Part III - Seriously Merry
(A full cast recording of "The Serious Family" is available at Librivox)
In 1849, comedian-turned-playwright Morris Barnett’s “The Serious Family” proved to be a tremendous hit with London’s theatre-going public. The comedy, a stylish updating of Moliere’s classic satire on religious hypocrisy, “Tartuffe,” enjoyed an extended run at the Haymarket Theatre. The show even spawned a popular dance tune. “The Serious Family Polka” can be found in a few of the surviving collections of the fruits of the Polkamania craze that swept through Europe during the 1840s.
Anna Cora Mowatt was starring in productions at the Marylebone Theatre in the fall of 1849. She might very well have been aware of the success of “The Serious Family” and may even have attended a performance of the original production on a night she was not performing at the Marylebone. Play-scripts included in the Clifford Smythe Collection housed in the New York Public Library dating from this time seem to indicate that Mowatt was reading and reviewing a considerable number of comedies and dramas for possible production.
If Mowatt had taken on the role of Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine in Morris Barnett’s hit comedy “The Serious Family” in a production staged in 1849 or in the very early months of 1850, this essay would read very differently. Instead, the actress took the role of Barnett’s convention-defying widow on in 1851, a time when she was mired scandal and tragedy. These circumstances make her choice much more puzzling.
James Mowatt died February 17th, 1851. The first record I have of her appearance in “The Serious Family” is in early April of that year. Mowatt was a Swedenborgian and therefore did not observe the sort of mourning customs we associate with this era. However, choosing to play a character who utters the line;
Mrs. D.: I am a widow, child, that happy, independent being, a widow! 1
only weeks after the death of her husband seems a bit cold-blooded. When one is less than a year away from a scandal in which one’s name was romantically linked to an embezzling theater manager, taking on such a flamboyantly norm-breaking character seems unhealthy for one’s reputation.
In this essay, I want to look at the factors that might have made the role of Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine, despite the risks to her carefully maintained public persona, irresistible to Anna Cora Mowatt.
Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine vs. Mrs. Charles Torrens
Complicating matters a bit is the fact that the character of the widow was not the only choice available for Mowatt in this script. The role of Mrs. Torrrens, the virtuous wife, was equally viable. In previous essays, I have complained about the paucity of substantive roles for women in Victorian-era scripts. Morris Barnett’s “The Serious Family” is an exception to this trend. In contrast to most plays which are packed with male roles and limited to only one major and perhaps two very minor female roles, Barnett’s comedy has a nice balance of characters of both sexes designed to showcase the talents of an entire ensemble of gifted players. Anna Cora Mowatt might have found Lady Creamly too grim and young Emma Torrens too insubstantial to be tempting characters for her to consider. However, either role of faithful wife, Eve Torrens or stylish widow, Harriet Ormsby-Delmaine should have been equally practicable options for a star of her stature to choose. Each character has roughly as much stage time as the other. A production could be geared to feature a star performer in either of these roles.
Given Mowatt’s personal circumstances in 1851 and the strategies she would later employ in creating a public persona when writing her autobiography, I am somewhat surprised that the actress did not choose the role of Eve Torrens. This character presents an image that would seem to be in line with many of the values the actress was trying to stress when crafting her own image for public consumption. The play sets up a conveniently coincidental situation for Mrs. Torrens and Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine to meet. The two women almost immediately begin to helpfully compare and contrast their personalities for the audience’s benefit;
Mrs. T.: Ah, Harriet, you were always too fond of the world!
Mrs. D.: And you, Eve, always too demure. I remember, when we were schoolgirls, how you used to sit and mope over some dreary book, while the rest of us were romping, laughing, singing, and enjoying existence, like happy madcaps as we were. 2
It is not Eve Torrens’ sober disposition that I think would have attracted Anna Cora Mowatt, but rather her willingness to go to any lengths -- including bravely sacrificing her principles or risking her reputation -- to protect her husband and save her family’s harmony. Later in the same scene, Mrs. Torrens ably demonstrates this proclivity when she covers for her spouse when her formidable mother-in-law discovers him in a compromising situation;
Lady C.: Why, sir, we thought you were in Leicestershire.
Chas.: Yes, Lady Creamly; but unexpected business brought me to town. (Aside.) Caught in the fact. (Aloud.) You perceive that hem! that.. that…
Mrs. T.: (Coming to his aid.) That Charles, seeing our carriage at the door, had the kindness to stop and offer you his arm.
(Charles offers his arm.)
