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I
He must have thought I’d lost my wits. I was simply
by the ideas he had put into my head. Actually, i COtt ,
mv whole body vibrating with exultation. 1 am not
tious
meeting,
iso
eel
whole body viDraun* «u.u i am not g «.
but it seemed to me that Destiny had appointed f-
ing. managed this coincidence. I had drawn a litt in
school. But I had never really studied or practised any & a cu
• • .it a uitrlHnn on ortlni a A
ere
ice,
8e.
of art. Now, all of a sudden, an artist had declared
possessed talent—"decidedly.
Do you think I slept that night? Hardly a wink! 0v« and
over again I repeated: “I have talent, d have talent!”
was a place for me In the world—useful work. Indepen
perhaps fame. There was a long, hard road to travel, of c
and many sacrifices to make. But. hadn’t I sufficiently 0 ved
my capacity for sacrifice?
You are thinking, perhaps, that 1 exaggerate the Joy feit
when opportunity thus dropped her mask and revealefh /If
to me If so I have not yet made you realize that repr slon
had been the dominant factor of my life ever since my ma lags
to Harry Thaw—yes, and before that marriage as long as
remember.
What, you may laugh, Evelyn the wilful, the undiscl ned,
the spendthrift, the reckless pleasure lover and pleasure eker
ever repressed! 1 have been called all these things am
will not feel hurt at your thinking them.
I repeat—yea, repression all my life. The repression o
erty in my childhood, the repression of bewilderment an
when I first set foot on the stage, the somewhat foeneficei
no less firm repression of Stanford White, the egotist!* 1 re
pression of Harry, the iron repression of the Thaw9 in
burgh, the inexorable repression of the trials and the
repression-
ward.
-the thraldom to the Thaw bank account- tfter
All ray life 1 had been slave of one thing after another.
1 suddenly found that 1 had wiug3 and could use them,
so I
pov-
fear
hut
htts-
)f(iid
Now
jould
Evelyn in ‘
"Of course there was a possibi
and of earning my living as I had done
at that time my experiences as chorus
ful little part that I had in ‘The Wild
go back to a stage career.**
Chapter XIII.—Face to Face with Poverty
in a Hall Bedroom, Evelyn Thaw Tries to
Begin a New Life with a Serious Purpose.
factory, she can, if she has some education, get & position as a
governess, a child's nurse. As a last resource she can even
work in a hotel or go into domestic service.
All very true, you theorists, but Evelyn Thaw could do none
of these thing; She was too well known. Her face had been
stamped upon the minds of people for months. How long do
you think she would have lasted behind a counter in a store?
How long would the curiosity of her fellow worker* have a!
lowed her to last in a factory? How long would she have lasted
in any home as a domestic servant once the women of the fam
ily had known who she was. and how long could she have stood
it In any hotel?
No; my notoriety had closed every door to myself except that
of the stage, those to perdition, and any which 1 might discover
for myself—I mean some capacity, some talent, still latent, that
1 might find and develop Into a rope to pull myself out of this
unhappiness and uncertainty Into self-supporting and self-respect
ing ireedom.
And I found that door. Nothing along the old lines. Some
thing quite glorious, that sent me into the seventh heaven of
happiness, of confidence in myself. •
A little windfall—barely sufficient—had enabled me to for
sake that dreary furnished room and to take a little studio
apartment in Thirty-fourth street, back of the Waldorf-Astoria.
My brother Howard had come to live with me for awhile, and
here were accommodations for us both,
We were soon settled.
How I Found the Door to Freedom.
There was a good sized studio with a skylight, and an open
grate fire which furnished a pleasant glow In the evenings when
we sat before it and talked or dreamed about the future. This
room 1 called "my studio," though It had not yet deserved that
title. Opening from it was a bedroom which Howard occupied
My own bedroom was underneath.
I am particularizing in this way as a woman will over scenes
that linger pleasantly in her memory. Besides, this scene was
big for me with its significance of coming events.
One night, as my brother and I sat before the open fire, I
suddenly felt that I wanted to do something—use my hands,
make something. I have very capable hands—If you'll pardon
the conceit. They had always been as useful to me as a boy’s
hands are to him. I was one of those girls who actually could
throw a stone, and who could whittle with her brother’s Jack
knife without cutting her fingers. I had, also, a boy’s fearless
ness of snakes—in this latitude few snakes are poisonouB, or
can do one any kind of harm. Often 1 had picked up a snake
on a country road as a little girl and reversed the usual pro
ceeding by pursuing a boy and attempting to wind it about his
neck. Like most little boys, too, as a little girl, I wasn’t afraid
of getting my capable hands dirty.
Well, as we sat in the glow of the fire, and I felt that sudden
desire to do something with my hands, I said to my brother:
“■Howard, give me your jack-knife, I’m going to whittle.’
My brother muttered something about "second childhood,” but
sanded over his knife. •
There were some bits of soft wood kindling about, end I was
soon making the whittlings fly. I had never whittled aimlessly,
as a farmer does while he sits on the fence talking politics
with his neighbor. I had always made something. Without any
definite purpose In my mind, I was now whittling out mannikins
—little human figures, each with Its due allotment of head, arms
and legs. I even put faces on them.
