Other Juries Compared With That in the Thaw Trial.

MADISON SQUARE GARDEN

The Scene of the Thaw-White Tragedy.

THE TOMBS PRISON

Window in Circle Marks Thaw’s Cell.

THE GREAT
HARRY THAW CASE
OR
A Woman’s Sacrifice

BY
BENJ. H. ATWELL
A graphic and truthful narrative of the most sensational
case in modern jurisprudence. A thrilling account of
a young girl’s struggles in her battle for fame and
fortune, and the unconquered love of the man
who has baffled the world’s greatest alienists;
with portraits of many leading characters,
famous society leaders and noted
actresses who have made this case
the talk of America and Europe
ILLUSTRATED
CHICAGO
LAIRD & LEE, Publishers

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1907,
By William H. Lee,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at
Washington, D. C.
——
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CONTENTS

PREFACE.

A great trial has come to a close. It has attracted the attention of the entire civilized world for three widely separated and distinctly defined reasons—the unusual degree of heart interest underlying the tragedy that brought it about; the startling and sensational disclosures of life in the great metropolis, and the legal precedents established, particularly in relation to the universal, unwritten law.

Realizing that this remarkable case is destined to be more than a passing sensation of the hour or the year; that it will exercise a wide influence on the thought and lives of uncounted thousands, it has seemed meet that a carefully prepared, clean and accurate record should be given the world in permanent form.

This, because its eloquent sermon cost too great a price to be lost, and its awful warning against a vicious life is of too great value to the world to trust it to fitful memory.

Men standing on the brink of the precipice hewn by unbridled passion, may read in the terrible fate that overtook Stanford White at the hands of an avenging husband, an injunction against the worst in their nature and reflect before it is too late.

Mothers, tempted by the pressing, material needs of the day to permit tender daughters to aid in the family support by entering occupations, which, while not vicious, are beset by pitfalls, may think twice before reaching a decision after contemplating the sufferings and humiliations suffered by Evelyn Nesbit.

Young women in the exuberance of youth, hungering for the empty bubble known as a career, may recall the pathetic picture presented by the same girl when on the witness stand as Mrs. Thaw, and recoil from thought of a butterfly life after viewing that crushed, unhappy figure.

Even more exalted personages may find profit in taking inventory of the Thaw case. Prosecuting attorneys are found in every county in this broad land. Let them observe the attitude of District Attorney Jerome in this case and search out their minds to determine if they are ever guilty of persecution in the name of prosecution, or inflict unnecessary torture on the innocent, to vindicate an immaterial theory, of interest only to the occupants of the grandstand.

Modern times reveal no parallel to the Thaw case in its various phases. Shakespeare’s wonderful creations of fancy contain no more thrilling features nor more humanizing passages in their philosophic application than have been disclosed by this life tragedy of love, hate, villainy, perfidy and outraged innocence.

All the emotions known to the human heart enter into it, ranging from boundless, mercenary cupidity and indescribable cruelty to self sacrificing love that has found no test too severe.

Preachments covering the scope of every sermon life’s experiences produce abound in its every development in such blunt, powerful form that he who runs may read and he who reads may bring them home to himself.

Precedents in medical jurisprudence have been established, medical and legal reputations made and lost.

To the student of human nature, then, this volume will carry a message. Also, to the moralist and the teacher, the physician and the lawyer. Nor will this list exhaust the field of those who may find something of interest and benefit within its pages, for the field is as broad as mankind.

If it is received in the spirit in which it is given to the public, free from any disposition to pander to mere morbid curiosity or to exploit that which is reprehensible in moral makeup, it shall have accomplished the purpose of

The Author.

EVELYN NESBIT AS “AN AMERICAN BEAUTY” when she was 18 years old.

CHAPTER I.
Evelyn Nesbit Thaw, the “Woman in the Case.”

FAMED FOR BEAUTY EVEN AS A LITTLE CHILD—BORN IN LITTLE PENNSYLVANIA TOWN—WHEN ONLY 13 YEARS OLD SHE BEGAN AS AN ARTIST’S MODEL—SOUGHT OUT BY FAMOUS PAINTERS—ENGAGED AS A CHORUS GIRL BECAUSE OF HER BEAUTY—LURED FROM INNOCENT CHILDHOOD BY STANFORD WHITE, MILLIONAIRE ARCHITECT—FORMED THE ACQUAINTANCE OF HARRY THAW, RICH YOUNG PITTSBURGH MAN—SENT AWAY TO SCHOOL BY WHITE—SNUBBED BY FELLOW STUDENTS—FORCED TO QUIT SCHOOL.

Evelyn Nesbit, later to be known as “the most beautiful artists’ model in the world,” was born in Tarentum, Pa., a little village near Pittsburg, in 1884. Even as a baby she was surpassingly pretty, and her face, like that of a dark-haired cherub, attracted hundreds of visitors to her parents’ humble home, a little two story frame cottage worth less than $2,000.

Evelyn’s life was like that of most young girls in country towns. She went to Sunday school regularly, and at the age of five made her first public appearance in a Sunday school entertainment.

The family moved to Pittsburg, and Evelyn was still a schoolgirl when the death of her father, Winfield Scott Nesbit, a struggling lawyer, left her mother and herself almost destitute. Incumbrances on the little property left by her father shut off almost every source of income. The schoolgirl had to face a more serious problem than usually falls to the lot of a girl in short skirts.

When Evelyn was only thirteen years old, a Mrs. Darragh, a portrait painter and miniature artist of Philadelphia, discovered her rare beauty and painted her head. Later Phillips, a photographer of Philadelphia, asked the Pittsburg child to sit for several photographic studies. The pictures were printed in an art magazine and attracted attention. Before her father had been dead long Evelyn Nesbit found that she was being sought by such artists as Carroll Beckwith, F. S. Church, Carl Blenner, and J. Wells Champney.

Demand for the privilege of photographing her beautiful face or portraying it on canvas became so great that the money earned by the little girl by posing became the mainstay of the family. With her mother she moved to New York, took rooms in a low-priced boarding house, and began frequenting studios of famous artists. Her work was in constant demand.

