The Girl on the Velvet Swing

by Simon Baatz

  Harry Kendall Thaw attended three colleges—the University of Wooster, Western University of Pennsylvania, and Harvard—but he was an indifferent student, and he left each college before graduating. His mother, Mary, provided him with an annual allowance of $80,000, on which he lived a life of leisure, spending several months each year traveling in Europe. (Library of Congress, LC-DIG-ds-10586)

  But Evelyn’s mother was less enthusiastic. Florence Nesbit, on her recent trip to Pittsburgh, had renewed an acquaintance with a friend of her late husband. Charles Holman, a stockbroker, had subsequently visited her in New York and had offered his hand in marriage. It would be inconvenient for her to spend several months traveling around Europe while her future husband waited for her to return. Harry Thaw had proposed an ambitious itinerary, one that would require her prolonged absence, and it seemed unreasonable that she, Florence, should spend so long away from home.

  She mentioned Harry’s plan to Stanford White, and their conversation only increased her reluctance to travel to Europe. Harry Thaw, White told her, was a wealthy man, the son of a Pittsburgh millionaire, who spent part of each year living in Paris and traveling around the continent. Thaw was generous with his friends, spending his money impulsively and never calculating the cost. But he also had a reputation as an obnoxious, often hostile, individual, someone who had been seen to lose his temper at the slightest provocation, flying into a rage over some trivial incident. There were rumors that he was a drug addict who indulged in heroin and cocaine, and, even worse, there were whispers among the smart set that Harry Thaw frequented prostitutes, tying them with restraints and whipping them.

  None of the clubs in New York, White told Florence Nesbit, were willing to admit Harry Thaw as a member; there had always been a blackball whenever he applied. His wealth would normally have been sufficient—the Union Club or the Knickerbocker Club would have admitted him—but his reputation always denied him the privilege.

  Nothing good could come from an association with such a man as Harry Thaw, White cautioned. It would be foolhardy, and perhaps even dangerous, for Florence and Evelyn to travel in Europe in Thaw’s company. They would be beholden to Thaw, dependent on him for their expenses, staying in foreign lands, far from any support and assistance that they might otherwise receive from their friends. And she, Florence, would be putting Evelyn, still only eighteen years old, in harm’s way. What would they do in an emergency? To whom would they turn for help? There was no telling what Thaw might do, and they would be foolish to take the risk.

  But Evelyn reassured her mother that such fears were groundless. She, Evelyn, had heard the same rumors about Harry from some of her friends, the girls she had known in the Florodora chorus. She had already asked Harry if there was any truth in the gossip about him and he had laughed, telling her that he had heard such rumors many times. They were the work of blackmailers who were trying to extort money from him. It was common practice in New York for unscrupulous crooks to threaten to tell such tales; but he had never thought to pay them any attention. He had never indulged in any drug use, he told her, and he never frequented prostitutes.

  Harry had quickly convinced her of his honesty, and Evelyn told her mother that there was no cause for alarm. Harry was perhaps a little hot-tempered, too quick to feel slighted, but he had always behaved toward her in a kind and considerate manner. It was ridiculous, Evelyn protested to her mother, to imagine that Harry would indulge in cocaine or associate with prostitutes.32

  Florence Nesbit eventually acquiesced. Harry planned to stay in Pittsburgh during April for the wedding of his sister Alice, and he would then return to New York to prepare for the journey. He would travel ahead to Paris with his valet in May to make the arrangements while Florence and Evelyn, accompanied by a maid, would sail on a later ship. Evelyn had every expectation that she would have a wonderful time—nothing untoward, she thought, could happen. What could possibly go wrong?

