by Simon Baatz
His answer seemed to surprise Evelyn. She began to name some of their mutual acquaintances, people prominent on the Broadway stage, and, yes, White replied in turn, each one did such things. But it was important, he cautioned Evelyn, to remember that no one ever discussed this behavior; no one mentioned it or admitted to it. Some of the girls in Florodora were too foolish in this regard. They gossiped and, as a consequence, they destroyed their reputations.
Stanford White felt a sense of relief when he left Evelyn’s apartment later that afternoon. She had accepted his explanation, it seemed, and she had assured him that she would not tell her mother. It was slightly surprising, he felt, that she should have believed him so completely. He had not imagined that even a sixteen-year-old could be so naïve as to accept such a story.
It had been an unpleasant experience for Evelyn, but she found it difficult to remain angry with Stanny for long. He had, she knew, taken advantage of her, but his assertions that everyone acted in such a way provided Evelyn with a measure of reassurance. It had not been so bad, she persuaded herself, and, remarkably, their friendship continued as before.
No one was more popular in New York society than Stanford White, and Evelyn could convince herself that Stanny had chosen her as the special object of his affection. She saw him frequently in the days and weeks that followed, spending time with him in the evenings after each performance of Florodora.
She left the theater each evening around nine o’clock, taking one of the cabs at the stage door to go to the tower apartment in Madison Square Garden. At Twenty-sixth Street, at the base of the tower that rose above the square, she alighted from the cab and pushed the bell to call the elevator. The operator, an elderly man with a sad, wizened face, gave her his customary greeting, and very quickly, almost before she could take another breath, the machinery propelled her to the topmost floor of the tower.
The elevator doors rattled open with a slight clatter, allowing her to step into a hallway. Evelyn knocked on the door that stood before her, waiting for Stanny’s valet to allow her to enter.
She came into a magical space, the salon at Madison Square Garden where Stanny held court each evening with his friends and acquaintances. The tower with which Stanny had embellished the building held seven apartments, each apartment occupying the entire floor and commanding views of the city on all four sides. Stanford White had claimed the topmost apartment as his own, and it was this apartment that Evelyn entered.7
Evelyn could usually recognize a familiar face at Stanny’s parties—other actresses from the Broadway shows were always present—and she could also count on meeting Stanny’s many friends.
Ethel Barrymore, just twenty-two, was a frequent guest. Barrymore had achieved sudden fame that fall, in October 1901, in her role as Madame Trentoni in the comedy Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines. Ethel Barrymore’s elder brother, Lionel, would also appear at the tower from time to time, gossiping wickedly with friends before mysteriously flitting away again, back to one of his Broadway haunts. The vaudeville star Lillian Russell, accompanied by her paramour, the financier James (Diamond Jim) Brady, would arrive late at night after her performance at the Broadway Musical Hall, and Fay Templeton, then appearing in Hoity-Toity, a burlesque show, would also make an appearance.8
Evelyn’s friends from Florodora were often present. She was always pleased to see Fannie Donnelly, invariably accompanied by the magazine writer Frank Crowninshield. Other members of the Florodora troupe would show up occasionally. Susan Drake and Daisy Green, both favorites of Stanny, would appear arm in arm, laughing and giggling together, both slightly tipsy after drinks at Delmonico’s.
