His time is valuable, and he is not willing to waste it; therefore access to him is difficult. Many persons endeavor to see him merely to gratify their impertinent curiosity, and others wish to "interview" him for purposes which simply consume his time. To protect himself, he has been compelled to resort to the following expedient: A gentleman is kept on guard near the main door of the store, whose duty it is to inquire the business of visitors. If the visitor replies that his business is private, he is told that Mr. Stewart has no private business. If he states his business to the satisfaction of the "sentinel," he is allowed to go up stairs, where he is met by the confidential agent of the great merchant, to whom he must repeat the object of his visit. If this gentleman is satisfied, or cannot get rid of the visitor, he enters the private office of his employer, and lays the case before him. If the business of the visitor is urgent, he is admitted, otherwise an interview is denied him. If admitted, the interview is brief and to the point.
There is no time lost. Matters are dispatched with a method and prompt.i.tude which astonish strangers. If the visitor attempts to draw the merchant into a conversation, or indulges in complimentary phrases, after his business is arranged, Mr. Stewart"s manner instantly becomes cold and repelling, and troublesome persons are not unfrequently given a hint to leave the room. This is his working time, and he cannot afford to waste it. In social life, he is said to be a cultivated and agreeable man.
Mr. Stewart resides in a handsome brown stone mansion at the northeast corner of Fifth avenue and Thirty-fourth street. Immediately across the avenue, he has erected a residence of white marble, the handsomest and costliest dwelling in the Union, and one of the handsomest private residences in the world. It is said to have cost upwards of two millions of dollars. "The marble work, which forms the most distinguishing characteristic of this palatial abode, receives its entire shape and finish in the bas.e.m.e.nt and first floor of the building. The fluted columns (purely Corinthian, and with capitals elaborately and delicately carved), which are the most striking feature of the main hall, are alone worth between three thousand five hundred and four thousand dollars each.
On the right of this n.o.ble pa.s.sage, as you proceed north from the side entrance, are, the reception and drawing rooms, and the breakfast and dining rooms, all with marble finish, and with open doors, affording s.p.a.ce for as splendid a promenade or ball as could be furnished probably by any private residence in Europe. To the left of the grand hall are the marble staircase and the picture-gallery--the latter about seventy-two by thirty-six feet, lofty and elegant, and singularly well designed. The sleeping apartments above are executed upon a scale equally luxurious and regardless of expense. Externally, the building must ever remain a monument of the splendor which, as far as opulence is concerned, places some of our merchants on a footing almost with royalty itself, and a glance at the interior will be a privilege eagerly sought by the visiting stranger."
Mr. Stewart is not generally regarded as a liberal man in the metropolis, probably because he refuses to give indiscriminately to those who ask his a.s.sistance. Yet he has made munificent donations to objects which have enlisted his sympathy, and has on hand now several schemes for bettering the condition of the working cla.s.ses, which will continue to exert a beneficent influence upon them long after he has pa.s.sed away. His friends--and he has many--speak of him as a very kind and liberal man, and seem much attached to him.
Mr. Stewart is now seventy years old, but looks twenty years younger. He is of the medium height, has light brown hair and beard, which are closely trimmed. His features are sharp, well cut, his eye bright, and his general expression calm, thoughtful, and self-reliant. His manner is courteous to all, but reserved and cold except to his intimate friends.
He dresses quietly in the style of the day, his habits are simple, and he shuns publicity.
x.x.xV. PLACES OF AMUs.e.m.e.nT.
I. THE THEATRES.
There are sixteen theatres in New York usually in full operation. Taking them in their order of location from south to north, they are the Stadt, the Bowery, Niblo"s, Theatre Comique, the Olympic, Lina Edwin"s, the Globe, Wallack"s, Union Square, the Academy of Music, the Fourteenth Street, Booth"s, the Grand Opera House, the Fifth Avenue, the St. James, and Wood"s.
They are open throughout the fall and winter season, are well patronized, and with one or two exceptions are successful in a pecuniary sense.
