Unidentified photographer / artist
1840, May
The Daguerreotype in the Harem

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The Evergreen, Volume 1, No.5, May, 1840, p.238 -240.
 
THE DAGUERREOTYPE IN THE HAREM.
 
Every body knows that our celebrated painter, Horace Vernet, was some time ago with the Pacha of Egypt. This visit was marked by quite an oriental adventure, for the knowledge of which we are indebted to the indiscretion of a friend.
 
Horace Vernet had been above a week at Alexandria, residing in the Viceroy's palace itself; he went out every day to explore the town, covered with a long Egyptian cloak, and his excursions compelled him to pass every morning through the same street, under the inaccessible terraces where the Pacha's women walk.
 
One day having sallied forth very early, he was almost alone in the street, when something that seemed addressed to him fell at his feet into the dust. He recognized and picked up a white rose tied to a red ribbon, and perceived the end of a scarf of the same color waving upon the terraced parapet.
 
"What is this?" said to himself the astonished painter, and, recollecting "The Arabian Nights," he added, "'T is a declaration of love!" And who would not have guessed the meaning of those symbolical trifles? The white rose must have meant "I am a virgin of the Harem," and the red ribbon tied to its stem, " I burn for you, but am a slave."
 
Unfortunately our illustrious artist is a venerable man, and with his crow n of glory mingled white hairs. "I am no doubt mistaken for another," said he, with, a philosophical smile. Looking about him he was much surprised to find the street deserted. "If this rose be not for me," thought he, "I have at least a right to keep it," and he went on smelling the fragrant flower, and not without involuntarily dreaming of the oddness of the occurrence.
 
He was thinking again of it on the following morning as he passed the same spot, when a second rose fell at his feet, and the scarf again fluttered above his head; another, flower fell, and another signal was made, on the next day, and both were repeated through the week. -'This is decidedly for me," said the artist, as he picked up the sixth rose; "I have unconsciously seduced one of my host's women, and here I am, like another Joseph, before the modern Pharaoh."
 
While thus jesting, Horace Vernet was seriously perplexed and could no longer enter Mehemet Ali's palace without minted agitation and remorse. He could not make the slightest discovery that could reveal to him the unknown beauty; not even the shade of a woman did ho espy in the Palace, and the roses had left off dropping from the harem terrace.
 
In the meantime the artist and the Viceroy had long interviews every day. In the course of one of them Horace Vernet explained the daguerreotype to Mehemet. The latter was so delighted with the wonders of the discovery that he wished to make an experiment with his own hands, and set about studying, morning and night, the photograph laws and processes. In a few days the pupil became skillful enough to do without his master, when being anxious to give solemn proof of his dexterity, " If the weather be fine to-morrow," said he to the painter, " we shall go and visit our grand works in the harbor, and it is I, myself, that shall achieve the miracles of your wonderful instrument."
 
Next day the Egyptian sun was dazzling, and the artist and viceroy set out with several officers. At the moment they passed before an establishment of women's baths, Horace Vernet abruptly stopped his horse; a magnificent boquet had just dropped upon the fore part of his saddle, and the whole cortege applauded his luck.
 
"A second chapter to my romance," thought the artist. "My unknown friend is bathing in that house." Then, observing that his nosegay was examined with the liveliest curiosity, he began himself to look at it with great attention. The flowers were as singular as they were rare, and they were put together in a manner still more singular. They evidently concealed some charming hieroglyphic.
 
"You are trying to discover the meaning of this perfumed message," said, with some emotion, a young officer of the Pacha's Mamelukes, who spoke perfect French "If you will allow me, sir, to study it for a moment, I dare say I shall explain its purport.
 
"Willingly," replied the painter, handing the nosegay to the officer. The latter turned it over in every direction, examined every part of it, smelt every flower, and then translated their meaning thus: "The beating of my heart tells me that I love you: does the beating of your heart tell you that you love me; I pant for freedom only to become your slave. Will you call yourself my master, and help me to become free? Pass no more under the terrace in the morning, but past there in the evening. The white roses will again shower upon you my beloved. If ever you meet me you will know me by my red scarf."
 
