Punchinello, Volume 2, No. 30, October 22, 1870

In Short

Punchinello is a satirical weekly magazine from 1870 that functions as a comedic mirror to the anxieties and absurdities of its era. Through a mix of serialized fiction, theatrical reviews, and lampooning of current events, it targets everything from political corruption to the burgeoning women's rights movement. It survives as a vital primary source, capturing the specific, often caustic, tone of post-Civil War American humor. It is a dense, eclectic collage of prose that reflects both the intellectual preoccupations and the rampant commercialism of its time.

The Story

The narrative arc of this issue is not a single linear tale, but a collection of thematic movements that capture the volatile atmosphere of late 1870. The issue opens with a parody of Charles Dickens’s The Mystery of Edwin Drood, written by Orpheus C. Kerr. This segment follows Mr. Bumstead, a bumbling, accordion-playing character who finds himself in a "clove-trance," struggling to remember the fate of his nephew and his misplaced umbrella. This absurd investigation establishes the magazine’s penchant for twisting high-brow literary trends into low-brow slapstick.

From the world of parody, the magazine shifts to the theater. A critic, writing under the moniker "Matador," provides an exhaustive, tongue-in-cheek account of seeing the German actress Seebach perform Faust at the Fourteenth Street Theatre. The "story" here is one of endurance; the author describes the grueling, multi-hour experience of watching German tragedy, contrasting the high-minded solemnity of the German audience with the confusion of Americans who are essentially there for the cultural spectacle. This segment serves as a critique of the era’s pretension toward European "high culture."

The middle sections pivot to the political landscape, where the "story" becomes one of partisan mockery. The editors engage in a meta-commentary on the magazine’s own political alignment, joking about joining the "Right Party" and mocking the mainstream press, such as The World and The Star. This is followed by a surreal, satirical account of Hiram Green attending a woman’s suffrage convention in Boston. The narrative presents the convention as a chaotic, belligerent affair where speakers are "choked off" by fashion magazines, framing the movement through the lens of late-19th-century misogyny and ridicule.

The issue concludes with a series of vignettes, including an anecdote about a traveler failing to secure a countersign in wartime France, and a reflection on the fleeting nature of war news. The final "act" is the overwhelming presence of the advertisements, which frame the editorial content. They tell a story of their own: a society obsessed with patent binders, steel pens, and expensive carpets from A. T. Stewart & Co. The overarching experience is one of frantic, shifting focus—a fast-paced, fragmented portrait of a nation transitioning from the trauma of the Civil War into the consumer-driven, politically skeptical world of the 1870s.

How It Unfolds

The literary intrusion The issue begins with a bizarre, character-driven parody of Edwin Drood featuring an accordion-playing organist. This segment immediately sets a tone of absurdity and irreverence toward contemporary literature.

The theatrical ordeal The reader is then led through a lengthy, hyperbolic account of a German stage production. The focus here is on the clash between genuine artistic appreciation and the performative exhaustion of the audience.

The political farce The narrative shifts to a satirical report from a women's convention in Boston. This beat uses broad caricature to dismiss the era's social reform movements as disorganized and silly.

The global correspondent A brief, humorous travelogue follows, detailing the frustrations of an American trying to navigate wartime France. This segment highlights the disconnect between the lofty ideals of European conflict and the mundane difficulties of individual travel.

The commercial climax The final beat of the issue is the sheer volume of advertising copy. These advertisements provide a stark conclusion to the editorial content, grounding the humor in the harsh, material realities of New York commerce.

The People

Mr. Bumstead serves as the central figure of the opening parody. He is a man defined by his own incoherence, often found in a "clove-trance" that renders him incapable of basic memory or logic. His foil is Tracey Clews, an aspiring detective-novelist who represents the era’s obsession with sensationalized crime fiction. Together, they illustrate the magazine’s disdain for both the "mysteries" of the time and the people who tried to solve them.

The reviewer "Matador" acts as the editorial voice regarding culture. He is a cynical, world-weary observer who uses wit to navigate the pretension of the New York theater scene. He wants to appreciate art but is constantly thwarted by the reality of long, difficult performances and the absurdity of the crowds he sits among.

Hiram Green serves as the primary mouthpiece for the magazine’s political and social commentary. A crude, observant, and intentionally rustic character, he exists to mock the reformers and agitators of the day. He represents a reactionary perspective, aiming his ridicule at the women’s suffrage movement and the political elite. He does not undergo growth; rather, he remains a static, mocking observer, consistently looking to belittle the "strong-minded" individuals he encounters. These figures collectively represent a culture that is quick to dismiss anything it finds challenging or "foreign" through a filter of relentless sarcasm.

In Its Own Voice

"Thrown into Rembrandtish relief by the light of a garish kerosene lamp upon the table: with one discouraged lock of hair hanging over his nose, and straw hat pushed so far back from his phrenological brow that its vast rim had the fine artistic effect of a huge saintly nimbus: Mr. BUMSTEAD sat gynmastically crosswise in an easy-chair."

This description introduces the chaotic, disheveled state of Mr. Bumstead at the beginning of the parody.

"The Masserchewsetts Woman's Suffering Society pulled off their cote and vest and struck a beligerent attitood, at Bosting, a few days since."

This sentence sets the tone for the magazine's satirical take on the women's rights movement.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the attempt to find amusement in a rapidly modernizing, post-war world that feels increasingly fragmented and absurd. The work interrogates the authenticity of "culture"—whether literary, political, or social—and finds most of it wanting. The editors argue that behind the curtain of grand political debates and high-brow art lies only commercialism and human incompetence. It is an exploration of cynicism as a survival strategy, suggesting that because the world is inherently chaotic and messy, the only logical response is to laugh at the confusion of the "Bumsteads" and "Clewses" who populate it.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of American humor will find this a fascinating, if sometimes difficult, text. It feels like an ancestor to modern satirical news outlets, though the humor is grounded in a specific vocabulary and set of cultural references—such as the "clove-trance" or the dialect-heavy depictions of suffrage activists—that may prove challenging to contemporary readers. It is not an easy read; the prose is dense with Victorian flourishes, and the attitudes toward women and immigrants are reflective of the era’s prejudices. However, those who look past the period-specific barriers will find a voice that is consistently sharp, deeply skeptical, and surprisingly modern in its refusal to take the world seriously. You will be struck by the juxtaposition of high-flown literary parody and the raw, unvarnished commercialism of the era’s advertising. It leaves you with a feeling of having peered into the cluttered, frantic mind of 1870 New York, where every opinion was a joke and every politician a target for ridicule. It is a record of a society that was desperately trying to define its identity through the lens of a mocking, pointed wit.