador's, and facing is the Rue d'Aguesseau, in which is the Episcopal Chapel, entirely appropriated to the English protestant worship, a building well adapted in every respect to the purposes for which it was erected.
Paul Quincy Adams, one of the representatives of America at the lectures of Thénard, was just reaching the entrance of the Beaujon as the last rays of sunset were touching the heights of Montmartre and the first lamps of Paris were springing alight.
This duty gave me little to do; Hambard, the head valet of the First Consul, being in the habit of dressing him from head to foot. Immediately after breakfast we began to descend the mountain, many sliding down on the snow, very much as they coast at the garden Beaujon, from top to bottom of the Montagnes Russes, and I followed their example. This they called "sledding."
Gallet was then employed in some capacity at the Beaujon hospital and lived near me in the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. We soon formed the habit of seeing each other every day. Du Locle had judged aright. We had the same tastes in art and literature. We were equally averse to whatever is too theatrical and also to whatever is not sufficiently so, to the commonplace and the too extravagant.
It was the smaller remaining portion of the splendid mansion and grounds built for the famous financier, Beaujon, by the architect Girardin in the eighteenth century. The original property, situated near the Arc de Triomphe, was nicknamed by contemporaries Beaujon's Folly.
Here was one of those anonymous, entomological existences such as are to be met with in many large tenements where, at the end of four years, you unexpectedly learn that up on the fourth floor there is an old man lodging who knew Voltaire, Pilatre de Rozier, Beaujon, Marcel, Mole, Sophie Arnould, Franklin, and Robespierre.
It was the fourth of January and the last day of Félix Thénard's post-graduate course of lectures at the Beaujon Hospital.
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