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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN THEATRE AND
PERFORMANCE HISTORY
Series Editor
Don B. Wilmeth
Emeritus Professor
Brown University
Providence, RI, USA
Palgrave Studies in Theatre and Performance History is a series devoted
to the best of theatre/performance scholarship currently available, acces-
sible and free of jargon. It strives to include a wide range of topics, from
the more traditional to those performance forms that in recent years have
helped broaden the understanding of what theatre as a category might
include (from variety forms as diverse as the circus and burlesque to street
buskers, stage magic, and musical theatre, among many others). Although
historical, critical, or analytical studies are of special interest, more theo-
retical projects, if not the dominant thrust of a study but utilized as impor-
tant underpinning or as an historiographical or analytical method of explo-
ration, are also of interest. Textual studies of drama or other types of less
traditional performance texts are also germane to the series if placed in
their cultural, historical, social, or political and economic context. There
is no geographical focus for this series and works of excellence of a diverse
and international nature, including comparative studies, are sought.
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2020
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
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of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
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retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology
now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc.
in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such
names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for
general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and informa-
tion in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither
the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with
respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been
made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps
and institutional affiliations.
This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Dedicated to Scott, Josephine, and Elliot.
Acknowledgments
vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
your guidance, enthusiasm, and critique. Your efforts have made this book
stronger.
Additionally, the foundational archival work of my project was
supported by the generous staffs at the Harvard University Library, the
H.J. Lutcher Stark Center for Physical Culture and Sport at the University
of Texas at Austin, the YWCA of Minneapolis Collection at Social Welfare
History Archive at the University of Minnesota, the Historical Health
Fraud and Alternative Medicine Collection of the American Medical Asso-
ciation in Chicago, the YWCA Records of the US at the Sophia Smith
Collection at Smith College, and the Delsarte Papers in the Special Collec-
tions at Louisiana State University. I’d especially like to thank Cindy Slater
and Jan Todd of the Stark Center, and Linnea Anderson of the SWHA for
going above and beyond the call of duty by providing me with incredible
access, warm support during my visits, and amazingly remembering who
I was and the details of my research over vast spans of years.
Thank you to the many colleagues and institutional supporters that
have helped this project come to fruition including my institutional
homes. To Kristin Sosnowsky, Todd Queen, Femi Euba, Nick Erickson,
George Judy, Rick Holden, Jim Murphy, Ken Ellis, Josh Overbay, Stacey
Cabaj, Tara Houston, Sandra Parks, Susan Perlis, Rocky Sansom, E.J.
Cho, Shannon ONeill, Kyla Kazuschyk, Jeremy Bernadoni, Brandon
McWilliams, C. Touchet, Sonya Cook, and Isaac Pletcher at Louisiana
State University, I am grateful for your patience, encouragement, and
grace during this process. To Margaret Werry, Sonja Kuftinec, Cindy
Garcia, Gil Rodman, and Michal Kobialka thank you for helping get this
work up on its unsteady feet in the first place. This book would have been
impossible without the regular and sustained support of fellow writers
who helped keep me accountable to my writing goals by talking with me
and sometimes just occupying space together, silently in libraries: Karen
Jean Martinson, Jackie Bach, Chandra Owenby Hopkins, and Jocelyn
Buckner. Finally, to my Minnesota clan of colleagues and friends who
nurtured me during cold winters and continued to boost and bolster me
once I moved south: John Fletcher, Alan Sikes, Scott Magelssen, Wade
Hollingshaus, Megan Lewis, Stephanie Lein Walseth, Kimi Johnson, Eric
Colleary, Ivone Barriga, Pabalelo Tsane, Beth Ellsworth, Elliot Leffler,
Rita Kompelmakher, and Mike Mellas.
My family has shared space and time with this project for 13 years. To
my in-laws, Annette and Gregory, who graciously smiled at my regular
distraction and absence from family get-togethers. To my dad, who still
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ix
texts for reminders about what my book is about. To my sister for support
and love. To my mom who left this world when I had just begun this
work. And to my husband and children, to whom this book is dedicated.
