Lights and Shadows of New York Life

J >> James D. McCabe >> Lights and Shadows of New York Life

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[Picture: A. T. STEWART'S WHOLESALE STORE.]

Beyond the City Hall, at the northeast corner of Chambers street and
Broadway, is "Stewart's marble dry goods palace," as it is called. This
is the _wholesale_ department of the great house of A. T. Stewart & Co.,
and extends from Chambers to Reade street. The _retail_ department of
this firm is nearly two miles higher up town. Passing along, one sees in
glancing up and down the cross streets, long rows of marble, iron, and
brown stone warehouses, stretching away for many blocks on either hand,
and affording proof positive of the vastness and success of the business
transacted in this locality. To the right we catch a distant view of the
squalor and misery of the Five Points. On the right hand side of the
street, between Leonard street and Catharine lane, is the imposing
edifice of the New York Life Insurance Company, one of the noblest
buildings ever erected by private enterprise. It is constructed of white
marble.

Crossing Canal street, the widest and most conspicuous we have yet
reached, we notice, on the west side, at the corner of Grand street, the
beautiful marble building occupied by the _wholesale_ department of Lord
& Taylor, rivals of Stewart in the dry-goods trade. The immense brown
stone building immediately opposite, is also a wholesale dry-goods house.
Between Broome and Spring streets, on the west side, are the marble and
brown stone buildings of the St. Nicholas Hotel. Immediately opposite is
the Theatre Comique. On the northwest corner of Spring street is the
Prescott House. On the southwest corner of Prince street is Ball &
Black's palatial jewelry store. Diagonally opposite is the Metropolitan
Hotel, in the rear of which is the theatre known as Niblo's Garden. In
the block above the Metropolitan is the Olympic Theatre. On the west
side, between Bleecker and Amity streets, is the huge Grand Central
Hotel, one of the most conspicuous objects on the street. Two blocks
above, on the same side, is the New York Hotel, immediately opposite
which are Lina Edwin's and the Globe Theatres. On the east side of the
street, and covering the entire block bounded by Broadway and Fourth
avenue, and Ninth and Tenth streets, is an immense iron structure painted
white. This is Stewart's retail store. It is always filled with ladies
engaged in "shopping," and the streets around it are blocked with
carriages. Throngs of elegantly and plainly dressed buyers pass in and
out, and the whole scene is animated and interesting. Just above
"Stewart's," on the same side, is Grace Church, attached to which is the
parsonage. At the southwest corner of Eleventh street, is the St. Denis
Hotel, and on the northwest corner is the magnificent iron building of
the "Methodist Book Concern," the street floor of which is occupied by
McCreery, one of the great dry-goods dealers of the city. At the
northeast corner of Thirteenth street, is Wallack's Theatre. The upper
end of the same block is occupied by the Union Square Theatre and a small
hotel.

[Picture: NEW YORK LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY'S BUILDING.]

At Fourteenth street we enter Union Square, once a fashionable place of
residence, but now giving way to business houses and hotels. Broadway
passes around it in a northwesterly direction. On the west side of Union
Square, at the southwest corner of Fifteenth street, is the famous
establishment of Tiffany & Co., an iron building, erected at an immense
cost, and filled with the largest and finest collection of jewelry,
articles of _vertu_, and works of art in America. In the middle of the
block above, occupying the ground floor of Decker's Piano Building, is
_Brentano's_, the "great literary headquarters" of New York.

Leaving Union Square behind us, we pass into Broadway again at
Seventeenth street. On the west side, occupying the entire block from
Eighteenth to Nineteenth streets, is a magnificent building of white
marble used by a number of retail merchants. The upper end, comprising
nearly one half of the block, is occupied by Arnold, Constable & Co., one
of the most fashionable retail dry-goods houses. At the southwest corner
of Twentieth street, is the magnificent iron _retail_ dry-goods store of
Lord & Taylor--perhaps the most popular house in the city with residents.
The "show windows" of this house are always filled with a magnificent
display of the finest goods, and attract crowds of gazers.