  3

  MARRIAGE

  HARRY THAW SAILED FROM NEW YORK IN THE FIRST WEEK OF May, arriving in Paris ten days later, while Evelyn and her mother traveled at the end of the month on the SS New York, a luxury passenger ship of the American Line. Stanford White, unhappy that they had accepted Thaw’s offer to go to Europe, accompanied them to the harbor, warning Florence Nesbit to be on her guard against Thaw. He could not, in good conscience, allow them to travel without any money—they would otherwise be entirely at Thaw’s mercy—and at the last moment, just as Florence was about to board the ship, White slipped an envelope, containing a letter of credit for $500, into her hand.1

  Six days later, after an uneventful voyage, the SS New York docked at Southampton. Evelyn and her mother, accompanied only by a maid, traveled along the coast as far as Folkestone, taking a boat across the Channel to Boulogne and then continuing onward by train to Paris.

  Harry had rented an enormous apartment in the Eighth Arrondissement, on the Avenue Matignon, close to the shops and restaurants on the Champs-Élysées. Every morning, after breakfast, Evelyn and Harry would go sightseeing, or to a museum or an art gallery, and in the afternoons he would take her shopping. They visited the Louvre many times, often accompanied by a guide, listening to his précis as they walked through the rooms. Nothing gave Evelyn more pleasure than the sculpture galleries: the Winged Victory of Samothrace, portraying the goddess Nike descending from the skies, surpassed anything she had seen back in New York in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Venus de Milo, a marble statue of the goddess of love, seemed impossibly delicate, full of grace and beauty.2

  But Leonardo da Vinci’s famous painting the Mona Lisa, the jewel of the Louvre’s collection, was a disappointment. Evelyn recognized the enigmatic expression of the subject, the faint smile of the woman in the portrait, but there was otherwise nothing noteworthy about the work. It was a mystery, she decided, that this painting had attained its status as a masterpiece.

  There was more enjoyment to be found in an adjacent gallery, in an exhibition of paintings of the Barbizon school. The Louvre had owned Jean-François Millet’s controversial painting The Gleaners since 1890, and in 1902 the financier Georges Thomy-Thiéry had donated several other important works, notably Théodore Rousseau’s Edge of the Forest, to the museum’s collection. The Gleaners, showing three peasant women picking ears of corn, had been controversial during the Second Empire for its sympathetic portrayal of the lower classes, but by 1903, when Evelyn Nesbit saw it, the painting had won a reputation as the epitome of the realist movement.3

  There was nothing in New York, not even the Metropolitan Museum, that could compare to the Louvre, and the opportunity to view its collections brought Evelyn and Harry back to the museum day after day. There was too much to see in the few weeks that they had planned to spend in Paris; but no matter, Harry told Evelyn—they would certainly come again another year.

  Their afternoons were spent shopping in the fashionable districts of the capital. Evelyn’s favorite destination was the Rue de la Paix, the street that connected the Place Vendôme to the Place de l’Opéra. The jewelers at Cartier knew Harry Thaw well—he was one of their best customers—and Evelyn loved to spend an hour or so browsing the showcases, picking out a diamond brooch, a lavaliere with a ruby pendant, or some pearls. It was a great convenience for her that the most fashionable couture houses—Jacques Doucet, Georges Doeuillet, Maison Paquin, Paul Poiret, and the House of Worth—were all located nearby, either on the Rue de la Paix or near the Place Vendôme, and Evelyn would often spend her afternoons choosing designs for a gown or an evening dress, selecting the fabric, and arranging for delivery. Her favorite salon was Doucet, a fashion house that had earned an extraordinary reputation for the elegance of its style, but she also frequented the House of Worth, an establishment known for its precision and detail.4

  Florence Nesbit had accompanied Harry and Evelyn to Paris as her daughter’s chaperone, and occasionally all three would dine together in the apartment. But Harry preferred to spend his evenings a
lone with Evelyn, out of sight of her mother. His favorite restaurant, Lapérouse, located on the Quai des Grands-Augustins, was reputedly the best seafood establishment in the capital, and in fine weather they would drive to the restaurant along the banks of the Seine, crossing the river on the Pont Neuf.