Contents
Index 197
xi
List of Figures
xiii
xiv LIST OF FIGURES
Fig. 4.2 One of the images accompanying the article, “Sights Seen
During a Visit Made to the Rooms of the Young Women’s
Christian Association,” Undated, unnamed newspaper
clipping (though must have been between 1894 and 1897),
Box 12, Clippings 1895–1898, The Minneapolis YWCA
Records (Courtesy of the Social Welfare History Archives,
Andersen Library, University of Minnesota) 106
Fig. 5.1 Rose Read, first before-and-after photograph. Bernarr
Macfadden. 1901. “Our Thin Subject.” Women’s Physical
Development 1.3 (June) 146
Fig. 6.1 Girls in Ella Deloria’s physical culture class at the Haskell
Institute, 1922. Ella Deloria. 1924. “Health Education
for Indian Girls.” Southern Workman 53: 67 185
CHAPTER 1
the performative, in the Austinian sense, makes reality. If, Austin argued,
the performative fails to enact what it claims to do, then it is “infelicitous”
or “unhappy.” Consequently, the performative in traditional performance
is always “unhappy” or a failure because it doesn’t occur in reality, but is
merely citational. Derrida critiqued the Austinian argument by suggesting
that, in fact, citationality is a key aspect of the performative, because in
order to usher reality into being, performativity must rely on previous
performances. Pairing this idea with governmentality, in order for some-
thing to be thinkable, it must be repeated. See Parker and Sedgwick
(1995, 2), Derrida (1988), Austin (1962), Fried (1967).
8. In addition to the scholars mentioned in this paragraph, I rely heavily on
the work of numerous women’s sports historians who point to the histor-
ically entrenched marginalization and medicalization of women’s bodies
as both a by-product of and requirement for their entrance into sports
in the mid- to late nineteenth century. See Park (1997), Todd (1998),
Verbrugge (1988).
9. See Alexander (2012), among others I mention in the section.
10. Emphasis in the original.
11. Most of these sterilizations occurred in prisons for men and institutions for
the “feebleminded” where many of the sterilizations on women occurred.
See Kline (2001).
12. As Matt Wray has pointed out in his historical survey of the term “white
trash,” the “racial inferiority of people of color was seldom in doubt” for
eugenicists at the end of the nineteenth century. See Wray (2006).
Bibliography
Ahmed, Sara. 2004. “Declarations of Whiteness: The Non-Performativity of Anti-
Racism.” Borderlands e-journal 3.2: 49.
Alexander, Michelle. 2012. The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of
Colorblindness, revised edition. New York: The New Press.
Austin, J.L. 1962. How to Do Things with Words. Oxford, UK: Clarendon.
Bernstein, Robin. 2011. Racial Innocence: Performing American Childhood from
Slavery to Civil Rights. New York: New York University Press.
Bhabha, Homi. 1979. The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1994) and
Edward Said, Orientalism, 25th Anniversary ed. New York: Vintage Books.
Bourdieu, Pierre. 1990. The Logic of Practice, trans. Richard Nice. Stanford:
Stanford University Press.
Butler, Judith. 1993. Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of ‘Sex’. New
York: Routledge.
1 INTRODUCTION: EXORCISING A FORGOTTEN PHYSICAL CULTURE 17
In the first theme group there are three distinct themes. The first is
announced at once (D minor) by the first violin, a theme not unlike
one of Richard Strauss’. In the fourteenth measure the second
theme is brought in by the second violin (D-flat major). This is taken
up by the first violin, the whole period being eight measures long.
The third theme (etwas langsamer) is a combination of a melodic
formula (first and second violins) and characteristic harmonies (viola
and cello). There follow many pages of polyphonic working with this
threefold material. The first theme of the group may be said to
predominate. It appears in varied shape throughout the separate
parts.
After this adagio comes the second theme group, just as the second
theme in the restatement section of the classical sonata form.
Hence we have one huge movement in sonata form, our old familiar
exposition, with its first and second themes and its transitional
passages; its development—in which a scherzo is incorporated; its
restatement of both themes—with a new transitional passage
between them in the shape of an adagio—and its broad, completing
coda. The mind of a man has conceived it; and the mind of man can
comprehend it.
