by Susan Ronald
Her behavior was utterly sanctioned by Frank, so long as she told him all about her evening’s escapades over his breakfast in bed the next morning. Both Frank and Florence had taken several lovers. Florence recalled that “everyone slept with everyone else. It was fun; it was practical.” Whenever Frank became bored with his current paramour, he would ask his wife to surprise them in flagrante. Florence dutifully played the role of the outraged wife, and the lover of the moment would flee, clutching her clothes to her chest. Should Frank not tire of his latest girlfriend on cue, Florence would shower the woman occupying his affections with dozens of jewels until Frank got the bill. He was a millionaire, twice divorced, and read his wife’s actions loudly: it was time to dump his latest mistress, claiming, “I had to, the affair was costing me a fortune.”4
The implied understanding was that a third divorce would cost him even more. While everybody slept with everyone else in Florence’s parlance, at the end of the day, Frank had decided that three wives were quite enough. He felt an undying loyalty to, and admiration of, Florence for nursing him back to health. To boot, she had a fine sense of humor—and a keen business mind—to match her beauty. They thought alike on many levels, which was far more than he could say for either of his earlier wives. Besides, he hadn’t met his match before, or a woman quite like her—ever. But the signs were there. Frank and Florence were growing apart.
* * *
Their relationship was tested further when William Randolph Hearst’s newspaper empire published the serialization of Boni de Castellane’s memoirs entitled How I Won and Lost Anna Gould’s Millions. Boni was pictured with a Russian wolfhound, a Borzoi, at his side, staring up the immense chimney breast at a framed likeness of Anna. “While I was endowed with ancestors of the highest social prestige, bankruptcy haunted me. The time had come for me to respond energetically. My thoughts turned to the very rich American heiress who I had to conquer,” Boni boldly stated. “Napoleon won and lost an empire for France. The Count of Castellane won a rich American heiress for himself, and lost her,” the article went on. “Boni is the pioneer of what would soon become the new sport of foreign nobility: the hunt for rich girls in the New World, where the title of countess or marquise is sure to seduce them.”5 Privately, Frank seethed for his favorite sister. Publicly, he had to swallow hard and say, “No comment.”
Meanwhile, Florence was tasked with averting the negative publicity leveled against the Gould name. Rightly so. It was Florence’s job to keep them both in the public eye and to organize all sorts of devil-may-care high-profile entertainments for their international set. Florence, who had been playing mixed doubles tennis with the Irish champion Tom Burke, his brother Albert, and sisters Patricia and Mimi, cooked up a scheme—with Gould money—to hold an international tournament at the Carleton Hotel in Cannes and include the Goulds’ new property, the Gallia Tennis Courts, as part of the tourney. It was a wonderful publicity coup, Frank agreed.
So Albert Burke, the official promoter, leased the Carleton’s courts, and pulled in the U.S. champion, Helen Wills of California, and French champion, Suzanne Lenglen, as the main event. Since Florence courted international tennis buffs who also had muscle in Hollywood, like Charlie Chaplin and Rudolph Valentino, she was able to land an exclusive “motion picture” deal that sold for $100,000 to show the ladies’ finals match worldwide. That is, until Helen Wills had her say. Wills was outraged at the promoters’ making “the match a business proposition.” This was, of course, in the days when tennis viewed any outside sponsorship dimly, and the only monies earned were from spectators attending the tournament.
All other photographers and movie reel companies, including Pathé—which provided the bread-and-butter newsreels to theaters around the world—were excluded. Wills complained to the American Lawn Tennis Association. “The Californian does not attempt to hide her annoyance over the many circumstances showing commercialism in the Carleton tourney and the sarcastic comments made by some newspapers and tennis enthusiasts,” the American Press newswire reported.6 Then the American committee cabled Wills that “as you are receiving no financial consideration from the motion picture rights, there can be no criticism. By all means play.”7
Florence may have breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted after Zelda’s escapades and Boni’s nasty revelations was to draw negative attention to the Gould name and their new tennis courts venture in Cannes. Any sighs were, however, short-lived. Wills said she’d play against Lenglen anywhere other than the Riviera. Refusing to compromise her principles or see other photographers and motion picture companies excluded from the tournament, Wills announced she would scratch unless the motion picture deal was withdrawn, and all photographers and filmmakers could work at the event. Frank was apoplectic. Burke feared the whole venture would be a catastrophe, not only financially, but also for his brother. What if Tom came under the watchful eye of the powerful voices in the sport? After several tense days of wrangling, Albert Burke and the Goulds agreed that they had best cancel the exclusive motion picture contract. The match went ahead under the terms Wills demanded, but the tennis tournament was a public relations disaster.