At Twenty-third street, Broadway crosses Fifth avenue obliquely, going
toward the northwest. At the northwest corner of Twenty-third street,
and extending to Twenty-fourth street, is the Fifth Avenue Hotel, built
of white marble, one of the finest and handsomest buildings of its kind
in the world. Just opposite is Madison Square, extending from Fifth to
Madison avenues. The block from Twenty-fourth to Twenty-fifth streets is
occupied by the Albemarle and Hoffman Houses, in the order named, both of
white marble. Just opposite, at the junction of Broadway and Fifth
avenue, is a handsome granite obelisk, with appropriate ornaments in
bronze, erected to the memory of General W. J. Worth. Immediately beyond
this is the Worth House, fronting on Broadway and Fifth avenue. The
vicinity of Madison Square is the brightest, prettiest, and liveliest
portion of the great city. At the southwest corner of Twenty-sixth
street is the St. James' Hotel, also of white marble, and just opposite
is the "Stevens' House," an immense building constructed on the French
plan of "flats," and rented in suites of apartments. Between
Twenty-seventh and Twenty-eighth streets, on the west side, is the
Coleman House. At the southeast corner of Twenty-ninth street is the
Sturtevant House. At the northeast corner of Twenty-ninth street is the
Gilsey House, a magnificent structure of iron, painted white. Diagonally
opposite is Wood's Museum. At the southeast corner of Thirty-first
street is the Grand Hotel, a handsome marble building. The only hotel of
importance above this is the St. Cloud, at the southeast corner of
Forty-second street.

At Thirty-fourth street, Broadway crosses Sixth avenue, and at
Forty-fourth street it crosses Seventh avenue, still going in a
northwesterly direction. It is but little improved above Thirty-fourth
street, though it is believed the next few years will witness important
changes in this quarter.

There are no street car tracks on Broadway below Fourteenth street, and
in that section "stages," or omnibuses, monopolize the public travel.
Several hundreds of these traverse the street from the lower ferries as
far as Twenty-third street, turning off at various points into the side
streets and avenues.

[Picture: BROADWAY, AS SEEN FROM THE ST. NICHOLAS HOTEL.]

Below Twenty-ninth street, and especially below Union Square, the street
is built up magnificently. From Union Square to the Bowling Green, a
distance of three miles, it is lined on each side with magnificent
structures of marble, brown, Portland, and Ohio stones, granite, and
iron. No street in the world surpasses it in the grandeur and variety of
its architectural display. Some of the European cities contain short
streets of greater beauty, and some of our American cities contain
limited vistas as fine, but the great charm, the chief claim of Broadway
to its fame, is the _extent_ of its grand display. For three miles it
presents an unbroken vista, and the surface is sufficiently undulating to
enable one to command a view of the entire street from any point between
Tenth street and the Bowling Green. Seen from one of the hotel
balconies, the effect is very fine. The long line of the magnificent
thoroughfare stretches away into the far distance. The street is
thronged with a dense and rapidly moving mass of men, animals, and
vehicles of every description. The effect is unbroken, but the different
colors of the buildings give to it a variety that is startling and
pleasing. In the morning the throng is all pouring one way--down town;
and in the afternoon the tide flows in the opposite direction. Everybody
is in a hurry at such times. Towards afternoon the crowd is more
leisurely, for the promenaders and loungers are out. Then Broadway is in
its glory.

Oftentimes the throng of vehicles is so dense that the streets are
quickly "jammed." Carriages, wagons, carts, omnibuses, and trucks are
packed together in the most helpless confusion. At such times the police
are quickly on hand, and take possession of the street. The scene is
thrilling. A stranger feels sure that this struggling mass of horses and
vehicles can never be made to resume their course in good order, without
loss of life or limb to man or beast, or to both, and the shouts and
oaths of the drivers fairly bewilder him. In a few minutes, however, he
sees a squad of gigantic policemen dash into the throng of vehicles.
They are masters of the situation, and wo to the driver who dares disobey
their sharp and decisive commands. The shouts and curses cease, the
vehicles move on one at a time in the routes assigned them, and soon the
street is clear again, to be "blocked" afresh, perhaps, in a similar
manner in less than an hour. Upwards of 20,000 vehicles daily traverse
this great thoroughfare.

It is always a difficult matter for a pedestrian to cross the lower part
of Broadway in the busy season. Ladies, old persons, and children find
it impossible to do so without the aid of the police, whose duty it is to
make a passage for them through the crowd of vehicles. A bridge was
erected in 1866 at the corner of Fulton street, for the purpose of
enabling pedestrians to pass over the heads of the throng in the streets.
Few persons used it, however, except to witness the magnificent panorama
of the street, and it was taken down.

