The image appears ordinary at first glance: a studio portrait from 1888.
Two young sisters stand together in a Victorian photography studio, posed in front of the classic painted backdrop popular at the time. The older one—perhaps twelve—holds the hand of her younger sibling, who looks around seven. Their matching white dresses and calm expressions reflect the style of formal childhood portraits commissioned by many families of the era.
But when digital restoration was performed in 2024, specialists uncovered evidence that the portrait was not simply a sentimental keepsake. Instead, it revealed one of the lesser-discussed practices in 19th-century mourning culture—one that complicates the seemingly gentle scene.
Only one of the girls was living when the photograph was taken.
THE PHOTOGRAPH THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING
In March 2024, Christie’s in New York received a large archive from the estate of Margaret Brennan, a longtime collector of Victorian-era photographs. Among the collection was a small cabinet card depicting two sisters photographed at Morrison & Sons Studio in Philadelphia. On its back, a handwritten note read:
“Clara and Emiline. May 16th, 1888. Together, always.”
The photo suffered extensive deterioration—watermarks, fading, and creases. Yet something about the image drew attention from Christie’s senior photography specialist, Dr. Amanda Chen.
The older girl showed the faint blurring common during long exposures of the time. The younger child, however, displayed none of the subtle movement typically visible in portraits from the era. She appeared completely motionless.
More notably, the older sister’s hand wasn’t gently clasping her sibling’s palm. Instead, her grip appeared practical, almost supportive, as if she were stabilizing the younger girl’s posture.
Dr. Chen recognized familiar signs from historical mourning photography.
What she suspected required confirmation, so she sent the image for detailed restoration.
Six weeks later, the restored version arrived—and it became immediately clear that the photograph documented something very different from what it first appeared to show.
WHAT THE RESTORATION REVEALED
When layers of age-related damage were removed, the emotional truth behind the older sister’s expression emerged. The girl—Clara—displayed a tense, strained look that didn’t match the calmness typical of posed Victorian childhood portraits. Her tightly pressed lips and tense posture suggested deep discomfort or distress.
The restored version also revealed that the younger girl’s posture was unusually rigid, supported by what seemed to be a discreet posing frame behind her—an object historically used in certain types of Victorian memorial photography.
In other words, the younger sister, Emiline, had already passed away by the time the portrait was created. Clara, still a child herself, had been asked to stand beside her and hold her hand for the duration of the photographic exposure.
A HISTORICAL PRACTICE WITH LASTING CONSEQUENCES
Victorian mourning customs were shaped by high childhood mortality rates and limited access to photography. Many families commissioned portraits of loved ones after death as a way to preserve memory—often striving to make the scene appear peaceful or lifelike.
One specific style—later nicknamed the “Sleeping Beauty” portrait—attempted to present the deceased as if they were merely resting or still alive. Children were dressed in their finest clothing, posed naturally, and sometimes photographed alongside living siblings.
The intention was not sinister; families sought comfort in the only form of visual remembrance available to them.
But for surviving children asked to participate, the emotional impact could be profound.
TRACING THE GIRLS’ REAL STORY
Dr. Chen located archival records documenting the Hartwell family:
Clara Louise Hartwell
Born: November 3, 1875
Died: 1942 (age 66)
Emiline Rose Hartwell
Born: April 8, 1881
Died: May 13, 1888, from illness common in the era
The portrait date—May 16, 1888—fell three days after Emiline’s passing.
A letter written by the girls’ mother, Catherine Hartwell, provided essential context. In it, she described the family’s grief and mentioned her efforts to ensure the photograph would be a final memory of the sisters together. She also wrote of Clara’s distress during the session—her silence, her unwillingness to let go of the hand she held, and her emotional withdrawal afterward.
The letter implied a level of emotional strain the young Clara was unprepared for, revealing how deeply the experience affected her.
THE LIFE THAT FOLLOWED
As Dr. Chen continued her research, she discovered that Clara struggled as she grew older. Historical medical notes described her experiencing recurring nightmares, anxiety, and symptoms consistent with what would today be recognized as trauma.
She later worked as a seamstress, never married, and left instructions in her will requesting that all photographs from her childhood be destroyed. Most were eliminated, but the cabinet card of Clara and Emiline survived by chance, eventually entering private collections.
The image outlived Clara by more than eight decades.
THE MODERN REEXAMINATION
In June 2024, Dr. Chen published her findings, prompting widespread discussion. Thousands of families submitted old photographs for review, seeking clarity about portraits passed down for generations.
Harvard psychologist Dr. Patricia Owens analyzed historical accounts of children who participated in memorial portrait sessions. Although the intentions of parents were shaped by grief and cultural norms of the era, many children struggled emotionally afterward, exhibiting behaviors suggestive of anxiety or trauma.
Clara’s experience aligned with these patterns—an example of how a mourning tradition meant to comfort parents could inadvertently burden surviving children.
THE PHOTOGRAPH TODAY
The image now sits in the National Museum of American History in an exhibit titled:
“THE HIDDEN COST OF VICTORIAN MEMORY: When Photography Reflected Grief.”
Accompanying the portrait are contextual documents, including the mother’s letter and historical notes about mourning customs. The museum’s goal is not to sensationalize the photograph, but to provide historical understanding of a once-common practice and the emotional complexities surrounding it.
The placard acknowledges Clara’s experience and the broader impact these customs had on children who participated in them.
A HISTORY CAPTURED IN STILLNESS
For more than a century, fading and damage obscured the deeper story behind the image.
Now restored, the portrait represents more than a Victorian memento. It shows:
Not a simple depiction of sisterly affection.
Not merely a family’s attempt to preserve memory.
But a moment in which a grieving family, shaped by cultural norms of their time, unintentionally placed a profound emotional burden on a surviving child.
Some photographs preserve joy.
Some preserve remembrance.
And some—like the portrait of Clara and Emiline—remind us that historical customs, no matter how well-intentioned, can leave consequences that echo through a lifetime.
