My OperaRobert Aickman and The Late Breakfasters
Friday, February 19, 2010 4:26:00 PM
The Late Breakfasters
A novel of disturbing wit:
Gaily unpredictable:
Rich in eccentrics:
Often very funny:
Always delightful
Robert Aickman once declared to his readers that if they wished to know what he was about, they had only to read the LATE BREAKFASTERS, it was all “there” for them to see. So, I thought I’d take a look:
Chapter One: sees the arrival of Griselda de Reptonville at Beams an enormous, eighteen bedroom, country house, from the tower of which it is possible, “once or twice a year”, to catch a glimpse of the English Channel, and which is “approached from the insanely noisy main road…by a drive two miles long”. Griselda, enchanted by the spring weather and alarmed by the other guests waiting with the car sent to collect them at Hodley railway station, decides to send her luggage by the car while she walks the length of the poplar lined drive to Beams.
Beams “was a wonderfully comfortable place to visit. It was, however, haunted: quite seriously, even, on occasion, dangerously, by the apparition of Mademoiselle des Bourges, beautiful even in death”. Beams had originally been constructed to accommodate Mademoiselle des Bourges, a famous Belgian actress, by the Duke of St. Helens, who had loved her “frenziedly” until her early and unexpected demise.
On her arrival at the house, Griselda, having pulled the old fashioned bell pull (the system had been modernized by connection to an electrical system), is confronted by Mr. Leech, the elderly Prime Minister, dressed in shabby tweeds and black homburg hat. He hurries away, shaken by his unexpected encounter with Griselda.
So far, so good. Aickman is having fun with us and playing games with his characters from the very opening sentence of this novel. He makes much in the text of Griselda’s name, linking it obviously to Giovanni Boccaccio’s story in the “DECAMERON” (the story originating from a French source), that almost mythic tale of female patience: Griselda marries Gualtieri, Marquis of Saluzzo, who orders their first born child put to death, likewise with their second child. Griselda complies without complaint. The children, a boy and girl, are not killed but hidden away (this is all a test by Gualtieri of Griselda’s loyalty). Gualtieri then informs his long suffering spouse, he wants to divorce her and marry another. She, again, complies without complaint. Some years later she’s called back as a servant to her old home in order to assist in the wedding celebrations of Gualtieri and his new bride, a twelve-year-old girl, who is really their daughter. Griselda wishes them both well for the future, after which Gualtieri explains it was all a test and takes her back as his faithful wife.
But Aickman knew full well the name Griselda has Germanic roots and can be interpreted as: “dark battle” or "Grey maiden warrior", meanings far removed from the patience and forbearing displayed in the folktale – meanings, in fact, that conjure up a veritable Valkyrie!
As Chaucer advised us (“THE CANTERBURY TALES”) : “Husbands, be not so hardy as to assail the patience of your wives in hope to find Griseldas, for you certainly will fail.”
Griselda, submissive heroine of various literary works, has also been made the subject of a number of operas, most notably Scarlatti’s opera, which, most tellingly, performed in London in January, 1721 and had an all male cast – five castratos and a tenor!
So to return to the text, Griselda has walked from the railway station to Beams. While she walks she sings a song from the Hammerstein and Kern musical “THE THREE SISTERS” which opened in Drury Lane on April 9, 1934. The show (which flopped) contains the songs: “Lonely Feet" and "I Won't Dance" (later made famous by Fred Astaire in “ROBERTA”). It also contained a song titled: “What good are words” and included one number with soldiers in drag performing as the “The Gaiety Chorus Girls”.
The basic plot of the show follows three sisters, the daughters of Will Barbour, in their romantic escapades: Tiny, the eldest, in love with Eustace, the constable (but she gets tangled with street busker, George); Mary, the youngest, is taken with Gypsy Hood, partner of George, and serial lothario, while Dorrie, the middle sister, dreams of a man with wealth to get her out of this make-do-and-mend existence. So, marriage, wanderlust, class snobbery, mistaken identity and the onset of world war one all have a part to play before the inevitable and obligatory happy ending.
One might also be forgiven for thinking of Chekhov’s play (although nothing to do with the musical), THE THREE SISTERS, where the absurdities of the “upper classes” are highlighted, and where people talk AT each other, rather than TO each other, hence little is accomplished and confusion dominates the three sisters domestic lives and arrangements.
So, while Griselda walks “fast, swinging her arms and singing”, along the drive, Aickman provides a potted history of Beams’ ownership: much is made of Mrs. Hatch’s (the current owner’s) grandfather, Eleutherious Procopius who’d acquired the property following Stephanie des Bourges death.
