The Eiffel Tower.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 439, 22 January 1890, Page 4

The Eiffel Tower.

As’every one knows, the Eiffel Tower is the event of the year. I. believe General Boulanger himself to be less spoken of, written about, anyhow depicted or reproduced, than that tremendous pyramid of heavy iron made light and airy by the astonishing genius of our engineers. Now, mv dear ‘Graphic,’ let us have, in our turn, a chatter about that unavoidable subject. Of course, it is no use to describe the * building ’ itself, nor the features of its organisation ; everybody has read those things over and over again. Let us stick to the visitors’ impressions, or life in the Tower.

The first lifts start from the different pillars up to the premiere, and to the seconde plate-forme, every morning at ten ; but the queue of visitors begin to assemble in front of the quichets at about nine o’clock. People who know Paris life are familiar with that dreadful necessity of always Zaire queue anywhere, when more than two persons intend to meet. Whetneryou wish to get into a’bus, or into a theatre, to a railway booking-office, or to any other public place, you cannot possibly ‘ reach ' Without passing, through long, wearisome, and ever-crowded files of double barriers, under some, grave official’s surveillance, and you must submit to the cruel bother the liveliest of nations endure with more patience than any cool far-away Northerner would do. Faire queue! Now, let us take our places in the queue. This is interminable, and we shall have plenty of time for observing the international crowd, whose long-dreamt-of aim is the summit of the Tower. First of all I notice that the foreigners, who, of course, compose the majority, show as much patience as ihe Parisians themselves would do. In fact they had been told by their home papers that to reach the top required about two or three hours according to the time they began the ascent, and they courageously made up their minds to show themselves quite a la hauteur des circonstances ! Some of them are reading a journal, or a * Tauchnitz edition ’ book ; a good many use their leisure hours for consulting Bradshaw or Baedeker, or for marking on the sheets of their pocket-book the painful balance of their expense. A few are balking with their neighbours in an unheard of sort of international volapuk , inquiring about what they will want, because of an appointment they have made, or the restaurant they ought to choose, on the premiere plate)orme. A Scotch lady, who suffers from headache, declares that she is absolutely unable to look at the tower today without running the risk of fainting, and gets her husband to postpone the ascent to another morning—which makes their followers in the queue loudly rejoice—for fhey advance one step nearer. Well, here we reach the quichet, pay two francs, and after a short stay in another queue, we find ourselves sitting in the lift, which starts at once.

One cannot fancy the amount of odd reflections the climbers make during the short voyage. Most of the ladies are merely thinking of the danger, and try to recover themselves by chattering about their fears a tort and a travers. .Whereas a mauivais plaisant solemnly declares that if a chain were to break the whole party would be smashed like a plate of potatoes, a spectacled Herr Professor emphatically asserts that all human precautions have been duly cared for and scientifically controlled, hence the absence of any risk to life; wlieredpon a grandiloquent imbecile concludes, with general approbation, that all of this is a mere matter of chance, , r*, In the meantime, the * oen who knows ’ stands gazing through the windows, and admires both the Titanic cobweb through which the lift is being driven, and the wonderful panorama displayed under his feet, ; : ; In a few minutes we reach the first platform, after a peep into the cellars and the kitchens, built a story lower ■ than the grand floor. What a little world is this first platform ! ; No end of people walking along the galleries, lunching, in the restaurants,' or waiting in the sempiternal queue for further ascent . 1 ' And nobody is tired, of course, except some valiant • Alpinist, l or inexhaustible youth, -who scorned easy' ways, and came by the staircase.. : The bird’s-eye view over Paris, with its finest p-irts on the foreground, the lovely river wrinkled by dainty embarcations and busy penny-boats, the striking amount of shady gardens -and planted avenues, and

the bright; scenery which frames all round the brightest of Cities, is indeed magnificent. ' ' ’ " ’ " -

