But every art that ministers to the vanities of the public is liable every now and then to run riot in matters of taste, and so it is with photographic portraiture. Let us take the carte de visite mania for example, and turn over the Album at home, which by mutual exchanges contains all our friends. There is Mrs. Jones, for instance, who does the honours of her little semi-detached villa so well: how does she come to stand in that park-like pleasure-ground, when we know that her belongings and surroundings don’t warrant more than a little back-garden big enough to grow a few crocuses? Or Miss Brown, again, why should she shiver in a ball-dress on a verandah, and why should we be called upon—instead of looking at her good honest face—to have our attention called away to the lake-like prospect at her back? Then there’s Mr. Robinson, standing in a library with a heap of books put within reach of his hand. Now, all Mr. Robinson’s little world know that he never looked into any book but a ledger in his life. It will be observed that it is the photographic artists who court the lower stratum of the middle class, who most delight in these scenic arrangements, and no doubt they know what they are about. But it sometimes happens that people who ought to know better permit themselves to be made the lay-figures of the photographer’s ideal landscapes. We suppose that besetting evil of society—the love of appearing what we are not—is at the bottom of this small but very prevalent sin. If the class of individuals who love to be surrounded with these fictitious landscapes had the slightest knowledge of art, they would perceive that, independently of the “humbug,” the cutting up of a portrait with balustrades, pillars, and gay parterres is fatal to the effect of the figure which should be the only object to strike the eye. For instance, we saw the other day a carte de visite in which a young lady was represented reading, with her back to an ornamental piece of water, on which two swans were sailing, and appeared to be grubbing with their bills at the sash behind her back. Again, there is a portrait of Her Majesty to be seen in the shop windows, in which she is so posed that a tuft of verdure in the background appears to form a head-dress such as Red Indians wear—the ludicrous effect of which may be imagined. It must be confessed that the Royal Family have fallen into very bad hands, for their photographs are, one and all, slanders upon the Royal Race. There is one of the Queen and Prince Albert standing up looking at each other like two wooden dolls; and there is another of the Princess Beatrice seated upon a table, with her frock so disposed that it appears to form but one piece with the tablecloth, the effect being that this infant of five seems planted upon the full-blown crinoline of a woman of forty. The Heir-apparent and his young fiancée fare no better; indeed, the familiarities taken with the future King and Queen of England are of a far more offensive kind, as they sin against propriety and good taste rather than against artistic rules. What would have been thought of Sir Thomas Lawrence if he had left us portraits of the Prince of Wales and Caroline of Brunswick indulging in those little familiarities which lookers-on good-naturedly avoid seeing? But the Photographer Royal of Bruxelles has not hesitated to take advantage of the natural frankness and amiability of their Royal Highnesses, to pose them in a manner which, to say the least of it, jars on the good taste of the fastidious beholder. Princes of the most exalted rank clasp each other’s hands, we suppose, like other people, and an arm rests as naturally around a Royal neck as it would round a peasant’s; but there is a sense of propriety, without being prudish, about these matters which all understand but this unlucky photographer.
No photographic portrait looks so well as one with a perfectly plain background; and we advise all our readers to avoid those who put us into splendid domains and far-stretching forests, either with or without our will. But there is the question of dressing to sit to the sun just as there would be to a Ross or a Wells—indeed, the sun is more exacting than either of those artists. If the photograph is to be coloured, it matters little what the tint of the costume may be as far as the fidelity of the portrait is concerned; but it is otherwise with those that are to remain plain. For instance, an English officer taken in his uniform is surprised to find that instead of a shade representing red it turns out black. The charming mauve of a lady’s bonnet is transformed into white in the same manner. On the contrary, a yellow dress is represented in a photograph by pure black. The reason of this is that the blue rays of the spectrum (and all the intermediate shades of mauve, purple, puce, lavender, &c., in a more or less degree) act upon the nitrate of silver of the negative in a most powerful manner, whilst the yellow ray does not affect it at all; this may be seen by a visit to the photographer’s room where he prepares his plates, the windows of which are shaded with a yellow blind to prevent the light affecting them. Now, as the positives, or portraits, are printed from the glass negatives by the simple plan of allowing the light to fall through them upon the prepared paper, the lights and shades must be reversed. The moral to be drawn from this little story is, not to indulge in the colours we have mentioned when we visit the photographer. The good sense and the good taste of most ladies lead them to this conclusion, however, without knowing anything of the chemistry of the matter; and black silk is now almost universally worn for photographic purposes. Mind, good reader, it must be silk, not bombazine, or any of the cotton varieties of black, as the admirable effect of silk depends upon its gloss, which makes the garment full of those subdued and reflected lights which give motion and play to the drapery. A dead black cotton or woollen material would be represented by an uniform blotch, like a smear of soot; and a white dress, on the other hand, would appear like a flat film of wax, or a piece of cardboard. A combination of black net over white is, however, very effective; and an admirable softness and depth of colour is given to a photograph by the use of seal-skin, or velvet. This, though but the millinery of the art, is very necessary to be attended to, as other-