It was while she was posing that she met the man whose acts toward her resulted in his killing by Harry Kendall Thaw. It was when her mother, modest, yet proud of her wonderfully beautiful little daughter just budding into girlhood, took her to a photographer’s that Evelyn Nesbit flashed into public view as a famous beauty. The pictures were so remarkable, so perfect in feature, so graceful in every outline that the artist exhibited them in his studio.

Little wonder it was that every one who passed the show case stopped spell-bound by the youthful beauty of the subject; little wonder that Charles Dana Gibson, then in the zenith of his success, with his studies of the American girl, looked upon Evelyn’s photographs in rapture and wished immediately to meet the original and arrange to have her pose for him.

One day as the little model was about to leave the studio she was met by a man about to enter the door.

“By jove! Gibson, who is this little vision of the empyrean blue? Tell me. I must know the little sprite, whether she is of this earth or just a fairy from out of wonderland,” the man added, lightly, as he held the girl a shy and pretty captive at the door.

The usual unconventional studio introduction followed. The man who gasped in admiration of the exquisite flower-like beauty of the young girl was Stanford White, the renowned architect; the girl was Florence Evelyn Nesbit, artist’s model.

The man of the world saw in the innocent young thing an easy victim to his wiles, and opportunities were made for him to meet the girl, whom he planned to make his puppet, his plaything, his slave.

His efforts were not long in being crowned by success. The pretty trinkets which the girl loved so well were hers with the first expression of her desire; she was flattered when she realized from whom she was receiving adulation, the subtle, crafty methods of the connoisseur of beauty, of art, the epicure in all his fleshly wants, the polished manner, the refined taste that were his by birth, all added a charm new and irresistible to the ingenuous, luxury-loving little model with the eyes of a Madonna and the smile of a siren.

Soon the beautiful, innocent Evelyn Nesbit was ensconced in a high class apartment house and Stanford White, who paid the bills, became a constant visitor to the magnificently appointed suite.

There she lived in ease and the artist-architect brought his men friends to see this girl, and boasted that she was his “by right of discovery.” She was taken to the restaurants frequented by the men and women about town. Evelyn Nesbit became the toast of the companions of White.

Finally a stage career was mapped out for her. White managed it, and Evelyn Nesbit’s fame spread as she flaunted her lithe form and graceful beauty in “Florodora” and “The Wild Rose.”

It was at this time that Harry Thaw made her acquaintance. The late hours and the endless, restless round of pleasure had told upon the fragile girl and she fell ill.

A European trip was planned for her and Stanford White was one of the party. In a few weeks they returned to New York, but Evelyn Nesbit could never dance again. Instead she was sent to a boarding school where White hoped that she would regain her health sufficiently to reappear upon the stage and, incidentally, learn better how to spell and write.

At this time Evelyn Nesbit was a mere slip of a girl, just sixteen, with a wealth of brown hair and great brown eyes. It was in Mrs. Henry C. De Mille’s school that White chose to have his “ward” educated, at “Pimlico,” N. J. Stanford White’s checks were forwarded with great regularity and the girl, known in the school to be the “ward” of the great and prosperous architect, became a favorite among the girls—girls of the most exclusive of families.

It began soon to be whispered that Evelyn Nesbit was a soubrette and exceptions were taken to the visits of Stanford White and of Harry Thaw and other men of their types.

One day Stanford White went to the school in a big touring car and invited some of the pupils for a ride. During that ride his conversation was of such a nature that three of the girls insisted upon being permitted to alight and they returned to the school on foot.

This caused such an uproar in the school that Evelyn was asked to leave, but she was prevented from going by a sudden illness. During this illness, Harry Thaw, who had made her acquaintance in New York while she was on the stage, was in constant attendance upon her and when the girl was finally forced to leave, Thaw was there to defray all her expenses.

Stanford White meanwhile had deserted the beautiful girl and refused to pay her tuition, which amounted to $3,000. He declared he was Evelyn’s “guardian” by courtesy only. His failure to keep his word to defray the girl’s expenses was a severe blow to Mrs. De Mille, whose school had become so depleted through the notoriety that he had brought upon it that it was forced to disband.

Meanwhile Thaw became desperately in love with the girl and took her back to her mother and told her of his love and begged her to take Evelyn to Europe as his guest. It was in Pittsburg sometime later that he married the girl who had been spurned and repudiated and left friendless by the man who claimed her “by right of discovery.”

Evelyn’s stage career was brief but brilliant. While an actress in musical comedies she was pronounced by all “The most beautiful woman behind the footlights,” but her natural beauty was destined to become fatal—fatal to Stanford White—fatal to her own good name—fatal to her husband’s hope of happiness.

“The most beautiful woman behind the footlights.”

PICTURE OF EVELYN NESBIT

taken just before her marriage, and considered her best likeness.

CHAPTER II.
Harry Thaw’s Sensational Courtship and Marriage.

YOUNG MILLIONAIRE’S ROMANCE STARTLED THE WORLD—MET EVELYN NESBIT AFTER A PLAY WHEN SHE WAS ONLY 17 YEARS OLD—FRIENDSHIP RIPENED INTO LOVE—THE YOUTH’S STRANGE CAREER—WENT TO EUROPE WITH THE FOOTLIGHT AND STUDIO BEAUTY—REPORT OF MARRIAGE ABROAD SHOCKED RELATIVES—DENIED BY BOTH THE SUPPOSED BRIDE AND GROOM—RETURNED TO NEW YORK—EJECTED FROM FOUR HOTELS—HAD WEDDING CEREMONY PERFORMED IN PITTSBURG—MOTHER OF THAW AT FIRST REFUSED TO ACCEPT EVELYN AS DAUGHTER—OFFERED $250,000 TO GIVE UP HARRY.

Harry Kendall Thaw’s winning of Florence Evelyn Nesbit stands out as a thrilling chapter in the great book of love. The biography of each of the parties was studded with the bizarre. Fifty thousand dollar dinners, ejectments from hotels, diamonds and grand pianos thrown about as carelessly as if they were trinkets, family opposition, and remarkably romantic love were some of the ingredients.

