That Affair at Elizabeth

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

And looking at the story, I understood, more clearly than I had ever done, the wide appeal of the yellow press—it paid for the best talent in the market; it handled its matter in a way to attract attention; it told its stories in a style incisive and easily comprehensible, and added the visual appeal of pictures, which gave the supreme touch of reality. And it got the news. Abstractly, I am anything but an admirer of the yellow press; concretely, I have often found that to get the last detail of any event—more especially of any event with a sensational or mysterious side—I must have recourse to its columns, just as I had recourse to them now.

As I read on, I marvelled more and more at the system which rendered possible the securing of all these details in so short a time—subterranean, Godfrey had called it; superhuman, I would have said, and I determined that he should some day introduce me to it. He had run down Parello, unmasked him, laid him bare in all his treachery and vileness; the whole sordid, terrible story lay revealed—and as I thought of Harriet Kingdon's sufferings and abasement, I did not wonder that she had shot down the brute who was trying to drag her back to them. Some of the details, I knew, Godfrey must have filled in for himself, since there could be no way of verifying them at this late day; but they fitted so closely with the rest of the structure that there could be no doubt of their essential truthfulness.

Such, for instance, was the detail of their meeting. Parello had been a teacher of music, and Godfrey shrewdly guessed that he must have met Harriet Kingdon and become acquainted with her at the house where she was employed as governess. The rest of the story could be easily built up. He was a handsome and magnetic fellow, she a passionate and attractive woman. He had struck a chord in her which she could not but obey. He had seemed then to have a future before him; the brave exterior gave no hint of the rottenness within. He had that grandiloquent way of speaking of the future which is characteristic of the Latin races—that sublime faith in himself which needed no justification. He had impressed himself upon her as a genius who would one day astonish the world; and if he had certain assertive peculiarities which jarred disagreeably at times, why, was not all genius so? She began by admiring him; she ended by yielding to him. No doubt she fancied that she was hitching her wagon to a star.

Whether there had been a marriage was not certain; Godfrey believed there had been. At any rate, Parello had introduced her to his friends as his wife, and, for a time, all went well. Then the devil in the man cropped out. He was naturally indolent. He quit teaching under the pretext that he wished to compose a masterpiece, and forced her to support him. No doubt she even yet believed in him; but he dragged her down to depths unspeakable, trampling her into the very mire of the Italian colony.

At last, he brought his real wife from Italy to live with him. This swarthy vixen had added new torments to the unfortunate girl's position, had devised new insults for her, and the end had been Bloomingdale. Up to the very last, such was the nature of the woman, she had continued to love the man, contented to be his dog, his slave, for the privilege of being near him. Doubtless all this time her mind was weakening, and she clung to him out of old habit. But with the sudden accession of madness, hate had blazed up in her, white-hot, and she had attempted to stab him. He had called the police, and she had been dragged away, cursing, shrieking, a spectacle to shake the strongest nerves. It was in that struggle that he had lost the end of his little finger. She had seized it between her teeth and bitten it clean through. From a woman she had changed into a monster.

But insanity of this type usually yields to treatment; and though Harriet Kingdon's case proved to be of unusual obstinacy, patience and careful nursing triumphed in the end, and reason was restored to her. Restored, that is, as life is restored to a man stricken with heart disease; resting not on the firm foundation of assured health, but on a delicate balance which any shock may disturb.

Not until she was ready to leave the asylum, did her sister know her whereabouts; I doubt if she ever knew the whole story of the sufferings which went before. She had come for her, had taken her back to Elizabeth, to the home which Mrs. Lawrence's kindness and generosity had provided.

The Parellos had remained with the Italian colony, sinking lower and lower. Parello, driven by his wife, the target of her abuse now that she no longer had any other, endeavoured to resume his teaching, but he had so coarsened in habits and appearance that the old doors were shut to him. Still, he managed to scrape along, always on the verge of want. Then, in a fortunate hour, his wife had been run down and killed by a trolley car, he managed to exact damages for her death, and for the moment found himself in affluence.

It was at this time that his thoughts turned to Harriet Kingdon. Why? It is impossible to say. Perhaps he felt some revival of his old passion for her; perhaps he may even have had some twinges of remorse; more probably he realised that he was growing old; he wanted some one to wait on him and slave for him, some one upon whom he could wreak his gusts of passion. He had always believed himself irresistible to women; he knew the dog-like devotion which Harriet Kingdon had had for him; he believed that he had only to speak the word, and she would crawl back to him. But he would do more than that; he would be generous; he would offer to make her really his wife. Magnificent! Could she refuse such an offer as that? The wife of Parello!

So he had made inquiries at the asylum, had learned her address, and had taken the train for Elizabeth on the morning of that fatal tenth of June. He had made his way to the Kingdon cottage, had found Harriet Kingdon there alone, had entered, seated himself familiarly, perhaps attempted some endearment. He was confident, self-satisfied. It was better than he had hoped. Here was a comfortable home ready for him; a wife who seemed to be making a good living. If it should be necessary, he could no doubt find many pupils at Elizabeth, and if the pay was not quite metropolitan, why, neither was the work. Here was a golden future; yes, he would be generous; she should be his wife; he would forget all that had happened....