Really, I was very clever at this. The arms were not too long
nor the legs too short, it seemed that I had a natural instinct
for physical proportions.
After a while—It was still early in the evening—there came
a tap at the door. A well-known painter had a studio In the
building, and our acquaintance with him had passed beyond the
formal stage. So I called out a cheerful “Come!”
He entered—an agreeable man, frank and friendly. We In
vited him to sit with us before the grate fire. He seemed to
appreciate the cozy qualities of the room—and now there were
three of us sitting before the grate fire.
I went on with my whittling.
"What," said our guest presently, with an air of badinage, "a
girl whittling? Aren’t you afraid of cutting your fingers?"
"No.” I answered, "for I know how to whittle. I’m a whittler
from Whittlersvllle.”
I had just given the finishing touches to a little figure of an
Indian girl. I handed it to him by way of proof of my boast.
He examined it curiously, from different angles, and I could see
his face light up.
"Not at all bad,” he said. "Really very good. Evidently
you’re strong on proportions. And the pose Is quite unstrained
—natural. Do you often do this?”
I toid. him that whittling out little figures of men and animals
was one of my favorite amusements.
"Amusements!" he muttered—but it was really an exclama
tion, and its significance thrilled me.
"It’s a most fortunate thing." he said, "when ’amusement’ and
useful work coincide. Why don’t you get some plastillne and
cover some of your carved figures. I would like to see what you
can do in that line."
"Do you mean.” I said, "that I—that these little figures”—
sudden, agitating hope that this might prove to be, "the time
the place and the man.” almost deprived me of speech.
"I mean,” he answered slowly and reflectively, as though talk
ing t6 himself rather than to me. "that a true sense of propor
tion Is a valuable gift. It is difficult to teach. It seems to me
that you nave talent—yes, decidedly.”
He spoke a few pleasant word* of leave-taking and was gone
Written by Evelyn Nesbit Thaw.
—
■M
Copyright, 1913, by Star Company.
Book Rights Reserved by Evelyn Nesbit Thaw.
CHE A P. red rug worries the floor, and, of course, there
is a shining, bottle-green wall paper. Luckily, there
is only one work of art—a sketch by Pcnrhyn Eton
ian* of t\oo absurdly fluffy young women standing on what looks
like a mountain of ice.
“The furniture is the inevitable ’bird's-eye maple.' Perhaps I
might get to sleep if the bed wasn't so hard. Across the sheet Is
s sporty all night restaurant—ablaze, with lights—much patron
ised by the inhabitants of some limbo of the underworld.
"It's t a m I 8tUl awake. Surely the Sandman has given
pie the 'icy mitt' this night. Well—no matter—I can entertain
myself.'’
I find this note in my fliarv. written verv early in the year
1910. when I was living In the very cheapest room I could find
In New York—somewhere in West Fortyvfourth street, 1 think.
My finances were at their lowest ebb. I was knowing again the
actual pineb of poverty.
Indeed, my situation was desperate. I was no better off. no,
not so well oft as I was back In those old days when mother
and I starved together. The Thaws had thrown me aside abso
lutely. Where during the first and second trials It had been
"Dearest Evelyn” and "poor heroic child,” 1t was now only an
occasional cold, curt note from some of the numerous Thaw law
yers, or else a mere empty chilling silence void of either money
or the faintest touch of sympathy.
I laughed a little bitterly as ! thought of the flowers that came
to me dally from the Thaw* at that time I was sacrificing repu
tation, future and shame to save Harry’s life; I thought of the
many tender messages from Mother Thaw, from Sister Alice
and so on. their eagerness to pay my rent and, without question,
any bills that 1 might want to run np.
I recalled, too. a curious message
from Harry, in which be had re
buked me for some economy and had
written, "Spend all you want. Let
the people know that you have a hus
band able and willing to support you
in the best of style ”
I looked again at the cheap red
rug and the bottle green wall paper
and 1 laughed I couldn't help It.
Because that message was so char
acteristic of Harry
I don’t think I have yet touched
upon this peculiar phase of Harry’s
capacity for spending money. He
was an egotist as a spendthrift, as In
everything else He always wanted
full advertising value for every
penny. And he was singularly re
luctant to part with any money If the
result of the parting would not be
something dramatic.
He was never libers! unless that
liberality might be supposed to bring
eaose sensation In which the public
could share and the limelight be di
rected upon himself. For Instance,
before the tragedy It would some
times strike me as unreasonable In
him to refuse to let ma buy a pretty
little bat I had eeen 1n a shop win
dow, and then come home that same
night and boast of baling swept all
the cut glass off a bar in the Hoff
man House, and of having settled for
It with a ohech for $300.
Before our marriage, when we
were travelling in Europe, If I awoke
in the night with a nightmare from
eating too much Camembert cheese.
Harry would awaken the hotel by summoning at least a dozen
of the best physicians He would consult with them as earnestly
as though the whole Thaw fortune were at stake, and assist
them in drawing up a strict diet for me and pay them anything
they asked, if 1 had a headache, specialists were called In. and
1 would be treated like an invalid de luxe for a week at least—
hut he had no sympathy at all in my need for a new pair of
peculiarly colored silk stockings.
