" says M. Vitet, "home, _atelier_, material, sympathy,--whatever
they needed." Another writer, M. Anatole de la Lorge, said of him, while
yet living,--"Ary Scheffer has the rare good luck not to be exclusive.
His heart can pity every suffering as fully as his pencil can portray
it. A faithful and intimate friend of a now fallen dynasty, (that of
Orleans,) proud, even distrustful towards men in power, indifferent to
their opinion, inaccessible to their offers, Ary Scheffer, in his
original individuality, is one of the most independent and most
honorable political men of our country. His studio is the rendezvous of
all opinions, provided they are honest,--of all religions, provided they
are sincere. There each one is received, not according to the habit
which he wears, as the ancient proverb says, but according to the mind
(_esprit_) which he has shown. We say mind, but it is heart that we
should say; for Ary Scheffer seems to us to estimate the latter more
highly than the former. His whole life proves it." Always an ardent
friend of liberty, he was also a lover of law and order, and he rendered
good service in their preservation in the capital during the Revolution
of 1848, for which, he received honorable distinction.

The same writer quoted above gives an interesting description of his
meeting with Ary Scheffer in the sick-room and by the death-bed of an
Italian refugee, Emilia Manin. A young Venetian girl, full of devotion
to her country and her proscribed father, she supported her exile with
all a woman's courage, buoyed up by the hope of returning to her
country, redeemed from its misery. She is described as possessing
extraordinary powers of mind and great beauty of person. There were no
questions, however sublime or abstract, which she did not treat with a
surprising depth and sagacity. "Her speech, ordinarily timid and feeble,
became emphatic and stirring; her great, dreamy eyes suddenly acquired
unequalled energy; she spoke of the misfortunes of her country in terms
so moving as to draw tears from our eyes." But the body which contained
this burning soul was very frail, "and the poor Emilia, the silent
martyr, turned her head upon her pillow, and took her first hour of
repose. When no longer able to speak, she had traced with a trembling
hand on a paper these last words,--'Oh, Venice! I shall never see thee
more!' She yet retained the position in which she drew her last breath,
when Ary Scheffer came, as Tintoret