Читать книгу Lights and Shadows of New York Life or, the Sights and Sensations of the Great City - James Dabney McCabe - Страница 15

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The most wonderful street in the universe is Broadway. It is a world within itself. It extends throughout the entire length of the island, and is about sixty feet in width. Its chief attractions, however, lie between the Bowling Green and Thirty-fourth street.

It begins at the Bowling Green. From this point it extends in a straight line to Fourteenth street and Union Square. Below Wall street it is mainly devoted to the “Express” business, the headquarters and branch offices of nearly all the lines in the country centring here. Opposite Wall street, and on the west side of Broadway, is Trinity Church and its graveyard. From Wall street to Ann street, Insurance Companies, Real Estate Agents, Banks, Bankers and Brokers predominate. At the southeast corner of Ann street is the magnificent Herald office, and adjoining it the Park Bank. Both buildings are of white marble, and the latter is one of the grandest in the Union. Immediately opposite are St. Paul’s Church and graveyard, just above which is the massive granite front of the Astor House, occupying an entire block, from Vesey to Barclay streets. On the right hand side of the street, at the lower end of the Park, is the unfinished structure of the new Post Office, which will be one of the principal ornaments of the city. In the rear of this are the Park, and the City Hall. Back of the City Hall, and fronting on Chambers street, is the new County Court-House, which proved such a gold mine to the “Ring.” Across the Park you may see Park Row and Printing-House Square, in which are located the offices of nearly all the great “dailies,” and of many of the weekly papers. Old Tammany Hall once stood on this square at the corner of Frankfort street, but its site is now occupied by the offices of The Sun and Brick Pomeroy’s Democrat—Arcades ambo.

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.

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.

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.

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 cafés 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.