JOURNAL OF AMERICAN DRAMA AND THEATRE

Volume Ill
Fall1991
Co-editors
Vera Mowry Roberts
CUNY Graduate School
Managing Editor
Edwin Wilson
Assistant Editor
Joel Berkowitz
Editorial Assistant
James Masters
CASTA Copyright 1991
Number3
Walter J. Meserve
The Journal of American Drama and Theatre (ISSN 1044-937X) is
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Davis
Unda Jenkins
Editorial Board
Bruce A. McConachie
College of William and Mary
Margaret Wilkerson
University of California,
Berkeley
Don B. Wilmeth
Brown University
From the Editors
Our Managing Editor tells us that we will now be able to include
illustrations in the pages of JADT. We will not, of course, do so
merely as decoration. Any given illustration should be germane to
the subject matter of the published essay, and should serve as a
necessary expansion of the material therein. We will need an 8" x 1 0"
glossy print with good definition, and we reserve t he right of final
decision on Inclusion.
We are gratified at the spate of submissions received over the
last several weeks. They show a commendable propensity toward
the sharing of findings in American drama and theatre--a propensity
which is at the heart of true scholarship. Keep them coming!
Vera Mowry Roberts Walter J. Meserve
Co-Editors
2
Volume Ill
Michael L Greenwald
Jack Hrkach
John D. Shout
Lewis E. Shelton
Yvonne Shafer
Table of Contents
Fall1991
New York's Theatre War
of 1854: The Burton and
Broadway Productions of
Number3
A Midsummer Night's Dream .............. 5
S.D. Johnson; or, the
Struggles of an Antebellum
Actor /Playwright ............. .... ............... 18
Staging the Unstageable:
Theatrical Depictions of
the Spanish Civil War ......................... 27
Alan Schneider's Direction of
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? ......... 39
Count Joannes and the
Nineteenth-Century
Theatre Audience ....... .......... ............ . 51
Contributors ........................................................................... .............. 65
3
Manuscripts should be prepared in conformity with The Chicago
Manual of Style, 13th ed., and should be submitted in duplicate with
an appropriately stamped, self-addressed envelope. Please allow
three to four months for a response. Our distinguished Editorial
Board will constitute the jury of selection. Address editorial inquiries
and manuscript submissions to the Editors, Journal of American
Drama and Theatre, Ph.D. Program in Theatre, CUNY Graduate
Center, 33 West 42nd Street, New York, NY 10036.
CASTA Publications are supported by generous grants from the
Lucille Lortel Chair in Theatre and the Sidney E. Cohn Chair in
Theatre Studies in the Ph.D. Program in Theatre at the City University
of New York.
4
NEW YORK'S THEATRE WAR OF 1854:
THE BURTON AND BROADWAY PRODUCTIONS OF
A MIDSUMMER NIGHrS DREAAf1
Michael L Greenwald
Less than five years after the frightful Astor Place Riots of May
1849--in which the pro-American supporters of actor Edwin Forrest
battled admirers of the English tragedian William Charles Macready-
a more harmless battle was waged on the streets of New York.
There, the companies of William Evans Burton (1809-1860) at the
Chambers Street Theatre and Thomas Barry (1798-1876) at the
Broadway (near Anthony Street) competed for the affections and
financial support of New York audiences as they simultaneously
staged Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. That the two
companies should open their respective Dreams within three days of
each other (Burton on Friday, 3 February 1854; Barry the following
Monday) is the more remarkable considering that these were only
the third and fourth productions of the play in the city's theatrical his-
tory.2 Indeed, these rival stagings were the first "Shakespearean"
versions of the comedy in America, as previous companies had
acted only the operatic, substantially revised versions--primarily the
1816 adaptation by Fredrick Reynolds--that had dominated English
and American stages until Madame Vestris restored most of the
original text at Covent Garden in 1840.3 The Burton and Broadway
productions of MND mark a significant moment in American theatre
history: the young country's spirit of entrepreneurial competition
encouraged an improved product that helped raise the standards of
Shakespearean stage production by showing American audiences
that mostly4 native talent could mount Shakespeare as elaborately,
expensively and--particularly in Burton's case--intelligently as the
British. George Odell called the twin productions "unique in our his-
tory," asserting that "every new Shakespearean revival (apart from
hack repertory) had to model itself to the memory of those who
passed excitedly from Burton's to the Broadway in 1854. 5
Fortunately, the prompt book for each production has been
preserved. 6 Not only do they help scholars reconstruct these rival
productions, they also provide considerable insight into American
theatre practice In the mid-nineteenth century. Burton's prompt
book Is especially valuable because he was a practicing scholar, as
well as a theatre artist, who published a 24 page pamphlet detailing
both his production choices and "the published opinions of the best
critics."
7
5
Thanks largely to Hazlitt's famous 1816 essay on the play, MND
was thought virtually unplayable. Though Vestris' Covent Garden
actors did much to repopularize Shakespeare's script, the play
became especially popular at mid-century when Samuel Phelps
staged a successful production at Sadler's Wells on 8 October,
18538--just four months prior to the New York productions. 1 have
no doubt that both were inspired by the extraordinary success of this
comedy at Phelps' Sadler's Wells," Odell asserts. 9 Surely the news
of Phelps' imaginative use of new stage devices--which created a
very dream-like fairyland by using a gauze curtain through which
London audiences viewed the action--had crossed the Atlantic. It
has been recorded that Burton's production had received tour
months of incessant, active preparation (Sunday Courier, 5 February
1854), which suggests that work at Chambers Street might well have
begun in October 1853--perhaps shortly after the first boat from
Liverpool arrived with word of Phelps' theatre magic?
As Phelps and his American colleagues knew, audiences at mid-
century hungered for spectacle; the new scenography was
irresistible, and no show could afford not to cater to an audience's
visual appetite. Burton and Barry were, of course, battling not only
with each other, but with elaborately staged circuses and
extravaganzas of various descriptions. The Broadway preceded its
MND with The Cataract of the Ganges, replete with magnificent
scenery, gorgeous decorations, costumes, and ensigns, a superb
stud of trained horses, a chariot drawn by six horses, a terrific
cataract of real water.
1
0 Furthermore, the hit of the century, Uncle
Tom's Cabin (which premiered in New York only two years ear1ier
with no fewer than five versions of Stowe's novel), brought Eastern
audiences its well-known assortment of visual attractions. And given
the nineteenth-century tradition of spectacular and historically
authentic Shakespeare, it is no wonder that playbills for each of New
York's 1854 versions guaranteed audiences marvelous spectacle.
If these rival stagings are judged solely on spectacle, then the
Broadway emerged triumphant in this theatre war by mounting the
more visually exciting show for 60 consecutive nights. Barry's capa-
cious theatre, which seated some 4,000 patrons, offered both the
stage space and sophisticated machinery to accommodate its
manager's vision, one that modern audiences might compare to a
traditional English pantomime. George Hiester, Barry's scenic artist,
captivated Broadway audiences with a variety of scenic illustrations
and panoramic views of the fairyland, and Barry peopled his stage
with a chorus of 36 men and women to complement his principal
actors.
The Broadway version, which was preceded by a short farce
entitled Rendezvous,
11
opened with an epic procession of Theseus'
warriors: eight banner bearers led three platoons of eight soldiers
6
carrying spears and other weaponry, each platoon accompanied by
two carriers. The male army was followed by a chorus of twelve
women, Hippolyta's Amazons, wielding shields and spears (well
armed prisoners of war!). The militia in place, scene one was played
before the Hall of State In the Palace of Theseus, which Hiester
rendered with huge columns supporting a massive arch through
which Is seen a portion of Athens and a portion of the bay. The
spirit world was established In 1.3 as Puck was discovered in a flower
which changed into a peacock. The fairies entered in a procession
of floating water lily, dolphin, and swan cars, which floated on ~
rows of waters, wearing 'White muslin dresses with gauze draperies,
trimmed with silver spangles and wings: The Indian Prince, who
accompanied Titania in a swan car, may have been hastily inserted
over the weekend to match Burton's claim that his was the first pro-
duction to introduce the Indian on stage.
1
2 The Fairy King and
Queen met well in the moonlight as Oberon, dressed in a white shirt,
richly spangled with blue gauze drapery, jewelled head dress, with
gauze and silver wings," descended from the flies to confront Titania
before "a romantic landscape through which is seen a stream of
water [a remnant of The Cataract of the Ganges setting?]."
Barry missed few opportunities to add visual effects to
Shakespeare's text. His fairies performed first a scarf, later a gar-
land, dance for Titania; elsewhere Puck entered magically as a fairy
touched a bush with her wand, causing it to open and reveal Puck as
"the bush disappears through the stage. The quartet of lovers were
discovered in IV.1
1
3 by Theseus' retinue which included eight
Grecian soldiers and two officers with hounds. Typical of nineteenth-
century scenic practice, Barry saved his coup de theatre for the .
finale, a grand ballet which delighted Broadway audiences with its
... magic change from Theseus' palace to the fairy land. A
cloud opens [to reveal] a working sun, within it the first fairy.
After it opens, Titania, Oberon, and four fairy children get
onto a platform, which is masked by clouds, attached to the
sun. Then the sun moves down ... [as] eight fairies are dis-
covered with garlands in tableau. As the sun moves down,
they move with it. The fairies that are on in front ... pirouette
with the principal dancers in center and continue so until the
grand tableau is formed.
Barry's prompt book description of this spectacular ending defies
Shakespeare's text, which calls for a dead and drowsy fire. But
Barry, like the majority of nineteenth-century theatre managers, was
less interested in rendering Shakespeare's text accurately than he
was in illustrating it. And he surely succeeded in his intent, as evi-
denced by the commentary of Laurence Hutton, who praised Barry's
7
efforts over twenty years after the event: "We have had on our stage
nothing more gorgeous in later years than the setting of A Midsum-
mer Night's Dream at the Broadway. 14
Burton was not as impressed as Hutton with the work of his
uptown rival; shortly after both productions opened, he posted bills
about the city which boasted that his version was "truly given ... with
correct scenic, musical, and costume appliances." He assured his
audiences that they would see a full five acts of Shakespeare's play,
not one "cut into three acts and mutilated to suit old scenery and
costumes. Burton concluded his playbill--a declaration of war upon
the Broadway?--by proclaiming that his "Shakespearean treat [is]
calculated to please all regular playgoers, not a ridiculous spectacle
to gratify children. A popular journal of the day reported that the
Broadway management responded to Burton's salvo by quietly con-
tinuing on Its own course of the usual advertising and bill printing,
and [they have] met with the utmost success (World of Amusement,
n.d.).
Actually, it was the Burton production that, from a twentieth-
century perspective, likely came closer to meeting Shakespeare's
challenges .. with the utmost success." Even in 1854 the work at
Chambers Street was favored by the majority of observers as exhib-
iting the more minute research. The scholarly Burton established the
first significant Shakespeare library in New York and in 1836 founded
and edited the respected American monthly, The Gentleman's Maga-
zine. Consequently, his theatre was described as "the first instance
in which a theatre in [New York] had fallen into the hands of a
manager of scholarly attainments and artistic instincts ("Places of
Public Amusement: Theatres and Concert Rooms," Putnam's Maga-
zine, Ill, February 1854, 151). The costume and scenic notes for his
production frequently Invoked the classics, and Burton's introduction
to his acting text cites Friedrich Schlegel and other eminent scholars.
His seasons offered audiences a chance to see works other than
popular farces and melodramas. He once staged Milton's Comus
15
and, after his success with MND, accepted A Winter's Tale's difficult
challenges as both producer and actor (Autolycus).16
In addition to his scholarly acumen, Burton also possessed
considerable show business savvy... His accumulated work at the
Arch Street Theatre In Philadelphia, the National Theatre in New
York, and at Chambers Street--where in 1848 he took over the finan-
cially depleted Palma's Opera House to begin an eight-year reign--
gave him producer's credentials of the highest order. As much as
any figure in the history of New York theatre, Burton {until his death
in 1860) set the highest standards for himself and his colleagues. A
contemporary remembers:
At Burton's to play comedy was not enough. Everything
8
was so well done, so perfect in every part, mere excellence
was so much a matter of course, was so positive on the
Chambers Street boards, that there was but little room for
the comparative and the superlative itself was necessary to
create a sensation.17
It was this combination of scholarship, a vivid theatre imagination,
and an appreciation of audience tastes upon which Burton founded
his production of MND.
It is quite possible, however, that the scholarship and imagination
that informed Burton's MND were supplemented by concepts
derived from an ear1ier, popular production of the comedy. Burton's
opening night curtain speech assured audiences that he had not, nor
had any member of his cast, seen a production of the play and were
thus compelled to trust [their] own conception of what was really
intended by the immortal Shakespeare (New York Express, 4 Febru-
ary 1854) in this, his most in-active plat (New York Mirror, 6 Febru-
ary 1854).
Though Burton's cast may not have seen MND staged, and
though his curtain speech seemed a disclaimer of any borrowings
from the acclaimed Phelps production, there is compelling evidence
that Burton's production--for all the scholarship that enhanced it--was
Indebted to the British. His prompt book contains several explicit
references to the Vestris production of 1840, Including the entire
Covent Garden cast list which was handwritten next to Burton's cast
on the dramatis personae page of the script. More tellingly, there are
detailed descriptions of the Covent Garden costumes (e.g., at
Covent Garden [Lysander] wore a light blue Grecian shirt, richly and
properly braided with yellow) and scenic effects (Burton's Act IV
sunrise apparently used the same effect devised by Vestris' artists).
Burton's knowledge of Vestris' Dream probably was derived from
John Moore, his production stage manager (and Egeus), whose sig-
nature graces the cover of the prompt at the Folger Library. Moore
arrived from England in 1848, his cases packed with prompt notes
describing many London productions, particularly those of
Shakespeare's plays. It was a common nineteenth-century practice
for prominent theatres to maintain prompt libraries from which actors
and managers could readily copy the work of their colleagues.
Moore availed himself of these documents, and--it is known--passed
them on to his subsequent employer, Augustin Daly. He very likely
spirited away memories of the Vestris production and shared them
with Burton, much as George Ellis, Macready's stage manager at
Covent Garden In the late 1830s, had sent Charles Kean prompts
from his former employer.
1
8 If pirated prompts helped Kean against
his theatrical rivals, might not the same tactics help Burton gain
advantage in the battle with his uptown competition?
9
Whatever the sources of his inspiration, Burton was determined to
give New York audiences an innovative and, he believed, faithful
rendering of Shakespeare's intentions. A playbill advertising Burton's
new production emphasized the scholarship upon which his settings
and costumes were founded:
. . . entirely new scenery painted by Mr. Heilge .. . costumes
by Mr. Keyser. The classical dresses are from the first
authorities. The Fairy Habiliments and Accessories are of
the best and richest construction . .. extensive machinery by
Mr. William Foudray.19
Burton's vanity pamphlet Includes references to some of the first
authorities he consulted In the preparation of his production. For
instance, in his synopsis of the magnificent scenery and costumes
Burton announced that he--in the best Kemble-Kean-Macready
tradition--would present Theseus' warriors attired In the correct
costume of Old Greece as pictured by Willemin in his Costumes des
Peoples de I'Antiquite. Hippolyta and her retinue of Amazons were
"dressed from their presentations in Pinelli, Piranesi, and Etruscan
vases, while the Athenians wore rich tunics on the authority of Hope
in his Ancient Costumes. Quince's cry of players were pedantically
described as living in "a plain room in the severe simplicity of the ear-
liest Doric ... opening to the suburbs of the Satopolis or 'lower city'
. . . dressed in the usual short tunic of coarse material with the dip-
thera, or under jacket, made of leather." Ironically, Burton allowed
his scholarly knowledge to Invent scenic effects that Shakespeare
never envisioned. For example, V.1 was played against a mag-
nificent drop displaying a port of ancient Greece, which was
actually based on Darley's painting of The Arrival of Cleopatra.
Burton the Scholar justified his scenic embellishments: "Theseus,
said to have been an Argonaut, has the reputation of having taught
the art of shipbuilding to the Greeks . . . [thus] a view of the assem-
blage of his war vessels is therefore not considered out of place. 20
Later in that act the mechanicals presented their woeful pageant of
Pyramus and Thisbe in "a lofty and magnificent hall with a large arch,
supported by Corinthian columns.