There are usually from 50,000 to 100,000 strangers in the city, and the majority of these find the evenings dull without some amus.e.m.e.nt to enliven them. Many of them are persons who come for pleasure, and who regard the theatres as one of the most enjoyable of all the sights of the city; but a very large portion are merchants, who are wearied with buying stock, and who really need some pleasant relaxation after the fatigues of the day. To these must be added a large cla.s.s of citizens who are fond of the drama, and who patronize the theatres liberally. All these, it is stated, expend upon the various amus.e.m.e.nts of the place about $30,000 per night; and of this sum the larger part goes into the treasury of the theatres. The sum annually expended on amus.e.m.e.nts is said to be from $7,000,000 to $8,000,000.
The New York theatres richly deserve the liberal patronage they enjoy.
In no other city are such establishments as elegant and commodious, and nowhere else in America are the companies as proficient in their art, or the plays as admirably put upon the stage.
[Picture: BOOTH"S THEATRE.]
The most beautiful theatre in the city is _Booth"s_, at the southeast corner of the Sixth avenue and Twenty-third street. It was begun in the summer of 1867, and opened to the public in January, 1869. It is in the Renaissance style of architecture, and stands seventy feet high from the sidewalk to the main cornice, crowning which is a Mansard roof of twenty-four feet. "The theatre proper fronts one hundred and forty-nine feet on Twenty-third street, and is divided into three parts, so combined as to form an almost perfect whole, with arched entrances at either extremity on the side, for the admission of the public, and on the other for another entrance, and the use of actors and those employed in the house. There are three doors on the frontage, devised for securing the most rapid egress of a crowded audience in case of fire, and, in connection with other facilities, said to permit the building to be vacated in five minutes. On either side of these main entrances are broad and lofty windows; and above them, forming a part of the second story, are niches for statues surrounded by coupled columns resting on finely sculptured pedestals. The central or main niche is flanked on either side by quaintly contrived blank windows; and between the columns, at the depth of the recesses, are simple pilasters sustaining the elliptic arches, which serve to top and span the niches, the latter to be occupied by statues of the great creators and interpreters of the drama in every age and country. The finest Concord granite, from the best quarries in New Hampshire, is the material used in the entire facade, as well as in the Sixth avenue side. The glittering granite ma.s.s, exquisitely poised, adorned with rich and appropriate carving, statuary, columns, pilasters, and arches, and capped by the springing French roof, fringed with its shapely bal.u.s.trades, offers an imposing and majestic aspect, and forms one of the architectural jewels of the city."
In its internal arrangements the theatre is in keeping with its external magnificence. Entering through a sumptuous vestibule, the visitor pa.s.ses into the magnificent auditorium, which is, in itself, a rare specimen of decorative art. The seats are admirably arranged, each one commanding a view of the stage. They are luxuriously upholstered, and harmonize with the rich carpets which cover the floor. Three elegant light galleries rise above the parquet. The walls and ceiling are exquisitely frescoed, and ornamented with bas reliefs in plaster. The proscenium is beautifully carved and frescoed, and is adorned with busts of the elder Booth and the proprietor of the theatre; and in the sides before the curtain are arranged six sumptuous private boxes. The curtain is an exquisite landscape. The decoration of the house is not done in the rough scenic style so common in the theatres of the country, but is the perfection of frescoe painting, and will bear the closest inspection. It is impossible, even with a strong gla.s.s, to distinguish between some of the frescoes and the bas reliefs. The stage is very large, and rises gradually from the footlights to the rear. The orchestra pen is sunk below the level of the stage, so that the heads of the musicians do not interfere with the view of the audience. The dressing of the stage is novel. The side scenes, or wings, instead of being placed at right angles to the audience, as in most theatres, are so arranged that the scene appears to extend to the right and left as well as to the rear. In this way the spectator is saved the annoyance of often looking through the wings, a defect which in most theatres completely dispels the illusion of the play. The scenery here is not set by hand, but is moved by machinery, by means of immense hydraulic rams beneath the stage, and the changes are made with such regularity and precision that they have very much the effect of "dissolving views." The scenes themselves are the work of gifted and highly educated artists, and never degenerate into the rough daubs with which most playgoers are familiar. The building is fireproof, and is warmed and ventilated by machinery. The great central chandelier and the jets around the cornice of the auditorium are lighted by electricity.
The plays presented here are superbly put on the stage. The scenery is strictly accurate when meant to represent some historic locality, and is the finest to be found in America. Perhaps the grandest stage picture ever given to an audience was the graveyard scene in "Hamlet," which drama, in the winter of 1869-70, "held the boards" for over one hundred nights. The dresses, the equipments, and general "make up" of the actors are in keeping with the scenery. Even the minutest detail is carefully attended to. Nothing is so unimportant as to be overlooked in this establishment.