Harry Thaw’s eyes first fell upon Evelyn Nesbit when she was only seventeen years old. She had carried her beauty from Pittsburg to the studios of New York. Then the stage called her, and her brunette pulchritude charmed the scion of one of Pittsburg’s wealthiest families. Somebody presented her to Thaw at a gay party of young and beautiful stage girls who were having a costly supper after the play at an exclusive restaurant. All this time Evelyn was supposed to be under the eye of her mother, who, a few years previously, had doffed her widow’s weeds and married Charles J. Holman, a Pittsburg broker. Mrs. Holman told her friends she keenly realized the perils that beset the feet of beautiful young girls, but her chaperonage did not save her own daughter.

Thaw loved the daughter, he said, as soon as he saw her. His appreciation of feminine loveliness had always been one of his strongest qualities. Only three years before he met Miss Nesbit he had given a $50,000 dinner in Paris to twenty-five of the most beautiful women that he could get together. Cleo de Merode, at whose feet the King of the Belgians had laid royal tribute, Anna Robinson of this country and other famous beauties were at that banquet. Sousa’s band received a check for $1,500 for furnishing the music. This dinner and many of Thaw’s other enjoyments were made possible by the fact that when his father died he left a fortune of $40,000,000. This father was William Thaw and he had been prominent in Pennsylvania railroad and steel affairs. His widow and the seven children inherited the fortune.

Harry Thaw’s penchant for economy was pretty

HARRY K. THAW

At the time of his marriage.

well exemplified by the will under which his annual income was to be $2,500, because, as his father said, he would spend as much as he got anyway. His mother, though, let him have annually sums that were never under $40,000.

With his money he set out to dazzle the little Miss Nesbit, who back home had often trudged by the magnificent Thaw mansion and possibly had wondered in her simple impecunious way as to the manner of life that can be lived by a family that has $40,000,000 to dispose of.

It didn’t take Harry Thaw long to show her how some of that money might be spent. To her apartments in the Audubon in New York, an apartment building beloved of the chorus girl, he caused to be sent an exquisite grand piano. Miss Nesbit’s mother caused it to be carted away. So also with many of the jewels which Thaw sent up.

While Thaw’s wooing was in progress the name of his family loomed large in the public prints because of the marriage of Harry Thaw’s sister Alice to the Earl of Yarmouth. On the very day of the wedding, the earl halted the ceremony by announcing that unless satisfactory financial arrangements were made at once there would be no marriage. The money was paid, although Harry Thaw told reporters that if he had been there we would have kicked the Earl down stairs. A little later, however, his sister Alice, Countess of Yarmouth, repaid the harsh blow at the husband by publicly snubbing Evelyn Nesbit at an English race track.

About the time of this marriage Evelyn Nesbit went to Europe. Harry Thaw followed her. They went automobiling, and the charming brunette fell madly in love with the young heir to nearly $40,000,000; he had been in love with her since the evening they first met.

Then, all because they were arrested for exceeding the automobile speed laws in Switzerland, the curtain was raised upon their romance, that all the world might see. In the police court to which they were taken the impression that they were husband and wife gained ground. News of the supposed marriage was telegraphed to London and thence to America. Thaw’s relatives and rich society friends were shocked. They had registered and stopped at the Carlton hotel in London as husband and wife, and the report of their marriage was generally believed.

When they returned to New York they had a stormy experience. On their arrival they discovered that Mrs. William Thaw, mother of Harry, had announced that under no conditions would she accept Evelyn Nesbit for a daughter-in-law, and that if her son had really married the beautiful young model she would promptly disown him.

Harry didn’t want to lose his fortune, and it is probable that the girl didn’t desire to see him impoverished, either. So they faced the dilemma. Fear of the wrath of the mother forced them to deny that the union had been consummated, yet at the same time they were together in New York at the Cumberland hotel, and the proprietor demanded that either Thaw write “wife” after his name on the register or quit the hotel.

Thaw refused to do this, and the couple went to another hotel with the same result. After they had been ejected from four hostelries they separated. All this time there had been no public announcement by either of them that they had been married, as supposed.

Miss Nesbit, as she still insisted on being called, went to a boarding house and the young millionaire made efforts to placate his mother. He was successful, but not until an open rumor had it that Miss Nesbit had refused an offer of $250,000 in cash to give up Harry and quit the United States.

When the mother did agree to the union she acted handsomely, and the exquisite beauty was quietly married at the home of Rev. William L. McEwan, pastor of the Third Presbyterian church, Pittsburg, Mrs. Thaw and the members of both families being present. This was on April 4, 1905.

The Thaws left Lyndhurst, the magnificent Thaw country mansion near Pittsburg, and went to New York. They varied their life in the metropolis by trips to Pittsburg, but did not go to Newport, where Benjamin Thaw, Harry’s brother, lived. In Pittsburg, Mrs. William Thaw gave several receptions to the actress-model wife of her son. Pittsburg society started to squabble over these affairs, but finally attended the receptions and accepted Evelyn as a member of their exclusive set.

The charms of the young Mrs. Thaw had disarmed much of the criticism. Mrs. Holman grew to like her son-in-law, although not long before she had threatened to apply a rawhide horsewhip to him, while Harry and her daughter were living together in New York, apparently unmarried.

The Thaws themselves, when they saw how hard young Mrs. Thaw was trying to restrict the money-spending habits of her husband, forgave her completely. They even regretted, some of them said, that they had offered to buy her off. When that offer was made—it was during the stormy days in New York,—Miss Nesbit had declared “My heart is not for sale!”

The story of the wedding—a remarkably simple affair—is interesting in that it showed Evelyn Nesbit’s love for simplicity in her private life. Although fame and fortune were linked in a remarkable union, the wedding ceremony took place almost in secret.

The day before the wedding Mr. Thaw went to the Hotel Schenley, and in the grillroom met some of his old associates. He remarked that in less than a week he would be a benedict. Steins were raised high and his companions declared that it should be made his bachelor dinner. Their host swore them to secrecy, and then the story of the coming nuptials was divulged to the chosen few.

Miss Nesbit arrived in Pittsburg with her chaperon, Miss Pierce, and went to the home of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. C. J. Holman, in Oakland. In the afternoon Harry Thaw went to the residence of Dr. McEwan in South Negley avenue and arranged for the wedding.

It was a few minutes after 5 o’clock when three carriages drove to Dr. McEwan’s residence. From them alighted Mr. Thaw, his mother, Mrs. William Thaw, his brother, Josiah Copley Thaw, and Fredrick C. Perkins. Miss Nesbit came on the arm of her stepfather, C. J. Holman, and was followed by her mother, Mrs. Holman.

