WOMAN IN ART
congeniality sprang up that the artist had not thought possible again to her life, and the aftermath of happiness and contentment brought renewed interest in her work. Friendship was essential to this large-hearted artist—as it is to all if they did but know it—and to her new artist friend she gave richly her affection, her home, and of experience that had accumulated throughout a most remarkable life. A life that may now be read from the pen of Anna Klumpke.
At the World's Columbian Fair in Chicago, 1893, in the Fine Arts Building—remembered as the most perfect structure of Greek architecture outside of ancient Greece—the galleries of French painting were eminently attractive. A wall in the larger room was centered with the imposing portrait of president Carnot by Cabanel. It was draped with crimson velvet that has ever adorned governmental France. As stated in a preceding chapter, at the right hung a masterpiece by Bourguereau, "Whisperings of Love." At the left of the portrait another large canvas carried the eye into a depth of Fontainebleau Forest softened by leaf-sheltered atmosphere. The perspective of old trees formed the rendezvous for beautiful deer at home, the alert, watchful stag seemingly startled at your approach. It was the poetry of a woodland scene, not the arbitrary actual of any realistic school. People quite ignorant concerning art crowded to look, as if it were their one opportunity to enjoy the beautiful intimacy of the woods and at the splendid antlered creatures in their native environment.
Rosa Bonheur received many honors from various European nations, but the recognition that touched her most deeply, and was to her of the highest value, was a visit from President Carnot at her Chateau at By, when he made her an Officer in the Legion of Honor, which he conferred because of her contribution to the Chicago World's Fair. It seemed the culmination of the honor of membership in that body, conferred by the Empress Eugenie thirty years before.
Early one May morning in 1899, the writer was at the Salon soon after the hour for opening, so was not surprised at the empty rooms. Wandering into a large gallery, I was confronted by an earnest face wearing a half-repressed smile, the clear blue eyes looking directly at me. Fascinated by the eyes, I advanced within ten feet of the picture before noticing the long palm leaves crossed on the top of the frame and the purple ribbon at the lower corner.
Rosa Bonheur was dead!
Even as I stood stunned by the surprise the great artist, the noble woman, was laid to rest in the Pere La Chaise.
The portrait is by her friend and adopted daughter, Anna Klumpke. The strong, yet kindly face is wreathed by nature's halo of glistening white hair. She
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