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By Pamela E. Apkarian-Russell The onsite July 15th 1994 auction at St. Gaudens's home took place on one of those lovely warm, sunny days that make you feel happy to be outside in the fresh clean New Hampshire air. To me it was just another auction, apart of making a living in the antiques business. Every auction is another chance to buy some interesting items, to make a few pennies on your purchases, or if lucky to find a piece for ones own collection. I knew a little about Saint Gaudens because of his association with the Gilded Age and the Nesbet-Thaw-White scandal. Because of my many trips to Salem, Ma. I had seen the massive bronze statue of "The Puritan" which was executed by him. Now I know I should be careful about using the expression "executed by" since the time I said " This is Sarah Bernhardt in her role of Hamlet as executed by Mucha", and the woman looked horror struck and said. "Heavens I didn't know that was how she died!" I am also, aware that this will be read only by "August" intellectuals, and feel quite free to utilize the word here As I sat watching items way beyond my means being sold I thought about what little I knew about Augustus Saint Gaudens. He has special meaning to numismatists, as he was a personal favorite of Teddy Roosevelt, who commissioned him to make the "C" Twenty-Dollar Gold Piece. I knew he was born in Dublin, Ireland, that he sculpted and cast many statues of players in the greatest struggle our country has ever known, the Civil War, and that he did the Sherman monument near the entrance to Central Park in NYC, but that was about it. Since the auction and over the years I have learnt more about the August, Augustus and his relationship with Stanford White. White and St. Gaudens collaborated on the Rock Creek Cemetery in Md. and many others monumental areas. Over the years I have studied the pictures of White and Saint Gaudens and learnt much more than I perhaps, should choose to know, but not enough for what I need to know. This was because the desk I purchased that day had something very wrong with it, and I don't mean replaced hardware or spliced feet. I had not intended to bid on the desk. I hadn't even taken more than a fleeting glance at it. I have never been a furniture dealer. "Bigs" as I call them weigh too much, take up too much room and are not as interesting as "smalls". I don't know why I bid on it, and I don't know why having sold it twice it keeps on coming back to me. I also, don't know what the key now inside it belongs to. Anyone who loves the decadent art of the Gilded Age cannot help but be totally enthralled with the story of the "Girl on the Red Velvet Swing". Actually there had been many other women who had swung naked for Stanford White the architect of Madison Sq. Gardens, and many other palatial buildings, but Evelyn Nesbett, actress wife of Harry K Thaw was the most famous of them all. Why? Harry K Thaw, rich, sadistic, socialite, walked up to White at the theater, in full view of everyone, held up his pistol and "Bang" Sanford White lay dead slumped in his posh theater seat. Thaw pleaded insanity. Thaw's mother orchestrated the entire trial. After a very short time in an extremely expensive sanitarium Harry K. was released. His mother got rid of Evelyn who opened her own club and preformed there for many years as a very successful personality. Sanford White and Saint Gaudens not only collaborated but they were good friend. There was a group of bon vivants that used a rented and refurbished ornate New York City hideaway that would make Donald Trump roll over and die with envy. This was used by the group for their very risqué parties, or for their individual dalliances and affairs. The trial of Harry Thaw was the trial of the century and everyone on a day-to-day front-page news basis relished all the tawdry details. The murdered White became the culprit and the murderer Thaw, the victumn. Dead men cannot tell their tales and Thaw's lawyers fabricated a role reversal. Thaw became the victim and White the dastardly home breaker, which was not really true. Yes, White was having an affair with Thaw's wife, but Evelyn Nesbet was a battered wife and not a happy one at that, not that there is such a thing as a happy battered wife. I couldn't help but wonder which items were touched and used by Nesbit-Thaw, Sanford White, and Gaudens and what tales the items could tell if they could speak. The young actor John Barrymore had been one of Evelyn Nesbet's suitors-lovers and some of the crowd were decidedly well known theatrical celebrities or of the arts and literary crowd. Many a famous name had walked through the front door of this house some of which were involved in the scandal. The Cornish-Dublin-Peterborough area was known for its artist colonies and the flamboyant and infamous that would sometime frequent the resident artists. A Louis Saint Gaudens Bust sold for $1,265.00, a shaker stand in red, topped at 17,600.00, an Annetta St Gaudens birdbath for $1,485.00. The larger items were fetching decent moneys but there were also, many smalls to be had at reasonable prices. Items were being banged down to those who wanted to own a piece of local provenance. Provenance is such a strange bedfellow as it makes the wealthy want to dig deep into their pockets and raise their arms higher, more often than is wise. For them to do so. White helped his friend, Saint Gaudens; obtain many commissions for statuary and items to embellish the homes of not only the very wealthy but also the fabulously hilariously wealthy who hired White to design mansions for them. White, who always owed everyone money, always lived beyond his pocket book. He adored women and was in many ways an addict when it came to the bodacious gender. He was not only an architect of the first magnitude but he traveled all over Europe and elsewhere finding beautiful works of art and brought them back to the states to use in his buildings. Statues of marble, bronze fountains, tapestries, ceilings, doors, architectural beauties, all the cream of Europes glorious past, which he would build colossal environments around or incorporate them into. Seldom did anyone nay say the tremendous costs and often millionaires became paupers because the costs went so far over estimate, sometimes by millions, and those were the days when millions were worth something. Sanford White was addicted to beauty. He lead the pack and his friends followed where he led them regardless of how much money he might have borrowed from them. How did I land up buying the desk? I'm not sure. One moment I was watching to see if a piece of silver was up in the next few moments or if I had time to get a cup of coffee and the next thing I knew I had purchased the desk. No one was more surprised than I when I bid on the piece and purchased it. The silver was next but it went over what I thought it worth so I got up to get my badly needed coffee. I am used to doing unexplainable things but buying something I wasn't particularly interested in was surprising even to me. The Englishman was groaning about finding room in the vehicle and what had possessed me. To our delight a woman asked if we were going to sell the desk and we said yes. She offered us 100.00 more than we paid for it and we dropped it off a few miles away when we left the auction. Three days later, she called me and asked me if I would like to purchase the piece back for less than I had originally paid for it. Her neighbor would even deliver it to us. I sighed knowing that the Englishman would not be delighted but it was a nice price and a nice piece of furniture. The two guys even carried it in for me. Having just made fresh apple pie, I asked them if they would like apiece while I wrote out the check. While they were eating I asked if they knew why she wanted to get rid of the desk when she had been so keen to buy it just a few days earlier. "Something about the draws keep opening" the taller sandy haired guy said. I figured they just made that up as the draws had locks on them and pulled out and so it was pretty impossible for that to happen. After dinner, Chris went into the shop to drop off some posters he had shrink-wrapped and all the draws in the desk had been pulled out. He pushed them back in and left. In the morning when I arrived all the draws were once again open but I didn't know that Chris had closed them the night before. A few customers came in and when I looked the draws were open. I figured it must have been one of the customers and went back to pricing and sorting postcards. For the next four days I kept on closing the draws and wondering how they got open. One of my regulars came in and thankfully bought the desk and I figured that was the end of that. Wrong. I was very wrong. Two days later she called me almost in tears. "Please come and get this horrible desk out of my house" she cried. "But why, what is wrong with it? It's a great piece of furniture and your Galle lamp will look super on it." I said feeling more than confused. What was it with this desk? "It scares me and I want it out of my house! She said and hung up. That night we went and picked up the desk and I decided that it was going into my house. I would deal with this desk myself. How I could have been so stupid not have felt or understood what was going on for so long was rather embarrassing. I sat down and just stared at the desk. Sure enough one after another the draws opened up as if some unseen person was opening it. Salem, our cat, arched his back and hissed and then went racing into the other room. The room was very cold and I knew what he had seen even if I hadn't. Beside my hair was standing on end. I sat riveted to the couch until the cold air went away. I then went and closed the draws. Salem would not come back into the room. I was feeling nervous now. This was no longer a SEP (someone else's problem) it was mine. The cold came again and this time the draws opened very quickly one after another. My voice was catching in my throat and I was I confess, scared. "You