  On the weekends, Harry would take Evelyn on a carriage ride farther afield, outside the city limits. They toured the royal château and gardens at Saint-Germain-en-Laye and visited the palace at Fontainebleau, the traditional residence of the French monarchs. They also spent time at the Palace of Versailles, walking through the great halls and strolling through the gardens. But Versailles had suffered decades of neglect during the Second Empire and there were, even in 1903, few visitors. Renovations had begun ten years earlier, but Versailles still seemed strangely abandoned and forgotten.5

  There was more enjoyment to be had at Longchamp, a racetrack within the Bois de Boulogne, a large park on the western edge of the city. In fine weather they would drive out to the Bois in an open carriage to watch the horses compete over the flat, to place bets with the bookmakers, and to mingle with the Parisian aristocracy. Harry was a familiar figure at Longchamp and at the Maisons-Laffitte racetrack, north of the city, and at both places he introduced Evelyn to his acquaintances.

  It was a heady experience for the eighteen-year-old chorus girl. Evelyn Nesbit had been, six months previously, a pupil at the DeMille school in Pompton, studying her lessons with her classmates, and now she was in Paris, mingling with the elite of French society. Both Emma Calve, an opera singer who had recently starred in the role of Carmen at the Opéra-Comique, and Lina Cavalieri, an actress who frequently performed at the Théâtre de l’Odéon, knew Harry Thaw well. Evelyn also met the ballet dancer Cléo de Mérode, a mistress, so it was said, of the Belgian king, Leopold II. There were innumerable Russian princes, British lords, Italian dukes, and Spanish noblemen, all watching the races and placing bets on the horses, and on one memorable occasion Evelyn encountered Sultan Muhammed Shah, the third Aga Khan, on one of his visits to the Maisons-Laffitte track.6

  Elisabeth Marbury, a theatrical agent, and her companion, the actress Elsie de Wolfe, had moved from New York to Paris in the 1890s. Marbury was well known in theatrical circles on both sides of the Atlantic for her success in bringing the plays of French and British authors to the attention of American audiences. Her influence on Broadway was commensurate with her reputation in Paris and London: she worked to ensure that her authors received their royalty payments while simultaneously providing the theater companies in New York with entertaining plays.7

  Her residence, Villa Trianon, an eighteenth-century estate near Versailles, had originally served Louis XV as a retreat from the distractions of the French court. Villa Trianon had evolved into an essential destination for wealthy Americans in Paris who wished to spend time with their counterparts from Britain, France, and other European countries. Both Marbury and Elsie de Wolfe promoted Villa Trianon as an exclusive meeting place for an international aristocracy, hosting salons and concerts, staging theatrical productions, and generally welcoming anyone who could claim either wealth or fame.

  Harry Thaw had been to Villa Trianon on his previous visits to Paris, and he first introduced Evelyn to his hosts in June 1903, on the occasion of her first sojourn in the capital. Her beauty, her youth—she was still only eighteen—and her Broadway experiences all combined to make her, for a short while at least, the center of attention. Elisabeth Marbury had known Stanford White in New York, and she was intrigued to learn, through gossip and conjecture, that this young American girl, apparently so innocent and impressionable, had spent time with White two years before. What was she now doing with Harry Thaw in Europe? Did she intend to go back on the stage when she returned to New York, or did she wish to settle down, perhaps with Thaw?8

  Evelyn’s experiences in Paris exceeded her expectations in every way. Stanford White had spoken often of his travels in France, but his stories, invariably amusing and entertaining, had given her little sense of the delights that she now enjoyed. Harry Thaw also had exceeded her expectations. Harry had proven himself the perfect host, showing her the sights, taking her hither and thither, sparing no expense, and generally taking care to satisfy her every whim. Evelyn had heard the rumors about Harry from her friends, but she had seen no evidence either that he took drugs or that he frequented prostitutes. He had treated her well, with respect and consideration, and it seemed only natural that their time exploring the city together would bring them closer, in a feeling of mutual affection.

  She was taken aback, nevertheless, when Harry suddenly asked her to marry him. She had had no warning, no premonition; the request came as a surprise. Evelyn hesitated, unsure how to deal with a situation that she had not foreseen. She was still only eighteen, she replied, too young to think of marriage, and she was not yet ready to settle down. They had known each other only a short time, and besides, she had begun to think about a return to the stage. What would be the response of his family if they knew that he was engaged to be married to an actress?

