Chapter 12

Heliography.

Early photographic technology utilizing the principle of the camera obscura.

I remembered hearing in some liberal arts course that a Frenchman named Nicéphore Niépce had invented it.

Photography… photography technology exists? In this era?

The noblewomen were chattering, “Goodness, it’s like magic!” and “I want to see it for myself!” but just as the sounds above the water reach a person submerged deep underwater in a faint echo, no sound reached my ears.

In an instant, my mind was filled with only a single word.

Photography.

And that word immediately connected to another.

Opium.

The moment the two sides placed those words side by side, a previously unseen path suddenly appeared.

What if… I use that to photograph the opium dens in Qing China?

With a flash of lightning-like shock, my vision brightened radiantly.

Yes, that’s it!

Up until now, what I had been thinking of was merely shouting out in Parliament to the lawmakers, “The Opium War is immoral and must not be waged!”—a sentimental appeal that would never fly in front of seasoned politicians like Lord Melbourne.

Words are like writing on the air; the moment they are uttered, they begin to scatter.
No matter how desperate the words, the moment they pass through the listener’s ear, they are halved, and by the time they settle into memory, only dust remains.

But photography was different. Because photography is not just talk, but evidence.

The truth etched by light onto a silver plate cannot be erased by any sophistry, nor blurred by any forgetfulness.

People left as mere skeletons, consumed by opium.

People losing everything in life, gazing blankly into empty space with hollow eyes.
Parents collapsed and drunk on narcotic smoke while a newborn baby cries in hunger.

What if that horrific and miserable reality were splashed across the front page of the newspaper and distributed all over Britain?

Hurl those photographs into the faces of the greedy politicians and merchants who favor war, and shout at them:

For the sake of filling your own bellies, people in a far-off land are dying like this!

My heart swelled just thinking about it.

Beyond simply preventing a war, it was an opportunity to show the people of this era something called conscience visually and in the most shocking way possible.

“Your Majesty? Is something the matter? Your complexion…”

Only when Lady Ashburton’s worried voice descended from above the water did I realize I had returned from the deep water.

Without realizing it, I had been clenching my fists tightly.

My fingernails were leaving half-moon marks on my palms, and that small pain made me think that I might actually be able to do something.

“No, I am quite well. I just… thought of a very good idea.”

I flashed a smile toward them, brighter and more confident than any smile I had worn thus far.

Alright, let’s give it a try!

As soon as the tea party ended, I dashed straight to my office. I could not control my pounding heart.

Inside my head, hundreds of photographs taken in an opium den were already gracing the front page of The Times.

Nicéphore Niépce! I need to summon this Frenchman right away!

“Lord Melbourne, we need to send someone to France.”

Lord Melbourne, who had arrived after receiving a note marked urgent, wore a bewildered expression.

“France, you say? Whatever for, all of a sudden…”

“Please find the person who invented the new technology called heliography. Was his name… Nicéphore Niépce, perhaps?”

“Helio… what did you say?”

Lord Melbourne’s brow furrowed, but paying him no mind at all, I explained the technology of forever capturing the world’s appearance using the light of the sun, exactly as Lady Ashburton had told me.

The longer the explanation went on, the more his expression morphed into something familiar.

It was an expression mixed half-and-half with resignation and tolerance: Her Majesty has let her heart be stolen by something incomprehensible again.

However, he readily yielded to my saying that I wanted to record the upcoming coronation.

Hiring a photographer was not significantly different from hiring a court painter.

Since royal vanity knew no bottom to begin with, the nation would not be shaken just because the monarch wanted one more eccentric painter.

“Understood, Your Majesty. I will issue instructions to look into it immediately.”

Ten days later.

When Lord Melbourne came to visit bearing a report, I instinctively knew from his expression that it was not good news. When a politician wears a face bearing bad news, it is invariably stiffened with a delicate mixture of pity and perplexity.

“Your Majesty, upon inquiring, we found that a man named Joseph Nicéphore Niépce passed away already in 1833.”

“Passed away?”

That single word struck deep into my chest.

I felt like a key I had believed I was holding in my hand just a moment ago was slipping through my fingers like sand.

The person who invented the technology to capture light had already departed to a place where light could not reach.

“However, I am told that his son, Isidore Niépce, is carrying on his father’s research. And… there is also a partner by the name of Louis Jacques Mandé Daguerre.”

“Daguerre?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. He is said to be a painter and stage designer who runs a diorama theater in Paris.”

Flipping through the report, Lord Melbourne continued his explanation.

“This Daguerre fellow appears to have taken Niépce’s technology a step further. He calls it the Daguerreotype, named after himself.”

“Daguerreotype… Is it different from heliography?”

“The basic principle is similar, but there is a decisive difference. Niépce used a pewter plate as a photosensitive agent, whereas Daguerre uses a silver plate. Thanks to that…”

He pointed his finger at a section of the report.

“Niépce’s method took a full eight hours to capture a single photograph, but this Daguerreotype claims that twenty minutes is sufficient.”

Eight hours to twenty minutes.

