Studio: international art (60.1914)

Reminiscences of Corot

came amiss so long as he could satisfy his craving
to draw. As he used to say, at certain times paint-
ing flowed from his fingers.

After lunch one day at the house of one of my
uncles, as his palette, still charged with colour,
was lying by him, he painted two charming com-
positions on the
backs of a plate
and dish. On an-
other occasion he
decorated a box
and another time
the back of a hand-
glass. Wherever he
went it delighted
him to leave some
delicate souvenir
of his visit in the
form of a study, a
drawing, a com-
position painted
on the walls, or
sometimes a por-
trait. His hosts
of several weeks or
of a day, friends,
farm people or
poor folk who let
him a room or a
bed almost in-
variably received
one of these pre-
cious gifts on his departure. It was a necessity with
him to give pleasure, to bring happiness, and to see
smiling faces around him. Once at Rouen, at one
of my uncles, he stopped painting to enjoy a smoke.
Finding he had no matches, he asked around for
some, pretending a feverish desire to borrow a box
and exclaiming in fun, “My kingdom for a match!”
One of my cousins had a box which he offered to
Corot, who, after lighting up, put it in his pocket.
By the end of the sitting his pipe had gone out and
been relit many times and the box was practically
empty. “ I’ll keep it,” said Corot, “ we’ll make an
exchange,” and setting to work again he sketched
a cascade among some mountains on a little panel
which was handy and christened it “ Souvenir de
Tivoli” and presented it to my cousin. One soon
discovered that it was good to be among his
creditors.

I remember also that one morning at Brunoy
when the weather was wet we did not see him come
down from his room at his customary hour—about
half-past six—and thought that possibly the dear

old man, seeing that he could not work out of doors,
had stayed in bed and fallen asleep again. Suddenly
we heard him singing in his room. Since he was
up we might venture to go and wish him good
morning. Great was our astonishment to find him
already at work ! But how ! Noticing above the

mirror over the
fire-place, a single
panel of wood
without any orna-
mentation, Corot
had been seized
with the idea of
decorating it in
his own way. To
reach it he had
dragged a table
near and on this
had placed a chair,
on to the top of
which he had
managed to hoist
himself, and there
he was perched,
forgetful of his
seventy-seven
years and as happy
as a god to be
able to indulge
his favourite pas-
sion for mural
decoration.

His favourite passion ! He said in almost these
very words as he finished this panel: “ They never
would call upon old papa Corot to decorate the
large spaces in their public buildings. How I
should have loved to cover the walls with my land-
scapes ! however, they didn’t think me fit to paint
anything but little pictures ! Ah ! if they had only
entrusted me with the decoration of hospital wards
or even of prisons ! My country-sides and my woods
would have brought consolation and fewer sad
thoughts to the poor unfortunates therein confined.”
The generous sentiments, the kind-heartedness
of Corot, ever spontaneous and to the fore, asked
nothing better than to manifest themselves at every
opportunity. Here for instance is a little scene of
which I was a witness during the winter of 1868.
My father went to pay a visit to Corot in his studio
in the rue Paradis-Poissoniere and it was my good
fortune to accompany him on this occasion. This
studio, most simple in its appointments, contained
nothing but the furniture indispensable to the artist
for his work and his rest, though it is true there were

21 r