Female and Male Clients

A couple, a man and a woman—it doesn’t matter of what social status—, come to see their test proofs.

Nine times, I would even say eleven times out of ten, you will see that the wife is absorbed by the portraits of her husband, while the husband, no less hypnotized but by his own image, seems miles away from even thinking of the image of his other half.

This observation has been repeated too many times, and with mathematical precision, not to deserve to be at the head of these notes.

*

So good is everyone’s opinion of his or her physical qualities that the first impression of every model in front of the proofs of his or her portrait is almost inevitably disappointment and recoil (it goes without saying that we are talking here of perfect proofs).

Some people have the hypocritical modesty to conceal their shock under an appearance of indifference, but do not believe them. They had entered through the door defiant, aggressive, and many will come out furious.

It is by no means easy to avoid this difficulty; the amateur photographer will suffer as much as the professional, even more, the poor thing! doomed in advance to all acerbities, and especially because he has the disadvantage of not being duly licensed. He had better get ready, then, exactly like the other one, and ponder the advice of experience.

Prophylactically, that is, before the act, entertain the eventuality of a “retake.” The hope of this beneficial “retake” will appease everything, everybody will gain—since, you yourself, are you so certain that you cannot get something even better than this first proof?

Above all, when two models have come to you together, be sure to arrange for them to come together to get the photographs.

Never forget, then, to submit the proofs of the one to the other and those of the other to the first: what in billiards is called “playing off the cushion”—and, for a moment, escape!

Without fail the one will find the other very successful and the other will find the first perfect. As counterevidence, let them still debate together.

The inevitable first shock thus dissipated and reduced to a simple effect of the back and forth, you can then approach them without fear of being bitten.

Thrice happy is the operator who happens upon a client like my dear Philippe Gille (without an s!)—this well-read mandarin, always in such a good humor.

I had scarcely had the time to submit to him his first proof when, without even looking at the second one, the excellent man cries out:

— Perfect! And how nicely you have rendered my good look, sweet, loyal!—and intelligent!!!

*

We have attributed to women the reputation of coquetry—which, between us, they would be totally wrong not to merit; but this constant solicitude of the effect provoked by our physical appearance, this coquetry, is even more reproachable in man himself. This I have seen many times, and from the right place from which one can see it best.

Nothing in women can compare to the infatuation of certain men and to the constant concern about their “appearance” in the majority of them. Those who pretend to be the most detached in this matter are precisely the most affected.

*

I have found in men considered serious by everyone, in the most eminent personages, an anxiety, an extreme agitation, almost an agony in regard to the most insignificant details of their appearance or to a “nuance in their expression.” It has been depressing, sometimes even repugnant.

One of them came back one time, early in the morning the day after his visit to see the proofs, all thrown off by a hair—I say one hair—which was sticking out past the part and which he absolutely wanted to see return to the line. “But wouldn’t there be a way, Mr. Nadar? And wouldn’t it be better to redo it? …” And this is what this solemn man had come to ask me at dawn, dropping everything.

The whole night he had been unable to sleep a wink—and in full candor he confessed it to me.

*

But shall we contemplate masculine infatuation pushed to the point of madness? What more explicit demonstration than the inexplicable unconsciousness of some candidates, professional politicians who have planned, as a supreme, decisive means of persuasion, to send their photograph to their constituents, an image of the word-merchants that they are? What virtue of attraction, then, can these people assume in their shameful faces, where all baseness, all human ugliness flourishes, faces which exude baseness and ignominious lies and all the physiognostic signs of duplicity, lust, greed, depredation?

Is it not the epitome of egotistical monomania, this hallucination that has no qualms about winning the approval of all hearts with the presentation of such mugs?

And if Niépce had foreseen the parting shot of this discovery, wouldn’t he have recoiled?

*

It has been shown that some professions more than others seem to develop, within the individual, the cult of the self and infatuation. Naturally the actor comes first here, and we should neither be surprised nor should we reproach him: it is a professional liability.

Immediately after the actor, it is the officer who presents himself.

The meticulous rigidity of order, which the incessant surveillance of the minutest details of the uniform imposes, is it not there to a great extent, too?

I myself have been in the position, for some forty years and more, to make these observations, every day, from morning to evening, and I must admit that, alongside perfectly dignified bearings, in the orthodox and virile unawareness of their image, I have happened to encounter, in some of our military men, disconcerting affectations and petty behaviors.

But I have also taken the portrait of a good number of foreign officers, Italian and of all nationalities, and I have quickly realized that these exotic iron-bearers have in their dress and appearance manners and bearings from which our men would still have much to learn.

*

But where I saw the insanity of male coquetry in its paroxysm is—though I must sadden some consciences—in two … Anglican pastors!

Never—ever! have I encountered in female creatures a similar science of arrangements and cosmetic strategy: disgusting …

How could I forget especially that one who came to me once in all the splendor borrowed from mother Jezebel,¹ so outrageously rosy-cheeked that I could not resist the temptation to check it out?