Capt. M.: She'll do! She's an angel or, what's better, a true woman! She can tell a white one with the best of us. 3
The play’s resolution depends on Mrs. Torrens’ willingness to go along with Captain Maguire’s plot to throw a ball at her home in stark defiance of Lady Creamly’s abhorrence of such worldly excess.
Eve Torrens’ support of her husband is in harmony with the sort of devotion to her spouse that Anna Cora Mowatt stressed in her autobiography. In that work, the actress made it clear that her decision to turn to the stage was not motivated by a desire for fame, but a part of a project to recover her husband’s lost fortune. She frames her career as a joint venture entered into with her ailing spouse’s full consent and enthusiastic cooperation. She portrays her acting career as a business partnership with her husband rather than a solo pursuit fueled by personal ambition.
Mowatt’s repertoire of roles is full of singularly devoted wives such as August von Kotzubue’s Mrs. Haller in “The Stranger,” Bianca in H.H. Milman’s “Fazio” and Marianna in John Sheridan Knowles’ “The Wife.” These portrayals were perennial favorites with her fans as well as critical successes for the actress. In short, I believe that the public would have happily embraced Mowatt as Eve Torrens had she made that selection.
Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine’s Philosophy on life
Conversely, though, I can see many inherent qualities of the role of Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine that might have persuaded the actress to choose the character of the widow over the wife. To begin, if we go with pure personal affinity between the actress and the role, although Mowatt was a religious person, she was not the stern and sober Puritan that Eve Torrens seems to be at the beginning of Barnett’s play.
In the scene in which they compare helpfully encapsulated life philosophies, Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine describes her approach to living as follows;
Mrs. D.: Don't look so solemn, dear. Miserable people may groan and talk of this "wicked world," but there are many warm and affectionate hearts in it for all that, and many things to love and worth loving, too; and there are beauties of hill, dale, river, and mountain, to which it would be ungrateful to close our eyes. If we have clouds have we not sunshine? Then are we always to be solemn and gloomy? No, my dear, there is more real virtue in kindness, cheerfulness, and goodness of heart than in all the cold and canting solemnity that was ever put on as a mask for selfishness. But to hear, dear Eve, that you are happy gives me unalloyed pleasure. 4
Compare the sentiments from Barnett’s character with those expressed in this essay titled “The Capacity of Enjoyment” published by Mowatt in 1867;
True happiness must be communicated. It is intensified and increased in proportion to its participation with others. The greater the number of recipients, the deeper, purer, and more ineffable the joy experienced by the communicator.
Can angels know a higher felicity than the bliss of initiating the redeemed into their own states of beatitude? Happiness would not be so rare, so fleeting, nor should we pursue the fugitive through so many forbidden paths, if the healthy capacity for enjoyment were cultivated as an actual, essential virtue. The mental powers would be preserved in perennial freshness, the poetry of existence would not be stripped away with the blossoms of youth. Ennui would not be the presiding genius in so many households, nor ingratitude for simple blessings the dominant sin of so many hearts. 5
Despite the many tragedies and traumas she experienced, in her writings Mowatt always put forth an almost militantly optimistic point of view. Although I wouldn’t classify her as a hedonist by any means, I would say that she was consistently a person who argued that it was an act of ingratitude towards one’s Creator not to appreciate the beautiful and pleasant aspects of life. I think she might have found in Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine’s joie de vivre a kindred spirit.
Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine in Love
I have said that if Anna Cora Mowatt chose to perform Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine in 1849, I would be writing a different essay. However, I also think that the course of the actress’ career in the fall of that year may have had an impact on her decision to select that role. The character of the widow does not appear in Moliere’s “Tartuffe.” Jean-François Bayard devised the colorful Madam de Nohan as a romantic interest for his updating of the show’s raisonneur character, Caesar Poligny. In Moliere’s original, the parallel role, Cléante, gives out tons of wise advice that no one heeds. In both Barnett’s “The Serious Family” and Bayard’s “Le Mari à la Campagne,” the analogous characters of Captain Maguire and Caesar Poligny exercise much more power in moving the plot forward.
Barnett significantly modified the character of Madam de Nohan and the flavor of the romance Bayard had concocted when the playwright transplanted the comedy across the Channel. Captain Maguire and Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine are cooler, less scandalous lovers than Bayard’s Cesar Poligny and Mrs. De Nohan. Consider this exchange between the hot-tempered French couple upon their meeting;
CAESAR: Sorry, madame... believe me that if I had thought that I was being brought to your house, to your house...
Mmd. DE NOHAN: I believe you... And no doubt you did not want, as before, to spy on my behavior, to pursue me with your suspicions...
