The slight misfortune which befell Mr. Edwin Booth recently, while he was acting in Rochester, and which seemed to portend some disastrous result, served to bring into keen prominence this actor’s great popularity. He is not only the most admirable of our serious players, the eminent and admired leader of our stage; he is loved for his own personality. He inspires affection, even in those who have no acquaintance with him outside of the theater. His reserve—amounting almost to shyness—is felt to be an attribute of gentle temperament, not an indisposition to meet the world in cordial fellowship. His very faults add a sweetness to his virtues, for they are the faults of a sensitive and high-strung spirit.
Mr. Booth is not what is called an “enterprising actor.” He does not produce new plays, nor make sumptuous revivals, nor undertake bold and brilliant experiments. The restless activity of such actors as Mr. Lawrence Barrett and Mr. Henry Irving is foreign to his nature. He built, it is true, a splendid theater, but was unable to manage it successfully. To-day there is nothing left of Booth’s Theater but a record of honorable failure.
Nevertheless, Mr. Booth has taken means to preserve his name and fame in a practical fashion. He has erected his own memorial, a memorial of brick and stone, a beautiful home in which his professional brethren, and others who love the stage, may meet, and a refined and stimulating atmosphere. The club-house of the players is Edwin Booth’s gift to those who are dear to him; it is also his material memorial. Future generations will treasure it, not only for what it is, but above all for what it shall suggest. In giving this club-house to his fellow-actors, Mr. Booth has given unselfishly. He was in less disposed than he to make much of himself, to do a thing for what it is worth as advertising. And it is to be hoped that his plans for the new club—which he feels to be invaluable to dramatic art in America—shall always be respected, never departed from.
Mr. Booth’s conception of “The Players’ Club” is an admirable illustration of his life-work, whose keynote is the building of the highest dramatic art, upon a wholesome, social foundation. Appreciating the fact that actors tend, by the peculiarities of their profession, to isolation from general society, that they incline to make a world of their own where the conventionalities that bind most people are held lightly by them, he has, in this club, provided a delightful ground of fellowship between the dramatic profession and general society. Most of the members are not known in the theatrical world—literary men, bankers, lawyers, artists. The inclusion of actor-members of the highest rank, and of dramatic writers, with the strong dramatic flavor in every part of the club-house and among all its treasures, preserves a fragrant spirit of the stage. As a whole the club must stand as the noblest monument that a great actor could raise, being a grand movement toward the union of dramatic art with the entire social structure, broadening society, and elevating the drama.
Mr. Booth is, comparatively, a rich man, and several years ago it was his ambition to use a portion of his money for the benefit of his own profession. He thought over many schemes to this end, and he sought advice also from other leaders of the American stage—like Mr. Barrett, Mr. Augustin Daly, and Mr. A. M. Palmer. After much cautious consideration, Mr. Booth decided that he could do nothing better than provide the actors of his country with a permanent home. A suitable building was soon discovered. This was a fine, spacious old mansion in that lovely, tranquil nook of New York, Gramercy Park—a mansion which had long served as the dwelling of Mr. Clarkson N. Potter. This house adjoins the stately pile erected for the late Samuel J. Tilden. The Potter mansion is considerably larger than most New York houses which may be called pretentious, as it has exceptional width and depth. What was formerly the “parlor floor” is three rooms deep, and all three rooms are of great space and height. The upper floors are similar to those in the average New York house, being only two rooms deep.
Mr. Booth bought this property at a cost of seventy-five thousand dollars. The club of the Players was then organized, and the house was placed in the hands of those architects and decorators who designed and decorated Mr. Whitelaw Reid’s place in Madison Avenue, the splendid house of Mr. Joseph Pulitzer in Fifty-fifth Street, and so many more noble dwellings that help to make New York a city of opulent and tasteful homes.
The house was rearranged from top to bottom, and the result is one of the most artistic—though by no means one of the most showy—club buildings in the world. To the exterior they have added a striking portico, which incloses the first and second floors, and which extends across the entire front. Above this portico the façade is of plain brown stone, unornamented—just such a façade as one observes in hundreds of our sober, up-town streets.