Miss Nesbit wore a traveling costume of dark material, which was almost hidden in a light three-quarter opera cloak trimmed with rare lace and ornamented with Persian floral designs. She wore a hat that indicated a slight lingering toward the winter season, and across the silk entwined brim was a gorgeous leather of three shades of brown.

Miss Nesbit did not remove her cloak or hat and the bridegroom laid his headgear and top coat over the banisters before he walked into the drawing-room. When the ceremony was concluded the party left the parsonage. Dinner was served at Lyndhurst, and the bride and bridegroom hastened to the railway station to leave for their journey East.

CHAPTER III.
Story of the Killing That Startled the World.

STANFORD WHITE ASSASSINATED BY CRAZED HUSBAND WHILE ATTENDING THE PLAY—ON ROOF GARDEN OF MADISON SQUARE—THAW WALKED RAPIDLY TO TABLE WHILE GIRLS WERE DANCING—AT LAST NOTE OF SONG HE DREW REVOLVER, LEVELED IT AT WHITE—SAID “YOU HAVE RUINED MY LIFE—YOU MUST DIE”—FIRED THREE TIMES—TWO SHOTS CAUSED DEATH ALMOST INSTANTLY—PANIC IN AUDIENCE AND ON STAGE—BEAUTIFUL WIFE EMBRACED SLAYER—THE ARREST.

The killing of Stanford White by Harry Kendall Thaw, on the roof garden of Madison Square, New York, June 25th, 1906,—just fourteen months after the marriage—startled the world. Millionaires both—the victim a famous architect, the slayer even more famous—the love of a beautiful woman the cause of the crime—is it any wonder the Thaw killing was the greatest sensation in years? It took place just as the musical show, “Mamselle Champagne,” was coming to a close.

There was a big crowd on the roof of the garden; a crowd which pretty well filled the floor. Many people noticed a slightly built young man walking backward and forward in front of the stage, among the tables set here and there in an open space in front of the seats.

He was plainly nervous and very pale. He kept watching the entrance from the Twenty-sixth street side. A few people knew it was Harry K. Thaw and remarked on his peculiar behavior. They thought it queer also that he wore a long, thin coat.

At about 11:05 p. m. several persons noticed Stanford White enter the roof garden and take a seat near the left hand side of the stage, pretty well up to the front, dropping into a chair at a table four rows from the stage.

Young Thaw, who had been watching apparently for White to come in, jumped at the sight of him and made for the table.

Few persons saw what happened immediately afterward. In the first place, the show was nearing its close, the dancers pirouetting and skipping about the stage and the orchestra jingling and clanging in gay dance music.

All about the open enclosure in front of the stage, where the tables were set, were palms and potted plants, which largely cut off the view of the table where Mr. White was sitting.

Some persons were sure that a young woman was at the table when White lounged in and took a seat. They went so far as to describe her, saying she was young, slim, dark-haired and dressed all in white, with a big white hat, from which a filmy veil fell over her shoulders.

Others who insisted that they observed White when he took a seat there, said no woman was present. They were positive on that point.

On reaching White’s table Thaw backed off a step or two, produced a revolver, aimed it at White and pulled the trigger. The first bullet entered the right eye, penetrating the brain. Thaw shot twice more, rapidly. The other bullets both struck White’s body, one in the right side of the upper lip and the other in the right arm.

White hardly moved from his position at the table. His body sagged a little to the left, his arm flattened out on the table top and his head sank heavily on the arm.

Above the swing and thrumming of the orchestra and the gay chorus of the dancers the three shots sounded clearly, startling everybody, causing the men to jump to their feet and rush toward the left side of the stage.

Two women nearby, seeing what had happened and the blood flowing from the man’s wounds, screamed. Two of the girls on the stage fled screaming into the wings.

“Get back into your line,” roared the stage manager so that all heard him.

One of the girls started back, but she again fled to the wings, while two of the remaining four, seeing the cause of the trouble, fell over in a faint.

The music and the dancing kept going a while feebly; then it died away. The musicians jumped from

MAZIE FOLLETTE

Actress named in the case.

the pit and joined the crowd. The frightened chorus girls ran back on the stage.

The employes of the roof garden thought for a time that the shots came from the stage. Manager Lawrence had been intending to introduce some revolver shooting in the duel scene where the line occurs, “I challenge you, I challenge you to a du-u-el,” and the stage hands and other hangers on at the garden thought the innovation had been put on a night or two ahead of schedule.

They quickly found out their mistake, and had their hands full in a minute or two handling the people, who were pushing right and left, the women screaming to be let out.

During all the confusion and excitement nobody made any effort to stop young Thaw. He looked at White’s body, and then, still holding his revolver, walked leisurely to a clump of potted plants and back toward the elevator. Fireman Brudi saw a part of what had happened, saw Thaw shoot White, and knew who the young man was that was walking away with the revolver.

Brudi went up to him and caught him by the shoulder. Thaw smiled at him and made no resistance when Brudi told him he would have to wait until the police came. He was very pale, but otherwise cool and collected.

Brudi held Thaw lightly, while the crowd gathered around. It was a wait of several minutes before Policeman Debes of the Tenderloin station, appeared and took charge of Thaw. Debes telephoned to his station house for the reserves to handle the crowd and the desk sergeant sent ten policemen. Debes was waiting for the elevator to take Thaw to the police station.

Just before the elevator started, a slender, dark, pretty young woman, the same one with whom Thaw had been sitting before he sauntered away on his errand of death, came running into the car. She threw her arms around the prisoner and kissed him.

“Oh, Harry,” she cried. “Why did you do it, Harry?”

“It’s all right, dear wife,” he answered, kissing her. “He ruined you, and I fixed him. It’s all right.”

All this time the audience was terror stricken.

“Sing, you girls. Sing. For God’s sake keep on,” shouted the manager.

The girls sang. They danced as the silent form lay prostrate. Their faces were white. But they were on the stage and they quelled their emotion.

