Trafika Europe 14 - Italian Piazza

The Animal Gazer

who wi l l nevertheless be free . . . with exclusive rights . . .” etc. , etc. But the foundry had been closed for months. The ovens were extinguished, ovens whose mouths had issued masterpieces that earned Hébrard comparisons to the master founders of the Renaissance, works that some had compared to the bronzes buried beneath the ashes of Pompei i . Even the doors to the gal lery, whose windows looked onto Rue Royale, were barred. The rooms deserted and empty. The only thing left in the off ices was a desk, behind which Bugatti found Hébrard, seated. “ Times are tough,” Hébrard told him. “War destroys art. Did you hear of my father ’s death? Do you feel l ike having a bite to eat?” he asked. Not far from Rue Royale there was a brasserie. It was a modest place, but with a couple of inside rooms where you could have a meal without running the risk of being disturbed. Bugatti and Hébrard headed in that direction. “What wi l l you have?” asked Hébrard. “I think I ’ l l have the leg of lamb,” answered Rembrandt, after taking a quick glance at the menu. “I thought you were a vegetarian. Didn’t you used to say it was deplorable, shameful , to ki l l animals so we could gorge on their f lesh and blood?” “You’re confusing me with Troubetzkoy,” was Bugatti ’s curt reply. “Anyway,” Hébrard went on, “no one is interested in

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