Part II -- Seriously Manic
Before we begin in earnest, I must warn you that my opinions of the relative merits of “Le Mari à la Campagne” – the French play upon which Morris Barnett’s “The Serious Family” is based – must be taken with a grain of salt. I could find no English translation of Jean-François Bayard’s comedy. My last formal instruction in French language skills took place sometime during the Carter administration. To aid my rapidly fading memories of my high school French classes, I enlisted the aid of Google Translate to cobble together a rough English rendition of the play. This version was perfectly serviceable to satisfy my curiosity about the disposition of lines, scenes, and characters, but I’m sure is lacking in many subtleties… to say the least.
I was reassured, therefore, to find that my impressions of the two plays tallied in many respects with those of drama critics reviewing the play at the time of its 1849 premiere in London. For example, in my opinion, the biggest difference between the two scripts is a contrast in tone. Barnett’s play is far wittier and more overtly comedic than Bayard’s. The French play can be classified as a comedy in the sense that it has a happy ending for the play’s protagonists. “Le Mari à la Campagne” is also clearly a type of comedy of manners that renders satirical commentary on aspects of accepted practices of interaction current in certain strata of French society of the 1840s.
In contrast, “The Serious Family” written by Barnett, a former comedian, is more of a comedy in the way we commonly use the word today. The script is full of droll wordplay, sarcastic asides, and antic bits of business. In the hands of an inspired director and skilled performers, I’m sure a staging of “Le Mari à la Campagne,” would doubtlessly be provide theatre-goers with a pleasant evening’s viewing. However, a top-quality production of “The Serious Family” faithful to the text would be a failure if it didn’t make an audience laugh.
Contemporary reviewers seem to agree with my evaluation. The following critic from Douglas Jerrold’s Weekly Newspaper (who stood a pretty good chance of being playwright/publisher/bosom buddy of Charles Dickens, Douglas Jerrold himself) praised the superior wit of Barnett’s version and the show’s distinctly “English” flavor;
On Tuesday a new comedy, in three acts, entitled “The Serious Family," was produced at this theatre. It is said to be founded on a French play, “Un Mari à la Campagne,” but it can owe little to the French beyond the general idea; and this it would seem had originally been borrowed from some of our earlier plays of the last century. The treatment is so entirely English, as well as the sentiments and manners, that it must be treated as an original production though a slight portion of its materials may have been borrowed. The great characteristic of this drama is its very careful construction and writing. The phraseology is brief, crisp, and telling; and the whole is marked with strong characteristics, a mode very dear to English audiences. The sense of character and humour in the public keener than of wit or poetry; and an author who has character at command, and understands stage tactics, may defy the want of higher intellectual powers.1
Even though Barnett’s “The Serious Family” nearly duplicates the plot of “Le Mari à la Campagne,” writers who had viewed both productions found them distinct, as this report attests;
On Tuesday, a new comedy in three acts, adapted from the French of “Le Mari à la Campagne," by Mr. Morris Barnett, was very successfully produced. The variations from its model are so important, that this drama may almost claim rank as an original.2
The critics are not simply being patriotically indulgent with a homegrown playwright in this instance. Lax British international copyright laws operational at the time allowed writers in the U.K. to publish English translations of foreign plays as original works with no obligation to remunerate, or even credit the real authors. A production by the respected Comédie-Française that received good reviews during one of the company’s annual visits to the St. James Theatre could expect at least one or two unauthorized English versions to sprout up in London theatres during the following months. The practice was within the bounds of existing laws and not decried as plagiarism at the time. However, this lack of originality on the part of British writers frequently inspired a certain amount of eye-rolling among the critics along the lines of the following quote;
“The Guardian Angel," brought out here on Thursday week, proved eminently successful. It is from the pen of a very clever writer, Mr. Shirley Brooks, who is one of the very few who think it worthwhile to be original, and not foist off secondhand French goods as new English articles.3
Drama reviewers who commented on the quality of the writing of the two scripts seemed to agree that Barnett’s “The Serious Family,” was more than a mere translated rip-off of the French original. The writer from Bell’s Life in London does a good job of succinctly detailing some of the most significant differences between the two texts;
In converting the French piece into an English one Mr. Barnett has displayed remarkable tact and talent. Laying his scene in London, he has given a new colouring to his characters, and has made several alterations in the grouping of his figures, by which he has greatly heightened the general effect. The grim family are endowed with attributes belonging to an English atmosphere, and the predilection shown by some of our philanthropists for remote miseries, while those of our own metropolis are overlooked, is felicitously satirized.