With a few exceptions, the company is unworthy of the place and the fame of the proprietor. Mr. Booth, himself, is the great attraction. It is his custom to open the season with engagements of other distinguished "stars," and to follow them himself about the beginning of the winter, and to continue his performances until the spring, when he again gives way to others. When he is performing it is impossible to procure a seat after the rising of the curtain.
[Picture: GRAND OPERA HOUSE.]
The Grand Opera House is next to Booth"s in beauty. It is much larger than that theatre. But for its unfortunate location, nearly a mile from Broadway, it would be one of the most successful establishments in the city. The theatre is divided into two buildings, one fronting on the Eighth avenue and Twenty-third street, and containing the offices and entrances, and the theatre proper, which is in the rear of the former.
The former building is a magnificent structure of white marble, in the Italian style of architecture. It fronts 113 feet on Eighth avenue, and 98 feet on Twenty-third street. It is adorned with statuary and carvings, and is far too handsome for the part of the city in which it is located. The greater portion of this building is taken up with the offices of the Erie Railway Company.
The theatre proper is connected with the front building by means of a superb vestibule, into which open the doors of the auditorium. It is one of the most beautiful halls in America, and one of the pleasantest lounging places. The auditorium is finished in light blue, white, and gold, and when lighted up is magnificent. Every appointment and decoration is tasteful and beautiful, and there are many persons who consider it the finest interior in America. The stage is large and convenient, and the scenery good. The performances are pa.s.sable.
The house was built by Mr. Samuel N. Pike for an Opera House. It was not successful, and was sold by him to the late Colonel James Fisk, Jr., for $1,000,000, a slight advance upon its cost.
Wallack"s Theatre, at the northeast corner of Broadway and Thirteenth street, is, _par eminence_, _the theatre_ of New York. Its audiences are more exclusively composed of citizens than those of any other house. New Yorkers are proud of it, and on Thursday evenings, or the first night of some new play, the audience will consist almost entirely of city people.
The theatre itself is very plain, and there are many things about it that might be bettered. In other respects it is unqualifiedly the best theatre in which the English language is spoken. It is devoted almost entirely to comedy, and the plays presented on its stage are always of a high character. The Star system is not adopted here, but the company consists of the best and most carefully trained actors and actresses to be found here or in England. It is emphatically a company of gentlemen and ladies. At present it includes Lester Wallack, the proprietor, John Brougham, Charles Mathews, John Gilbert, Charles Fisher, and J. H.
Stoddart, and Mrs. Jennings, Miss Plessy Mordaunt, Miss Effie Germon, and Mrs. John Sefton. Mr. Wallack is very proud of his theatre, and with good reason. He has made it the best in the country, and a model for the best establishments in other cities. The greatest care is taken in the production of plays, and every detail is presented to the audience with a degree of perfection which other managers vainly strive to attain. The scenery is exquisite and natural, the dresses are perfect--the toilettes of the ladies being famed for their elegance, and the acting is true to nature. There is no ranting, no straining for effect here. The members of the company talk and act like men and women of the world, and faithfully "hold the mirror up to nature." It is a common saying in New York that even a mean play will be a success at Wallack"s. It will be so well put on the stage, and so perfectly performed by the company, that the most critical audience will be disarmed.
The Fifth Avenue Theatre, on Twenty-fourth street, in the rear of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, is next to Wallack"s in popular favor. It is very much such an establishment in the character and excellence of its performances. It possesses a first-cla.s.s company of ladies and gentlemen, some of whom have achieved national reputations, and all of whom are worthy of the highest praise. The theatre itself is a handsome marble edifice, not very large, but of very attractive appearance. The interior is bright and cheerful. The ceiling is finely frescoed, the walls are panelled with large plate-gla.s.s mirrors, and the general effect is very brilliant. The building was owned by the late Col. James Fisk, Jr. The manager is Mr. Augustin Daly, a well-known writer of successful plays. To his literary gifts Mr. Daly adds a high order of managerial talent, and it is to his efforts exclusively that the very marked success of the theatre is due.