Other of Burton's scholarly discoveries served Shakespeare's
text more faithfully, particularly his depiction of the fairies. Puck,
whom Burton correctly described as being a lower order of fairy,
was played by a young male (Master C. Parsloe), a striking innova-
tion for 1854. The role had long been assigned to women, but
Burton, noting that in an other versions of this piece, [Puck] has
been played by a pretty piece of effeminacy in ringlets and muslin
skirts, insisted on a boy and challenged his public "to judge which is
the Shakespearean truth. At the Broadway, on the other hand, "La
10
Petite Viola" (nee Viola Crocker) personated Puck In a rather typical
nineteenth-century costume for the role: ... white muslin shirt,
trimmed with silver sandals, silver flowered head dress, gauze and
silver wings... Described as "an excessively pretty and clever little gin
in flesh colored tights, by the reviewer for the Albion (11 February
1854), La Petite Viola was judged not as effective as Burton's boy-
Puck: . . . this feminine person does not accord with the author's
intent and misses moreover that effective contrast with the delicate-
ness of the surrounding Fays, which Is offered at Burton's by clothing
(Puck] in all the grotesqueness of a juvenile and mischievous satyr."
Burton's scholarship dictated that Puck be clothed In a heavy, mas-
sive head, beetle brow, enormous human ears and elflocks . ..
trunks of green leaves, large knees and elbows, figure well padded,
small bat wings. Accompanying Puck in his merry pranks were a
phalanx of satyrs, which Burton claimed had "never before been
introduced in this comedy, but --he argued--"as a part of Fairy Myth-
ology have a right to participate in all Sylvan Frolics. The satyrs were
costumed ,rom Rubens' celebrated picture of The Bacchanals" and
carried "pots of coloured fire"--green, red, purple--to cast an eerie
glow on the Chambers Street stage.
In contrast to these grotesques, Burton assigned all of Titania's
supporting fairy roles to children, perhaps in obeisance to Schlegel's
essays, cited by Burton, which argues that Shakespeare's fairies
ought to be elegant pieces of Arabesque .. . little genii with butterfly
wings [that] rise half embodied above flower cups." Yes, Burton's
fairies wore "butterfly wings attached to their .. gauze petticoats and
carried garlands covered by "small, bright butterflies on wire springs."
Burton argued that these would certainly be preferable to the "heavy
heeled, six foot, broad shouldered conventionalities which the gener-
ality of managers insist upon forcing on the public as fairy gossamer
and miniature etherealities." The Herald applauded Burton's fairies
because they seemed "much nearer to the ideal than the full grown
women who generally figure in the ballet" (4 February 1854). One
can better appreciate Burton's casting by reading a recommendation
made by an anonymous observer of the Broadway production: "If
the large fairy in blue who sings a solo would take dressing and
dancing lessons, so as to appear more graceful, it could be a vast
improvement" (World of Amusement, n .. d.).
Though Burton was handicapped by the confines of his more
intimate theatre r ... the stage being small and lacking depth
lamented the Daily Times, 6 February 1854), his production was
hardly austere. In addition to the elaborate drops painted by Heilge
in response to Burton's scholarship, "cars," too, transported fairies
about the Forest of Athens: a dragonfly car, a butterfly car, a cricket
car, even a grasshopper car. And water was omnipresent as large
fountains dominated the Act I set (they crowd the center and
11
destroy the perspective" complained the Daily Times, 6 February
1854), while the forest scenes were highlighted by rippling water
effects and a looking glass lake at the back." Puck's entrance was
no less imaginative than at the Broadway: he appeared atop a
mushroom which rose magically through a trap in the stage floor (a
device Kean also used In 1854). Later, the hobgoblin was flown off
the stage ,o girdle the earth, an effect which caused the Daily Times
to label Burton's Invention as ,arcical and "about as pleasant look-
ing as drawing teeth" (6 February 1854). Burton also contrived a
spectacular sunrise, which he may have borrowed from Vestrls as
the prompt cites the Covent Garden effect. Burton's grand finale
employed a giant staircase on which fairies carried Illuminated flow-
ers and the satyrs their "fire pots to Oberon, Titania, and the Indian
Boy while the curtain fell "on a beautiful classic tableau. Even
Burton's costumes contained Ingenious special effects: the ass's
head that "translated" Nick Bottom had working ears, eyes, and
mouth.
"One great feature about [Burton's] production, claimed The
Herald observer, who recognized the worth of the Chambers Street
production, "is that the adjuncts are just such as are required to
assist the piece. The audience gets Shakespeare in magnificent
binding. They do not have to take up the binding without
Shakespeare" (4 February 1854). Surely by nineteenth-century
standards Burton's MND rendered uncommon justice to
Shakespeare's text as he labored to keep attention on the play,
though from a twentieth-century perspective the text seems too fre-
quently made redundant by the designers' craft.
Burton and his players served Shakespeare best in their reading
of the text, for their acting was much favored over that of Barry's
company. Almost two decades later Hutton recalled that Burton was
blessed with "a cast of unexceptionable strength in the male parts"
(though he rued that a "lack of beauty among the ladies" was the per-
formance's principal weakness).
21
The Albion noted that the script
at Burton's theatre "much more closely has been studied than at the
metropolitan temple of the legitimate [i.e., The Broadway]" (11 Febru-
ary 1854). That commentator then summarized the differences in
acting styles by comparing the Mechanicals' play In each production.
Under Burton, Quince's company "all go through their parts . .. as
you might fancy them gone through by such rough, ill-practiced per-
formers, while the "hempen homespuns" gave Broadway audiences
an elaborateness of fun-making which overleaps its mark."22 Per-
haps the most useful hint about the style employed by Burton's com-
pany comes from a Sunday Mercury (12 February 1854) assessment
of Mrs. Hough's Hermia, which was spoken In a "quiet, lady-like and
unassuming tone, which that critic found rare" in an age when a
rhetorical acting style was the norm. The intimacy of the Chambers
12
Street Theatre was an asset to Burton's actors, if not his designers. It
is probably safe to say that the Burton company gave a more
restrained performance, while the Broadway actors most likely
o'erstepped the modesty of nature.
The portrait of Bottom received the bulk of the critical com-
mentary. Burton, who enjoyed a reputation as perhaps America's
finest comic actor at mid-century,23 himself played Bottom and was
praised for bringing a new approach to the role. Burton's Bottom
was much less a Dogberry, much more a jovial, conceited fellow,
getting credit for a great deal more of knowledge than he really pos-
sessed by the force of impudence (The Herald, 4 February 1854).
The Albion commended the frequently boisterous Burton for one of
his most disciplined comic performances: "He resists the temptation
to run riot ... [the verbal gags] were not blurted out as they might
have been" (11 February 1854).
Burton's counterpart uptown did not fare as well with the
critics, and his encounter with the New York press provides one of
the most Interesting skirmishes within the larger battle between the
two theatres. William Davidge, an English import who had built a
reputation for comic roles In Boston and New York, was attacked by
the Herald on two counts: he did not know his lines and he played
Bottom with a grotesque action and comic exclamation which
seemed grossly unnatural (4 February 1854). In an 8 February letter
to the Herald, the offended actor challenged his critic to cite
instances of both improprieties, assuring all that "both Mr. Barry and
Mr. Wright, the prompter, bear testimony to my position in this mat-
ter. The Herald's reply (n.d.) only further embarrassed Davidge,
though the paper stressed it had "dealt with him with a leniency in
which we were not as critics entirely justified":
Generally In his part in the fifth act, which he had not
studied sufficiently and did not know by heart. Especially
the dialogue between Pyramus and Thisbe, which Mr.
Davidge could never have got through without the help of
the prompter. Especially the verse, o grim looked night!,"
when the spectators In the orchestra heard the prompter
better than Mr. Davidge seemed to do. [later] Mr. Davidge
stopped short entirely, having forgot his part, and the
whole house laughed at his predicament.
The critic then noted that in Act Ill Davidge also required the
assistance of performers on stage. Given the lack of rehearsal that
hampered many nineteenth-century productions, Davidge's poor
preparation is understandable, if not forgivable. In fairness to
Davidge, it is worth noting that in 1875 Hutton remembered
Davidge's portrait of Nick Bottom as having "no equal before or
13
since.
24
The more interesting debate centered on Davidge's decision to
have Bottom bray like an ass during his Act IV frolic with Titania. The
Herald argued that Bottom Is not aware of his transformation and
that Davidge committed the unpardonable solecism of braying and
thus showed his very superficial acquaintance with Shakespeare's
meaning. Davidge's reply, In a second letter to the paper--a copy of
which was also sent to the New York Times (14 February 1854)--tells
us something about the thought process of a nineteenth-century
actor. The comedian argued that Bottom is, In fact. a poetic myth.
not a dramatic personage" which he therefore found It necessary to
invest with a species of fictitious addenda in order to render It
acceptable ... [because MND] was never Intended as an acting
play: Davidge, emulating Burton's scholarly approach to
Shakespeare. continued his argument:
I think a poetic parallel may be drawn from Homer's
Odessey. where Eurylochus and his companions proceed
to the island of Circe and are . .. turned into swine.
Ulysses releases them and although their minds are
unchanged, they have all the semblance of swine, grovel,
feed, and riot like them.
Elsewhere Davidge used the text itself to support his acting choices:
Why then does [Bottom) ask for a 'peck of provender and a bottle of
hay?' Did man ever regale himself with these asinine luxuries? The
Times entered the debate by dismissing Davidge's claim that Bottom
is "mythical and that the parallel to Homer was untenable: tt would
certainly justify his interpretation were not the text more potent in
condemning it ... The bulk of [textual] illustrations should be
weighed and it will be found that they are unquestionably In favor of
Bottom's humanity. The erudite Times writer then cited a number of
references to the text to support his claim and concluded the argu-
ment with the sensible declaration that good taste should interdict
any unnecessary imitation of a braying animal. To see an actor kick-
Ing about the stage and hee-hawing in response to Titania's poetry is
. . . neither graceful nor funny- {16 February 1854). The final salvo In
this journalistic battle was fired by the World of Amusement. which
reminded Davidge that had he known what most New Yorkers
know, he should have been proud of the silly abuse of that [Herald]
critic (n.d.). In 1854 battles among the critics were as entertaining
as those among the actors.
The name of Mendelssohn was generously Invoked by the
management of each theatre further to induce patrons to witness the
play. Burton audaciously promised his audiences that his production
was graced for the first time on any stage by Mendelssohn's music,
14
either ignorant of, or conveniently Tieck's Leipzig produc-
tion and Vestris' use of the famous score. s Certainly Burton's was
the first American production to employ Mendelssohn's music, but
the score was drastically altered and abridged, despite Burton's
assurances that every note was sounded. 'Where do we hear the
grand and beautiful finale and Chorus? asked the World of Amuse-
ment (n.d.). That journal further chided Burton for using a side
drum ("certainly a novelty for fairy music, whether Mendelssohn
would approve or not"), for assigning -ve Spotted Snakes, written as
a duet, to one female singer and three fairies with beards and
unmentionables, and especially for using a trombone to perform the
tympani's part because the entire effect Is changed. Whatever
cavils that critic had about Burton's music, he judged it preferable to
the orchestra at the Broadway, whose conductor apparently had
tempo problems. If Burton indeed failed to perform every note of
Mendelssohn's score, his competitor at the Broadway made up for
his deletions by repeating the famous Wedding March several times
throughout the production. However ill-performed the music at
either house, it is certain that the managers were eager to court New
York audiences by offering them productions as sophisticated as any
the Continent could offer.
The Tribune's account of the Burton production closed with a
comment that perhaps provides the best perspective of the Impor-
tance of these two productions: A few years ago, such a mode of
presenting Shakespeare would have made the town ring; but the
public has ceased to be surprised by anything, and take whatever
splendours are presented to it in an artistic way with greater coolness
and less criticism than any European nation would credit" (4 Febru-
ary 1854). Clearly, the American theatre was a viable institution in its
own right and could present its audiences with productions by the
world's finest playwright as imaginatively and appealingly as its Euro-
pean rivals. True, America yet needed a world class Shakespearean
actor to conquer the greatest roles. Fortunately, the young Edwin
Booth was honing his craft In California's gold-rich cities even as the
Burton and Broadway Dreams were preparing Eastern audiences for
better Shakespeare.
Endnotes
1This paper was presented to the Texas Educational Theatre
Association in Austin, Texas, in January 1888. It was adjudicated (by
Professors Marvin Carlson and John Brokaw) as the winning paper in
the Scholars' Panel competition. I am grateful to Texas A & M
University for providing research opportunities to continue work on
the paper. Thanks also to my colleagues, Professors Harrison T.
15
Meserole, Robert lvie, and Roger Schultz, for their thoughtful com-
ments.
2The Park Theatre had presented two previous Dreams: in
1826 there was a benefit for Mrs. Hilson (who played Puck); in
August 1841 Charlotte Cushman, as Oberon, starred in a production
that was got up in haste and without any laboured attempt at scenic
display or strictness and splendour in costume . .. It fell completely
lifeless. [Sunday Times, 5 February 1854: see note 7 below]
3See Trevor Griffiths' recreation of the Vestris production in
A Neglected Pioneer Production: Madame Vestris' A Midsummer
Night's Dream at Covent Garden, 1840, Shakespeare Quarterly 30
(1978), 386-89. Griffiths uses the CG prompt to illustrate that the pro-
duction was, in essence, the .first staging of MND--as opposed to
adaptations of Shakespeare's text--since the early 17th century.
4
Burton was English born and educated (at St. Paul's
School); he apprenticed in London theatres. However, he had been
such a dominant figure in the American theatre since his arrival in
America in 1836--when he began to build a successful theatre empire
in Philadelpha--that it was difficult for New Yorkers to think of him as
anything but an American. William Davidge, the Bottom at the
Broadway, was also an English native, as was Barry who had played
Hotspur to Macready's Henry IV in England. Barry, whose career in
the American theatre began In 1826, managed theatres in Boston
(the Tremont and the National) and New York's Bowery Theatre
before assuming the leadership at the Broadway in 1851.
5George C.D. Odell, "A Midsummer Night's Dream on the
New York Stage" Shakespeare Studies (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1916), 138-39.
6The Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C., pos-
sesses copies of each prompt. Unless otherwise noted, all produc-
tion details have been taken from these prompts. See Endnote 7 for
additional sources of information concerning the details of these pro-
ductions.
7The pamphlet, which Burton not immodestly titled "Some
Accounts of the Grand Performance at Burton's Theatre," has been
inserted in the prompt book of the Chambers Street Theatre produc-
tion at the Folger Library; it has no publisher nor date of publication
listed. Burton included extracts from newspaper and journal com-
mentaries on the productions in the pamphlet. He--or his stage
manager?--also affixed other newspaper and journal clippings to the
prompt book. Unless otherwise noted, all newspaper and magazine
commentary used In this essay are from these sources and will
hereafter be cited by title and date (where available) parenthetically
in the text.
ssee Richard Foulks, "A Midsummer Night's Dream at Sad-
ler's Wells, October 8, 1853," Theatre Notebook 23 (1968-69) , 55-60.
16
9Qdell, Annals of the New York Stage, Vol. VI, 282.
1
01bid., 280.
11 Burton's playbill, In the Folger Ubrary collection, Indicates
that a farce runcle Sam, or a Nabob for an Hour") followed his pro-
duction. Mrs. Burton played Nancy, and Mr. Placida played the title
role.
1
2some Accounts . . .-, 7. It cannot be ascertained that
Barry actually inserted his Indian Prince in direct response to
Burton's invention, but it does not seem an improbable tactic given
the well-documented competition between the two managers.
13Barry's version was played in three acts.
14Laurence Hutton, Plays and Players (New York: Hurd and
Houghton, 1875), 178.
1
511 September 1848 at the Chambers Street Theatre.
1
613 February 1856 at the Chambers Street Theatre; Burton
revived the play 6 AprU 1857.
1
7
Laurence Hutton, quoted by Edward Robins, Twelve Great
Actors (New York: George Putnam's Sons, 1900), 368-69.
1
81 am indebted to Professor Charles Shattuck for informa-
tion regarding this practice and about Moore's probable contribu-
tions to Burton's production. "Moore copied more (London prompts]
than anyone, I suspect, says Shattuck. (Letter, 27 April1985).
1
9Piaybill for Chambers Street Theatre, 3 February 1854.
Folger Shakespeare Ubrary.
2QoeSome Accounts .. .", 7.
21
Hutton, 1 n.
22The Morning Courier and New York Enquirer (n.d.),
however, found Burton's comedians' version of the Pyramus and
This be scene in Act V "unexceptionally represented," perhaps in
response to the more controlled acting style preferred by Burton.
2
3Joseph Ireland, an historian of New York theatre, said of
Burton: "For nearly twenty years no other actor monopolized so
much of the public applause, and popular sentiment assigned to him
a position in broad low comedy entirely unrivaled on the American
stage." Quoted by William L Keese, William Burton, Actor, Author,
Manager: A Sketch of His Career with Recollections of His Perform-
ances (New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1885), 42-43. Burton, it
should be remembered, was the finest Falstaff on American stages in
the nineteenth century.
24
Hutton, 178.
25See Gary Williams, "The Concord of this Discord: Music in
the Stage History of A Midsummer Night's Dream," Yale Theatre 4: iii
(Spring 1973), 4 0 ~ 8 for a useful refutation of Burton's extravagant
claim.