The modern “serious” Englishman is, indeed, made more like the old Puritan than is consistent with actual life, but a distinctive colouring could not easily have been obtained by any other means. The gay officer, who is greatly heightened from the French original, is appropriately made into a warm-hearted Irishman, and the widow's character is likewise much expanded. By way of giving a joyous conclusion to the whole, Mr. Barnett lets the audience see the dance, which is only indicated in the French piece. The dialogue throughout is very carefully written and often very pointed, displaying a genial spirit not often to be found in adaptations.4
In short, although Barnett replicated Bayard’s plot almost scene for scene, he effectively enhanced the comedic impact of the play by changing characters to types readily recognizable to London audiences and adding music. His additions were so significant, in fact, that many who view both productions considered his superior. In this essay, I want to discuss a few elements specific to Barnett’s version of this play in terms of its appeal to theater-goers of the 1840s that may help explain how the show became a hit.
One aspect of the script that several critics mentioned that they enjoyed about “The Serious Family” was that it contained up-to-date references to events and topics that held meaning for the London audience, as this writer from The Globe states in a very sparing bit of praise;
The piece, though not very original, is yet cleverly constructed, contains some admirable dialogue, and has several excellent hits at the passing follies of the day, such as the Agapemone — Mr. Laurent’s dancing academy, which told well with the audience.5
(I can inform you that the Agapemone were a religious sect founded in Sussex in 1846 by Rev. Henry James Prince and John Hugh Smyth-Pigott. Smyth-Pigott claimed to be a reincarnation of Jesus Christ. The group shocked Great Brittan by being rumored to have practiced free love and polygamy. The passage of time, however, has drawn discreet curtain obscuring the scandalous behavior of Mr. Laurent and his dancing academy…)
The title of the play itself is taken from a phrase used – among other places -- in employment advertising of the day. Wording such as follows could be found on the front page or back page of many daily journals of the 1840s;
A Lady wishes to hear of a Situation as a Governess in a Serious Family going to France or Germany for a Young Friend who as had much experience in Tuition, and would be found really valuable to an Parents desirous of meeting a confidential instructress for their children.6
The phrase “serious family” was coding for adherence to the same sort of socio-cultural principles we are indicating today when we employ language such as “conservative” or “family values.” The next ad makes this values signaling clearer;
Wanted, in a small and serious family, a good Cook. No regular kitchen maid is kept, but there is occasional help. Also an Under Housemaid, who must help in the kitchen and clean knives. Both must be of the Church of England: characters of at least a year’s standing. 7
When employing staff in a position that requires very close contact with one and potentially one’s children, it is not unreasonable to wish to secure trustworthy individuals of good character. Going so far as to demand exactly to which specific Christian denomination an employee must subscribe and for at least how long is being a bit intrusively concerned with other people’s morality, though. It is this kind of overt, pushy, public “seriousness” that Barnett’s play sets out to lampoon.
Lady Sowrby Creamly
It is a tired truism that the psychological basis of all successful comedy is suppressed violence. The peculiar alchemy of spinning anger and resentment into comedy gold does seem to have prompted Morris Barnett to have expanded and embellished Lady Creamly from her parallel character’s smaller more passive role in Bayard’s “Le Mari à la Campagne” and Madame Pernelle’s miniscule – though memorable -- presence in “Tartuffe.” From the comments about this character, it seems that Lady Creamly really got under the skin of viewers. Much more than the parasitical Aminidab Sleek, she seemed to be an antagonist that Barnett’s audiences loved to hate.
Although reviewers praised the performance of the actress who played her, they reserved some of their most lavishly negative language for this character, as in the following example;
But who can measure the dragon-like frigidity of Mrs. W. Clifford, who, as the mother of the heroine, was the incarnation of methodical and constitutional correctness; her very cap partook of the acrimonious rectitude of its mistress, and the sour and repellant visage under it was sufficient to scare away a much bolder man than an Irishman.8
Even Lady Creamly’s costume, in this critic’s opinion, inspired a degree of revulsion. In keeping with the sound of her name, bitter Lady “Sour Cream” was set on spoiling everyone’s fun, as our reliably voluble correspondent at the Era expresses while summarizing the plot of the comedy;
He marries, however into a serious family, and his wife is the pretty and prudent daughter of one Lady Sowerby Creamley (Mrs. Clifford), a stiff-backed old dowager, devoted to piety and philanthropy after her own fashion, and always getting up charities for her own special amusement, while her practices are uncharitable as selfishness can make them, and in her notions she is bigoted to a frightful degree. She is one of those arbitrary “tabbies,” whose self-esteem and morality are so great that she would rule the world with a rod of iron, and sour society with her own verjuice, as though to be virtuous is to be miserable.9
Note that although Lady Creamly is a prim and proper person who dresses in drab colors, these critics choose to use vividly sensual animal imagery to express their distaste for her. In their eyes, she is like a frigid dragon or an old cat who spits vinegar. The character definitely had an irritating and repellant quality for these viewers.
In 1849, Queen Victoria was still a happy newlywed. The British court was not as staid and stern as it would become in the later years of her reign. The bulk of the pent-up antipathy directed towards a female authority figure therefore probably was not flowing from political or social tension generated by the monarchy. However, a certain undercurrent of seething animosity towards the smothering influence of matriarchal power is undeniably apparent in the comments reviewers direct towards Lady Creamly.
