"_Actio personalis moritur c.u.m persona_," I replied; "if my executors brought an action, they would find themselves non-suited." (I had studied for the Bar at one period of my life.)
"Quite so," he said, "but they might drag me into court, nevertheless. I should really prefer to be on the safe side."
It did not seem unreasonable, particularly as I had not the remotest intention either of bringing an action or dying; so I wrote him a hasty memorandum to the effect that, in consideration of his photographing me free of charge (I took care to put _that_ in), I undertook to hold him free from all molestation or hindrance whatever in respect of the sale and circulation of all copies resulting from such photographing as aforesaid.
"Will that do?" I said as I handed it to him.
His eyes gleamed as he took the doc.u.ment. "It is just what I wanted,"
he said gratefully; "and now, if you will excuse me, I will go and bring in a few accessories, and then we will get to work."
He withdrew in a state of positive exultation, leaving me to congratulate myself upon the happy chance which had led me to his door.
One does not discover a true artist every day, capable of approaching his task in a proper spirit of reverence and enthusiasm; and I had hardly expected, after my previous failures, to be spared all personal outlay. My sole regret, indeed, was that I had not stipulated for a share in the profits arising from the sale--which would be doubtless a large one; but meanness is not one of my vices, and I decided not to press this point.
Presently he returned with something which bulged inside his velvet jacket, and a heap of things which he threw down in a corner behind a screen.
"A few little properties," he said; "we may be able to introduce them by-and-by."
Then he went to the door and, with a rapid action, turned the key and placed it in his pocket.
"You will hardly believe," he explained, "how nervous I am on occasions of importance like this; the bare possibility of interruption would render me quite incapable of doing myself justice."
I had never met any photographer quite so sensitive as that before, and I began to be uneasy about his success; but I know what the artistic temperament is, and, as he said, this was not like an ordinary occasion.
"Before I proceed to business," he said, in a voice that positively trembled, "I must tell you what an exceptional claim you have to my undying grat.i.tude. Amongst the many productions which you have visited with your salutary satire you may possibly recall a little volume of poems ent.i.tled "Pants of Pa.s.sion"?"
I shook my head good-humouredly. "My good friend," I told him, "if I burdened my memory with all the stuff I have to p.r.o.nounce sentence upon, do you suppose my brain would be what it is?"
He looked crestfallen. "No," he said slowly, "I ought to have known--you would not remember, of course. But _I_ do. I brought out those Pants.
Your mordant pen tore them to tatters. You convinced me that I had mistaken my career, and, thanks to your monitions, I ceased to practise as a Poet, and became the Photographer you now behold!"
"And I have known poets," I said encouragingly, "who have ended far less creditably. For even an indifferent photographer is in closer harmony with nature than a mediocre poet."
"And I _was_ mediocre, wasn"t I?" he inquired humbly.
"So far as I recollect," I replied (for I did begin to remember him now), "to attribute mediocrity to you would have been beyond the audacity of the grossest sycophant."
"Thank you," he said; "you little know how you encourage me in my present undertaking--for you will admit that I can _photograph_?"
"That," I replied, "is intelligible enough, photography being a pursuit demanding less mental ability in its votaries than that of metrical composition, however halting."
"There is something very soothing about your conversation," he remarked; "it heals my self-love--which really was wounded by the things you wrote."
"Pooh, pooh!" I said indulgently, "we must all of us go through that in our time--at least all of _you_ must go through it."
"Yes," he admitted sadly, "but it ain"t pleasant, is it?"
"Of that I have never been in a position to judge," said I; "but you must remember that your sufferings, though doubtless painful to yourself, are the cause, under capable treatment, of infinite pleasure and amus.e.m.e.nt to others. Try to look at the thing without egotism. Shall I seat myself on that chair I see over there?"
He was eyeing me in a curious manner. "Allow me," he said; "I always pose my sitters myself." With that he seized me by the neck and elsewhere without the slightest warning, and, carrying me to the further end of the studio, flung me carelessly, face downwards, over the cane-bottomed chair to which I had referred. He was a strong athletic young man, in spite of his long hair--or might that have been, as in Samson"s case, a contributory cause? I was like an infant in his hands, and lay across the chair, in an exceedingly uncomfortable position, gasping for breath.
