IN

N the year 1820 there was a young artist of the name of Raymond Bonheur, residing at Bordeaux. He had little wealth to boast of, but possessed much talent, and was a universal favourite. Rumour spoke of him as certain to arrive at distinction if he only worked hard, and remained for many years single, for it is well known that in pursuit of fame the married man has not by any means so good a chance as the unmarried. But it so happened, that Raymond Bonheur, in order to eke out his scanty income, gave lessons in drawing. One of his pupils was a charming young lady, and with her he fell in love. It was quite a natural proceeding, and we are not to be surprised that the pupil reciprocated this attachment. The two were married in 1820.

The bride's father did not approve of the match : such a romantic affair was not all, he thought, in harmony with the commercial traditions of a great trading port like Bordeaux. He refused to give the young people any assistance, and their only hopes of happiness and prosperity depended on their mutual love and industry. She was a brave woman, Madame Bonheur; indeed, she strikes us as much better fitted for encountering the difficulties of the world than her husband. She regretted her father's coldness, but felt that with him she loved by her side, poverty would be no great hardship.

On the 25th of March, 1822, their first-born child came into the world. She was called Rosalie, but more commonly is known as Rosa, and in her we find the subject of the present memoir.

A few years elapsed and the family of Raymond Bonheur increased; in consequence a larger income was needed, and it seemed as if it were not to be obtained at Bordeaux. He turned his eyes towards Paris, the paradise of youthful ambition, and, when his daughter Rosa was four years old, the whole household removed to the capital.

Then began a struggle for existence. It was a time when the public taste was not in favour of art, and when it was better to be a workman than a Michael Angelo. Want not only looked in at the window but often stalked into the home of the Bonheurs. The father's paintings stood with their faces to the wall, unsold; and the mother was thankful to give occasional lessons at a cheap rate on the piano. The years 1829 and 1830 were especially a difficult time; even the music lessons failed then. The trials, the privations even, that the tender mother endured on behalf of those she loved, will never be known. At last, however, the storm blew over, and for awhile the artist's family enjoyed comparative prosperity.

Rosa Bonheur had thus a hard life of it in her youth; like many another fair flower she was planted in the soil of poverty. It has been often said that as a child she showed signs of genius. But this is only one of those exaggerated statements which biographers delight to indulge in. The fact is that, to speak about her in her tenth year, she was nothing but a good little girl, with a lively disposition, frank in manner, and a great deal fonder of dabbling in the clay of the atelier, and making small figures of it, than of opening a lesson book. She was of a generous turn of mind, and the most noticeable thing about her was that she was very independent.

A misfortune worse than want befel the Bonheur household in August, 1833. The noble wife who had sustained her husband so well in the hour of adversity, died. May the tears which water our graves be as sincere as those which were shed over hers! Raymond Bonheur was now left a widower with four children. As the four were all too young to be without some kind of superintending care, the father gave them in charge to a nurse in the Champs Elysées.

This was an interesting period in Rosa's early life. Nurse Catherine sent her, her two brothers, and her sister Juliette, to school, for she was a woman of the drummajor sort, who had no idea of allowing children to idle away their time. But school was not to Rosa's taste. She escaped from it when she could, and used to saunter about the green avenues of the Bois de Boulogne and see the horses exercised, to the dismay and in spite of the expostulations of nurse Catherine. Two years passed thus; they were years of delicious stolen idleness, in which girlhood revelled in the independence of nature.

At the end of that time the father got his two boys placed at a school at which he gave lessons in drawing; his salary as master going to pay for their education. As for Rosa it was a difficult thing to know what to do with her. Some one suggested that she should be placed with a sempstress, and that suggestion was acted upon. But a worse choice of employment could not have been made. Rosa had an utter aversion to needlework of every sort, and aversion went hand-in-hand with awkwardness. She was dull and thick-headed enough at her seam to drive any mistress distracted. Her only minutes of enjoyment were when she could slip slyly into the workroom of her employer's husband. He had a lathe, and if he was at work the stupid sewing-maiden would show herself in her true colours, making herself useful at turning his machine, and amusing him by her anxiety for information.

When her father came to see her she used to weep

and implore him to take her away from this weary stitching business: anything, she thought, would be better than such monotony. He, who would do anything for her, at last got her placed in a boarding-school for young ladies in exchange for lessons which he was to give as drawing-master. The greater number of the pupils were of wealthy families, but Rosa was to have the same privileges as they. She gave as little satisfaction to her teachers as she had done to the sempstress. At play, she was ahead of all competitors; in tricks, she was most ingenious; but commendation stopped here. With the other pupils, too, she did not live harmoniously. Youth, we all know, is not very merciful, and Rosa was made to feel that she was poor. Her temper became at last ungovernable, and she succeeded in so enraging the heads of the establishment that her father had to remove her from school.