Instead of exploring the possibilities of a generalized Freudian-style animus at work, the following comment may help us ferret out the source of some of the underlying ire Barnett was able to tap into in his crafting of Lady Creamly;
His young and beautiful wife (Miss Reynolds) is the daughter of Lady Sowerby Creamley (Mrs. Clifford), a disciple of that school of puritans who hold that with sighs and groans the vale of life may be passed with comfort here and happiness hereafter. Her charity, if it begins at home, remains there, unless when at the cost of her neighbours (whom she liberally mulcts in its name) it travels to lands and peoples of unpronounceable names.10
Lady Creamly and her able assistance of Mr. Sleek are expert practitioners of the odious practice of “mulcting” – (Yes, this term was a new one for me and my word processor too) or the fine art of the extraction of money. Throughout the play, they are continually engaged in mounting aggressive charitable crusades in which they incessantly hound all and sundry for large donations of time and funds while simultaneously displaying the most uncharitable attitudes possible to everyone and everything. Apparently such benevolence campaigns and the overzealous and under-self-aware campaigners who conducted them had become enough of an annoyance to those who had enough excess income to be able to afford a night at the theater in 1849 for Barnett’s caricatures to land successful punches at a readily recognizable type of social pest.
Mr. Aminadab Sleek
The first thing about this character that drew my attention was Mr. Sleek’s unusual name. When I consulted my brother, Rev. Dr. Rex Shaver, a student of the Old Testament, I found that it is the given name of two rather obscure figures mentioned in the Bible. Amminidab was Aaron’s father-in-law. There was also a priest of this name who helped transport the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. This Levite is cited at the beginning of the New Testament as a direct ancestor of Jesus. The stories of these individuals are associated with generosity and service, thus serving as an ironic counterpoint to the oily Mr. Sleek.
A loose translation of the name Amminadab (Hebrew: עַמִּינָדָב) is “my kinsmen are noble.” When one breaks the appellation down into its component parts, though, one finds the words “Ahmee” meaning “my people,” “my friend,” or “my kinsman” paired with the verb “Nadab” which means “to incite or compel.” Therefore a very literal translation of the name Aminadab can also connote “One who incites or impels people to do his will.”11 Thus Barnett employed cleverly layered wordplay to choose a personal designation for this character that would simultaneously present both Sleek’s external façade of piety and the internal reality of his slyly manipulative personality.
Although only a select few might have been able to appreciate the ironic intricacies buried in his name, audiences had no trouble embracing Aminidab Sleek as the show’s comic anchor as the following reviewer attests;
And then there was Mr. Buckstone as Aminidab Sleek, whose name suggests the piece of Mawworm humanity that he embodied. The straight hair, cadaverous face, and the whining tongue betrayed at once the pharisaical villain; and none of the stage exemplars of this malignant class of missionary has ever been more entertaining. The actor kept the house in a roar with his canting admonitions and pious imprecations, —and they were certainly irresistible.12
(A “mawworm” – for our second Victorian vocabulary booster of the day – is an intestinal parasite.)
Sleek- unlike his inspiration, Tartuffe, who does not enter Moliere’s play until the third act -- speaks the very first words of Barnett’s play. If delivered skillfully, I think the actor playing the part also has the chance to elicit the show’s first laugh. When the play opens, Charles Torrens is supposed to be taking down the very pious letter for a charitable appeal that Aminidab Sleek is dictating. When his mother-in-law catches Torrens dozing instead, she scolds;
Lady C.: Write them down, my son… I protest he’s asleep! The spirit is willing but…13
To which, Sleek dryly comments;
Sleek: But it sleepth.14
On just his fourth line, Sleek begins to speak directly to the audience in the form of asides. In this commentary, he does not bother to hide his cynical and duplicitous nature. When Lady Creamly, in the midst of delivering a generously ample bundle of exposition, says;
Lady C: Too happy, Mr. Aminadab Sleek, to be guided by your voice and encouraged by your presence; but we hope that another and a tenderer tie will soon bring our families more closely together. Your nephew, that pattern of special grace, that paragon of model propriety, will, before long, obtain the hand –15
Sleek turns to the audience and smugly confides;
Sleek: (Aside) And the fortune! 16
One of my favorite of Sleek’s asides in this same vein comes when Charles Torrens abruptly abandons his friend Captain Maguire to the mercy of his in-laws when Torrens is offered the opportunity to go “shooting in the country.” Sleek turns to the audience and concludes;
Sleek: (Aside) Reasonable with a T. 17
The playwright constructs a series of escalating jokes scattered throughout the play comprised of Sleek and Lady Creamly’s protestations about the decadence of Captain Maguire and family members tainted by contact with him. Barnett also gives the actor playing Sleek morsels of comic byplay here and there in the stage directions such as a bit with Sleek’s hat falling off repeatedly at a stressful moment in the third act. These antics don’t necessarily read as being all that funny on the page, but would probably be hilarious if staged skillfully. The character even participates the following slightly risqué exchange of dialogue;
Capt. M.: I want you to inveigle Lady Creamly.
