And soon, Claude and Blanche Auzello will be only memories. Nobody wants to remember the war years anymore, except for that one story about Hemingway, and how he told everyone he liberated the hotel even though he didn’t. Nobody wants to tell the story of the French director and his American Jewish wife and how they really saved the Hôtel Ritz, on the Place Vendôme.
I do, though. I like that story, it’s a fine story, even as I still wonder about the ending.
When Claude put his suffering wife to bed that night, what was he thinking?
When he watched her fall into a surprisingly peaceful sleep, not yet uttering the terrors she could no longer suppress, did he think of the first time he saw her?
When he reached for the pistol, the same one he’d carried since the war, did he only hope to relieve her of her misery? Was it weariness—his own as well as hers—that steadied his hand as he put the pillow over her head and pulled the trigger? Selfishness, so that he didn’t have to care for her, didn’t have to watch her continued descent into a place where he could not follow?
Or was it love?
Because I think Blanche suspected, before she climbed into their bed that evening. I think she knew what her husband was going to do—her despairing husband, robbed of his life, his Ritz, robbed of his dignity—and she gave him his release. Because Blanche, after all, was so very good at saving.
Whose love was strongest, that night—Claude’s, or Blanche’s? Or was it their love, combined, a steel conduit linking one to the other, forged by war and pain, that steadied his hand, that caused her to lie so still, so peacefully?
I’ve told you their story.
You decide.
* * *
—
IN THE EARLY MORNING of May 29, 1969, a neighbor of the Auzellos on the avenue Montaigne heard a sound he thought was a tire popping. Three hours later, he heard the same sound. Soon after, the maid arrived to prepare breakfast.
When she went to awaken them, she found Blanche in bed, dead from a gunshot wound, and Claude, a gun in his hand, a mortal wound to his head, lying on the floor beside her.
It had been twenty-nine years since the Germans first arrived at the Ritz.
When I’m searching for a new novel subject, there are many things I look for. A compelling protagonist, an intriguing but unknown slice of history, a setting that can be a character itself—all of these things have inspired me to write books. But sometimes, you come across what I call simply a “great big fat juicy story.” And that’s exactly what I found in Mistress of the Ritz.
I first encountered Blanche and Claude Auzello in the nonfiction book The Hotel on Place Vendôme, by Tilar J. Mazzeo, which introduced me to the role of the Hôtel Ritz during the German occupation: a part of history I knew nothing about. (See above.) It was also an inspiring setting that could be a character in a book. (Ditto.)
And in its pages, I found that great big fat juicy story, but one with many empty blanks.
Mazzeo’s book first introduced me to the Auzellos, their background, and their wartime service. But the nature of the book made it impossible for the Auzellos to take center stage; theirs was only one of many sketched-out stories of life at the Ritz during the war years. I was left feeling that here was a novel begging to be written. And indeed, as I started researching Blanche and Claude and the Ritz, that was the one question I kept seeing in articles and blogs and other books: Why hasn’t someone written a novel about these two?
How could I resist?
Most of my previous novels have been about people with a very rich written history already. Certainly Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Truman Capote, Mary Pickford all have been written about, extensively, before. But there really isn’t much out there about Blanche and Claude. We don’t even know their exact dates of birth. There was the book I mentioned above, and then a very slight biography of Blanche called Queen of the Ritz, written by her nephew Samuel Marx. This book is frustrating, even though it consists of interviews that Marx conducted with Blanche long after the war. It never gets to the truth of Blanche’s character, or her marriage beyond its arguments and Claude’s mistresses. It’s all surface, even when Blanche talks about her wartime exploits. She has a tendency, always, to default to humor, even when relating her imprisonment and torture. Her real character remains a mystery.
There is one other book, The Ritz of Paris, by Stephen Watts, that talks about the Ritz during the war and includes several interviews with Claude. (The book was written in 1963.) Again, when probed about what went on there during the war, and his own bravery, Claude draws a tight curtain over it. It is frustrating, to say the least.
So I would say that Mistress of the Ritz, more than any of my other novels, is “inspired” by a true story and real people, rather than based on them. With so few real details to go on—for example, Lily and J’Ali are name-checked in the few things written about Blanche, but I could not find any details about them elsewhere—and so few true glimpses into Blanche’s and Claude’s characters, my imagination was given free rein.
