Chapter 3 – The Wrestling Dogs of Montmartre
This is the view today from the iron fence at the edge of the Place du Tertre, looking toward the Eiffel Tower. The tower was still 15 or so years away in 1873, when Lucien and Pere Lessard were looking out over Paris, but I didn’t have a picture from Montemartre looking toward the Louvre. Oops. I didn’t know I was going to write the scene when I was there.
“He was a bald, hawk-nosed Jew with a wild, graying beard and fringe; a theorist and anarchist who spoke French with a lilting Caribbean accent, he could argue fiercely in the bakery or café with his artist friends one minute, then give his last sou to them for bread, coal, and color the next.” Self-Portrait, Camille Pissarro, 1885
Lucien watched his father watch the sunrise break the horizon, turning the river Seine into a bright copper-colored ribbon across Paris.
I actually don’t remember if I took this in the morning or the evening, but let’s say it’s morning.
She couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, a delicate thing in a white dress with puffy sleeves and great ultramarine bows all down its front and at the cuffs.