Rosa Bonheur, a failure as a sempstress, and far from a success as a boarding-school young lady, now takes her seat by her father's fireside. In the silence of his painting-room she begins to understand herself, and to think that she has a mission in the world. Her thoughts expand, her ideas change, and she begins drawing and modelling with enthusiasm. Genius asserts itself. Her father observes the bent of his daughter's inclination, and, by example and sage counsel, does all he can to cultivate her long-hidden talents. He sends her to the famous gallery of the Louvre, to form her taste by the study of the masterpieces of antiquity. Day after day she devotes herself with joy and assiduity to this labour; she is the first at the opening of the galleries in the morning, and the last to leave at night.

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An anecdote worth repeating is told of our heroine at this period. One day she had just finished a copy of "The Shepherds of Arcadia." Her work was on the easel before her, and she stood looking at it and thinking how long it would be before she could equal the merits of the original. An old man approached, and after many a critical look, said, Do you know, my dear, that this copy is admirable, irreproachable. Continue your studies thus, and I predict that you will become a great artist." These words filled Rosa Bonheur with hope; they strengthened her confidence in her own powers, and that evening, when the gallery doors closed, she turned her steps homewards, experiencing the most lively plea. sure. Such is the effect of praise when one feels that one has done one's best to deserve it.

To assist her father she made copies of celebrated paintings for sale. But this sort of work is no better paid in France than here, so the devoted daughter had to labour hard to make anything like a respectable addition to the common purse.

When she was seventeen years old-that was in the year 1839-Rosa Bonheur began the study of animals. Her first attempt in this branch of art was a goat, which she copied from nature. Soon she became enamoured of this new path. She hunted everywhere for subjects,

sometimes pursuing her search far into the surrounding country. Luxurious modes of travelling were unknown to her; the common purse was always too light for luxury. But the brave young artist could walk, and many a mile did she go, colour-box in hand, and bearing several pounds' weight of modelling clay. No difficulty made her recoil. If she returned to her father worn out

with fatigue, what did it matter? To become a great artist, she would say to herself, one must endure hardships. We see in her case an illustration of the words of a celebrated writer. "Genius," he says, "is like a raging torrent: nothing can stop its course. Those whom God has marked with the seal of his power, march, without stopping, towards the end He has decided upon for them. Every obstacle is but a spur that excites them to press forward."

The subjects which Rosa Bonheur picked up in her rambles sold well, and, we may suppose, fetched a somewhat better price than the copies to which she had previously devoted herself. This induced her to persevere, and gave her courage to undertake a disagreeable course of study at a Parisian slaughter-house. She began a daily attendance there with a view to observing nature. The ground was wet with hot blood, the atmosphere reeked with offensive odours, rough and brutal men were there, but nothing damped the courage of our young enthusiast. She would leave home with a piece of bread in her pocket, arrive at her singular school, and become so completely wrapped up in her subject, that she would often forget all about the frugal fare, that she had brought with her. Her zeal, united with a conciliatory demeanour, quite won over the coarse men of the slaughter-house: they spoke of the lady artist with respect, sometimes even with admiration.

Rosa Bonheur's father, who had acted all along as her sole instructor in art, now married a second time. The family took up their abode in not by any means numerous apartments on a sixth story. Raymond Bonheur, his wife, and the children, however, were contented, and all were tolerably comfortable. One who knew them at this period says, that nothing could be more delightful or touching than the scene which their paintingroom usually presented. All worked ardently and merrily under the wing of their father, the master and friend who shared their hard labour, and joined in their innocent sports. Auguste and Isidore, Rosa's brothers, studied incessantly; and as for Rosa herself, she was always the first at her easel, and sang away from morning till night. After the fatigues of the day, our young artist often spent the evening by the fitful light of the lamp in making designs for the morrow's sale. The younger sister, Juliette, also worked hard, and strove to follow the example of the elder.

Birds were special favourites with Rosa Bonheur in those days, but she grieved to see them confined in cages. Her brothers, therefore, contrived a piece of network which prevented their escape by the window, and gave

them all the appearance of liberty, an arrangement which gave her much pleasure. There was also a pet lamb belonging to the family. It will easily be understood, that to render existence on a sixth floor endurable to the poor animal was no easy matter; but Rosa and her brothers and sister were fond of it, and it made a docile model, always at hand when wanted. Isidore used to put it laughingly on his shoulder, and carry it now and then to a neighbouring meadow to browse on the fresh green grass.

