Still Picture

Still Picture

by Billie of the Writing Group

Big thanks go out to

baffling8929

, who generously offered to share great expertise on photography, and threw in some remarkably good editing as well. Of course, any errors or wrong notes in this text are my own responsibility.

Warning: wordplay and period speech.

Catalog entry

CAT # 122 Work of Edwin Alderly

PHOTO ID #: ER09-048

Subject: Portrait -- Abigail de Montagne

Medium: Daguerreotype

Date of creation: approximately 1857

Location of creation: New York City, New York, United States

Stereo: No

Size (HxW): 4.7 x 7.9 inches

Description: Abigail de Montagne, seated before a mantelpiece, probably a photographer's backdrop or studio. Notable for her natural, smiling expression and high color in her cheeks.

Provenance: private donation from the estate of Abigail De Montagne, 1899. Hand-tinted.

"Miss Barlow, I am afraid that I must insist. The Daguerreotyping process cannot be hastened. Should you wish a portrait to send to your affianced, there is no alternative to your remaining still for several minutes." Edwin was being quite reasonable, I felt. Two valuable silvered copper sheets had already been transformed into very precise representations of Miss Barlow's surroundings--the mantelpiece and painting and chair that Edwin and I transported as our studio--with a blur only slightly resembling a human being seated in the chair. This was quite a poor representation of Miss Barlow, as bewitching a young woman as Edwin and I had ever recorded the image of.

"I am sorry, Mr. Alderly. I truly cannot sit still. Something about this situation, your camera fixed upon me, somehow obliges me to restlessness. I assure you, I have no desire to extend this process! Er, meaning no offense to your company, merely sympathy with your frustration, sir." The lady did seem remorseful, and also more than slightly frustrated herself. A drop of perspiration was visible upon her perfect brow, which I would have to delicately dab before any further photography could be performed. My true desire, not to be spoken at this juncture, was to lick it away.

"No offense is taken when none was meant, Miss Barlow. Nonetheless, you must not move during the exposure. No, do not protest further, for I have a suggestion, indeed a device, which will easily render this within your capability. Mademoiselle Giroux is not present simply to protect your modesty. She is most adept at the lumino-representational arts. In particular, the art of, let us say, calming the irritable nerve. Mademoiselle, if you would be so kind?" Edwin does like to have me explain things to the young ladies. We find that they listen more attentively to men, yet with more comprehension to a woman.

I stepped forward as Edwin retreated to his camera to insert a new copper plate. "Miss Barlow, as my employer has said, it is not possible to produce a clear image upon the plate in less than several minutes, depending on the intensity of the sunlight which illuminates your estimable person." She colored most prettily at the flattery, as I had hoped. I do enjoy making the young ladies blush. "You have said that you cannot bring yourself to remain still for so long, especially with the mechanical eye of the camera trained upon you. Have I rightly summarized?" I learned to speak in this faux-aristocratic manner from Edwin, and I have been told that at times I sound disconcertingly masculine. I find that this fails to discommode me.

Miss Abigail Barlow was quite young, at least by comparison to myself, for she was still short of twenty years of age. I would hope that I am not yet considered aged at 25, but surely it was not inappropriate for me to think of Miss Barlow as a mere maiden. It is of course a matter of great assurance that her mother considered her to be far too old to remain unmarried, for this is the way of mothers. Fortunately for

Madame

Barlow's happiness, this deficiency was soon to be rectified. The very image that Mr. Alderly and myself would create, by the fastest post would wend its way to Miss Barlow's promised husband, to remind him of her beauty and produce in him, dare I say, eagerness to conclude the conjugal promise that he had made, to wit, their nuptials planned for a season hence.

I say "her beauty" with perfect assurance, in fact with a most imperfect envy, which I hope is ameliorated by my candor. The future Mrs. Albert Morton was the very description of "beautiful young woman."