The Academy of Music is, as its name indicates, the Opera House of New York. It is a gloomy-looking structure without, but possesses a magnificent auditorium, fitted up in the style of the European Opera Houses. Its decorations are in crimson and gold, and are magnificent and tasteful. It is the largest theatre in the city, and one of the largest in the world. It is opened occasionally during the winter for operatic performances. The audiences to be seen here are always in full dress, and the toilettes of the ladies, to say nothing of the beauty of many of the fair ones, offer a great attraction to sight-seers.
Niblo"s Theatre, or as it is generally called, "Niblo"s Garden," is situated in the rear of the Metropolitan Hotel, with an entrance on Broadway. It is one of the largest and handsomest theatres in the city, and by far the coolest in warm weather. It is devoted princ.i.p.ally to the spectacular drama. It was here that the famous spectacle of the Black Crook was produced. Its revival is to take place before these pages are in print, and it will probably be continued throughout the remainder of the season.
[Picture: ACADEMY OF MUSIC.]
The Olympic is a large, old-fashioned theatre, on Broadway, between Houston and Bleecker streets. It is devoted to pantomime, and is famous as the headquarters of the erratic genius who calls himself Humpty Dumpty.
The Old Bowery Theatre, situated on the thoroughfare from which it takes its name, below Ca.n.a.l street, is the only old theatre left standing in the city. Three theatres have preceded it on this site, and all have been destroyed by fire. Within the last few years, the interior of the present theatre has been greatly modernized. The plays presented here are of a character peculiarly suited to that order of genius which despises Shakspeare, and hopes to be one day capable of appreciating the Black Crook. "Blood and thunder dramas," they are called in the city.
The t.i.tles are stunning--the plays themselves even more so. A writer in one of the current publications of the day gives the following truthful picture of a "Sat.u.r.day night at the Bowery:"
[Picture: THE OLD BOWERY THEATRE.]
"I had not loitered long at the entrance after the gas blazed up, when from up the street, and from down the street, and from across the street, there came little squads of dirty, ragged urchins--the true gamin of New York. These at once made a gymnasium of the stone steps--stood on their heads upon the pavements or climbed, like locusts, the neighboring lamp-posts; itching for mischief; poking fun furiously; they were the merriest gang of young dare-devils I have seen in a long day. It was not long before they were recruited by a fresh lot of young "sardines" from somewhere else--then they went in for more monkey-shines until the door should be unbarred. They seemed to know each other very well, as if they were some young club of genial spirits that had been organized outside of the barriers of society for a long while. What funny habiliments they sported. It had never been my experience to see old clothes thrown upon young limbs so grotesquely. The coat that would have been a fit for a corpulent youth nearly buried a skinny form the height of your cane.
"And on the other hand, "young dropsy"s" legs and arms were like links of dried "bolonas" in the garments which misfortune"s raffle had drawn for him. Hats without rims--hats of fur, dreadfully plucked, with free ventilation for the scalp--caps with big tips like little porches of leather--caps without tips, or, if a tip still clung to it, it was by a single thread and dangled on the wearer"s cheek like the husk of a banana. The majority seemed to have a weakness for the costumes of the army and the navy. Where a domestic tailor had clipped the skirts of a long blue military coat he had spared the two b.u.t.tons of the waist-band, and they rested on the bare heels like a set of veritable spurs. Shoes and boots (and remember it"s a December night) are rather scarce--and those by which these savoyards could have sworn by grinned fearfully with sets of naked toes. One "young sport," he had seen scarcely ten such winters, rejoiced in a pair of odd-mated rubber over-shoes, about the dimensions of snow-shoes. They saluted him as "Gums." A youngster, with a childish face and clear blue eyes, now shuffled upon the scene.
""O Lordy, here"s Horace, jist see his get up." A shout of laughter went up, and Horace was swallowed in the ragged mob.
""Horace" sported a big army cap like a huge blue extinguisher. He wrapped his wiry form in a cut-down, long-napped white beaver coat, the lapels of which were a foot square, and shingled his ankles as if he stood between a couple of placards. I had seen the latest caricature on the philosopher of the _Tribune_, but this second edition of H. G.
swamped it. I knew that that young rogue had counted upon the effect of his white coat, and he enjoyed his christening with a gleeful face and a sparkle in his blue eyes. O, for the pencil of a Beard or a Bellew, to portray those saucy pug-noses, those dirty and begrimed faces! Faces with bars of blacking, like the shadows of small gridirons--faces with woful bruised peepers--faces with fun-flashing eyes--faces of striplings, yet so old and haggard--faces full of evil and deceit.