17
S.D. JOHNSON; OR, THE STRUGGLES
OF AN ANTEBELLUM ACTOR/PLAYWRIGHT
Jack Hrkach
The annals of theatre history are crowded with Information
about the most famous personalities of the era In which they lived,
their on-stage achievements chronicled as well as their whims and
eccentricities. This historical focus on stars is understandable. They
are the brightest lights of their respective ages, their lives are often
colorful and exciting and, most practically, information about them Is
relatively easy to uncover. But what about the lesser lights of the var-
ious eras of theatrical history, those who almost became stars, the
journeyman players, the downright failures? While not as important
as stars, while often not as fascinating, and while never as easy to
research, the average theatrical practitioners in any given period are
highly representative of that period. Knowledge of the typical players
as well as the stars of an age naturally creates a more complete
portrait of the theatrical landscape of that age.
In this "representative" spirit, please make the acquaintance of
Samuel D. Johnson, an actor /playwright in the theatres of antebel-
lum America. Never as well-known as Edwin Forrest or Char1otte
Cushman (though he trod the boards with both), Johnson more
closely represents the typical theatrical practitioner of the period. A
glimpse at his life as writer and actor follows; then a more detailed
look at one season of his career as a traveling player in the hinter-
lands of upstate New York.
The sl ight mention accorded Johnson by nineteenth century
chroniclers such as Francis Wemyss and T. Allston Brown includes
his places and dates of birth (New York City, 8 March 1813) and
death (Philadelphia, 24 July 1863) and identifies him as a performer,
not a writer.1 G.C.D. Odell notes that Johnson played the Yankee
character in The New York Fireman and the Bond Street Heiress, but
fails to add that he had also written the piece.
2
That Johnson
received no billing as author Is not unusual. During the antebellum
era the vast majority of plays presented in American theatres were
written by English playwrights and only the most famous of those
were listed on handbills or in newspaper advertisements. Indeed,
had a new play in 1850 been advertised as written by an unknown
American writer who was also recognized as a mere bit player, the
chances for Its success probably would have been weakened. 3
During the late 1840s and early 1850s, however, Johnson
wrote several plays that enjoyed varying degrees of success. Among
18
the most popular of these was The Fireman, first produced in 1849 at
the National Theatre in Boston, where the famous J.B. Booth starred
as Frederick Jerome.
4
In writing this play Johnson capitalized on the
recent success of Benjamin Baker's A Glance at New York, although
Johnson's fireman hero, Frederick Jerome, was cast in a more tradi-
tionally melodramatic mold than had been Baker's Mose. In 1850,
the National Theatre in New York, where Baker's play had been pro-
duced, also provided the stage for Johnson's variation on the fire-
man theme. Retitled The New York Fireman and the Bond Street
Heiress, it enjoyed an unbroken run from 22 July to 22 August,
which, as Odell admitted "was for those times considerable.5 The
next year the play was produced in Philadelphia, appropriately
retitled The Philadelphia Fireman and the Chestnut Street Heiress. 6
During the same year, Johnson took advantage of current
events with a one-act drama called The Shaker Lovers, which
mocked the oddities and gyrations of that religious sect not In the
form of a bur1esque but as a melodrama. The villain of the piece is a
Tartuffe-like hypocrite, a Shaker elder ostensibly immersed in his faith
but secretly lusting after a young woman in his sect. Though the
action is primarily melodramatic there are comic moments, Including
a Shaker dance, during which the villain Is moved to start pulling off
his clothes. 7
Mrs. Char1es Mestayer, in 1849 an actress at the advent of her
rise to stardom, had been active in Boston theatricals and
undoubtedly knew of Johnson. Whether she suggested a new
vehicle for herself to the clever new actor /playwright or whether he
flattered her by offering her his latest play, on 1 0 September 1849 In
and Out of Place opened at the National Theatre in New York with
Mrs. Mestayer playing several roles. The premise of the piece is that
Letty, a maid given to misquoting Shakespeare and breaking dishes,
is fired; then, she reapplies for her job, disguised as an Irishman, a
French danseuse, and a Yankee gal," among others, until her frus-
trated employer begs for Letty again. This "bur1etta in one act" was
little more than an excuse for quick changes of costume and
temperament, but in the hands of Mrs. Mestayer, it became quite a
showpiece and a staple of her repertoire. B
Perhaps because In and Out of Place proved such a success,
by 2 May 1850 the former Mrs. Mestayer, newly wed to Barney Wil-
liams, was featured at the National in another piece by Johnson, a
one-act farce called Our Gal.9 In it she played Caroline Morton, who,
in order to marry the man she loves, acts the role of a squawky,
gawky Yankee gal so convincingly that her guardian (who con-
veniently has never seen her until she resorts to disguise) swears to
give her considerable fortune to anyone who will take her off his
hands. In Our Gal Johnson again presented this fine comic actress
with a vehicle, which this time focused on her Yankee character. In
19
this sort of role, according to Odell, she long remained unrivalled on
our stage.
10
The stage Yankee in male or female incarnation was one of the
most popular character types on the antebellum stage. Another
comic type, exploited by writers such as James Pilgrim and John
Brougham and brought to its height in the works of Dion Boucicault,
was the stage I rlshman. Barney Williams, the most popular
delineator of this comic type in America since Tyrone Power, was
also the newtywed husband of the former Mrs. Mestayer.
1
1 Her ear-
lier success with Johnson's plays probably accounts for the two-act
farce named Brian O'Lynn, which he wrote for the couple. It featured
Williams as a young man In love with Sheelah McCabe (Mrs. WU-
Iiams) but strapped with two other fiances. In order to win Sheelah
he plays dead. When the priest asks each of his other two wives-to-
be to shoulder the expenses of his funeral they each refuse, and
Sheelah (who is privy to the scheme) accepts. Brian then rises from
the dead and a happy ending ensues.12
Brian O'Lynn joined In and Out of Place and Our Gal in the
permanent repertoire of Mr. and Mrs. Barney Williams, but S.D.
Johnson received little share in the fame they enjoyed and even less
share of the profits. Indeed, on the title page of Samuel French's
published version of Brian O'Lynn his name does not appear, only
the words "written for Barney Williams, Esq:13 Although his play The
Fireman flamed bright in Boston, New York and, according to
Johnson every city in the Union,
14
and even though one of the most
popular theatrical couples in America regularty staged his farces and
burlettas, S.D. Johnson probably earned his living In the theatre
primarily as an actor.
Whereas Johnson's life as a playwright lasted .only a few
years, he had begun his acting career in New York's Lafayette
Theatre at age 12, playing Master Merry in Paul Jones. 15 How long
and successful his career as child actor lasted is unclear, but per-
haps this earty introduction to the roar of the crowd partially explains
his pertinacity in a career in which he never attained first rank. He
seems to have spent most of his acting career in Boston. Usted as a
member of the company at the Tremont Theatre as early as 1840,
S.D. Johnson (as he was usually billed), during that theatre's next
season played Spanker to Charlotte Cushman's Lady Gay in Dion
Boucicault's London Assurance.
1
6 When the National Theatre in
Boston reopened in 1846, Johnson's name appeared as costumer
for the company, although he probably also played supporting roles
during the season. Three years later at the National he played Rotary
Press, the Yankee role in the original production of his own play, The
Fireman.
17
Johnson left Boston in 1850 for what might well have been the
pinnacle of his performance career: the summer season at the
20
National Theatre, New York. H.A. Perry was the leading actor, Emily
Mestayer (erstwhile sister-In-law to the recent Mrs. Barney Williams)
acted the female leads, and Johnson provided support by playing
roles such as Jethro In Rosina Meadows by Char1es Saunders and
recreating Rotary Press In The New York Fireman and the Bond
Street Heiress.18 He was replaced during the run of this play,
however, by Joseph Jefferson, and whether by choice or by force,
returned to Boston for the 1850-51 season at the Howard
Athenaeum.
1
9
Wemyss lists Johnson at Boston's National In 1852, and when
the new Boston Theatre opened its doors In September 1854,
Johnson was seen as the Coachman In the Inaugural production,
The Rivals. He remained at the National through the 1857-58.season
as a supporting player, including, for example, the role of Snug in A
Midsummer Night's Dream.20 Five years later he died In Philadel-
phia, where he had probably found work in a theatre playing lines of
fifth business.
In late 1853 Johnson ventured out of Boston to join a troupe of
players touring upstate New York. By attaching himself to a theatri-
cal company he was able not only to ply his acting trade, but to
insinuate his own plays into the company's repertoire.
Utica, New York, the base of operations for the company he
joined, had by 1853 become a regular stop for touring acting com-
panies. Its strategic position on both the Erie Canal and the New
York Central Railroad had made it one of the three largest cities in
central New York, and its size and location meant potential profits
and easy access for troupes of traveling players. The earliest of
these had played Utica In the early teens, but theatrical activity had
remained sporadic until 1847. That year John S. Potter, probably the
most ubiquitous stroller" in antebellum America, brought in a strong
company and increased its popularity with visiting stars for an entire
fall and spring season at the City Museum. Thus a precedent was set
for even stronger companies to follow. The season of 1851-52, for
example, was managed by John Nlckinson, a mainstay at Mitchell's
Olympic and Burton's Chambers Street theatres in New York. Two
seasons later the first female actor /manager of any significance in
the area provided S.D. Johnson a place in her theatrical troupe.
21
Marie Duret's company had already played two and a half
months of a five-month stay at Utica when Johnson joined Its
ranks. 22 Her stock company was strong enough to perform suc-
cessfully without the aid of visiting stars during September and
October 1853. She and Alonzo R. Phelps played dramatic leads
while G.W. Griffiths and a Miss Carman shared comic responsibilities.
When Duret turned to stars in mid-November, she brought in an
array that dazzled Utica, stars less bright than only Forrest and Cush-
man in the theatrical firmament, stars who included J. R. Scott and
21
George Couldock.
Johnson joined the company presumably to take the place of
G.W. Griffiths In comic roles. He began his tenure on the last night of
a week that featured Mrs. H. Lewis, a specialist In men's roles rang-
Ing from the title role In Richard Ill through Romeo (to Duret's Juliet)
to Rolla in Pizarro (her farewell benefit). Given Mrs. Lewis's star bill-
ing and unique repertoire, Johnson's entrance Into the Duret troupe
on Saturday, 19 November 1854, was not widely heralded, although
the editor of the Utica Daily Gazette noted that In the night's after-
piece, the farce of A Phenomenon in a Smock Frock ... Mr. S.D.
Johnson makes his first appearance as 'Buttercup.' 23 The adver-
tisement in the same Issue noted the .,irst appearance of the favorite
Comedian and Author, Mr. S.D. Johnson. Although his billing In the
advertisement was relatively Impressive for a new company member,
any impression Johnson might have made In his debut was
obscured by editorial attention to the full house drawn by Mrs.
Lewis.24
Later in November Johnson was featured In two of his own
plays; The Shaker Lovers and Brian O'Lynn, but no mention of his
authorship was noted In either advertisement or editorial.
2
5 On 12
December a new Local Drama" called The Utica Fireman was pre-
sented and ran three nights. The editor of the Utica Daily Gazette
noted that the play "was well-received last evening, and Is said to
contain much that will interest.26 S.D. Johnson was listed as Rotary
Press, but not as the author of his easily adaptable play. Then, on 15
December, the advertisement indicated that Johnson would play
Jemmy Twitcher In The Golden Farmer and Buttercup in A
Phenomenon in a Small Frock, but also announced a new Drama,
written by Mr. S.D. Johnson titled _Blanch Marion. 27 The next day's
Gazette, however, focused not on the new play but on the farewell
benefit for the leading man, A.A. Phelps.
Almost no attention was paid to Johnson's efforts as a
playwright, but as an actor he seemed successful enough. The
advertising practice for most companies that played Utica
throughout the 1850s was to name the plays In each evening's fare
and to list one, two or three major players. S.D. Johnson's name
was printed in nearly every day's advertisement, usually the only
player billed in the afterpiece. And, although never singled out for
praise by the editor, he was occasionally mentioned in the brief
announcements accorded Duret's company, as for the 9 December
production of The Green Bushes: Mr. Arnold and M'lle Duret
sustain the principal characters; Mr. Johnson the laughable character
of Grinnage. 28 He was not, however, accorded a benefit during the
regular season, generally ordinary practice for a featured player.
Granted, the season ended abruptly. For unknown reasons
Duret surrendered her lease of the Museum to its owner and began
22
an engagement as Manageress of the National Theatre In
Syracuse. 29 The owner of the Utica Museum named G.J. Arnold as
the new manager. Arnold had starred with the company for a week
in early December, was highly praised in the Gazette, and returned
on 17 December, replacing A.R. Phelps as leading man.30 He had
also acted in Boston with Johnson, who was retained under Arnold's
brief management. The season ended on 14 January, yet on the
18th, nearly a week later, Johnson finally took a benefit at which, said
the editor of the Gazette, several members of the former company
will attend. Interestingly enough, the plays chosen for Johnson's
benefit evening Included none of his own.31
After more than a month of inactivity the Utica Museum
reopened on 6 March 1854 under joint management of G.J. Arnold
and a Mr. Spencer. The managers had added Impressive talent to
the company, including John Ellsler and Miss Margaret (Maggie)
Mitchell. S.D. Johnson retained membership In the troupe, but was
relegated to lesser roles and was billed only once, in The Shaker
Lovers with Maggie Mitchell.32 That performance was also the only
occasion on which one of his plays was performed.
The rotating repertoire lasted two weeks, the major portion of
the season devoted to performances of Uncle Tom's Cabin, the first
full production of the play in Utica. The play ran a full three weeks,
with no afterpieces, which was, by far, the longest theatrical run that
- had ever been seen In Utica. T.D. Rice played Uncle Tom, Arnold
was George Harris, Maggie Mitchell acted Topsy, and S.D. Johnson
essayed the Yankee role, Penetrate Partyside.33 Johnson's stock in
the company rose with the advent of Uncle Tom's Cabin, because as
well as being cast in the Yankee part, he had become the company's
stage manager, listed under Arnold and Spencer in each day's adver-
tisement in the Utica Daily Gazette. 34
He remained in this capacity when the company moved to the
National Theatre in Syracuse, where Uncle Tom's Cabin ran from 14-
22 April, and when they returned to Utica on 24 April to play a rotat-
ing repertoire through 22 May. 35 During this second Utica engage-
ment on only two occasions were Johnson's plays enacted: In and
Out of Place (for his benefit evening), and Brian O'Lynn (misspelled
in the Gazette, Bryan Glynn).36
The following autumn S.D. Johnson was back in Boston. His
sojourn into the hinterlands had allowed some of his plays to be per-
formed and had given him, as Arnold and Spencer's stage manager,
the most responsible position he would attain as an actor. Why did
he return to minor roles in Boston? Perhaps the itinerant lifestyle was
not suitable for him. Perhaps he had hoped to become a big fish in
the comparatively small pond of upstate New York, only to find him-
self surrounded, even In the hinterlands, with too much competition.
Perhaps he had problems as an actor that would limit his usefulness
23
on any stage. In what was probably the most detailed critique of his
acting, an unusually long notice written by the loquacious editor of
the Syracuse Daily Standard, he received a less than laudable
review:
Mr. Johnson as Penetrate Partyside, the scheming, caJculat-
ing Yankee, is another character that requires acting, but Mr.
Johnson does it natural as life. Better representatives of
Yankee character have appeared In this city; but his perform-
ance is susceptible of only slight improvement. There Is one
fault, however, of which his associates have just reason to
complain, and that is his frequent introduction of extras, or
theatrical gags as they are called, some of which are good
and others indifferent; but their introduction often spoils the
dialogue and puts out the actors who are strictly following
the text.37
Hamlet advised the players to let those that play your clowns
speak no more than is set down for them, and perhaps S.D.
Johnson was cursed with a similar most pitiful ambition. Whatever
the reason, Johnson never attained the first rank as either a
playwright or an actor. This brief record of his career in the theatre
does not seek to elevate his stature, nor does it attempt to assign a
specific cause for his relative mediocrity. It does offer him as repre-
sentative of his era and as a means for greater understanding of that
era. After all, while there was only one Edwin Forrest treading the
boards of antebellum American stages, there were hundreds of S.D.
Johnsons.
Endnotes
1T. Allston Brown, History of the American Stage (1870.
Reprint, New York: Burt Franklin, 1969), 196; Wemyss, Francis Court-
ney, Chronology of the American Stage from 1752 to 1852 (New
York: Wm. Taylor & Co., 1852), 79.

2
George C. D. Odell, Annals of the New York Stage, vol. 5
(New York: Columbia University Press, 1938), 552.
3Walter J. Meserve, our English-American Playwrights of
the Mid-Nineteenth Century, Journal of American Drama and
Theatre I (Spring 1989), 15.
