Macron says booksellers can stay put during the Olympics

Books with gold leaf and engravings, 200-year-old leather-bound books, books so rare and precious that they are carefully wrapped in cellophane before being put into place in an antique wooden box on the stone bank of the Seine for students, intellectuals, power brokers and tourists to browse.

For centuries, the wooden bookstalls have been a fixture in the heart of Paris, and when the city's police ordered them closed during this summer's Olympic Games, citing security concerns, there was an uproar. Now President Emmanuel Macron has intervened.

In a decision that echoed across the city this week, Mr Maron deemed the booksellers “a living heritage of the capital” and said they could stay.

The relief was palpable, not only among the bouquinistes, who had threatened legal action and barricades for their stalls, but also among the cultured, romantic and intellectual Parisians, some of whom signed contracts. opinion column in defense of the booksellers in Le Monde last August. It started with a quote from Albert Camus: “Everything that degrades culture shortens the paths that lead to service.”

“The Seine, our most important river, flows between rows of books,” said Alexandre Jardin, a French writer who was among those who signed the column. 'If you think that the bouquinistes are only booksellers, you don't understand anything. They speak of Paris's identity and its deep ties to literature. Paris is a city born from the dreams of writers.”

The decision to remove a living symbol of Paris from the geographical heart and soul of the country, just as France welcomed the entire world for the Olympic Games, was so absurd that it clearly emerged from bureaucrats – “the enemies of poetry,” Mr. Jardin said. It was only natural, he said, that Mr Macron had put things right, he said.

Hawkers have been selling second-hand books from wooden carts and tables along the river since the 17th century. In 1859, Napoleon III authorized the bookstalls, which despite their popularity with the city's writers and intellectuals, were in danger of being removed, making them permanent.

Since then, the roughly 230 open-air booksellers have created Europe's largest open-air book market, packing their finds into more than 930 boxes along some three kilometers of the Seine.

The dark green stalls, packed with literary treasures that are often centuries old themselves, have become a symbol of two favorite Parisian pastimes: 'flâner', or walking without a specific purpose, and reading. They are led by money-indifferent philosophers, treasure hunters and purveyors of literary taste, a great force in a country where many politicians aspire not only to attain office but also to publish a book as a testament to their intellectual prowess.

“The bouquinistes have existed for 450 years only in Paris – outdoors, open every day of the week, from January 1 to December 31. There is no other city that could claim to have this,” said Jérôme Callais, the president of the Cultural Association of Bouquinistes and himself a bookseller who counts Steven Spielberg among his former customers; Fernando Henrique Cardoso, the former Brazilian president; and a handful of French presidents, including Jacques Chirac and, if you must know, François Hollande. (Mr. Callais was not a fan.)

Paris police informed the bouquinistes last summer that about 570 of their boxes would be transported need to be moved because of the Games and, more specifically, the opening ceremony, which is about to unfold along the Seine in a fleet of boats. The boxes were considered a security risk.

There were petitions launched quickly and full of names. The bouquinistes gathered their troops and their lawyers and vowed to fight in the courts and on the streets. For months they met with representatives of the police and city hall, but no concession was acceptable to them: moving the centuries-old boxes would mean their destruction, they said.

Last October, Sylvie Mathias was at the stall where she had tended the Quai des Grands-Augustins for more than 20 years when she saw Mr Macron passing by on foot, a mobile phone pressed to his ear, as security guards followed behind him. He had just come back from the funeral of a teacher stabbed to death by a radicalized former student in the northern city of Arras.

Ms Mathias spoke to the President and asked him directly: would he take away their boxes?

“No. We won't take your boxes,” he replied, smiling. “And you will participate in the ceremony somehow.”

Four months later, the bouquinistes have canceled their lawyers and are planning a victory celebration — but not until the fall, after the Olympics are over, Mr. Callais said.

Since the idea for the opening ceremony was announced, the number of ticketed spectators allowed to attend has been repeatedly reduced due to safety concerns.

Gérald Darmanin, the Minister of the Interior, estimated it at about 300,000 people last month, with 100,000 spectators on a lower bank, close to the water, and another 200,000 on a higher bank, near the bouquiniste boxes. The president's announcement will likely impact that number.

Even with their victory, many bouquinistes remained deeply ambivalent about whether they would run their stalls during the Games. Visions of crowded subways and gridlocked restaurants are causing many Parisians to declare their intention to flee the city.

“I'm not sure yet. On paper it's a nice idea, but I'm not sure how it will all work,” said Ms. Mathias, 61, as she stood up from a folding wooden chair placed between her row of boxes and the stood next, so that she had a clear view of the flowing water of the Seine. “If there are too many people, it is not possible to stay open.”

Mr Callais said the whole fight had left a bad taste in his mouth, but that the president's announcement had lightened his mood.

“I might be there,” he said. “We shall see.”