The first movement begins and ends in F-sharp minor, and there are
two distinct themes: the opening theme (first violin), and, after a
broad ritard, a second theme (first violin, sehr ausdrucksvoll). The
time is measured yet often free. After a development of the two
themes there is a fermata, and then a restatement of them; so that
on the whole the movement is not difficult to follow, though the
second half is complex and long.
Both the third and the fourth movements bring in a soprano voice.
The words are from Stephan George;[81] the titles: Litanei and
Entrückung. Here Schönberg has gone beyond the string quartet,
and here properly we may leave him. The instruments are busy
during the Litanei with motives from the first and second movements.
The voice is independent of them. There is enormous dramatic force
in the climax at the words:
[76] See Max Kalbeck: Johannes Brahms, Vol. II, part 2, p. 442.
[77] Kalbeck has called attention to the resemblance between these two motives
and the Erda-motif and the Walhalla-motif in Das Rheingold and Die Walküre.
I
The trios of the seventeenth century—the Sonate a tre—were written
for three concertizing instruments and a figured bass, really four
parts in all. During the eighteenth century the word trio took on quite
a different significance and was applied to compositions written for
the harpsichord with one other solo instrument, violin, oboe, or flute,
like the violin sonatas of Bach. Vaguely at the time of the young
Haydn, clearly when Mozart entered the world of music, the word
took on the meaning that it still holds today: a composition written for
three instruments, pianoforte, violin and cello. If another combination
of instruments is meant, then those instruments are usually
specifically designated in the title of the work.
The Haydn Trios are of little importance. There are thirty-five in all,
and it has been said that the majority were written for a patron who
played the cello a very little. Hence one finds the cello part in this
combination to be merely a duplication of the bass part of the
pianoforte, having little independent movement of its own; and the
works are rather sonatas with violin than trios.
Mozart, on the other hand, treated the combination with a fine sense
of the effects that could be made with it. He gave to each of the three
instruments a free line of its own, and made fine use of the
possibilities of tonal contrast and color. There are eight trios in all.
They are not representative of Mozart’s best, though there is not one
in which Mozart’s inimitable grace is lacking; but in spite of their
slenderness they may be considered the first pianoforte trios in the
modern sense, and to have set the model for subsequent works in
that form.
These are not very numerous, if one excludes from them a great
number of fantasias or popular operas such as were written by
Woelfl, Nicholas Lomi and other composers of the virtuoso type. Nor
does the form show much development except that which
accompanies an improvement in pianofortes and a progress in
technical skill on all these instruments. Only a few trios stand out
conspicuously as having high musical worth, or as having been a
worthy expression of genius.
The two trios of Schubert, opus 99, in B-flat, and opus 100 in E-flat,
are full of inspiration, and Schubert’s fancy is so delicate that on the
whole he may be said to have succeeded with the combination.
Certainly the little canon which forms the Scherzo in the second trio
is a masterpiece of style. Also the announcement of the chief theme
in the first trio and the way in which it is developed cannot be found
fault with; nor is the charming D-flat section in the finale less perfect.
But in the scherzo there are rather weak accompaniments scored for
the strings in the orchestral manner of double stops, and there are
similar passages at the beginning of the transition to the second
theme in the first movement of the second trio. These are here
acceptable because of the sheer beauty of the material which is thus
presented; but one cannot deny that this would find even lovelier
expression with a group of three strings. In the Andante con moto
the impropriety of style is more evident; but one will forgive anything
in this inspired movement, which later is to stand like a shadow
behind the Marcia in Schumann’s great pianoforte quintet.
In the first movement of the C major trio the violin and cello seem
like two noble and equal voices throughout. Their course is bold and
free. They are never overshadowed by the pianoforte. It seems to be
largely Brahms’ treatment of the cello that makes these works so
perfectly satisfying in sound and style. He showed always a
fondness for deep low notes. Sometimes his music suffers from it.