4
Arthur Hobson Quinn, A History of the American Drama
From the Beginning to the Civil War (New York: Appleton-Century-
Crofts, 1923), 307.
50dell, 552; Samuel D. Johnson, The Fireman (Samuel
French, 1856. Reprint in Read ex Microprint Collection, English and
24
American Plays of the Nineteenth Century, an Index and Finding
Guide, 1985. All other extant editions of Johnson's plays referred to
in this study were found in this collection, hereafter referred to as
Readex.)
6Arthur Herman Wilson, A History of the Philadelphia
Theatre, 1835 to 1855 (1935. Reprint, New York: Greenwood Press,
1968), 83.
7
Samuel D. Johnson, The Shaker Lovers (1857, Samuel
French. Reprint in Readex) scene 1.
as.D. Johnson, In and Out of Place (1856, Samuel French.
Reprint In Readex).
9S.D. Johnson, Our Gal (French's Minor Drama. Reprint In
Readex).
1
00dell, 548-49.
11 Odell (vol. 5, 358) and Joseph Ireland in Records of the
New York Stage from 1750 to 1860, vol. 2 (1867. Reprint. New York:
Burt Franklin, 1968), 506, both state that the WUiiamses were married
In November 1949. Brown (395) lists the marriage date as a year
later.
12[S.D. Johnson]. Brian O'Lynn (French's American Drama
#63. Reprint in Read ex.)
13tbid.
14S.D. Johnson, The Fireman, front matter. In his com-
ments, Johnson claimed the play ran for "nearly three months
without intermission" in New York, whereas Odell tallied the run at
one month, from 22 July to 22 August (vol. 5, 552).
15Brown, 196; Wemyss, 79.
16William W. Clapp, Jr., A Record of the Boston Stage
(James Monroe & Co., 1853. Reprint. New York: Greenwood Press,
1969.), 378.
17S.D. Johnson, The Fireman, cast list of the Boston produc-
tion In front matter. This cast list includes the only mention of
Johnson's wife, who played Frederick Jerome's mother (a small but
highly melodramatic role). There is no indication that Mrs. Johnson
traveled with her husband to New York City or to upstate New York.
18Qdell, vol. 5, 551-52.
19Qdell, vol. 5, 553; Clapp, 459.
20Wemyss, 79; Eugene Tompkins, with assistance from
Quincy Kilby, The History of the Boston Theatre, 1854-1901 (1908.
Reprint. New York: Benjamin Blom, 1969), 15, 35, 44, 46, 61 .
21For further information, see Jack Hrkach, "Theatrical
Activity and Other Popular Entertainment along the Turnpikes of New
York State from the End of the American Revolution to the Beginning
of the Civil War," Ph.D. diss., City University of New York, 1990.
22Utica Daily Gazette, September 1853-January 1854.
23Utica Daily Gazette, 19 November 1853.
25
24Utica Daily Gazette, 21 November 1853.
25Utica Daily Gazette, 24, 26 November 1853.
26The play ran from 12-14 December; the editor made his
comment in Utica Daily Gazette, 13 December 1853.
2
7
Utica Daily Gazette, 15 December 1853. The play, usually
spelled Blanche Marion, Is listed on the title page of Johnson's The
Shaker Lovers, but Readex does not provide a text. Two other plays,
Steps to Ruin and Kit Carson, are also credited to Johnson on that
page.
28Utica Daily Gazette, 9 December 1853.
29Marle Duret had played a week at Syracuse's National
Theatre (28 November to 5 December) while Susan and Kate Denln
were featured with Curet's company in Utica. Her management of
the National was relatively brief, lasting from 20 January to 1 Febru-
ary 1854 (see Syracuse Daily Standard for further detail).
30utica Dally Gazette 5-1 o, 17 December 1853.
31Utica Daily Gazette, 18 January 1854.
32Utica Daily Gazette, 15 March 1854.
33fhe name of Johnson's character, along with the presence
of T.D. Rice In the lead, indicates that the version of Uncle Tom's
Cabin that Utica audiences witnessed that spring was not George
Aiken's version, but probably the one Rice had recently played In at
the Bowery Theatre. See Richard Moody's introduction to Aiken's
version In Dramas from the American Theatre, 1762-1909 (Oeveland:
The World Publishing Company, 1966), 355. Interestingly enough,
G. H. Howard, who had managed the Troy Museum and played St.
Clare in the original production of Aiken's version, played Simon
Legree In Utica and later in Syracuse.
34Utica Daily Gazette, 20 March 1854.
35Syracuse Daily Standard, 14-22 April 1854; Utica Daily
Gazette, 24 Aprll-22 May 1854.
36Utica Daily Gazette, 5, 19 May 1854.
3
7
Syracuse Daily Standard, 18 April1854.
26
STAGING THE UNSTAGEABLE:
AMERICAN THEATRICAL DEPICTIONS
OF THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR
John D. Shout
In 1936, when the Civil War in Spain was fast becoming a
wor1d-wide preoccupation, many in the American theatre community
were still convinced that plays ought to provide an arena for political
exhortation. And thus one might conclude that the Spanish War
would be the logical successor to the sit-down strike or the kangaroo
court as the natural setting for the socially committed dramatist. It
turned out not to be: partly, perhaps, because of the war's vastly
confusing factionalism; partly because Spain was readily being sup-
planted, in minds and headlines, by other places--and partly, no
doubt, simply out of the suspicion that Shakespeare's Henry V
Chorus was quite right to observe that ~ mighty armies" do not go
over very well onstage. Whatever the reason, the plays written to
arouse American consciousness to the impact of the war are few--
especially in comparison to the novels, poems, and films--and those
few are a mixed bunch, Including, as is usually the case with plays
adapted to current events, some that are banal and immediately
dated. But a few managed to grip the imagination or to find innova-
tive methods for dramatizing political conflict, and even those that
failed sometimes posed troublesome questions to the student of play
writing: How does one stage a war--and especially this war?
Only two feeble efforts attained widespread attention--which at
that time meant Broadway--and that not until the war was over. One
of these at least had the virtue of emerging from first-hand experi-
ence--Hemingway's The Fifth Column, written while its author was
residing at the play's very setting, the Hotel Florida in Madrid. The
protagonist, Philip Rawlings, is an American spy out to subvert the
Fifth Column, the network of insurgents and their sympathizers within
Madrid who were such a threat to the Loyalists in 1937. Rawlings'
dedication is never in question, but he suffers from battle fatigue and
mounting cynicism. Furthermore, he is tempted by a 1920s good-
time type called Dorothy Bridges (physically a dead-ringer for Martha
Gellhorn whom Hemingway would marry in 1940) and is inclined to
abandon his cause in favor of a fling of globe-trotting hedonism. The
Fifth Column, despite its provocative title, turns out to be a bare-
bones morality play with Philip torn between the sensuous Dorothy
and his zealous comrade Max whose battered face (he is a victim of
Nazi torturers) is paralleled to Dorothy's sculpted features. In the
27
simplest morality play methodology, Philip is devoted to Dorothy at
night but despises her in the morning. When he is cynical, it is for
tough-minded reasons--he gets angry at idealistic rhetoric-but this
does not keep him from finally cutting all ties to Dorothy in favor of
the good fight: 'We're In for fifty years of undecJared wars and I've
signed up for the duration. I don't exactly remember when it was,
but I signed up all right (Hemingway, 80). The predictability of this .
conclusion leaves little room for drama, and the issues of the war
itself disappear; for all of Hemingway's insistence on firsthand experi-
ence, Spain becomes an arbitrarily chosen setting for good causes.
What war there Is Is fought in the adjacent hotel rooms and the
adversaries are not Spaniards but simplified moral antitheses.
The Fifth Column could not find a production until Lee Stras-
berg directed it for the Theatre Guild in 1940 in an adaptation by Ben-
jamin Glazer that Hemingway called absolutely appalling, stupid,
chUdish, ignorant, sentimental, silly- (Baker, 338). It lasted 87 per-
formances. Glazer's treatment, to be sure, did not improve Heming-
way's effort, merely cleaning Dorothy up to make her a conventional
heroine and adding some especially noxious high-principled
speeches (the very sort that Philip Rawlings claimed to find infuriat-
ing). But the real problem with the play is the same in either version,
namely that the war becomes irrelevant, and real issues, such as the
threat of immorality among the just, get lost. Hemingway, no sea-
soned playwright then or later, was moreover confined to unimagina-
tive and rather trite stage techniques that relegated the war to
prerecorded gunshots.
Still, better The Fifth Column than Maxwell Anderson's Key
Largo, a play eagerty anticipated in 1939--if for no other reason than
that it would mark Paul Muni's return to Broadway. The protagonist,
King McCloud, is an American volunteer in Spain who decides
moments before an unspecified siege that the time has come to
desert--partly out of disillusion with the Loyalist cause, partly out of
anger that he and his pathetic patrol have been written off as cannon
fodder. He survives--while his comrades undergo annihilation--but
back home he is tormented with memories, and he visits the
D'Aicalas, a dead compatriot's father and sister, in the Florida Keys
seeking something like absolution. Here he encounters a domestic
mirror of his eartier moral crisis: Murillo, a gambler, has muscled in
on the household and with the help of a crooked sheriff is pinning a
murder on a pair of runaway Indians. Mcaoud must either take the
rap for the gangster's crime or let the innocent Indians hang for it. At
stake is his creed: Does he still maintain, as he did in Spain, that -.he
mind, the bright, quick-silver mind,fhas but one purpose, to defend
the body jand ward off death" (Anderson, 11 O)? Or will he be won
over by wise (and blind, naturally) old D'Aicala that "it won't end in
the dark, our destiny'sjthe other way. There'll be a race of menjwho
28
can face even the stars without despair,jand think without going
mad (Anderson, 114)? Visionary, heroic action wins the dispute, of
course, and though it costs McCloud his life, he saves the Indians
and defeats his gangster-adversary, earning D'Aicala's curtain line:
He was my son.
Anderson certainly had something to say, although by 1939 it
hardly had any relevance to Spain, and Key Largo's stern pieties won
It respect In some quarters. But the public, Munl as McCloud
notwithstanding, would not buy It, and the run was only three
months. Anderson himself complained that "To the most articulate
body of opinion-the critics-It was mostly a bore (Avery, 98). The
pomposities of Anderson's blank verse and his endless sermonizing
render him nearly Inestimable today (even if he was once talked of as
the American Shakespeare), as do the rigid opposing moralities that
Key Largo monotonously insists upon. Either one must abandon all
moral scruples, and with them all hope for humankind, and act solely
In one's own Interest, or one must abandon everything to some
cause, necessarily quixotic. These causes are, In Key Largo (and
elsewhere in Anderson's work) readily available, as he takes great
pains to equate the gangster Murillo and his cohort, the corrupt
Sheriff Gash, with the fascists McOoud ought to have died resisting.
The parallel is questionable (though all the same trite by 1939), but It
allows the playwright to suggest that tyranny must be resisted In
Europe lest it gain a foothold at home. To abandon this absolute
creed is to invite spiritual death--rather, one should die physically
with the satisfaction that one had done one's small bit for the gradual
improvement of the globe. The possibility of other action--
constructive resistance, subversion from within, or even combating
tyranny with some alternate tyranny--is never considered. Nor Is one
cause weighed against another: Had McCloud died in Spain he
would not have been on hand to shoot Murillo.
Thus It Is abstract moralizing that undoes Key Largo:
Rosamund Gilder quite accurately called the play moon-struck, as
though it took place in Mr. Anderson's mind and not in any flesh and
blood r e l i ~ (Gilder, 81). Not surprisingly, the settings are cumber-
some and not credible, since what Anderson really wants is to limit
his stage to a pair of podiums. The war in Spain and whatever made
it distinctive are as absent from Key Largo as from The Fifth Column,
and under such circumstances the plot quite naturally turns on the
touching nobility of persecuted cardboard Seminoles, an easy
method for invoking a simple audience response, despite the poten-
tial complexity of McOoud's dilemma.
The efforts were more impressive among those playwrights
who wrote for the non-commercial and even the non-professional
theatre. Here the circumstances of production--under-rehearsed and
often unpaid actors, frequent improvisations, and only the most
29
rudimentary sets and costumes on what might sometimes be not
even a stage--proved sometimes advantageous for Imaginative crea-
tion, an apt illustration of the old preference for two boards and a
passion.
Consider, for one example, Michael Blankfort's The Brave and
the Blind. Performed initially in March 1937 by the Rebel Arts Players
(at the Labor Stage in Manhattan) as a benefit for American
sharecroppers and for the Spanish Republic, it was revived at least
twice that year by the Current Theatre and by the New Theatre
League (also In New York), each time In tandem with some other
Civil War-oriented piece, either drama or dance. (Subsequently
Blankfort would expand the play Into a rather well-received novel.)
The subject Is the 1936 Loyalist siege of the Toledo Alcazar, held
against assailants for 71 days by a mixture of military and civilian
forces, potentially a backdrop more attuned to rebel than to Republi-
can sympathy. Blankfort sets up a cross-section of passive figures
waiting for the relief they expect from Franco, an the while terrified of
the eerie digging sounds from below--Republican sappers tunnell-
ing beneath them with explosives. At the climax they divide over the
options of surrendering--an offstage voice over a megaphone invites
them to join the Loyalist cause--or sacrificing themselves as the
fiercely partisan Colonel Sanchez insists. At the close, those Inclined
to surrender are executed by the die-hard Colonel.
The cross-section of the play is typical of political drama of the
day and might have served just as well for a play depicting the vic-
tims of a Falangist siege. There are intellectuals and peasants, reli-
gious and cynical, wealthy and Impoverished, and the obligatory
child. On the surface anyway, these hapless figures, caught in a no-
win situation largely beyond their comprehension, are being depleted
without political partisanship; even though Colonel Sanchez is cor-
rupt and brutal, one can readily imagine his counterpart on the other
side and acknowledge that his actions are the product of his situation
and not of his party. But Blankfort is devious. Gradually the
audience comes to see that the prisoners' increasing corruption; the
deterioration of their loyalties and affections for one another; the col-
lapse of familial ties, traditions, and mutual respect; their growing
inability to believe in the slogans they have been taught--all these are
the consequence of a false set, that is, a Nationalist set, of values.
Blankfort's dialogue Is lively, and he Invokes genuine tension
by dramatizing the awful wartime reality of waiting inertly to be bes-
Ieged, by dramatizing the opposite of actual combat. Similarly,
Theodore Kaghan, in the 1938 one-act play Hello, Franco (initially a
New Theatre League production at the Mercury Theatre) evokes ten-
sion through some surprising comedy. Six Lincoln Brigaders, a typi-
cal multi-ethnic cross-section, wait nervously in an abandoned house
while a young Spanish woman (with whom they cannot communi-
30
cate) installs a telephone that Is to link them with Madrid head-
quarters. Their instructions are to attack a machine gun outpost of
rebels, preferably after their command confirms that support is on its
way. After the electrician leaves, the men are unable to reach
Madrid, and, assuming the woman to be incompetent and the
telephone worthless, they respond to their increasing anxiety by
making mock phone calls: They order hot food and then can
America to speak, In turn, with a mother, a brother, a girlfriend.
Finally, two men fantasize a call to Franco:
Francis: I don't like to seem crude, Franco, but I think you
stink. (Pause) That's right. As a matter of fact, everybody I
know thinks you stink. (Surprised) No? Well, Franco, my
dear fellow, it's a fact. You are. You're the biggest god-
damned stinker that ever lived. The trouble with you,
Franco, is you're not even a real stinker. You're an immita-
tlon [sic].
Stewart: Hello, Franco, this is Willie. Yeh, Willie Hearst, your
boss. Usten, Franco, you're not doing so well. I got a lot of
dough on you, Francisco, you know that, don't you? All right
then, you got to show more appreciation. The last time you
lost a battle I lost the New York American. Yeh. Another
defeat and I'll lose the Mirror. (Pause) Allright, Franco.
Listen, Francisco, you got to make the war more colorful.
My readers like color.
Finally, there is a sassy can to Hitler, and after the men have left for
their mission the telephone rings on the empty stage, presumably
with the instructions that couldn't get through before.
The situation in Hello, Franco, the tension among a represen-
tative handful of volunteers before a difficult assignment, recalls any
number of World War I plays and films, but there is an endearingly
Irreverent quality employed here to new effect. The attacks on
Franco, Hearst, and Hitler are not imposed articulate rhetoric of the
sort that had once been a regular feature of didactic drama, but the
half-digested, half-understood perceptions of nervous, politically cal-
low kids. And ironically, this form of play therapy is what keeps the
Brigaders from contact with headquarters and, perhaps, from a
suicidal mission. The mixture of irony, vaudeville sketch, and political
comment with what seems possibly like real experience gives the
play a vitality hard to find in the more pious anti-war scripts.
