The Real Joker
Collectors of early United States Playing Card Company cards are always looking for the Dundreary Joker. He’s an entertaining figure to look at but was he real or someone’s imagination? Actually, he was both. He was the actor Edward Askew Sothern in his most famous role as Lord Dundreary.
Edward was born on, appropriately, on April Fool's Day in 1826 in Liverpool. His parents hoped that he would become a minister, but he worked as a clerk in the late 1840s. He began acting in 1848 under the stage name of Douglas Stewart in various English companies without particular success. In 1852 he traveled to America, first playing in Boston, Massachusetts, with John Lacy's company at the National Theatre. He then played at the Howard Athenaeum in Boston and at P. T. Barnum's American Museum in New York. In the early part of his career Sothern's wife often performed with him. By 1856 he had begun using his own name on stage and became associated with Laura Keene's company in New York. The critic Clement Scott noted that while Sothern was "as handsome a man as ever stood on the stage" but he was not naturally suited to romantic roles.
As a result of his success Sothern was given a part in Tom Taylor's “Our American Cousin”. This show would later become famous as the play that Abraham Lincoln was watching when he was assassinated. (Sothern was not in the cast that night) Sothern's role was Lord Dundreary, a caricature of a brainless English nobleman. It was so small and unimportant that he felt it beneath him and feared it might damage his reputation. When he mentioned his fears to his friend, Joseph Jefferson, who had been cast in the leading role in the play, Jefferson supposedly responded with the famous line: "There are no small parts, only small actors."
On 15 October 1858, “Our American Cousin” premiered in New York. Unhappy in the small role, Sothern began portraying the role as a lisping, skipping, eccentric, weak-minded fop prone to nonsensical references to sayings of his "is "brother" Sam. These ad-libs were a sensation, earning him good notices for his physical comedy. His exaggerated, droopy side-whiskers became known as "Dundrearys". Sothern gradually expanded the role until it became the central figure of the play. It ran for an amazing 150 nights straight. Sothern made his London debut in 1861 in the role when the show ran for 496 performances at the Haymarket Theatre. A critic wrote, "it is certainly the funniest thing in the world... a vile caricature of a vain nobleman, intensely ignorant, and extremely indolent".
On 15 October 1858, “Our American Cousin” premiered in New York. Unhappy in the small role, Sothern began portraying the role as a lisping, skipping, eccentric, weak-minded fop prone to nonsensical references to sayings of his "is "brother" Sam. These ad-libs were a sensation, earning him good notices for his physical comedy. His exaggerated, droopy side-whiskers became known as "Dundrearys". Sothern gradually expanded the role until it became the central figure of the play. It ran for an amazing 150 nights straight. Sothern made his London debut in 1861 in the role when the show ran for 496 performances at the Haymarket Theatre. A critic wrote, "it is certainly the funniest thing in the world... a vile caricature of a vain nobleman, intensely ignorant, and extremely indolent".
Dundreary became a popular recurring character, and Sothern successfully revived the play many times, making him his most famous role. Other versions were also created, including Charles Gayler's sequel, “Our American Cousin at Home, or, Lord Dundreary Abroad” and H. J. Byron's “Dundreary Married and Done For.”
"Dundrearyisms" were twisted aphorisms in the style of Lord Dundreary, enjoyed a brief vogue. And the character's style of beard (long, bushy sideburns) gave the English language the word "dundrearies". In his autobiography, writer George Robert Sims recalled how "we went Dundreary mad in 1861. The shop windows were filled with Dundreary scarves, and Brother Sam scarves, and there were Dundreary collars and Dundreary shirts, and Dundrearyisms were on every lip."
There were even songs, dances and cigars named for him.
"Dundrearyisms" were twisted aphorisms in the style of Lord Dundreary, enjoyed a brief vogue. And the character's style of beard (long, bushy sideburns) gave the English language the word "dundrearies". In his autobiography, writer George Robert Sims recalled how "we went Dundreary mad in 1861. The shop windows were filled with Dundreary scarves, and Brother Sam scarves, and there were Dundreary collars and Dundreary shirts, and Dundrearyisms were on every lip."
There were even songs, dances and cigars named for him.
Some of the more memorable Lord Dundreary's sayings were;
“The tail wagging the dog."
“Many hands make two in the bush”
“It's the wise child that gets the worms!”
“Brother Sam and I used to be boys when we were lads, both of us”
“It's a pretty flower,—if it were another colour.”
“Most fellows think me a nice fellow,—two fellows out of three would think me a nice fellow,—and the other fellow—the third fellow,—well, that fellow would be an ass."
“The tail wagging the dog."
“Many hands make two in the bush”
“It's the wise child that gets the worms!”