Under the pretext of removing from his cheek an atom of soot, I take my handkerchief, I touch, and I find—carmine!

My creature turned pale …

On the other hand, if many models are wrong to indulge in exaggerations of pretensions and affectations, others, quite on the contrary, demonstrate such an indifference, such a sidereal disengagement from themselves, that they manage to disorient all sentiment of probability.

*

Such was the one I noticed one afternoon in our “hall” at the time when the proofs are submitted to our clientele for their review, notably punctual at this daily appointment. Among the small groups, all absorbed by their respective proofs, I would go from the one to the other, giving my advice. When I came to that one:

— And you, sir, would you like me to help you to be critical? First of all, how do you find yourself?

— Not bad, sir. I’m satisfied.

— Let me see …

I look at the two proofs—I raise my eyes to the model …

It was the proof of someone else that he was holding in his hand—and with which he was “satisfied” …

*

Oh, well, I have seen worse: another time I killed two birds with one stone!

But we should first of all keep in mind that the sounding line has never touched, will never touch, the depths of—how should I put it? … —human naïveté.

For example, all those who have penned something in a newspaper were from the beginning made aware of the famous legend of the old subscriber whose sight is failing and who writes to the editor requesting that he get his copy in “slightly larger” print. Since his request is very exceptional, he assumes that it cannot be refused to one of the oldest subscribers to the newspaper …

And do not believe that this preposterous request was unique: it reproduces itself from time to time and even I myself have uncovered it in the offices of the first newspaper where I found myself seated at a desk.

I have, personally, dealt with a good lady who recommends “above all” reproducing the portrait on “good paper,” and it is me that the good gentleman addressed, who offered with no prompting to pay “a little more” for his painted image, on the condition that it would be painted with “fine colors.”

The Poet, himself, did not mince words. He said: “Stupidity belongs to man.”

*

So then, two gentlemen, from the provinces, came together to have their pictures taken and returned together to see the proofs.

According to the invariable ritual, the employee gave the one the proofs of the other, and the other the proofs of the first one.

For a while they have both been staring silently at these images, each in his own turn …

I intervene:

— Well, gentlemen, are you satisfied? Have you chosen?

Both equally say that they are content.

— … Only, one points out to me, all timidly, it seems to me that … I did not have a mustache? …

I look at the image, I look at the man, I look at his friend …

Each held the portrait of the other—and recognized himself there!!!

The order of things reestablished, here they are, then, the one and the other, a little more comfortable—and the one that, until now, had not breathed, said to me, timidly:

— I was thinking, too: it seems to me that there is … something that is not quite right …

You’ve had enough? Just a moment …

But will you believe me? …

*

This person enters (and I do not make them do it on purpose), he chooses the type of portrait that he desires, asks to pay his bill immediately, pays and: he disappears! We did not even have time to turn around …

With great agitation, we exclaim: but where did the gentleman go? A second ago he was here! Run quickly: he did not even have time to get down the stairs! …

We rush, we fly, we catch up with him, we bring him back:

— But, sir? What about your session? You must pose!

— Ah??? … As you wish. But I thought that this was enough …

*

Put a woman in a photography studio, as indeed in the neutral terrain of any other shop or counter, and you do not have a more sensitive and reliable instrument of precision than this touchstone to register, from the door, if the client who just entered is a gentleman or a badly raised man.

Still, we must point out that there are gentlemen and gentlemen. One of the most correct, he who “in his world” will always be considered irreproachable, can represent, in another world, a very uncivil man, and even a perfect bore: the one, for example, for whom a woman who is not from a specific class of woman is not a woman. This is primarily where the true gentleman stands out.

The affectation of the Anglo-Saxon stiffness has become, for those among us who set the tone, the paragon of gentility. Our habits have been infiltrated by the mores of the Market, a crude place par excellence, where, through the wild pushing and shoving for money and the Israeli way of having the hat fixed on the head, the brutality of the clashes and collisions has never afforded the time for an apology. The base level there is even lower than the offense.

Through all this our educational habits have changed. We are far from the days when, as children, we would hold our caps low even in the most humble shop, where we were told to take them off in order to give a penny to a poor man, and when Mom would refuse our pleas to replace our old hat, the whole thing being superfluous, because a hat “is held in the hand.”

“Petit Bob” wouldn’t hear of it at all.²

Some old families still try to keep and transmit received traditions; but everything wears out, and very soon we will wonder what could well be the nature of that politeness whose evocation would find nothing to respond to it in the new order of things.

What a pity! Courtesy, amiability, affability, were not, in fact, other than delicate means, dilutions of sensitivity, of goodness—and this politeness which seems to be lost forever was not one of the least charms of our French race …

*

But let us return quickly to our laboratories.

