On this day (January 15)
in the year 1859, the following account appeared in "The American
Journal of Photography." Vol. 1, No. 16 (15 January 1859) pp. 233-237.
This text is now available on the Daguerreian Society web site (and
may also be obtained in Word format):
http://www.daguerre.org/resource/texts/shade.html
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MY FIRST DAGUERREOTYPE.
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There never was anything like it. True, a multitude of "types" and
"graphs" have been brought out since then, and glass and paper and iron
and leather and divers vehicles have been covered with impressions, and
I have seen them, but nothing ever filled my eye so completely as that
first daguerreotype.
For hours I have held it, carefully noting all the soft minutiae of
light and shade: and still the little rough-edged silver tablet was a
joy forever, discovering some merit of complete similitude hitherto
unnoted; it seemed inexhaustible, yielding new pleasure as often as
consulted.
A small and pleasant village in central Indiana was the locus of
this primitive achievement; the time I think, the fall of 1842. Seth,
my coadjutor and compeer in the enterprise, and myself were denizens of
a cosy Law Office, in the second story of an unpretending building,
where we tumbled the musty tomes of legal lore, hoping in good time to
make lawyers of ourselves. Seth was an artist, that is, he had wielded
a pencil in his day and produced some landscapes, and even portraits
which were not without merit; at least, so said the knowing ones, who
pronounced him a genius undeveloped, and bewailed his aberration in
reading law. At one time he had tried his hand at farming, being
beguiled by the smell of new-mown hay, or more probably by the per-diem
to the harvest hands, (for Seth was poor.) But that was only a
temporary expedient, and he did not take kindly to association with
those "whose talk was of oxen." I may mention that he afterwards
turned up at New Orleans, where he verified the predictions of his
quondam friends, by making a sensation in the way of landscapes and of
portraits, and so the world lost a poor lawyer and gained a reputable
artist.
Having an eye out for the new and curious, I had seen some time
before intimations in the public prints of a wonderful French discovery
in the art of portraiture, whereby it seemed quite probable there was a
royal road to drawing and picture-making; and indeed, that the time
was not distant, when one might look in a mirror, and leave his image
sticking there. But as greater marvels have in like manner been
announced and never heard of afterwards, I was disposed to regard this
new wonder as belonging to the same class, until I saw another account
of the mystery, and this time coupled with the more tangible statement,
that the images of a camera obscura were made permanently visible, and
giving a kind of outline of the method.
Seth and I talked over the new discovery for several days,
determining, if possible, to verify our deductions by a practical test,
and with a view to elicit all the paragraph contained, and to obtain a
more complete clue to the modus operandi, we tried our hand on
interpretation, and by dint of different emphasis and modulation, we
thought we could more completely evolve the seeming mystery. The
result of this unfledged exercise of legal acumen was, that silver
plates properly exposed to the vapors of iodine, and thus coated with a
thin film of a yellow or golden color, became sensitive to the action
of light and received the image, which could be made visible by the
fumes of mercury, and rendered permanent by a wash of salt and water.
There was allusion to the employment of hypo-sulphite of soda, but as
this was an unattainable salt in that region, it was not to be thought
of. One great obstacle in the accomplishment of this and similar
enterprises in an out of the world place like that, lies in the
difficulty of obtaining suitable instruments wherewith to operate. The
chemicals, the mercury, the iodine and the salt were at our command,
but Seth's rather abrupt inquiry as to where in thunder we should find
the tools and traps to work with, was quite pertinent. However, genius
overcomes all difficulties. After another day's consultation, we
brightened up our optics, consulted the authorities with a view, as
Seth expressed it, of "understanding the principle on which it works,"
and set about building a camera obscura. It was easy to see how it
might be done if we only had the lens, but a plano or a double convex
was scarcely to be hoped for in that locality. The possible union of
two watch crystals, with water or alcohol interposed, was debated, but
after an examination of a score or two of glasses belonging to a
friendly jeweler, we relinquished that idea. Our next endeavor was to
obtain a large sized sun glass. The general introduction of lucifer
matches had rendered this article obsolete, and so we asked everybody
if they knew of anybody who was the owner, in fee simple, of an old-
fashioned sun-glass. Here fortune favored us, and after a few
inquiries and considerable negotiation, we succeeded in dispossessing a
boy of a veritable sun glass, for a sufficient consideration.
The rest was easy of accomplishment, and with the judicious
employment of pocket knives, tacks, paste, and the division of labor, a
cigar box was soon transformed into a camera. Our sun glass was
mounted in a paste-board tube, and made adjustable. The rear end of
the cigar box being left open, we made a frame to fit, over which we
pasted a paper rendered semi-transparent by an artistical application
of a tallow candle. This was our " ground glass." Another frame, or
rather a combination of frame-work and a flat piece of cigar box,
served for a "plate holder," and was nicely adapted to take the place
of the ground glass when removed. A "slide" was not thought of, and as
to the "chemical focus," we let that take care of itself, for the
excellent reason we did not know of its existence. With a quill and
the contents of the ink bottle, we blackened the inside of the camera,
tube and all. So far, all was right. After a few trials, we succeeded
in so adjusting our tube as to obtain quite a respectable view on the
ground glass. Now for a plate. This, which we had deemed to be a
matter of small moment, proved to be most difficult.
