“But that moment when the two monarchs in the cinematograph theatre… They were there looking at themselves. They were looking at a faithful copy of themselves which seemed to speak, to greet, or to laugh. And the audience in the picture applauded. And the audience in the auditorium applauded too. And the monarchs in the picture gave thanks. And in reality the real monarchs gave thanks. But suddenly the film tore and it became dark. – At that point in the account, a shiver ran down my spine. What? Did that tear run through the real ones as well? And I asked myself in horror, But then who is the real one here?

I can no longer get it out of my mind, this frightful doppelgänger aspect of representation. The chosen one, who by the simple fact that he walks, speaks and greets, and walks, speaks and greets in as typical a way as possible, should provide people with proof of their existence – two-fold?! Should one be allowed to duplicate this royal favour so outrageously? Are two, no, four kings not too many at one time? Up there, in the picture, one fulfils his royal duty, and down in the auditorium, the same one sits, as a simple human being, delighting in his dignified likeness. Or is he again only fulfilling his duty? Where does representation being, where does it end? And the people, present here twice over, and therefore happy twice over, cheering at their own cheering, welcoming their naive state of being in a mirror. Isn’t that dangerous? Could the people not be frightened, as if on catching sight of their own ghost? Could they not begin to doubt their instinctive function?

But no, they are cheering. If the film tears, it will be repaired again. Danger only exists in the imagination of those broody and finicky ones, who are too spoilt to be part of the naive people anyway. And in the end they too must admit repentingly that the gestures of politics are eminently suitable for the cinematograph. All else is a mere phantom that vanishes in the sun of imperial favour. (Berthold Viertel, Im Kinematographentheater, März Jg. 4, Heft 20, 18. Oktober 1910, in Fritz Güttinger, Kein Tag ohne Kino, 1984)