George Lederer, the manager of the Casino Theatre, was also a visitor to the tower. Lederer, still a comparatively young man—just thirty-eight—had already achieved astonishing success as a Broadway impresario. His production of The Belle of New York, a musical comedy, had run for two years after its transfer to the London stage. Lederer had thus silenced those critics who had claimed that an American production would never find favor with British audiences, and in later years he staged successful productions on both sides of the Atlantic. His musical comedies and vaudeville shows, notorious for their risqué lyrics and their beautiful girls, were always in demand in New York, and Florodora, first staged by Lederer at the Casino Theatre in 1900, was no exception, playing to packed houses night after night.9
Stanford White belonged to several clubs in New York—the Salmagundi Club, the Players’, the Lambs, the Harmonie, and the Metropolitan—and his friends from these clubs would also often attend the evening parties. The Tile Club had long ago disappeared, but several of its members, friends of White in the 1880s, would occasionally attend. The sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens, despite his ill health, appeared from time to time. The artists William Merritt Chase and John Henry Twachtman would visit the tower, albeit infrequently. The illustrator Charles Dana Gibson, a celebrity famous for his humorous sketches in Harper’s Weekly and Collier’s, was present, always on the lookout for attractive girls who might pose for his drawings. Rudolf Eickemeyer, the photographer for whom Evelyn had posed at the end of 1901, frequently attended. Eickemeyer had photographed Evelyn several times since their first encounter, always posing her in a slightly risqué manner, and they had since become friends.10
White’s salon, close to the theaters and restaurants frequented by the bon ton and conveniently located in Madison Square, was a meeting place where the cultural avant-garde—writers, editors and publishers, musicians, artists, actors and actresses, sculptors and painters—could discreetly mingle and gossip, secure in the knowledge that few people outside their charmed circle would ever learn its secrets.
Stanny’s guests would often stay late into the night, sometimes until one o’clock in the morning. Evelyn would remain behind, waiting impatiently for their departure, and then, after hearing the elevator descend to the street, she would turn to embrace Stanny. Evelyn would linger a few more minutes, enjoying her interlude with Stanny before she too would descend to the street to catch a cab home.
Stanford White modeled the tower of Madison Square Garden on the campanile of the Cathedral of Santa Maria in Seville. The copper statue of Diana, by the sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens, acted as a weather vane. (Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library, Columbia University)
But often, on clear nights, they called the elevator back to the seventh floor and took it higher, as far as an open-air platform that then led by way of stairs to the summit. Stanford White had designed the topmost section of the tower with three separate levels, much as one would design a wedding cake, each level elaborately decorated with balustrades and tourelles, all done in the baroque style. A spiral staircase wound its way from the lower platform to the top of the tower, arriving finally at the level that stood directly beneath the copper statue of the goddess Diana at the pinnacle.
The elevator opened onto the first level, the open-air platform enclosed on all four sides by a stone balustrade. Evelyn would lead the way up the narrow iron stairway, stepping gingerly, holding onto the railing with her hand. Stanny followed behind, treading more confidently, waiting patiently for Evelyn to make her way up the steps. On the second level they paused briefly, stopping to catch their breath, resting for a few minutes before making the final ascent. Evelyn led the way again, finally stepping onto the topmost platform.
They stood, side by side, more than three hundred feet above street level. On a clear night, with a full moon, they could see far into the distance, as far north as Central Park. To the southwest they could make out the faint glimmer of the torch of the Statue of Liberty in the harbor.
Even in the middle of the night, they could see the ferries crisscrossing the East River, chugging from Manhattan to Long Island City and back again, their lights twinkling in the darkness. The ferry service from Manhattan to Brooklyn had declined recently, in the years since the opening of the new suspension bridge, but the bridge itself was a spectacular sight—the heavy g
ranite caissons supporting the limestone towers, a network of steel cables holding the roadway along which Evelyn could see a steady procession of carts, carriages, and the occasional motorcar. Stanny had shown her, on her first visit to the summit, the construction of a second bridge to Brooklyn, one that would link Manhattan to Williamsburg, but this bridge, not yet complete, always seemed slightly forlorn. Its two towers, tied together by steel cables, stood on either side of the river, but its causeway was empty and abandoned, without any glimmer of traffic.
To the west, the Sixth Avenue train would come into view, rumbling along the elevated tracks, appearing in the far distance like a child’s toy, electrical sparks flying away from the wheels, its passengers staring from the windows into the inky darkness. Farther west they could see the Jersey shore, an obscure and remote hinterland, dotted with small towns—Weehawken, Hoboken, Secaucus—with strange names.
