Eiffel

A Historical Fiction by Charles H. Decker

Chapter 1: Roof

Throughout the 1870s, a visitor or passerby could reasonably expect to see, on the roof of 1213 Rue de Piedmont, a young boy. This young boy would usually be examining the structure of the roof of the magnificent three story house, as if he were looking for a way to improve it. Or, perhaps, as if he were looking for a way to bring it crashing down. Why would young Jules D’Evereux want to destroy his home? Certainly not to crush the D’Evereux family. No, Jules was a born engineer and architect. Nearly daily, starting at the age of five, Jules would take the expedition to the roof of 1213 and examine. He would measure the angles of the slopes, see the way that the rain would roll down in a storm, see how the eaves came together, and try and discover a way to improve upon the design. The family D’Evereux will be the focus of our story, and, just as no building can be called complete without a roof, no story can be called complete without exposition.
Jules’ father, Olivier D’Evereux, was a wealthy tailor for the royal court, and as such was rather wealthy. The result of this wealth was that Jules was able to receive the finest education to nurture his obvious intellectual talents. For this education Jules thanked his father each and every night for seventeen years.
As a young man, Olivier paid his dues for a decade as a tailor’s apprentice. He was extraordinarily talented, and had a great ambition thrive as a tailor. However, after nearly ten years he began to fear that his place in society would forever be cemented as an apprentice, never having the opportunity to flourish on his own. He had just begun to lose all ambition when Jeanine entered his life. Jeanine was gorgeous. She had long, flowing, wavy, dark hair; and large, piercing, beetle-black eyes. Her body had a voluptuous, hourglass shape. Jeanine was the daughter of a very influential man in the royal court, and so when Jules and Jeanine married a month after they first met, Jules was able to obtain the money to open his own tailor business. Twenty-five years later, the tailor business had proven to be a great success. At this point, in the year 1887, Olivier no longer worked at the tailor shop. He owned it and ran the financial operations. Thirty years of the tailor’s life had left him with crippling arthritis, and a task as simple as writing a letter had become a chore for him. Jeanine, although her hair had strands of grey and her eyes had lost some of their sharpness, had retained her enormous beauty over the years. Her figure was as impeccable as it had been when Olivier had first laid eyes upon her twenty-five years ago.
Jeanine had conceived and given birth to two sons. Jules, whom we have already met, is twenty-three years of age in the year 1887. Marcel D’Evereux, a stranger to us, is twenty. Whereas Jules was an intellectual force, Marcel had no talent or desire to peruse cerebral matters. Marcel was endowed with mammoth size and bulk, traits which suited him well in the world of manual construction. Thus, the brothers D’Evereux would always be linked. Both would forever be in the realm of architecture; Jules from the mental viewpoint and Marcel from the physical. The brothers were extremely close; neither had ever kept as much as a tiny, insignificant secret from the other.
But we have not spoken of every member of the D’Evereux household. Thirteen years ago, Jeanine grew weary of the monotonous chores around the house. Olivier used some of the money that he had saved to hire a maid, a fifteen year old girl with the curious name of Hallelujah. Hallelujah, while she did not live at the house number 1213, was a fixture of the D’Evereux family nonetheless. She was a very attractive girl, but not in the same way as Jeanine D’Evereux. Whereas Jeanine’s beauty was striking to the point of being overbearing, with her shapely form and dark features, Hallelujah was beautiful in a more subtle way. Her hair was blonde and straight; and her eyes were of a soft, almost melancholy grey. Hallelujah began to work for the family D’Evereux when Jules was eight; Jules has always had something of an infatuation with her. Of course, nobody knew this except for Jules and Marcel. Jules knew Hallelujah better than Marcel or Jeanine, or ever Olivier, but he knew his infatuation would never manifest itself past admiring her from afar.
Thus ends our introduction to the members of the family D’Evereux. The entire family was very doting upon each other and was very close; an anomaly in these modern times. Therefore, it is somewhat surprising that Jules would have room in his heart for another father.

Chapter 2: Legend

Yes, Jules had another father figure; somewhat more acclaimed than his natural father. Two years ago, Jeanine’s ancient father had gotten Jules the opportunity to work for one of his idols. Jules had the education and the natural intelligence to work his way up in the Eiffel Construction Corporation all the way to become Gustave Eiffel’s personal assistant. Gustave Eiffel, of course, being the world renowned engineer and architect. An architectural genius, Eiffel essentially reinvented the way that construction was done. His forte was structures that were incredibly light but extraordinarily strong. This is achieved due to his patented cross design of the iron that he uses. He is the man that Jules D’Evereux has always wanted to be.
Jules absolutely worships the very ground that Eiffel steps on. Although he has been working in close proximity to Eiffel for about a year, Jules has not gotten over the shock that comes with meeting one’s idol. Jules has even tried to grow out his facial hair to match Eiffel’s, with little success thus far.
Eiffel himself has been described as a great man. His forte is the art and design of bridges. His unique, light, strong bridges of iron can be found all throughout France and much of the rest of Europe. The designs of the bridges themselves have met considerable controversy. Eiffel is not one to worry himself with what those so called Paris “artists” find aesthetically pleasing. His bridges, like great skeletons of iron mammoths, stretch across the gorges of France in all of their bare-boned glory. Eiffel, never reluctant to show off his genius, never covers his bridges or alters their appearance beyond what will make them work correctly. He always told Jules that doing so would compromise progress, and set us back into the Bronze Age.
However, not all of Eiffel’s projects have been successful. There was a project that Jules knew nearly nothing about. He knew that the project was supposed to be a canal in Panama connecting the great oceans. It was supposed to be one of the modern wonders of the world; something that had been dreamed about since sea exploration began. Jules had no idea how Eiffel was connected with the project, or why he would not discuss it. Jules had only asked Eiffel once about the project; and had not gotten an answer. Eiffel locked himself in his office and didn’t come out all day. Jules so admired Eiffel that he never brought up the subject again.
Other than the Panama issue, Eiffel had no discrepancies that Jules could discern. He was a friendly man, and had eaten dinner at house 1213 several times. He was kind to all of his workers; from his top assistants to the lowliest manual laborers. He was truly brilliant in more than just architecture. He was extremely well read, and was fluent in four languages. For all these reasons, Jules worshipped the man.