seem to be upset about something. Perhaps, I can help you? You seem very unhappy." One draw closed and then opened again. "Are you trying to tell me something? Should I take the draw out?" the draw slammed and then opened again. "Go away now and let me see what is happening." the cold went away again and I joined the cat at the other end of the house quicker than the cat had moved. I poured myself a glass of wine and went and sat in the yard trying to compose myself and began counting the minuets till Chris came home. When he did we sat talking and watching the sunset. "Why is it you always get yourself involved in stuff that has nothing to do with you? Why can't you let well enough alone? Don't you ever learn?" He asked exasperated. "Look it's not my fault. They use whom they can use, they know who they can get through to. It, and I think it is a she, wants to make contact badly. I can't just let someone, even if they are dead, suffer. Something is really bothering her." I said. The Englishman is really a good sport but he gets a bit exasperated at the problems I get involved in. "Okay, so what you are trying to tell me is that this being needs help and you are the designated helper. Well right now I need help too. I'm hungry. Lets go in. We walked through the front door where the library is and the desk. All the draws were closed but the one lower right hand one. "After dinner" he said and headed toward the dining room. Placing the large burl bowl full of salad on the table, I handed the whale tooth corkscrew and the bottle of wine to Chris to open. Dinner is a fairly formal affair in our house, as we enjoy using the antiques we own. Tulip shaped cobalt glasses on long stems, King Richard sterling and Wedgwood plates. The napkins are usually paper of some crazy or floral pattern, of which I keep one of each design for posterity or the insanity of my ephemera glands, I'm not quite sure which. Leisurely dinners are not my cup of tea unless there are guests. I want to be up and doing things not talking about the next day's auction or who still hadn't made their check good. I finished and began the clearing up while the Englishman, took his merry old time. I realize the English can't help themselves but sometimes I want to pull my hair out in frustration. Finally we went in and tipped it upside down and jiggled the draws to see if we could get them to pull out. Using soap we finally managed to take them out and under the back inside of the major offending draw we found a small map. I wanted to leave right then and go to the location but the stone wall said it could wait till the morning and he was going up to bed. When morning came I had memorized the map and had the coffee and the bacon wafting through the house so that a certain person would smell it and wake up. It was almost an hour before he normally dragged himself out of bed that he was sitting at the breakfast table. I was too excited to eat and had pulled postcards of Evelyn Nesbit Thaw, Harry K Thaw, the St. Gauden's house and a few of his statues out of stock and had arranged them in plastic pages and popped them into an album. Following the map we realized that it wasn't going to be easy to locate the stone marker. Trees had been cut down, houses had been put up, and acorns and maples had become mature trees since this map was hastily drawn. At one point a road ran through what we thought must have been the path to the well. About one o'clock I was ready to give up as we had had to restart our search over and over and it seemed all we did was to back track and walk in circles. It was like driving through Baltimore. I parked myself down on a stone and basked in the warmth of the sun listening to the birds, insects and a boat in the distance. I thought I saw a young woman wave or beckon to me from the distance. It looked as she was dressed in a frock from the Belle Epoch, but no, my eyes were closed and I must have fallen asleep for a moment. I got up and turned the map around and started in that direction. Chris was up ahead walking toward me from the right I montioned for him to catch up with me. There in the corner of field was a well. "Well, well, you've found the well, now what?" he said. We removed the board from the top of the well and saw that it had been filled in many years ago. "I knew it," Chris said, while pulling out two small diggers. A short way down he found part of a broken goblet, a broken aggie, a piece of rusted metal; He continued to dig with the trowel and hand spade just as if he were an archeologist. Then he found a jar. The top had rotted when we took it out and cleaned the dirt out of it. A cobalt jar and inside was a broken key. I knew we were on to something at that point but I had a definite feeling that I didn't want to be there any more. I wanted to leave. I pocketed the key and he continued to dig. A man came out of the far end of the clearing shouting at us about private property. We had assumed it was though none of it was posted. We took our two tools and made a hasty