But here, in these trios, it gains immensely. For, as we have said,
one of the greatest difficulties of writing in good style for this
combination of instruments is to be met in handling the low notes of
the cello. Brahms seems to have done it almost instinctively. From
the beginning of the first movement, with its full-throated octaves, to
the very end of the whole, the cello never for one measure fails to
equal the violin in effectiveness. Very often they are made to play
together in octaves, and in places, as in the course of the second
theme, they hold long notes two octaves apart, defining the sonority
so to speak, within the limits of which the piano moves alone, filling
the wide space with richest sound. Again, at the beginning of the
Andante con moto violin and cello are two octaves apart. He
combines them in bold chords which challenge the pianoforte, assert
their own independence, as here, not long before the middle section
of this andante, or at the beginning of the trio in C minor, opus 101.
He allows one fully to support the other without the pianoforte, as in
the Andante Grazioso of the C minor. All through these truly
magnificent works one is struck by the comradeship and equality of
the two strings, and this, together with the way the pianoforte is
adapted to them, leads us to say that there are no trios so perfect in
style as these two of Brahms. It might even be added that it would be
hard to match them in nobility of content.
Dvořák’s trios are worthy of study. Of the three—in G minor, opus 26,
in F minor, opus 65, and the Dumky, opus 90—the last two are the
most interesting, and also the most Bohemian in character. The
treatment of the pianoforte is brilliant. At times the cello is used a
little unworthily, that is to say, merely to accentuate low notes or to
add a sort of barbaric strumming; yet on the whole Dvořák’s
treatment of the two strings is not very unlike that of Brahms. There
is a great deal of octave playing between them, notably at the very
beginning of opus 65, in the second section of the allegretto, and
now and then in the various sections of the Dumky. The cello is
given long and impassioned solos, or takes a full part with the violin
in dialogues. On the whole Dvořák makes more use of the upper
registers; but again, in the manner of Brahms, he knows how to use
the low without concealing it beneath the heavier tone of the piano.
The whole section, vivace non troppo, which follows the first poco
adagio, is excellently scored for the three instruments. Notice how at
first the cello holds a low C-sharp, supporting the light melody of the
violin and the light staccato accompaniment of the piano; how as the
music grows more furious the cello adds a G-sharp above its C-
sharp. When at last the piano breaks into the melody, violin and cello
take equal parts in the series of sharp, detached chords which
accent its rhythm. Again the melody is given to the violin, an octave
higher than at first, and the cello gives an accompaniment of single
notes and chords, while between the two the piano plays the
whirlwind. After all this subsides, the cello rises up from the deep in a
broad solo cadenza. It must be granted that the musical value of the
notes allotted to the cello in this section is not high; but the point is
the admirable spacing of the three instruments which allows each to
display a peculiar sonority and all to join in a rich and exceedingly
animated and varied whole. Elsewhere in these trios there is a fine
polyphonic style. Much of the vitality of the music comes from the
vivid nature of the national rhythms and melodies out of which it is
constructed. These trios, then, are hardly comparable to the classic
trios of Brahms. Yet they seem to be the most effective and the most
successful trios that have been written since Beethoven, with the
exception only of Brahms’ two and Tschaikowsky’s one.
The French composers have not given much attention to the trio.
César Franck’s first works were three short trios, but they are without
conspicuous merit. Two trios by Lalo are pleasingly scored. Among
the trios of Saint-Saëns that in E-flat major, opus 18, is the most
effective. The pianoforte part is especially brilliant, yet does not
throw the combination out of adjustment.
II
There are more brilliant and more distinguished works for the
combination of pianoforte, violin, viola, and cello. Inasmuch as one of
the difficulties in writing trios is the wide spaces between the natural
registers of cello and violin, and this is here filled up by the viola, the
pianoforte quartets of the last fifty years maintain a higher standard
than the trios. Moreover the general effect is more satisfactory,
because the three strings have naturally an independent and
complete life, and are more equal to withstanding the onslaughts of
the pianist.
The Schumann piano quintet, opus 44, is even more famous than
the quartet. Here the problem is still simpler, for the piano quintet is
but a combination of two independent groups: the full string quartet
and the pianoforte. The piano must still be handled with care else it
will overpower its companions; but the complete resources of the
four strings make possible contrasts between them and the piano,
measures in which the piano may be quite silent, and others in which
it less fills up the harmony than adds its own color to the sonority.