Seen from the lofty spire of Trinity Church, the street presents a
singular appearance. The perspective is closed by Grace Church, at Tenth
street. The long lines of passers and carriages take distinct shapes,
and seem like immense black bands moving slowly in opposite directions.
The men seem like pigmies, and the horses like dogs. There is no
confusion, however. The eye readily masses into one line all going in
the same direction. Each one is hurrying on at the top of his speed, but
from this lofty perch they all seem to be crawling at a snail's pace.

The display in the windows of the Broadway stores is rich, beautiful, and
tempting. Jewels, silks, satins, laces, ribbons, household goods,
silverware, toys, paintings, in short, rare, costly, and beautiful
objects of every description greet the gazer on every hand. All that is
necessary for the comfort of life, all that ministers to luxury and
taste, can be found here in the great thoroughfare. And it is a mistake
to suppose, as many persons do, that "Broadway prices" are higher than
those of other localities. The best goods in the city are to be found
here, and they bring only what they are worth, and no more. Yet it must
not be supposed that all Broadway dealers are models of honesty.
Everything has its price in the great street--even virtue and honesty.
By the side of merchants whose names are synonymous for integrity are to
be found some of the most cunning and successful scoundrels. Broadway is
an eminently cheerful street. On every hand one sees evidences of
prosperity and wealth. No unsuccessful man can remain in the street.
Poverty and failure have no place there. Even sin shows its most
attractive guise in Broadway.

[Picture: SATURDAY AFTERNOON CONCERT AT CENTRAL PARK.]

The side-walks are always crowded, even in the summer, when "everybody is
out of town," and this throng of passers-by constitutes one of the most
attractive features of the scene. Every class, every shade of
nationality and character, is represented here. America, Europe, Asia,
Africa, and even Oceanica, each has its representatives. High and low,
rich and poor, pass along at a rate of speed peculiar to New York, and
positively bewildering to a stranger. No one seems to think of any one
but himself, and each one jostles his neighbor or brushes by him with an
indifference amusing to behold. Fine gentlemen in broadcloth, ladies in
silks and jewels, and beggars in squalid rags, are mingled in true
Republican confusion. The bustle and uproar are very great, generally
making it impossible to converse in an ordinary tone. From early morn
till after midnight the throng pours on.

At night the scene is different, but still brilliant. The vehicles in
the street consist almost entirely of carriages and omnibuses, each with
its lamps of different colors. They go dancing down the long vista like
so many fire-flies. The shop-windows are brightly lighted, and the
monster hotels pour out a flood of radiance from their myriads of lamps.
Here and there a brilliant reflector at the door of some theatre, sends
its dazzling white rays streaming along the street for several blocks.
Below Canal street Broadway is dark and silent, but above that point it
is as bright as day, and fairly alive with people. Those who are out now
are mostly bent on pleasure, and the street resounds with cheerful voices
and merry laughter, over which occasionally rises a drunken howl.
Strains of music or bursts of applause float out on the night air from
places of amusement, not all of which are reputable. Here and there a
crowd has collected to listen to the music and songs of some of the
wandering minstrels with which the city abounds. Gaudily painted
transparencies allure the unwary to the vile concert saloons in the
cellars below the street. The restaurants and _cafes_ are ablaze with
light, and are liberally patronized by the lovers of good living. Here
and there, sometimes alone, and sometimes in couples, you see women,
mainly young, and all flashily dressed, walking rapidly, with a peculiar
gait, and glancing quickly but searchingly at every man they pass. You
can single them out at a glance from the respectable women who happen to
be out alone at this time. They are the "street walkers," seeking
companions from among the passers-by. Some of them are mere children,
and the heart aches to see the poor creatures at their fearful work. The
police do not allow these women to stop and converse with men on
Broadway, and when they find a companion they turn off promptly into a
side street, and disappear with him in the darkness.

Towards eleven o'clock the theatres pour out their throngs of spectators,
who come to swell the crowd on Broadway, and for a little while the noise
and confusion are almost as great as in the day. Then the restaurants
will close, and the street will gradually become deserted and dark,
tenanted only by the giant policemen; and for a few hours the great city
will be wrapped in silence and slumber.