The entrance attracts attention at once. It is on the ground floor, and several steps below the level of the street. Here there is a broad, low doorway, under a heavy stone porch. Two large gilded lamps extend from the porch to the stone line. Passing through the entrance, the visitor ascends four marble steps, and finds himself on a broad marble landing. To the right of this landing, after descending nine circular steps, there is a long, cool reception-room, to which persons may be admitted who have business with members of the club. They are not admitted elsewhere, save in rare instances, or unless they hold cards as non-residents. This reception-room is delicately decorated in creamy yellow, the walls being almost covered with valuable prints and pictures; all relating in one way or another to the stage. The floor is tiled in black and white marble. Back of the reception-room are the pantry, the lavatory, and the kitchen. Fronting it—and representing the usual basement dining-room—is a billiard-room, wainscoted and corniced in yellow pine. Between the billiard-room and the reception-room stand two graceful, hand-decorated screens. The main effect of the entire basement is that of exquisite simplicity and cheerfulness. Among the pictures in the reception-room (which is also a smoking-room) are portraits of Edwin Forrest, John Kemble, David Garrick, as Romeo; Miss Bellamy, as Juliet, and Charlotte Cushman.
Ascending again to the vestibule landing, one must climb more steps, to reach the first or main floor. But the task of climbing is an agreeable one to a person of artistic taste, since it is in the picturesque and charming much of the charm of the house lies. Of the main floor I can speak with real enthusiasm. A more attractive suite of apartments is certainly not to be found in New York. At the head of the stairs is a small office for the club’s superintendent. At the extreme rear—in the “extension”—is a magnificent apartment, known as the grill-room. At the extreme front is a spacious reading-room, off from which—a few steps higher—is a quiet writing-room. Between the grill-room and the reading-room is another apartment which serves various purposes, and has somewhat the air of a picture-gallery. There is a broad passage separating the grill-room from the middle room, and here, built into the walls, are two massive safes, which contain the most precious and destructive relics in the possession of the club.
The middle room presents to the visitor a singularly charming picture. It is about square, and quite lofty. It is wainscoted in yellow-painted pine, probably seven feet high, above which is a gold-tinted paper, the ceiling being decorated in a light blue fresco, dotted with white. Tall fluted marble columns, cream-colored, support the ceiling. Over the gold and crystal combination chandelier of gas and electric light is some delicate papier-mâché work. In the west wall is a huge and curious fireplace of yellow marble, Numidian, lined with speckled brick. A corner on one side of this fireplace is occupied by a heavy brass stand, which supports a bust of the great Junius Brutus Booth, the father of Edwin Booth. Near by stands the sword which Edwin Booth has so often used in “Richelieu.” High above the floor, and over the fireplace, is a carved mantel on which rests a picture of the elder Booth; and in front of the fireplace lies a gorgeous tiger-skin.
On the upper brick part of the fireplace one finds these lines, which are interesting as a paraphrase from Shakespeare:
“Goode friend, for friendship’s sake forbeare
To utter what is gossip heare,
In social chatt, lest unawares
Thy tongue offende thy fellow players.”
These verses stand for an unwritten law of the club. A posterior, as it were, those persons who make it their business to write in the newspapers about actors are not invited to join the club.
The front room of the main floor is a cozy and comfortable apartment. A long table stands in the center, and this is littered with popular periodicals. The principal English and American magazines are also displayed on shelves at the right. This room is one to lounge away a lazy and agreeable afternoon in. Its floor is covered with a soft brown carpet. The furniture and fittings are of oak and mahogany, the luxurious armchairs scattered about being covered with brown leather. A more restful spot could not be desired. On the walls are several large paintings, whose value is rather historical than artistic, although there is a good example of Velasquez in the upper adjoining apartment or alcove. By all odds the most interesting pictures here are two large canvases by Mr. Joseph Jefferson, which hang, one above the other, in a corner at the left. Mr. Jefferson, as many know, is not satisfied to be recognized as the airiest and finest of American comedians: he is industrious with his brush, and is, perhaps, happier with his painting than with his acting. Both his pictures in the reading-room of the Players are large and ambitious, and considered simply as the works of Mr. Jefferson—the inimitable Rip and the exquisitely humorous Acres—they are properly held as precious mementos. Both are landscapes, with subjects chosen from the South. There is also on the walls an excellent example of Boughton, and in the alcove is a picture of Garrick, by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Over the mantel is a large piece of Flemish tapestry, with mirror and side-lights.