From preliminary experiments on small pieces, we felt certain we
could precipitate a metallic coating of silver from the nitrate, on a
copper plate, by the use of moist cream of tartar. But after preparing
a copper plate of suitable dimensions, we found we could not produce a
coating thick enough to bear the required polishing. A day of repeated
trials and failures settled that. We therefore, at the suggestion of
our friend, the jeweler, undertook to beat out a five-franc piece.
This time we had the tools, and by repeated annealing and persistent
hammering, we ultimately succeeded in obtaining the wished for
platitude, and the head of the citizen king was extended to
hydrocephalic dimensions. Then the polishing was long and tedious: but
pumice, scotch gray and rouge did the business. So, after two or three
days' labor, we were the proprietors of a complete daguerreotype
apparatus--that is to say, of a camera obscura, plate, the requisite
chemicals, and two tin cups, to be used respectively for the iodine and
mercury.
On the morning of a clear, cloudless day, we set about the first
experiment. We called into requisition all the old coats, pantaloons,
cloaks, &c. about the establishment, to darken the three windows of our
office, leaving an accessible place in one corner of the single back
window, whence we proposed to aim our camera. We were much pleased to
observe that, the picture on our ground glass was much more distinct
than before, though Seth still objected to its being upside down. Our
plate being well polished, and affixed to the plate-bolder by a few
tacks, we inverted it over tin cup No. 1, containing the iodine. Not
daring to admit sufficient light to determine when the gold color was
produced, we concluded to make it a question of time. We accordingly
exposed it five minutes, and then carefully removing the greased paper
frame from the camera previously adjusted, we placed our plate in
proper position in its stead, at the same time removing the blacking
box cover from the end of the tube. Then came an anxious consultation
as to the time required for exposure. Seth thought ten minutes
sufficient; I, fifteen; and we finally compromised on twelve, and at
the expiration of that time we removed it (carefully covering it with a
hat to preserve it from any light,) and placed it over tin cup No. 2,
containing the scrapings of a piece of looking-glass, gradually heated
on the stove. After the plate had "stewed" as long as we thought best,
we admitted a little light; Seth, raising it up cautiously, took a
judicious peep, and protested the picture was there. Well, we removed
it--took out the tacks, placed it in the salt and water a few moments,
let in more light--when lo! our plate was as clean and well-polished
as at first, without a trace of anything. This was a great
disappointment, but we immediately set about a new trial, and with no
better success. The third time we substituted real quicksilver for our
looking-glass scrapings, and warmed the iodine that it might vaporize
more readily. Hitherto our great anxiety had been to exclude all
light, presuming very naturally that a plate sufficiently sensitive to
receive the impression, must necessarily be destroyed by contact with
any light, however feeble. Entertaining strong suspicion that hitherto
we had had no iodine on the plate, we ventured this time to admit
sufficient light to show us that we had succeeded in producing the
desired golden hue. Once more the plate was in the camera, and for
twenty minutes we sat down and calculated chances. It was a long
twenty minutes, but it ended--our tin cup was again heated up with the
real mercury, and iodine on the plate to a certainty.
"A regular built picture, by jingo!" said Seth, as we slipped it
into the salt water and admitted the light. Sure enough, there it was.
The iodine was slowly clearing off; and as more light was admitted we
saw our miniature landscape--that old shed, with its water-stained
shingles in the fore-ground, the barn yard and its carts and wagons,
and even those horses--a little misty, to be sure--but that white horse
was unmistakable. The building in the distance--the church and its
steeple, and the leafless trees. There was a dim, hazy look about the
horizon, and a sad want of what I have since learned to denominate
"aerial perspective;" but Seth said that softening down of the harsh
lines was decidedly artistical. To me, it seemed a realization of what
I suppose everybody has thought of--the skilful combination of all the
elements of that delicate frost work which we see on the windows of a
cold morning into the perfect semblance of a real and familiar scene.
After repeated rinsings we dried it on the stove. I confess there
was quite a crystalization of salt on the surface, and some streaks,
but still there was a picture--to me an inexhaustible source of wonder
and admiration. Afterwards I progressed somewhat in the art; adopted
new improvements, and took likenesses of learned lawyers, with
numberless imposing looking volumes piled on the table beside them
sentimental young ladies with guitars in their hands, and beautiful
boquets in the back ground; matronly ladies, with pocket handkerchiefs
of table-cloth dimensions; children, with staring eyes and cork-screw
faces, and love-sick swains who persisted in sitting with a huge hand
placed over the region of the heart, and who brought back the picture
after a few days because the heart was on the wrong side.
All these, of course, I admired exceedingly--but still, I repeat,
there never was anything like that first daguerreotype!
SHADE.
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Posted for your enjoyment. Gary W. Ewer
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01-15-98 |
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