Kaghan was to dramatize the war, or at least its aftermath,
again with great effectiveness in the 1942 Dear People, a depiction of
a French concentration camp for Spanish refugees.
1
The aim was a
heartfelt attack on the purported indifference of the allies along with
31
an assault on the audience's presumed indifference to the refugees'
plight; here, in addition, was a play that found an innovative theatrical
metaphor for these concerns. Kaghan's script asked for a barbed
wire across the proscenium, forcing the audience into the uneasy
role of free outsiders peering In, and the most pathetic of the
prisoners, the demented Ramon, ended the play clutching the wire
and crying out the title, over and over, to the silent onlookers.
Kaghan and Blankfort, then, were able to find effective stage
equivalents for the uglier realities of the war, while Hemingway and
Anderson failed to do so--in part, certainly, because the less recog-
nized playwrights declined to appear profound. But there were
others who opted for the pure exhortation of agit-prop or mass
chant, even though these forms, developed for the amateur radical
theatre of a decade eartier, seemed hackneyed to many. Still they
were ideally suited to fund-raising rallies and other occasions where
more elaborate theatre would have proved impractical. Ruth
Deacon's Spain, 1937, performed initially by the Philadelphia New
Theatre, Is characteristic of the mass chants with its strident closure,
"THEY SHALL NOT PASS THIS WAY! MADRID SHALL BE THE
TOMB OF FASCISM." Meanwhile, Martha Graham, Lily Mehlman,
and collectives such as the New Dance Group expressed war con-
cerns choreographically. Radio dramatists used their single dimen-
sion to particular advantage in evoking the terror of the bombings,
examples being William Merrick's Forgot in the Rains and Archibald
MacLeish's unspecified but clearty Spanish-inspired Air Raid--all of
these in 1936 or 1937.
The most innovative dramatist, and the sole playwright to put
not only the war itself but the entire convoluted Spanish political
scene onstage, was Kenneth White. White, perhaps out of
serendipity, was willing to abandon conventional theatrical language
and invent on his own something much like the epic theatre that
Brecht was just at the point of imagining.2 With his director Joseph
Losey (then 26) and a handful of politically committed theatre people
calling themselves "The Theatre Committee for the Defense of the
Spanish Republic, White rented the Grand Ballroom of the Hotel
Delano (on West 43rd Street in Manhattan) for two nights in Septem-
ber 1936, and proceeded to structure a play around the space they
had acquired. As White wrote, in a prefatory note to his typescript,
"The hall in which the play was first performed was hired before the
script was written. It was only sensible to take advantage of the
architecture of the place. 3
The room was vast with a platform against one wall, and the
company extended a thrust from it well into the floor space (Losey
would later maintain that this was "the first theatre in the round in
New York"--Ciment, 46-47). Characters came and went through
aisles between audience and platform: commonplace today but
32
hardly then. Moreover, there was a series of gilded boxes, in the
style of hotel ballrooms, on three sides, the center
one curtained off. These too would be used. There were no settings;
rather than depicting one or two rousing incidents from the war,
White used his varied playing areas and his cast of 57 In the manner
of epic theatre to tell the entire story of Spain, from the fall of the
monarchy in 1931 to the first Nationalist incursions In 1934. For a
change there would be no physical limitations on what a playing area
could present.
The working title was The Spanish Play, .. but by production
time the work had been labelled Who Fights This Battle? It opened
with high-pitched hysterical laughter from offstage. There followed a
house blackout with spots on the side boxes. Elegantly dressed
Imitation theatregoers appeared, scattering streamers below, chatter-
ing and laughing. A pianist entered on the platform and performed
caricatured Andalusian music, as a caricatured Spanish dancer, In
peasant outfit with shawl, mantilla, and rose in teeth, performed to
castanets, clashing with the pianist's music. Meanwhile, the
"playgoers" in the boxes uttered totally disconnected phrases (in a
style foreshadowing lonesco) expressing Americans' presumed per-
ceptions of things Spanish. A sample:
Cervantes!
El Greco!
In Majorca you can eat oranges right off the trees!
The Basques!
The most thrilling road to Madrid!
You can make it in three hours!
Two Hours and Fifty Minutes! Murillo!
The Golden Age!
Death in the Afternoon!
The baths of San Sebastian! Hooray!
Spanish Food!
Thus Is articulated Americans' tourist Spain through bits of speech,
music and dance. These were interrupted by the arrival of an
Asturian miner, naked to the waist, along with various other con-
trastingly "real" Spaniards:
Miner: Be Still.
One [First Theatregoer]: Be Still?
Miner: Yes. I must have the attention now. You must learn
to talk in whispers the way I had to once.
Two: Brazen!
Three: Bold!
Four: Unheard of!
33
The Miner and his companions dismiss the stylish mock-audience
(who do not appear again) but make friends with the pianist, the dan-
cer, and the actual audience. The Miner tells the true playgoers that
he Is dead, slain by the Civil Guards, and that he will be dying again
during the performance. The others proclaim him as a fallen hero,
but he insists he is only one of many: "And you will hear me yell
when I die, unite and be victorious."
Suddenly the action reverts to 1931: The curtains of the offi-
cial box are drawn, the box is spotted, and a dignitary in a mask
proclaims the formation of a republic. The various "Spaniards"
onstage are euphoric, but the Miner remarks to the audience, "You
wouldn't have been taken in, would you?"
What follows is nothing short of a one-hour condensation of
the history of Spain during the crucial early 1930's, employing strik-
ing theatrical shorthand. The presence of the old nobility in the
government is suggested by anonymous cigarsmoke emerging from
the center box. A worker who dares to defy the provisional
government is chased through the auditorium. Gil Robles (head of
the conservative coalition CEDA, who, as War Minister in 1935, would
appoint Franco Chief of Staff) appears in the right box, a performer
carrying a wooden mask and, with a stick draped with a Jesuit robe
fastened to his back and lit from behind, casting an enormous
shadow suggestive of his status as a church puppet. White added,
"He speaks always as though his mouth were full of hot potato."
Those onstage listen attentively as he spouts solemn warnings:
The powerful shadow of the Church overhangs me. The vio-
lated, desecrated Church, the victim of Atheists, Socialists,
Communists, Anarchists, dogs, trees, cats, sewing-
machines.
A "Well-Dressed Man" unexpectedly bursts through the
audience taking his shirt to the laundry, all the while complaining that
he used to have someone who did that for him. Breaking away from
the crowd, he unfurls his "shirt
11
: a banner that reads
11
Long Live Fas-
cism. II He is put on trial; a Judge sentences him to one year; Gil
Robles promptly shoots the Judge. Then a 'Well-Dressed o m a n ~ ~
appears who fawns upon Gil Robles, but her discontented maid mut-
ters Republican slogans: She is Dolores--soon to be the Republican
figurehead, La Pasionaria.
History moves rapidly in front of the audience. The General
Strike collapses. The Miner is shot, as he predicted, and urges his
sons to carry forth the cause of the Republic. The 1934 election is
announced; Gil Robles, aided by the Well-Dressed Man's fascism
banner, attempts to entice the populace--represented by a burro
34
called Perico, an actor In a donkey head. Political unity breaks down
but is temporarily recemented through the efforts of Dolores, the
Miner's sons, and the now-committed Well-Dressed Man, even as
White's script calls for Improvised politicizing throughout the
auditorium. The anarchists' political dilemma Is depleted In tradi-
tional farce: Two brothers-in-law are browbeaten by their wife/sister
into voting (she takes a broom to them), even though voting violates
their most sacred convictions. As the election goes forth, the "Left"
basket is overflowing with ballots and the "Righr Is nearly empty; the
masked official in the center announces the results "in doubt."
Nonetheless, Dolores, the Miner's sons, the workers, the anar-
chists, and even Perico ascend to the official box acclaiming their
victory. Satisfied, the crowd disperses. Four peasants are left
behind as sentinels, and as they discuss land distribution they begin
to relax--unadvisedly. Suddenly one smells cigar smoke coming
from the right balcony: Franco, of course, carrying a giant mask and
artificial white roses, and claiming that the smoke is "from the ruins of
Spain, burning churches, gutted convents.
General Mola, Franco's comrade-in-arms, is on hand too, and
now the script calls for activity all over the ballroom as the actual war
unfolds. Franco invokes Mussolini and Hitler's help, and Dolores
tries to arouse the crowd, despite the meddling of a cartoon
American journalist who implores her to "stop excesses.
At the end the crowd, the masked figures, the puppets, and all
clear off, leaving the stage to three very tired soldiers: the Miner's
two sons and an anonymous wounded man. When a woman arrives
to take the injured soldier's gun and replace him at the front, his
response, in the play's last words, is, "Thanks. I'll be back. Then
there'll be four of us."
Although Who Fights This Battle? was virtually the only
American play to treat the Loyalist cause optimistically, the call to
arms with which it ends marked its affinity with many other militant
dramas. The political thrust, however, is not what makes the play
noteworthy. Rather it is White's willingness to exploit all the visual
possibilities of his makeshift stage and the free rein that he and Losey
gave to their imaginations. Who Fights This Battle? is an exuberant
mix of multiple staging, caricature and cartoon, incantation, puppetry
and mask, pantomime, slapstick, improvisation, music (by Paul
Bowles) and dance--well before playwrights in America were inclined
to mix so freely.
Since its performances earned some $700 for the Spanish
Republic in September, 1936, and since the New York Times in a filler
referred to it as "the first play to be produced here on the Spanish
Civil War' (21 September 1936), Who Fights This Battle? has virtually
disappeared from theatrical and academic consciousness. When
Kenneth White died in 1953, neither the skimpy obituary in the Times
35
(22 November 1953) nor the one in Variety even mentioned the play,
although White's other accomplishments were of little moment--and
neither Blankfort's nor Kaghan's plays have proved any more
durable. Such may be the fate of other theatrical ldealogues, regard-
less of their imaginativeness, If their work is presumed to be dated by
the headlines.
None of these plays lingered in the public consciousness for
more than a few months, vanishing with the passions that the
Spanish Civil War once aroused. Looked at today they are likely to
seem mere curiosities of an age when drama was thought to be a
potent pol itical weapon. The contemporary observer may simply
note that Spain fell to the Nationalists in 1939 and remained under
rigid authoritarian control for decades thereafter--hard proof that
these and other plays, which aroused only a few to political action in
their day and which earned only a pittance for their cause, were
ineffective. All the same: The passions aroused by the war in Spain
inspired some equally passionate drama, some of which also found
the means of staging the heretofore unstageable. A mix of passion
and politics led a few playwrights to innovative scenarios and to tech-
niques for conveying terror, uncertainty, and even outrage to the
playgoers watching their work.
Finally, such plays ought to pique our curiosity about other
plays. None of the works discussed here (except The Fifth Column
and Key Largo) was published in any format but the quickly vanish-
ing periodical; several, Kenneth White's among them, never got
beyond the typescript stage. The Spanish Civil War plays should
make us wonder about all the other presumably dated social drama
that molders in archives and remains known to only a few.
Sources Cited
Anderson, Maxwell. Eleven Famous Verse plays, 1929-1939. New
York: Harcourt, Brace, 1940.
Avery, Laurence G. ed. Dramatist in America: Letters of Maxwell
Anderson, 1912-1958. Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1977.
Baker, Carlos. Ernest Hemingway: A Life Story. New York: Scrib-
ner's, 1969.
Blankfort, Michael. The Brave and the Blind. One-Act Play Maga-
zine, May, 1937, 54-88.
Ciment, Michael. Conversations with Losey. London and New York:
Methuen, 1985.
Deacon, Ruth. Spain, 1937. TS. Billy Rose Theatre Collection: New
York Public Library.
Gilder, Rosamund. -rragedy and Tinsel . Theatre Arts, February,
36
1940, p. 81 .
Hemingway, Ernest. The Fifth Column and Four Stories of the
Spanish Civil War. New York: Scribner's, 1969.
Kaghan, Theodore. Dear People. TS. Billy Rose Theatre Collection:
New York Public Ubrary.
Kaghan, Theodore. Hello, Franco. TS. Billy Rose Theatre Collec-
tion: New York Public Ubrary.
White, Kenneth. Who Fights This Battle? TS (titled "The Spanish
Play). Billy Rose Theatre Collection: New York Public
Ubrary.
Endnotes
1
The New Theatre League, which succeeded the League of
Workers Theatres in 1935, took out a copyright on Dear People. The
league occasionally produced on Its own but more often promoted
social theatre and served as a consolidator of social theatre activity
between cities. Presumably, a production of Dear People was
Intended or foreseen somewhere, but there is no record of any pro-
duction; the New Theatre League disbanded later in .1942.
2Brecht's work was known In America in 1936 but not at all
widely. Some, like the designer Mordecai Gorelik, had promoted it,
but productions had been scarce: only three, In fact, at the time of
White's play. The Empire Theatre In New York had given 12 perform-
ances of a very free adaptation of The Three-Penny Opera in 1933;
the Music School of the Henry Street Settlement had offered The
Yea-Sayer two weeks later; and the Theatre Union had mounted its
disastrous production of The Mother in 1935.
3Kenneth White, Who Fights This Battle? (TS title: -rhe
Spanish Play-). TS in the Billy Rose Theatre Collection, New York
Public Library. Subsequent references are to this script, which is
unpaginated and provides no scene or act divisions.
37
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38
ALAN SCHNEIDER'S DIRECTION OF
WHOS AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?
Lewis E. SheHon
Alan Schneider emerged in the 1960's as one of America's
most important directors. Beginning in 1941, he had had a varied
and successful career directing In universities, summer stock,
regional theatre, Off-Broadway and Broadway, Including the hits The
Remarkable Mr. Pennypacker (1953) and Anastasia (1954), and he
had al ready started his very important collaboration with Samuel
Beckett. The 1962 production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?,
however, launched him into public consciousness and established
his reputation as both a commercial success (he won a Tony award
for direction) and as a director of the new, absurdist playwrights. Vir-
ginia Woolf was a seminal production in the American theatre and
society, one that helped define a decade. The collaboration of Alan
Schneider and Edward Albee was a unique feature of that period.
Edward Albee was to emerge as the most prolific and honored
American dramatist between 1959 and 1968. He had 12 productions
and numerous revivals In New York and won major awards
throughout the period. The Zoo Story received The Village Voice
Obie and other awards as the best Off-Broadway play of the 1959-60
season. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? won the Antoinette Perry
award as the best play in 1963. A Delicate Balance garnered the
Pulitzer Prize in 1967 as the best play of the season. Albee's Virginia
Woolf and Tiny Alice emerged as two of the most controversial
dramas of the period, and in the history of the decade, his earty plays
stand out as Important contributions to the theatre. Beginning with
The American Dream (1961 ), Schneider was Albee's chief theatrical
interpreter. Besides Dream and Virginia Woolf, Schneider's Albee
. productions were The Ballad of the Sad Cafe (1963), Tiny Alice
1964), Malcolm (1966}, A Delicate Balance (1967) and Box and
Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-Tung (1968}.
My study of Schneider's production scripts and notes of the
Albee plays reveals that Virginia Woolf was the most successful of
those collaborations and represents Schneider at his maturity as an
artist, illustrates his methods, and suggests his importance as a
director to Albee.1
In establishing an overall directorial concept for Virginia Woolf,
Schneider's analysis stressed the organic relationship of the formal
elements of ritual, rhythm, emotion, and the external event. In two
sets of notes, Schneider indicates how these elements combine in
39
his directorial concept:
Truth and Illusion (thru illusion to truth).
Modern Parable.
A portrait of people drowning and grasping for straws of
awareness, understanding, conviction.
Purgation thru agony.
Other side of despair.
Awareness thru catharsis.
(Director's script, title page)
A way of getting through life.
A dark legend of Truth and illusion.
Misplaced values.
Musical structure & rhythms-tones.
Circumstances--late night & 21st birthday.
Drinks, the party, the house.
Relationship. They love each other--game.
They need each other--ritual.
(Director's script, character list page)
Thematically, Schneider interpreted this play as a myth about con-
temporary values--the conflicts of truth and illusion in a way of get-
ting through life. Schneider's notion of the ruling idea of Virginia
Wooff emerged from its preoccupation with exorcistlc ritual, i.e., the
dramatic action represented the purging of illusion from the lives of
Albee's characters.