CAESAR: Oh! Madam, I no longer have the right to be jealous!
Mmd. DE NOHAN: Have you ever had this right, sir? We are only jealous of those we love.
CAESAR: And I never loved you!... no, madame! I was mistaken... Poor fool!... I only had one pleasure, and that was to see you; that one ambition was to please you; happy with a word, with a look; trembling at losing you... I offered you my heart, my name, my entire life... What is that, please? Ah! my friend Ferdinand, at the right time... this is a very true love, a devotion of course; he's not cheating on you...
Mmd. DE NOHAN: No, certainly, sir... he is an honest young man who respects me too much to tire me of his jealousy like...
CAESAR: Like me... finish... I was wrong, no doubt. But, you therefore forgot that after having sworn to me a love that I must believe to be sincere, you took pleasure in constantly distressing me, in tormenting this heart which only beat for you! And when I suffered, when I was unhappy, a mocking smile came to crush me again with the triumph of my rivals!
Mmd. DE NOHAN: Your rivals! but you didn't have any... and these quarrels which constantly compromised me... this duel, which was a scandal for me... until your hasty departure, when our marriage was announced to my friends, to the yours... agree, sir, all this seemed like hatred rather than love...
CAESAR: I felt that my presence was torture for you...
Mmd. DE NOHAN: Who told you, sir?
CAESAR: That we would never be happy.
Mmd. DE NOHAN: Allow you to believe it.
CAESAR: And I left to forget you; I didn't think it was difficult.
Mmd. De NOHAN: Sir!
CAESAR: But I will succeed... And already, this meeting that I did not seek... the aspect of your happiness...
Mmd. DE NOHAN: Yes, if the noise and the parties can give it away... I found in Paris a world that I love... friends who are faithful to me. I tried to distract myself from sorrows, from sorrows which constantly reminded you of my thoughts. 6
Bayard’s script emphasizes the strong emotions of the two lovers. They are passionate and jealous. One’s mere presence is a torture to the other. Madam de Nohan felt driven to bury herself in the social life of Paris to escape her deep unhappiness after their breakup. Poligny believes that de Nohan purposefully mocks his feelings in public just to make him more miserable.
By their own report, the couple’s relationship has been stormy from the onset. Although they were on the verge of marriage at one point, there were accusations of infidelity serious enough to result in a duel. Theirs is not a casual flirtation with low stakes and no real harm behind their feelings of grievance.
Contrast this tempestuous scene with Morris Barnett’s version of a parallel encounter between Captain Maguire and Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine;
Mrs. D.: No, Captain; 'twas I that was so shamefully treated.
Capt. M.: Treated! Didn't you treat me with indifference?
Mrs. D.: Didn't you harass me with suspicions?
Capt. M.: Didn't you cause me to go to sea?
Mrs. D.: Didn't you cause me to think of another?
Capt. M.: And haven't I been trying to do the same to twenty others?
Mrs. D.: Oh, there, there we parted with a quarrel, and we meet again in the same pleasant manner. I must say you're a discontented… I was going to make use of a hard word, but I won't.
Capt. M.: That's right triumph in your victory. Your levity does not astonish me. You are the same gay, thoughtless, cold-hearted woman of the world as ever.
Mrs. D.: And you are the same warm-hearted, hot-headed, well-meaning, but wrong-thinking man of the world as ever. And now let me ask you, for I know not what right you have to complain --
Capt. M.: Ah, never mind the right, when I have the reason.
Mrs. D.: And for what reason have you the right to any special consideration from me?
Capt. M.: Would you have me put down all the items? Faith, a ream of foolscap wouldn't contain them! Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine, you are an ungrateful woman!
Mrs. D.: And, Captain Murphy Maguire, you are an ungrateful man! I confess that at one time I was silly enough to feel some esteem for the honesty of your character, and the independence of your mind; but I soon discovered you to be jealous, and so exacting that I dreaded to entrust my happiness to your hands. 7
Although the substance of the two scenes is almost exactly identical, the temperature is quite different. The characters are obviously hurt over past offences in their relationship, but the playwright has put less emphasis on violent emotion. He has also decreased the amount of detail the characters share about their shared past. Gone is the near marriage and scandalous duel.
I propose that Barnett was not only toning down Bayard’s couple’s tempestuous relationship to better suit the more conservative tastes of a British audience of the 1840s, I think the cooler, more playful tone of Maguire and the widow’s exchanges were meant to subtly meant to evoke another couple perennially favored by London theatre-goers – Shakespeare’s Beatrice and Benedict.