"Miss Giroux, it is my opinion that you have expressed the matter most concisely and correctly." Our customer met my eyes forthrightly, and smiled. Quite an attractive smile. She would be an excellent photographic subject, if she could only refrain from flapping about like an especially energetic butterfly. She wore a crown of auburn curls, which wreathed her head as clouds do a mountain before descending to fall in a double-braid over her right shoulder, surmounted by a most fashionable white bonnet of pristine lace. My eyes slowly descended the mountain that was Abigail, passing over hazel eyes most shining, like glaciers upon her slopes, but warm, so warm. Her smooth, pale cheeks bore precisely the correct number of beauty marks, to wit, two. Lips of pink below a charmingly snubbed nose, led to shoulders and arms also covered with lace, revealing the hollow of her throat, and even a very hint of the most beautiful valley at the center of her bosom. My eyes paused upon that spot, fixed momentarily and unable to continue. I believe the edge of my vision detected a trace of a smile, as she perceived the direction of my gaze.

Do not be deceived by my comparing the fair Miss Dawson to a mountain, for indeed she was not of great stature, being certainly less than 5 feet in height. Myself, I am some half a foot taller. This has served me well, on those occasions when I must wear trousers and dissimulate in the role of a man.

I raised my eyes to her own. Over her rounded, ruffle-covered shoulder, I could see a sepia print of my own visage, decorating the mantel of the false fireplace which served as background for our seated portraits. It was a secret amusement of mine to appear as observer in the many portraits that Edwin and myself produced. The photographer, being Edwin, had done truly estimable labor in creating an image that flatters me. It had been hand tinted by a true expert in the field, Edwin's chaperon and partner, myself. The tawny locks that naturally exude from my scalp had been coiffed, I believe, most attractively, forming a sort of cap of curled strands, supplemented by much longer locks descending behind my own neck. My face was less remarkable in its symmetry and perfection than Miss Barlow's, perhaps a shade too round to be sculpted by Praxiteles, yet not repulsive withal. My waist was thicker than our subject's, but I fancied my fundament superior, at least in the eyes of the knowledgeable. Let me abandon modesty for a moment to reveal that I have never felt the need to wear a bustle.

I forced my attention back to the matter of creating a Daguerreotypic portrait. I had exactly the method in mind to fix our most attractive butterfly in amber.

"It is a custom, perhaps not widely discussed because of its delicacy, to assist our sitters--had you heard that delightful expression, for the subject of a photographic portrait?--assist our sitters, as I say, in remaining still. It is in fact used by more than half of cases, especially when, as today, the sun is dim and shrouded, for this dimmer light requires even longer exposures than otherwise. I fear, Miss Barlow, that you will be required to refrain from movement for at least three, and perhaps as many as five, minutes, in order to permit the production of the perfect portrait." I flatter myself that my poetic devices, such as alliteration, lend persuasive power.

"But, Miss Giroux, it is not that I do not understand, it is that I simply find it impossible to, as you say, refrain from movement!" She was in some distress. I felt it incumbent upon me to comfort her.

"Please, do not trouble yourself! As I have mentioned, I can assist you in this. Mr. Alderly and myself have used this method on dozens, perhaps over one hundred of our sitters, with unfailing success and the production of most acceptable, I may even flatter us, attractive portraits. Still better, it requires no great effort from you to comply. Will you permit me to demonstrate?" I was already picking up a small satchel of black cloth, rather like a doctor's bag, but far heavier. I am quite strong, and endeavored to conceal the effort required to lift it. In truth, a box of our copper plates is still weightier, yet I am often charged with transporting them.

"Well, I cannot refuse such a beneficial offer."

Carefully settling the satchel near Miss Barlow's chair, I removed from it what appeared to be a length of white ribbon, miraculously holding its linear shape as if it were rigid as steel (as it was). "This simple invention will serve you well. Might I request that you assume the pose which you and Mr. Alderly had already agreed upon, for a mere moment?"

The graceful Abigail did just as I asked, sitting most prettily upon the rose-upholstered chair, resting her hands upon the chair's arms, her head turned at an angle against its high back to best display her fetching profile, legs concealed by a long skirt and rather more than one petticoat, slim waist emphasized by the shape of her dress.

Moving quickly in order to forestall protests, I knelt by her left side, slid the sleeve of her garment up to her elbow, and twisted the ribbon-enwrapped wire around both the slim (and most pleasantly smooth) wrist of the warm girl, and the much less flexible and forgiving arm of the stout chair. In a mere heartbeat, her arm was fixed to the chair immovably. It was but another moment to slide her sleeve back into place, concealing the immobilizing implement. Her scent and closeness entranced me, causing me to forget my practiced manner momentarily, but then I went on.