A man who sat at a table behind Mr. and Mrs. Thaw, told the following story of the tragedy:

“I noticed Harry Thaw and his wife when they came in. Thaw seemed to have been drinking and was very restless. He got up from the table several times and, leaving his wife, walked back toward the elevators. They were sitting at the Twenty-sixth street side of the house.

“At 10:30 Stanford White came in and took a seat at a table about five tables in front of the Thaws. He talked a while to Harry Stevens and then sat alone watching the show and resting his head on his right hand.

“As he walked down the aisle, Harry Thaw noticed him and got up from his seat. While White was talking to Stevens, Thaw walked over and stood behind some artificial shrubbery just a few feet away from them.

“When Stevens left, Thaw walked deliberately down the aisle and stood for a minute behind White. He pulled a revolver from his pocket and fired three shots. I think the first missed, but the other two took effect, and White rolled to the floor, upsetting the chair.”

With Thaw safely lodged in a police station cell, one of the greatest trials of a century faced the public. The inexorable hand of the law began its work the next day after the arrest, when Thaw was taken from his cell in the Tenderloin police station, photographed and measured by the Bertillon system, like a burglar or holdup man, arraigned in police court and held without bail. Perfectly calm, Thaw went through the hurried formalities in court, absolutely refusing to make any extended statement regarding the tragedy.

The policeman who arrested Thaw, gave this account of the shooting in the police court hearing.

“I found the people almost crazy, trying to get out of the place. I jumped into the mob and saw a woman lying down. She had fainted, and then I saw White.

“I said to Thaw: ‘Did you do it?’ and he replied: ‘Yes, I did it. That man ruined my life or wife.’ I don’t know which he said, but it sounded like that. Then he went on saying: ‘That man ruined my home. I guess he won’t ruin any more homes. Is he dead?’ I told him he was, and he said he was glad of it, and he was glad he ‘made a good job of it.’

“When I arrested Thaw, a woman, who Manager Lawrence told me was Mrs. Thaw, rushed up to Thaw and kissed him, and said: ‘I did not think you’d do it in that way!’ ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ Thaw told her. Then she whispered something into his ear. I don’t know what she said to him.”

“Down in the hall and in the street a lot of women gathered about us and shook hands with Thaw and sympathized with him. ‘Why did you do it? Why did you do it? they kept asking.’”

A statement credited to Thaw immediately after the arrest is this:

“We were all at a party in Martin’s. You can find out the names of the others there, but I was sitting some distance from my wife. Suddenly I saw her grow pale and begin to shiver, and I thought she was ill.

“I made a motion to inquire what was the matter and she called a waiter and wrote a note which she sent around the table to me.

“The note said ‘The dirty blackguard is here.’ Then I turned and saw that fat scoundrel sitting there, big and healthy, and then I saw her and how she was.”

“Did White make any motion to attack you?” was asked of Thaw.

“What?” said Thaw.

The question was repeated.

Thaw nodded his head in the affirmative.

From his pocket when he was searched there was taken a leather revolver shield such as policemen carry their weapons in. He had $168 in cash and several blank checks, besides a gold cigarette case.

Thaw did not display the least anxiety about his own welfare nor about the effects of his shots. He never asked a question about White. He did not ask any questions of the police at all. He seemed as unconcerned as if bailing out a chauffeur instead of facing an accusation of killing a man.

As he talked with a reporter he reverted again and again to his wife’s attack of shivering when she saw White in Martin’s.

“That poor, delicate little thing, all nervous and shaking like a reed,” he said, half to himself. “And there he was, the big healthy scoundrel. God!”

While the coroner’s proceedings were in progress in the city next day, the final scene of the tragedy as affecting White was carried out on Long Island. At St. James’ the funeral of the dead architect was held.

Friends and relatives of White left for the little town early to attend the ceremony. By the time they returned the grand jury had indicted the man who brought White’s career to a close and the coroner’s jury had held him, completing the legal formalities preceding the trial itself.

Thaw was restless in his cell in the Tombs from the time he entered it until he was arraigned. His wife visited him every time the rules of the prison allowed, and remained at his side as long as possible each time. His mother, an aged, feeble woman, also went to New York to comfort her offspring in his hour of trouble, and the Countess of Yarmouth, his sister, was among the visitors. Other visitors—unwelcome ones—were the alienists whom the state and the defense sent to examine the young man. Thaw fought the insanity plea vigorously, and at times almost fought the experts. Finally, however, he allowed the examinations into his mental condition.

STANFORD WHITE

CHAPTER IV.
Stanford White, Creator and Destroyer.

LIFE OF HARRY K. THAW’S VICTIM—HIS DEATH REFLECTED HIS STRANGE LIFE—A MENTAL GIANT WHO TURNED FROM LOFTY ENTERPRISES TO VICIOUS REVELS—BUILT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN—THE STUDIO IN THE TOWER—MIGHTY WORKS THAT SURVIVE WHITE AS MONUMENTS TO HIS GENIUS—THE TRAGIC “GIRL IN THE PIE” AFFAIR—WHITE’S HOME EXISTENCE—HIS END.

Stanford White’s death was no more remarkable than the strange life he led. Few expressed surprise that the end came as it did. On the other hand, those who knew him best asserted they would have experienced a sensation little short of amazement had White departed this life as most men, surrounded by members of his family and enjoying the ministrations of physician, nurse and spiritual advisor.

Some saw in the pyrotechnic, picturesque, sensational climax of his existence, the fulfillment of a prophesy oft reiterated by his closest acquaintances.

The unusual, the unexpected ruled the existence of this man of wonderful brain and creative genius. A giant in mental force and power, he could turn lightly from some vast enterprise to a revel passing all belief, having as its only purpose the snaring of some young girl—as Evelyn Nesbit was enmeshed. And he could turn quite as lightly from the anguished cry of his victim and forget her in the multiplicity of details surrounding his huge undertakings.

What a mind was this—at once an engine of creation and destruction, accepting the consequences in each instance as a matter of course. In view of the peculiarities of the man, it cannot be counted strange that he fell before the hand of the avenger in the temple he had builded to mirth, for the famed Madison Square Garden was a creation of his mind.

In the tower he had raised above it, overlooking the great Metropolis with all its joys, sorrows, struggles, its mighty forces that work for good and its uncounted army battling for sin, Stanford White had fitted out a den of Oriental magnificence wherein he could accomplish his purposes, far removed from the world at large.