Turning back on the polished oaken floor—the harsh tread on which is softened by tiger-skins and bear-skins—one is ushered with expectant delight, a delight excited by brief and suggestive glimpses, into the grill-room.
This is the most attractive room in the house. Within the modest scope of its arrangements, it is certainly a perfect model of what such an apartment should be. It is just what its name implies—a picturesque, old-fashioned, soft-lighted, lofty room, in which a bit of gay Bohemianism seems to be in logical keeping with honest manners. It has an air of solid English comfort—that sort of comfort in which every American, no matter how aggressively patriotic he may be, takes very substantial pleasure. It brings to the fancy cogent thoughts of chops and ale, clever talk and scintillant wit, a sound stomach, and a contented mind.
This room commands attention, not only for its solid effectiveness, but chiefly for its fascinating odds and ends. The ceiling is made of heavy oak beams and girders, and is not without an appearance of antiquity. At the top of the oak wainscoting a shelf runs around the room. Underneath this shelf are pegs, on which are hung silver ale-mugs and other accessories of a dining-room. The shelf itself is loaded with rare pewter plates, plaques, mugs, and vases. Against the wainscoting are many valuable prints and portraits, photographs of old and quaint theaters, and valuable play-bills, yellow with age. At the east end and the west end of the room is a large dark fireplace, inlaid with white and blue Dutch tiles, stippled with gold. The effect of these fireplaces is extremely rich and artistic. Various inscriptions from Shakespeare are written over them. One of these inscriptions is: “Mouth it, as many of your players do,” which is certainly appropriate in a grill-room. Another, not less appropriate is: “Come, sit by my side and let the world wag, for we shall ne’er be younger.”
At the east end of this room is a stag’s head, with spreading antlers; at the west end there are three sets of antlers. Pendent from the center of the ceiling is a graceful chandelier of combined silver branches and stags’ heads. The twisted candelabra over the fireplace, and in other parts of the room, are of silver. A long table for the use of large dinner-parties runs along the center of the room, and all about are small tables for solitary comfort or tête-à-tête lunches.
Passing now up-stairs, the library is reached. Every available inch of space on the hall walls appears to be covered with pictures. The library has the depth of the house, without the extension. An extension is to be built over the grill-room, however, and then the library of the Players will be one of the most spacious in the city. As it is, a more attractive library is seldom entered. Low black-walnut shelves run around this apartment, with a capacity for about twelve thousand volumes. There are two mantels of red African marble, which support quaint brass clocks. Over one is this quotation, from the Tempest: “My library was dukedom large enough for me.” Over the other is this, from Titus Andronicus: “Take choice from all my library.” In serried and sober row, close to the ceiling, making a sort of pictorial dado, are hung many portraits from the collections of John Sleeper Clarke, the late John E. Owens, Edwin Booth, and others. Among them are portraits of Macready, Edwin Forrest, Burton, and the famous Placides. The walls of this room are tinted yellowish-brown, and the apartment is luxuriously furnished with sofas, arm-chairs, and tables. A thick carpet on the floor makes movement almost noiseless. At present, I may add, the bookshelves show several vacant places. Mr. Booth’s collections are massed together somewhat incongruously, but will be carefully arranged and indexed later by a skilled librarian. Mr. Booth’s taste as a reader appears to run in no special direction. The classic poets, in his collections, stand side by side with our contemporaries; theatrical history and comment are represented by books of all ages; light fiction hobnobs with the fiction of standard literature. Taken together, however, these volumes, themselves, form a valuable library, the purely theatrical collection being numerous and very precious. The library also contains many costly contributions from other members of the club, notably from Mr. Palmer, Mr. Daly, and Mr. Barrett: the most interesting of these being a superb collection of old bound programmes, the gift of Mr. Augustin Daly. One of these volumes, by the way, includes a laundry bill presented to the old Drury Lane Theater, which is certified to by Colly Cibber, Martin Booth, and Robert Wilkes, members of the Drury Company. The amount of this unique bill is seventeen shillings and sixpence.