  Her words seemed to have no effect, and for the first time, Evelyn realized that Harry was unaccustomed to hearing any refusal. He loved her, he replied, and he wished to marry her. His mother might not be happy that he had married an actress, but she would eventually come around—she always accepted his decisions—and he did not give a fig what society might think. He cared greatly for her, and he was sure that they would be happy together.

  “Don’t you care for me?” Harry asked. “Don’t you care anything about me?”

  “Yes,” she replied hesitantly. She appreciated everything that he had done for her. His solicitude for her recovery after her illness; his kindness and his consideration while she was in the hospital; and now his generosity toward her in France—it had all been wonderful…

  Harry leaned forward, scanning her face for some clue that might provide an explanation for her hesitation. She had always seemed content to be with him, and they had enjoyed their time together. Was there some other cause, some reason, apart from their relationship, that explained her reluctance?

  “Tell me,” he said, “why won’t you marry me?”

  He had heard the gossip about Evelyn and Stanford White but he had paid little attention, until now, to such rumors. It had seemed scarcely credible that she would give her affection to such a man as White. Why, the disparity in their ages, at least thirty years, would have made any relationship between them improbable. But Harry had always been uncertain; and he had never previously asked her about her friendship with White.

  He leaned forward again, gently taking hold of her hands, as he asked her about the architect.

  “Is it because of Stanford White?” he said.

  Tears welled in her eyes and she moved her head slightly, tilting it to one side as if to avoid his gaze. She nodded her reply—“Yes”—freeing her hand from his grasp to wipe away a tear that threatened to roll down her cheek.9

  It was as if Harry’s questions had released a flood of memories. They stayed awake until dawn, Evelyn telling him everything that had happened two years before between her and White, describing their initial encounter, her adventure on the velvet swing, and her mother’s visit to White’s offices. Stanford White had given her mother some money to go to Pittsburgh, and she, Evelyn, had seen him almost every day during her mother’s absence.

  Harry, his interest aroused, pressed her for details, demanding to know more, following the thread of her story to discover where it might lead. Evelyn continued to talk, telling him that she had posed for the photographer Rudolf Eickemeyer, and then, the next day, she had taken a cab from the Casino Theatre to Stanford White’s town house on Twenty-fourth Street.

  White had taken her upstairs, to a small bedroom on the third floor, where she had fallen unconscious after drinking some champagne. She had awoken to discover herself naked in bed with White, telltale spots of blood on the sheets.10

  Evelyn felt a great
sense of relief: at last, after two years, she had told someone about the rape. It was as if a burden had lifted itself from her shoulders, and at that moment, she experienced a sudden, unexpected sensation of well-being.

  But her story seemed to provoke a profound revulsion in Harry Thaw. He had listened intently to her narrative, all the while nervously biting his fingernails, his whole body tense with anxiety, his face twisted in an expression of disgust. Evelyn knew that she had told a shocking story, a violent tale of deceit and deception; but she was taken aback, nevertheless, by the severity of Thaw’s reaction.

  He had started to sob; he had buried his face in his hands; and now he was no longer sitting in his chair but had begun pacing nervously about the room, his shoulders hunched together, his left hand tightly clutching his right forearm.

  “The beast! The filthy beast!” Thaw’s voice, now rising almost to a shout, startled her with its rage. “A sixteen-year-old girl! Damn him!”11

  Evelyn had started to speak, attempting to hush his words, but he had already returned to his chair, anxiously interrogating her further about the rape.

  What role, he demanded, had her mother played in this awful event? Why had Florence Nesbit entrusted her daughter to the care of such a man as White? Had it been negligence on her part, or had she deliberately put Evelyn in harm’s way on account of the gifts that she had anticipated receiving from White? Stanford White had won their trust by his apparent generosity; but they should never have accepted his gifts.12

  In any case, Harry told Evelyn, her story had not diminished his love for her. She had said that the rape had somehow tainted her, that White’s act had disgraced her, and that she was not worthy to be his wife. But that was not true—the rape had not diminished her in his eyes. He still desired that they should be married.