To my mind there is something more in these photographs than M. Geffroy has called attention to. They are the portraits of a very happy man. A deep spiritual happiness and content make the old, wrinkled face a beautiful one. It is the face of one who, to use a lovely old phrase, "walked with God," and of whom it was said, "_c'est le Saint Vincent de Paul de la peinture_."
As one of his friends said, Corot was "adorably good." He was a good son, for all that he found himself unable to fall in with his father's desire to make him a successful draper: and the fact that "at home" his outstanding abilities were never recognised, could not in the least abate the warmth of his family affections. And he was a good friend. He never forgot a kindness done to him either in word or deed, although his memory seemed to be singularly incapable of retaining a record of anything done to his hurt. It has been said, and the argument could be powerfully supported, that the same qualities that go to the making of a good friend make a bad enemy. Very likely it is true in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred: if so the case of Corot was the hundredth. He seemed to have a natural incapacity to bear malice or retain a sense of injury. Perhaps he was too simple or too wise; or, maybe, both.
Not less characteristic of Corot than his manner of going about always with a song on his lips, was his incurable habit of giving. The wonder is that he ever had anything at all left for himself, that even shoes and soup did not follow after francs. And very reprehensibly, of course, he gave to almost every one who had recourse to him, as well as to many who did not. His generosity was all but indiscriminate, and conducted in a manner that, it may be supposed, would drive a charity organisation society to distraction. He was victimised often and knew it, but the knowledge never dulled the edge of an insatiable appetite. To give was at once a luxury and a necessity to him, as appears, and he was never so gay as when he had been indulging himself in this direction rather more recklessly than usual. "He would paint" (I quote from Meynell), "saying to himself, 'Now I am making twice what I have just given.' Or, again, having just emptied his cash drawer, he would take up his easel, saying: 'Now we will paint great pictures. Now we will surprise the nations.'" Rather a foolish fellow evidently: but "one of God's fools," as I heard an old priest say of a somewhat similar example.