The fourth floor of the Players’ house is divided into two small suites of living rooms, that in front being the lodgings of Mr. Booth when he is in New York, and that at the rear being the local lodgings of Mr. Barrett. Each suite consists of a tastefully, even daintily, decorated sitting-room, with large fireplace and handsome furniture, an alcove bedroom, and a dressing-room, with bath.
The club of the Players was formally opened and dedicated on the last night of 1888, New Year’s Eve. The occasion was most auspicious and brilliant. Well-known and distinguished men, representing all the most refined and accomplished minds, assembled to delight at the taste displayed by Mr. Stanford White, in remodeling and decorating what had been a thoroughly commonplace abode, was expressed with enthusiasm. The ceremonies of dedication made a happy impression on those who witnessed them. The members of the club, and their friends, convened at about eleven o’clock, and at midnight the members were installed in their new and cheery home. Among the players there were three who have been in the public sight for over half a century—Mr. John Gilbert, Mr. Edmon S. Connor, and Mr. James S. Murdock. Mr. Edwin Booth took his stand on a dais in front of one of the big fireplaces—on the main floor—just before midnight. All the rooms and stairways were then crowded, and fires blazed on the hearthstone. An eager silence ensued. Mr. Booth—who is always a modest speech-maker—was in his brightest mood, and offered a most friendly and gentle address to his associates. Then he presented to them the title-deeds to their club-house,—the building, and all the beautiful furniture and treasures it contains. A response to Mr. Booth’s simple and dignified address came from Mr. Augustin Daly, vice-president of the Players, who accepted the house in the name of American actors now alive, and future generations of actors. Mr. Lawrence Barrett was the next speaker; and he, after giving fervent expression to the noble generosity of Mr. Booth, read a little letter from Mr. Booth’s daughter, Mrs. Edwina Booth Grossmann, who had sent a wreath of laurel to be placed on her father’s head. Mr. Booth accepted the wreath blushingly, whereupon Mr. Barrett read a poem which had been prepared for the occasion by Mr. Thomas W. Parsons, the gifted author of “Lines on a Bust of Dante.” While Mr. Barrett was in the midst of his recital, a deep-toned clock struck the hour of twelve. Mr. Parsons’s poem was a tribute which was entirely unexpected. It was one of those surprises which touch the heart deeply, and which obliged Mr. Booth to betray his emotion. After the poem had been read, Mr. Booth faltered a brief reply, and then, turning aside, directed the lighting of the yule-log, and summoned the club’s loving-cup. This cup (one of the treasures of the Players) was presented to the late William Warren, seven years ago, by five of his intimate friends and associates—Edwin Booth, Joseph Jefferson, Mary Anderson, Lawrence Barrett, and John McCullough. The names of these donors are inscribed on one of the massive sides of the cup. When William Warren died, the cup passed into the possession of Joseph Jefferson, as a legacy, and Mr. Jefferson turned it over to the Players. After the members had drunk from the loving-cup, the grill-room was thrown open, and a night of festival followed.
The officers of the Players are elected by a board of directors from its own body, and are entitled to hold office until their successors are chosen. This board comprises nine persons: Mr. Booth, Mr. Daly, Mr. Barrett, Mr. Palmer, Mr. Laurence Hutton, Mr. Joseph F. Daly, Mr. Henry Edwards, Mr. Joseph Jefferson, and Mr. William Bispham. The officers at present are: Mr. Booth, president; Mr. Daly, vice-president; Mr. Hutton, secretary, and Mr. Bispham, treasurer.