Schneider commented on the play as extending beyond the
reality of event in such remarks as: "A dark legend of truth and illu-
sion, "Modern Parable, and "Purgation through agony. Schneider
imaged the play as a wild nightmare or phantasmagoria: "I said
'legend' In the sense that I wanted it to be more realistic--l'd never
thought of it as a realistic play: it is somehow exaggerated or dis-
torted or elevated. 2
Schneider recognized in the "Musical structure & rhythms--
tones of the script elements for defining the movement of this ritual
event--its progression. He found the script "very formal, very musical
in structure, with rhythmical repetitions of elements and themes to be
more stressed and less stressed, growing and fluctuating in intensity"
{TDR, 149). According to Schneider, the interpretative problem in
this regard was to "find Albee's inner rhythms, how they balance
each other, set off each other, to find contrapuntal movements. 3
Finally, Schneider observed a number of motifs in the text--the
conflict of truth and illusion, the portrayal of despair, the idea of men
and women reaching awareness through a purging experience--
40
linking the ritual, rhythms, events, and emotions of the dramatic
action. Schneider implies that the essential conflict-the disease-of
the play emerges out of the abrasion between truth and illusion. The
healing power--the enlightenment--develops from the process of
exorcism (the third act title) as Schneider suggests by remarks
such as Awareness thru catharsis and purgation thru agony. The
games are important in the exorcistic process: Relationship. They
love each other--game. They need each other--ritual. Lastly,
Schneider commented on both the events and emotional process as
elements of plot in his remark, A portrait of people drowning and
grasping for straws of awareness. His sense of the play as a com-
bination of ritual, rhythm, emotion, and event gave form to the pro-
duction.
According to the production records of Schneider's staging of
Virginia Woolf, his chief interpretative problem involved clarifying a
cohesive progression of plot. His solution emphasized both plot
structure and plot development. He determined that there were four
critical influences on plot structure: (1) the text's imitation of a
process of exorcism, (2) the drama's musical structure, which
imparts a non-realistic sensibility, (3) the play's series of bouts that
reflect another ritual element--game playing, and (4) the character's
progression of individual and collective emotional growth.
In addition, Schneider defined the development of plot, partic-
ularly the points of recognition and reversal. He had determined that
the basic plot situation resided in the conflict of truth and Illusion--
George and Martha's emerging awareness of the need for truth in
their married life. In order to establish the completeness of the
exorcistic action, Schneider hoped to underscore the moments of
recognition and reversal. For Schneider, the moment of recognition
occurs at the end of Act Two when George realizes the futility of his
situation. The point of reversal comes in Act Three when George,
acting on his new awareness, confronts Martha with the truth by
destroying the fantasy son. Schneider's directorial challenge was to
link these plot elements and the plot development into an organic
performance whole.
In his analysis of plot, Schneider linked events to emotion,
developed inner psychological delineation which stressed the
moments of recognition and reversal, and structured a visual,
auditory, and tactile subtext that reflected both the form and move-
ment of plot.
Schneider was concerned not only with event in Virginia Wooff
but with inner psychological process. In fact, Schneider built a sub-
text of mental processes and motives to support the argument of the
play. The total effort represents Schneider's attempt to construct an
action that not only contains a beginning, middle, and an end with
clear points of recognition and reversal but that also expresses the
41
ritual pattern of the play.
Schneider realized that this scheme existed In the games of
the play. According to Schneider's plot outline, these games provide
the rationale for the plot progression. As such they formalized the
arrangement of incidents into a ritualized pattern, Purgation thru
agony, which culminates with the ceremony of the mass-Death.
This last rite gives meaning and form to the ritualistic pattern that
ends with the expulsion of malignant influences-the lies and Ulusions
of George and Martha's lives. Through the exorclstic process,
Schneider conceived of a unity between the inner action and the
external Incidents and events.
As a point of departure in Interpreting the pattern of the plot,
Schneider divided each act Into smaller units, which he labeled so as
to suggest images or objectives for the action of each unit. This divi-
sion reflects the progression of Incidents in subtextual terms and
represents the director's outline of the plot:
1--Homecomlng
Get to know the guests.
The first duel.
The boxing match with the Boy.
The rejection.
Overture to Nick.
Son has grey eyes.
Flop.
11--Merry
H[umiliate] the H[ost].
G[et] the G[uest].
H [ oney] went Snap.
H[ump] the H[ostess].
G [ eorge] plans for revenge.
Ill
Honey.
Snap-Dragon.
George hones the knife.
They're for S[on].
Our son--beauty.
Death.
Farewell to Guests.
Just Us.
(Director's script, unnumbered page)
In this outline, the activities of the first act represent the
beginnings of action patterns. For example, the note, Get to know
42
the guests, presents one of the first incidents of the evening as well
as a motivating factor for the rest of the action throughout the play.
The Act Two titles mostly refer to games and reflect ritual elements of
the plot. In effect, the games constituted the expose or confessional
stage of the exorcism. The final unit of the second act, "George
plans for revenge, sets up one motivating principle for the remainder
of the play and the starting point of the plot reversal. The third act
notes describe certain definite objectives as in "George hones the
knife and "Farewell to guests. With this scheme providing a point of
departure, Schneider could continue his efforts to unify plot.
The psychological growth of the characters in Virginia Woolf
reflects the dramatic progression of emotion. Schneider defined the
characters in terms of psychological objectives that supplemented
the subtextual action and helped unify the plot. He established a
basic goal for each that related to a way of getting through life:
Martha:
TO DESTROY, LASH OUT
HURT AND BE HURT. ANGER
DRIVES. ACTION. INSTINCT.
George:
TO SURVIVE. FIGHT BACK.
TO BE HURT AND HURT BACK.
REGRET.
LIBERAL.
Honey:
TO UNDERSTAND.
NON-POLITICAL
NOT TO BE HURT.
FEARS.
AVOIDS.
Nick:
TO GET WHAT'S COMING.
INTELLECTUAL HUSTLER.
EXPECTS.
(Director's script, character list page)
\
The infinitive "to hurt identifies or activates three of the four
roles. Martha and George match well In that respect, for she seeks
to be hurt and to hurt back. Complementarily, they fulfill each other's
needs. In contrast, Honey does not want to be hurt, and con-
sequently, she fears life and avoids it. Martha, a person of action and
instinct, wants to destroy--she drives throughout life. George, who
43
wants to survive and fight back, regrets as his way of getting through
life. Nick, the intellectual hustler, exoects--he assumes that what he
wants will come to him. Drive, regret, fear, and expect- four ways of
getting through life, none of which Involves objectively confronting
the reality of the individual personal situations.
If the exorcistic theme of Virginia Wooff were to be effectively
communicated, and if the plot progression were to be logical and
consistent, the point of recognition and reversal became crucial inter-
pretative issues. The director was concerned lest George and
Martha's viciousness in Acts One and Two make the seeming unity at
the end of the play appear unmotivated. Therefore, he attempted to
establish moments of love and understanding between George and
Martha in their earlier scenes to suggest that each could be sensitive
to the needs of others.
The language and incidents of those first few minutes of the
play indicate the tension in their marriage, but Schneider also
explored the less obvious affectionate qualities between George and
Martha. As he states his view: 1 used to say that In order to play the
ending, we had to have something in the beginning. That's very
obvious. They had to really care for each other, and need each
other, feed off each other- (Shelton, pp. 214-15). Schneider's des-
cription of his Interpretation of their behavior In these opening
moments reflects his concern: They were affectionate at the
beginning; they kidded around with each other; there was touching;
there was sex play" (Shelton, p. 211). Further, a note to the actors
implies that the director emphasized this scene as a key one in the
play.
Act I Is far too broad. It Is almost as If It Is being done as an
introductory act. Last night they were almost playing to the
audience, and I am not sure this is entirely to be put at the
foot of the actor's nerves. Certainly Act Ill can't be played
in Act I but Act Ill MUST BE POSSIBLE IN ACT ONE. (Notes
to actors, undated Schneider papers).
In another effort to foreshadow the ending, Schneider Indi-
cated that Martha's personality encompasses some tenderness as
well as viciousness. In an actor note, Schneider intimates that she
could not be stereotyped as a harridan:
We must be able to understand in retrospect what there was
underneath her Acts I and II carryings on which permits her
Act Ill lyricism, poetry if you will, and sensitivity. Martha is an
educated, very sensitive woman ... and if we do not
understand this very early, if we are given merely vulgarity,
camp, drag . .. then the whole thing is thrown so out of
44
focus that It can never recover . . .. If you can, for example,
make her saying that Nick is not a houseboy in Act Ill an act
of kindness ... then we might get somewhere (Notes to
actors, undated, Schneider papers).
In Schneider's direction much of the burden of preparing for
the ending rested with the character, George. Schneider described
the quality that George was to project In the second and third acts as
the sense of loss, the pain under the play, the humanity of the man
being scorched and twisted by the circumstances and events. . ..
(actor's notes, undated, Schneider papers). Two sections appear
Instrumental In Schneider's effort to prepare for the third act ending.
The first Is the decline of the west scene. Conceiving of
George as being terribly wounded, Schneider assumed that Martha
has never before so openly participated In an Infidelity as when she
takes Nick off upstairs. George somehow relates his situation to that
described in the line he reads: And the west, encumbered by cripp-
ling alliances, and burdened with a morality too rigid to accom-
modate Itself to the swing of events, must . .. eventually .. . fall.,... At
that moment George was to feel a sense of loss, resigning himself to
his fate as he recognized the correlation between the statement
about western society and himself. In Schneider's intention, the
ending of the second act begins the plot reversal, for George gains
an awareness of the destructive nature of his and Martha's marriage
and seeks to bring about a change.
The second example of George's importance in Schneider's
production plan exists in the ending events of the third act.
Schneider endeavored to convey the Impression that George acts
not only out of revenge but out of awareness of the ramifications of
his behavior. Notes to the actor reflect Schneider's intention:
Again, and at the risk of boring you, please remember that
what you have to do to Martha in this last game is Intensely
painful to you.
Having crushed Martha it seems to me the business of get-
ting ready to tell her about sunny Jim should be more
deliberate and difficult. The other night it was again casual
and too easy and by the time you get into the porcupine and
tree you should be watching her rather than [be] oblivious to
her.
This is very difficult to write about but that whole section in
which you try to pierce Martha's resistance to the news of
the death must have both elements: The necessity of doing
it and your pain. You want to get her but it hurts you as
45
much as It hurts her (Notes to actors, undated, Schneider
papers).
Finally, the beat markings In Schneider's script are significant
evidence of his sense of the dramatic progression of the action in Vir-
ginia Woolf. In his beats, Schneider marks a line across the text
page to indicate individual moments of action or rhythm changes.
Occasionally he adds a notation that both Indicates the character's
attitude or objective and serves as a subtext. Schneider's script for
Virginia Woolf has as many as three to four beats to a page of
dialogue, Indicating the rapid and Intense transitions from one objec-
tive to another. Not all the beats have notations as to the purpose or
intention of the characters or the nature of the action, but enough
exist to indicate the pattern of action that Schneider constructed to
support the plot events. It Is possible to discuss only a few of them
here.
In the notes on the opening page of his script, Martha's
Immediate objective, "To continue good time contrasts with
George's wish "To settle down, while both of them seek "To avoid
reality, one of the central goals of George and Martha's life. The
"First head-on collision comes as George asks Martha if he must act
like her and bray. Shortly afterward, George asks Martha why she
has invited people now, and Martha replies, "Because Daddy said we
should be nice to them. The note for her objective, "To make him
suffer. To show who's boss," illustrates her aggressiveness. George
questions where the guests are, but his intentions are If you can't
lick 'em, join 'em and "To fight back." In these notations, Schneider
began building the tension between the two characters.
Schneider added some hints of the love that formed the basis
of their marriage. When Martha accuses George of sulking, she was
"pursuing him; and "Touching, Pursuing, Pawing" continues as
George crosses away from her. Schneider labelled the moment as
"sex play. Despite Schneider's efforts to infuse some tenderness,
the sadistic quality of their marriage dominates the first act.
Schneider's image for the exchange between the two before the
doorbell rings is "The slugging match (with gloves)."
Schneider used seemingly unimportant lines to confirm the
subtext of antagonism between George and Martha. When George
says, "And Martha paints blue circles around her things, a comic line
that in context might be played as a throw-away line or a laugh line,
Schneider's interpretation for it indicates George's inner response--
Attack her" --and implies a degree of bitterness behind the comment.
Act II (where not as many notations are made) begins with just
George and Nick on stage. Schneider's notes "To explore N's per-
sonality," and "To recover position (embarrassed)" suggest his
motivations for the characters. HIs terms, "Formal" and Removed,
46
interpret George's attitude. The director notes that, shortly, George's
response to Nick changes. Again Schneider prepares for the final
act through subtextual action. For the Bergin speech, Schneider
has written, Why tell him? A note indicates that Albee Interpreted
the purpose of the story as to confuse with own sense of calamity
and loss. Schneider added -ro share (something about shame).
Thus, in having George share a humiliating experience with Nick,
Schneider hoped to establish motivation for an emotional progres-
sion from hostility to compassion.
Near the last moments of the play, the subtextual action
becomes particularly important. Here Schneider's directorial skill in
linking text and subtext-ritual, rhythm, emotion, event-and in clarify-
Ing form in dramatic action is evident. When Martha finally agrees to
the Bringing Up Baby game, Schneider significantly noted Into
Ritual.
After Martha concludes the story with, everything Is fine,
George continues, Just a minute! You can't cut a story off like that,
sweetheart. You started to say something--now say it! Schneider
directed this moment as pressing in. Closing in. Getting to the
heart. These notes Imply George's revenge motive, but (from other
evidence of Schneider's intention) George is also opting for the truth
and an end to the fantasy. Martha will not go on until George goads
her by saying that the son could not tolerate the mother. "Almost out
of control: according to Schneider's notation, and all fulfillment
gone, Martha turns on George with a claim that the son was
ashamed of the father, and she begins to use the Imaginary son In
his other function--to berate George.
Schneider places the culmination of the action In Act Three,
with his direction concerning George's telling Martha of the sup-
posed telegram. Only after provoking Martha into an intense emo-
tional outburst does George reveal his purpose--the destruction of
the fantasy son. Schneider's note implies that this moment is the
point of climax: George .it is almost impossible for you to do this.
Thus George realized that with the fantasy finished, he as well as
Martha will have to face the truth.
Without the subtextual variety of ambivalent motives and rela-
tionships and the preparation that Schneider had previously con-
cocted, this moment could have appeared merely as George's taking
revenge on Martha for previously humiliating him. But according to
Schneider's interpretation, George recognized his participation in the
ramifications of the destruction of the fantasy child. Indeed it Is this
culpability that is the basis of their eventual unity. Translating the
moment in that way makes it a key factor in the reversal of the plot.
The bitterness and antagonism are gone and George now acts out of
compassion and from his own needs for a more stable life. If George
projects the difficulty of carrying out the act, the incident generates
47
more pity and understanding for these two characters on the part of
the audience. If his action demonstrates an act of penance-a con-
tinuation of the process begun at the end of Act Two--then the
ending Involves a more meaningful and palatable situation--a move-
ment toward love and redemption. The plot suggests a justifiable
reversal in a whole and complete action. The event of the evening-
the party--Is concluded; the emotions reach climax and resolution;
and the notion of exorcism calls for an end to malignant influences
and the restoration of peace and harmony.
In his production of Virginia Woolf, Schneider attempted to
give Albee's text an organic unity. Because he sought to avoid an
abrupt change of emotion and rhythm at the end, he created a vari-
ety of rhythmic and emotional patterns throughout the presentation.
At the end of Act Three, George and Martha can operate as per-
sonalities activated by complex motives--an intellectual awareness of
a need for truth, an emotional despair at their own futility, a desire for
revenge, and a reluctance at the prospect of continuing to hurt each
other. The last moments of the drama contain not only the dominant
elements of antagonism, but the quality of compassion that
Schneider tried to impregnate at various points throughout the play.
Through the beginning, middle, and end of the action, the variety of
character motives, particularly the underlying love-hate ambivalence,
provided a framework for depth and nuance, contrast and conflict,
revenge and recognition, all of which combined in the central
exorcistic action. A comparative study of text and production
records suggest that Schneider contributed a conception of plot that
not only gave concrete shape to the action but also an organic
unity--a logic for progression and a mounting power of dramatic
action.
Edward Albee's plays may well have succeeded with other
directors for they are Intense, vibrant, theatrical, and major works.
However, the matching with Alan Schneider was fortuitous.
Schneider was well-educated and had had experience with nearly
every dramatic genre. Early in his career he approached plays in a
largely arbitrary way, paying great attention to blocking, gesture, and
physical characterization in a concern for external reality. In 1948, he
studied directing with Lee Strasberg at the American Theatre Wing.
There he learned of motivation, subtext, and given circumstances.
As a result, Schneider was well-grounded in both a theatrical and a
psychological, realistic approach to staging. Over the years he had
combined his own sense of imaginative, poetic, theatrical drama with
what he called ,he local situation --the who, what, when, and where
of a text--to develop a directing perspective uniquely his own.
Ultimately, he approached dramatic works as self-contained express-
ions of reality. His main concern was to allow the form of the play to
evolve of itself, as I have tried to show in the analysis of his work on
48
Virginia Wooff.