“Brother Sam and I used to be boys when we were lads, both of us”
“It's a pretty flower,—if it were another colour.”
“Most fellows think me a nice fellow,—two fellows out of three would think me a nice fellow,—and the other fellow—the third fellow,—well, that fellow would be an ass."
Sothern's passion for practical joking was almost legendary. He would often falsely announce the death of a friend or send people on fool's errands. He once arranged a private dinner for an actor friend with twelve "writers and critics", who were really actors. During the dinner, a quarrel arose over literary matters, culminating in a fight breaking out. The men, acting drunk, brandished an axe, knives and revolvers. The room was filled with shouts, shots and a struggle. Someone thrust a knife into the actor friend’s hand, saying, "Defend yourself! This is butchery, sheer butchery!" Sothern advised him to "Keep cool, and don't get shot" before the joke was exposed.
This story from his biography is representative of one of his pranks he would pull in public...
"I" (says Mr. Fiske) "followed his instructions, and, entering the bus, found Sothern sitting in the diagonally opposite corner. I naturally looked at him with some curiosity to know why he had asked me to go on ahead. Perceiving this, he assumed a very fierce and belligerent expression, and exclaimed, 'Are you staring at me, sir?' The bus was filled with several elderly ladies, two quiet gentlemen who looked like clergymen, and a farmer from the country. I took the cue at once, and replied, 'No; if I wanted to stare at anybody, I would stare at a better-looking man than yourself.' At this Sothern's indignation apparently became uncontrollable, and it required all the force of the clergymen, seconded by the farmer, to keep him in his seat, and prevent him from throwing himself upon me. Finally, he insisted upon stopping the bus, and invited me to step outside, and either apologize then and there for the insult or fight him on the spot. I pretended to prefer to do the latter, but said I would remain in the bus; whereupon Sothern took off his overcoat, and handed it to the nearest old lady to hold for him while he chastised me for my impertinence. In the course of the desultory remarks in which we then indulged, he said that he would allow nobody except his friend John Robinson, of Philadelphia, to speak to him in that way and live; whereupon I immediately informed him that my name was Robinson, Christian name John, and that I had just arrived from America, but that I hadn't the pleasure of his acquaintance, nor did I particularly desire it. In an instant Sothern's manner completely changed, and, climbing over the old ladies, the clergymen, and the farmer, to my corner of the bus, he endeavoured to embrace me like a long-lost friend. He declared that he had never been more delighted in his life, stopped the bus, and proposed that we should get out together, which we thereupon proceeded to do. The comedy we had enacted, and the astonishment depicted on the faces of the inmates of the vehicle, exceeded anything I ever saw on the stage, and afforded food for laughter for many days."
"I" (says Mr. Fiske) "followed his instructions, and, entering the bus, found Sothern sitting in the diagonally opposite corner. I naturally looked at him with some curiosity to know why he had asked me to go on ahead. Perceiving this, he assumed a very fierce and belligerent expression, and exclaimed, 'Are you staring at me, sir?' The bus was filled with several elderly ladies, two quiet gentlemen who looked like clergymen, and a farmer from the country. I took the cue at once, and replied, 'No; if I wanted to stare at anybody, I would stare at a better-looking man than yourself.' At this Sothern's indignation apparently became uncontrollable, and it required all the force of the clergymen, seconded by the farmer, to keep him in his seat, and prevent him from throwing himself upon me. Finally, he insisted upon stopping the bus, and invited me to step outside, and either apologize then and there for the insult or fight him on the spot. I pretended to prefer to do the latter, but said I would remain in the bus; whereupon Sothern took off his overcoat, and handed it to the nearest old lady to hold for him while he chastised me for my impertinence. In the course of the desultory remarks in which we then indulged, he said that he would allow nobody except his friend John Robinson, of Philadelphia, to speak to him in that way and live; whereupon I immediately informed him that my name was Robinson, Christian name John, and that I had just arrived from America, but that I hadn't the pleasure of his acquaintance, nor did I particularly desire it. In an instant Sothern's manner completely changed, and, climbing over the old ladies, the clergymen, and the farmer, to my corner of the bus, he endeavoured to embrace me like a long-lost friend. He declared that he had never been more delighted in his life, stopped the bus, and proposed that we should get out together, which we thereupon proceeded to do. The comedy we had enacted, and the astonishment depicted on the faces of the inmates of the vehicle, exceeded anything I ever saw on the stage, and afforded food for laughter for many days."
Sothern died at his home in Cavendish Square, London, at the age of 54 and was buried in the Old Cemetery in Southampton. Thinking that his death notice was another of his pranks, many of his friends missed the funeral.