It was here his wildest orgies were held. It was from the tower-chamber his young victims went forth to lives of bitterness and shame, and within the shadow of that tower White was whirled to eternity without a moment’s respite to atone for his sins or prepare for an accounting before the final tribunal where truth and not pretense avails. Whatever his offenses, his punishment was heavy, indeed.

Great as an architect, a lover of beauty in his work and in his play, a charming companion, a man of kindliness, possessed of many talents, a lover of all the pleasant things of life, but not bound by scruples or the dictates of morality—such was White. Within two days after his death, New York rang with stories of strange debauches in which White had played the part of host or one of the hosts. Anthony Comstock declared that he had tried to obtain evidence which would suffice to bring action against White for various alleged excesses. When White fell to the floor of Madison Square Roof Garden, in short, his personal reputation fell with him.

As an architect, he was admittedly a genius, and he left an impress upon the architecture of this country which will remain. He transformed the old, unsightly Harlem Railroad freight station into Madison Square Garden—one of the most beautiful edifices in New York. He aided in the designing of Trinity Church in Boston.

Among his famous works in New York were the Hall of Fame at New York University, the Washington arch, the Century, University and Metropolitan clubs, the William C. Whitney residence and the pedestal of the Farragut monument in Madison Square.

He was the son of Richard Grant White, the novelist and journalist, and was born in 1853. After being graduated from New York University he went to Europe to study architecture. He returned in 1881 and entered into partnership with Charles F. McKim and William R. Meade. The firm of McKim, Meade & White, largely through the genius of White, became one of the most prominent in the profession.

Mr. White was essentially a clubman, being a member of the Knickerbocker, Union, University, Automobile, Metropolitan, Players’, Lambs’ and New York Yacht clubs. He was a follower of the stage, a devout first-nighter, and had an extensive acquaintance among theatrical people.

White’s studio apartment in Madison Square tower was one of the most noted centers of revelry in the city. He used his studio in a professional way to paint in water colors and to work out architectural designs in matters that were separate from the firm work of McKim, Meade & White, but the chief use of the rooms was as a meeting place for gatherings of theatrical and other folk to whom night life was attractive.

The rooms were decorated with things that White had gathered in his frequent trips to Europe. The draperies and rugs, the furniture and adornments were of the florid style of three centuries ago that prevailed in Italy and France. His tastes ran to decoration quite as much as to architecture, and his apartments in the tower revealed the artistic side of the man more than any of his purely professional achievements.

His acquaintance among stage folk ran not so much to those who were regarded as the leaders in their

HATTIE FORSYTHE

Chorus girl, once a friend of Mrs. Thaw.

profession as to those who were willing to “make a night of it.” And it was from these “all nighters” that Mr. White drew the material for the “studio parties” that at one time brought notoriety to the Madison Square Garden tower.

In the field of decoration, White had established a place for himself unlike that of any architect. He was accustomed to make trips to Europe to secure collections of various kinds. He would get materials for a Francis I. room or a Louis XVI. room, bring them home, and store them to be sold later to some rich man who was looking for fads in household decorations. Sometimes he would collect windows and doors. At other times he would scour France and Italy for hangings and draperies.

After the tragedy there was great diversity of opinion in the architectural world as to White’s standing as an architect. Some of the architects did not hesitate to say that he was the greatest in the profession in his country since H. H. Richardson. Others asserted that he shone largely by the reflected light of his partners, McKim and Mead. It is certain that no architect was called upon oftener to serve on juries to pass upon the merits of designs for the great buildings of the country than White.

Those who decried his abilities said that much of the work ascribed to White was really the work of McKim or Mead. Their tastes ran to the severely classic designs and to what is known as the field of pure architecture. It was declared that White, a disciple of the French and Italian schools, could not have designed many of the buildings for which he got credit as a member of the firm of McKim, Mead & White. One architect said:

“The Boston Public library, the Columbia university buildings, the Villard house, the agricultural building at the Chicago World’s Fair, and other creations of the McKim firm were not and could not have been designed by White. All through them runs the genius of Mr. McKim. White ran to the lighter style of architecture, the florid, the modern, and not to the Grecian or the severe and monumental style of purely classic architecture.

“His mood was that of gayety and it expressed itself in his designs. The bases of St. Gaudens statues lent themselves to his mood, and some of his best work was done in connection with them. He was essentially an artist rather than an architect, and his influence in his firm was along the lines of the artistic rather than along the strict standards of architectural expression.”

There were current also numerous stories regarding White’s private life that were not of the creditable kind. It is not too much to say that he was frequently under suspicion, but there was always something Lacking in a legal way so that no open scandal attached to his name, although evil reports were frequent. No action was taken by the investigators, however, because of lack of tangible evidence.

One incident that contributed much to White’s bad reputation and which illustrates forcibly his view of a “good time” was the “Girl-in-a-Pie” affair, which was later to come out in evidence at the trial.

The famed “Girl-in-the-Pie” dinner was given to several artists and men about town, with several notorious “fashionable” women in attendance. The spread cost $350 a plate.

At the approach of dawn, four negroes entered, bearing a huge pie, which they placed on the table. A faint stir was observed beneath the crust just as the orchestra struck up the air of the nursery jingle:

“Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye,
Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.”

The pie was burst asunder, and from inside there emerged the beautiful figure of a young girl, clad in black gauze draperies. She turned her pretty childish face upon the astonished guests, and poised as a bird about to fly, while two dozen golden canaries, released by her hand, flew about the room.

Then, when the tableau was complete, a man forced his way to the side of the table and with a smile assisted the child to the floor. The man was Stanford White.

The young girl, a model, then 15 years old, lived with her mother, but on the night of the banquet she disappeared, and remained in hiding for two years. Efforts of the police to find her were unsuccessful.

At last she returned, to tell a story of revolting mistreatment and desertion by the man who met his death at the hands of Harry Thaw.

“When I was lifted from the pie to a seat at the table I found myself queen of the revel,” she said. “It was dazzling at first,” she said, “but in the end it became a sad queendom.

“Mr. White was kind for a time, but when he went to Europe he instructed his clerks to get rid of me with as little trouble as possible. I never saw him again.”