The board of directors has all powers. Its members must be citizens of the United States, or persons long resident in this country, and identified with American art, literature, or drama. At least five of the board must be actors, managers, or dramatists, and their meetings are to be held once every month, except between June and September. Special meetings are called by order of the president or the house committee, five persons making a quorum. There is also an annual meeting on the third Monday in May at which the board renders to members a report of the club’s affairs.
The qualifications for membership in the Players are clearly defined. Any male person over the age of twenty-one is eligible to membership who is an actor, manager, dramatist, or other worker in the dramatic profession; or who is engaged in literature, painting, sculpture, architecture, or music; or who is a patron or connoisseur of the arts. At least five votes must be cast for each applicant, two blackballs being sufficient to exclude him. Distinguished players or strangers may be invited as visitors.
The limit of regular membership is, at this moment, placed at two hundred and fifty; the limit of non-resident membership is also placed at the same number. The entrance fee, for residents, is one hundred dollars, and for non-residents, fifty dollars; the annual dues, for residents, are forty dollars, and for non-residents, twenty dollars.
Certain provisions in the club rules are to be highly commended. For example, no betting or card-playing for stakes is permitted. Furthermore, it has been decided that no entertainment or reception shall be given by the club as a compliment to any person; although the board of directors may provide for one annual banquet or entertainment, to which guests may be invited. There is pleasant gossip in favor of establishing a Ladies’ Day—which is an institution of some of our most popular clubs.
A few words now upon the membership of the Players. There are to-day fully two hundred and fifty members—that is to say, the limit—about one-third of whom are actors, managers, or dramatists. The other members are probably interested in the stage in one way or another, though some of them appear to have been accepted on general principles. For instance, I find in the list of members the usual fashionable club-men, like O. H. P. Belmont, W. Bayard Cutting, Cornelius Vanderbilt, William K. Vanderbilt, Peter T. Barlow, Ogden Goelet, John Hoey, Henry E. Howland, Richard M. Hunt, Grosvenor S. Hubbard, G. G. Howland, J. Pierpont Morgan, J. Hampden Robb, F. F. Roy Satterlee, Edmund C. Stanton, H. McK. Twombly, and others of the same class. I fancy, however, that there has been the right sort of management in bringing such men—rich men, most of them, and liberal supporters of the stage—in association with men of the theater, of literature, and of the arts. Among the theatrical members, outside of those mentioned as officers, are: J. W. Albaugh, J. B. Booth, Frederick Bond, Arthur B. Chase, E. S. Connor, W. H. Crane, Creston Clarke, John S. Clarke, John Drew, W. J. Florence, Owen Fawcett, Charles Fisher, T. Henry French, Daniel Frohman, John Gilbert, Lawrence Hanley, Edward Harrigan, Charles B. Jefferson, Herbert Kelcey, James Lewis, Thomas W. Keene, J. E. Murdock, Henry Miller, Walden Ramsay, Sol Smith Russell, Sidney Woollett, and George Riddle. The only foreign actor in the list is Henry Irving. Among the dramatists, artists, and men of letters, are: James Russell Lowell, Edmund Clarence Stedman, Horace Howard Furness, T. W. Dewing, A. W. Drake, Richard Watson Gilder, Edgar Fawcett, W. H. Gillette, Laurence Hutton, Brander Matthews, Joseph W. Ireland, Eastman Johnson, Stanford White, Francis Lathrop, George Parsons Lathrop, Thomas Nast, Howard Pyle, John E. Parsons, W. M. Laffan, Augustus St. Gaudens, and J. Alden Weir.
One of the principal connoisseurs of the drama in the club is Mr. Evert J. Wendell, an experienced amateur actor, and a collector of theatrical photographs and relics; the army is represented by General Sherman, who loves the stage; and the clergy by the Rev. Dr. Houghton, the liberal priest of the “Little Church Around the Corner.”