Eleutherious (Ελευθέριος) the liberator, (also Eleutherios), is also the name of Eros, God of sensual love, power, and sexual prowess, originally the son of Chaos, brother to Gaea, who in later times was believed to be the son of Aphrodite, goddess of love. While Procopius was also the name of the author of “THE SECRET HISTORY” reporting the scandals of his times, including the private lives of the Emperor, his wife, Theodora, and those around them. He makes much of Theodora’s insatiable lusts and vulgarity, and provides us with a glimpse of her as theatrical performer:
“Often, even in the theater, in the sight of all the people, she removed her costume and stood nude in their midst, except for a girdle about the groin: not that she was abashed at revealing that, too, to the audience, but because there was a law against appearing altogether naked on the stage, without at least this much of a fig-leaf. Covered thus with a ribbon, she would sink down to the stage floor and recline on her back. Slaves to whom the duty was entrusted would then scatter grains of barley from above into the calyx of this passion flower, whence geese, trained for the purpose, would next pick the grains one by one with their bills and eat them.”
At this point the reader would be forgiven for thinking, by inference, that this was very much a sexual novel. It certainly is that. But it is also a novel that concerns itself with identity, with gender and with twentieth century angst, as typified by Becket and Sartre and the existentialist movement.
But we must for the moment return to poor Griselda, who is greeted with the information that she will be adequately accommodated in the Newman room – a room named for the Cardinal, who, we’re informed, spent time at Beams in the past. Now this mention of Cardinal Newman is not without importance to the substance of Aickman’s novel: Newman thought men premature who “undertook a positive reconciliation between faith and science”, thinking that was very much in line with Aickman’s own view of these things. Further, Newman was buried in the grave of his lifelong friend, Ambrose St. John; the pair having been together in life, would not be parted in death! While the subject of Newman’s sexuality has long been one of controversy and conjecture, he was frequently vilified by contemporaneous critics as being of “characteristically feminine nature”, lacking masculinity and virility. Thus, uncertainty of gender once again impinges on the reader’s consciousness:
"I have ever thought no bereavement was equal to that of a husband's or a wife's, but I feel it difficult to believe that any can be greater, or any one's sorrow greater, than mine," wrote Newman after the death of his Ambrose in 1875.
We might well recall that for Freud the acquisition of a “gender identity” was a totally psychological process, in which children are born “psychosexually neutral” then learn to identify with their same sex parent, in other words the human child, regardless of gender, is born potentially bisexual. We’ll return to this theme later in the novel.
Returning to Griselda, we accompany her to her room where she examines the shower, a fragment of modernity, a mechanism which plays up, filling the room with steam and flooding the floor slightly. Involuntarily, our thoughts stray to Aickman’s words in his introduction to the third Fontana Book of Great Ghost Stories:
“…the need to escape, at least occasionally, from a mechanistic world, ever more definable, ever more predictable, and, therefore, ever more unsatisfying and frustrating.”
Enter, unseen, Mrs. Hatch.
‘Don’t mind me interrupting your bath.’ As Mrs. Hatch introduces herself, the plumbing sorts itself out. ‘Do go on with your bath,’ she says.
‘I wasn’t really having a bath.’
‘Well, have one now.’
‘I don’t think I want one. I might have one tonight.’
‘I shan’t be here then to talk to you.’
Mrs. Hatch mentions that Griselda’s mother “fagged” for her at Wollstonecroft – a name that can’t fail to conjure Wollstonecraft! The feminist Mary Wollstonecraft whose lifestyle turned eighteenth century conventions on their head, in particular her early and emotionally possessive relationship with Jane Arden, and her subsequent friendship with Fanny Blood who she envisioned living with in a female utopia (it was Blood’s death that inspired Wollstonecraft’s first novel, MARY: A FICTION). And, of course, “fagging” for a senior in school usually entailed harsh discipline, the carrying out of a variety of domestic chores, which might easily include warming the toilet seats for the older pupils. However this system (of fagging) was predominantly confined to boys boarding schools...?
More gender confusion?
Mrs. Hatch seems intent to hatch plots to ensnare Griselda: “My friend Louise”, she says, will help dress you. “You don’t know how much Louise will do for you.” But, Griselda learns, to her dismay, the reason she has been invited to Beams is to attend the All Party Ball! She detests dancing – (Aickman here uses dance as an analogy for an act more intimate, less circumspect...)
‘Before tomorrow night you must learn to dance,’ declares Mrs. Hatch. And we, the reader, think of the musical THE THREE SISTERS and in particular that song:
“I won't dance. Don't ask me.
I won't dance. Don't ask me.
I won't dance, Madame, with you.
My heart won't let my feet do things they should do.”