Compare the bantering quality of Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine and Captain Maguire’s exchange to that of Beatrice and Benedict’s initial encounter in “Much Ado About Nothing;”
Bene.: What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
Beat.: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it, as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.
Bene.: Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.
Beat.: A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
Bene.: God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some gentleman or other shall ’scape a predestinate scratched face.
Beat.: Scratching could not make it worse, an ’twere such a face as yours were.
Bene.: Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beat.: A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Bene.: I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done.
Beat.: You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old. 8
In the fall of 1849, Anna Cora Mowatt had just finished a well-received turn in the role of Beatrice alongside her acting partner E.L. Davenport at the Marylebone Theater. This performance was one that critic, Baylis Bernard singled out as one of the highlights of her London tour;
Such is this lady's history; and we regret that our space limits us in endeavouring to estimate her claims. Mrs. Mowatt, like Mr, Davenport, has a serio-comic genius; but we think, upon the whole, more inclining to the latter. Nature has not adapted her for the higher walks of tragedy, nor even that of its youthful heroines, in denying her the force which their due expression calls for. She wants strength for Juliet's passion, or even Julia's, in The Hunchback; nor is her face of that marked character that could atone for this defect, by affording a reflex of the mind, whereon the throes and changes of a great passion could be pictured. It is essentially bright and cheerful --made up of rounded outlines, and gay, laughter-loving features, that, when forced into gloom or passion, become more painful than expressive. Thus, whilst she has a tenderness and pathos that render her Imogen and Viola scarcely equaled in our memory, there is such an entire adaptation of her whole person, look, and spirit, to the blander sphere of comedy, that we cannot but feel it is her true one. It is marked by an enjoyment that shows at once it is most natural to her, however, her tears and gentleness may charm us to the contrary. But her comedy has its distinction— we think it peculiarly Shakespearian, owing to that thrill of poetic feeling which winds through all its passages. That mixed exposition of the ideal and the true, which stamps all Shakspere's writings as the profoundest insight into man, receives the happiest illustration in the genius of Mrs. Mowatt. Sensibility and mirth are ever neighbours to each other; and our fair artist well interprets what our best poet has so well divined. In the comedy of modern life she has unquestionable merit; but if it impress us the less forcibly, it is on account of its lower grade, which limits her expression. It is in Beatrice and Rosalind that she must be witnessed, to be estimated — equaled by some in art and surpassed in force by many, she alone has that poetic fervour which imparts to thein their truth and makes our laughter ever ready to tremble into tears. 9
Even if no one other writer finds a direct parallel between Shakespeare’s lovers and Barnett’s bickering pair, I feel safe in asserting that this sort of light comedy was clearly within Mowatt’s comfort zone as a performer. She played similar witty, sharp-tongued romantic heroines in plays such as “The Honeymoon,” “Katherine and Petruchio,” “Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady,” “The Trumpeter’s Daughter,” and “London Assurance.” Stacks of reviews from over the course of her decade on stage attest to the fact that audiences and critics enjoyed seeing her as exactly this kind of smart, sassy lady.
Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine in Song
Earlier I stated that Eve Torrens and Harriet Ormsby Delmaine have roughly equal stage time. This is true. However, there is a factor that could make Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine shine a bit brighter as a potential star vehicle than Mrs. Torrens. The widow sings a duet with Captain Maguire in Act II.
Bayard’s “Le Mari à la Campagne” ends with the characters talking about attending a ball. Morris Barnett, with the showman’s instincts of a former actor, actually put that ball on stage for the finale of “The Serious Family.” Doing so gives his version several advantages over Bayard’s original script:
Each of the leading ladies (other than Lady Creamly) has an opportunity to appear in a showy ballgown, lending the production and added aspect of glamor.
The audience is not simply told about the ball, but can actually hear the music of the party and see dancing, underlining the sense of happiness and romance felt by the characters.
The ball is not just threatened, but actually carried through by the characters, giving their defiance a greater sense of impact.
“The Serious Family’s” finale carries a firmer impression of closure, ending on a high note of drama, spectacle, and gaiety.
Music is, therefore, not simply a decorative element of Barnett’s comedy. I posit that he also uses song to enhance the romance at the heart of this comedy and draw attention to the character of the widow. Mrs. Torrens, like all the other romantic leads, sings a few lines in the show’s closing number. However, she does not have a duet or solo at any other spot in the play. Therefore, in the final evaluation of weighted attention, the spotlight may seem to shine a little more brightly on the widow rather than the wife in “The Serious Family.”