"There! As promised, any impulse to sudden motion can no longer blur or distort the recorded image of your most appealing appendage." The wire had been chosen with care. The white ribbon that padded and smoothed it would also make it invisible against the pale lace of her cuffs. There is an art, or at least a craft, to this. The Daguerreotype does not record the color of an object, nor of a person, but only the amount of light that is reflected into the camera's lens. Sometimes the texture of an item can also change its appearance. Experience is invaluable in proper selection of objects and clothing to be photographed.

Miss Barlow at this juncture broke her silence. "But, surely you do not mean to bind me helplessly for the long minutes of the camera's work? Unable to move, except to tremble?" Her voice had risen from the alto she had previously spoken in to a tremulous soprano. The color in her face had deepened to a most attractive tint, reminiscent of the first faint hints of dawn, and the bodice of her dress revealed that her flush went beyond her face in a most captivating fashion. This change was most apparent to me, as I shuffled on my knees before her, my nose mere inches, for a moment, from that décolletage.

As she spoke, another length of ribbon-encased metal was quickly wrapped around the delicate ankle of Miss Barlow and twisted into fixity behind the most immovable leg of the chair in which she rested. Invisibly, the chair was fixed to the floor of the studio by an ingenious arrangement of screw-threaded rods. It is most important that the sitter (and thus, their support) be at the correct distance from the camera's lens.

I permitted myself a smile. "Mademoiselle, I assure you that sitters of all sorts have required this assistance. I have myself so restrained soldiers, seamstresses, solicitors, and one senator in this precise manner."

Edwin does sometimes accuse me of over-indulging in alliteration. I fear it is a just assertion.

By the time my little speech was complete, I had pinioned her other limb by the ankle to the front stretcher of the chair, the member that connects the two front legs, preventing them from splaying outward and giving it greater stability, yet another device to prevent the sitter from moving, and thus helping the sitter to be perfectly portrayed. Despite her words of doubt and resistance, the winsome lass most willingly (it seemed) held her ankle in place against the sturdy wooden rod, awaiting placement of the apparatus of her restraint.

Our subject was now breathing deeply and rapidly. Her eyes opened wide at your humble narrator's last statement. "A senator!"

I had raised her right sleeve. As I replied, I rendered her entirely helpless by the use of my fourth silk-wrapped steel ribbon, soft in surface but quite unyielding once fastened. "Robert MacMurray, who at the time was seated in the Senate of the State of New Hampshire. In almost all ways very different from your most del--charming self, but like you, a person who found stillness more difficult than the most active and exhausting motion." I had almost called her

delectable

. This was just a bit too early in our game to use such intimate endearments.

I brushed the lacy sleeve to cover the clever contrivance that secured our most desirable damsel, and stepped backward in the direction of the camera, canting my head left and right to view her and ensure that none of my artifices would be revealed to the eventual viewers of the plate. I had succeeded, if I may once more flatter myself, admirably. At the time that I describe, perhaps sinfully, I was admiring, not my own skill, but the portrait painted most wonderfully, not upon a plate or in silver compound, but to my own fleshly eye, and the even more acute eye of my mind. I fear my smile had now become quite raptorial.

Our client now seemed to exert herself in attempts to overcome the restrictions upon her limbs. To my great satisfaction, neither wrist nor ankle moved more than a fingernail's width. She gasped, "Oh, you have done well, Miss Giroux--may I call you Jeanne-Marie? I am without doubt unable to ruin yet another of your costly plates of silver."

"I am more than happy to be called by name, if I may in turn call you Abigail." In truth, I had been about to ask the reverse of Miss Barlow's question.

"Of course." She seemed to be gratified by the gesture. In turn, I was most gratified by her smile.

I continued, "I fear, Abigail, that my task is not quite complete. You will understand that I have much experience in preparing photo-portraits. If Edwin were to uncover the camera lens now, what would be produced would be a perfectly sharp and clear image of your hands and feet, and of the hem of your skirt. However, since I began speaking, you have shifted yourself, from the knees upward, four times by my count. I fear that, even now, a plate would be expended to create an image which would certainly neither please nor satisfy your beloved."