As he finished this epistle of a novel description, the officer returned the boquet to the artist. Being congratulated by the Pacha himself, Horace Vernet was pensive, then smiled, and said to the officer, "I thank you Sir, but would be still more obliged to you if you would compose an answer worthy of the letter."
 
"I shall not be long about it," replied the officer, as he undid the bouquet. When he had slightly changed the situation of the flowers, he handed the nosegay back to Horace Vernet and said, "I have answered this for you "Yes, the beating of my heart tells me that I love you. I wish to rescue you on the condition that I shall be your slave and not your master. I shall expect a souvenir from you this evening, my beloved! All my thoughts are of you, both morning and night. Whereever you meet me you will know me by my blue cloak." "Admirable, Sir, admirable! " exclaimed the painter. "Admirable, admirable! " reiterated the whole cortege, who had now arrived in front of the port.
 
There the artist forgot his adventure to superintend the daguerreotype operation. Thanks to advice and some assistance, the Pacha got through his experiment with credit Thrice did he renew it at different points of view, and so complete was his success on all occasions, that, being congratulated by his professor in person, he determined to become one himself. He called about him the young officers of his escort, and superintend a fourth experiment made by themselves. It succeeded like the rest, and the Pacha was proclaimed a master photograph. He was so pleased with himself at the moment he would willingly have operated before all Egypt, and it was then a thought rose in his mind which was to be of woeful consequence to him.
 
"Let us go back to the palace," said he to the artist, with much animation. "You will leave that Daguerreotype at my disposal for an hour, and add to it a few metallic plates, ready to receive the light."
 
"Your Highness's wishes shall be complied with," courteously answered Horace Vernet.
 
Upon Mehemet adding that he intended making an experiment before the ladies of his harem," What! " exclaimed the painter, with much emotion, and pressing the bouquet he had still in his hands, "is it to your women that you are going to exhibit the Daguerreotype?"
 
"As you have said," replied the Pacha, smiling, "and that is why I want your instrument without your advice."
 
Civilized as the old Mahometan chief was, the artist perceived that oriental jealousy still guarded his Harem, and it was not without a cruel temptation that he thought of the white roses, the red scarf, and of the opportunity of entering the Harem with his Daguerreotype. But in vain did he urge to the Pacha the risk of his failing in his experiment without the assistance he had so recently needed; the humiliation which would follow such failure before all his women, and the claims which the age and experience of his master gave him in being honored with an exception. To all his arguments, no doubt very excellent, Mehemet returned a malicious shake of his head and the words "Your Daguerreotype for an hour, my dear guest, with five metallic plates ready to work."
 
Horace Vernet submitted with many a sigh, and the photograph entered the women's abode without him.
 
Let the reader now figure to himself the old Pacha alone with his young odalisks, at the inaccessible summit of the harem, upon that very shaded terrace whence the white roses fell. Amid those fresh countenances and smiling costumes the sun only sees his white beard, his gold-embroidered fez and furred caftan pass. Cautiously taking the Daguerreotype, he puts it upon the parapet of the platform, and all his women quit their divans and mats to come and gaze at the wonders of art. Mehemet takes one of the plates prepared by the painter, puts it to the lens's focus, waits some minutes, and then, thinking the light's effect produced, withdraws the plate from the camera obscura, and subjects it to the process which is to convert it into a picture, while all the women eagerly bend toward the expected prodigy.
 
But, oh, disappointment! The wonder did not come to pass, The silvered metal had lost none of its pristine whiteness, and the Pacha's face alone was colored with a glowing redness.
 