In the original production of “The Serious Family” at the Haymarket Theater, manager Benjamin Webster obtained the services of comedienne Fanny Fitzwilliam to play the part of Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine. As I have noted in previous blog entries discussing appearances by Fitzwilliam at the Marylebone Theatre, the actress was known for her long-standing partnership with James Buckstone. The two were headliners at the Adelphi Theatre for most of the 1840s. Sophisticated, sharp-tongued Harriet Ormsby-Delmaine is a bit of a departure from the gentle-spirited and whimsical characters that were Fitzwilliam’s usual stock in trade at this particular point in her career. However, the actress had ample experience and range to meet the task of doing justice to Barnett’s bantering widow as the many glowing reviews attest.
In this and other roles, Fanny Fitzwilliam was praised by critics for her beautiful voice. Productions at the Adelphi and later at the Lyceum featuring Buckstone and Fitzwilliams that were the biggest hits with the public typically tended to be sentimental comedies with lavish musical numbers featuring songs sung by Fitzwilliam. These “burlettas” of the 1840s were very much the embryonic state of today’s musical theatre.
Anna Cora Mowatt did not seem to have a great deal of confidence in herself as a singer. She said of her musical ability in her autobiography;
Music was one of our chief studies; but, with the fullest appreciation of its beauties, we were devoid of any decided musical talent. I except little Julia, who had naturally a good ear and sweet voice. I also possessed a voice which my teachers pronounced more than ordinarily fine; but I had a faulty ear, and the slightest trepidation made me sing false. For years I labored to conquer this defect, but I never could learn to sing before strangers to my own satisfaction — perhaps I should add, to theirs! 10
However Mowatt was a competent enough vocalist to have been a soloist in many productions that were a regular part of her repertoire throughout her career. For example, the role of Julianna in John Tobin’s Restoration-era comedy “The Honeymoon” requires the actress playing that part to sing the song “At the Front of a Cottage” as an element of a major plot point. This play was one Mowatt added to her repertoire months after her debut. She played the part repeatedly over her decade on the stage.
As another example of her prowess as a vocalist, in 1849 Mowatt also appeared at the Marylebone Theater as Cecily in Thomas Serle’s melodrama, “The Shadow on the Wall.” Today we would probably classify this show as a musical. Cecily has a solo in one of the show’s opening numbers. The following review of the production makes no note of Mowatt’s voice, but does praise her performance as being particularly strong;
Mr. Davenport and Mrs. Mowatt commenced a fresh engagement at this elegant theatre on Monday, in Searle’s “Shadow on the Wall,” to a crowded house, notwithstanding the exceedingly unfavorable state of the weather. Mrs. Mowatt’s Cicely was a very effective performance – as forcible as was Mr. Davenport’s rendering of Luke Evelyn. They were both loudly and deservedly applauded throughout the drama; and, at its conclusion, honoured with a call, and greeted on their appearances with renewed acclamations. They are evidently great favorites with their audiences. 11
Unlike Fanny Fitzwilliam, Anna Cora Mowatt was not known for her exceptional singing voice. Apparently, though, she was competent enough that her lack of skill never drew note from critics. As her autobiography attests, she had taken voice lessons from a young age. Although Mowatt did not consider herself a strong vocalist, her list of roles demonstrates that she did not shy away from roles that required her to sing solos.
On the other hand, though, if Mowatt had sufficient trepidations about delivering a pitchy performance, she could have quite conceivably used her star power to request that Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine and Captain Maguire’s duet be cut from the show altogether. After all, this was 1851. “The Serious Family” was not a musical. Musical theater hadn’t really been invented yet. This comedy was not even a burletta or a comic opera. It was just a comedy with two musical numbers stuck in as a surprise bonus for the audience. No hard-set expectations would be badly disappointed if one of those two songs went missing. It wouldn’t like going to see “Cats” and finding out that the cast had decided they were sick of singing “Memory” and had arranged to perform “Bustopher Jones” an extra time instead. Or if the cast of “A Chorus Line” decided the audience was tired of hearing variations on “One Singular Sensation” and sent everyone home early instead of singing the finale. Cutting Maguire and Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine’s duet would have been one less song that the listeners probably weren’t expecting in the first place.
As a fan of Morris Barnett’s creation, though, I would be disappointed to find that Mowatt chickened out and didn’t sing this little love song.
How Barnett uses song to further Maguire and Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine’s romantic plotline
In a manner that would eventually become a hallmark technique of musical theatre, Morris Barnett used song as a shortcut to further the romantic subplot of Captain Maguire and Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine. In Act II, after a bitter break-up, the widow and the officer meet again unexpectedly. Almost immediately, they begin to quarrel. Their dialogue (which I related earlier) demonstrates that both are quick-witted, proud, stubborn individuals. Any hope of an amicable reconciliation seems dim.