Occasionally Evelyn and Stanny, each wearing a heavy coat against the wind, his arms around her shoulders, would stand on the platform waiting a little longer, until daybreak, and then they could watch the city below begin its daily round. Within a matter of minutes, it seemed, both Broadway and Fifth Avenue had become clogged with traffic, with endless lines of carts and carriages stretching north and south. They could see the rooftops below and the spires of the churches, and on the horizon, on the eastern edge, the sun would begin to shine its light over what seemed, at such moments, to be the greatest city in the world.11
Evelyn still lived with her mother in an apartment suite at the Audubon Hotel, but now she started spending more and more of her time with Stanny at his Madison Square Garden apartment. The Audubon Hotel was conveniently located at Thirty-ninth Street and Broadway, a few steps from the Casino Theatre, but it was inconveniently placed in the center of the Tenderloin district, that part of the city notorious for its brothels and gambling dens.
Madison Square, by contrast, had retained its distinction as one of the most desirable areas of New York. Fashionable hotels and expensive shops lined Fifth Avenue on the west side of the square; a row of elegant town houses ran along Twenty-sixth Street on the north side; and two impressive buildings, the New York Supreme Court, completed in 1900, and Madison Square Presbyterian Church, a Gothic pile built in 1853, occupied Madison Avenue on the east side of the square.
New York has typically, in its long history, been too large, too complex, and too diverse to have an acknowledged center. It has sprawled over too vast an area and has encompassed too many diverse roles—financial, political, and cultural—for any one district to command the obeisance of the others. Yet Madison Square, at least at the turn of the century, effectively served as the city’s center. Its location, at the intersection of Broadway and Fifth Avenue, provided easy access to other parts of the city, and its hotels, restaurants, theaters, and shops all drew New Yorkers to spend their time and money in the square and the adjacent streets. It was one of the most exclusive residential neighborhoods in the city; and it was distinctive also as the meeting place of the city’s political elite. The Fifth Avenue Hotel, an elegant white marble building facing the west side of the square, hosted meetings of the Republican Party establishment, while the Hoffman House, an adjacent hotel, was the gathering place for Democratic politicians. On election nights, each set of politicians awaited the results at its favored hotel while, in the square itself, large crowds cheered the returns as they were projected onto the façade of the St. Germain Hotel through a set of ingenious lantern slides.12
Stanford White never displayed much concern with politics; even the campaign to overthrow the corrupt Democratic machine failed to awaken his interest. But he was friendly with the politicians whose help he might need for the approval of various building projects, and he was always careful to provide them with tickets to the shows and exhibitions at Madison Square Garden.
Evelyn knew nothing of such arrangements. Stanny was always preoccupied with various architectural projects, soliciting commissions, arranging proposals, coordinating workmen, and meeting deadlines; but Evelyn knew little about such work. It irritated her, of course, that Stanny was so frequently away from New York, but there was good reason, he explained, for his absences. The firm often contracted for work in other parts of the country, and it was always necessary that one of the partners supervise the construction. He also traveled to Europe at least once a year, and these trips too were a necessary component of his work. His clients often demanded that he furnish their houses with the most expensive accoutrements, and he journeyed to France, Italy, and Britain to seek out antique furniture, silverware, tapestries, and paintings that he could use to decorate the mansions of his wealthy patrons.
Evelyn consoled herself for Stanny’s absences with the knowledge that her life with him was never dull. Her role in Florodora, always a very minor part, had, after eight months, become almost humdrum by its repetition; yet her privileged position within Stanny’s circle of friends was sufficient compensation. It seemed of little account that he was married and that he occasionally spent the weekends with his wife, Bessie, and his son, Lawrence, at the family estate on Long Island. Stanny, after all, frequently disparaged his wife, telling Evelyn that Bessie had gained too much weight since their marriage. It was impossible for Evelyn to feel any jealousy toward a woman who had so obviously lost Stanny’s affection.
But one day, idly glancing at some papers, Evelyn noticed a small black book, slightly tattered and torn, a book that she had never seen before. Stanny was away from the apartment, working at the office. She hesitated. Stanny was always insistent that she not touch his papers; but the temptation was too great, and with a slight sense of guilt, Evelyn began to leaf through the pages. She noticed a list of names written in Stanny’s sprawling, spidery handwriting. Some of the Florodora girls had made it into the black book, and she saw that girls from other Broadway shows were included also. She recognized her own name on the list and saw that her birth date had been written in black ink next to her name. Evelyn remembered that Stanny had given her a diamond necklace from Tiffany’s on her birthday, and she vividly recalled the impression it had made on her.
