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Updated: June 25, 2025
No other painter that I can recall has gotten such effects from colors so simple. But Scheffer's life was not all sadness. For even when the Little Mother had passed away, Ary Scheffer wrote calmly to his friend August Thierry: "I yet have my daughter Cornelie, and were it not for her I fear my work would be a thing of the past; but with her I still feel that God exists.
They talked softly, resting against a window which looked upon the garden.... But the scene has been made popular by Ary Scheffer's too well-known painting. You remember it: two faces, pale, bloodless, stripped of flesh, in which live only the burning eyes cast upward to the sky a dense sky, baffling, heavy with all the secrets of eternity.
Certain pages of 'The City of God, funeral prayers of Bossuet, can alone serve us for a comparison, in order to express the effect produced upon those who have visited this chef d'oeuvre in Ary Scheffer's atelier.
He occasionally modelled a bust, and sometimes engaged in literary labor, contributing some valuable articles on Art to "La Revue Française." It would be impossible for us to analyze or even enumerate all of Scheffer's works. They are scattered throughout France and Holland, and a few have found their way to this country.
Meanwhile he told himself he would go and look at Scheffer's Gretchen. The King of Thule is better; but people talk most of the Gretchen. He had never seen either. He went in leisurely, travelling up the bright Meuse River, and across the monotony of the plains, then green with wheat a foot high, and musical with the many bells of the Easter kermesses in the quaint old-world villages.
The general prices were not higher than the Johnston prices, but Ary Scheffer's Marguerites brought 40,000 and 35,000 francs; a Troyon, 63,000; and Leopold Robert's admirable "Fishers of the Adriatic," 83,000 francs. The gallery of the Pereires brought 1,785,586 francs, which was rather higher than the Johnston total, but I believe there were more masterpieces.
There was always a rim of crowd there, so I paid no attention to the jostles we received. We were looking at an engraving of Ary Scheffer's Francoise de Rimini. "Not the worst hell," muttered a voice behind me, which I knew. I started, and pulled Leonora's arm; she turned round, and the fringe of her cloak-sleeve caught a button on the overcoat of one of the gentlemen standing together.
After a careful consideration of Scheffer's, Fanfani's, Gino Capponi's, and Isidoro del Lungo's arguments, it seems to me clearly established that the Chronicle of Dino Compagni can no longer be regarded as a perfectly genuine document of fourteenth-century literature.
"The incidents which follow are all that really affect Louisa's guilt or innocence." "Go on, mother," said Beardsley hastily. "Louisa's innocence is not called in question. Remember that. Tell everything you know without scruple." The old lady began again in a lower voice: "We expected an arrival that afternoon Houston Simms, a distant kinsman of Major Scheffer's.
Surely, such color is neither agreeable to the eye nor harmonious with the expression of the scene. This defect in color has led many to prefer the engravings to Scheffer's original pictures; but no copy can quite reproduce the nice touches of thought and feeling given by the master's hand.
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