With admirable dramatic economy, Barnett chose to reveal each character’s inner vulnerability and lingering longing for the other in song.
Capt. M.: Her waist is taper,
None is completer;
Like the tuneful nine, or the lambs at play;
And her two eyes shining,
Like routing diamonds,
And her breath as sweet as the flowers of May.
Mrs. D.: But he was surly,
And all hurly-burly,
When there was no occasion for such display;
The man to please me,
Must never teaze me,
But be kind and mild as a fine and pleasant
morning in the month of May. 12
The duet is brief -- and admittedly fairly corny.. and does fall into the type of gender stereotyping one would expect from the time. However, Barnett is using music effectively here to provide these proud, stubborn characters with an opportunity to turn to the audience and share their true, tenderer feelings for each other. He might have gone with spoken asides monologueing to the listeners with less effect, in my opinion. Translating these sentiments into a the form of a song heightens the impression that the characters are in danger of being “carried away” by their emotions. Setting the characters’ feelings to the same tune emphases the parallels taking place. A pleasant melody may evoke an appropriately happy, sentimental mood in the audience. All these effects are accomplished quite rapidly within the space of the short, attention-getting musical number.
We don’t actually get to see a scene in which Captain Maguire and Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine reconcile their differences. The pair begins cooperating with each other on the plot to reconcile their friends Mr. and Mrs. Torrens. The union of the widow and the officer is announced to us near the end of the show as a fait accompli when Lady Creamly blusters:
Lady C.: (To Mrs. Delmaine.): And you, madam, will instantly leave the house.
Mrs. D.: Pardon me, Lady Creamly, this gentleman, my intended husband, has ordered me to stay.
Capt. M. (R.): And the three pair of us will make a mighty pretty couple. 13
We do, however, get to witness Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine and Maguire blissfully pledging the following to each other as part of the show’s grand final number;
Capt M.: I'll be the model for husband's lives.
Mrs. D.: I'll be the pattern of faithful wives.
Capt. M.: Charles, isn't this a heavenly scene?
Mrs. D.: And angels we that's what you mean?
Mrs. T.: Gaily my husband's hours shall fly, I vow it.
Emma: And I!
Mrs.D.: And I!
Capt. M.: And I! 14
Once more, Barnett uses music to allow these “cool” lovers to discard their usual reserve and allow themselves to be swept up in the emotion of the moment.
Mrs. Orsmby-Delmaine and the Merry Widow
While I am on the subject of music, I want to make mention of an avenue of connection that I researched, but that didn’t pan out. Barnett’s bickering lovers and emphasis on dance and music put me in mind of a different, more famous show from the beginning of the twentieth century featuring an independent widow -- the operetta The Merry Widow, from 1905, with libretto by Leo Stein and Victor Léon, music by Franz Lehar.
Sentimental melodramas of the early nineteenth century were peopled with plenty of virtuous, impoverished women who had lost their spouses under tragic circumstances. However, happy women of independent means willing to laugh at convention used by playwrights as romantic leads were anomalies in the 1840s through 1860s. Since I knew that “The Serious Family” remained a popular play that was frequently revived throughout the 1800s and had even spawned an update in 1881 by F.C. Burnand titled “The Colonel” I had hopes that I might be able to trace some theatrical genealogy between these two shows. However, the creators of “The Merry Widow” credit their inspiration to a three-act French comedy titled “L'Attaché d'ambassade” by Henri Meilhac performed at the Théâtre du Vaudeville in 1861. Here the trail went cold. If there was a connection to Bayard’s “Le Mari à la Campagne,” my deficiencies in reading French prevented me from uncovering such a link.
As I believe that my target audience for this blog is composed of Theatre History students and aficionados, I like to recommend potential paper and research topics that I think might prove fruitful. The evolution of the independent widow as a character trope in nineteenth century dramatic literature may yield some very interesting results that might provide some intriguing parallels to the changing beliefs about the role of women in society in the U.S. and the U.K. during those eventful decades. Not only could you talk about unusual women like Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine, Madame de Nohan, and “The Merry Widow’s” Hanna Glawari, such a research project could also look at the development at the turn of the century of Pantomime Dames like the Widow Twanky who became so bold and so outspoken in their views that somehow it became decided that such characters needed to be played by men in outrageous makeup, hair, and dresses. Such an inquiry is far beyond the scope of this blog, however I believe such a study could produce some fascinating reading. Bon chance, mes amis!