Chapter 3: Confrontation

“Jules, my boy, I’ve done it! This is going to make every other structure in the entire world obsolete! People will forget all about the pyramids, my boy!”
Gustave Eiffel had called Jules D’Evereux into his office. Apparently, he was rather pleased with himself.
“They’ve approved it! The tower, my boy, they’ve approved it!”
Jules was a bit confused. “Which tower have they approved, sir? And who approved it?”
“Remember last May, when the Centennial Exposition Committee invited all of Europe’s best architects to come up with a design for the building central to the celebration of 100th anniversary of the Revolution? Well, the committee has decided to use my tower!”
“Well, sir,” Jules replied, “I can’t say that the decision was much unexpected. You are the foremost architect and engineer in the world. Plus, do you remember some of the other designs? Most of them were absurd. Mr. Ribiero’s design was a giant guillotine. We know we are celebrating the revolution; that design is taking it a little too far. Mr. Irwin, remember the British gentleman? Well, Irwin’s design was a giant sprinkler that would theoretically shower Paris in case of a drought. That is the most far-fetched one, I believe. And then, there was Garnier’s lighthouse.”
“Ah, yes. Mr. Garnier. He simply does not understand what we are celebrating here, my boy. We are celebrating the progress of Paris! How does a 1,000 foot granite lighthouse symbolize progress? Sure, it is mammoth in size and scope, but haven’t people been building with stone for millennia? Metal, my boy! That is the only way to display our technological prowess. I fear Garnier will simply never understand, he is too worried about his ‘art.’ As if that primitive Opera House were art. Garnier’s Opera House is nothing but a primordial relic that will soon fall by the wayside of History. My tower, my boy, will lead Paris into a glorious new future! Just think of it! 300 meters tall, a 125 square meter base, all constructed of metal! 7,000 tons of wrought iron!”
“Wrought iron? Why iron?” asked Jules.
“My boy, iron is the only way. Iron is the way of the future. I foresee in the near future every single viable building in the world made of iron. Iron! It has the durability, the flexibility, the utter strength, and, most importantly of all, it is affordable, my boy,” gushed Eiffel.
Even if Jules did not fully see the beauty in the tower plans seen by Eiffel, he could not help but be excited by the sheer enthusiasm displayed by his mentor. “That’s really great, Mr. Eiffel. I’m very glad for you.”
“Be glad for yourself, my boy. You are going to play a very vital role in the construction of the most important structure ever built! Now, my boy, I must be off to address the committee and officially accept their approval.”
Still beaming, Eiffel verily skipped out of his office. Amazed by this manner of walking from a grown man, Jules walked to the window and peered out curiously. From his third story perch, Jules saw a group of men walking in a “V” formation, like a flock of geese. Jules counted seven men in the flock, and was just beginning to wonder what they were doing when they stopped walking and immediately formed a straight line, shoulder to shoulder. The man in the center stepped forward, and began gesturing wildly with his arms. It took Jules a few seconds to register that this incredibly animated man was speaking. It took him a few more seconds to register that the animated man was speaking to Gustave Eiffel. Jules’ mild curiosity turned into a vested interest in whatever was going on, and he rushed downstairs. Not wanting to be detected, Jules inched open the door. He was still a very young man, and he feared that if his presence were known, the older men would adjust the conversation accordingly. He poked his head through the door. The king goose was standing, arms folded, chin tilted toward his left shoulder, eyes rolled upward. He was standing in a lopsided fashion, most of his weight resting on his left leg. Eiffel was the one talking now,
“You’ll simply never be able to understand. The logic of displaying our technological prowess simply escapes you, sir. You’d much rather have a stone temple to ancient, imaginary gods that nobody remembers or cares about. That sort of thinking, sir, will lead us directly into a new Dark Age!”
“A new Dark Age? You wish to talk to me about a new dark age? The only thing dark, Eiffel, will be the skies, saturated by the smoke and pollution created by your so-called progress.” The king goose now turned and surveyed his flock. “Take a good look at the blue skies, gentlemen, for Monsieur Eiffel would never have you see them again!”
“Come now, Charles, you and I both know that that is preposterous. Industrial byproducts have never been shown to have any detrimental effect on the skies whatsoever. The skies will shine blue for your great-grandchildren, gentlemen. Now if you’ll excuse me, Charles, I must be off to…”
The king goose surveyed his flock once again. “Do you hear that, ‘gentlemen’?” The last word had a sarcastic, nasty tone to it. “Mr. Eiffel assures you that your great-grandchildren will have blue skies to enjoy. Well, gentlemen, perhaps I was being a tad dramatic when predicting the skies. However, I can fearlessly predict something that our great-grandchildren will live without…” at this point Eiffel, who had been walking away, stopped. Almost on cue, the flock turned on their heels in unison to face Eiffel. Now, all that Jules could see was the backs of the geese; Eiffel was completely obscured from him. “Art. Our great-grandchildren will live in a world devoid of art. The world will be reduced to a great, lifeless blob of humanity. There will be no individuality; only conformity. And the great, naked metal smokestacks will dominate the landscape. Gentlemen, be prepared to bid culture adieu.”
