Some people wonder why a photographer charges extra for taking infants
in arms. They imagine, perhaps, that a photographer should conduct his
business on the principle of the railway companies, and charge nothing
for infants and half-price for children under twelve. But if the
railway companies had as much trouble with children as the photographer
has, they would charge double first-class fare for those under twelve,
and make the infant in arms take a special train.
[Illustration: 1.]
I am a photographer myself, although on mature consideration I think
I should prefer to be a railway company. Of infants in arms I prefer
not to speak here--there might even be a difficulty about printing
some of the things I should say. Suffice it to say that I have a
theory that Herod was a struggling photographer in his young days,
and had his revenge when he came to the throne. Intelligent children
of half-fare age are bad enough, but babies are beyond description.
Girls are not always satisfactory, but boys are much worse. A boy turns
up at a photographer's in much the same frame of mind that he visits
the dentist--minus the terror. He is so determined to see the thing
through with inflexible rigidity of countenance, that the overwrought
muscles of his face either combine to give him an expression of intense
suffering, or else break down under the strain and smudge the picture.
It is always a doubtful experiment to ask a boy to smile--you never
know what the result will be. Most boys don't seem to know what a
smile is. It is best, instead of asking the boy to smile, to provide
something likely to make him do it, and then have him photographed
quickly before the smile gets too wide for the plate.
[Illustration: 2.]
Many old photographers will remember Signor Berneri, a most admirable
operator, for many years with Messrs. Elliott and Fry. Signor Berneri
was an Italian, and his English vocabulary was small. His invariable
direction to his sitters was, "Now, if you please--good express!" There
was a certain want of definite clearness about this request, but by the
time the worthy Signor had taken a ruinous number of negatives without
achieving the "express" he was aiming for, his comic distress and
inability to convey a precise notion of what he required usually worked
their own cure, and the sitter was smiling as widely as anybody could
ask. An actual illustration of these persevering attempts of Berneri
is to be seen on these pages, and a gradually dawning perception of
the photographer's intention is observable--and on the face of a boy.
The boy's original conception of a "good express" is in the nature of
a compromise wherein frowning determination mingles with a guarded
defiance.
[Illustration: 3.]
After Berneri's usual "No good! Bad express!" the boy modifies his
original notion, and stirs in a little dignified truculence with
the facial ingredients he used at first. "Ah, no good--no good!
Bad express--more badder express!"--as one can now almost hear the
excitable Berneri shouting. The boy abates his truculence, and without
altogether abandoning the frown, tries a look of half-amused and
quite uncomprehending inquiry, which is, perhaps, justified by the
circumstances. This, again, is "no good express," and by this time the
operator has grown impatient and amusing; the boy begins actually to
smile; and at last there is a _real_ smile--some might say it verged on
an amused grin. This boy, by-the-bye, is now Mr. Elliott, jun.--still
of Elliott and Fry, and six feet six inches high.
[Illustration: 4.]
Berneri has betaken himself to a well-earned retirement in Italy--he
retired, in fact, some years ago. But, excellent operator as he was,
he will be remembered in the profession for some time--if only because
of his wildly despairing entreaties for "Good express--now, if you
_please_--good express!"
But it is bad enough when your English is of full vocabulary. Why is
it no part of our English boy's education to know what a naturally
pleasant expression of countenance is? Why can he see no middle course
between an aspect of warlike grimness and a self-conscious grin? I am
thinking, seriously thinking, of cultivating Signor Berneri's manner
and speech for special use--with boy sitters. I may even spoil more
plates than I do at present--although that is scarcely possible--but
the smile--or grin--which I extract will, at least, be intelligent,
because it will have a definite object--myself.
[Illustration: 5.]
_Martin Hewitt, Investigator._