"I have hurried myself too much!" said Mehemet, with vexation, and he resumed his task more slowly, but without a better result. "What means this?" cried he in the utmost confusion; "I must have set about it wrongly, or have forgotten some petty detail." After a long and silent pause, during which he reflected, he began again more carefully than ever. But the wonder failed a third, fourth, and fifth time, and Mehemet fell indignant upon his divan, more mortified than a juggler who had been baffled in all his tricks. The malicious whisperings of his women soon changed his shame into anger. He rushed at the instrument, was at one time near dashing it to pieces, examined every part of it, and ultimately found that the only remedy to his perplexity was to summon Horace Vernet to the harem. The Pacha long hesitated to adopt so extreme a measure, but vanity ultimately got the better of jealousy, and a slave was despatched to the artist.
 
The painter came with an eagerness easy to conceive, and the first woman he espied among the whole number was one with a red scarf the very pearl of the harem, resplendent with her seventeen years. But she was as calm as he was agitated; and whether it was a qui pro quo or dissimulation, her composure baffled his comprehension. The mystery will, however, doubtless explain itself.
 
AS delighted as attentive, Horace Vernet scarcely listened to the Pacha, and it was only after looking all round the Harem that he condescended to examine the powerless photograph. He then exclaimed, with affected surprise "By the Prophet! Let your Highness excuse such an oversight! I had quite forgotten to put the iodine on your plates!"
 
Our readers are aware that, by an improvement of the Daguerreotype, that part of the process must take place beforehand. Trusting that Horace Vernet had attended to this, the Pacha had reckoned without his host. Hence his successive failures, which had so greatly mortified him, and of which the artist's pretended forgetfulness had been the sole and voluntary cause.
 
Mehemet guessed the stratagem, and forgave it the more willingly as it exonerated his vanity. "My jealousy pardons you for the sake of my vanity," whispered he, with a smile, to Horace Vernet. "Since you are as enamoured of my harem as I am of your Daguerreotype, we can make an amicable compromise. Go and fetch for Mehemet Ali some iodized plates, and you may look over the Pacha of Egypt's harem quite at your leisure."
 
Horace returned in a few minutes. On this occasion, the artist and the Viceroy were equally well pleased with themselves, for while the latter delighted the women by the success of his operation, the former contrived to hand his bouquette reponse to the odalisk with the red scarf. So far so well; but at the moment the Pacha turned about amid the compliments of his fair spectators, his eyes flashed fire, and his hand fell upon his dagger, and Horace Vernet quaked and grew pale. Mehemet had surprised the movements of the painter and odalisk, and he recognised in the latter's scarf the bouquet composed under his own eyes.
 
"Allons it is all over with me!" thought Horace Vernet, who was more dead than alive, "and my romance must end as most oriental tales with the cimeter or the bowstring."
 
One may judge of our artist's astonishment and gladness, when he beheld Mehemet's eyes soften into mildness, and the menacing contraction of his lips give way to the kindest smile. "A hundred years ago," said the Viceroy, "your head would already have dropped from your shoulders; but I, who am not a Pacha like the rest, and do not want that young girl, I forgive her as well as you; and since she pleases you, I make you a present of her."
 
"I accept it," replied the delighted painter, "on condition that I shall dispose of her as I list."
 
"In Egypt, that is a matter of course," resumed Mehemet "she is as much your property as the Daguerreotype."
 
"Decidedly, you are the greatest of Pachas!' cried the artist, "and I will forthwith make a happy couple in your palace."
 
Dragging away the handsome girl, who was frightened at what she could not understand, Horace Vernet conducted her straight to the officer of Mamelukes, who so skillfully explained amorous bouquets, and throwing her into his arms before he had recovered from his surprise, cried, "She is yours!" Our great artist then left them together and returned to his occupations.
 
Such, it will be conceived, is the denouement of a mere qui proquo, the key to which Horace Vernet had obtained in proceeding to the harbor. The emotion betrayed by the officer before the bath establishment had revealed to him the destination of the emblematical flowers ! A similarity between their height and the color of their cloaks had explained the rest; and having ascertained the honorable character of the Egyptian, the Frenchman goodnaturedly promoted the success of his love.
 
If we believe a friend of the celebrated painter who vouches for the authenticity of this adventure, it will be the subject of a charming picture, which we shall see at the exhibition of 1841.
 
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