There was a silence, and Jules could not be sure if Eiffel was still there. Then, “You’ve…had quite a bit of time to think your future theory out, haven’t you, Charles?”
“Why, yes, I have, ‘Gustave.’” There was that derisive tone again. “Unlike you, I haven’t spent the last year obsessing over what angle metal has to meet naked, sterile metal to build your tower and destroy Paris.”
“Oh, and I suppose your lighthouse would solve all of our problems, Charles?” There was more force in Eiffel’s voice now. Suddenly, Jules realized that the king goose was in fact Charles Garnier, the designer of the Paris Opera House.
“My lighthouse would make Paris the envy of the world, as opposed to the laughingstock it is set to become. A colossal stone lighthouse, lighting the way to a glorious future! One thousand feet of artistic, beautiful progress. But I’m talking about real progress, Gustave. Not nominal, industrial ‘progress.’ I’m talking about a progression of the human spirit! Why can’t you see that? Are you so blinded by the smog of your own creations?”
Again, there was a silence, and Jules wondered if Eiffel was still there. “Charles, do you always do all of the speaking for your friends? How do they feel about all of this?”
“Very well, let me introduce my friends. This gentleman on the far left is Guy de Maupassant.” Jules saw the very short man on the far left take a low bow. “As you may be, but I would wager are not aware, Guy is considered the greatest short story writer in all of France, possibly in all of the history of France.”
“Save your energy, Charles,” the man called Guy said. “I doubt that Mr. Eiffel is even capable of reading anything not flooded with technical jargon.”
“I can’t say I doubt it,” responded Garnier. He continued, “Next in my entourage is Alexandre Dumas. Even you, Eiffel, must know of Alexandre. He is the author of The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo, only two of the most important pieces of literature of all time.” Jules saw a very old man gently bow his head. Jules was acquainted with the works of Dumas, and under any other circumstance would have been excited to see him. “My next friend is Charles Gounod. Gounod is the most influential composer outside of Vienna. His work is most renowned.” Jules saw a small man take a deep bow, and during the bow Jules could make out the outline of a monstrous, bushy beard.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say ‘Charles’ so derisively, Gustave,” the bearded man said. “Mr. Garnier is not the only Charles here. It is a beautiful name, really. Formed at the tip of the tongue. Whereas ‘Gustave’ is formed in the back of the throat.”
“That’s enough, Charles. We are here to destroy his tower of folly, not his name,” said Garnier. “Next is François Coppee. Another one of Paris’ brilliant literary minds.”
“Of course,” responded the voice Jules knew to be Eiffel’s. “I enjoyed Les Humbles.”
“I find that hard to believe,” responded Garnier disdainfully. “Shall I go on?” There was a brief pause, not long enough to convince Jules that Garnier had any intention to quit. “My next friend is another literary genius, the poet Paul Verlaine.”
“Mr. Verlaine, I’m glad that you managed to stay out of prison long enough to come see me,” Eiffel’s voice said with more relish than Jules was used to from his mentor. Jules had heard of Verlaine; he was the butt of many jokes in the D’Evereux household. Verlaine was a very famous poet. He was as famous for drinking and chasing women (and men) as he was for his beautiful poetry. Jules looked out and saw a scrawny, wobbly man taking a bow.
“How is Bibi-la-Purée, Paul?” asked Eiffel, again seeming to savor the words. Jules had no idea who or what Bibi-la-Purée was.
“Ah, yes, my good friend Bibi. What would you know about a man like Bibi, Eiffel? Bibi is on a plane, on a level that you could never hope to attain. That nobody here could hope to attain. You people,” and now the man stepped forward and surveyed the flock, “could never hope to comprehend something so pure, so beautiful, so magical.”
“Relax, Paul; you’re on our side, remember?” Interrupted Garnier. “May I continue? This man is Leon Bloy. He has written some of the most meaningful dramatic pieces ever. His works depict injustice and cruelty at their worst. However, I’m afraid they will be rendered obsolete by your tower, Gustave.” There was much laughter from the flock at this remark. Eiffel was silent. “That’s quite an impressive entourage, Charles,” replied Eiffel after a long pause. “Clearly misguided, a bit dramatic, yes, but impressive in…nomenclature. And with that, I’m afraid I must take my leave. Good day to you all.”
“We shall see who is misguided, Eiffel. We are the Defenders of the City, and I solemnly swear on my dear mother’s grave that your tower of folly shall never see the light of day! Gentlemen.” Garnier and his flock of “Defenders” walked, almost marching, down the road and past the door Jules peered from. Once the defenders had passed, Jules opened the door and went out into the street, hoping to find Eiffel. However, Eiffel was nowhere to be seen. Realizing that his mentor had left no assignment to take care of, Jules decided to take an early leave. He bolted the gate and left for the house 1213.