In 1841, Rosa Bonheur made her début as an artist, by exhibiting at the Salon two little pictures, "Two Rabbits" and "Goats and Sheep." Both were charming productions. In the following year she exhibited three pictures, which were also much admired: "Animals in a Pasturage, Evening Effect ;"" A Cow lying in a Meadow;" and "The Horse to be Sold."

In 1843, she had in the Exhibition, "Horses Leaving the Watering-place" and "Horses in a Field." These two works were sent in the same year to Rouen, and gained the bronze medal there. The more she worked the more she was able to work, and, in 1844, we find Rosa Bonheur exhibiting five pictures, and a bull modelled in clay. The city of Rouen this year awarded her the silver medal; and so year passed after year, adding to her renown and developing her extraordinary talents. At last Paris gave her the gold medal, and in the enjoyment of that triumph we shall let her rest a little, whilst we briefly describe her personal appearance and peculiarities.

Rosa Bonheur is of middle height; her features are a little hard, but very regular, and she has a noble forehead. All the lines of her profile express force of character. She possesses the dark flashing eye of genius; her hands are delicate and nervous-they are the hands, in fact, of a born artist. In her dress she has ever studied simplicity and convenience; indeed, not unfrequently she errs on the side of negligence. When she goes about on artistic excursions, she invariably assumes the masculine garb, and plays the part, to all appearance, of a young farmer. In frequenting cattle-markets and farm-yards, this practice has much to recommend it; it enables her to inspect and to purchase her subject with less interruption and remark. And it must be allowed that the costume is not ill-suited to the decided character of her face. In town this disguise is laid aside; Rosa Bonheur appears there in the attire of her sex.

We return now to the history of her life, and have to tell that, about 1847, our young artist received a visit from Paul Delaroche, the famous French historical painter, who died in 1856. This was a great honour to Rosa Bonheur, and was felt by her as a great encouragement. The interview left upon her mind a most agreeable impression.

Two years later, a severe blow struck her family. On the 24th of March, 1849, the father, Raymond Bonheur, breathed his last. He had been appointed by Government, some little time before, Director of the Female

School of Design. Unfortunately, his health did not allow him to enjoy his new position, and he sank into the grave just as his eldest child was rising into fame. His life had been passed in an incessant struggle against poverty and the cares of a family.

During the illness of her father, Rosa Bonheur had been at work on her delightful picture of "Ploughing in the Nivernais." When it was placed in the Exhibition, it made a great sensation. The Government, by whom it had been ordered, honoured the artist by hanging it in the Luxembourg, and it was so brilliant an example of the most exquisite qualities of art, that it greatly increased her reputation with the public. Commissions now flowed in upon her, and, in 1851 and 1852, she was so busy that she could send nothing to the Salon. It was a course of unwearied activity that she pursued, and, as we think over her career, memory recalls, one by one, the noble fruits of her pencil. It surprises us to see the facility with which she has been able to produce so many admirable works.

Watering.

On one canvas she represents to us a place," to which the thirsty and ruminating oxen are going with heavy, majestic steps. Beautiful oxen, with their calves playing about them, are also there. The day is done, and the shades of evening throw over the picture a charming poetic feeling that fills the mind with dreamy repose.

On another, she depicts a "Ewe Surprised by a Storm," and lost in its violence. Her attitude, full of anxiety for her lamb, which she calls by bleating, moves one strangely. You are, in spite of yourself, vividly impressed by the little simple drama.

In a third painting, a rich "Farmer of Auvergne," mounted upon his nag, and accompanied by his man, drives a troop of animals to market, across a vast extent of country, which loses itself in a boundless horizon.

Then it is a " Young Shepherd," a child of the Pyrenees, watching his flock upon the mountains. In this picture, Rosa Bonheur seems to have endeavoured by poetry to obtain a mastery over nature herself.

Elsewhere it is a "Cow Sleeping in a Field," a " Flock of Sheep," "Cows in a Field," "Charcoal Burners in a Forest," and numberless other pictures, in which the artist has never failed to spread with profusion the charm of her great and varied talent.

