It was early morning and the streets of Saint-Loup-de-Varennes were quiet. The sun had only barely started to dispel the night's mist. A few gas lamps' haloes shone in the dawn twilight like stationary fireflies. It was much like any other day in the early 19th century for the quiet French hamlet.

The morning light started to filter through the window shutters of the Gras estate villa and Agnès roused her son Isidore out of bed. “Wake up! It's our big day today!”

The sleepy 12 year old fox boy turned his side and pulled the straw filled pillow over his head. But Agnès was having none of it and she tore the pillow out of his hands.

“Few more minutes, mama”, the boy mumbled sleepily, his eyes squeezed shut.

Agnès harrumphed and pulled the covers off the bed next. “Wake up. We have to be early for the light to be right for the photograph.”

The boy gave up and sleepily sat up on the bed. He looked at his mother with eyes bleary from sleep. “What is a fotogruff anyway?”

“Photograph. It's your papa's latest invention.” Agnès explained while she rummaged through the armoire for suitable clothes for Isidore to wear. “It's like painting, but with light!”

Isidore eyed the tan pantaloons her mother laid down on the bed. “Why are we doing this?”

“It's a once in a lifetime opportunity to be immortalized! We'll be the first people in history to be photographed.”

Agnès laid down a white frilly shirt on the bed next to the pantaloons. A silk cravat. And finally Isidore's finest frocked coat.

“Now, hurry up. We need to get you dressed.”


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The conservatory smelled of lavender oil and alcohol with overtones of petroleum. Monsieur Niépce was hunched over a small stand, finishing setting up his small camera obscura box. None of the usual plants were present. Instead, on the table next to him were several containers of chemicals, basins, cups, pans, and – most importantly – metal and glass plates covered with dark cloth.

The room was brightly illuminated by the sunlight falling in from the southward windows. Additionally there was a large mirror placed to reflect even more sunlight at the large ornate chair in the middle of the room.

Nicéphore looked up from the camera as Agnès and Isidore walked in to the room. “Ah good. I am just about done, my dear.” He looked over both Agnès and Isidore. “Are you two ready to make history?”

Agnès nodded. “Yes.” She was wearing also her finest dress. A full length white gown, with frilly gold trims. The wide cut almost extended out to her shoulders and would have revealed much of her bosom, had she not been wearing an ornate shawl over her shoulders. Her hair was carefully curled up in and held by a tiara. Behind, her silhouette was extended by the crinoline petticoat under her gown.

She let her husband regard her for a moment. “How do I look?”

The fox gentleman smiled. “Magnifique.” He beckoned towards the chair with his hand. “Come, let us start then.”

Agnès held Isidore's hand and led him over to the chair. She sat down and then lifted the boy on her lap.

Nicéphore fetched a cup from the table and walked over to the pair. He held out the cup for Agnès to take. “Give this to him first.”

With only a little hesitation Agnès took the cup. “What is it?”

“Strychnine.”

She nodded.

She lowered the cup to within the reach of their son. “Drink this.”

Isidore took the cup to his hand and regarded it with trepidation. He turned to look at his mama. “Will... will it hurt?”

“No. Not at all.” She lied. “I'll be right here the whole time.”

He swallowed as he looked at the cup. Then raised the cup to his lips. He closed his eyes and tilted it towards his mouth. The liquid tasted metallic. He forced himself to swallow and drained the entire cup. He passed the cup back to his father.

Agnès rocked him gently and held him in her embrace.

Nothing much seemed to happen for several minutes.

Isidore felt his heart racing, more than just his nerves. It wasn't hot, yet he was sweating. He was feeling restless and squirmed a little. Agnès just held him tighter. Isidore shivered. Then his leg jerked. He turned to look at his mother.

She looked back and smiled reassuringly. “It's all right. Just let it happen.” She stroked his hair and gave the top of his head a kiss.

Isidore's entire body twitched. He was breathing rapid and shallow now. He curled his toes in his shoes. He felt like curling up his entire body. His legs and arms jerked. The slightest movement of his clothes felt like lightning across his skin. The lightest touch caused him to involuntarily twitch, jerk and shudder.

Agnès closed her eyes and hugged her dying son.

Isidore's entire body convulsed. Then he felt his every muscle tensing up. His muscles strained against each other, his back arched. His legs were straight as posts, his arms curled. He tried to exhale, but he couldn't. His muscles shivered with the strain. He needed to breathe so badly. His body was tingling, burning with the lactic acid. His eyes were wide open, staring frozen. Yet his face was pulled to a grin, a macabre smile showing his teeth.

Every nerve in his body was screaming at him.

Screaming long after his mind faded.

Agnès wasn't sure when he had passed away. Slowly, one by one his muscles burned through their energy reserves and saturated with lactic acid until they were physically incapable of tensing anymore. Little by little his body became slack in her arms once more. His grin softening to an almost smile.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She gently kissed the back of her dead son's head.

Nicéphore stood next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She clasped it with her's. In his other hand he was holding another cup.

She looked at him and nodded. Without saying a word she took the cup and drank it dry.


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Nicéphore replaced the cap over the lens of the camera obscura. The bitumen and lavender oil coated pewter plate inside had been exposing to the light for the past 8 hours. The long time was a necessity due to the low speed of the photochemical reaction hardening the bitumen. He had been moving the large mirror every half an hour to keep the light level steady as the sun had moved across the sky.

He took the plate out and placed it into the solvent bath. He swirled it around and the unexposed bitumen washed away revealing the scene: mother and son sitting on a chair, gently smiling, eyes looking straight at the viewer.