Folding the Parasols of Paris

Emile Zola described Les Halles as "the belly of Paris," and nobody ever coined a better phrase for the sprawling wholesale market on the Right Bank where for 800 years have flowed the meat, fowl, vegetables, dairy products, herbs, roots, fish, cheese and even flowers necessary to sustain a city of gourmets. Sadly, Paris inevitably outgrew its inefficient and costly belly; two years ago, most operations were moved to a shiny new complex at Rungis near Orly Airport. That move left the problem of what to do with a dozen huge cast-iron-and-glass pavilions that made up the heart of the market and dated back a century to the Second Empire.

Last week, after a ten-hour debate that ended at 2 a.m., the Paris city council finally voted for a renovation program that will mean the destruction of the graceful pavilions, along with adjacent shops and warehouses; all together, 40 valuable acres between the Louvre and the ancient, aristocratic Marais district are scheduled for "renewal." In other days, politicians working so late and so earnestly would have restored themselves at one of the inestimable restaurants on the edge of Les Halles with onion soup and a glass of wine.

More Than a Market. In the earlier battle of Les Halles, leading up to the 1969 demarche to Rungis, disagreement centered on a social tradition. Les Halles, after all, had become far more than a market. From midnight to dawn it was the heart of Paris as well as the belly, as farmers trundled in with their bounty, chefs and grocers arrived to buy it, and prostitutes and pickpockets merged for different kinds of commerce. Such restaurants as Au Pied de Cochon, Le Pere Tranquille and Au Chien Qui Fume lured socialites in white ties as well as butchers in blood-spattered white smocks, often as the sun was rising. Left Bank intellectuals, statesmen, artists and American expatriates like Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald were all habitues of Les Halles' all-night eating places.

The current battle over destruction of the pavilions involved aesthetics rather than traditions. This time the conservationists were interested in saving what they consider to be the city's prime example of exquisite early ironwork. Les Halles were designed by Architect Victor Baltard, working with Baron Georges Eugene Haussmann, the city planner who created much of modern Paris. Baltard's first pavilion, shaped in stone, was so gross that Napoleon III personally ordered it torn down. The Emperor told Haussmann: "I want big umbrellas. Nothing more." The baron told Baltard to try iron, and this time he caught the spirit. The grace of what marketmen ever afterward called their "parasols" has enchanted generations of Frenchmen.

Center of Culture. Beyond the architectural controversy, there was another facet to the debate. When the fishmongers and vegetable sellers moved out of Les Halles, artists and entrepreneurs moved in, offering everything from avant-garde theater and Marxist book shows to pop concerts, films, art exhibits, puppet shows and flea markets. The fish pavilion has become, of all things, a roller rink. In all, 2,000,000 people have visited the transformed market.

But a majority of the city councilors, mainly Gaullists, disliked the new marketeers, who were mostly young, mostly intellectual and mostly leftwing. Besides, the council already had plans for the area. By 1978 the site will be filled with modern monoliths--a more formal cultural center, a trade center, a hotel, and a Metro station, at an estimated cost of $80 million. One-quarter of the acreage will become a park to set off 16th century St.-Eustache, scene of Moliere's baptism and Mirabeau's funeral (when the church was temporarily a revolutionary "temple of agriculture") and where butchers once hung sides of mutton along the exterior wall. President Georges Pompidou will undoubtedly approve the council decision. A museum of contemporary art planned for the renewed area happens to be a pet Pompidou project.

Bulldozing Begins. The councilmen's raison was that a growing city like Paris must find workable compromises between nostalgia and practicality. But the conservationists had a particularly strong point. Already the quais along the Seine are disappearing behind riverfront expressways; part of the Tuileries Gardens are to be dug up for an underground telephone exchange; and the skyline of Montparnasse has been scarred by high-rises. Next week, the bulldozing of Les Halles is scheduled to begin, and the city intends to keep riot police on guard to prevent squatters from impeding the wreckers. Unless there is an unforeseen reprieve, Paris will sacrifice another of its 19th century accomplishments for 20th century expedience.

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