Amongst the most remarkable of her works was the grand picture representing the "Horse Fair," which was the principal success of the Exposition of 1853. In 1855, it formed the chief attraction of the French Exhibition of pictures in London, and almost monopolized for a time the attention of artists and connoisseurs. It was recognized as placing the artist on a level with Landseer. England proved its permanent abode. It may interest the reader to see the description of it given in the catalogue of our National Gallery: "Men trotting out horses in the bright sunshine; some riding them, others leading them by cords; some coming forward, others retiring. To the

spectator's right are avenues of trees, with groups of lookers-on; the effect broken up by glimpses of sunshine."

In all her productions she has shown a wonderful power of representing spirited action, which distinguishes her from other eminent animal painters of the day, and endows her pictures as compositions with extraordinary interest. She also contrives to throw a surprising amount of beauty and human feeling into all she does. It is not the forms only of her animals that interest us. Rosa Bonheur's mission, says a French critic, is to decipher the sublime poetry of animal life, and to translate the grand characteristics of those works of the Creator. It is in the fields, in the woods, on the mountains, that she prefers to search for the objects to be combined in her charming compositions. Her pencil reveals to us the wonders of animal life, and teaches us to read the varied book of nature.

The remaining events of Rosa Bonheur's career up to the present time do not require an elaborate notice. To the Universal Exhibition of Paris of 1855, she sent a new landscape of large size, "Haymaking in Auvergne." This work went to the Luxembourg, and Rosa obtained a medal of the first class, “as the artist could not be decorated," said the report. The Empress Eugénie, however, took a different view of the matter, and thought that she could. So, whilst the Emperor was away in Africa in 1865, the Empress-Regent decorated Rosa Bonheur with the Legion of Honour. Had not lady artists as good a right to that distinction as nuns and vivandières ? In 1868, Rosa Bonheur was appointed a member of the Institute of Antwerp. In 1870-71, during the siege of Paris, her studio and residence at Fontainebleau were in great danger of being destroyed by the Germans. By special order of the Crown Prince of Prussia, they were spared and respected. It was an act worthy of remembrance : devastation, fire, and slaughter making a military salute to peaceful and artistic genius.

Speaking of her residence reminds us that she has fitted up an ante-chamber, divided only by a partition from her studio, as a stable, for the convenience of the various animals domesticated therein. She has also established a small fold in the immediate vicinity for the accommodation of sheep and goats. It is owing, in a measure, to this conscientious examination of the development of animal life, that she has produced such masterpieces as we have named above. In 1867, her menagerie consisted of two horses, five goats, a bull, a cow, several asses, sheep, dogs, and birds, without counting a number of other subjects, both rare and interesting. Surrounded by the objects of her study, Rosa Bonheur lives, like one of the ancient painters, a retired and tranquil life. This mode of existence is the more agreeable, as she has known how to assemble affectionate and admiring friends about her. Wedded to her art, she has repulsed without mercy all who have aspired to her hand. She never has been known

to encourage the hopes of any one, or to play with an affection in which she did not share.

Many anecdotes have been told of Rosa Bonheur, and with two or three of these we shall conclude. She has never sacrificed art for the sake of money, and is the last person in the world we would expect to fall down and worship the golden calf. A wealthy Dutchman called one day at her studio and entreated her to paint for him a rough sketch for which he said he would give a thousand crowns. "No," said she, "I can't do it: I am not inspired."

This aversion to working solely for money is one reason why she has never accumulated a large fortune. Another is her open-handed generosity. She never encounters misfortune without relieving it, and she does so with such kindness and grace as doubles the value of the service rendered.

A lady artist, threatened with the loss of sight, addressed a petition for relief to the Society of Artists. Several of the leading painters backed her up in her application. The result was that aid was forwarded to the amount of rather less than ten shillings. Humiliated beyond expression, the unhappy woman did not know whether to accept it or not, for misery and hunger were at hand. "Refuse," said Rosa Bonheur; "the dignity of art requires it." At the same time she unhooked a picture from the wall of her studio, and gave it to the indigent artist. This picture procured such a considerable

sum as relieved her from all immediate want.

A young sculptor, smitten with the talent of our heroine, enclosed a bank-note for five francs in an envelope, with the following sentences: "Mademoiselle,This is all I have at my command. Will you be so kind as to send me in exchange a sketch from your pencil of the size of the enclosed note?" That very evening he received a sketch valued at a thousand francs, and the kind-hearted painter returned at the same time his bank

note.