We know that Blanche first came to Paris in the early 1920s with her friend Pearl White, and that she was the lover of an Egyptian prince named J’Ali. We know that she, after a very short time, married Claude Auzello, the manager of the Hôtel Claridge, who soon became the manager of the Hôtel Ritz. We know that she forged her passport to erase her Jewish heritage. We know that Blanche worked with the Resistance and got several airmen out of the country, but the details are nonexistent. We know she was arrested—possibly more than once, although I keep it to only the one time in this novel. We know that something happened at Maxim’s restaurant when she took Lily there to celebrate D-Day. We know the circumstances of her liberation from Fresnes, right down to the fact that she was about to be executed when the Allies literally arrived in the nick of time. We know that Lily disappeared.
We know that Claude worked with other hotel directors to convey messages through suppliers outside France, and that a man named Martin was his contact.
We know that in 1968, Claude killed Blanche in a murder-suicide.
And—that’s it.
Why did Blanche risk her life, when she could have easily sat out the war in luxury? What was the aftermath like, when all her old pals—Hemingway, the Duke and Duchess of Windsor—returned to the Ritz after the war? How had Blanche changed? How had Claude? In the books I’ve mentioned, they don’t seem to. Life just goes on as before, as if the war was only a minor interruption. But given their ending, that couldn’t have been the truth of their lives. And as a novelist, that is my drive, always—imagining that truth, the emotional truth, of these real people’s lives.
One more thing, for the World War II historians out there: There were actually two different von Stülpnagels occupying the Ritz; first there was Otto, then his cousin Carl-Heinrich, who replaced Otto when Otto was assigned to another post. Carl-Heinrich was the von Stülpnagel who was implicated in the plot to assassinate Hitler that took form in the bar of the Hôtel Ritz. For ease of reading, I combined these two von Stülpnagels into one composite.
From the beginning, I knew the Ritz was going to be the third major character of this book and that excited me; its very name invokes such intrigue and glamour! I was fortunate enough to spend three nights at the Ritz during my research period. While of course the Ritz has been—famously—redecorated and modernized since Blanche and Claude’s reign, it was still important for me to get a good idea of the layout of the building, the luxury, the feeling that it inspires. Like Blanche says, it truly does make you sit up straighter, dress better, behave yourself in ways you might not outside its doors.
And then, there is Paris itself. My favorite city in the world. I’ve looked for years for a story set in Paris, just so I could finally declare my love for it in print.
I’m so glad that Blanche and Claude came along and provided me with that story. Their stor
y—a great big fat juicy story.
To Ben,
who had to wait for this one
As always, it takes a village to write a book. I am indebted once more to my brilliant editor, Kate Miciak, who holds my feet to the fire with every book and makes me a better writer. And I wouldn’t have a career if it wasn’t for the passion and dedication of the best agent in the world, Laura Langlie.
It’s a luxury to write when you know you have a fabulous team at your back, and I have just that at Penguin Random House. I’m thankful for each and every one of you: Kara Welsh, Kim Hovey, Gina Wachtel, Sharon Propson, Jennifer Garza, Susan Corcoran, Quinne Rogers, Leigh Marchant, Allyson Pearl, Robbin Schiff, Benjamin Dreyer, Loren Noveck, Allison Schuster, Jesse Shuman, Alyssa Matesic, and Gina Centrello. And my gratitude to all the fabulous Penguin Random House sales reps, who are the most passionate readers in the world.
Thank you to the Authors Unbound team.
I’m so grateful to François Grisor at the Ritz Paris for his help and the behind-the-scenes tour he gave me, and to Anne Michel, my editor at Albin Michel in France, for help in making contacts for me at the Ritz.
All my love to my family who support me even when they don’t think they do: Dennis Hauser, Alec Hauser, Ben Hauser, Emily Curtis, Norman Miller, Mark and Stephanie Miller.
And finally, always, thank you to the booksellers and readers who keep asking me to write more books. Because of you, I will.
BY MELANIE BENJAMIN
Alice I Have Been
The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb
The Aviator’s Wife
The Swans of Fifth Avenue
The Girls in the Picture
Mistress of the Ritz
Reckless Hearts (short story)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MELANIE BENJAMIN has written the New York Times bestselling historical novels The Aviator’s Wife and The Swans of Fifth Avenue, the nationally bestselling Alice I Have Been, and The Girls in the Picture and The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb. She lives in Chicago with her husband. When she isn’t writing, she’s reading.
Melaniebenjamin.com
Twitter: @MelanieBen
Look for Melanie Benjamin on Facebook
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Mistress of the Ritz Page 30