Turned into the street to live as she might, this girl, not yet 18, finally married, but her husband, when he learned of her part in the “pie” banquet, brooded over the affair, and deserted his girl wife without attempting to avenge her wrongs. She died soon afterward.

Stanford White was as respectful to women of the stage who demanded respect as he was to his wife’s friends.

He was one of a group of men, old and young, who are oftenest seen in and near theaters where frothy nonsense charmingly unclad is enacted and in restaurants where musical comediennes tempt their dainty appetites with broiled lobster.

He knew many theatrical managers, and some of them often invited him behind the scenes—but not to inspect the architecture.

Stanford White was indefatigable in his pursuit of beauty in his work and in his play. He was generous and considerate. He would hide a $100 bill in a bouquet he ordered handed over the footlights; he would visit a poor, sick chorus girl when she thought herself friendless in a hospital.

Once in a while, Mr. White gave entertainments in the tower, at which the women and men of society were his guests. But there were other entertainments on which Venus, not Diana, should have looked down. At them, if a girl danced on the table she did not scratch the mahogany. Stanford White vastly admired adolescence. His death was a tragedy and is a warning. His last night was typical of his method of life.

He dined with his son; he went to his club. From his nearest kin and his honorable friends he turned to the structure his genius had raised, where was hid his “studio.” The lights and music of the roof garden enticed him. And in the presence of the woman who vows he ruined her life he perished by her husband’s hand. And the last jangle that sounded to him was a comedy song: “I could love a million girls.”

Madison Square garden, which he created and where he met his death, was known as his “pleasure house.”

What an awful warning, to the would-be-young-man-about-town! With all his subtle experience, with his fawning servants and paid detectives, even Stanford White with his millions could not avert the hand of vengeance. “Be sure your sin will find you out.” Sooner or later a settlement must be made. Lucky is he whose balance is on the right side of the ledger.

THE BIRTHPLACE OF EVELYN NESBIT THAW AT TARENTUM, PA.

CHAPTER V.
Greatest Legal Battle of Age Opens.

OPPOSING COUNSEL HESITATE TO SHOW THEIR HANDS IN DESPERATE GAME OF LIFE OR DEATH—ATTORNEY GARVAN’S BRIEF OPENING ARGUMENT FOR PROSECUTION FOLLOWED BY PRESENTATION OF STATE’S CASE IN LESS THAN TWO HOURS—VICTIM’S SON CALLED TO STAND—FATAL BULLETS GRUESOME EXHIBIT—STORY OF THE ROOF GARDEN TRAGEDY TOLD—DEFENSE OPENED WITH PLEA THAT THAW BELIEVED HE WAS ACTING UPON THE COMMAND OF PROVIDENCE WHEN HE SLEW WHITE—ALL IN READINESS FOR GREATEST SACRIFICE OF MODERN TIMES.

Thousands throughout New York, and in fact the entire world, breathed in anxious suspense when, with jury complete and all the machinery of legal battle in readiness the great trial opened. Following delays in securing the jury—the excusing of several jurors after their acceptance by both prosecution and defense—the opening came as a surprise.

The day will long be remembered because of the multiplicity of surprises it brought forth. Brevity of argument by counsel for state and defense was not the least of these. The opposing lawyers felt they were entering upon a stupendous game with life and death the stakes, and youth, beauty, love, hate, treachery and millions factors in the play.

Neither cared to show his hand and disclose the cards he held. It was Monday, February 4, 1907—a fateful day, coming after seven months and ten days’ imprisonment for Thaw in the Tombs.

The prosecution made a most remarkable record when it presented its opening statement in ten minutes and followed it with less than two hours of testimony, closing in time for the noon recess. The defense announced it would open its case with a statement by Attorney J. B. Gleason.

The purpose of the prosecution was readily apparent—throwing upon the defense the burden of disclosing its case, reserving the while the state’s hardest fire for rebuttal later when Thaw’s lawyers had exhausted themselves and their material.

Opening shots of the legal battle royal were fired by Assistant District Attorney Garvan, of counsel for the state.

He congratulated the jurors on their body having been completed and then outlined the purpose of the law, which was not seeking for vengeance, but to uphold the security of the state, he said. He urged the importance of the case and a strict observance of the law in order that a verdict, fair to all, might be reached.

It was the claim of the people, he said, that on the night of June 25, 1906, the defendant “shot and killed with premeditation and intent to kill” one Stanford White. He then briefly outlined the movements of

ASST. DISTRICT ATTORNEY GARVAN

Sketched in court.

White, beginning with the Saturday preceding the tragedy and ending with the actual scene of the shooting on the Madison Square Roof garden.

“The purpose of punishment of crime is an example to the community,” thundered the prosecutor.

“The defendant is charged with the murder of Stanford White with premeditation on June 25, 1906. Mr. White was an architect, a member of the firm of McKim, Meade & White. On the Sunday before his death he went to his home on Long Island with his family. He returned to the city on Monday with his son and his son’s friend named King. They went to the Cafe Martin for dinner.

“Mr. White had previously purchased tickets to a theater. After dinner Mr. White drove his son and his son’s friend to the theater and then went himself to the Madison Square Roof garden, where a new play, ‘Mam’zelle Champagne,’ was to be produced.

“Stanford White went to the Madison Square Roof garden and sat alone at one of the small tables there, watching the first production of this play called ‘Mam’zelle Champagne.’

“The defendant was there with his wife and two friends, Truxton Beale and Thomas McCaleb. The defendant walked constantly about the place.

“In the middle of the second act the defendant’s party started to leave the roof. The defendant let his party go ahead and he lagged behind. Passing the table where Stanford White was sitting, this defendant wheeled suddenly, faced Mr. White, and deliberately shot him through the brain, the bullet entering the eye.

“Mr. White was dead.

“The defendant did not know this. He feared he had not completed his work, and he fired again, the bullet penetrating White’s cheek. Still, to make sure, he fired a third time.

“Mr. White, or rather the body of Mr. White, tumbled to the floor.

“The defendant turned, and facing the audience, held his revolver aloft with the barrel upside down to indicate that he had completed what he intended to do. The big audience understood. There was no panic.”

Mr. Garvan concluded by giving the details of Thaw’s arrest and indictment by the prosecution. He spoke always in a conversational tone. Thaw sat throughout with head downcast and face flushed.