Sleek: I never inveigled any female in my life.
Mrs. D.: The greater the honour if you succeed with Lady Creamly. 18
In short, Barnett seems to have purposely designed the character of Aminadab Sleek to get laughs. The dramatist was fortunate to have the character brought to life by James Baldwin Buckstone , who, along with Robert Keeley and Alfred Wiggins , was one of London’s top comic actors of the 1840s. I have previously written about Buckstone’s performances at the Marylebone Theatre and in J. Maddison Morton’s phenomenally popular farce, “Box and Cox.”Given Barnett’s history on the stage, I briefly toyed with the idea that the dramatist might have written the part of Aminadab Sleek for himself or his brother Benjamin to play. However I could find no evidence to support this notion.
Despite the fact that Barnett wrote the role of Sleek to be an effective comic foil for the romantic couples who serve as the show’s protagonists, the character is not simply a buffoon. Critics’ reactions, such as the following from Douglas Jerrold’s Journal, show that although Barnett did not satirize religious hypocrisy with the same decree of venom as Moliere, auditors still got the point that he was making in condemning false piety;
Mr. Morris Barnett had resolved to expose vice and cant in its strongest hold, and he therefore chose a set of formalists who, living by the letter, evade the spirit of religion and morality. There are many who will say that it is wrong to hold up any particular sect to ridicule; but the answer to this is, that satire has a right to expose cant and falsehood under whatever garb they may lie. Some persons were so absurd as to say Mr. Dickens had no business to attack architects (!) when he drew Pecksniff. He certainly had a right to expose humbug, and it suited his story to make his victim of that profession. There is nothing in that profession. Mr. Barnett's comedy that the honest puritan could object to, and, indeed, a Baxter or a Penn would be very glad that the mere professors of their faith should be exposed. 19
As this writer does, more than one critic pointed out that Sleek and Lady Creamly wear plain grey dress that suggest the garb of Quakers. However none of the reviewers who mention detail of costuming seem to feel that the play specifically ridiculed the behavior of that denomination. Rather statements like the following demonstrate that were of the opinion that Barnett and the production at the Haymarket were holding up ostentatious, insincere piety for scorn;
…He amusingly exaggerates the sanctimoniousness of the "serious" individuals putting them into the plain and homely garb of Quakers, though discreetly avoiding their identification with that particular sect. 20
Barnett seems to be using the characters’ distinctive dress as a method of instantly telegraphing their ostentatious virtue signaling. The dialogue he gives them gives us no indication he is ridiculing beliefs that would motivate the assumption of such dress. Neither Lady Creamly nor Mr. Sleek are either humble or plain in their attitudes towards themselves.
Unlike Moliere’s Tartuffe, Aminadab Sleek is much more of a clown. An audience watching “The Serious Family” can feel comfortable laughing at his hypocritical villainy throughout the play without falling into serious fears for the safety of the protagonists as happens in the later acts of the original French play. However, Barnett’s Sleek still carried enough of a critical edge to convey a lesson about religious hypocrisy. As one critic wrote;
The Serious Family is precisely what everybody ought to witness, for it not only amuses, but edifies, and is “a delicious dig” for the uncharitable charity-mongers of the day. 21
Aminadab Sleek doesn’t dominate “The Serious Family” the way Moliere’s title character does “Tartuffe,” but he was still enough of a persuasive presence to drive the dramatist’s rhetorical message home.
Captain Murphy Maguire
When making this character simultaneously Irish, a gentleman, and the personification of Moliere’s voice of reason in the play, Barnett significantly undermined theatrical conventions of his day. Irishmen were a fixture on the Victorian-Era London stage. Popular shows were built around Irish characters in starring roles. Actors like James Hudson made successful careers out of being “stage Irishmen.” However these shows were almost without exception broad farces. The Irish were portrayed as uncultured “wise fools” given to fighting, drinking, and emotional excess. Dramatists usually wrote such characters with thick accents and dialogue filled with colloquialisms that emphasized their comic Other-ness from London audiences.
If you’re enough of a devotee of Theatre History to have sought out this blog, I’m going to assume that you have a pretty fair grasp of European History as well. I am, therefore, not even going to attempt to begin to summarize the long and tortured history of social, cultural, and political tensions between England and Ireland, or describe the state of affairs in 1849, or how these clashes manifested themselves in popular culture. If you are interested in such topics, far better authors than myself have been writing about them for a very long time now. I encourage you to go seek them out. Take with you, though, the knowledge that in 1849 Morris Barnett resisted the prevailing trend for portraying the Irish onstage as comic, drunken wild-men.