Chapter 4: Strife

Fifteen minutes later, Jules was walking through the front door of the townhouse. “Jules, what are you doing home so early? Is everything alright?” Jules heard his mother calling him from the drawing room. Whenever a family member entered her house, Jeanine D’Evereux knew about it. Solely from the opening of a door and the treading of a single footstep, Jeanine knew which member of the D’Evereux family was returning home.
“Yes, mother. Everything is quite alright. Mr. Eiffel won the contest to design the centerpiece of the centennial next year, and he took off in such a rush that he forgot to leave me anything to do.”
“I see. Marcel is in his room, Jules.” Jeanine knew exactly who the first person Jules wanted to talk to about the tower was.
“Thank you, mother,” Said Jules as he ascended the staircase to his brother’s room. He reached the top of the landing, turned left and entered the room. “Hallelujah, is it time for lunch yet? You seem rather early today.”
“Yes, Marcel, it is time for lunch. I made you some nice stewed rat!” said Jules, in a falsetto voice. “No, it’s me, Marcel.”
“Ah, brother of mine. Enter.”
Jules entered his brother’s room, still chuckling at his joke. The room was dim, and had pieces of machinery strewn about the floor. If one were to walk around Marcel’s room without keeping constant watch of their own feet, he or she would be liable to break a foot.
“I have fantastic news, Marcel. Remember Mr. Eiffel’s design for the centennial celebration? The great iron tower? Well, it has been selected! Isn’t that fantastic?”
Marcel sat at his desk, seeming to consider this information. “I suppose it will open a world of opportunity for you, brother. I’m very happy for you.” Jules couldn’t help but notice the cloaked chilliness in his brother’s voice. He continued regardless.
“Don’t be pleased for me, Marcel. Be pleased for your city! Be pleased for your country! The tower will symbolize the technological superiority of France and cement us as the greatest nation in the entire world!” Explaining the tower to his brother made Jules realize the enthusiasm that had been somewhat lacking before. “The tower is nothing short of brilliant!” There was no response from Marcel. “Brilliance!” Jules shouted, trying to convey his emotions to Marcel. Still, his brother remained silent, his eyes fixed on a collection of gears on his desk. This annoyed Jules slightly. “Brother, why do you remain silent? Are you morally opposed to brilliance?” Jules tried to make eye contact with his brother, but Marcel’s eyes were focused on the gears.
“I suppose, brother…” Marcel paused. “I suppose that…that I just can’t see the supposed brilliance in the tower. Please don’t misunderstand me; the tower is very technologically advanced and…well, impressive. However, I can’t…I fail to see any beauty in it whatsoever.” Marcel said this last sentence with conviction and finally met Jules’ eyes. Jules was stunned. All that Jules had wanted was for his brother to share his joy. Jules cared more about his brother’s opinion than the opinion of anyone else in the world, and here Marcel was, using the same rhetoric as Charles Garnier and his flock of “Defenders.” Finally, after a long pause, Jules spoke.
“Brother, I think that a rather foolish statement. Yes, in fact, I find your view quite foolish. There is more than one kind of beauty, my brother. The beauty of progress is more pertinent than ancient, stone relics that you would consider beautiful.” Jules was now saying to his brother what he had really wanted to say to Garnier.
“I knew you would misunderstand me,” replied Marcel, in a voice that was soft and somewhat strained with the effort of remaining calm. “What you describe as ‘beauty’ is simply not beautiful. Is there anything beautiful about the skeleton of a great smokestack looming over Paris? Industrial progress, while clearly pertinent, brother of mine, is not beauty. Believe me, brother, I get my hands dirty and strain my back with industrial progress every day. I feel that I am more qualified to speak on the matter than most. And is there any beauty in the exploitation of thousands of workers, working and living in abysmal conditions, for the sake of your beloved ‘progress’?!” By the final sentence, Marcel was standing completely erect and shouting. Jules was suddenly very aware of the fact that, while he was somewhat shorter than the average, Marcel was truly a mountain of a man.
“Marcel, please listen to me. I fear that you are mistaken. You simply do not understand…”
“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot understand!” Marcel roared. Just because you went farther in school than I did does not grant you permission to determine what I can and cannot understand. I understand things that you will never be able to see! Things that you have become blind to, things that people like Eiffel have blinded you to!” With that proclamation, Marcel stormed out of the room. Jules heard his brother barreling down the stairs, and the front door slam shut.
Jules wandered around the house aimlessly for an hour, but was not aware of it. He was in a deep state of reflection. What had just transpired was the first real fight he and Marcel had ever had. Fighting between siblings is normal, but Jules and Marcel had barely had any petty squabbles. Jules had of course been aware of the fact that his brother had left school two years ago, but the issue had never been brought to the forefront like this. While Jules was scholarly, he had been supportive of his brother’s decision. Jules had felt that Marcel had taken all that he ever could take from his education, and that he would be much happier working than studying at this point in his life. Marcel, with his impressive physical build, was naturally suited for construction, and at the tender age of eighteen had already become a foreman. In fact, he had been a foreman on Eiffel’s last construction project; a bridge near the northern border of France. On top of that, Marcel was a genius with anything mechanical. Why, a simple sweeping glance of his room could tell one as much. Marcel was happy with his life; why did he suddenly resent Jules for his education? It didn’t make any sense. An outburst like that was very out of character for Marcel. Also, Marcel had never shown any interest in the living conditions of the laboring class before. Jules figured that Marcel must have spoken to his mother about it. Jeanine had recently gone through a phase where she lobbied for worker’s rights, but it had fizzled as soon as she found something more scandalous in the newspapers. Maybe her passion had been rekindled, and she had influenced Marcel? And maybe, just maybe Marcel was right, at least partially. No, he mustn’t allow himself to think like that. Eiffel was right; Marcel was the one who was brainwashed.
Once he was again fully in control of his mind again, Marcel went to sit in his room. Soon after he went in, Marcel walked into the room without knocking. Before Jules could speak, Marcel cut him off. “Now before you say anything, I feel that I must explain myself further. I understand and respect the fact that you think you are doing Paris a great service in building this tower. However, you are quite mistaken. The tower is nothing but a monument to the monuments that the Bourbon kings made for themselves. In this regard, Eiffel is no different than them, and no better than them. Every time I see one of these…these travesties littering my city, I…I want to vomit my guts out in rage! However, with these monuments, I can at least avoid them most of the time. However, this tower will loom over all of Paris. Brother, I could not live if this tower were constructed. I have just seen Mr. Eiffel, and I will be working on the construction of the tower. The reason I’m doing this is to find the best way to end the tower. Good day, brother.” Marcel left as suddenly as he had entered, leaving his brother open mouthed and stunned. Jules sat on his bed for the rest of the day, pondering his own future and the world’s.