On the upper platforms* of course, the panorama will show gradually larger and larger, but then its details, so pleasant to pick out and look at, gradually vanish too, and the aerial sensation prevails, which makes an interesting contrast with rforme panoramic impressions. Four big restaurants with charming outside terraces surround this first station of the ascending journey. The one fronting the Dome Central of the Exhibition is thoroughly Parisian, the second is Russian, and the appropriate building of the same is truly original and elegant. The other one, fronting the Seine and the Trocadero, with Mont Valerien and the pretty banlieue hills in the background, is attended by nicelooking Alsatian girls in their becoming national attire. The last dining-room is termed * Anglo-Americain.’ During lunchtime the inside halls, as well as the outside terraces, of those restaurants are overcrowded with consommateurs , in whom the fresh breeze inspires * indefatigable ’ appetite and cheerful humour. The general impression one keeps of the premiere platforme is exceedingly gay. Now up to the second one. Here we meet with a crowning surprise ; the eager paper-readers, who, perchance, were wearying for fresh news, after having left their dear downstair soil, can enjoy the treat of buying a ‘ last edition,’ printed under their very eyes, at that vertiginous altitude. The ‘Figaro’ had the clever idea of establishing there a complete printing mill and a talented editorial staff, with the view of catching the public by their cole faible. In fact. Che * Figaro de la Tour Eiffel ’ gives in its daily number the name and country of every visitor who applies for that purpose to its Tower Pavilion, and the queue in front of the same is all the day long an endless one. Of course, the first thing the climbers do on the following morning is to purchase the number to look through it for the r own names, and, if they are in it, to buy further copies and post them to their relatives at home in order to show them that they were there.

A good many tourists who never, in their lives committed either crimes or verses ftel poetically-minded as soon as they reach the second platform ; and the consequence of that sudden disease is an innumerab'e series of enthusiastic, but silly lucubrations, shamelessly entrusted to a babbling book, if not to the very iron walls, and eagerly published by the Tower’s paper. On thisintermediary floor thecrowdisstill increasing in the famousqweite, foronecannot reach the top gallery by means of a single lift. Some refreshments may be enjoyed pour tour le temps, or to kill hunger and thirst. But the best things are—l, a little penny book they sell you, containing many interesting particulars about the ‘ marvel,’ lots of advertisements, of course, and the day’s date printed on the cover, which latter makes this wee thing termed diplome d’ascemiommte ; 2, the little balions rouges. These seem to furnish quite a favourite pastime. To each balloon is fixed a postcard bearing the printed notice that people who might happen to find it are respectfully requested to post it, wherever it be. For instance, i friend of ours let such a little balloon loose, after having written on the card his own address in Paris. A strong west wind was blowing. The cerial messenger did not take rest until in the neighbourhood of Nancy. Somebody got hold of the exhausted traveller, read the courteous request on the card, and hastened to throw the same into the next pillar box, which caused my friend to receive it again safely. Before posting the card, however, the witty Lorrain had written this ‘ Your card, cher monsieur, fell a nos pieds at the very, moment I was giving a kiss to my bonnie amie. It vexed me a little. Anyhow, as I gave her the kiss, never mind —I don’t owe you any grudge.’ At last, here we reach the upper platform. You, perhaps, fancy that all travellers quickly rush to the windows, greedily look at the wonderful panorama, or turn up admiring eyes to the heavens so much nearer. Nay! They first of all get a postcard and sit down on a bench to write to their friends or relatives, sometimes also to her. I should think all these cards, without a single exception, begin in this way—- ‘ I hasten to write to you from the top of the Tower Eiffel,’ and so on, giving a dithyrambic report of the panoramic marvels they have not looked at yet 1 As soon as the card is filled up, the tourist throws it into the . Towes letter-box, and breathes more at ease like a man who has accomplished hit duty. Thus you may note the differenr categories of visitors—those who have come only in order to be able to state.(by their postcard) that they did so; these rush down with precipitation ; the ladies who get nearly sea-sick from dizziness, and seek to leave without delay ; the enthusiasts who remain gazing for hours through the pourtour windows; the grumblers, who come with their top-coats, expecting it would be very cold, and find it is, on the contrary, too hot. Yes. too hot—on account of all the windows being kept shut up against the wind. I must confess I belong to the friends of grand air—hence I am disappointed at not feeling myself free enough in the kingdom of birds ! Nevertheless, the spectacle from the top of the Eiffel Tower is really magnificent, and if the visitor did not meet, alter every two steps, friends from his native land, who bring him back to the reality of his earthly imperfections, he might believe he was suddenly transported into the cenacle of the Olympian god ! —‘ Mars’ in the Graphic.