* * *
As is so often the case in the breakdown of a close relationship, both parties plowed their efforts into their business, keeping up, too, with the requisite society events and charitable donations. Florence had created wondrous music festivals and light opera performances at significant expense for the 1927 season. Yet Frank’s millions still had far more scope for investments in bricks and mortar. The Juan Casino, Hôtel Provençal, and their new acquisitions of the smaller Hôtel Alba and Hotel des Deux Plages in Juan-les-Pins were only the start of their Riviera empire.8 The eleven tennis courts in the California district of Cannes, near the Ambassadeurs Casino, were their first foray outside Juan. Perhaps their plan was to build a hotel there, too, although none ever reached the zoning stage.
* * *
Meanwhile, Cannes partied on. The Dolly Sisters performed in several galas that year of 1927 at the Ambassadeurs, while the big bands played zippy melodies for dancing the Charleston and Black Bottom. Polish actress Pola Negri (made famous by her affair with Charlie Chaplin) was accompanied by her husband, Prince Alexis Mdivani, as she swanned into the casino at Juan.* So did Grand Duke Dmitri (Chanel’s former lover) with his new wife, Cincinnati-born Audrey Emery, trailing rumors of her piffling six-million-dollar dowry in her wake.9 These were the people Frank wanted to stay at his hotels, not the great artists Florence gathered to her—all of whom he called her “knights errant” or “zoo” or “circus.” For now, Florence swallowed hard and agreed.
So they concentrated on their investments, rather than their personal relationship. European inflation was conquered, at last, due to loans from American banks. The Great War faded to a distant memory. Surely, they were entering an era of ever greater prosperity in 1927? Consequently, when Frank spotted a choice real estate opportunity in Nice on Promenade des Anglais, he snapped it up, albeit for an extortionate price. Frank, like Florence, saw that Juan had become too small for them to expand their business further.
Both longed to break out into all the luxury markets in France; and Nice was the next logical step. Frank bought up the best part of a square city block, comprising the outdated Hôtel Royal and several private villas. Only one villa owner refused to sell, the aging owner Baron Roissard de Bellet, stating, “I will never allow myself to be bought by an American.” Florence replied with one of her best one-liners, “Money doesn’t care who owns it.”10
Florence was thrilled that they were hobnobbing with the wealthy, the famous, and the notable, but to continue her rise—and Frank’s cure—they would need to do more. Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks dined at their table. Hollywood actress Gloria Swanson was hosted by Frank and Florence to announce her engagement to her third husband, Henry de La Falaise, Marquis de La Coudraye, while Swanson’s part-time lover, Joseph Kennedy, looked on toasting them. Maurice Chevalier d
anced with Florence. Their next-door neighbor, Maréchal Philippe Pétain, dubbed the “Hero of Verdun,” was often invited to join their festivities.11
Of course, they gave money to charities, and were active in the local balls—buying their plates and contributing to the charities’ aims as required to keep their names favorably regarded in the press.12 When they set up La Gauloise Sports Club in Juan, they were sure to give 5,000 francs to the poor of Antibes.13 Monte Carlo had its François Blanc, Cannes its Lord Brougham, but Antibes–Juan-les-Pins had Frank Jay Gould.
There was, however, a very special charitable interest that was made public in 1927: Dr. Arthur Vernes and his Prophylactic Institute. Frank and Florence had become Vernes’s main benefactors. It seems the good doctor found quick ways of detecting all sorts of major threats to life. In November 1927, the Goulds went public on his behalf, and the Associated Press (AP) wire services carried the story around the world. The headline in most newspapers read: “NEW METHOD ANNOUNCED—For Determining Existence of Tuberculosis—Photographs Used.” The article was short, sweet, and to the point:
Paris, (November 7) A.P.—A photographic method of determining existence of tuberculosis in mankind, even when unsuspected, was announced today by Dr. Arthur Vernes, head of the Prophylactic Institute, whose work has been facilitated greatly by large gifts from Mr. and Mrs. Frank J. Gould.
Vernes asserted that more than 15,000 tests have verified the accuracy of his method, which is based on a photometric test of the blood. Tuberculosis is frequently active when the lungs are entirely free of it, he said.
The Prophylactic Institute has been specializing for many years in similar blood tests for other diseases.14
Tuberculosis was slowly killing thousands every year, including writers D. H. Lawrence* and Katherine Mansfield. What the article left out was that Dr. Vernes’s specialty was a search for a friendlier cure for syphilis than Salvarsan or Neosalvarsan. For a crowd where “everyone slept with everyone else” to use Florence’s words, Dr. Vernes offered the prospect of a less harmful cure where none existed, just yet. The Goulds’ interest in Dr. Vernes suggests that Frank certainly, and Florence possibly, suffered from some of the side effects of the efficacious but deadly drug.