Critical reaction and Implications for Mowatt’s career
Frankly, there is not much critical reaction to Mowatt as Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine. There are listings for performances of the show that appear a number of times, but I found only two surviving newspaper reviews. The first is dated April 20th, 1851. This performance occurred only weeks after James Mowatt’s death in mid-February. The actress was working to complete contractual obligations in a tour of provincial theatres scheduled by Mr. Mowatt in an effort to recoup the couple’s finances sufficiently for the voyage back to the U.S. The performance referenced in this review was part of a gala benefit night for another actor. As you will read, “The Serious Family” was the highlight of an evening that included a short operetta, folk dancing, and ended with the performance of a trained dog;
Mr. Elliot’s benefit came off on Friday last, and he was honoured by a crowded house. The entertainments commenced with the opera of Brother and Sister… Then the comedy of The Serious Family, in which Mrs. Mowatt sustained the part of Mrs. Ormsby Delmain with great vivacity and cheerfulness. Mr. Davies performed Capt. Maguire, and Miss Clara Wynne, Mrs. Charles Torrens. The “Pas Styrien” followed, by Miss F. Green and Mr. C. Brown; and the Dog of the Shrine concluded the entertainments in which Mr. Abel appeared, with his clever performing-dog, Hector. Mrs. Mowatt’s performances have stamped that lady’s popularity in Newcastle. 15
This critique, although strongly lacking in detail, would have to be placed in the category of positive reviews. At least she wasn’t out-shone by the dog…
The only other write-up I found in response to a performance of “The Serious Family” was after Mowatt’s return to the U.S. in the fall of 1851. She was appearing before a Boston audience, who tended to be packed with her fans. This short note appears in the always Mowatt-friendly Daily Evening Transcript;
Tomorrow evening she takes a benefit, and will appear as Mrs. Haller in “The Stranger,” and as the heroine in the petite comedy of “The Serious Family,” two parts, which are as widely contrasted as possible. Mrs. M’s engagement has been eminently successful, and she has added largely to her reputation in Boston during her present visit. In the high tragic parts, which she has assumed, she probably has no superior on the English and American stage at this day. 16
The primary impression that the critic is drawing attention to here is the contrast between the two plays presented on the bill. In the comedy, Mowatt portrays Mrs. Ormbsy-Delmaine, who happily flouts convention. In Kotzebue’s melodrama “The Stranger,” she plays Mrs. Haller, a penitent wife, who suffers great grief and lives in penury for years after having betrayed the trust of her husband. The disparity between the two playwrights’ takes on women’s obligations in marriage seems to have been very striking to the Victorian-era auditor.
I could not find playbills, reviews, or newspaper notifications that listed “The Serious Family” among the titles of the plays that Mowatt performed after the fall of 1851. She appears to have dropped it from her repertoire at that time.
At the beginning of the essay, I said that if Mowatt had selected this role in 1849, her choice would not have been puzzling at all. There is a possibility that the selection process – or its initiation -- took place during that year instead of in 1851. As I stated earlier, “The Serious Family” has a nice distribution of roles for an ensemble. When one looks at the roster of plays for the Marylebone and the Olympic, one can discern that manager Walter Watts kept a sharp eye out for plays he could license or commission that would feature his talented stable of stars. “The Serious Family” nicely fits the bill. Real-life married couple E.L. Davenport and Fanny Vining could have played Mr. and Mrs. Torrens. Actual Irishman Gustavus Brooke would charm audiences as the delightful Captain Maguire. Comedian George Cooke could ably handle the role of Aminadab Sleek. Both Marylebone and Royal Olympic Theater audiences enjoyed the kind of stylish, light comic fare that the smart, sweet romance ending in a grand polka scene promised. In this scenario, the most logical role for Mowatt to fit into is the featured part of Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine.
Perhaps in 1851, she didn’t put a lot of thought into how her playing this role might read in the context of the Watts Scandal. Perhaps she was still travelling on pure inertia, playing a role she had in preparation before things had gone so horribly wrong.
It is also entirely possible that Mowatt did not select the role of Mrs. Ormsby Delmaine for herself at all. James Mowatt booked her tour of provincial English theaters. He might have entered into a licensing agreement with Barnett’s agents for the performance rights for “The Serious Family,” thinking only that this hot property would provide a lucrative opportunity for his “Lily” to shine onstage. He might not have paused to consider what a jarring picture it might create scarcely a month after his death to have his wife speaking lines such as;
Mrs. D.: I am a widow, child, that happy, independent being, a widow! 17
and dancing away in the arms of a handsome leading man while rumors linking her romantically to convicted embezzler were still swirling furiously on both sides of the Atlantic.
