FullReads

Louis Philippe had begun as a “citizen”–one of the people–and following the usual course had developed into a monarch with a monarch’s indifference to the good of the individual.

The people clamored for a republic, and agitation soon developed into revolution. On the morning of the Twenty-fourth of February, Eighteen Hundred Forty-eight, Scheffer met the son of Lafayette, who was also an officer in the National Guard.

“How curious,” said Lafayette, “that we should be protecting a King for whom we have so little respect!”

“Still, we will do our duty,” answered Scheffer.

They made their way to the Tuileries, and posted themselves on the terrace beneath the windows of the King’s private apartments. As they sat on the steps in the wan light of breaking day. Scheffer heard some one softly calling his name. He listened and the call was repeated.

“Who wants me?” answered Scheffer.

“‘Tis I, the Queen!” came the answer.

Scheffer looked up and at the lattice of the window saw the white face of the woman he had known so well and intimately for a full score of years.

The terror of the occasion did away with all courtly etiquette.

“Who is with you?” asked the Queen.

“Only Lafayette,” was the answer.

“Come in at once, both of you. The King has abdicated and you must conduct us to a place of safety.”

Scheffer and his companion ran up the steps, the Queen unbolted the door with her own hands, and they entered. Inside the hallway they found Louis Philippe dressed as for a journey, with no sign of kingly trappings. With them were their sons and several grandchildren.

They filed out of the palace, through the garden, and into the Place de la Concorde–that spot of ghastly memories.

The King looked about nervously. Some of the mob recognized him.

Scheffer concluded that a bold way was the best, and stepping ahead of Louis Philippe, called in a voice of authority, “Make way–make way for the King!”

The crowd parted dumb with incredulity at the strange sight.

By the fountain in the square stood a public carriage, and into this shabby vehicle of the night the royal passengers were packed.

Dumas, who had followed the procession, mounted the box.

Scheffer gave a quick whispered order to the driver, closed the door with a slam, lifted his hat, and the vehicle rumbled away towards the Quai.

When Scheffer got back to the Tuileries the mob had broken in the iron gates at the front of the gardens, and was surging through the palace in wild disorder.

Scheffer hastened home to tell Cornelie the news of the night.

* * * * *

When the Little Mother died, a daughter of Henri Scheffer came to join the household of Ary Scheffer. The name of this niece was also Cornelie.

The fact of there being two young women in the house by one name has led to confusion among the biographers. And thus it happens that at least four encyclopedias record that Ernest Renan married the daughter of Ary Scheffer. Renan married the niece, and the fact that they named their first child Ary helped, possibly, to confirm the error of the biographers.

Scheffer’s life was devoted to providing for and educating these young women. He himself gave them lessons in the languages, in music, painting and sculpture. The daughter was a handsome girl; and in point of intellect kept her artist-father very busy to keep one lesson in advance. Together they painted and modeled in clay, and the happiness that came to Scheffer as he saw her powers unfold was the sweetest experience he had ever known.

The coldness between himself and the King had increased. But Louis Philippe did not forget him, for commissions came, one after another, for work to cover the walls of the palace at Versailles. With the Queen his relations were friendly–even intimate. Several times she came to his house. Her interest in Cornelie was tender and strong, and when Scheffer painted a “Mignon” and took Cornelie for a model, the Queen insisted on having the picture and paying her own price–a figure quite beyond what the artist asked.