Did I perceive a wrinkling of her lovely brow at the word "beloved"? I dared to hope.

"Fortunately, my dear Abigail, it is a simple matter to avoid this most unfortunate possibility. I will simply affix your knees, your waist, and your most winning countenance, as I have your limbs."

A startled, and most charming, face spoke, again in a tremulous voice, "But, Jeanne-Marie, surely the ribbons would be clearly visible in the photographic plate?" It was a most germane question, and increased Abigail still more in my estimation.

"Well thought of, Abigail. I agree, this would reduce the authenticity of the image. To avoid this calamity," and here I smiled, to indicate that I did not so over-value my own and Edwin's work as to consider its failure a disaster, "I shall simply place the ribbons beneath your clothing."

Before she could object, I turned to face the camera. Edwin's head remained beneath the darkening curtains that protected the mirror-finished copper from light during its placement in the clip within the camera. Fortunately, Abigail lacked the experience with the Daguerreotype process which would disclose that this simple procedure should only have taken a half-minute.

"Mr. Alderly, would you be so kind as to withdraw from this studio for a time, to assuage Miss Barlow's concerns of modesty while I prepare her for our next exposure?" Since Abigail could not perceive my expression, I permitted myself to smile quite broadly at the camera lens, through which I knew Edwin had been watching us for the past minutes, enjoying both Miss Barlow's beauty and, I flatter myself for yet a third time, my own widely-complimented figure as seen from behind. To this day, it is not clear to me whether Abigail had understood the double-entendre encapsulated in the word "exposure."

"A moment, Mademoiselle," said my partner. True to his word, he appeared back on stage from behind the small curtain that shielded the workings of the camera from the destructive power of the sun's emanations, only to say, "I shall leave you two ladies to your preparations, requesting only that you call out to me when I may return without fear of violating the perimeter of your sensibilities, or sensitivities. I will be in the darkroom, preparing another batch of the developing and fixing chemicals, to await eagerly their opportunity to embed forever the image of Miss Barlow upon the lustrous surface to which we shall adhere it." With those sparkling words, Edwin retreated through the door behind him.

Abigail was not to know that, the darkroom being fully prepared (for Edwin is a meticulous man), he instead repaired to the small mirror in the wall separating that chamber from this, allowing himself the luxury and pleasance of viewing our business from concealment, for the mirror, when one side was in darkness and the other illuminated, appeared nearly completely transparent to one regarding the darkened surface.

As the portal to the darkroom was closing, I turned back to the most desirable damsel who, unable to do otherwise, awaited my attention.

I permitted my physiognomy to reflect just a fraction of my feelings, which feelings encompassed both desire and satisfaction at the sight presenting itself to me. "My dear, the pair of us being alone together now, I fear I must temporarily disarrange your clothing, in order to procure our shared goal of a faithful yet flattering representation of your most fetching features."

"Oh, yes, of course you must. I assure you, I do not object in the slightest," warbled my young friend.

"I find your confidence in me most engaging," said I, as I knelt again before my most precious dove. Despite the many layers of cloth concealing her limbs, it was the work of mere moments to raise them up to her waist (as the darling girl most cooperatively lifted herself from the cushion supporting her, easing my already-trivial labors). The alabaster columns thus revealed were marvelous and sublime, pale as any Italian marble, and equaled in beauty perhaps only by the work of Botticelli, or the unknown Greek sculptor of the Venus de' Medici. I paused for a full breath of contemplation, then another, before returning to my work.

I could expend less care upon the selection of implements for this task, because they would be concealed from the camera's figurative eye by the skirt and petticoats of my delightful subject. Using black ribbons (because of the great and desirable contrast with her skin most pale), I affixed her right knee to the edge of the chair's seat, passing it through two of the small holes cunningly placed along the front of the chair (I had anticipated this need, for Miss Barlow was not my first, or second, subject). Having done so, it was a moment's work to repeat the process for her left knee, and thus pinion her limbs still more perfectly.