TORRENTS of rain without, and a great fashionable crowd within the Star
Theatre, inaugurated Irving’s first appearance on the American stage.
The electric lights, away up among the wet clouds that emptied
themselves over Union square, flashed coldly on untended roadways,
which vehicles of all kinds churned into rivers of mud. The
architectural surroundings of the place and the well-appointed
carriages that dashed along to the Star Theatre and the opera were
singularly out of keeping with the broken streets and the everlasting
telegraph poles of the American continent.
It was a night on which London would have hesitated to turn out of its
comfortable homes to greet even the most illustrious stranger; for the
rain was tropical in its density. It splashed on the pavements in great
drops, or, taken hold of by the wind, came at you in sheets of water.
Carriage-horses were protected with “rubber cloths,” and the people
who stepped out of the cars at the top of Broadway, or were driven
to the door of the theatre in the public stages, were enveloped in
“water-proofs.” Nevertheless, the moment they alighted they were mobbed
by a band of ticket-speculators, who followed or preceded them into the
broad vestibule of the theatre, hawking seats even under the box-office
windows. In appearance these energetic dealers were the counterpart
of the betting men you may see on any English race-course,—the same
in manner, and almost in voice. They were warmly and well clad, had
satchels strapped to their shoulders; but, instead of shouting, “Two to
one, bar one!” “I’ll bet on the field!” and other similar invitations
to do business, they announced, in hoarse tones, “I have seats in the
front row!” “Orchestra seats, third row!” “I have the best seats in the
orchestra!” These New York speculators held in one hand a thick bundle
of notes, and a packet of tickets in the other. They had change ready
for any note you might offer them, and their tickets were frequently
what they represented them to be, “for the choicest locations.”
For some time a notable crowd of persons, distinguished in New York
society, pushed their way to seats which they had already secured, many
of them at a premium of one hundred per cent. beyond the box-office
rates.[8] A large number of persons waited in the vestibule until
the curtain should go up, in the hope that the speculators would, for
a moderate consideration, relax their grip on “choice seats.” Many
tickets were sold, however, in the street, and in the vestibule of
the theatre, for sums varying from five to ten dollars. Later in the
evening, during the first and second acts of the play, the speculators
parted with the balance of their property at box-office rates, which
they readily obtained.
The entire floor of an American theatre is devoted to stall seats.
Ladies and gentlemen who occupied the back seats had to submit to
constant arrivals all through the first and second acts. The doors
at the Star Theatre open right upon the audience. They were swinging
backwards and forwards during the first half hour of the piece.
It is a universal habit in America not to be seated at the time
announced for the curtain to go up. Add to this the obstruction of
the ticket-speculators, and the premium they offer to late comers.
Supplement these disturbing elements with a wet night, the natural
annoyance of individuals who have paid large premiums for their seats,
the prejudice against Irving which had been persistently promoted by
his few but active enemies; and you will understand the severity of the
ordeal of this first appearance in the United States.