One of televisions greatest contributionsisthat it broughtmurder back into the home where itbelongs
—Alfred Hitchcock, "After-Dinner Speech"
Can "Hitchcock" today—as if to say, in the afterlife of cinema—can be seen as something of a cipher event in the still-evolving histories of teletechnics?1 Jean-Luc Godard speaks of a Hitchcock who, at the proliferating dawn of teleglobalization, wielded power on the level of global conquerors (he mentions as lesser examples Napoleon and Hitler). The director's name and drawl infiltrated global media to render that voice and girth the most recognized signature of mass culture: constantly, in the guise of "black humor," making light of the public's individual and collective murder, later transforming critical culture and, today, still driving and informing Hollywood production.2 Yet throughout the early espionage thrillers, a cinematic "villain" assaults the state with the aim of epistemo-political sabotage, allying this practiceto bombing (the atomization and arresting temporality of photography), a shot, an alteration of memory. And because it grasps itself as a spectral agency, cinema would do its work within graphic memory loops, within what I will call here the tele-archives or the domain of inscriptions.
In the first Man Who Knew TooMuch, the cinematic front of the anarchists' false temple of sun worshippers suspends heliocentrism and the worship of Enlightenment tropes. The analogy between a movie house hiding subversives dismisses the ocularcentrism that film was supposed to uphold, a program linked to the identification of seeing and knowing. The work "knows too much" to pretend. The plotters,
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Empty chairs
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Title: Empty chairs
Author: Squire Bancroft
Release date: May 1, 2024 [eBook #73506]
Language: English
Original publication: London: John Murray, 1925
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMPTY CHAIRS
EMPTY CHAIRS
Marie Bancroft
BY
SQUIRE BANCROFT
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1925
FIRST EDITION ... March 1925
Reprinted ... April 1925
Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
TO MY SON
PREFACE
These pages are mainly concerned with men and women who, in days gone by, have done my wife and me the honour to sit at our table, and have now left us. I think of their Empty Chairs from a warm corner of my heart: their friendship has brightened my life and stored my mind with rosemary.
Having already written Recollections, I am bound to repeat myself, so let me plead forgiveness for the besetting sin of advanced years.
My apology for the book is its last chapter.
S. B.
CONTENTS
I. King Edward VII
II. Place aux Dames
III. The Church
IV. The Law
V. Painting: Sculpture: Music
VI. Literature
VII. More Men of Mark
VIII. The Stage: I
IX. The Stage: II
X. One other Empty Chair
EMPTY CHAIRS
I
KING EDWARD VII
"Blessed are the peacemakers"
All who were born, as I was, in 1841 must count it an honour to have come into the world in the same year as King Edward the Peacemaker. And the honour appeals especially perhaps to one who owes many of his friends and much of his happiness to the stage, for the stage has never found among Royal heads a firmer friend than was the late King; his gracious words and acts went far to conquer a decaying prejudice.
The first time that either my wife or I met or had speech with the Prince of Wales (as he was for many years) was so far back as in 1868, when he, with the present Queen Alexandra, attended an early performance of one of Robertson's comedies during our managerial career at the old Prince of Wales's Theatre (which he had graciously given his permission, through the Lord Chamberlain, to name after him). On this occasion the Prince came for the first time behind the scenes, and honoured our little green-room with a visit. His love of exactitude in all matters of costume enabled us then, I remember, to correct a slight error in a military uniform.
His Royal Highness was accompanied by Frederic Leighton, then young and handsome, who ten years later was elected President of the Royal Academy; and by Carlo Pellegrini, whose caricatures, bearing the now historic signature "Ape," were then attracting both attention and admiration. The celebrated "originals," I imagine, have now all passed away. Lord Chaplin was the last survivor of the unpublished "set" which enrich the Marlborough Club.
The weather was foggy, and during the performance became so dense that at the close the streets were dangerous. The Royal carriages, after great difficulty, arrived safely, surrounded by a body of police, bearing torches, who escorted our visitors to Marlborough House. In all the years of our management the Prince never came again without asking, upon his arrival, to be informed at which interval it would be convenient for my wife to receive his visit to the green-room.
A domestic drama
One of these visits to our theatre caused, indirectly, the plot of a domestic drama.
The Royal box was constructed by throwing two private boxes into one, and on a certain Friday night news reached the theatre that it was required by the Prince for the following evening. This was before the days of telephones. Both boxes had been taken—one at the theatre, the other at a librarian's in Bond Street—and nothing remained unlet but a small box on the top tier. Not to disappoint the Prince of Wales, it was decided that every effort should be made to arrange matters. The box which had been sold at the theatre was kindly given up by the purchaser, and a visit to Bond Street fortunately disclosed the name of the possessor of the other. The gentleman was a stockbroker; so a messenger was at once sent to his office in the City, only to find that he had just gone. After a great deal of difficulty our invincible messenger succeeded in learning his private address, where, on arrival, he was told that "Master went to Liverpool on business this morning, and won't be back till Monday."
The door of a room leading from the hall was opened at this moment, and a portly lady appeared upon the scene.
"Went to Liverpool!" echoed the messenger. "Nonsense! He's going to the Prince of Wales's Theatre this evening."
The lady now approached, and asked if she could be of any service. The messenger repeated his story and stated his errand. The lady smiled blandly, and said that, if the small box on the upper tier were reserved, matters no doubt would be amicably arranged in the evening, and so that man went away rejoicing.
At night, not long before the play began, the gentleman who had in vain been sought so urgently arrived in high spirits, accompanied by a lady, handsome but not portly. When the circumstances were explained to him, he agreed to use the smaller, and upstairs box.
There ended our share in the transaction; but hardly were the unfortunate man and his attractive companion left alone than the portly lady reached the theatre and asked to be shown to Box X. She was conducted there; the door was opened. Tableau! What explanation was given as to the business trip to Liverpool we never knew, or whether the third act of this domestic drama was afterwards played at the Law Courts before "the President."
Grave illness
It was in the winter of 1871 that the Prince fell seriously ill from typhoid fever. The national excitement reached so high a pitch and the craving for the latest news of his condition grew so great, that the bulletins from Sandringham were read out in the theatres between the acts, and the National Anthem and "God Bless the Prince of Wales" were nightly played by the various orchestras.
The Prince was hardly expected to survive from hour to hour, but when reassuring bulletins were issued I vividly remember the relief they caused. The extraordinary manifestation of loyalty to the Throne and attachment to the Prince which this illness set ablaze culminated on the day of General Thanksgiving, when London was en fête, and Queen Victoria, with her convalescent son, went to the service held at St. Paul's. My wife and I were fortunate in being invited by the Lord Chamberlain to represent the stage— young managers as we then were—at the Cathedral. I shall never forget the effect when the great west door was thrown open and a loud voice