Conclusion
During the Victorian era -- as is still true today -- audiences tend to assume that the type of roles an actor plays carry some reflection on the sort of person they are offstage. They are disappointed when performers who play heroes do not turn out to be consistently noble or virtuous. They are surprised when those who portray villains prove to be kind and warm-hearted. It is this habitual blurring of the mimic world with reality on the part of auditors that makes me surprised that Anna Cora Mowatt took on the role of Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine in 1851 even though I am aware that in all likelihood the character was – to the actress –just another job accepted for purely professional considerations.
The play was popular. Mowatt was at a point in her career (and diminished personal finances) in which she needed strong material that she could be certain would draw substantial audiences. The role fit the general parameters of the character type in which she tended to specialize – intelligent, witty ladies in romantic comedies. Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine has enough stage time, glamorous costumes, and importance to the plot to qualify as a featured role that would satisfy any of her fans who paid good money to see her on stage. The character was significant enough to give reviewers something to write about. In other words, when I compare this character to others that Mowatt played during this time period, Barnett’s widow ticks off most of the boxes the actress seemed to be searching for when selecting roles to add to her repertoire.
However, Mowatt’s reputation was at its most fragile during this year. Viciously negative items like the following would pop up in newspapers in the Northeast for months after her return to the U.S.;
Mrs. Mowatt is performing at Niblo’s Garden. She is, to our mind, an indifferent actress, and notwithstanding the extravagant nonsense of her success in London, where (after ruining one manager until he committed forgery, and being convicted, ventured on self-murder to avoid transportation,) she really failed, although she played at a third-rate establishment. She will not be able to do much, we are afraid, here. She is an agreeable writer, and, they say, a pleasant woman. She has completely mistaken her forte, we opine, in resorting to the stage. 18
I believe that it was only by ruthlessly curating her public image that Mowatt was able to overcome these whispers. It didn’t hurt that the actress had a string of successful performances with excellent reviews. These new characters embraced by Anna Cora Mowatt’s adoring public, though, were sweet, sincere young women who played by society’s rules – not clever widows who laughed merrily as the danced happily away into the night. In my opinion, therefore, Barnett’s merry Mrs. Ormsby-Delmaine remains as an anomalous remnant of what Mowatt’s career trajectory was before the tragic events of March 1850. Her choice to play the character was probably a holdover from more carefree days when every line she spoke on stage did not have to be scrutinized – as I have done here – for the echoes and whispers of scandal.
Notes:
Barnett, Morris. “The Serious Family.” London: John Dicks, 1849. Page 11.
Ibid.
Ibid 12.
Ibid 11.
Ritchie, Mowatt, Anna Cora. “The Capacity of Enjoyment.” The Clergyman’s Daughter and Other Sketches; a Collection of Pen Portraits and Paintings (Carleton: New York, 1867.) Pages 288-289.
Bayard, Jean-Francois. “Le Mari a la Campagne.” (Velhagen & Klasing: Bielfeld, 1871) Pages 56-58.
Barnett, Morris. “The Serious Family.” London: John Dicks, 1849. Page 10.
Shakespeare, William. “Much Ado About Nothing.” The Works of William Shakespeare [Cambridge Edition] Vol. 2, William George Clark and William Aldis Wright, eds. (Cambridge and London: Macmillian and Co., 1963.) Pages 45-46.
Bernard, Baylis. “Mrs. Mowatt.” Tallis’s Drawing Room Table Book, Theatrical Portraits, Memoirs, and Anecdotes. (New York: John Tallis & Co., 1851.) Page 11.
Mowatt, Anna Cora. Autobiography of an Actress; or Eight Years on the Stage. (Ticknor, Reed, and Field: Boston, 1854.) Page 72.
“Marylebone.” Illustrated London News. Saturday, Jan. 13. 1849. Page 10, col. 3
Barnett, Morris. “The Serious Family.” London: John Dicks, 1849. Page 10.
Ibid, 16.
Ibid.
“Newcastle-on-Tyne.—Theatre Royal.” The Era. Sunday, April 20, 1851. Page 11.
“Howard Athenaeum.” Boston Daily Evening Transcript. Monday, Sept. 29, 1851. Page 2.
Barnett, Morris. “The Serious Family.” London: John Dicks, 1849. Page 10.
Knickerbocker. “Our New York Correspondence.” Sunday Dispatch. September 31, 1851. Page 2, col. 6-7.
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