One of Barnett’s primary departures from the norm is that Maguire’s dialogue is not written in non-standard English. Several critics note this deviation approvingly as being a refreshing change;
He is an Irishman – wherefore, indeed, we do not perceive, for he has nothing to do which might not be done by an Englishman - and the vulgar stage brogue is completely and most wisely abandoned for an accent which sits with natural grace and telling effect on his fluent tongue. 22
Although Maguire does not speak with an exaggerated brogue, he does include words and phrasings that make his dialogue distinct from the English characters such as the following;
Captain M.: What, me bound in the rosy bonds of that young robber, paddy Cupid? No, thank heaven! 23
However, the effect is subtle compared to works of the day like “The Nervous Man,” “Born to Good Luck,” or “The Irish Lion.” In other words, Maguire’s word choices makes him as identifiably Irish, but not hard to understand or seem in any way less intelligent or not as sophisticated than the other characters on stage.
Presumably, the actor chosen to play the part of Captain Maguire at the Haymarket would not needed to have gone far to get help with ascertaining the sound of an authentic Irish accent. James Wallack’s wife was Susan Johnstone , daughter of famous Irish actor/singer/comedian John Henry Johnstone . James was the brother of actor, Lester Wallack and the cousin of Fanny Vining Davenport . Fanny Vining, in turn was Jack Johnstone’s granddaughter. She was also wife of Anna Cora Mowatt’s acting partner, E.L. Davenport . The Davenports partnered with the Wallacks when the brothers came to the U.S. in the 1850s.
James Wallack’s performance as Captain Maguire in the premiere of “The Serious Family” received high praise from newspaper reviewers. The following accolade is typical;
Mr. Wallack’s gentlemanly, kindly, but animated and rather roistering Irishman was as capital a piece of acting as even he, excellent artist that he is, ever gave. It was a genuine piece of the older comedy, and exhilarated and delighted the audience. 24
Note that the critic describes the character as “gentlemanly.” This character, like the other leads, is a member of the elite, not a commoner. The audience knows this not because the dialogue bluntly informs us of such a fact, but because of how Maguire is treated by characters that the script leads us to believe are reliable. Maguire is a school friend of Charles Torrens, who regards him as an equal and a confidant –despite moments when Maguire is a little too honest about a past Torrens is endeavoring to hide. Torren’s sister, Emma, and her love interest, Frank Vincent, respect Maguire and look to him for advice and guidance. Although Maguire and Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine have some interpersonal friction, the widow considers the captain to be of appropriate social rank to be acceptable as a romantic partner. Even Mrs. Eve Torrens, despite being guided to be quite cool to Maguire at first by her mother and Sleek, treats Captain Maguire with increasingly gracious civility and is eventually willing to engage him in confidential conversation as a peer towards the end of the play. Although Maguire is not a family member, he is treated by the wealthy Torrens family and their friends as a social equal.
A source of humor in the play stems from the two characters in the Torrens household who refuse to accept Maguire. As I stated earlier, one of Barnett’s running gags in the show comes in the form of Lady Creamly and Aminadab Sleek’s increasingly shrill protestations about the contaminating decadence Captain Maguire’s mere presence inflicts on the Torrens household. When the captain enters -- after very properly presenting his card to the family’s servant and waiting to be announced -- Sleek and Lady Creamly rather rudely proclaim;
Sleek: A captain, and an Irishman! Um?
Lady C.: A libertine! 24
Confrontations intensify between these characters to the point that upon Creamly and Sleek’s meeting with Maguire in the last act, the first words out of their mouths are;
Lady C. (Violently): What’s this I see? What’s this I hear? Who has dared to turn this house into house of sin and iniquity?
Sleek: An abode of Agapemenons! 25
By bundling negative cultural stereotypes about the Irish along with other exaggerated prudish fears of his two comic antagonists, Barnett encourages his audience to rise above such narrow-minded reactions. People watching this play should feel superior to the silly notions that startle and appall Lady Creamly and Mr. Sleek. By the logic of the show’s comedy, automatically assuming an Irishman is a depraved barbarian is as a laughable a notion as jumping to the conclusion that enjoying dancing instantly converts one into a vice-crazed polygamist.
This rhetorical gambit seemed to work well for the audiences of Barnett’s day. Critics who saw the show in 1849 found the character of Captain Maguire to be very charming;
Mr. Wallack's Captain Maguire is admirable. The gaiety, the sincerity of heart, the mixed brusquerie and gentleness of the character are defined with artistic effect and consummate skill. 26
In order for this play to be well-received by audiences, it is important that they find the character of Captain Maguire likeable. As is true of Cléante, the parallel character is Moliere’s play, Maguire is a sympathetic character who provides words of wisdom to the other characters. I think it’s fair to assume that both these characters serve as mouthpieces who expressed opinions on life and religious hypocrisy that were probably very close to those of their author. Unlike Cléante, though, Maguire is a more active player in the dramatic unfolding of the plot. The Captain has his own romantic subplot. More significantly, Maguire becomes a major force who drives the action for the remainder of the play.
The type of agency that this character exerts is the final element that I wish to mention in how Barnett has created in Maguire a character that deviates from the pattern of portraying Irish characters on the English stage in the Victorian era. Typically in English Theatre in that time, the established trope would have an Irish character enter causing comic chaos and misery for English characters. This storytelling pattern holds true even today in modern situation comedies like “The Irish P.M.” or “The London Irish,” or “The Derry Girls.” Rarely if ever does an Irish character restore order and balance to a disordered English household.
