always had for me a strong attraction. My memory goes back to the
earlier years of their existence, and I can well remember many of the
old surroundings which have now disappeared. I can recollect the last
vestiges of the antique _piliers_, built by Francis I, facing the Rue de
la Tonnellerie. Paul Niquet's, with its "bowel-twisting brandy" and
its crew of drunken ragpickers, was certainly before my time; but I can
readily recall Baratte's and Bordier's and all the folly and prodigality
which raged there; I knew, too, several of the noted thieves' haunts
which took the place of Niquet's, and which one was careful never to
enter without due precaution. And then, when the German armies were
beleaguering Paris, and two millions of people were shut off from the
world, I often strolled to the Halles to view their strangely altered
aspect. The fish pavilion, of which M. Zola has so much to say, was bare
and deserted. The railway drays, laden with the comestible treasures of
the ocean, no longer thundered through the covered ways. At the most one
found an auction going on in one or another corner, and a few Seine eels
or gudgeons fetching wellnigh their weight in gold. Then, in the butter
and cheese pavilions, one could only procure some nauseous melted fat,
while in the meat department horse and mule and donkey took the place
of beef and veal and mutton. Mule and donkey were very scarce, and
commanded high prices, but both were of better flavour than horse; mule,
indeed, being quite a delicacy. I also well remember a stall at which
dog was sold, and, hunger knowing no law, I once purchased, cooked,
and ate a couple of canine cutlets which cost me two francs apiece. The
flesh was pinky and very tender, yet I would not willingly make such a
repast again. However, peace and plenty at last came round once more,
the Halles regained their old-time aspect, and in the years which
followed I more than once saw the dawn rise slowly over the mounds of
cabbages, carrots, leeks, and pumpkins, even as M. Zola describes in the
following pages. He has, I think, depicted with remarkable accuracy and
artistic skill the many varying effects of colour that are produced
as the climbing sun casts its early beams on the giant larder and its
masses of food--effects of colour which, to quote a famous saying of the
first Napoleon, show that "the markets of Paris are the Louvre of the
people" in more senses than one.

The reader will bear in mind that t