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356 THE PHOTOGRAPHIC NEWS. [June 8, 1883. where it cannot well escape the notice of the passer-by, the establishment has a very fine site indeed. Nor are the reception rooms less imposing because the charge adver tised is a reasonable one. A grand double drawing-room, handsomely furnished, with a large display of coloured work, awaits the visitor on the first floor, which he enters straightway, for the doors are opened wide to admit him. We make known our modest request for a dozen card portraits to the lady in charge, who receives the order with the best grace. “ Will you say which style you prefer? ” she asks, turn ing over several frames of cartes. “ Like these ? ” “Yes, those will do very well.” “ Or these ? Some people prefer this class of portrait.” We mark our approval; but yet more specimens are forthcoming. “ These last are very pleasing.” “ They certainly are ; yes, those are, perhaps, the best.” “You said a dozen, I think?” says our lady-friend, noting the order, and, as she does so, remarks: “ Would you like to look round at some of the other pictures ? ” We take the hint, and while the lady is busy at her desk, stroll round the room. The first object, framed and glazed, that we see, is not a portrait, but a huge notice to the effect that the terms are Cash, a capital idea in itself, only expressed, maybe, a little too loudly. There are good enlargements displayed, and a large number of coloured portraits, in smart gilt frames, but rather too florid to suit some tastes. “ They will tone down a little by age,” is the lady’s remark, for we have given expression to this last idea. “No doubt.” “But they are much admired as they are—they are so soft and delicate.” “No doubt, no doubt; only,” we say, jokingly, “they are possibly a little too nice—what artists sometimes call painted with scented soap.” “Ah I these uncoloured enlargements are more to your taste, I dare say; they are also quite permanent,” says our friend, referring to some fine Autotype enlargements. “Yes, they are very good ; but for to-day the small portraits will suffice, thank you.” “ Very good, sir ; here is the account—ten and sixpence, if you please.” Ten and sixpence 1 There might have been an exclama tion here, and a demand on our part for some explanation, were we really one of the public. But an instant’s thought brings about the solution of the problem without any further ado. We see at once what we have been doing. We have inadvertently chosen a bust portrait; the full- length cartes were doubtless seven shillings and sixpence, but those with larger heads are, we suppose, half-a-guinea. We pay our money, but scarcely think we have been fairly treated ; and then make our way upstairs. We are told to go to the top, and all the way up there is a succes sion of amusing and most effective pictures. There are doors right and left, each bearing in boldly painted charac ters the branch of work carried on therein. At last, there is no further progress to be made. Closed doors are on every hand, and no signs of a studio apparent. There is, however, a direction painted on the wall, so we take it, and tentatively open one of the doors. A young lady is busy painting small portraits at a table in the middle of the room, so we beg pardon, and are about to retire, when she invites our entrance. “ This is the way to the studio,” she says. “ Thank you.” “No, not up there. Will you allow me to see your paper ? ” The fact is, we were making off upstairs to where the glass room was evidently situated. But, as requested, we take our paper to the young lady’s table, and present it. "I see; a dozen cartes.” “ Yes.” “ Would you like any of them coloured? ” Of course we would, if we could only afford the expense; as it is, we decline the temptation. “Perhaps if you had one coloured just to see how you like them,” says the young lady persuasively, and holding fast to the paper. “What would thot cost?” is our cautious remark. “Only half-a-cr.n." We resist no longer. To think of the delight of friends when they should behold our sallow features endowed with a delicate salmon pink complexion is too much, and we close with the proposition. “ Will you pay now ? ” “ Certainly.” Where was our resolution not to spend more than seven shillings and sixpence on a portrait, and to carry out which, we had especially selected this studio? Thirteen shillings were now disbursed, and we were not yet clear of the establishment. Truly, man proposes, but woman disposes. The young lady asks a few particulars about name and address, all of which, we regret to say, she will find fictitious. But she must not complain, since she herself was practising a little innocent deceit while asking about our family matters. At hand was a form evidently meant for the colourist, with blank spaces after the words hair —com plexion , eyes &c., and upon this form she slyly entered such information as she rapidly gleaned from a survey of our features, as we stood there at the table, and replied to her queries. “ What a dreadful day Monday was! ” she remarks. “ It was a dreadful day.” “ Quite winter over again.” “ Quite.” “ Will you kindly walk up into the studio now ”—a gong had sounded—“ and give this paper above ?" “ Certainly.” A flight of stairs led to the studio. The little room we had just left was something of a “come-down” from the grandeur of the reception room, and the change from luxury to economy was still more marked on entering the studio. There might have been what was necessary in the bare room ; there was certainly nothing de trap. “ Please to arrange your hair, sir,” is the rather brusque remark of the artist upstairs. It is not his fault, of course, that this happens to be the sixth request within a fortnight made to us touching our hair, and therefore, it is not fair that he should feel the effects of any resentment in our breast. But for the moment we really do feel tempted to get out of temper, and to avow with some vehemence that our coiffure is certainly as tidy as his, anyway, and that we wish he would leave our hair alone. One may not expect to be shown into a dressing room when cards are quoted at seven shillings and sixpence ; but since, through no fault of our own, we have been mulcted of thirteen shillings, something more than a bracket with an untidy brush and comb upon it may be anticipated. However, on reflection, we remember that neither Piccadilly nor Baker Street provided us with anything more, so we cannot grumble. We approach the mirror, adjust the locks over the noble brow for the half-dozenth time, and inspect our features in the glass with as much curiosity as if we had never seen them before. W e sit down. Is that a faint odour of collodion that reaches us, or is it only fancy ? In any case, the fancy has never come over us before during the present round of visits. We are focussed—the assistant might be provided with a canopy with advantage, we note—and then a second assis tant brings in the slide. “ You may wink your eyes, but don’t take them off the picture,” says our friend, in allusion to a small photograph on a stand he has set up near at hand.” “ Steady, please.” We remain steady, but such a long time that we decide upon counting the seconds during the next exposure.