So we reach the conclusion of chapter one. Chapter two will follow shortly....
A novel of disturbing wit:
Gaily unpredictable:
Rich in eccentrics:
Often very funny:
Always delightful
Robert Aickman once declared to his readers that if they wished to know what he was about, they had only to read the LATE BREAKFASTERS, it was all “there” for them to see. So, I thought I’d take a look:
Chapter One: sees the arrival of Griselda de Reptonville at Beams an enormous, eighteen bedroom, country house, from the tower of which it is possible, “once or twice a year”, to catch a glimpse of the English Channel, and which is “approached from the insanely noisy main road…by a drive two miles long”. Griselda, enchanted by the spring weather and alarmed by the other guests waiting with the car sent to collect them at Hodley railway station, decides to send her luggage by the car while she walks the length of the poplar lined drive to Beams.
Beams “was a wonderfully comfortable place to visit. It was, however, haunted: quite seriously, even, on occasion, dangerously, by the apparition of Mademoiselle des Bourges, beautiful even in death”. Beams had originally been constructed to accommodate Mademoiselle des Bourges, a famous Belgian actress, by the Duke of St. Helens, who had loved her “frenziedly” until her early and unexpected demise.
On her arrival at the house, Griselda, having pulled the old fashioned bell pull (the system had been modernized by connection to an electrical system), is confronted by Mr. Leech, the elderly Prime Minister, dressed in shabby tweeds and black homburg hat. He hurries away, shaken by his unexpected encounter with Griselda.
So far, so good. Aickman is having fun with us and playing games with his characters from the very opening sentence of this novel. He makes much in the text of Griselda’s name, linking it obviously to Giovanni Boccaccio’s story in the “DECAMERON” (the story originating from a French source), that almost mythic tale of female patience: Griselda marries Gualtieri, Marquis of Saluzzo, who orders their first born child put to death, likewise with their second child. Griselda complies without complaint. The children, a boy and girl, are not killed but hidden away (this is all a test by Gualtieri of Griselda’s loyalty). Gualtieri then informs his long suffering spouse, he wants to divorce her and marry another. She, again, complies without complaint. Some years later she’s called back as a servant to her old home in order to assist in the wedding celebrations of Gualtieri and his new bride, a twelve-year-old girl, who is really their daughter. Griselda wishes them both well for the future, after which Gualtieri explains it was all a test and takes her back as his faithful wife.
But Aickman knew full well the name Griselda has Germanic roots and can be interpreted as: “dark battle” or "Grey maiden warrior", meanings far removed from the patience and forbearing displayed in the folktale – meanings, in fact, that conjure up a veritable Valkyrie!
As Chaucer advised us (“THE CANTERBURY TALES”) : “Husbands, be not so hardy as to assail the patience of your wives in hope to find Griseldas, for you certainly will fail.”
Griselda, submissive heroine of various literary works, has also been made the subject of a number of operas, most notably Scarlatti’s opera, which, most tellingly, performed in London in January, 1721 and had an all male cast – five castratos and a tenor!
So to return to the text, Griselda has walked from the railway station to Beams. While she walks she sings a song from the Hammerstein and Kern musical “THE THREE SISTERS” which opened in Drury Lane on April 9, 1934. The show (which flopped) contains the songs: “Lonely Feet" and "I Won't Dance" (later made famous by Fred Astaire in “ROBERTA”). It also contained a song titled: “What good are words” and included one number with soldiers in drag performing as the “The Gaiety Chorus Girls”.
The basic plot of the show follows three sisters, the daughters of Will Barbour, in their romantic escapades: Tiny, the eldest, in love with Eustace, the constable (but she gets tangled with street busker, George); Mary, the youngest, is taken with Gypsy Hood, partner of George, and serial lothario, while Dorrie, the middle sister, dreams of a man with wealth to get her out of this make-do-and-mend existence. So, marriage, wanderlust, class snobbery, mistaken identity and the onset of world war one all have a part to play before the inevitable and obligatory happy ending.
One might also be forgiven for thinking of Chekhov’s play (although nothing to do with the musical), THE THREE SISTERS, where the absurdities of the “upper classes” are highlighted, and where people talk AT each other, rather than TO each other, hence little is accomplished and confusion dominates the three sisters domestic lives and arrangements.
So, while Griselda walks “fast, swinging her arms and singing”, along the drive, Aickman provides a potted history of Beams’ ownership: much is made of Mrs. Hatch’s (the current owner’s) grandfather, Eleutherious Procopius who’d acquired the property following Stephanie des Bourges death.