"Try to keep as limp as you can, please," he said, "the mouth wide open, as you have it now, the legs careless--in fact, trailing. Beautiful!
don"t move."
And he went to the camera. I succeeded in partly twisting my head round.
"Are you _mad_?" I cried indignantly; "do you really suppose I shall consent to go down to posterity in such a position as this?"
I heard a click, and, to my unspeakable horror, saw that he was deliberately covering me from behind the camera with a revolver--_that_ was what I had seen bulging inside his pocket.
"I should be sorry to slay any sitter in cold blood," he said, "but I must tell you solemnly, that unless you instantly resume your original pose--which was charming--you are a dead man!"
Not till then did I realise the awful truth--I was locked up alone, at the top of a house, in a quiet neighbourhood, with a mad photographer!
Summoning to my aid all my presence of mind, I resumed the original pose for the s.p.a.ce of forty-five hours--they were seconds really, but they _seemed_ hours; it was not needful for him to exhort me to be limp again--I was limper than the dampest towel!
"Thank you very much," he said gravely as he covered the lens; "I think that will come out very well indeed. You may move now."
I rose, puffing, but perfectly collected. "Ha-ha," I laughed in a sickly manner (for I _felt_ sick), "I--I perceive, sir, that you are a humorist."
"Since I have abandoned poetry," he said as he carefully removed the negative to a dark place, "I have developed a considerable sense of quiet humour. You will find a large Gainsborough hat in that corner--might I trouble you to put it on for the next sitting?"
"Never!" I cried, thoroughly revolted. "Surely, with your rare artistic perception, you must be aware that such a headdress as that (which is no longer worn even by females) is out of all keeping with my physiognomy.
I will _not_ sit for my photograph in such a preposterous thing!"
"I shall count ten very slowly," he replied pensively, "and if by the time I have finished you are not seated on the back of that chair, your feet crossed so as to overlap, your right thumb in the corner of your mouth, a pleasant smile on your countenance, _and_ the Gainsborough hat on your head, you will need no more hats on this sorrowful earth.
One--two----"
I was perched on that chair in the prescribed att.i.tude long before he had got to seven! How can I describe what it cost me to smile, as I sat there under the dry blue light, the perspiration rolling in beads down my cheeks, exposed to the gleaming muzzle of the revolver, and the steady Gorgon glare of that infernal camera?
"That will be extremely popular," he said, lowering the weapon as he concluded. "Your smile, perhaps, was a _little_ too broad, but the pose was very fresh and unstudied."
I have always read of the controlling power of the human eye upon wild beasts and dangerous maniacs, and I fixed mine firmly upon him now as I said sternly, "Let me out at once--I wish to go."
Perhaps I did not fix them quite long enough; perhaps the power of the human eye has been exaggerated: I only know that for all the effect mine had on him they might have been oysters.
"Not yet," he said persuasively, "not when we"re getting on so nicely. I may never be able to take you under such favourable conditions again."
That, I thought, I could undertake to answer for; but who, alas! could say whether I should ever leave that studio alive? For all I knew, he might spend the whole day in photographing me, and then, with a madman"s caprice, shoot me as soon as it became too dark to go on any longer! The proper course to take, I knew, was to humour him, to keep him in a good temper, fool him to the top of his bent--it was my only chance.
"Well," I said, "perhaps you"re right. I--I"m in no great hurry. Were you thinking of taking me in some different style? I am quite at your disposition."
He brought out a small but stout property-mast, and arranged it against a canvas background of coast scenery. "I generally use it for children in sailor costume," he said, "but I _think_ it will bear your weight long enough for the purpose."
I wiped my brow. "You are not going to ask me to climb that thing?" I faltered.
"Well," he suggested, "if you will just arrange yourself upon the cross-trees in a negligent att.i.tude, upside down, with your tongue protruded as if for medical inspection, I shall be perfectly satisfied."
I tried argument. "I should have no objection in the world," I said; "it"s an excellent idea--only, _do_ sailors ever climb masts in that way? Wouldn"t it be better to have the thing correct while we"re about it?"
"I was not aware that you were a sailor," he said; "_are_ you?"