VI. SOCIETY.

I. ANALYTICAL.

All the world over, poverty is a misfortune. In New York it is a crime.
Here, as in no other place in the country, men struggle for wealth. They
toil, they suffer privations, they plan and scheme, and execute with a
persistency that often wins the success they covet. The chief effort of
every man and woman in the great city is to secure wealth. Man is a
social being--woman much more so--and here wealth is an absolute
necessity to the enjoyment of social pleasures. Society here is
organized upon a pecuniary basis, and stands not as it should upon the
personal merits of those who compose it, but upon a pile of bank-books.
In other cities, poor men, who are members of families which command
respect for their talents or other admirable qualities, or who have merit
of their own sufficient to entitle them to such recognition, are welcomed
into what are called the "Select Circles" with as much cordiality as
though they were millionaires. In New York, however, men and women are
judged by their bank accounts. The most illiterate boor, the most
unprincipled knave finds the door of fashion open to him, while St. Peter
himself, if he came "without purse or scrip," would see it closed in his
face.

Society in New York is made up of many elements, the principal of which
it is proposed to examine, but, unfortunately, wealth is the one thing
needful in most of the classes into which it is divided. Nor is this
strange. The majority of fashionable people have never known any of the
arts and refinements of civilization except those which mere wealth can
purchase. Money raised them from the dregs of life, and they are firm
believers in it. Without education, without social polish, they see
themselves courted and fawned upon for their wealth, and they naturally
suppose that there is nothing else "good under the sun."

Those who claim precedence base their demand upon their descent from the
original Dutch settlers, and style themselves "the old Knickerbockers."
The majority of these are very wealthy, and have inherited their fortunes
from their ancestors. They are owners of valuable real estate, much of
which is located in the very heart of the city. The incomes derived from
such property are large and certain. They are frequently persons of
cultivation, and were it not for their affectation of superiority, would,
as a class, be decidedly clever people, even if many of them are stupid.
They make an effort to have their surroundings as clumsy and as
old-fashioned as possible, as a mark of their Dutch descent. They sport
crests and coats of arms such as the simple old Dutchmen of New Amsterdam
never dreamed of; and rely more upon the merits of their forefathers than
upon their own. They are extremely exclusive, and rarely associate with
any but those who can "show as pure a pedigree." Their disdain of those
whose families are not as "old" as their own is oftentimes amusing, and
subjects them to ridicule, which they bear with true Dutch stolidity.
They improve in their peculiar qualities with each generation, and the
present pompous Knickerbocker who drives in the Park in solemn state in
his heavy chariot, and looks down with disdain upon all whose blood is
not as Dutch as his own, is a very different personage from his great
ancestor, the original Knickerbocker, who hawked fish about the streets
of New Amsterdam, or tanned leather down in "the swamp."

[Picture: A FASHIONABLE PROMENADE ON FIFTH AVENUE.]

Strange to say, the Knickerbocker class receives fresh additions every
year. Each new comer has a _Van_ to his name, and can show a string of
portraits of yellow-faced worthies, in leather breeches, and ruffles, and
wigs, which he points to with pride as his "ancestors." The statistician
would be sorely perplexed in attempting to ascertain the number of Dutch
settlers in New Amsterdam were he to trace back the pedigrees of the
present Knickerbockers, for if the claims of the present generation be
admitted, one of two things is sure--either the departed Dutchmen must
have been more "numerous fathers" than they cared to admit at the time,
or the original population has been underestimated.

The next in order are those who, while making no boast of family, are
persons who have inherited large wealth from several generations of
ancestors. Freed from the necessity of earning their livings, they have
an abundance of leisure in which to cultivate the "small sweet courtesies
of life." They are neither shoddyites nor snobs, and while there are
many who do no credit to their class, they constitute one of the
pleasantest portions of metropolitan society. They furnish some of the
most agreeable men, and some of the most beautiful and charming women in
the city. Their homes are elegant, and abound in evidences of the taste
of their owners, who spend their money liberally in support of literature
and the arts. Here are to be found some of the rarest works of European
and American masters. Unfortunately this class of New Yorkers is not
very large. It is destined to increase, however, with the growth of
wealth in the city. Good men, who have begun where the forefathers of
these people started, will constantly contribute their children to swell
this class, in which will always be collected those who unite true merit
to great wealth, those who are proud of their country and its
institutions, contented with its customs, and possessed of too much good
sense to try to add to their importance by a ridiculous assumption of
"aristocratic birth," or a pitiful imitation of the manners of the great
of other lands.

