Whatever Parisians thought of the Eiffel Tower, seventy-two names were engraved upon it, just as seventy-two people were buried in the Pantheon. Yet not a single writer was among the seventy-two names on the Eiffel Tower; they were all engineers, mathematicians, and chemists.
Writers were already bathed in garlands of glory while alive. There were roads named Victor Hugo and even hot-air balloons named after Victor Hugo. By comparison, science and engineering drew far less public attention.
Prussia's rapid rise taught the world a lesson: literature clearly could not forge cannons, nor could it extend the range of artillery shells. After its brief golden age in the nineteenth century, literary creation began to decline once more, replaced by the more "practical" sciences and engineering. The Nobel Prize in Literature was merely an ornament; what people truly cared about were the winners in fields such as physics and mathematics.
Did standing higher really bring one closer to heaven?
Neither telescopes on the ground nor artificial satellites in space had found any trace of heaven. Babylon built the Tower of Babel to reach heaven, so what use was there in standing high?
When people in France built the Eiffel Tower in 1880, it was not merely for the World Exposition. It was also to prove to the world that France had recovered its national strength after the Franco-Prussian War. Looking down from that lofty vantage point, one could see a brand-new city, with no sign of the scars war had once left behind.
Yet Victor Hugo's diary recorded what happened during the siege:
November 27, 1870. The French Academy had resumed its work. I received notice that special meetings would henceforth be held every Tuesday.
People were making rat pies. They were said to be delicious.
One onion cost one sou, and