Story of an Obstinate Corpse

by Elia W. Peattie

　　

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VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer'sassistant up at St. Paul, and enjoyshis work without being consumedby it. He has been in search of thepicturesque all over the West and hundredsof miles to the north, in Canada, and canspeak three or four Indian dialects and put acanoe through the rapids. That is to say,he is a man of adventure, and no dreamer.He can fight well and shoot better, and swimso as to put up a winning race with the Indianboys, and he can sit in the saddle all dayand not worry about it to-morrow.Wherever he goes, he carries a camera."The world," Hoyt is in the habit of sayingto those who sit with him when he smokeshis pipe, "was created in six days to be photographed.Man -- and particularly woman --was made for the same purpose. Clouds arenot made to give moisture nor trees to castshade. They have been created in order togive the camera obscura something to do."In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the worldis whimsical, and he likes to be botheredneither with the disagreeable nor the mysterious.That is the reason he loathes and detestsgoing to a house of mourning to photographa corpse. The bad taste of it offends him,but above all, he doesn't like the necessity ofshouldering, even for a few moments, a partof the burden of sorrow which belongs tosome one else. He dislikes sorrow, andwould willingly canoe five hundred miles upthe cold Canadian rivers to get rid of it.Nevertheless, as assistant photographer, it isoften his duty to do this very kind of thing.Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jewishfamily to photograph the remains of themother, who had just died. He was put out,but he was only an assistant, and he went.He was taken to the front parlor, where thedead woman lay in her coffin. It was evidentto him that there was some excitement in thehousehold, and that a discussion was going on.But Hoyt said to himself that it didn't concernhim, and he therefore paid no attentionto it.The daughter wanted the coffin turned onend in order that the corpse might face thecamera properly, but Hoyt said he could overcomethe recumbent attitude and make it appearthat the face was taken in the positionit would naturally hold in life, and so theywent out and left him alone with the dead.The face of the deceased was a strong andpositive one, such as may often be seen amongJewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with someadmiration, thinking to himself that she was awoman who had known what she wanted, andwho, once having made up her mind, wouldprove immovable. Such a character appealedto Hoyt. He reflected that he might havemarried if only he could have found a womanwith strength of character sufficient to disagreewith him. There was a strand of hair out ofplace on the dead woman's brow, and hegently pushed it back. A bud lifted its headtoo high from among the roses on her breastand spoiled the contour of the chin, so hebroke it off. He remembered these thingslater with keen distinctness, and that his handtouched her chill face two or three times inthe making of his arrangements.Then he took the impression, and left thehouse.He was busy at the time with some railroadwork, and several days passed before he foundopportunity to develop the plates. He tookthem from the bath in which they had lainwith a number of others, and went energeticallyto work upon them, whistling some verysaucy songs he had learned of the guide inthe Red River country, and trying to forgetthat the face which was presently to appearwas that of a dead woman. He had usedthree plates as a precaution against accident,and they came up well. But as they developed,he became aware of the existence ofsomething in the photograph which had notbeen apparent to his eye in the subject. Hewas irritated, and without attempting to facethe mystery, he made a few prints and laidthem aside, ardently hoping that by somechance they would never be called for.However, as luck would have it, -- andHoyt's luck never had been good, -- his employerasked one day what had become ofthose photographs. Hoyt tried to evademaking an answer, but the effort was futile,and he had to get out the finished prints andexhibit them. The older man sat staring atthem a long time."Hoyt," he said, "you're a young man, andvery likely you have never seen anything likethis before. But I have. Not exactly the samething, perhaps, but similar phenomena havecome my way a number of times since I went inthe business, and I want to tell you there arethings in heaven and earth not dreamt of --""Oh, I know all that tommy-rot," criedHoyt, angrily, "but when anything happens Iwant to know the reason why and how it isdone.""All right," answered his employer, "thenyou might explain why and how the sun rises."But he humored the young man sufficientlyto examine with him the baths in which theplates were submerged, and the plates themselves.All was as it should be; but the mysterywas there, and could not be done awaywith.Hoyt hoped against hope that the friendsof the dead woman would somehow forgetabout the photographs; but the idea was unreasonable,and one day, as a matter ofcourse, the daughter appeared and asked tosee the pictures of her mother."Well, to tell the truth," stammered Hoyt,"they didn't come out quite -- quite as wellas we could wish.""But let me see them," persisted the lady."I'd like to look at them anyhow.""Well, now," said Hoyt, trying to besoothing, as he believed it was always bestto be with women, -- to tell the truth he wasan ignoramus where women were concerned,-- "I think it would be better if you didn'tlook at them. There are reasons why --"he ambled on like this, stupid man that hewas, till the lady naturally insisted upon seeingthe pictures without a moment's delay.So poor Hoyt brought them out and placedthem in her hand, and then ran for the waterpitcher, and had to be at the bother of bathingher forehead to keep her from fainting.For what the lady saw was this: Over faceand flowers and the head of the coffin fell athick veil, the edges of which touched thefloor in some places. It covered the featuresso well that not a hint of them wasvisible."There was nothing over mother's face!"cried the lady at length."Not a thing," acquiesced Hoyt. "Iknow, because I had occasion to touch herface just before I took the picture. I putsome of her hair back from her brow.""What does it mean, then?" asked thelady."You know better than I. There is no explanationin science. Perhaps there is somein -- in psychology.""Well," said the young woman, stammeringa little and coloring, "mother was a goodwoman, but she always wanted her own way,and she always had it, too.""Yes.""And she never would have her picturetaken. She didn't admire her own appearance.She said no one should ever see apicture of her.""So?" said Hoyt, meditatively. "Well,she's kept her word, hasn't she?"The two stood looking at the photographsfor a time. Then Hoyt pointed to the openblaze in the grate."Throw them in," he commanded. "Don'tlet your father see them -- don't keep themyourself. They wouldn't be agreeable thingsto keep.""That's true enough," admitted the lady.And she threw them in the fire. Then VirgilHoyt brought out the plates and brokethem before her eyes.And that was the end of it -- except thatHoyt sometimes tells the story to those whosit beside him when his pipe is lighted.

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