The third class may be said to consist of those who value culture and
personal excellence above riches. There is not much individual wealth in
this class, but its members may be regarded as "persons in comfortable
circumstances." They are better educated, have more correct tastes, and
do the most to give to New York society its best and most attractive
features. It is a class to which merit is a sure passport. It is modest
and unassuming, free from ostentatious parade, and, fortunately, is
growing rapidly. It is made up of professional men of all kinds,
clergymen, lawyers, poets, authors, physicians, painters, sculptors,
journalists, scientific men, and actors, and their families. Its tone is
vigorous and healthy, and it is sufficiently free from forms to make it
independent, and possessed of means enough to enable it to pursue its
objects without hindrance.

The remainder of those who constitute what is called society are the "New
Rich," or as they are sometimes termed, the "Shoddyites." They
constitute the majority of the fashionables, and their influence is felt
in every department of domestic life. They are ridiculed by every
satirist, yet they increase. Every year makes fresh accessions to their
ranks, and their follies and extravagances multiply in proportion. They
occupy the majority of the mansions in the fashionable streets, crowd the
public thoroughfares and the Park with their costly and showy equipages,
and flaunt their wealth so coarsely and offensively in the faces of their
neighbors, that many good people have come to believe that riches and
vulgarity are inseparable. They make themselves the most conspicuous,
and are at once accepted by strangers as the "best society" of the
metropolis.

They are almost without exception persons who have risen from the ranks.
This is not to their discredit. On the contrary, every American is proud
to boast that this is emphatically the land of self-made men, that here
it is within the power of any one to rise as high in the social or
political scale as his abilities will carry him. The persons to whom we
refer, however, affect to despise this. They take no pride in the
institutions which have been so beneficial to them, but look down with
supreme disdain upon those who are working their way up. They are
ashamed of their origin, and you cannot offend one of them more than to
hint that you knew him a few years ago as a mechanic or a shopkeeper.

Some of the "fashionables" appear very unexpectedly before the world.
But a short while ago a family may have been living in the humbler
quarter of the city, or even in a tenement house. A sudden fortunate
speculation on the part of the husband, or father, may have brought them
enormous wealth in the course of a few days. A change is instantly made
from the humble abode to a mansion on Fifth or Madison avenue. The newly
acquired wealth is liberally expended in "fitting up," and the lucky
possessors of it boldly burst upon the world of fashion as stars of the
first magnitude. They are courted by all the newly rich, and invitations
to the houses of other "stars" are showered upon them. They may be rude,
ignorant, uncouth in manner, but they have wealth, and that is all that
is required. They are lucky indeed, if they hold their positions long.
A few manage to retain the wealth which comes to them thus suddenly, but
as a rule those who are simply lucky at the outset, find Dame Fortune a
very capricious goddess, and at the next turn of her wheel pass off the
stage to make room for others who are soon to share the same fate.

During the oil speculations, and during the war, the shoddy class was
largely increased by those who were made suddenly and unexpectedly rich
by lucky ventures in petroleum lands and stocks, and by army contracts.
Now other speculations provide recruits for this class, to which Wall
street is constantly sending fresh "stars" to blaze awhile in the
firmament of society, and then to make way for others. The shoddy
element is not, however, confined to those who acquire wealth with
rapidity or by speculations. There are many who rise very slowly and
painfully in the world, who, when blessed with fortune, throw themselves
headlong into the arms of "shoddy."

It is not difficult to recognize these persons. They dress not only
handsomely, but magnificently, making up in display what they lack in
taste. They cover themselves with jewels, and their diamonds, worn on
ordinary occasions, might in some instances rival the state gems of
European sovereigns. Their rough, hard hands, coarse faces, loud voices,
bad English, and vulgar manners contrast strikingly with the splendors
with which they surround themselves. They wear their honors uneasily,
showing how little they are accustomed to such things. They look down
with disdain upon all less fortunate in wealth than themselves, and
worship as demi-gods those whose bank accounts are larger than their own.
They are utterly lacking in personal dignity, and substitute for that
quality a supercilious hauteur.