Read Online The Mercury Visions of Louis Daguerre by Dominic Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dominic Smith
Ads: Link
slowing.
“You can dress in the library. Nobody is in there,” said Arago. “You’ll come to it at the base of the stairs.”
Louis moved uneasily across the platform. The sight of his own blood brought the smell of ether into his nostrils. He followed the stairs down to the library and closed the door behind him. Arago’s shirt was made from broadloom cotton, the kind of shirt one wore sailing. Louis removed his bloody neck cloth, cravat, waistcoat, and shirt. He wiped the tooth with his kerchief and placed it on one of the shelves, next to a clothbound volume on celestial orbits. An odd sensation of satisfaction, of shedding bone, settled over him. He put his tongue into the newly created socket. It was on the bottom right and probably wouldn’t show during a smile. Arago’s shirt felt cool and smelled of lime starch. He tucked it into his breeches and walked back towards the observatory platform, holding the bundle of his clothes to his chest. Arago was pacing the rampart, occasionally looking up at the sun. He walked with his hands behind his back, shifting between the cardinal directions.
“Thank you for the shirt. I will return it this evening when I come,” said Louis.
“I’ll leave instructions with the guard to let you in. Are you certain that you are in good enough health?”
“As I said, an old rotten tooth.”
“Well, I must get back to my dossiers. Very good of you to come, Daguerre,” Arago said, patting him on the shoulder. Something had changed. Could you see a man spit out a tooth and take him seriously? Louis took out the exposed copper plate, wrapped it in hessian, and went downstairs to his carriage. He threw the bloody clothes next to him on the box seat and took off at a pace.
He didn’t know which was worse, the humiliation of losing a tooth before one of France’s fathers of science, or the scalding embarrassment of Arago seeing the Legion of Honor cross around his neck. He was a boy playing dress-up. He remembered with further humiliation that he’d left the tooth inside the observatory library—a bloody morsel of himself at zero latitude. Louis had almost brought himself to laugh at this when he saw a flash of brown disappear beneath the carriage wheels. He heard a high-pitched yelp and drew the carriage to a halt. He stepped down and looked beneath the gig. He’d run over a small dog that now lay, broken-limbed, panting in the dirt. The day could get no worse. The animal was a motley hound, a reddish-brown cur of the type found slinking behind wine barrels and feeding on alley scraps. Its eyes were a dazzled yellow and it looked at Louis while attempting to scoot forward on its two front legs. As a boy, Louis had cared for lame sparrows and frogs rescued from the jaws of cats and now he found himself fetching a felt blanket for the injured dog from the wagon. When he crouched beside the animal, it halfheartedly snapped at him before allowing itself to be bundled in the blanket and placed in the carriage. One of the hind legs appeared to be broken and rested at a strange angle. Louis covered the dog with the blanket and rode back to his studio slowly, trying not to pain it further. He carried it up the long flight of stairs and placed it on his divan. Then he went back for the hessian-covered plate. An hour had almost passed and he would have to fix the sun’s image rapidly. The thought of ruining the plate after his degenerate display at the observatory was gruesome. He heard Arago’s voice at parties—the patriarch’s baritone—as he lamented the passing of another great man into obscurity. Daguerre, yes, he was where it all started. Pity he lost his mind. Mad as a hatter. Lost all his teeth. Louis went into his darkroom and lit the lamp beneath the mercury bath.
Six
E arly in the winter of 1803, a theater performance of The Enchanted Forest toured Orléans and Isobel invited Louis to go along. After so many months of silence, she could stand it no longer. And if she
“You can dress in the library. Nobody is in there,” said Arago. “You’ll come to it at the base of the stairs.”
Louis moved uneasily across the platform. The sight of his own blood brought the smell of ether into his nostrils. He followed the stairs down to the library and closed the door behind him. Arago’s shirt was made from broadloom cotton, the kind of shirt one wore sailing. Louis removed his bloody neck cloth, cravat, waistcoat, and shirt. He wiped the tooth with his kerchief and placed it on one of the shelves, next to a clothbound volume on celestial orbits. An odd sensation of satisfaction, of shedding bone, settled over him. He put his tongue into the newly created socket. It was on the bottom right and probably wouldn’t show during a smile. Arago’s shirt felt cool and smelled of lime starch. He tucked it into his breeches and walked back towards the observatory platform, holding the bundle of his clothes to his chest. Arago was pacing the rampart, occasionally looking up at the sun. He walked with his hands behind his back, shifting between the cardinal directions.
“Thank you for the shirt. I will return it this evening when I come,” said Louis.
“I’ll leave instructions with the guard to let you in. Are you certain that you are in good enough health?”
“As I said, an old rotten tooth.”
“Well, I must get back to my dossiers. Very good of you to come, Daguerre,” Arago said, patting him on the shoulder. Something had changed. Could you see a man spit out a tooth and take him seriously? Louis took out the exposed copper plate, wrapped it in hessian, and went downstairs to his carriage. He threw the bloody clothes next to him on the box seat and took off at a pace.
He didn’t know which was worse, the humiliation of losing a tooth before one of France’s fathers of science, or the scalding embarrassment of Arago seeing the Legion of Honor cross around his neck. He was a boy playing dress-up. He remembered with further humiliation that he’d left the tooth inside the observatory library—a bloody morsel of himself at zero latitude. Louis had almost brought himself to laugh at this when he saw a flash of brown disappear beneath the carriage wheels. He heard a high-pitched yelp and drew the carriage to a halt. He stepped down and looked beneath the gig. He’d run over a small dog that now lay, broken-limbed, panting in the dirt. The day could get no worse. The animal was a motley hound, a reddish-brown cur of the type found slinking behind wine barrels and feeding on alley scraps. Its eyes were a dazzled yellow and it looked at Louis while attempting to scoot forward on its two front legs. As a boy, Louis had cared for lame sparrows and frogs rescued from the jaws of cats and now he found himself fetching a felt blanket for the injured dog from the wagon. When he crouched beside the animal, it halfheartedly snapped at him before allowing itself to be bundled in the blanket and placed in the carriage. One of the hind legs appeared to be broken and rested at a strange angle. Louis covered the dog with the blanket and rode back to his studio slowly, trying not to pain it further. He carried it up the long flight of stairs and placed it on his divan. Then he went back for the hessian-covered plate. An hour had almost passed and he would have to fix the sun’s image rapidly. The thought of ruining the plate after his degenerate display at the observatory was gruesome. He heard Arago’s voice at parties—the patriarch’s baritone—as he lamented the passing of another great man into obscurity. Daguerre, yes, he was where it all started. Pity he lost his mind. Mad as a hatter. Lost all his teeth. Louis went into his darkroom and lit the lamp beneath the mercury bath.
Six
E arly in the winter of 1803, a theater performance of The Enchanted Forest toured Orléans and Isobel invited Louis to go along. After so many months of silence, she could stand it no longer. And if she
Similar Books
