The record-union., 1894-03-08
ROSA BONHBUR AND HER WORK.
The Story of Pet Lion Which Died IN
the Painters Arms

the Painters Arms.
If anyone wishes to see the greatest fe-
male artist the world has ever produced,
he must go TO town near Fontainebleau
called Moret, hire carriage, and drive to
the little village of Dy, writes the daugh-
ter Of the late Lucy Hooper in her regu-
lar Paris letter to the Philadelphia 1eGe-
graph. There he will find a handsome
brick dwelling picked out with white
stone, and, unless he has brought some
powerful influence to bear, that is all he
will ever see. as the great painter is pitt
less misogynlst, or rather is so absorbed
in her work that she dislikeS any inter-
ruptIon to it. However, if the powerful
influence is brought to bear, you are
taken across the garden to an enormous
studio, key is turned twice and the door
flung wide, and Rosa BOnheur faces you.
She is 10 years old, but as straight as
dart, and her eyes sparkle darkly under
the shortcut waves of her snoW-White
hair, which she wears pushed back from
her broad brow. She invariably wears
male attire, ever since, as girl OF IL, she
went TO the slaughter house to make
studies of the decapitated heads of de-
funct sheep. Her working dress is the
ordinary attire OF a male peasant, save
that the blue blouse is stained over the
heart by the tiny scarlet flash of the rib
bon of the Legion of Honor. The En-
press Eugene bestowed that decoration
with her own hands, having previously
sent an emissary to ascertain If the abrupt
daughter Of tercely Republican father
would condescend to accept from the
Imperial Government the greatest honor
which was in its power to bestoW, and
one which not dozen women have ever
earned.
AS Rosa Bonheur showed herself
amenable, the little village OF Bay was
started by the sight of the well-knoWn
.green-and-gold imperial liveries, and the
Empress, then in the full flash OF her
beauty and success, entered The studio,
saying to the great artist: "Madamoiselle,
| bring you this cross, asking the privi-
lege of pinning it on with my own hands,
and of kissing the woman who is glory
to our SEX" There were no difficulties
in the way of the kiss, but the pin was
problem. None we're to be found in the
artists studio, and finally the Empress
borrowed one from her maid of honor,
the ceremony was accomplished, and the
brilliant vision swept away, leaving the
artist to the passion thar little by little
has absorbed her entire life - namely,
work. She will bring forth piles Of
sketches studies and unfinished pictures,
with the smiling remark that they repre-
sent her amusementS. Like ali true peo-
pie of genius, sue adores production.
Unlike other celebrities, she is inditler-
ent to praise. The alteration that was the
Joy Of Victor Hugo's life would bore this
woman to extinction. She pointed out
what she called her American picture, a
charge of mustangs over the prairie.
Buffalo Bill had presented her with her
mustangs, and she in turn presented him
with his own portrait, painted by her
small but vigorous hand. Rosa BOnheur
loves the animals she paints, and is III
turn adored by them. she showed her
recent purchase, q magnificent lion, who
purred and writhed like a gigantic cat
when his owner tearlessly stroked his
mighty head. Then, showing the head
OF most superb specimen Of the African
lion transferred to canvass with startling
realism, she tells the story Of Nero. lie
was her first pet lion, and was reputed
untamably ferocious, and lived for sew
eral years in the garden at by. AT last,
one day Rose Bonheur was about to
travel, and disposed of Leo to the Jardin
des Plantes. She parted with him re-
luctantly, for he was great pet, and
would greet her always with peculiar
little note OF welcome.
When she returned from her wander
ings two years later she went to see her
Nero, and beheld sad sight. The poor
creature had not been so carefully tended
as he was used to be at BY. Ophthalmia
had set in and the splendid brute lay
DlInd ana allIng, unneod1ng Lne curious
crowd that stared at him. Rosa Bonheur
watched him for moment and then
called "Nerov' The effect was magical.
The lion rose to his feet, uttered his ac-
customed note Of welcome, and sprang
toward the well-loved voice with such
impetuosity that the shock against the
bars sent the sightless brute rolling back
on the floor. The great artist took him
back. soothed his last days with tender
ness and petting, and finally he died III
her arms at the foot OF the staircase at
By, his huge paws clinging to his
mistress as ii imploring her not TO forsake
him in his death struggle. and his last
movement being feeble attempt TO lick
the hands that held him with such in
finite tenderness. You see," said Rosa
Bonheur as she medtativelv ruffled her
new lions name, ''to be really beloved
by wild beasts you must really love
them" She is a very cherry woman,
extremely-and some people would say
unduly-tree of speech; but she is a
lesson to the seething discomfort Of our
fin de steele days. She is wholly self
sutficing, and most happy in the fact.
Her one recreation is to change her work
from oils to water-color or pastel; her
evening amusement, reading. She goes
nowhere, she sees no one, and lives the
life OF a recluse with her animals and her
work.