Art and then More Art

Bon Jour, mes amies.
It's Sunday or as we French say, Dimanche, and I thought it might be nice to have a comparatively easy day.  Shall we start with petite dejuener?  I had croissant, and the French would be horrified by the tea and butter.  Here's how to do it properly.  Have cafe au lait. Take the baguette and dip it in the coffee.  Eat the bread.  Rinse and repeat.  You might also have Venoiserie or a sweet bread like pain au chocolate or a sweet pastry with raisins or other fruit.  I don't like sugar at breakfast--so--not French.
Since it is Sunday I got a latish start.  I began the day by visiting the atm and Mouffetard. I will discuss the purchase later.  After delivering it back home I took the metro having to change to get to Trinite near Monmartre.  No, I am not going to Tourist Trap (of the most unpleasant sort) Monmartre, and this after admitting I love movie Amelie.  Instead I was stalking one of my favorite artists.
This dude, Gustave Moreau, whom you like so much and whose home and studio have been turned into a museum. What's the deal?
He's a late nineteenth century artist classified as a symbolist.  He loved classical and biblical imagery, and I love art that tells a story.  Much of his work is powerful and some is beautiful.  Most is in a sort of Post Impressionist style.  My favorite of his and one of my favorites overall is called Jupiter and Semele.  Googling it won't help that much.  This is a work one must see in person to appreciate.  Now I do not grasp Moreau's personal symbolism, but I do admire the brilliant use of color and the skill and detail he put into this--rather uncharacteristic work.
I wasn't arted out, so I went to the Louvre.  Ha ha!  Naughty Pil gloating over the chumps in a line rivaling or surpassing Versailles.  I didn't have to wait at all.  I sailed in.
Yes, it was crowded especially in the popular galleries for the Major Works.  I escaped to see the Etruscans and early Greek statuary.  I won't detail all I saw, but I covered a lot of ground and occasionally ended up in cooler and less crowded parts of the museum.
On my way to catch the metro home I saw a bewildered looking woman.  Instinct prompted me to ask, "Do you need help Madame?"  She admitted she did, and it was easy to fix.  She did not know where to get her train, and I had just walked by the place.  It feels good to help out fellow travelers, and I have certainly benefited from the kind impulses of strangers.  So pay back.
This morning I hit one of the fancy cheese shops on Rue Mouffetard and bought some goat cheese called Valencay.  Now I like goat cheese, but I got this sort for a typically sappy and Pilish historical reason.  Valencay is the name of an estate owned by one of the most intriguing figures in French History, the Prince de Tallyrand, and I mean this guy knew how to survive and thrive as well as wheel and deal.  The cheese has a grayish rind and is in the shape of a pyramid with its point lopped off.  Considering what I paid for a piece of it, it had better be the best goat cheese ever.  Shall we taste?
What's the verdict, Pil?
Nice.  Interesting.  A mild but complex cheesey taste.  I still like Rocamador better, but I don't regret this purchase at all.
A demain