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COPYRIGHT 2005 Modern Humanities Research Association
1066 and All That, the famous parody history textbook and classic of British humour, was published in 1930. There is an equivalent in Russian humorous literature: a parody history textbook Universal History as Reworked by 'Satirikon', published in 1910-11. These two works display similarities that raise the questions of influence, imitation, or genre. There is no evidence of influence. The aims of this article are therefore to suggest the defining features of such a genre, to describe the context in which the two specimen works appeared, and thus to initiate debate as to whether other cultures have produced comparable examples.
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In 1930 two regular contributors to Punch, W. C. Sellar and R. J. Yeatman, published one of the comic classics of English literature, a parody history textbook 1066 and All That. (1) In the years 1910-11 the Russian satirical weekly Satirikon published a parody history textbook Universal History as Reworked by 'Satirikon'. (2) The British 1066 and All That and the Russian Satirikon reworking of universal history display such remarkable similarities that the question arises of influence or imitation, a possibility that cannot be excluded. Both periodicals were the leading humorous journals of their day in their respective cultures, and Satirikon maintained links with counterparts, such as Simplicissimus in Germany (although there was a rift in the war years 1914-18, when both journals adopted patriotic positions). Satirikon (by then bearing the title Novyi Satirikon) was closed down in 1918, whereupon many of the core contributors emigrated, eventually basing themselves in Paris, Berlin, and Prague. There were thus opportunities for some cross-fertilization of ideas among the practitioners of satirical journalism in Europe. In the absence of any evidence one way or the other, however, the question of influence is unresolvable. What remains is the question of genre. The similarities between these two parody history textbooks, the Russian and the British, certainly suggest the possibility of one. A comparison of the two might suggest the defining features and guiding principles of such a genre, and lead to the further question of whether there are characteristic historical circumstances in which the genre might spontaneously regenerate in different cultures. It would then be interesting to know whether other cultures have produced examples of this genre, and if so, at what point. The aim of the present article is to initiate this debate by attempting to isolate the specifics of the genre and to describe the context in which the two parody history textbooks under examination appeared.
A genre frequently has Graeco-Roman antecedents, which over the millennia in eras of classical education maintain awareness of its possibilities as a form. This is true of parody history. Lucian of Samosata (second century ad) wrote recognizable parodies of Herodotus and Thucydides in his work A True Story. These were, however, historians whom he admired; his goal was entertainment of a cultured audience, who could be expected to delight in tongue-in-cheek imitation of well-known writers. (3) In How to Write History Lucian also included a rogues' gallery of 'bad historians', with witty and malicious illustrations of their faults. (4) This mocking reaction has been attributed to the fact that, like most of his contemporaries, 'he had been over exposed to the teachings of rhetoricians who accorded historians oratorical and poetic licence' (Lucian: A Selection, p. 289). 'Overexposure' is, of course, a classic stimulus to parody in general. It is, in particular, the classic fate of a successful textbook, and in that sense Lucian might be described as reacting against the prototypes of 'textbook' history in his day.
As Lucian's example shows, there are various ways of parodying history and historians. The first specific of the 'parody textbook' genre must therefore be its form: it should be formally organized like a school textbook, and this structure should be adhered to throughout. With regard to content, the essential element is misrepresentation: historical facts should be disarranged into a mischievous jumble, by means of 'a subtle mixture of schoolboy howlers, witty distortions and artful puns'. (5) This description of 1066 and All That fits the Universal History as Reworked by 'Satirikon' so perfectly that it may be purloined as a means of definition. Those witty distortions and artful howlers of course arise from the parodists' thorough knowledge of their subject, and can always be traced back to some source, which is frequently a work of literature. This is high-class foolery, entertainment for an educated readership with a shared background of general knowledge. Entertainment is the primary intention, although the historical context in which the parody is written and received introduces deeper notes, which resonate through the humour to touch upon the most serious questions of the day. Those are the generic principles of form, content, and address that can be derived from a comparison of 1066 and All That with Universal History as Reworked by 'Satirikon'. The following illustrations of how both books express these features will demonstrate the operation of the genre in practice, will reveal parallels in the historical context of the two specimen works, and thus may help with the identification of other possible examples in other cultures.
In the case of 1066 and All That the target of the parody is a composite textbook of British history. As readers we are not directed to any specific original, but we know exactly the sort of thing the parodists had in mind. The social historian Raphael Samuel suggests we look at the 'outlines', 'readers', and 'primers' that were the staple fare of boarding schools in the 1890s. (6) Reader response, however (including that of Samuel himself), would indicate that the element of recognition remains to this day. Sellar and Yeatman play with cliches such as '.re and the sword', or 'ravaging the north', or anecdotal facts that, as Frank Muir puts it, 'somehow penetrated the natural defences of schoolchildren and stayed in their memories'. (7) For, after all, the full title is 1066 and All That: A Memorable History of England, and in the Compulsory Preface, announcing that 'the object of this History is to console the reader', the authors declare (italicizing for consolatory emphasis): 'History is not what you thought. It is what you can remember' (p. v).Memorable History is reduced to '103 Good Things, 5 Bad Kings and 2 genuine dates' (p. xxv). There are only two dates because '2 out of the 4 originally included were eliminated at the last moment, a research done at the Eton and Harrow match having revealed that they are not memorable' (Preface, authors' emphasis again).
One of the features of 'history' that the authors must have found emphatically memorable was the end-of-term examination, or test paper, of which they include five, all with features familiar to anyone who has ever sat a UK written examination in an arts subject. Here we find those peremptory instructions to candidates: 'Do not attempt to answer more than one question at a time' (Test Paper I); 'Candidates should write on at least one side of the paper' (Test Paper III); 'Do not on any account attempt to write on both sides of the paper at once' (Test Paper V). The questions on the papers themselves are all, of course, impossible. They set baffling comparisons: 'Which do you consider were the more alike, Caesar or Pompey, or vice versa?' (Test Paper I). They request discussion of hair-splitting detail: '"The end of the closing of the 2nd stage of the treaty of Bretigny marks the opening of a new phase in the 1st stage of the termination of the Hundred Years War." (Confute.)' (Test Paper III). They suggest the employment of transferable skills: 'Trace by means of graphs, etc., [...] the Bosom of the Pope. (Squared paper, compasses, etc., may be used.)' (Test Paper II). They impose insane word limits: 'Write not more than two lines on the Career of Napoleon Buonaparte, or The Acquisition of our Indian Empire or The Prime Ministers of England' (Test Paper V). There is a total of fifty-seven questions in this vein, some of which venture into the rhetorical and totally guilt-inducing: 'Know ye not Agincourt? (Confess.)' (Test Paper III). In 1970 1066 and All That was described as 'one of the most popular humorous books of the century', (8) and its famously memorable 'Test Papers' are an important factor in this enduring popularity.
From its Preface onwards the book is a continuous series of running jokes,...
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