retreat. Our walk out of the area was brusque and an uneasy one. We kept on looking over our shoulders because we felt we were being watched, but didn't see any indication that the man had followed us. You know, that creepy feeling that something isn't quite right but you can't see what it is. I told Chris about the woman I thought I had seen earlier. He just shook his head in dismay. "What a wasted day." I didn't agree with him. When we got home I cleaned the broken key, its top was missing but if ever the lock came along that the key fits into the bottom part was intact. I oiled it and took it into the library to put into the draw. The draw was out and on the floor. Chris picked it up stuck the key and map inside and went to put it back in the slot. It was like there was an electric charge in the room and the draw pulled itself in and slammed. We have never been able to get it to open again. I've often wondered what would happen if someone else purchased the desk. Suppose I sold it would the draw open then? What did the key belong t o? What does it belong to? Will I ever know? Is there anything else in that well? I know it is on private property but do we dare go back there are excavate it. Would the owners allow us? Who was the woman that beckoned to me? Was the man in the meadow the owner I had felt I could help but all I have done was to open a maze of questions. Did anyone purchase a box from that house that was locked? How was I to find out? Why do I feel like I'm being watched while I write this? Every now and then the cat will go by and hiss at the draw and run away. I've made a copy of the map from memory and who ever buys the desk will get the map with it. AUGUST 27, 1994 The owners of the property where the well is must have received my letter asking to dig in the old well because their lawyer called me. "If we ever catch you on the property we will have you arrested for trespass." I guess that means No. I wonder what they know what I don't know. Why don't they want us digging in the well? Sept 19, 1994 I advertised in the local papers to see if someone had purchased a locked box at the auction or papers and documents, which were sold at the auction. No takers. I started looking up the names of older people in the area and called members of the various historical societies. No luck Nov 3, 1997 Mr. Finneas O'Doole aged 83 called me on the phone and invited the two of us to Dinner the next day. He said he had information on the Maude Ellis Tiffin murder, I would be interested in. Who was Maude Ellis Tiffin? What murder? He laughed and said, "You'll find out". Nov. 4, 1997 We arrived at Mr. O'Doole's residence to hear he had a massive stroke during the night and passed away. His home had been designed by Sanford White and he was a painter of no little renown himself. April 9, 1998 Mr. O'Doole's estate sells at auction and we attend it. There are photo albums mostly carte visite and one of them has a tobacco trade card with a picture of Maude Ellis Tiffin in it. There are also, pictures of Evelyn Nesbit Thaw, Sanford White, St. Gaudens and Maude Ellis Tiffin together. April 3, 2000 I have at last traced down Maude Ellis Tiffin. She was a chorus dancer at the same time as Evelyn Nesbit, and they were friends. She was "visiting friends" in NH when she went for a walk and never returned. A massive manhunt was conducted but she was not found. Police suspected foul play as it was rumored she was with child. I asked a friend in the FBI if it was possible with the evidence we had to order an excavation of the well. His answer didn't help or encourage me. May 15, 2002 Chris and I went down to the area were the well was. We arrived just as the rose tipped colors of dawn began to tint the sky. The well is missing. About 10 feet away is a section where a Mountain Ash is planted but we saw where the well had been as the growth was still fairly new. Some one had camouflaged it. Why was it after all these years when al the participants are long deceased that someone is taking such pains to deceive us? We took many photos of the area and I stood where the well had been. At least we will be able to identify the spot. Why are they doing this? I think O'Doole was murdered to shut him up. I think Maude probably was pregnant and someone wanted to keep her from naming them as the father, and so she was shoved down the well. Why can't they reopen a case that was never opened officially to begin with? I think the next step is to check out the genealogy of the owners of the property. Perhaps, you think this is going to far in researching an old broken key. I don't. If the top wasn't shaped like a heart, now a broken heart, would I be so involved with this mystery? Maud's picture is on my desk. She was very pretty. Did some one spurn her love or her being with child? She could have thrown herself into the well but then again she might have been murdered. I wish I knew. Don't you? How I should love to know what the key belongs to. |
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