However, this is exactly what happens in “The Serious Family.” Maguire enters, like a good, but sadly underappreciated fairy godfather, and patiently solves all of this sad and mixed-up English family’s many problems before dancing happily away with a merry widow on his arm.
As my summary indicates, although Captain Murphy Maguire is, on the whole, a calming and balancing presence on the Torrens family, he does add one element of manic whimsy to their existence. We must delve into that frothy factor in next section of this essay.
Polkamania
Finally, I would like to make a few comments about one other “character” Barnett added to his comedy to give it comedic currency with theatre audiences of 1849 – the music. When I look at the character of Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine in my next essay, I will talk in more depth about Barnett’s lyrics and the impact they have on establishing character relationships. For now, I want to examine his exploitation of a dance fad that had swept across Europe – the polka.
Musicologists will tell you the polka evolved from Czech folk dances. However in Victorian-era England, people firmly believed the dance was a variation on the waltz purposefully devised by an impoverished Bohemian prince, as this newspaper article written late in the century asserts;
Less than half a century ago the polka was introduced, and became all the rage. This dance was represented at the time as the invention of a Bohemian nobleman, who had seen better days. If this impoverished aristocrat had taken out a patent he might have made an immense fortune. As it was, it must have put much money into the pockets of dancing masters, for when the polka was suddenly imported everyone had to learn it. In ridicule of the craze a dramatic piece entitled “Polkamania” was produced. The case with which the step was to be acquired aided the popularity of the dance, but it is difficult to dance a polka gracefully, and it was soon supplanted by the waltz. 27
In the early 1840s, the dance became so popular in continental Europe that the term “polkamania” began to be used in French publications. In 1844, the term was cemented in the minds of the British theater-going public when the Lyceum presented a farce titled “Polkamania” starring Alfred Wiggins, and comedy duo, Robert and Mary Ann Keeley. The play, written by journalist, J. H. Stocqueler, also lampooned other faddish obsessions of the day such as mesmerism, homeopathy, and hydropathy.
The polka was considered the less sophisticated younger sibling of the waltz by connoisseurs of the genre. Between 1844 and 1860, vast quantities of specimens of this genus were published in the U.S. and U.K. with names like “The Heel and Toe Polka,” “The Jumping Polka,” “Uncle Ned’s Polka,” “The Alice Polka,” “The Louise Polka, ”The Margret Polka,” “Susanna’s Polka,” “The Betty Polka,” “The Lydia Polka,” “The Ella Polka,” “The Sailor’s Polka,” “The Ocean Polka” “The Marina Polka,” “The Sea Serpent Polka,” “The May Polka,” “The Morning Star Polka,” “The Evening Star Polka,” “The Zephyr Polka,” “The Rose Hill Polka,” “The Chestnut Street Polka,” “The Baltimore Polka,” “The Tip Top Polka,” “The Soiree Polka,” “The Exquisite Polka,” “The Fashionable London Polka,” “The Queen’s Polka,” “The Christmas Polka,” “Cinderella’s Polka” “Jenny Lind’s Favorite Polka,” “Barnum’s Polka,” “The Ben Bolt Polka,” “The Paddy Carey Polka,” “The Jim Crow Polka,” “The Wedlock Polka,” “The Free Love Polka,” “The Locomotive Polka,” “The Ledger Polka,” “The Museum Polka” and even “The Grand Tour of Europe and Siege of Sebastopol Polka.” (Copies of all of these could be found online at the time of the writing of this essay. Most of them are included in the Library of Congress’ collection. I’m including a link to the last because… Really, you have got to see that one with your own eyes to believe it, right?)