By the 1960's, Schneider had become interested in
playwrights who were expressing their private visions of reality and a
poetic truth. Schneider noted that these playwrights were concerned
not so much with story but with myth, parable, legend or fantasy.
Sociology and psychology were supplemented by the mythology of
existence in drama. 5 Schneider's genius was that he was able to
interpret these pieces truthfully and dynamically so that he, in -effect
with Albee, popularized the avant-garde. He made absurdist drama
accessible, and he did this without being an avant-garde director in
his methodology.
What Schneider did in his Albee productions, as exempiHied
by Virginia Wooff, was to let the play speak for itself as much as pos-
sible. While often pinpointing exact definitions of language, charac-
ters, and events, he sought also to Isolate theme and intent, motiva-
tions and images, as they were manHested in the playwright's vision,
and allow them to convey their own essence. Schneider tried to
make comprehensible the piece as written; he did not try to make the
text fit a conventionalized pattern of expectations. Schneider
affirmed his view of directing:
I have always held to the old-fashioned belief that a first pro-
duction ... should try to bring stage IHe to the author's play
.... Interpretation Is one thing ... but Interpolation Is quite
another thing, not to mention extrapolation, and the intrusion
of a subtext that clearly distorts instead of illuminating its
text.6
Schneider did not try to impose his own virtuosity on a play. He
sought to serve the playwright, to bring out whatever view of reality
the text itself contains.
As the analysis of Virginia Woolf Indicates, Schneider's
approach to dramatic action reflects a concern with the script's form
and sense of reality. He saw the reality level of the play as being
beyond Its events and obvious psychological dynamics. He
understood the basic action on a "realistic" plane--"the local situa-
tion"--and yet saw the strange, mysterious, mythic aspects of the
play, i.e., Albee's singularly absurd vision. It is this quality of search-
ing for the form of the script that made Schneider unique and was
the core of his directorial perspective.
Endnotes
1
Aian Schneider's Direction of Four Plays by Edward Albee:
A Study in Form. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. University of Wis-
49
consin, Madison, 1971. This dissertation was based on Schneider's
production notes, his director's script, and Interviews with Schneider.
Schneider's papers are now housed as the Alan Schneider Papers
(MSS 103), Mandeville Department of Special Collections, University
of California, San Diego. Virginia Wooff materials are In boxes 15-18,
passim. References to these papers and to my dissertation will be
made in the text. See also Alan Schneider, Entrances: An American
Director's Journey (New York: Viking, 1986), 309-329.
2Richard Schachner, "Reality Is Not Enough: An Interview
With Alan Schneider," Tulane Drama Review, IX (Spring 1965), 138.
3Piaybill (October 1964), quoted in Douglas C. Giebel, Alan
Schneider: A Director for the Theatre of Our Time, unpublished
thesis (San Francisco State College, 1965), 116.
4
Edward Albee, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Pocket Car-
dinal Ed. (New York, 1963), 174.
5Aian Schneider, "The Essence of Existence Seen In the
Arts," Encounter and Dialogue. New York State Association of
Deans and Guidance Personnel, 38th Annual Conference (November
1964), 58-59.
6AJan Schneider, " 'Any Way You Like, Alan' : Working with
Beckett," Theatre Quarterly, V, 19 (September-November 1975), 28.
50
COUNT JOANNES AND THE
NINETEENTH-CENTURY AMERICAN AUDIENCE
Yvonne Shafer
In 1879, New York newspapers were filled with reviews of
recent performances by the well-known actor Count Joannes. A typi-
cal title was Romeo and Juliet'--Base Murder at the Lyceum
Theatre. It began,
A person calling himself George the Count Joannes and a
female who gave her name as Avonia Fairbanks were
arraigned at the bar of dramatic justice (Judge Shakespeare
presiding) shortly before midnight last evening, charged with
the premeditated murder of two young people of the well
known Montague and Capulet families, Romeo and Juliet by
name .... It is said that Joannes even boasted of having
carried his criminal career through a period of over fifty
years.
1
This mocking tone was typical of the descriptions of two weeks of
sold-out presentations throughout which audiences shouted, sang,
laughed, threw pennies, beans, vegetables, and nuts, and generally
enjoyed themselves. The purpose of this essay is to examine the
career of Count Joannes, ne George Jones, and the response of the
audience to this man who has been described as one of the more
memorable and pathetic eccentrics of the 19th century theatre.
2
George Jones was born in England in 1810. When he was six
he traveled with his family to Boston on a voyage so dreadful that his
sister died, his brother became a lunatic, and he was blind for six
weeks. a After he recovered his eyesight, he found life in America
very promising. He studied elocution with Daniel Webster. As a
young man he often spoke at Fanueil Hall and won medals in rhetori-
cal competitions. He entered the acting profession in Boston, finding
parts easily because of his good looks, acting ability, and excellent
fencing. By 1829 he was performing regularly at the Tremont
Theatre. He was hired by Thomas Hamblin to act supporting as well
as leading roles in New York at the Bowery Theatre for the 1831-32
season. He played Cassia to Edwin Booth's Othello with Cooper as
lago. The high quality of the company was noted by Odell, who
wrote, "The Park could not have approached that aggregation, nor
could any other theatre in America. 4 Jones was also in the all-star
Julius Caesar in 1834 playing the role of Caesar with Hamblin as
51
Brutus, Cooper as Cassius, Forrest as Antony and Henry Wallack as
Casca. As Odell commented, 'What a glorious castt5
Jones was popular and successful and seemed likely to have
a major career on the American stage. By 1836 he had acted Ham-
let, and he decided to try his fortune in the role on the British stage.
His success is Indicated by an article written by a Liverpool cor-
respondent:
The complimentary benefit was most fashionably attended;
all that was beau and belle In London, although It was the
grand night of the opera, might be seen at Drury Lane. He
(Jones] looks Hamlet well; better to my mind than Charles
Kemble or Macready, has studied the part deeply, and
effected many new points which told well as proved by the
earnest applause of the audience .. . . He has contrived to
get into the first company in London. He has got a silver
medal and another of gold for his oration in Shakespeare at
Stratford on April 23. He had a complimentary benefit and
his portrait Is in all the print shops In London. In a word, he
has a hit here. 6
His roles in this period included Hamlet, Rolla, Richard Ill,
Shylock, Othello, Charles Surface, and Jack in The Rivals. His acting
range was quite large, and he performed with the major actors of the
American stage. Yet within 25 years this well-favored actor who had
achieved great success in the 1830's was, according to Odell, a
known eccentric acting with his new wife, and posing as The Count
Joannes.
7
The first signs of his eccentricity (which arose chiefly from his
gigantic ego) appeared at this time. After three years in England he
returned to America with his medals and stories of the famous
people he knew Intimately in Europe. From this time until his death
he sent long letters to the newspapers describing his success in
England. A typical letter claims that his writing
. .. obtained for me certain Imperial, Royal and Academical
honors and rewards, all of which are in my mental estimate
mere shadows, when compared to the substantial and
Intellectual commendations and personal friendship to me of
such Men as Baron Humboldt, the King of Prussia, Napoleon
Ill, Chateaubriand, King Louis Phillippe, the late Duke of Wel-
lington, Sir Samuel Merrick, the Cardinal Wiseman, Lord
Macauley, Henry Wheaton, Washington Irving, and Daniel
Webster, and other monarchs of the mind.a
His egocentricity had been apparent early in the 1830's and
52
made him unpopular with other actors. For example, they resented
the fact that he assumed all the applause was for him and took bows
In the place of other actors. They often pulled tricks on him in retalia-
tion. He was very proud of a pair of yellow-topped boots, and on
one occasion he exited for a quick change and rEHlppeared onstage
wearing these boots all spattered with mud: Someone had filled
them with muddy water. He had continual arguments with
managers, other actors, and supers. His vanity was indicated when
he became manager of the Norfolk theatre in 1839. He painted a
front curtain with a view of the Acropolis, and when he toured with
his actress wife, put out bills that read,
Mr. and Mrs. George Jones
The Greatest Living Actors
With Their Original Drop Curtain
Painted by George Jones Himself9
Jones was very proud of his multiple talents, and in one of his
many letters to the papers, he stated that he practiced many profes-
sions because he gained honors In all of them: lecturer upon the
Scriptures and Shakespeare, advocate, tragedian, historian,
dramatist, orator, architect, artist, and special writer for the press,
etc.10 He described himself as a dramatist, but he wrote only one
tragedy, called Tecumseh and the Prophet of the West; An Israel-
Indian Tragedy In Five Acts. Longman & Co. published it, but it was
performed only a few times. In 1841 he left the stage, moved to
England, and wrote a book, A History of Ancient America Anterior to
the Time of Columbus, for which he claimed he was honored with a
knighthood. In fact he was knighted by an impoverished nobleman
who sold knighthoods for $100 until forced to stop. In 1857 Jones
returned to America with more medals and a parchment describing
him as "The Count Joannes, Imperial Count Palatine, which became
his signature. He occasionally showed this patent to people to prove
the legitimacy of his title.11
By 1860 Count Joannes was again acting on the American
stage. That he was admired by many people of influence is indicated
by a "Testimonial Letter of I nvitation from the mayor of Boston and
more than 40 other officials and notable citizens, asking him to per-
form in a benefit for himself. His response is a floridly written letter
indicating his accomplishments, his honors, his European connec-
tions, and his intention of performing Hamlet for the one hundredth
time in his career. He also Indicated his Intention of presenting a
customary speech to the audience afterward containing some
Biographical incidents of my romantic life.
12
This type of letter
would certainly have incensed people with the anti-British, anti-
aristocratic feelings that caused the Astor Place Riots. Jones further
53
increased antipathy toward himself by his actions in the courtroom.
On his return to Boston he began to practice law, but he spent
so much time suing people for libel--people who made fun of his
pretensions to being a count--that In 1864 he was found guilty of bar-
ratry (the practice of exciting and encouraging lawsuits and quarrels)
and forced to leave Boston. His exploits were always a source of
amusement and were described in the papers.
The jury gave a verdict of guilty yesterday against George
Jones, sometimes called George the Count Joannes. He
stands convicted therefore of being a common barrator, to
the common nuisance of all the citizens of the Com-
monwealth! At present he remains at large upon his own
recognizance. The court will hear his motion In arrest of
judgment this morning at 9 o'clock.13
A later article noted that several gentlemen of Boston Interceded
and action was discontinued on condition that the Count leave the
city, which under the circumstances, he was quite willing to do.14
He continued his law practice in New York and became a
notable figure of fun. He appeared as his own lawyer and delighted
the court by cross-examining himself. He also appeared unasked In
court cases and acted as an amicus curiae examining witnesses and
making charges--even of murder--in cases about which he had not
the slightest information. 15
By this time it is apparent that Count Joannes was an
infamous as well as famous person. His appearance had changed
greatly from the days when he was a matinee idol: He wore a weary
old coat and cape and all his medals, a black kid glove on his left
hand, leaving his right free, had an enormous moustache dyed a
startling black, and having become bald, wore a curty black wig--the
same one for the twenty years before his death. He had found life
very bitter, and his face reflected personal sorrows he had experi-
enced, as well as his poverty. He had lost most of his earnings by
speculating on railroads. He often applied for permission to sleep at
the police station.16 When sued for non-payment of debts by a
Boston printer in the 1850's, he declared himself insolvent. Among
the properties he gave up to the court for auction were 150 copies of
his tragedy Tecumseh, his autobiography, and an oration.
17
Despite
his poverty and appearance he was vain, as his many lawsuits for
libel and his letters to the papers reveal.
According to Odell, his vanity was much in evidence in his per-
formance as Hamlet, for one night at the Academy of Music In 1863-
64:
On April 30th, the eccentric and self-advertising count"
54
Joannes (George Jones) and his countess gave at the
Academy a performance of Hamlet, with an oddly assorted
cast. . . . Perhaps if Joannes was mad, he was mad about
himself; at any rate, his self-glorification in this event was
sickening and perhaps Inspired the public desire exhibited
late In his career, to throw fruit and vegetables on the stage
he was treading.
1
8
In the years that followed until his death In 1879, Jones
became more and more notorious. His peculiarities encouraged E.A.
Sothern, who often found material to satirize in America, to write and
perform A Crushed Tragedian. Sothern adapted A.W. Byron's The
Prompter's Box to create a satire. This was a great success in
several cities in 1875 as people recognized his parody of Jones. One
newspaper stated, The inimitable make-up, together with the
frenzied zeal characterizing the 'Count's acting was a great hit.19
Jones responded in a predictable fashion: He rented a hall to pre-
sent a lecture refuting Sothern's characterization, and he sued
Sothern for libel. His lecture was described in an article called
"George, the Count Joannes, Throws Down the Gauntlet at Tammany
Hall: One of the chief points Jones made was that he was an
American citizen, whereas the Crushed Tragedian was British. Jones
never referred to Sothern by name (perhaps he was afraid of a
counter suit for libel), but described him as ,his actor. He was out-
raged that Sothern portrayed him as a drunken sot, as he was wen-
known for abstinence. Jones typically enumerated the Important
people with whom he was sitting at the performance, and said, It I
hadn't had a lady with me, I would have sprung on the stage and torn
that play actor's dress from him." He concluded the evening with
some speeches from Shakespeare and received great applause from
a "hilarious and well pleased audience. 20
When the case against Sothern came up in court, Jones
(acting as his own lawyer) spoke before an enormous crowd that had
come to see him. He said of Sothern, "He vilifies me and represents
me every night to my disgrace. "21 Sothern's lawyer moved for
adjournment, and the case dragged on for a while but never was
concluded. There was a rumor that Jones would challenge Sothem
to a duel. When asked what weapon he would choose, Sothern
responded, A cannon:22
With his usual nose for publicity, Jones proceeded to advertise
himself as -rhe Uncrushed Tragedian, and the newspaper writers
picked up the title. In 1878 at Steinway Hall, for one night only, with
all tickets at $1.00, -rhe Uncrushed Tragedian" presented a Recital
Illustration of Shakespeare's Plays.23 Later he parodied Sothern's
famous role of Lord Dundreary in a performance of Our American
Cousin. He challenged Sothern to perform the role on alternate
55
nights with him and see which the audience liked better. Although he
didn't win any money from the libel suit, he gained publicity and
income from his lecture and this performance.
In the 1860's and 70's Jones' performances invariably meant
sold-out houses, a great clamor for tickets, and riotous behavior dur-
ing the performances despite the presence of policemen. A typical
instance was the performance of Hamlet in which the fire chief was
interviewed and said, 1 never saw anything like this before in my life
since the old Booth was here. The description of the evening
included the following elements:
Every seat in the orchestra, parquet, dress circJe and gal-
leries were occupied, and the aisles and staircases were
jammed with men and boys .... From the beginning to the
end of the sublime tragedy- the theatre was a scene of
uproarious merriment.... The orchestra was scarcely heard
at all. In fact, the leader of the orchestra seemed to be
infected with the laughing fever, and had apparent trouble in
finding his music. Everybody laughed, and even many of the
actors on the stage were at times convulsed. The Count
Joannes maintained a dignity of carriage that increased the
laughter of the spectators . ... [Miss Fairbanks) stood by the
Count to the end, and with him shared the storms of laughter
and applause. Pennies were thrown at her and him and the
coins rattled on the stage. Peanuts, hickory nuts and apples
followed the pennies .... The Count wore the traditional
black and lilac colored hose. When he first showed himself
on the stage, he was greeted with applause that fairly shook
the old rafters. The great Joannes gracefully bowed. Men
and women sat back in their chairs and prepared to enjoy
themselves, and no person or thing on the stage was
spared. The comments were loud and clear. The Count's
curly wig and deeply-dyed moustache first attracted atten-
tion, and oht Ahl and Ha, hat were heard until the end of
the first act. . . . When she [Ophelia) tried to sing, the boys
took up a popular air, and viciously stamped their feet, keep-
. ing time to thek song. . . . When the Count in the fifth act
conversed with the Grave-Digger, and questioned him, as of
old, the spectators simultaneously yelled after each ques-
tion, 1 give it up, .. Give me an easier one. .. . The play
wound up in confusion and the audience laughingly and
much satisfied hurried out of the theatre. 24
It is worth noting that the fire chief did nothing about the
dangerously overcrowded house and that there were policemen pre-
sent, as was usually the case, who did nothing about the riotous
56
behavior. It was even noted on one occasion that the policemen
were laughing along with the audience.