She

For a long time Rosa Bonheur had as her constant companion Mademoiselle Micas, one of her intimate friends. They lived together like sisters, and without Mademoiselle Micas, it is to be feared, the artist's residence would often have gone to wreck and ruin, for Rosa Bonheur is not much given to attending to domestic duties. This useful friend was very delicate looking, but bore on her countenance the marks of benevolence. accompanied the artist in all her excursions. In spite of her fragile appearance, Mademoiselle Micas was endowed with a singular faculty. By the power of her eye alone, she could obtain the mastery over any animal which her friend wished to paint. In the country she approached the most dangerous bull, looked at it in a peculiar way for some seconds, magnetized it, so to speak, then seized it fearlessly, and made it take all the attitudes required. The animal, with the greatest docility, and looking almost as if sensible of the honour of having its portrait painted, stood still as long as Rosa Bonheur desired.

You find us, in humble imitation of Mr. Turvey drop,

still using our little arts to polish-polish!" said Jessie Kirke, mimicking the famous trowel gesture of the Professor of Deportment, as Orrin Wyllys entered Mrs. Baxter's drawing-room on the evening of the fourth of January.

The Lady's President's "collegiate re-unions" on the first and third Thursdays of each month had, up to this winter, been declared a nuisance by the class for whose benefit she had inaugurated the series; to wit, the homeless, graceless students whose intellectual training was committed to her husband and his confrères, while their polite education was left to Fate and the hap-hazard culture of promiscuous society. Now, promiscuous society (the term is Mrs. Baxter's-not mine) in Hamilton, although less detrimental to the principles, manners, and conversational powers of unguarded youth' than the same foe would have been in a region more remote from the great humanizing and refining centre expressed, to the visual organs, by the square, creamcoloured mansion at the right of the college campuswas yet inimical to the best interests (another stolen phrase!) of the aforesaid matriculated youngsters. To counteract the evil, the presidential residence was converted, on the evenings I have designated, into a social reformatory, and the mistress put forth her utmost energy to render the process of amelioration pleasant to the subjects thereof. The success of her system, which had gone into operation two years before, had been less than indifferent up to the date of her young kinswoman's arrival. Simultaneously with her appearance at the pillared portal of the cream-coloured Centre, the cause of elegant deportment and colloquial accomplishments began to look up in the contiguous halls of learning. The "reception" on the ensuing Thursday was well attended, the second was a "crush"-the supply of lemonade and sponge-cake inadequate to the demand.

This was the third, and the hostess, elate with past, and sanguine of prospective, victories, had, with the assistance of her guest, bedecked her rooms with New Year's garlands and floral legends. As an ingenious tribute to the learning of the major portion of the assembly, Mrs. Baxter had accomplished a Latinization of certain stock phrases of welcome, and was immensely proud of the "classic air" imparted to her saloon by these. "I suppose they are all right," Jessie said dubiously to Orrin, when he inspected them. "My knowledge of the dead tongue is confined to the musty sayings everybody has learned by heart- Sic transit gloria mundi,' 'Mirabile dictu,' and the like."

"To polish! to polish!" reiterated Jessie, stroking her gloved left hand with her right, and looking so roguishly beautiful that Orrin had no difficulty in throwing an expression of intense admiration into his gaze.

"Stand off, and let me look at you!" said he, rather brusquely for him, drawing back for a better view.

She was well worth it. Native quickness, aided by the marvellous intuition as to effect, and the daring that attempts new combinations of colour and untried styles of coiffure and dress, which people name "French taste," had wrought together in her attire. She had a "genius for apparel," Mrs. Baxter pronounced delightedly, adding "So much for blood! The Parisian eye and Parisian aptitude are, like the poetic afflatus, nascitur non fit. You are a true Lanneau." There would be no betterdressed woman in the assembly to-night than the country girl, whose toilette had yet cost less than that of any other who laid claim to the honours of belleship.

Her maize-coloured tissue had a full double skirt; the upper looped with rosettes of black lace and narrow black velvet. A bunch of fuchsias-scarlet with purple hearts, drooped about her left temple. Not a jewel was visible except her engagement-ring-a fine solitaire diamond. Instead of a brooch she wore another spray of fuchsias, mixed with feathery green, at her throat, and her only laces were those edging her neck and sleeves. But she was dazzling enough to turn stronger heads than those of the sheepish sophomores, pert juniors, and priggish seniors, who would compose her train, thought Wyllys, surveying her with the deliberate freedom of a brotherly friend. Her eyes sparkled into splendour, her bloom deepened, and the white-gloved fingers toyed nervously with her bouquet as his inspection was prolonged. As the finale, he offered his arm with a sweeping obeisance, and they strolled through the rooms, untenanted as yet save by themselves.