Eight hours is a time to pray that the world does not move; twenty minutes is a time to begin capturing the world. Since one was a dream and the other was reality, there was no better weapon than this from my perspective of dealing with reality rather than dreams.

“Politely invite those two gentlemen to London. Tell them that the Queen of Britain has been deeply impressed by their invention.”

“I shall do so.”

Lord Melbourne still wore an expression that showed he could not make heads or tails of it, but since it did not seem to be the level of eccentricity that involved founding a daycare center, he silently withdrew.

As the door closed, I caught sight of Lord Melbourne’s back, which strangely looked both exhausted and somehow relieved.

There could be nothing more tiring than serving an incomprehensible monarch, but at least eccentricities kept within a predictable range were better than those that were not.

Two more weeks passed, and I finally received word that the two Frenchmen had crossed the channel.

In the reception room of Kensington Palace, I sat in a high-backed chair waiting for them.
The afternoon light streaming through the window drew a long rectangle on the floor, and dust motes danced silently within that rectangle of light.

Dust in the light.

Just as an unseen world reveals its existence only when it meets light, photography was much the same.

At that moment, the door opened, and the two men who would show a world unseen by the people of this era revealed themselves.

One was Isidore Niépce, who somehow looked rather unconfident, and the other was Louis Daguerre, in whom a painter’s characteristic sensitivity and business acumen could be glimpsed.

The two men were thoroughly intimidated by the splendor of a palace they were setting foot in for the very first time, though it was slightly unexpected that both could speak English passably well. Perhaps it was because they wanted to make the technology they had developed known right here in Britain, too?

“I am truly delighted to meet the two of you.”

When I smiled and greeted them first, both men jumped in surprise and bowed deeply.
That movement was a mixture of humility and awe, and I read one more thing within it.
Yearning. A yearning for recognition that soaked straight to the bone.

I first turned my gaze toward Isidore.

“Monsieur Isidore. Your late father, Joseph Nicéphore Niépce, made a truly great invention. Although late, I offer my deepest condolences for his passing.”

“…Pardon?”

His eyes wavered, as if he had not expected to hear such words at all.

“Did he not invent a technology to eternally record the appearance of the world with light? What is this if not a truly phenomenal achievement that will alter the history of humanity? I express my deepest respect for his pioneering wisdom and effort.”

It was sincere. Without Niépce, there would be no photography, and without photography, countless moments of history would have flowed into the river of oblivion instead of memory.

And if photographic evidence used during the past whistleblowing against the company had not existed, that trial would have met a completely different ending, so perhaps I was already indebted to him for a second time right here.

At my heartfelt praise, the corners of Isidore’s eyes gradually reddened.

To his father, who had been pointed at and called a crank all his life, praise conveyed by the queen of a foreign land might have been a greater comfort than any other words.

“You… you flatter me too much, Your Majesty.”

“Not at all. While France does not yet seem to recognize its value, I am certain. Before long, the entire world will remember your father’s name.”

I stepped forward and warmly took both of his hands.

His hands were cold. Tension and emotion seemed to have stripped away even his body heat.

Isidore could not raise his head, and I did not bother to make him.

For some emotions only fully ripen within a bowed head.

Next was Daguerre.

Unlike Isidore, he was maintaining a rather dignified posture.

No, he was trying hard to maintain it.

His dignity did not look like something innate, but rather like an armor he had manufactured, and beneath that armor, he was trembling with the anxiety of someone who had not yet proved his worth to the world.

However, I did not chide that trembling.

For someone walking alone down a path no one had ever trodden, pride was the sole walking stick and the final lamp.

“Monsieur Daguerre. Your daguerreotype is truly marvelous as well. To shorten eight hours down to twenty minutes, is that not something akin to magic?”

“It is an honor to be recognized by Your Majesty!”

“If you don’t mind, why not patent it right here in Britain? Perhaps you might become a pioneer in this field and achieve great accomplishments.”

“A-A patent, you say?”

At that moment, a thin crack formed in his dignified armor.

According to what I heard from Lord Melbourne, France had not granted a patent for the daguerreotype.

I didn’t know the reason, but that fact alone must have been enough to shatter an inventor’s pride.

“That someone recognizing us… us, is not France… but the Queen of Britain…”

Daguerre’s voice trembled.

Within that trembling was mixed not only emotion, but also the lingering echo of a long, lonely isolation.

An inventor is a more solitary entity than anyone else in the world.

Someone who believes in what does not yet exist, sees what no one else can see, and insists that it is possible all alone while the entire world says it is impossible. To such a person, recognition must be like encountering an oasis in the middle of a desert.

Having regained their self-esteem and hope, the two men’s eyes gleamed as they awaited my next words.

I did not rush this moment.

Before asking for something, the person being asked must be sufficiently armored with the armor of self-worth and the shield of hope.

“I have a favor to ask of you. Will you grant it?”

“Of course, Your Majesty! Just name it!”

“During my coronation, which will be held a month from now, would you capture that glorious moment in photographs?”

“Th-The coronation, you say?”