The commotion In the hotel, the grave looking doctors, the
almost tragically serious conferences, all satisfied his dramatic
instinct. Just as did paying the $300 for smashing the barroom
glass before an admiring audience.
I had appealed time and again to Harry In Matteawan for
money. He had refused me on the ground that he needed every
cent for Ms plans for freedom. 1 quite understood his position
and I did not feel the resentment toward him, that morning 1
wrote the note that begins this chapter, that I felt toward bis
family. Harry’s Income, I had been led to believe, was about
$80,000 a year, and I knew that any moment 1 could present to
him some scheme whereby I could guarantee to produce a satis
tying dramatic moment he would be quite capable of giving me
all or any part of it. But 1 couldn’t think of anything. I had
gotten, oh. so desperately sick of notoriety!
No; the red rug and the green wall paper did not stir within
me resentment against my husband. Harry Was not responsible.
But Harry's family was responsible.
Strange as my poverty may seem to you who read, and in
credible as the situation may appear, It had oome about very
simply and logically. I have bad beaten Into me a tolerant
philosophy; I have always had. thank whatever gods there be,
a sense of humor and of proportion. That the "what-ought-to-
be” seldom appears as the “what is” is not the fault of ue
little human beings, but rather of the peculiar System some
where out In space that governs us. That the Thaws, with their
Idolatry of social position, their Plttsburgh-Presbyterian ideal
of conduct, tbelr ever-living resentment against me for having
dared to come Into Harry’s life, should treat me so after they
thought my usefulness was gone was not surprising That
Harry, half-crazed and supreme egotist, should have no feeling
for me now it seemed that I could neither be of use to 'him nor
throw upon him a comforting beam of publicity was not aurpris
jng, either.
'But it was surprising that this glorious System which rules
mankind so "beneficently” and which the Thaws called "true
Christianity” should permit such a situation.
If the Thaws wanted me out of their lives, well and good, I
would gladly go and forget them and—let them forget me
1 would even live In such a manner that they would never
hear of me again. But In the name of all good faith and their
Christianity was it fair to toss me, still only a child, out into
the world like a dirty rag, and not care whether I was washed
down through the gutters Into the sewers of life!
Mrs. Thaw had promised me a certain sum each month. 1
didn't get It. 'Despite the newspaper stories and the statements
of the Thaw lawyers at that time and since of how well I was
provided for, the fact remains that I was not so provided for.
That’® all there is to it. It stands to reason that If 1 had
gotten what was coming to me I would not have been living
in this littlp room looking at the atrocious red rug. the green
wall paper and lying awake ail night listening to the cboo-choo
of automobiles drawing up to the joy-palace opposite.
No; what actually had happened was this: I had a number of
'pawnable things, a few Jewels Harry had given me and some
other trinkets,
f would go on
for a time re
ceiving abso
lutely nothing.
1 would have tc
pawn some of.
my things. I
would run up
bills. Then I
would get a
small check
from the Thaws.
It would not be
enough usually
to set me even
with the world
again, let alone
keeping me. The
bills would not
all be paid. Soon
the check would
be exhausted,
more things
would have to
be pawned.
And so It
would go on. I
was like a girl
h an g 1 n g to a
rope over an
abyss. The
Thaws were at
the other end of
t h e r o p e. I
would keep slid
ing down for a
time, and then
they would pull
me up a little. But never up as far as 1 had gone down. Then
I would slide again. Then there would be another little pull.
You see. under such circumstances it is only a matter of time
when one gets so far down in the abyss that there is no chance
at all of getting hack.
And that Is why I was in the little Forty-fourth street room
that morning with, a bunch of pawntickets and little else.
Frankly I didn't know what to do. I shall to the end of my Hie
associate cheap red rugs and bottle green wall paper with ideas
of suicide, utter failure, complete down-and-outness and des
peration.
Of course, there was the possibility of my returning to the
stage and of earning my living as 1 had done before I met Harry
Thaw-. But at that time my experiences as chorus girl in "Floro-
dora" and the pitiful little part that 1 had In “The Wild Rose"
did not make me eager to go back to a stage career. I had been
ndvtsed, Indeed, to do so. not only by friends, but by theatrical
people who saw in the notoriety I had attained a chance to
make money. But I did not want to go on the stage as a freak.
The public will surely grant me sorie little credit for not doing
so when the circumstances were as desperate with me as they
were then, and the Thaws ought still to be grateful.
I would not go upon the stage; It was Impossible for me to
get work anywhere, and 1 could not hope for anything from
my husband or my husband s family. What. then, was I to do?
And here I suspect that you are asking yourself. "Why could
she not get some honest work if she so desired?” Just think
for a moment What Is there that an unskilled girl can do?
8he can sew. she can become a saleswoman, she Can go Into a
Hopi Indian Maiden.
This crude bit of sculpture was executed by Evelyn with putty
and a nail file before she had taken any lessons in sculpture.