The first broad section of the development in the first movement
becomes, therefore, almost a pianoforte concerto; whereas other
sections like the second trio in the scherzo are in the nature of a
concerto for string quartet and orchestra. In the beginning of the last
movement the strings are treated too much in an orchestral manner.
There is no trace of the fineness of the quartet which should never
quite disappear in this big combination. Later on the strings,
however, are handled with the greatest delicacy, as in the fugal parts
before the last fugue. Here, where the theme of the first movement
comes back into the music with splendor, there is perfection of style.
But whatever may be the technical merits or faults of this quintet as a
quintet, as music it is inspired from beginning to end.
From the time of Schumann, who may be said to have left the model
and set the standard for all subsequent pianoforte quartets and
quintets, our history will find not more than twenty such works upon
which to touch with enthusiasm. Among the quartets those of
Brahms and Dvořák, and that in C-minor, opus 15, by Gabriel Fauré
stand out conspicuously.
The third Brahms’ quartet is less pleasing. The first movement was
written as early as 1855. It is morbid and gloomy in character and
indeed Brahms is said to have suggested to Hermann Deiters that
he should imagine, while listening to it, a young man about to kill
himself for lack of occupation. Of the same movement Dr. Billroth,
one of Brahms’ most intimate friends, said that it was an illustration
in music of Goethe’s Werther on his death bed, in his now famous
buff and blue. The cello solo in the slow movement and the scherzo
in general are more loveable.
The two pianoforte quartets by Dvořák, opus 23, in D, and opus 87,
in E-flat, have the same perfection of style and animation of manner
that we have already noticed in the trios. The strings are handled
with discriminating touch. There is something clear and transparent
in the style, for all the impetuous, highly rhythmical, and impassioned
material. And the effectiveness of the pianoforte in the combination
is truly astonishing, considering how relatively simple it all is. In the
first movement of the quartet in D, for example, the duet that is half
canon between the cello and piano in the statement of the second
theme, and shortly after, following a two measure trill, the almost
Mozartian figuration given to the pianoforte while the strings develop
the possibilities within this second theme; the magical scoring at the
return of the first theme, which here, as at the beginning, is given in
the middle registers of the cello, being thus made both melody and
rich bass beneath the almost laughably simple figures for the
pianoforte; these alone in one movement are instances of a wholly
delightful style.
In the second quartet the style is more powerful but not the less
clear. There is a splendid incisiveness in the first complete statement
of the first theme, following the impetuous run of the pianoforte. Here
are violin and viola in unison, the cello spreading richness through
the bass with its wide swinging figures, and the piano adding a
brilliance by means of commonplaces which are here delightful.
Later on there is a long passage scored in a favorite way of
Dvořák’s. The cello is given the low foundation notes, which are
complemented by the viola, both instruments playing pizzicato. The
violin has a melody which follows the figuration of the pianoforte,
here of the simplest kind, but floating as it were in mid-air over the
foundation tones of the cello. There are many passages in the third
movement, similarly arranged, the pianoforte part being without a
bass of its own, the whole fabric supported by the low notes of the
cello.
The quintet, opus 84, in A major, is not less effectively scored. The
pianoforte part is perhaps a little more brilliant as a whole than in the
quartets, quite properly so because of the added force in the strings.
In the second movement we have another Dumka, with its wild,
passionate changes, and for a scherzo there is a Furiant, another
touch of Bohemia.
Indeed the use of unison and octave passages for the strings is
conspicuous in every movement, as if only by so combining the
quartet could maintain its own against the pianoforte. Notice this in
the great E minor passage of the development section in the first
movement.[82] Here is music of greatest and stormiest force. Franck
has scored the accompaniment in the heaviest registers of the
pianoforte, and is yet able to bring out his theme clearly above and
his desired thunder by joining all the instruments in the statement of
it. Notice the unisons, too, in the climax before the return of the chief
motive, how the strings make themselves heard, not only above a
brilliant accompaniment, but actually against another theme, given
with all the force of the piano. Only in the statement of the second
theme in the third section of the movement does the piano join with
the strings. Immediately after these follows another tremendous
passage in which only by joining together can the strings rise above
the thunderous accompaniment of the piano.