“Is that truly true, Your Majesty?”

The eyes of the two men widened as if they might pop out at any second.

Rather than merely being praised by word of mouth for having a good invention, they were to make their official debut at the coronation of a foreign monarch—what greater honor could there be than this?

“With all our heart and soul… we shall take the finest photographs!”

With those words, the two men bent one knee and paid respects, as if pledging their loyalty to me.

One month later, on September 28, 1837, my coronation was held at Westminster Abbey.

In the original history, the coronation was held on June 28, 1838, but I drastically moved up the schedule of the coronation in order to ward off the Opium War at the earliest possible moment.

Of course, the superficial reason was thanks to the fuss I kicked up: since the late King William IV had simplified the coronation to half-price (Penny Coronation) to prevent the waste of state funds, I too would omit the pomp and circumstance of summoning foreign monarchs and conduct the coronation frugally and swiftly solely before the British people and Parliament.

Amidst the watchful gaze of numerous British nobles and the French Marshal Soult, who attended as the sole foreigner, I bore the weight of the crown quite well. No, not metaphorically—the crown was genuinely heavy. To the point where I wanted to toss it away quickly.

At any rate, at that historic moment, two people were bustling about in a corner of the abbey with their cameras set up. True to their word, they captured the most crucial moment of the coronation onto a silver plate, and I bestowed a hefty reward upon them. It must have been a fortune they could never have earned and touched in a lifetime back in France.

A few days after the coronation, Buckingham Palace.

Buckingham Palace, which we had moved into after the coronation, was a size larger in every single aspect compared to Kensington.

The ceilings were higher, the corridors were longer, and the silence was deeper.

Within this vastness, I naturally felt as though I were shrinking, and the thought even crossed my mind that perhaps that was the true purpose of a building called a palace—constantly reminding one that they were a tool of power, not its master.

Still, since I have Dash, it’s fine.

Stroking the warm back of the little fellow who was wagging his tail toward me, I did not spare praise for Isidore and Daguerre standing before me.

“The photographs from this coronation were truly magnificent. If it were up to me, I would love to exhibit them at Westminster as well, but since they are so precious, I shall keep them safely stored.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. It is all thanks to Your Majesty giving us the opportunity.”

Daguerre bowed his head with an emotional expression.

“However… there is one more thing I need to ask of you.”

“Just say the word, anything, Your Majesty! I would even lay down my life!”

“Not your life, surely.”

Smiling slightly at their loyalty toward me, I pointed a finger at a spot on the map.

“Here. Can you make a journey to Qing China?”

“…Qing China, you say? If perchance you are asking us to take photographs of the Emperor of China…”

Smiles bloomed across the faces of Daguerre and Isidore.

True to being Frenchmen, they were full of humor even in such a situation.

“I am glad you are both so optimistic. Not the Emperor of China; go into the opium dens of China and photograph the place.”

“Pardon? When you say opium dens…?”

“Begging your pardon, the two of us, you mean?”

When I nodded, the smiles vanished from the faces of the two men.

“That is… the lair of madmen I am imagining…”

“Indeed.”

The air in the office froze.

Although it was an era when technology was gradually advancing, traveling to Qing China by ship took four months at the earliest.

The sea was unforgiving. It was an era where storms swallowed ships, pirates blocked sea routes, and nameless fevers snatched away the lives of sailors.

A voyage to Qing China was no different from wagering one’s life.

“…W-Why us?”

To Daguerre’s question, I shrugged my shoulders.

“Because there is no one on the face of this earth who handles cameras better than you two.”

It was the truth. The only human beings capable of taking photographs in this era were these two. And what I needed was precisely that capability.

“…If we go there and return, what will the two of us gain?”

Daguerre’s question was justified.

What would they receive in exchange for risking their lives?

How much was the price placed on their lives in this transaction?

There are only two times when a human can risk their life:
When there is sufficient compensation, or when there is meaning that transcends compensation.

“I will speak plainly.”

I wiped away my smile. When conveying sincerity, a smile gets in the way, for only the vessel of seriousness can hold the weight of sincerity.

“It will be a perilous journey, and the pay will not be generous. You may suffer from fevers and be exposed to constant danger. Nor can I guarantee a safe return.”

The two men lowered their heads. In that silence, one could feel fear and reason engaging in a tight tug-of-war.

“However, I promise that upon success, you will gain glory and honor.”

“Glory and honor…”

Daguerre’s eyes narrowed. It was the look of someone dreaming of a reward, not calculating one.

“Might it be a peerage title?”

I shook my head.

“That sort of thing is not glory and honor.”

Question marks floated in the eyes of the two men. If not a title, what could possibly be a greater honor than that?

“The honor of being humanity’s very first ‘pioneers of investigative journalism utilizing photography’.”

I paused for a moment to let them feel the weight of those words.

“In other words… we might call it being the guardians of humanity’s conscience.”

Guardians of conscience.

Just as the essence of photography is shining light to make things visible, a word that no one in Britain had ever thought of finally became a photograph through my lips.