A little more often than the justice of the axiom merits, impertinent people repeat to us that people always get the government they deserve—which would be too offensive for many people, including us. We must nevertheless recognize that every artistic or commercial establishment will be treated by its clients in the same way as it treats them, and vice versa.

In truth, you would never be able to tame certain, often very charming monsters, whose naïvely ferocious egoism absolutely mocks everything that is not them. There are some who seem to derive a secret and intimate enjoyment from doing harm, for example, by disrupting the entire schedule of a workday with a delay, and turning all the appointments upside down, like a deck of cards.

Against these monsters, the profession itself will provide you with more than one sufficient riposte, if not to have everything turn out well, at least to neutralize their harmfulness. Hold on first, without any wavering, to a rigorous punctuality, and remain ruthless to all latecomers, whatever the cost. What you might have lost on one side will soon be regained on the other.

The whole question boils down for you into “doing well.” Always and still always look for the best, there and everywhere, and, preoccupied day and night with how to perfect your work, be stricter with yourself than with anybody else. Never let anything emerge from your studio that cannot defy the criticism of a rival.

To seek honor before profit is the surest means of finding profit with honor.

*

It was in the very early days of my being a photographer.

Night was falling, and in the garden of the rue Saint-Lazare which served as my studio then—a garden long since eliminated by municipal redistricting—, I was already putting in order, for the next day’s work, the instruments, very basic then, of which I would try to make the most: the tools of the novice were as modest as his fortune.

The bell rings: two strangers, tall and with a nice air about them, attended by a beautiful lady who accompanies them, ask me to make their portrait. They both have to leave the next evening on the express train—they are officers in the army in India.

I refuse: the daylight is too dim; I wouldn’t have been able to do anything good. Tomorrow?

Tomorrow, impossible for them, since their whole day is taken—and so much do they insist that, in order not to offend them, I end up giving in, but by reiterating to them that the proof, in similar conditions, will not be acceptable.

*

The two poses were taken:

— How much?

— But they will not be good.

— How much?

— It will be two hundred francs; but …

They still intend to pay; they put two bills on the table, without accepting a receipt—and off they go.

*

The next morning, I expose the two negatives without any conviction—and in fact all I obtain is two gray, blurry proofs—not deliverable.

If only my two obstinate clients could return during the day, I would send them, anywhere, other proofs than these! …

But no. It is only in the evening, like the day before, that I see them again.

*

— Well, you will realize that I did not mislead you yesterday. Judge for yourselves.

The two men and the beautiful lady examine the proofs, consult among themselves in English—and finally, in agree-
ment:

— But we do not find these bad; they’re even good.

— No!

— Yes!—and, moreover, these portraits suit us. Could you please prepare them so that we can take them?

— Never in my life! I do not deliver such things. You will begin all over again …

— Impossible.

— Then you will not begin again; but these will never leave my house. Here are your two hundred francs.

*

And I had already torn the proofs into four pieces.

The trio jumped!!! …

— Excuse me, and please accept all my regrets for displeasing you …

One of my two Englishmen is more than displeased, and similarly the lady: he’s even pale … A little nervously, he says to me:

— But, sir, you did not have the right to dispose of these proofs, which were paid for?

— Excuse me: here is your money: moreover, you remember that yesterday I refused to accept it. Didn’t I tell you in advance, and repeat, that my work would not be deliverable?

— But you did not have the right to dispose of this work by yourself, even if it were bad. It partly belongs to us, since we wasted time and energy in order to pose.

The argument, even though specious, touches me here: I sensibly soften up:

— What you say here, sir, would be fair up to a point; but please bear in mind that there is nothing to worry about. Your money is good, beyond dispute: the work that I have to give you, in exchange for this money, has to be equally good and, indisputably, of equal value—or else the establishment you entered is not an honest one—, and thus it would not be I who receives you there. I can only reiterate my regrets to you.

It is necessary that they take a stand.

The trio exchanges a few words in English—and looks at me with curiosity.

Evidently, to them I seem like an eccentric, perhaps a madman. But all the excitement dies down, and, withdrawing, my Englishman says to me:

— You are a strange businessman, sir, and you seem to me to have adopted a method that does not lead to riches.

— Perhaps; unless, even further than Calcutta, Madras, and for a long time, you will keep the memory of a businessman, as you say, scrupulously fair, even at his own expense. If the case is quite uncommon and seems to you curious enough to be mentioned, then I will not have lost but gained. But this point is secondary, and there is another that comes first: you have your point of honor as an officer; why shouldn’t a businessman have his point of honor as a businessman? …

We part, almost good friends at last …

*

What would my three English people have thought, had they suspected what, that day, their repudiated ten louis represented for me—at that so difficult moment of my poor beginnings—, when I lacked everything …

But I persist in believing that it is in this way, and only this way, that the best establishments are built.

And this is what we must always demonstrate.