Why had Stanny written this list of names? Did it serve to remind him of each girl’s birthday? Did he give a birthday present to each girl on the list? Evelyn realized with a sudden blush that Stanny’s black book had provided her with evidence of his infidelity.13
It was mortifying for Evelyn to realize that she was not the special object of Stanny’s affection. He had claimed that his frequent absences were on account of his architectural practice, but Evelyn, her suspicion aroused, no longer could believe that he was faithful to her. She could never confront him with her knowledge—she was afraid that he might then exclude her from his circle—but she nursed her anger at his betrayal and calculated her revenge.
Could she arouse his jealousy by showing affection to other suitors who had so persistently courted her? Evelyn knew some of the members of the Racquet Club, a group of wealthy young men who played tennis on the courts at their clubhouse on Forty-third Street. Bobby Collier, the heir to a publishing house, flirted with Evelyn, taking her to Sherry’s, escorting her to the Metropolitan Opera, and introducing her to his friends. Condé Nast, the business manager at Collier’s Weekly, also courted Evelyn for a while, writing affectionate billets-doux and sending her roses, while James (Monte) Waterbury, the dilettante son of a prominent businessman, had a brief fling with Evelyn in the spring of 1902. James Barney, a recent Yale graduate and a member of the Racquet Club set, also took a shine to Evelyn, buying her diamond brooches from Tiffany’s, sending flowers to her apartment, and taking her to the theater.14
But such affairs were never likely to end happily for Evelyn. The young men who flirted with her had no intention of marrying an impoverished actress with few prospects. She had little to recommend her beyond her looks, and they quickly tired of her company. James Barney abruptly ended his affair with Evelyn not long after it had begun, moving to Paris to st
udy architecture at the École des Beaux-Arts. Later that year, in July 1902, Bobby Collier married Sara Van Alen, the daughter of a wealthy Wall Street stockbroker, and the following month Condé Nast married Clarisse Coudert, an heiress who, though still in her twenties, was independently wealthy.15
Florodora ended its New York run in January 1902. It had been a triumph, one of the most popular shows on Broadway. George Lederer, keen to repeat his success, rented the Knickerbocker Theatre that spring for a new comedy, The Wild Rose, that had recently had its premiere in Philadelphia. Lederer had taken a fancy to Evelyn Nesbit during the Florodora run, and he now hinted that he would give her a musical role in The Wild Rose when it moved to New York in May. But first, he stipulated, she had to take singing lessons. Evelyn did her best, going each day to Arthur Lawrason’s studio on Sixty-ninth Street, practicing in the evenings in her apartment, but she had little discernible talent as a singer. Lederer, a sympathetic, generous man, was reluctant, nevertheless, to cast Evelyn adrift, and he eventually gave her the part of Vashti, a Gypsy girl.
The Wild Rose was not a success, ending its run less than four months later. Lederer’s generosity toward Evelyn had also run its course, and he conspicuously failed to offer her a part in any of the other musicals that he produced that year. Evelyn auditioned in October 1902 for The Silver Slipper, a musical scheduled to open the following year at the Grand Opera House, but she failed to get the part.
Evelyn’s acting career came to an inglorious end the next month. Norma Munro, a society matron who had inherited her father’s publishing business, had invested $80,000 in a new theater, Mrs. Osborn’s Playhouse, on Forty-fourth Street. The first production, Tommy Rot, a musical comedy, provided Evelyn with one more opportunity to display her acting talent, but the show ran for only thirty-nine performances. Mrs. Osborn’s Playhouse, in any case, was less a professional theater than a caprice of Norma Munro. It was too far uptown to attract an audience, and the stars of the Broadway stage refused a connection with such a doubtful venture. Mrs. Osborn’s Playhouse went into bankruptcy the following month.16