Chapter 5: Groundbreaking

It was now three months from the day that Eiffel and Garnier, as well as Jules and Marcel, had had their dramatic confrontations. Jules and Marcel’s relationship had not been destroyed, but it was understandably much icier than it had ever been. Garnier and Eiffel had continued to trade verbal assaults over the past three months. Garnier had just published in the newspaper Le Temps an official “Protest of the Tower on Monsieur Eiffel.” It was submitted as the ‘Artist’s Project’ from the Defenders of the City. Jules and Gustave Eiffel were on the top floor of a hotel a few blocks from the site of the tower’s construction that Eiffel had bought to oversee the construction. Jules was reading a section: “The proposed tower will be a “belfry skeleton” (Paul Verlaine), “a truly tragic street lamp” (Leon Bloy), “a half-built factory pipe, a carcass waiting to be fleshed out with freestone or brick, a funnel-shaped grill, a hole-riddled suppository” (Joris-Karl Huysmans), a “mast of iron gymnasium apparatus, incomplete, confused and deformed” (Francis Coppée).”
“Well, they are certainly eloquent, my boy, but you and I both know that their arguments hold no merit,” said Eiffel.
“Of course they hold no merit, sir. What would you expect from that lot? Jules’ fight with Marcel had just further convinced him that the tower was absolutely the right thing to do.”
“Of course, you’re right, my boy. Now that we are done with the article,” said Eiffel, throwing the newspaper into the fire, “I need you to do something for me. Deliver this,” said Eiffel, handing Jules a package, “to your brother. These are a few tools that he requested.”
“Yes, Mr. Eiffel. Right away.” Confronting his brother on the construction site was not something that Jules was looking forward to. But there was no escaping in, so Jules grabbed a hart hat and walked outside.
Construction of the tower had begun about fifty days previously. The work force was small for such a large project; about 175 men. More than 5,000 mechanical drawings depicting 18,000 different aspects of the tower had been drawn up, mainly by Eiffel and Jules, to eliminate any guesswork from the actual construction. Eiffel predicted that this incredibly detailed planning would allow him to finish the tower ahead of schedule and below budget. To this end, he was off to a good start. However, as Jules walked around the construction site looking for his brother, construction was definitely underway. There was heavy, black smog surrounding the perimeter. The construction process was infused with Eiffel's exceptional innovation from the very beginning. To install the riverside foundations, Eiffel used injected compressed air and watertight, metal caissons, which generally used in underwater construction. The workers could climb down into a caisson, an underground room, and work below the level of the Seine, using pickaxes to break up the soil that the caisson itself had loosened. As they removed the soil, the 34-ton caissons would sink deeper and break up more soil and rocks for the workers to remove. Once the digging was complete, the workers poured twenty feet of quick drying concrete into each hole to provide a base for each of the four foundations of the tower. This was necessary due to the soft earth near the Seine, where the centennial commission mandated the tower was to stand. For further stability, an iron base called a shoe was bolted to each stone. Here Eiffel added another innovative touch to his design, placing a piston in the hollow of each shoe, which could be moved by water released under pressure. The pistons, acting as hydraulic jacks, could raise or lower each of the sixteen caissons under the foundation piers, ensuring that the tower would be in perfect alignment. The foundation had recently been completed. Eiffel's construction plan called for each element of the tower to be formed separately at his factory in Levallois-Perret. Each of the more than 18,000 parts to be used to build the tower would be traced out to an accuracy of a tenth of a millimeter and then assembled in pieces measuring about five meters each and weighing no more than three tons. Eiffel’s ingenuity in the construction of the tower had fostered an entirely renewed reverence of his idol in Jules.
However, as he prowled the construction site, Jules didn’t see but a few lone workers. As he wondered where everyone else was, he saw a great crowd formed in the middle of the four legs of the tower, each standing approximately 10 feet by now. Wondering what the commotion could be, Jules headed for the crowd. There were about 100 men, all workers on the site, gathered in a circle. Jules pushed through the crowd to see what they were circled around. What he saw shocked him. There was a huge man in the middle of the circle, bare-chested, wearing a black hood like that of an executioner. For a few seconds, Jules was too stunned to listen to what the man was saying. When he finally listened, what he heard shocked him. “Yes, comrades, we must halt construction of this tower forever! We are destroying Paris! Destroying her! There is no other way to put it, I’m afraid. This tower of folly will make France the laughingstock of the entire world! Do you want the entire world to laugh at you? Spaniards, the British, even Americans? I can’t speak for you, but the thought of Spaniards and Americans laughing at us fills me with rage! Each of you, brothers, must take one of these pamphlets that I am holding and deliver it to one household within a mile of the construction site. We are going to organize the residents of the area to sue for a stop to the construction and to bring King Eiffel to his knees, brothers!”
Jules had heard enough. He ran all the way back to the hotel and found Eiffel. He told Eiffel exactly what he had just seen and heard.
“That’ll be Garnier up to his old tricks again. Sounds like he has a new defender. Garnier has warned me that he might try this. He is going to try and convince the residents around the construction site that the construction is dangerous in some way. My construction practices are the safest in the world, and Garnier knows this! I suppose I’d better warn the commission about these knew developments. Jules, take the rest of the day off. Also, give that package to your brother!” Jules realized that he had forgotten to deliver his brother’s package. Eiffel left, and Jules stayed behind for a short time to neaten the office. As he was organizing his desk, Jules looked out the window. He saw something rather surprising. The executioner was standing on the street, still hooded, talking to a man. With a shock, Jules realized that the man was none other than Charles Garnier. Jules rushed down the stairs, desperate to hear some of the conversation between Garnier and the mysterious executioner. Unfortunately, Garnier was gone by the time Jules reached the front door. Dejected, Jules went back upstairs to collect the package for his brother and go home. As he reached the top floor, Jules heard a pounding. He grabbed the package and headed back downstairs, and as he descended the stairs the pounding got louder. As he reached the bottom floor, Jules saw the door shaking with each pound. Suddenly, the pounding stopped. Jules opened the front door to find that one of the pamphlets that the executioner was handing out was nailed to the front door with a gigantic stake. The executioner was walking away. “Hey!” called Jules. The executioner stopped and turned around to face Jules. Jules wasn’t quite sure why he had made the executioner stop. “Why are you doing this?” asked Jules.
“Because I must,” was the man’s reply. With that, the executioner turned and walked away. Jules never told Marcel that he knew that he was the executioner, but Jules always felt that Marcel had known that he knew.