Calm and as cold and easy of manner as though rehearsing a scene in some drama instead of a great tragedy of life, District Attorney Jerome requested the exclusion of all other witnesses and placed his first witness on the stand.

As Evelyn Thaw passed her husband in leaving she took his hand and held it for a moment, and, as she turned away, tears trickled down her cheeks.

Harry Thaw was visibly nervous and drummed on the table with his fingers.

DISTRICT ATTORNEY JEROME
in opening address.

Lawrence White, the son of the dead architect, was the first witness. Thaw again fastened his eyes on the table before him and did not once look at the witness.

Young White said he was 19 years old and a student at Harvard university. His mother, he said, was then living at Cambridge, Mass.

White was on the stand only a few minutes. He told of accompanying his father to the Cafe Martin for dinner, and said that when he left him to go with his chum, a boy named King, to the New York roof garden, it was the last time he saw his father alive.

Myer Cohen, a song writer and manager of the house which published the music of “Mam’zelle Champagne,” was called after an elevator man had detailed Thaw’s conversation when arrested.

Mr. Cohen was on the Madison Square Roof garden the night of the tragedy. He saw Thaw there for the first time during the initial act of the musical comedy. Cohen described on a diagram the position of the table at which White sat.

When asked by Mr. Garvan to indicate Thaw’s manner of approaching the architect that evening, the witness left the stand, and, walking up and down before the jury box, he illustrated the slow pace which he declared characterized Thaw’s deliberation in approaching his victim.

“He walked up to Mr. White’s table like this,” said the witness, indicating. “He made a slight detour, and coming up to Mr. White from behind suddenly faced him and fired three times.”

Henry S. Plaese, superintendent of the publishing company that owned the rights of “Mam’zelle Champagne,” was the next witness. He saw the defendant the night of the killing in the rear of the roof garden, opposite the center aisle. Mr. Plaese was standing with Mr. Cohen, the previous witness. Thaw stood before them for six or seven minutes, looking to the right and left.

After the first act he next saw Thaw just previous to the shooting. White was seated, facing the stage, his head leaning on his right hand. There was no conversation when Thaw approached White, and the former immediately began firing.

Thaw then retreated toward the rear of the garden, with his right hand elevated, “the barrel of the pistol being pointed upward.”

The weapon with which White was killed was brought into the case during the testimony of Paul Brudi, the fireman who disarmed Thaw after the fatal shots were fired. Brudi, who appeared on the stand in uniform, identified the pistol when it was shown to him, and said that after taking it from the prisoner he turned it over to the police.

“I remember hearing only two shots,” said Brudi in relating the events of the evening of the tragedy, “when I rushed up and grabbed the prisoner, who had his arms uplifted.”

“Did you hear the defendant say anything after the shooting?” asked Assistant District Attorney Garvan.

“Yes,” the witness replied, “he said ‘He ruined my wife.’”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No.”

“Did you hear any one say anything to him?”

“His wife.”

“What did she say?”

“Look at the fix you are in.”

“Did he reply?”

“I did not hear him say anything else.”

Edward H. Convey, foreman of laborers at Madison Square garden, was called to further identify the pistol Brudi took from Thaw, and which Convey helped in turning over to the police. He was not cross-examined.

Policeman A. L. Debes, who arrested Thaw, was called. He identified the pistol, the bullets, and empty shells introduced as exhibit.

“Did you have any conversation with Thaw?” asked Mr. Garvan.

“I did,” he replied.

“I asked the prisoner if he had shot Stanford White, and he said, ‘I did.’ I then asked him why he shot him and he said, ‘Because he ruined my wife—or life.’”

“You could not distinguish whether he said wife or life?” was asked.

“No. Thaw then asked where we were going and I replied, ‘To the station house,’ and he said ‘All right.’ After this I turned him over to another officer and went up stairs to get witnesses.”

Coroner’s Physician Timothy Lehane, who performed the autopsy on Stanford White’s body, described the wounds made by three pistol shots.

The first bullet, he said, entered the right eye, passing downward and entering the brain; the second entered on the right side of the upper lip, and the third wound was on the right arm, the bullet ranging downward and passing out six inches from the point of entrance, making what is commonly called a flesh wound.

The witness then identified the various bullets and Mr. Garvan asked that they be formally received as evidence. The exhibits were passed across to the table of counsel for the defense. Thaw’s eyes wandered about from right to left, but not even a fleeting glance was thrown in the direction where the deadly bullets were being left.

Dr. Lehane declared cerebral hemorrhage, caused by the bullet wounds, produced death.

Dr. Sylvester Pechner, who was with a party on the Madison Square Roof garden the night of the tragedy, next was introduced as a witness for the prosecution. Dr. Pechner examined White soon after he fell and pronounced him dead. The architect’s death must have been instantaneous, the witness declared.

Dr. Pechner said that when his attention was attracted by the firing of the pistol, he saw Thaw standing over White.

He then saw the defendant “break his gun” and pull out the empty shells, and hold it aloft. Just after this Fireman Brudi took the man in charge.

Policeman Debes was recalled and Mr. Garvan asked him: “Did you hear any remark credited to the defendant’s wife that night?”

“Yes.”

“Where was it?”

“On the ground floor of the Twenty-sixth street entrance.”

“What did she say?”

“‘Harry, why did you do it?’ and he replied, ‘It will be all right.’”

This ended the state’s case—all the evidence depended upon to send the young millionaire to the electric chair having been presented in that brief session. The defense opened a little more than an hour later after a brief recess for luncheon.

“Harry Thaw believed he was acting upon the command of Providence when he killed Stanford White,” thundered Attorney Gleason in opening the case of the defense.

Thaw’s insanity at the time of the killing, Mr. Gleason said, was due to heredity and stress of circumstances. It would also be shown, he said, that the defendant had suffered from temporary or emotional insanity for years.

“You must disabuse your minds, gentlemen of the jury,” he began, “of any idea or impression that the defense in this case will rely upon anything but the constitution and the laws of the imperial state of New York. Upon these laws alone we will rely.

“You must dismiss all idea that we are to import into this case any so-called higher or unwritten law. We will rely upon all the defenses that the law allows.

“One of the defenses allowed by law is that of insanity.”