In some respects, New York is as much German as American. A large part
of it is a genuine reproduction of the Fatherland as regards the manners,
customs, people, and language spoken. In the thickly settled sections
east of the Bowery the Germans predominate, and one might live there for
a year without ever hearing an English word spoken. The Germans of New
York are a very steady, hard-working people, and withal very sociable.
During the day they confine themselves closely to business, and at night
they insist upon enjoying themselves. The huge Stadt Theatre draws
several thousand within its walls whenever its doors are opened, and
concerts and festivals of various kinds attract others. But the most
popular of all places with this class of citizens is the beer-garden.
Here one can sit and smoke, and drink beer by the gallon, listen to
music, move about, meet his friends, and enjoy himself in his own
way--all at a moderate cost.
From one end of the Bowery to the other, beer-gardens abound, and their
brilliantly illuminated signs and transparencies form one of the most
remarkable features of that curious street. Not all of them are
reputable. In some there is a species of theatrical performance which is
often broadly indecent. These are patronized by but few Germans,
although they are mainly carried on by men of that nationality. The
Rough and servant girl elements predominate in the audiences, and there
is an unmistakably Irish stamp on most of the faces present.
The true beer-garden finds its highest development in the monster
Atlantic Garden, which is located in the Bowery, next door to the Old
Bowery Theatre. It is an immense room, with a lofty curved ceiling,
handsomely frescoed, and lighted by numerous chandeliers and by brackets
along the walls. It is lighted during the day from the roof. At one
side is an open space planted with trees and flowers, the only mark of a
garden visible. A large gallery rises above the floor at each end. That
at the eastern or upper end is used as a restaurant for those who desire
regular meals. The lower gallery is, like the rest of the place, for
beer-drinkers only. Under the latter gallery is a shooting hall, which
is usually filled with marksmen trying their skill. On the right hand
side of the room is a huge orchestrion or monster music-box, and by its
side is a raised platform, occupied by the orchestra employed at the
place. The floor is sanded, and is lined with plain tables, six feet by
two in size, to each of which is a couple of benches. The only ornaments
of the immense hall are the frescoes and the chandeliers. Everything
else is plain and substantial. Between the hall and the Bowery is the
bar room, with its lunch counters. The fare provided at the latter is
strictly German, but the former retails drinks of every description.
During the day the Atlantic does a good business through its bar and
restaurant, many persons taking their meals here regularly. As night
comes on, the great hall begins to fill up, and by eight o'clock the
place is in its glory. From three to four thousand people, mainly
Germans, may be seen here at one time, eating, drinking, smoking. Strong
liquors are not sold, the drinks being beer and the lighter Rhine-wines.
The German capacity for holding beer is immense. An amount sufficient to
burst an American makes him only comfortable and good humored. The
consumption of the article here nightly is tremendous, but there is no
drunkenness. The audience is well behaved, and the noise is simply the
hearty merriment of a large crowd. There is no disorder, no indecency.
The place is thoroughly respectable, and the audience are interested in
keeping it so. They come here with their families, spend a social,
pleasant evening, meet their friends, hear the news, enjoy the music and
the beer, and go home refreshed and happy. The Germans are very proud of
this resort, and they would not tolerate the introduction of any feature
that would make it an unfit place for their wives and daughters. It is a
decided advantage to the people who frequent this place, whatever the
Temperance advocates may say, that men have here a resort where they can
enjoy themselves with their families, instead of seeking their pleasure
away from the society of their wives and children.
[Picture: THE ATLANTIC GARDEN.]
The buzz and the hum of the conversation, and the laughter, are
overpowering, and you wander through the vast crowd with your ears
deafened by the sound. Suddenly the leader of the orchestra raps sharply
on his desk, and there is a profound silence all over the hall. In an
instant the orchestra breaks forth into some wonderful German melody, or
some deep-voiced, strong-lunged singer sends his rich notes rolling
through the hall. The auditors have suddenly lost their merriment, and
are now listening pensively to the music, which is good. They sip their
beer absently, and are thinking no doubt of the far-off Fatherland, for
you see their features grow softer and their eyes glisten. Then, when it
is all over, they burst into an enthusiastic encore, or resume their
suspended conversations.
On the night of the reception of the news of Napoleon's capitulation at
Sedan, the Atlantic Garden was a sight worth seeing. The orchestra was
doubled, and the music and the songs were all patriotic. The hall was
packed with excited people, and the huge building fairly rocked with the
cheers which went up from it. The "German's Fatherland" and Luther's
Hymn were sung by five thousand voices, hoarse or shrill with excitement.
Oceans of beer were drunk, men and women shook hands and embraced, and
the excitement was kept up until long after midnight. Yet nobody was
drunk, save with the excitement of the moment.
The Central Park Garden, at the corner of Seventh avenue and Fifty-ninth
street, is more of an American institution than the Atlantic. It
consists of a handsome hall surrounded on three sides by a gallery, and
opening at the back upon grounds a moderate size, tastefully laid out,
and adorned with rustic stalls and arbors for the use of guests. At the
Atlantic the admission is free. Here one pays fifty cents for the
privilege of entering the grounds and building. During the summer months
nightly concerts, with Saturday matinees, are given here by Theodore
Thomas and his famous orchestra--the finest organization of its kind in
America. The music is of a high order, and is rendered in a masterly
manner. Many lovers of music come to New York in the summer simply to
hear these concerts.
The place is the fashionable resort of the city in the summer. The
audience is equal to anything to be seen in the city. One can meet here
all the celebrities who happen to be in town, and as every one is free to
do as he pleases, there is no restraint to hamper one's enjoyment. You
may sit and smoke and drink, or stroll through the place the whole
evening, merely greeting your acquaintances with a nod, or you may join
them, and chat to your heart's content. Refreshments and liquors of all
kinds are sold to guests; but the prices are high. The Central Park
Garden, or, as it is called by strangers, "Thomas's Garden," is the most
thoroughly enjoyable place in the city in the summer.