Pont d'Iéna

Stand still for a moment and listen. Under your feet, traffic hums across old stone. Below, the Seine slaps against the piers, and a tour boat slides past with its engine low. Ahead of you, the iron legs of the Eiffel Tower rise so close that you have to tip your head back. Behind you, the curved terraces of the Trocadéro climb the hill. You are standing on the Pont d'Iéna, the bridge that ties these two views together.

This bridge is older than the tower by most of a century. It was commissioned by Napoleon in the early nineteenth century, at the height of his power. He named it after the Battle of Jena, fought in 1806, where his armies crushed the Prussian forces in a single day. Jena is a town in Germany, and the victory opened the road to Berlin. So this crossing was, from the start, a monument to a French triumph over Prussia.

The work was carried out between 1808 and 1814, under the engineer Corneille Lamandé. Look over the side and you will see the shape of his design. Five broad, shallow arches of stone carry the roadway across the river. They are low and steady rather than dramatic. This was the style of the time: calm, balanced, and inspired by the bridges of ancient Rome. Now here is the first surprise. The bridge was finished in 1814, the same year Napoleon's empire collapsed. Allied armies, including the Prussians, marched into Paris. And imagine how a Prussian officer felt, crossing a brand-new bridge named after his country's humiliation. For some of them, it was an insult carved in stone.

According to a well-known story, the Prussian commander Marshal Blücher wanted to blow the bridge up. Some accounts say his men even began to place explosives under the arches. The tale goes on that the newly restored French king, Louis the Eighteenth, protested strongly. In one popular version, the king said he would have himself carried onto the bridge, so that it would fall with him. Historians treat the details with some caution, but the bridge clearly survived.

The new royal government took a quieter path. It changed the name. For a period, the crossing was called the Bridge of the Military School, after the large military academy at the far end of the Champ de Mars. The awkward name of Jena disappeared from the maps. Only later, after the political mood in France shifted again, did the bridge take back its original name.

Look at the piers now, the thick stone supports that stand in the water. On them you can see carved imperial eagles, the emblem of Napoleon's empire. These eagles were added later, under the Second Empire of Napoleon the Third, Napoleon's nephew. They returned the bridge to the imperial story it was first built to tell. Notice how the stone birds face out over the river, wings spread, as if guarding the crossing.

Then walk to either end of the bridge. Here is the second surprise that many visitors miss. Four large stone horsemen stand on tall pedestals, two on each bank. They were also added in the middle of the nineteenth century. Each rider represents a warrior from a different culture: a Gaul, the ancient people of France before Rome; a Roman; a Greek; and an Arab. Together, they form a kind of gallery of ancient soldiers at the gates of the river.

Take a closer look at the horses themselves. The sculptors gave each one a different pose and temper. One rears, another stands firm, another seems to pull against its rider. The warriors carry different weapons and wear different armour. It is worth walking slowly around at least one pedestal. From below, against the sky, they seem much larger than they do from a passing car.

The bridge you cross today is wider than the one Napoleon knew. In 1937, Paris hosted a great International Exhibition, and the Trocadéro hill was rebuilt into the palace and gardens you see behind you. Huge crowds were expected to pass between the two banks. So engineers widened the bridge to carry more people and more traffic. They kept the old stone arches, but extended the deck on either side.

This is the reason the bridge feels like a stage today. On one side, the Trocadéro gardens fall in steps and fountains toward the river. On the other, the Eiffel Tower stands at the head of the Champ de Mars. The bridge sits exactly on the line between them. Architects of different eras, from the eighteen-hundreds to the 1930s, all used this straight line as the spine of their plans.

So pause in the middle and turn slowly. Downstream, you can follow the river toward the west of the city, with its bridges stacked one behind another. Upstream, the river bends toward the centre of Paris. Below, the tour boats come and go from the docks along the banks. At night, when the tower lights up, the water carries its reflection right under your feet. The bridge itself becomes one of the best places to watch the sparkle.

Before you walk on, run your hand along the stone parapet. It is smooth in places, worn by two centuries of elbows, rain, and passing crowds. Soldiers once marched here, kings argued over it, and exhibitions reshaped it. Yet the five low arches still do the simple job they were built for. As you step off toward the tower or the gardens, glance back once at the stone eagles and the horsemen. They will still be standing guard when you return.