The composition of the audience is of interest. It included
both women and men, young and old, and all classes. However, the
Count was proud of the fact that most of the noise-makers were
well-dressed rowdies, and that in eighteen months in Niblo's
Theatre at the sale of tickets there was never so many 'diamond
studded men' as in the one week in the Olympic Theatre when I and
the fair Avonia recently acted there. Indicating the presence of Wall
Street brokers, lawyers, and bankers, he said that although the bulls
and bears might join the jackasses, he was still the lion.25 The jack-
asses (and when he rebuked the audience or challenged members
of the audience to a duel, this was his favorite term), Included many
young men from college. According to one report the largest
audience ever within the walls of the Lyceum Theatre Included
Columbia and City College students, and vale, Princeton, and
almost every college from fifty miles around was represented. At the
end of the play there were 3,000 people exhausted with laughter and
worn out with shouting. On this occasion there were six plain-
clothesmen who actually arrested three college boys who later com-
plained that, their conduct was as orderly as any of the spectators
and that when Manager Fleming told them that he supposed they
had come for an evening of sport and might have it, they took him at
his word.26
However. there were many people who actually came to the
theatre because they thought the Count was still a good actor. He
was held in high esteem and pitied by people who wrote letters
denouncing the disturbances. Following the performance described
above, The Telegram ran a column of letters from his supporters with
a heading, -rhe Public Indignant at the Count's Reception by the
Rough Element--Another Performance Desired. The editor prefaced
the letters by saying:
We have received a number of letters from people who were
present at the performance of the Count Joannes on
Monday evening. and from their tone. it is evident that many
people are indignant at the uproarious conduct of some of
the persons in the audience. A general desire is expressed
that the Count may give another representation at an early
day. The following are but a sample of the many com-
munications we have received on the subject. 27
Further proof of the support that Jones enjoyed is offered by the fact
that Edwin Forrest paid the cost of the theatre when at the request of
several prominent gentlemen Joannes played Hamlet at Niblo's
Garden to a respectful audience. 28 Newspapers frequently noted in
57
the audience persons such as General Grant, Clara Morris, and
Richard Dana, the editor of The Sun and a good friend of Joannes.
As late as 1876 Joannes received a request from a group of poetic
spirits who admired him and wanted him to write a play for the
centennial. 29 Admirers of the Count would often criticize the
rowdies-when he was hit with a fake egg, they shouted', shamerao
and when the fair Avonia was hit with a beet, a lady In the orchestra
stood and cried, o1sgrace1 Failing in her attempt to shame the row-
dies, she shouted In frustrated rage, oh, shut upr31 It Is evident
from the newspapers that a number of educated people of taste did
not consider Joannes a bad actor. In the 1870-71 season there was
an occasion when people came to jeer his Richard Ill and remained
to applaud. 32 On another occasion the first act was quiet so the
Count had a chance to act and be heard, and hundreds of people
who had come for fun were disappointed and left at the Intermission.
Those who left must have been doubly disappointed when they
heard about the conclusion of the evening. After the intermission a
man accidentally dropped his cane, others Imitated him, there was a
great noise of dropping canes, and the evening ended in the usual
chaos.33
There were many bad actors in the nineteenth century who
simply failed and disappeared. Count Joannes, on the other hand,
received treatment many worse actors escaped and yet continued to
draw enormous houses. Why did audiences single him out for this
incredible treatment and spend whole evenings--many people arriv-
ing at 7 or 7:30 and remaining until nearfy 12--ridicullng the perform-
ance? There were many reasons why people would have wanted to
make fun of him or attack him.
On the most obvious level, he was just odd, and a crank.
Certainly his appearance was ridiculous, and that combined with his
vanity, and the fact that he was punctilious in the laws of etiquette34
and modeled his language on Shakespeare caused him to seem like
a character in a Moliere play or a Feydeau farce. There Is no doubt
that ridiculing him simply got to be the fashion and that It was
encouraged by the continual caricatures and humorous newspaper
articles about him with titles such as More Gall for the Count; the
Groundlings Split his Noble Ears with Base-Born Catcalls, Joannes
in Desperation; 'Romeo' Wounded by Sharp Quips and Sentences,
Calls for the Police, Miss Fairbanks Puts Her Head in the Count's
Stomach and Creates a Riot, and uproar in the Olympic; Drowning
the Stentorian Voice of the Nobleman of the New York Bar.
A major element that contributed to antipathy toward Joannes
was his association with Europe and aristocrats and his use of the
title Count. He wrote a letter to a paper in an attempt to counteract
the belief that he had spent most of his life In Europe. But nothing
could alter the picture of him as a snobbish, medal-wearing, pseudo-
58
aristocrat whose behavior was anti-democratic and anti-American.
But the response to the Count in the theatre was not vicious or
dangerous, as it was toward Macready in the Astor Place Riots. One
writer described the attitude as mischievous but good-natured. 35
Indeed, there seemed to be a line drawn--the actors were only
accidentally hit with missiles, and there were letters to the papers
saying that the Count should not be offended, that it was all just
good fun.
Undoubtedly some of the educated people (the bears and
bulls, as he called them) who came for sport simply regarded
Joannes as a vain old showoff who meddled in court cases and
paraded onstage in roles for which he was too old and infirm. And
that was true--many times it was noted that he had to be helped up
after sitting or kneeling, and that when the action called for him to
fall, he did a weird sort of slump instead. Robert Johnston, who
acted with Jones, felt sorry for him because he is parrot-toed in one
foot, which, in addition to the stiffness of age, cautions him against a
square fall on stage, even when the part requires it. He described
an unfortunate moment when as Romeo, Jones was supposed to fall.
"The old Count just sort of bunched himself over against a scene,
and didn't venture to fall at all . I was Friar Lawrence and couldn't
help having some pity for him. 36
His age and rheumatism relate to another ridiculous aspect:
his performing with a young girt. Avonia Fairbanks, his pupil" and
adopted daughter was in her teens, and he was in his 60's.
Apparently their death scene in Romeo and Juliet was ludicrous,
especially when she inadvertently poked her elbows in his stomach
and he audibly groaned. An editorial commented on the cruelty of
laughing at the old actor: Now a staggering man of sixty, he is of
course beyond the possibility of playing it well. If this is fun as the
rising generation of America understands it, then more's the pity.3
7
Another laughable element in the productions occurred
because Jones had so many last-minute replacements for actors
frightened by the impending hullabaloo. On one occasion he did not
see the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern until they came onstage, and
he later said he could understand the audience's laughter as they
were "a tall giant and a short dwarr and he finally ordered them off
the stage to the audience's delight.
38
On another occasion he
criticized an inept actor during the performance. He and the actor
both addressed the audience, and then the Count announced that he
would play the rest of the scene by himself, which naturally gave rise
to more hilarity. He was often supported by good actors who also
suffered from the jeering. Robert Johnston stopped the performance
and told the audience he didn't deserve such treatment, and other
actors spat at the crowd.39 Others, including a lady with p r ~ legs
playing Osric, took the crowd's shouts and jokes in good part.
59
Actors supporting the Count had to endure the rowdiness for
only a few performances, whereas he endured It for 15 years. The
main reason for his actions would seem to be his Incredible vanity
and his need for money.
His vanity has been noted above. He often reminded his sup-
porting actors that he was the center of Interest In the performances.
Once he was offended by a stage manager and said, 1, sir, am the
attraction here! It is me, sir, me, whom this enthusiastic multitude
rush to admire, and I have some rights here which you are bound to
respect.41 At one time his performance of Hamlet was a kind of
challenge to Booth's Hamlet and the Count out drew him! Noting the
outrage of such a situation, the editor of the New York Dramatic
News wrote:
There is no doubt that Mr. Jones Is as bad as it Is possible to
be in Romeo, Hamlet and Richard; but it is little credit to the
taste of a people to leave the performance of a Booth empty,
while they rush In crowds to those of a Jones. 42
Certainly the arrival of the crowds filled him with pleasure. Robert
Johnston reported:
Before the curtain rose on Richard he came rushing among
us all in a perfect agony of delight. Now, now, he cried,
rhe work goes bravely on! They're piling Into the house in
scores, swarms, myriads. Ah ha! The Count's name Is still a
tower of strength. 43
He also enjoyed taking curtain calls after each act and making
curtain speeches at the end. Of course his vanity was fed by the fact
that in the audience were some of the most fashionable people in the
city. His vanity was further fed by the amount of money he was able
to earn for his performances.
He was a major draw, and managers knew this. He was, fur-
thermore, shrewd enough to limit his performances so that the
audience was not sated. He frequently performed for only one night,
and the ticket prices were often a high $1.00 for all seats. These
were so popular that speculators were able to sell them for $2.00f
He received half of the gross for his initial return to the stage,
44
and
in letters to Mssrs. Brown and Barnes, Dramatic Agents, he stated
that he was accustomed to $150 for each performance and refused
to accept any percentage as payment. 45 In a letter to Mssrs. Jarrett
and Palmer, he concluded his proposal by saying, Now what say
you to this proposition from the most splendidly advertised man In
the Republic--thanks to my enemies. God bless them!
4
6 The
extreme poverty he suffered at times undoubtedly motivated him to
60
try to obtain as much money as he could from the stage. Just before
he died, he told a friend, "When I get well, I'm going to play again and
get some money.-47
Finally, the Count apparently never really perceived the extent
of the audience ridicule. He persisted in expressing his belief that the
majority of the audience admired his acting, and that the rowdies
were all hired or set on by his enemies--and they are legion --who
were envious of his success and embittered because he had beaten
them in the law courts. His vanity, his financial rewards, and his
paranoia allowed him to persevere in his acting.
One of the major questions raised about Count Joannes was
whether he was mad. A 1909 article--full of errors (including the
statement that the Count performed behind a net to protect him from
missiles)--spoke of him playing Hamlet from 1836 on, each time with
less and less sanity, until at last the picture of the melancholy prince
was from beginning to end one of stark raving lnsanity.48 This is
completely incorrect. Unlike Junius Brutus Booth and George L.
Fox, George Jones never did insane things, such as falling on his
knees and praying in the middle of a scene or attacking a fellow
actor with a weapon, nor did he make bizarre purchases in stores, as
did Fox before he was taken to a mental institution.
4
9 He certainly
was sane about money matters and wrote clear letters to the papers.
On the other hand, he was aggressive toward people who said,
There goes the Crushed to him as he walked in a street, and
knocked many people down. There Is, In fact, some evidence of
lunacy in his family. His brother who became a lunatic on the trip to
America recovered somewhat but was always subject to depression
and mild lunacy:so Jones' daughter followed him on the stage and
became known as -rhe Man Flogger because of her belligerency
against actors or editors who displeased her.5
1
For the last 50 years
of his life, Jones was attended by the same doctor, a Dr. Putnam
who said:
He had brains enough, but he has not been in his right mind
twenty years. He has always had a mania of some sort and
if I had been asked in court whether he were capable of
taking care of himself and his affairs, I should have
unhesitatingly said, No. Any commission de lunatico
would have decided to appoint a guardian for him. 52
Certainly there seems to have been some element of madness in the
Count, largely arising from his vanity and the feeling that his great
talents were not appreciated--the tragedy of the true egocentric.
Finally, he would have to have been somewhat mad to have
enjoyed the kind of acting experience he had in the last 15 years of
his life. Robert Johnston reported the following exchange with him
61
backstage. The Count said:
How art thou, Polonius? Pretty well--considering, said I.
1 am more than well--1 am overjoyed--ravished I Harkt as
the chorus of yells, hoots, catcalls and the like came pouring
around the sides of the curtain from the fun-furious crowds in
front. shouldn't that be music to my ears? Is there another
actor on this continent who could command applause of that
nature? No, I don't think there Is, I replied. 53
The Count died in 1879. Even In death he was ludicrous.
Although he had earned a large amount of money, he had lost it all
and there was no money for his funeral. A reporter wrote, After lying
in an ice-box for nearly a week, the remains were buried on Monday
last. 54 Only the mournful Avonia Fairbanks attended the funeral, but
a large number of notable actors and prominent persons contributed
money for the burial and a plaque on his coffin. There were many
obituaries that covered his career. One obituary noted the paradoxi-
cal nature of Jones' behavior:
With all his simplicity, egotism, and garrulity, one was never
quite sure that the Count was not playing a part before the
world, smiling at the gullibility of the public, and heartily
enjoying the confusion of the opinion that existed regarding
him. 55
This confusion of the opinion continued for many years. His
name appeared in the papers and magazines well Into the next
century. In fact, columnists continued to write comical pieces about
him, and T. Allston Brown regularly wrote letters defending the
Count's ability and correcting errors in stories about him. The full
picture of his life is both painful and funny and shows the uncontrol-
led madness the audience was capable of in this time. Jones put up
with it and took his profits, and to the end he remained The
Uncrushed Tragedian.
Endnotes
1Unidentified newspaper clipping, Harvard Theatre Collec-
tion.
2Gerald Bordman, The Oxford Companion to the American
Theatre (New York: Oxford University Press, 1984), 168.
3"The One Titled American, unidentified newspaper clipping
in the George Jones Scrapbook in the Theatre Collection of the New
62
York Public Ubrary.
4
George C. Odell, Annals of the New York Stage (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1928), Ill, 561.
5Qdell, Ill, 681.
6Hamlet at Drury Lane, 1836, unidentified newspaper clip-
ping, In the George Jones Scrapbook in the Theatre Collection of the
NYPL
7Qdell, VII, 546.
a.,. estimonial Letter of Invitation with The Reply to the Above
Letter: 18 January 1860, no publication, HTC.
9Johnston and the Count; A Glimpse Behind the Scenes of
the Lyceum Theatre, unidentified newspaper clipping, HTC.
1
o-Let the City Be Thankful!" Letter to the Editor of The Sun,
18 January 1879, HTC.
11Dramatic News, 28 July 1880, n.p., George Jones Scrap-
book In the Theatre Collection of the NYPL
12-festimonial Letter of Invitation.
13The Daily Advertiser, 22 January 1864, n.p., HTC.
14Unidentified newspaper clipping, HTC.
15-Death of Count Joannes: New York Clipper, 10 January
1880, n.p., HTC.
HTC.
16-rhe One Titled American.
17"1nsolvent Debtor's Court; unidentified clipping, HTC.
18QdeJI, VII, 583.
1
9-Count Joannes Again, George Jones Scrapbook, NYPL.
20Unidentified newspaper clipping, HTC. .
21-rhe Great Uncrushed," unidentified newspaper clipping,
22-rhe One Titled American.
23Program, 12 January 1878, HTC.
24-rhe Uncrushed Tragedian; unidentified newspaper clip-
ping, HTC.
25-Let the City Be Thankful.
HTC.
HTC.
26Uproar at the Lyceum, unidentified newspaper clipping,
27-rhe Melancholy Dane, 1876, newspaper clipping, HTC.
28Death of Count Joannes.
29-America's Play-Writer: The Sun, 28 February 1876, n.p.,
ao-rhe Uncrushed Tragedian.
31 Unidentified clipping, HTC.
32"Death of Count Joannes.
33"The Count as a Dramatic Reader, unidentified newspaper
clipping, HTC.
3
4
Colonel T. Allston Brown, "Concerning the Count
Joannes, Dramatic Mirror, 29 March 1895, n.p., HTC.
63
35"The Count Joannes as Hamlet," no publication, 25 April
1874, n.p., HTC.
36-Johnston and the Count."
37Unidentified newspaper clipping, HTC.
38"HamJet to the Scoffers," unidentified newspaper clipping,
HTC.
Joannes in Desperation," unidentified newspaper clipping,
HTC.
0Laughter In the Bowery; Hundreds of Pennies Tossed to
the Players' Feet," no publication, 1 January 1878.
41 Johnston and the Count."
42Dramatic News, 16 February 1878, n.p., HTC.
43 Johnston and the Count."
44
Unidentified newspaper clipping from The Sun, HTC.
45Letter of 10 June 1978, HTC.
46Letter of 22 April 1871, quoted in "Beats Zimmerman's
Dog, unidentified newspaper clipping, HTC.
47"The One Titled American."
48Acting Hamlet Behind a Net," no publication, Hamlet
Scrapbook, V. 2, Theatre Collection, NYPL
49yvonne Shafer, "George L. Fox and the Hamlet Travesty,"
Theatre Studies (1977-78/1978-79), 79-83.
HTC.
50-'The One Titled American."
51Avonia Stanhope Jones," unidentified newspaper clipping,
52"The Count Joannes' Death," The Graphic, n.d., n.p., HTC.
53 Johnston and the Count."
54"The Count Joannes Burial," unidentified newspaper clip-
ping, HTC.
55"Death of Count Joannes," unidentified newspaper clip-
ping, HTC.
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CONTRIBUTORS
MICHAEL L. GREENWALD Is an associate professor In the
Department of Theatre Arts at Texas A & M University.
JACK HRKACH Is on the theatre faculty of Ithaca College In Ithaca.
New York.
JOHN 0. SHOUT is a member of the Department of English at the
State University of New York. Plattsburgh.
LEWIS E. SHELTON teaches in the Theatre Program of the
Department of Speech at Kansas State University.
YVONNE SHAFER is in the Department of Theatre and Dance of the
University of Colorado at Boulder.
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