Even if you are a very young Theatre student who has stumbled upon this blog searching for material to help you complete an assignment, you have already witnessed the type of moaning, groaning, clutching at the throat, and lamenting the imminent DOWNFALL OF CIVILIAZTION AS WE KNOW IT that occurs when people who are SERIOUS ABOUT MUSIC are brought into involuntary contact with silly, catchy tunes about things along the lines of baby sharks or questions about the noises that foxes make. This type of clash has been going on since humming was invented and the first person who came up with the first earworm tune was encountered by the first person to decide that they were SERIOUS ABOUT MUSIC and was shortly thereafter bashed in the head with a rock. The polka received no cheerier welcome than any other music fad by the older and more somber generation. This music reviewer for the Illustrated London News demonstrates the reception many polkas got from the establishment as they critique a piece rather unfortunately titled “The Royal Dumka;”
Of all the inflictions that fashion has ever made us suffer under, Polka-mania is the worst. The gestures of this satyr revel can only be rivalled in beauty by the nomenclature which describes the various kinds of it-Polka-Dumka, &c.: what euphony! As usual, there are no harmonies but those of tonic and dominant alternated, which is variety sufficient for this species of composition (?) 29
The following writer waxed witty in 1845 as they compared Polkamania to a medical malady;
That obstinate and tormenting disease, the Polkamania, is said to five originated in Bohemia; in consequence, we may presume from analogy - of the bite of some rabid insect like the Tarantula Spider, although the Polka Spider has not yet been described by entomologists; but, when discovered, it probably will be, under the name of Aranea Polkapoietica. The Polkamania, after raging fiercely for some time in the principal cities of the Continent, at length made its appearance in London, having been imported by Mr. Julien, who inoculated certain Countesses and others with its specific virus, which he is said to have obtained from a Bohemian nobleman. The form of its eruption was at first circular, corresponding to the circles of fashion; but it has now extended to the whole body of society, including its lowest members. Its chief symptoms are extraordinary convulsions and wild gesticulations of the limbs, with frequent stampings on the floor, and rotatory movements of the body, such as accompany lesions of the cerebellum. That part is said by Gall to be the organ of amativeness; and the Polka delirium, in several instances, has terminated ln love madness. This form of mania, in the female subject, displays itself partly, in a passion for fantastic finery; as fur trimmings, red, green, and yellow boots, and other strange bedizenments. Articles of dress, indeed, seem capable of propagating the contagion; for there are Polka Pelisses and Polka Tunics; nay it was but the other day we met with some Polka Wafers, so that the Polkamania seems communicable by all sorts of things that put it into people’s heads. In this respect, it obviously resembles the Plague; but not in this respect only: for go where you will, you are sure to be plagued with it. After committing the greatest ravages in London itself, it attacked the suburbs, whence it quickly spread to remote districts, and there is now not a hamlet in Great Britain which it does not infest more or less. Its chief victims are the young and giddy; but as yet it has not known to prove fatal, although many, ourselves inclusive, have complained of having been bored to death by it. No cure has yet been proposed for Polkamania: but perhaps an antidote corresponding to vaccination, in the shape of some new jig or other variety of caper, may prove effectual; yet, after all, it may be doubted if the remedy would not be worse than the disease. 30
[I do want to pause and recognize that this writer has gifted us with a usage of the wonderfully vintage term “bedizenments” or to dress in a cheap, gaudy manner. I hope you find occasion to startle someone by casually dropping this word into conversation later today.]
Just as performing the steps of a waltz is said to be “to waltz,” in the early days of enthusiasm for the polka, English speakers experimented with the much less dignified (and somehow vaguely dirty-sounding) verb form, “to polk.” This now seldom-employed term explains Mrs. Torrens’ indignant rejoinder in Act III that probably provoked at least a few titters in the audience;
Mrs. T.: Sir, my husband does not polk! 31
Knowledge of the obsolete verb also revives this piece of political humor;
It will be seen that Polkamania has extended so rapidly through the United States of America that the States have chosen one Mr. Polk for their President. 32
And, as often occurs in instances in which medical language is used to describe a popular culture fad, there were instances such as the following in which some unfortunate soul with true neurological injury or divergence was labeled as having come down with “Polkamania;”
JOHN WESTERN, a man in the employ of Mr. Vanstone, market gardener, Foxhayes, was charged with being drunk and creating a disturbance in Fore-street, on Saturday night. It appeared that when the defendant is tipsy he is afflicted with a kind of polkamania, and goes dancing about the streets. On the occasion complained of, he was accompanied by from 50 to 100 juveniles, whose amusement at his antics interfered with the ordinary course of business. The defendant having been before the Bench for the same offence two or three times previously, he was sentenced to a week’s imprisonment in default of paying a fine of 5s and costs. 33
Morris Barnett incorporated the polka and feelings about polkamania as a fad into “The Serious Family” in some rather specific and clever ways in order to enhance the comic appeal of the show. As I have already promised, I will talk more in my next essay about how he uses music and dance to enhance the romantic subplots of the show. As you can doubtlessly conclude from these quotes I have provided, including jokes about polkamania and a brand spanking new -- very danceable -- polka in his show gave Barnett’s little comedy a feeling of freshness, currency, and up-to-date topicality. However, what I want to point out is how the playwright is exploiting the fact that as a dance craze, the polka was not as fresh and new in 1849 as it was in 1844 when J. H. Stocqueler’s farce “Polkamania” debuted.
The polka had now entered the portion of its lifecycle as a fad that it was no longer considered scandalous. By 1849, it was now a fun party dance that almost everyone and their Uncle Ned had successfully mastered. The polka was an energetic couple’s dance appropriate for weddings, soirees, seasonal gatherings of all sorts… and even the siege of Sebastopol, apparently. The audience of “The Serious Family” – which potentially included very wealthy patrons in box seats and people of rather modest means in the gallery -- could comfortably laugh at prudes who were so uptight that they were still shocked by the polka. When Barnett has Aminidab Sleek exclaim in horror at the sight of Emma Torrens in her lovely ballgown:
Sleek: Child of polkamania! Cellarius infant! 34
he expects them to laugh. As he did with Lady Creamly and Sleek’s prejudices against Captain Maguire, the playwright intends his listeners to find these protestations against the polka silly and overblown. By 1849, not everybody liked polkas, but only the most stuffy and old-fashioned folks still found the dance shocking. Barnett’s integration of this fad into his comedy not only gave the show a fresh, contemporary feel, but by allowing the audience to assume a position of superiority from which they could laugh at the lack of sophistication of the antagonists, he gave his listeners an opportunity settle into a comfortable feeling of being culturally “in the know.”