Eleutherious (Ελευθέριος) the liberator, (also Eleutherios), is also the name of Eros, God of sensual love, power, and sexual prowess, originally the son of Chaos, brother to Gaea, who in later times was believed to be the son of Aphrodite, goddess of love. While Procopius was also the name of the author of “THE SECRET HISTORY” reporting the scandals of his times, including the private lives of the Emperor, his wife, Theodora, and those around them. He makes much of Theodora’s insatiable lusts and vulgarity, and provides us with a glimpse of her as theatrical performer:
“Often, even in the theater, in the sight of all the people, she removed her costume and stood nude in their midst, except for a girdle about the groin: not that she was abashed at revealing that, too, to the audience, but because there was a law against appearing altogether naked on the stage, without at least this much of a fig-leaf. Covered thus with a ribbon, she would sink down to the stage floor and recline on her back. Slaves to whom the duty was entrusted would then scatter grains of barley from above into the calyx of this passion flower, whence geese, trained for the purpose, would next pick the grains one by one with their bills and eat them.”
At this point the reader would be forgiven for thinking, by inference, that this was very much a sexual novel. It certainly is that. But it is also a novel that concerns itself with identity, with gender and with twentieth century angst, as typified by Becket and Sartre and the existentialist movement.
But we must for the moment return to poor Griselda, who is greeted with the information that she will be adequately accommodated in the Newman room – a room named for the Cardinal, who, we’re informed, spent time at Beams in the past. Now this mention of Cardinal Newman is not without importance to the substance of Aickman’s novel: Newman thought men premature who “undertook a positive reconciliation between faith and science”, thinking that was very much in line with Aickman’s own view of these things. Further, Newman was buried in the grave of his lifelong friend, Ambrose St. John; the pair having been together in life, would not be parted in death! While the subject of Newman’s sexuality has long been one of controversy and conjecture, he was frequently vilified by contemporaneous critics as being of “characteristically feminine nature”, lacking masculinity and virility. Thus, uncertainty of gender once again impinges on the reader’s consciousness:
"I have ever thought no bereavement was equal to that of a husband's or a wife's, but I feel it difficult to believe that any can be greater, or any one's sorrow greater, than mine," wrote Newman after the death of his Ambrose in 1875.
We might well recall that for Freud the acquisition of a “gender identity” was a totally psychological process, in which children are born “psychosexually neutral” then learn to identify with their same sex parent, in other words the human child, regardless of gender, is born potentially bisexual. We’ll return to this theme later in the novel.
Returning to Griselda, we accompany her to her room where she examines the shower, a fragment of modernity, a mechanism which plays up, filling the room with steam and flooding the floor slightly. Involuntarily, our thoughts stray to Aickman’s words in his introduction to the third Fontana Book of Great Ghost Stories:
“…the need to escape, at least occasionally, from a mechanistic world, ever more definable, ever more predictable, and, therefore, ever more unsatisfying and frustrating.”
Enter, unseen, Mrs. Hatch.
‘Don’t mind me interrupting your bath.’ As Mrs. Hatch introduces herself, the plumbing sorts itself out. ‘Do go on with your bath,’ she says.
‘I wasn’t really having a bath.’
‘Well, have one now.’
‘I don’t think I want one. I might have one tonight.’
‘I shan’t be here then to talk to you.’
Mrs. Hatch mentions that Griselda’s mother “fagged” for her at Wollstonecroft – a name that can’t fail to conjure Wollstonecraft! The feminist Mary Wollstonecraft whose lifestyle turned eighteenth century conventions on their head, in particular her early and emotionally possessive relationship with Jane Arden, and her subsequent friendship with Fanny Blood who she envisioned living with in a female utopia (it was Blood’s death that inspired Wollstonecraft’s first novel, MARY: A FICTION). And, of course, “fagging” for a senior in school usually entailed harsh discipline, the carrying out of a variety of domestic chores, which might easily include warming the toilet seats for the older pupils. However this system (of fagging) was predominantly confined to boys boarding schools...?
More gender confusion?
Mrs. Hatch seems intent to hatch plots to ensnare Griselda: “My friend Louise”, she says, will help dress you. “You don’t know how much Louise will do for you.” But, Griselda learns, to her dismay, the reason she has been invited to Beams is to attend the All Party Ball! She detests dancing – (Aickman here uses dance as an analogy for an act more intimate, less circumspect...)
‘Before tomorrow night you must learn to dance,’ declares Mrs. Hatch. And we, the reader, think of the musical THE THREE SISTERS and in particular that song:
“I won't dance. Don't ask me.
I won't dance. Don't ask me.
I won't dance, Madame, with you.
My heart won't let my feet do things they should do.”
So we reach the conclusion of chapter one. Chapter two will follow shortly....
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