"Every mother"s son of them had his fists anch.o.r.ed in his breeches pockets, and swaggered about, nudging each other"s ribs with their sharp little elbows. They were not many minutes together before a battle took place. Some one had tripped "Gums," and one of his old shoes flew into the air. I think he of the white coat was the rascal, but being dubbed a philosopher, he did his best to look very wise, but a slap on the side of the ridge of his white collar upset his dignity, and "Horace" "went in,"
and his bony fists rattled away on the close-shaven pate of "Gums."
"The doors are now unbarred, and this ragged "pent up little Utica" rends itself, but not without much more scratching and much swearing. O, the cold-blooded oaths that rang from those young lips! As the pa.s.sage to the pit is by a sort of cellar door, I lost sight of the young scamps as the last one pitched down its gloomy pa.s.sage.
"In the human stream--in a whirlpool of fellow-beings--nudging their way to the boxes and the upper tiers, I now found myself. It was a terrible struggle; females screaming, were eddied around and around until their very faces were in a wire cage of their own "skeletons."
""Look out for pickpockets," shouted a Metropolitan. Every body then tried to b.u.t.ton his coat over his breast, and every body gave it up as a bad job. In at last, but with the heat of that exertion--the smell of the hot gas--the fetid breath of two thousand souls, not particular, many, as to the quality of their gin--what a sweltering bath follows!
The usher sees a ticket clutched before him, and a breathless individual saying wildly, "Where?" He points to a distant part of the house, and the way to it is through a sea of humanity. A sort of a Dead Sea, for one can walk on it easier than he can dive through it. I shall never know how I got there at last; all I remember now are the low curses, the angry growls and a road over corns and bunions.
"The prompter"s bell tingles and then tingles again. The bearded Germans of the orchestra hush their music, and the big field of green baize shoots to the cob-web arch.
"Now is the time to scan the scene--that teeming house--that instant when all faces are turned eagerly to the foot-lights, waiting breathlessly the first sound of the actor"s voice. The restlessness of that tossing sea of humanity is at a dead calm now. Every nook and cranny is occupied--none too young--none too old to be there at the rise of the curtain. The suckling infant "mewling and puking in its mother"s arms."
The youngster rubbing his sleepy eyes. The timid Miss, half frightened with the great mob and longing for the fairy world to be created. Elder boys and elder sisters. Mothers, fathers, and the wrinkled old grand-sire. Many of these men sit in their shirt-sleeves, sweating in the humid atmosphere. Women are giving suck to fat infants.
Blue-shirted sailors encircle their black-eyed Susans, with brawny arms (they make no "bones" of showing their honest love in this democratic temple of Thespis). Division street milliners, black-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and flashy dressed sit close to their jealous-eyed lovers. Little Jew boys, with glossy ringlets and beady black eyes, with teeth and noses like their fat mammas and avaricious-looking papas, are yawning everywhere. Then there is a great crowd of roughs, prentice boys and pale, German tailors--the latter with their legs uncrossed for a relaxation. Emaciated German and Italian barbers, you know them from their dirty linen, their clean-shaven cheeks and their locks redolent with bear"s grease.
"Through this ma.s.s, wandering from pit to gallery, go the red-shirted peanut-venders, and almost every jaw in the vast concern is crushing nut-sh.e.l.ls. You fancy you hear it in the lulls of the play like a low unbroken growl.
"In the boxes sit some very handsome females--rather loudly dressed,--but beauty will beam and flash from any setting.
"Lean over the balcony, and behold in the depths below the famous pit, now crowded by that gang of little outlaws we parted with a short time ago.
"Of old times--of a bygone age--is this inst.i.tution. In no other theatre in the whole town is that choice spot yielded to the unwashed. But this is the "Bowery," and those squally little spectators so busy scratching their close-mown polls, so vigorously pummeling each other, so unmercifully rattaned by despotic ushers--they are its best patrons.
"And are they not, in their light, great critics, too? Don"t they know when to laugh, when to blubber, and when to applaud, and don"t they know when to _hiss_, though! What a _fiat_ is their withering hiss! What poor actor dare brave it? It has gone deep, deep into many a poor player"s heart and crushed him forever.