IN A PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 32, 8 August 1891, Page 253

IN A PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY.

E had sworn a solemn vow never to be photographed again, but in an evil hour she listened to the voice of the charmer. At the ‘ earnest solicitation of friends ’ she was persuaded to sit for a photograph. One stipulated that it should show her wonderful hair, while another said it would be a sin if her w’hite arms were not displayed.

This loving enumeration of her charms rather puffed up her pride, and so she peacocked down to a famous photographer, and made an appointment for the next afternoon. Then came the most important question on earth—what should she wear ? This question is at all times of grave import, but especially so when one has photographic possibilities in view. One wishes to be as surpassingly lovely and as becomingly attired as possible. This was not a Flora McFlimsy case. Her modest little wardrobe was soon canvassed. The stiff gowns were going quite shabby. Small wonder from the service they had seen. The India silk was too flimsy and had too many ribbons, and the gauze necessitated a cab. She pondered over the question until her brain nearly burst. At last, in a fit of desperation, she thrust the gauze bodice, a pair of eighteen-button Suede gloves and a comb into a handbag, and, with a look of grim determination on her face, set out.

She screwed her courage to the sticking point on her way by continually stating to herself this truism : ‘lt is not so very much worse than going to the dentist’s,’ and finally reached the photographer’s place pale and resigned. In the show-room she gazed upon the rows of beautiful and famous women and tried to believe that their portraits would be overshadowed by her own, but it was a somewhat sickly effort, especially when she remembered her nose, the bete noire of her existence. She was vaguely directed to go upstairs. But there was, as far as she could see, no one up stairs, so grasping her bag she waited for a reception committee to appear. It came not, bnt in its stead there suddenly appeared a very stout and rosy-cheeked woman in a green silk gown, a seal coat, and a yellow bonnet. She hesitated a moment, then bore down on the waiting one, and, without any preface, said : • Won’t you tell me which one of them proofs you’d have finished up if you was in my place.’ The candidate for photographic distinction is nothing if not obliging, and the look of distress on the honest face was so genuine that she had not the heart to rebuff her. So, taking her proofs, she studied them a moment. They were so painfully like the original that it was really difficult to select, but she made a choice at last. The woman in the yellow bonnet looked rather suspicious. • I don’t think either one of them proofs do me justice.’ she announced, ‘and I’m jest going to set again. At this moment a man appeared from some mysterious quarter, looked at the waiting one’s card, tore oft' a part of it, disappeared a moment and returned, saying: ‘ The operator will be ready in fifteen minutes.’ Had he said, ‘The drop will fall in fifteen minutes ’ she could not have experienced a much worse sinking of the heart. However, shearose and passed into the dressing-room,closely followed by the lady who proposed to ‘ set ’ again. As they entered the dressing-room a magnificent vision greeted them. Before the long mirror stood a woman in a gorgeous robe of mauve satin brocaded with violets and lilies of the valley. Her train was spread out in voluminous folds. Jewels swung at her ears and gleamed on her ample breast. Mauve satin slippers peeped from under her gown and she carried an enormous fan of lavender feathers. Her eyes were dark and defiant, and she bore herself with considerable dignity. ‘ Tell Mr —— lam ready,’ she said, with the air of a duchess, to an attendant, and a moment later swept out.

‘My ! ain’t she grand?’ said the stout lady, who, having got off her coat, displayed a black lace corsage, whose open neck and sleeves showed her ripe-red charms. Receiving no reply, she went on : ‘I never had no picture taken before I set for them proofs I showed you. I live a long ways from here, and I left my cook drunk, and five young ones squalling after me, but I was bound to be took.’ ‘You deserve success,’ said the other, drawing on her long gloves. ‘Now, what are you putting on them gloves for?’ asked the woman, who was determined to keep up a cheerful conversation. ‘ I'd leave them off. Yon hain’t no need to be ashamed of them arms—’

* Your turn, madam,' sard the polite attendant, and she sailed away to smirk before the camera, while the stately, statuesque woman swept in to remove her finery. Her face puzzled the waiting one. It was strangely familiar, but she could not quite place it. So as she buttoned her gloves and

combed out her bang she glanced under her eyelashes at the splendour which the disrobing revealed. The shining gown being lifted showed white satin corsets, a gorgeous golden silk chemise whose open work yoke displayed a dainty black silk shirt. The stockings were of finest silk in lavender hues. With all the self-possession imaginable this radiant creature doffed the white satin corsets for a pair of equally smart black ones ami slipped her well-moulded limbs into black silk divided skirts. Then putting on her black cloth dress skirt and placing a stunning red toque on her dark curly hair, she adjusted her veil with deliberation and precision. ‘ Your turn, madam,’ and the waiting one went to her doom, passing the stout, red cheeked lady, who had grown a trifle more fiery as to complexion under her ordeal. ‘ I’ll bet that’ll be good,’ she whispered confidentially, as they passed each other. • Who was that woman in the mauve gown ?’ asked the waiting one of the operator as he welcomed her : ‘ her face was so familiar.’ The photographer named a popular singer then on a visit to that city. A great light broke in upon the questioner. She thought of the stunning gown and the more stunning underwear, and said to herself, ‘ It evidently pays to sing.’ ‘ Sit here, please,’ directed the operator, and she obeyed. Never had this woman realized how much she could feel like a fool until she sat on a raised revolving dais under a strong light with a man walking swiftly up and down before her, regarding her critically from all points of the compass. ‘ Turn the head quickly to the left. Look up a moment. Wet the lips. Not so stiff, please. Let the neck be more pliable. Droop the shoulders well forward. Inflate the lungs. Take a long, deep breath. Look about here. That's it. One moment, please.’ One moment. It was an age, an eternity ! She was only conscious of that maddening desire to scream aloud or to make a hideous grimace which always seizes her at this critical moment. ‘That will do,’ said the operator suddenly. She was about to rise, when he said : ‘ Wait, please. I want to try another pose. The arm is good. Turn the lady around, back to the camera, Jake.’ Jake, the assistant. obeyed. * Now, turn the head completely over the shoulder. Don’t laugh and don’t look self-conscious. Just look as if you were saying “ How do you do ” to somebody’. Look here. One moment, please.’ Again that moment of agony—that torturing desire to yell or grin like a fiend—then the welcome words, ‘ That's all.’

Back to the dressing room she feebly wabbled, with the sense of having passed through a severe trial. The stout woman in the yellow bonnet had gone to her drunken cook and her squalling children. The dashing variety star was putting tbe last touches to her toilet. A beautiful fairhaired child, unconscious of the awful fate before her, was having her fluffy curls arranged by her doting mamma, and a woman of at least sixty-five was daubing rouge on her faded cheeks before the mirror and ever and anon retreating to gaze triumphantly at her ghastly frescoing. A little bleached blonde flounced in, looking for her handbag, which had become mislaid.

‘ Not that one," she said, disdainfully eyeing the small bag which had brought down the gauze bodice and a comb. ‘ Mine was a great big bag !’ Huddled behind a screen, our heroine climbed into the waist of her gown. ‘lf I ever make such an idiot of myself again,’ she wrathfully said, ‘ I’ll ’ —but she conld think of no threat which would meet the exigencies of the case. Someway, somehow, she scrambled into her clothes, gathered up her belongings, and wended her way to a house in the suburbs, where she put bay rum on her head and took to her bed.

A day or so afterwards * them proofs ’ arrived. She hastily opened the envelope, gave one shuddering glance, and then burst into a fit of shrill, maniacal laughter. They were a failure. She saw that she would be obliged to sit again

Edith Sessions Tupper.