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 amusement 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 class of citizens who are fond
of the drama, and who patronize the theatres liberally. All these, it is
stated, expend upon the various amusements 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 amusements 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 mass,
exquisitely poised, adorned with rich and appropriate carving, statuary,
columns, pilasters, and arches, and capped by the springing French roof,
fringed with its shapely balustrades, 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 passes
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 glass, 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 passable.
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-class 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-glass 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 principally 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 Canal 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 titles 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 "Saturday 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 buttons 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 anchored 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 passage 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 passage.
"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 button 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 mass, wandering from pit to gallery, go the red-shirted
peanut-venders, and almost every jaw in the vast concern is crushing
nut-shells. 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 institution. 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.
"The royal road to a news-boy's heart is to rant in style.
"Versatile Eddy and vigorous Boniface are the lads, in our day, for the
news-boys' stamps.
"Ranting is out of the female line, but Bowery actresses have a
substitute for it.
"At the proper moment, they draw themselves up in a rigid statue, they
flash their big eyes, they dash about wildly their dishevelled hair, with
out-stretched arms and protruding chins they then shriek out,
V-i-l-l-a-i-n!
"O, Fannie Herring! what a tumult you have stirred up in the roused pit!
No help for it, my dear lady. See, there's 'Horace,' standing on his
seat and swinging his big blue cap in a cloud of other caps--encore!
encore! And the pretty actress bows to the pit, and there is more joy in
her heart from the yells of those skinny little throats than from all the
flowers that ladies and gents from above may pelt her with.
"The bill of fare for an evening's entertainment at the Old Bowery is as
long as your cane, and the last piece takes us far into the night--yet
the big house sits it out, and the little ones sleep it out, and the
tired actor well earns his pay.
"I'll not criticise the acting--a great part of the community thinks it's
beyond the pale of criticism--this peculiarity of tearing things to
pieces, and tossing around 'supes' promiscuously.
"And another thing, those little ungodly imps down there have a great
appreciation of virtue and pathos. They dash their dirty fists into
their peepers at the childish treble of a little Eva--and they cheer, O,
so lustily, when Chastity sets her heavy foot upon the villain's heart
and points her sharp sword at his rascal throat. They are very fickle in
their bestowal of approbation, and their little fires die out or swell
into a hot volcano according to the vehemence of the actor. 'Wake me up
when Kirby dies,' said a veteran little denizen of the pit to his
companions, and he laid down on the bench to snooze.
"'Mind yer eye, Porgie,' said his companion, before Porgie had got a
dozen winks. 'I think ther's somthen goen to bust now.' Porgie's friend
had a keen scent for sensation.
"As I came out, at the end of the performance, I again saw 'Horace.' He
had just rescued a 'butt' from a watery grave in the gutter. 'Jeminy!
don't chaps about town smoke 'em awful short now'days!' was the
observation of the young philosopher.
"The theatre is almost the only amusement that the ragged newsboy has,
apart from those of the senses. The Newsboys' Lodging House, which has
been the agent of so much good among this neglected class of our
population, find the late hours of the theatre a serious obstacle to
their usefulness. It is safe to say that if the managers of the two
Bowery Theatres would close at an earlier hour, say eleven o'clock, they
would prosper as greatly as at present, and the boys who patronize their
establishments would be much better off in body and mind. An effort is
about to be made to obtain this reform from the managers
voluntarily--instead of seeking legislative aid. We are quite sure it
will be for the interest of all to close the theatres early."
The Stadt Theatre, just across the street from the Old Bowery, is
exclusively a German establishment. It is a plain old-fashioned
building, without and within, but is worth a fortune to its proprietors.
The performances are given in the German language, and the company is
usually good. The prices are high and the audiences are large.
Occasionally a season of German opera is given. I doubt that a more
appreciative audience is to be found than that which assembles within the
walls of the Stadt on opera nights. They are to a man good judges and
dear lovers of music, and their applause, when it breaks forth, is a
spontaneous outburst which shakes the house to its foundations. It is
generously given, too, and must be particularly grateful to the
performers.
It is said that the members of the dramatic profession and the various
attaches of the theatres number 5000 persons. They constitute a class,
or rather a world of their own. We shall have more to say of some
portions of them in other chapters, and can only speak of them in a
general way here. As a rule they are poor, and are compelled to work
hard. Wallack's and a few other establishments pay good salaries and
have many "off nights," but of the majority of performers constant labor
is required, at poor pay. It is said that Forrest and Booth have
received as much as $500 per night, and that Jefferson and Owens are paid
at very near the same rate. The "stars," however, can make their own
terms, but the rank and file of the profession have to take what they can
get. The pay of these ranges from $15 to $50 per week. Some of the
leading ladies and gentlemen receive from $100 to $200 per week, but
these can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Considering the work,
the pay is poor, for an actor's life requires an immense amount of study
and preparation, and is terribly trying to the nervous system. At some
of the theatres three performances are sometimes given in a single day,
the same members of the company appearing each time.
"Ballet girls," says Olive Logan, "get from $8 to $15 per week; the
prompter $25 to $30; the call boy $15; the property man's salary ranges
from $15 to $30. Then there are men up in the rigging loft, who attend
to the flies and the curtain wheel, and various assistants, at salaries
of $20 and $10. There are from two to three scene painters at salaries
of from $60 to $100. The back door keeper has $10, and two women to
clean the theatre every day at $6 each. The orchestra consists of a
leader, at $100, and from twelve to sixteen musicians, whose salaries
range from $30 to $18 a week. The gasman and fireman get from $6 to $25
a week; costumer or wardrobe keeper $20 to $40; dressers $5 to $6; ushers
$4 to $6; doorkeepers $12; policeman $5; treasurer $25 to $40."
One of the most important positions in the establishment is the ticket
clerk. The receipts of the house pass through his hands, and as a
constant effort is made to pass off bad money in this way, it is
necessary to have some one in this position who is a good judge of money.
In some of the theatres a broker's clerk or bank clerk is employed in
this capacity.
With the exception of Wallack's, the Fifth Avenue, and perhaps Booth's,
the theatres generally change their companies every season. The houses
named retain the favorites, and there are among these companies many
whose loss would be loudly deplored by the theatre-going people of the
city. Many of the best actors, having distinguished themselves here,
assume the rank of stars, and play engagements throughout the States. A
metropolitan reputation will carry them successfully over the whole
Union.