Conclusion
There are very few comedies, like Moliere’s “Tartuffe,” that become classics of dramatic literature. Much humor is ephemeral and context-dependent. As much as I would like to, I could never footnote this play to the point where I could recapture the essence that made it so funny that it had Haymarket audiences laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks when James Buckstone’s hat fell off his head for the third time in Act III.
I have tried here to give you a taste of the comedian’s instincts and knowledge that Morris Barnett employed that made his version more than a mere translation of Bayard’s “Un Mari à la Campagne.” “The Serious Family” played regularly in theaters in the U.S. and U.K. for the rest of the century. In 1881, it received its own updated version. F.C. Burnand, a rival to Gilbert and Sullivan, produced the popular play, “The Colonel.” The comedy closely follows the plot of “The Serious Family”/ “Un Mari à la Campagne.” The show was designed to counter-program against the anticipated draw of Gilbert and Sullivan’s upcoming production of “Patience.” The comedy was a great hit and had an initial run of 550 performances.
I know that I promised not to go on about melodrama, but “The Serious Family” is a necessary example, I believe, of a non-melodramatic work that appealed to Victorian era audiences. The show stayed in fashion throughout the century and influenced trends that would continue into the next century. In order to have a fuller, truer grasp of 19th century dramatic literature, we need to seek to understand the mechanics of texts like this one and not simply assume all plays from this era were stamped from the same cookie-cutter mold. Playwrights like Morris Barnett should be recognized as the trailblazers they were, not abandoned as forgotten relics of a bygone age.
Notes:
“Haymarket.” Douglas Jerrold’s Political and Literary Journal. Nov. 3, 1849. Page 1309, col.1
“Haymarket.” The Illustrated London News. November 3, 1849. Page 298, col. 2.
“The Drama – Haymarket.” The Lady’s Newspaper. November 3, 1849. Page 249, col. 2.
“Haymarket Theatre.” Bell’s Life in London. November 4, 1849. Page 3, col. 1
“Haymarket Theatre.” The Globe. October 31, 1849. Page 3, col. 3.
The Patriot. Monday, July 10, 1843, Page 1, col, 4.
The Morning Herald. Friday, September 20, 1844. Page 1, col. 4.
“Haymarket Theatre.” The Morning Herald. Wednesday, Oct. 31, 1849. Page 8, col.1.
“Haymarket – “The Serious Family.” The Era. November 4, 1849. Page 11, col. 1.
“Haymarket Theatre – The Serious Family.” The Morning Post. Wednesday, Oct. 31, 1849. Page 6, col. 3
Dr. Rex Shaver. Email to Dr. Kelly S. Taylor. Sept. 18, 2023.
“Haymarket Theatre.” The Morning Herald. Wednesday, Oct. 31, 1849. Page 8, col.1.
Barnett, Morris. “The Serious Family.” London: John Dicks, 1849. Page 3
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid. Page 8.
Ibid. Page 14.
“Haymarket.” Douglas Jerrold’s Political and Literary Journal. Nov. 3, 1849. Page 1309, col.1
“Haymarket Theatre.” The Morning Herald. Wednesday, Oct. 31, 1849. Page 8, col.1.
“Haymarket – “The Serious Family.” The Era. November 4, 1849. Page 11, col. 1.
“Theatricals.” The Satirist. Nov. 3, 1849. Page 458, col. 1.
Barnett, Morris. “The Serious Family.” London: John Dicks, 1849. Page 4.
“Haymarket.” Douglas Jerrold’s Political and Literary Journal. Nov. 3, 1849. Page 1309, col.1
Barnett, Morris. “The Serious Family.” London: John Dicks, 1849. Page 3.
Ibid, page 15.
“Theatricals.” The Satirist. Nov. 3, 1849. Page 458, col. 1.
“The Reform of the Waltz.” The Dundee Courier and Argus. Saturday, Dec. 28, 1889. Page 4, col. 2
“Literature.” The Illustrated London News. Sept. 7, 1844. Page 154, col. 1
“The Polkamania.” Woolmer’s Exeter and Plymouth Gazette. Saturday, Feb. 15, 1845. Page 4, col. 2.
Barnett, Morris. “The Serious Family.” London: John Dicks, 1849. Page 14.
The Kentish Gazette. Dec. 3, 1844. Page 2, col. 2.
“Exeter Guildhall.” Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, March 12, 1857. Page 5, col. 4.
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