Chapter 6: Executed

Construction had now been going on for nine months. Once the executioner had shown up, Eiffel’s job had become much harder. The executioner had successfully organized a lawsuit by the residents of the area around the construction site, citing the danger of the construction, and building had to be halted for two months. Construction finally resumed when Jules convinced Eiffel to assume all liability if something went wrong. This was obviously a very risky proposition, but both Jules and Eiffel were sure that nothing would go wrong. After this agreement, construction continued, and thanks to Eiffel’s innovative techniques, everything was still on schedule. In the past few months, Jules’ role in the construction was becoming more and more pronounced, as Eiffel had other affairs to attend to. Occasionally, Jules was left as the highest in command for days at a time.
Jules had not yet confronted the executioner again. For his own sake, he was able to keep the character of the executioner and the person of his brother wholly separate in his mind. It had been nearly a year since the two brothers had their first falling out, and it appeared that their relationship would never fully heal. Jules and Marcel clearly had very different agendas.
Jules was walking back home to house number 1213. He had not enjoyed himself at all in the past few days, and he was looking forward to coming home. As a reward for the tower project coming along under budget and on schedule, Eiffel was invited to spend a few days at Versailles and brought Jules along. Versailles was like no place Jules had ever been before. It was extravagant to the point that Jules had trouble believing it was real. However, he had not enjoyed himself. Throughout his life, Jules had thought that his family was among the most affluent. Their house was the most beautiful that he had even been inside, including Eiffel’s. He had always been able to buy whatever he needed. But at dinner the first night at Versailles, he felt positively middle class. The people he met at Versailles were rich beyond Jules’ wildest dreams. Jules was embarrassed by this revelation, as well as by the way he felt before about his family’s affluence. As a result, he had spent most of the vacation in his room.
However, as Jules came up on his house, he saw a great commotion in front of the door. His heart skipped a beat. There were policemen taking notes, and his mother was talking to them. She was crying.
“Mother!” shouted Jules from fifty yards away. He sprinted to his mother.
“Hold it, son. This is a closed area!” a policeman grabbed Jules’ arms from behind.
“Let me go! This is my house! That’s my mother! Why is she crying?! Let me GO!” Jules could tell that something was terribly wrong. Where was his father? Where was Hallelujah? Where was Marcel?
“Philippe, that’s the other D’Evereux boy. Let him go,” said another policeman to the one that was holding Jules. Jules recognized this officer. He was the one who had helped his father when he was robbed on the street a few months ago. What was his name? David?
“David! What’s happened?” asked Jules.
“Mr. D’Evereux, it’s your brother. He’s…well…he’s dead.”
An eternity seemed to pass. Then, another one passed. Marcel was dead? Marcel wasn’t dead. It was somebody else. A simple case of mistaken identity. It happened all the time. How could Marcel be dead? Marcel was so young. No, he wasn’t dead. Jules’ mind continued in this cycle for God knows how long. When he regained feeling, he noticed his mother was hugging him, her head buried in his chest. How long she had been there, he couldn’t say. All of the sudden, like a sledgehammer, the finality of his brother’s death hit Jules. Marcel was dead. He was dead. How could this happen? How could it happen? “How could it HAPPEN?!” Jules screamed without realizing it.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. D’Evereux. He was down at the construction site. He was at the very top of the tower.” The tower, by this point, was well over three hundred feet tall. “We think he was showing off for his girlfriend. Somehow, he fell. That’s all we know. This must be so hard for you, what with your involvement in the tower.” The tower. The tower had claimed his brother’s life. Was it all his fault? Was he responsible for his brother’s death? No, he mustn’t think that way. He wasn’t responsible. Marcel was fooling around. But Marcel knew better. Marcel wasn’t one to show off. So how did it happen? Jules was still trying to figure out his role in all of this when he realized that he was sitting in his room, and it was dark. He had no idea what time it was, and he drifted into a mercifully deep sleep.

Chapter 7: Outreach

The funeral was as somber as would be expected from such a ceremony. Jules had not spoken a word since his brother died two days ago. He had not been to construction site, and was not sure if he would ever be able to do so again. Eiffel had spoken at the funeral, and Jules was unable to meet his gaze. It was now the post-funeral meet and greet. Jules was standing with his father, gazing at the floor, not paying the slightest bit of attention to anything but his own mind. Suddenly, he tuned into his father’s conversation and heard a voice that was vaguely familiar. It was his and extremely nasal. Jules looked up, and saw a face that was familiar and yet not. He thought for a second, trying to recover something from his old life. Ah yes, he remembered now. That man was one of the men from Garnier’s goose flock. One of the authors, Jules thought. But what did he want from his father? Jules wondered for a while, before he thought to just listen to the conversation. “But it killed your son! How can you still be for the construction of the tower?”
“I support the tower in memory of my son, and for the sake of my other son, Paul. It’s not all that complicated.”
“Yes, but can’t you see the folly, can’t you see the danger? Can’t you see…”
“Paul! That’s quite enough! The man is in grieving, can’t you see that! His son is dead! Now is not the time to bombard him with anti-tower propaganda. I only sent you over here to deliver the note to the younger D’Evereux, and you have failed me. Please leave.” Charles Garnier’s face was red with anger. How interesting that Garnier would be mad at somebody for promoting his own agenda, thought Jules. Paul handed a note to Jules. Garnier began to speak, “I’m terribly sorry about my insensitive friend. Jules, I just want you to read the note and keep an open mind. I just want you to…” Jules walked away. Garnier reminded Jules of Marcel, which filled him with dread. Jules considered tearing up the note and burning it, but instead he went up to his room and decided to read it after all. It was a short message in neat print:
     Jules, I want to reach out to you in your time of need. I’m sure you can’t know this, but Marcel was like a son to me. I want to      meet you to talk tomorrow, at twelve noon. We have much to discuss regarding the death of your brother. Meet me at the      café on Piedmont and rue de Louis. Come alone. If you won’t come for me, do it for Marcel.
           -Charles Garnier
Jules was intrigued by the note. What could Garnier know about Marcel’s death? What information could he get from Garnier? If nothing else, it was curiosity that made Jules go to that café.
The next day, at twelve noon, Jules walked into the café. Garnier was already there, sitting at a table near the front.
“Jules D’Evereux. If your brother were smaller with a more pronounced nose, he would be your doppelganger.
“Garnier, what did you bring me here to tell me,” asked Jules. He wanted to get down to business.
“Ah, a man who wants to get straight to the point. And to the point we shall get immediately. Well, Jules, I loved Marcel like a son. As you were probably aware, as you appear to be a diligent boy, Marcel was working with me to be rid of the tower. We made progress, but there is no stopping the tower. It will be completed on time. Well, the thing I came here to tell you, then. I have reason to believe that…well…Marcel’s death was not an accident. I will tell you that point blank. He was no fool; he would not be ‘showing off for his girlfriend,’ as the police are saying. There is no easy way to say this, as I believe that you are fond of the man. Well…I believe that Eiffel is involved in your brother’s death. In fact, I think that he ordered your brother killed.”
“No!” Jules yelled. “No, that’s not possible. That’s really impossible, sir. It can’t be. You just want to turn me against Eiffel so the tower won’t be built.”
“Jules, do you want all of France to hear you? Listen to me. The tower will be built. The government is in Eiffel’s pocket, there is nothing I can do anymore. It’s out of my hands. Listen; I want you to ask Eiffel about the Panama Canal.”
“What about the Panama canal?”
“Very well then, I suppose its story time. Well, Jules, about seven years ago, your hero was chosen to design the locks for the Panama Canal project. Eiffel was already renowned; he was the perfect choice for the project. But something went wrong. I don’t know exactly what it was. I wasn’t there at the time, obviously. But something went wrong, and your idol was indicted for fraud. I bet he didn’t tell you that little bit, did he? He was indicted for fraud, and convicted, too. He was fined 2000 Francs and sentenced to two years in jail. But then something happened. For some reason, his partner took the fall for him. I really don’t know why it happened. His business partner took the fall, and he is still in jail. He is in jail, while your hero is free to destroy another project. Jules trust me. Just ask him about the Panama Canal.”
“I…I think that you…” Jules was not sure what to think. “I have to go.” Jules left the café and went home. It would be four days before he went back to work. Jules had to be sure of what he was going to do before he could go back.

Chapter 8: Enlightenment

“Jules, I’m very glad that you have returned to me.” Eiffel was talking to Jules, who was at work for the first time in a week. It was four days since his meeting with Garnier. Jules had decided, after much deliberation, that he would not ask about the Panama Canal. He trusted Eiffel more than Garnier. “I thought that you had left me forever and joined Garnier, my boy!” said Eiffel with a big smile. “Anyway, we have much work to do. And he was right. The tower was about half done. It was about 400 feet tall by now. As usual, it was under budget and ahead of schedule.
“No, I haven’t joined Garnier at all. Don’t even joke like that.”
“Fair enough, my boy, fair enough. But you know who I haven’t seen around all week? I haven’t seen our favorite executioner. Maybe he has given up. Or maybe the executioner has been executed?” Jules did a double take when he heard Garnier say this. Suddenly, and Jules could never fully explain why, he was filled with an uncontrollable rage. How dare Eiffel say something like that! The executioner was his brother! In death, they had finally become the same person. Jules wanted to hurt Eiffel. He wanted to kill him. He stood their and stewed for a while. Eiffel had gone into his office. Suddenly, Jules realized that he had a weapon. He ran to the office door and kicked it open. “Tell me! Tell me about the Panama Canal! Tell me right now, Eiffel!” Jules was surprised at the pitch and force of his own voice. Eiffel was silent, staring straight at Jules. When he spoke, his voice was even and calm.
“Jules, you are suspended. Indefinitely. Without pay. Please leave immediately.”
Jules just stood there for a few seconds.
“Jules, please leave.”
Jules stood there. “Gustave, I challenge you to a duel. At sundown.”
Now Gustave was the silent one. He sat for a few seconds, and suddenly reared his head back and let out a high pitched noise that Jules realized was laughter. Jules had never heard Eiffel laugh before. “No, no, my boy, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. No, I haven’t had to shoot a young man in many years. Young men aren’t as rash as they used to be. The Panama Canal, you say? You want me to tell you the truth?”
“Tell me, Eiffel. Please tell me.” Jules had never heard Eiffel talk like this. Quite frankly, it scared him.
“Alright my boy, what would you like to know? I suppose I owe it to you, don’t I.”
Now Eiffel’s voice was back to normal. Jules didn’t know what to ask. When he spoke, he was much more eloquent than he expected himself to be. “Well, Eiffel, why did you do it? I will not bother to ask if you are guilty, as I have come to the conclusion that you definitely are. So, I want to know why.”
“Why?” Suddenly, Eiffel sounded melancholy. “Why? I can’t say why, boy. I suppose I…well, I don’t know. I just didn’t respect these people at all. Their plan was full of folly. Yes, Jules, I embezzled those funds. I stole the money. Now believe me, my intentions on this tower are pure. I would never try something like that in France. I love my country. It’s just…I thought I could profit more in another country. I overcharged them for everything and kept the difference. Given another chance…I regret what I did.” Jules saw a single tear drop down his mentor’s face.
“Eiffel…Gustave…did you kill my brother?” Eiffel’s face set. He was silent. “Did you kill my brother?” Still no answer. Jules realized that Eiffel was not going to answer. “Goodbye, Gustave.” Jules left the office and slammed the door. He knew what he had to do. He went to the middle of the construction site, and started shouting. “Stop the construction! Strike! Go on strike now! You’re on strike!” Jules continued shouting in this manner for a full hour. Eiffel never tried to stop him. The ensuing worker’s strike started the next day and lasted for five months.

Chapter 9: Hallelujah

Jules was drunk. He had been drunk for about 36 hours. Or was it a millennium. Jules really had no idea. He had been wandering around Paris for the entirety, dispensing his wisdom around to the people. He wasn’t crazy, he was just a little crazy, and with good cause. His brother was dead. His idol, the man whom he had always looked up to and aspired to be, was a fraud and a crook. He had just sabotaged the project that was to have made his name. Jules’ vision was blurred. He had no sense of space or time whatsoever. He was walking, and suddenly, he wasn’t walking anymore. He had fallen down on his face. As he pulled himself to his feet, he looked up and saw a figure drenched in light. It was a woman. She was calling his name. Her voice sounded 2,000 light years away. “Jules! Jules…Jules…” He was on his feet. He peered through the fog of his own failure. Hallelujah! The figure was Hallelujah, his family’s maid. It seemed like an eternity since he had secretly harbored an infatuation with her. How long ago was it? Was it only a year? Hallelujah led him by the arm to a bench. Jules realized he was sitting on a bench in the shadow of the Arc de Triomphe. Suddenly, everything was in perspective. He had a crazy idea.
“Master D’Evereux, what has happened? Are you all right?” asked Hallelujah.
“I’m fine; I’ve just had a bit too much to drink. And I’ve told you, you must call me Jules. ‘Master D’Evereux’ is not acceptable.”
“I’m sorry, Jules. You are never home anymore; I forget my place with you sometimes.”
“Your place with me? Your place with me. Hallelujah, I have a crazy idea. Let’s get married. Yes, we must get married right away.” There was finality in Jules voice.
“Jules, I’m terribly flattered. But…”
“And don’t tell me all the reasons against it. It doesn’t matter. I’m disgraced. I can’t sink any lower. We could run off to Spain. Start a beautiful family. We could have children, and a dog, and live on a house on the beach. We could die happy. Don’t you see?”
Hallelujah paused. “That’s very flattering, Jules. It all sounds very nice. However, it could never be. I’m married.”
Jules was silent. In the past forty-five seconds, Jules had fallen in love with and lost the love of his life. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have not known that she was married?
“Jules? Jules, let’s go home. Please?”
“Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.” Jules watched the only woman he had ever loved walk through the Arc de Triomphe and disappear from sight. He sat there for a while. On that bench, in the shadow of the Arc, Jules D’Evereux relived his entire life in his mind. He sat throughout the night, unmoving. The next morning, Jules D’Evereux went down to the train station, boarded a 7:22 train and was never heard from by his family again.

Epilogue

After spending a year in Spain, Jules D’Evereux moved to America. He was already fluent in English, and once he reached New York, he became a successful union leader. Jules was a working man’s champion for many years. In 1923, he was arrested for conspiracy to commit terrorism. He was indicted in a plot to blow up the Statue of Liberty. The inside of the Statue of Liberty was designed by the great French engineer Gustave Eiffel. Jules is put on trial and eventually convicted and sentenced to life in prison. The day after he started this sentence, he was mysteriously cleared of all charges. Jules was off the hook. On Christmas day, 1923, a day after he was released, Jules received a telegram from Paris, France. The telegraph simply said “my debt has been repaid.” On December 28, 1923, the famous engineer Gustave Eiffel was dead at age 91.

Go home, before it's too late...