* * *
The Goulds’ French Riviera developments in Nice would run their natural course, obviously with the right push and shove to favored “friends in high places” so they could get their necessary building permits, licenses, and approvals. As expected, they did not view their payments to a local dignitary’s preferred charities, or cash to officials, as bribes. What we call “corruption” was simply the way things worked in the twenties, the Goulds would reply in their defense. Frank always invested in ways that greased the wheels of commerce best. Casinos always attracted their share of cheats, high-stake gamblers, syndicates looking to break the bank, and other rackets. Equally, it was important for Frank to ensure that “good relations” existed between him, local police, and the mayors of the cities where he had establishments. A venal system was never far from their door.
Meanwhile, there were other destinations, perhaps easier pickings, nearer to their home at Robillard in Normandy that required their attention. When they had gone to take the waters at Bagnoles-de-l’Orne the previous year as part of Frank’s round of natural “cures” for his ravaged body, they were appalled at the neglected state of the thermal baths and the beautiful lake choked with weeds. So they bought the spa and much of the surrounding countryside. Long associated with the Arthurian legend, this was the fabled Lancelot country. It was also once home to Alexandre Dumas (father), European aristocrats, Indian royalty, and prime ministers, but Bagnoles had become impoverished and merely hinted at its former glory. In 1927, the Goulds opened their art-deco-style Bagnoles Hôtel and Casino du Lac. Designed by architect Auguste Bluysen, today the buildings are protected and treasured historical structures. Frank and Florence had taken a medieval spa favored by the aristocracy in the Belle Epoque but ruined by the ravages of war, and from its ashes, rebuilt an entire thriving community. Yet their immense contribution to the community went unrecognized by posterity. For the locals, it simply represented the frenzied growth of the Goulds’ French property empire, which in turn, mirrored the fascination with speed engulfing the younger generation.
13
THE MONÉGASQUE FEUD FIT FOR A PRINCE
Some people can live more, better, faster, more enthusiastically in less time than others.
—Theodore Dreiser on MONTE CARLO, 1912
Edouard Baudoin, while loyal and a talented casino operator, did not have the panache or flair of a grand hotelier like Henri Ruhl. Another management structure was needed if Frank and Florence were to offer real competition to other hotel and casino owners. A hotel manager, or perhaps even a partner, needed to be brought on board to run the accommodation side of their business. As the old tourism industry adage goes, the longer they stay, the more they spend.
Never slow off the mark, the Goulds had already pinpointed one of Ruhl’s great finds: Joseph Aletti. Not only had Aletti turned the spa town of Vichy into a major international resort, but he also ran the Hôtel Ruhl in Nice during its first winter season in 1918–1919 to entice the snowbirds to return south after the war. Henri Ruhl had chosen Aletti to run his flagship Riviera hotel in the most difficult of circumstances, when tourism was at an all-time low, and when Nice was still seen as a “leave city” for the military and the injured. That meant Aletti had to be tops.
Better still, Aletti knew the political machinery in Nice. That was a huge bonus to Frank, who had already crossed swords with local politicians over the acquisition of the land for his Palais de la Méditerranée. Besides, word had it that Aletti had also conquered the political scene in Menton, when he opened the Hôtel Impérial for César Ritz and hired on the former general manager of Hôtel du Cap.1 In a country where workers’ rights were at the top of the political agenda, such a man was worth his proverbial weight in gold.
Yet Aletti, while flattered, did not immediately agree to the Goulds’ terms. At the time, he was working in Nice at the Hôtel Majestic on boulevard Cimiez, overlooking the Baie des Anges. To have a beautiful hotel was one story, he told Frank and Florence, to have a luxury hotel that worked beautifully was quite another. Aletti had over twenty years’ luxury hotel experience and was reluctant to share his expertise with a mere restaurateur and casino man like Baudoin, unless there was more to the proposition than merely managing the new Nice palace for the Goulds. Spurned, but unbeaten, Frank and Florence trumped Aletti and bought the Majestic.
Aletti worked for them now, like it or not, and they would prove to him that they had a vision equal to, if not better than, Aletti’s own—and the bankroll to back it. Still, the hotelier shilly-shallied. Florence intervened. Hadn’t Frank sold his shares in the Virginia utilities in 1925 for $11 million to underwrite his acquisitions in France?2 Hadn’t most French people thought they had more money than sense? Hadn’t they been proved wrong? Florence cajoled. So, when Florence suggested that they decamp to the Majestic as hotel inspectors, Frank agreed.
Soon enough, they advised Aletti that luxury meant a private bathroom for every bedroom and that more sumptuous furnishings were necessary additions to his finely honed hotel service. Aletti was impressed. Work began immediately on refurbishing the property to standards that wouldn’t become the norm until the late twentieth century. Cars, frequently Rolls-Royces or Bentleys, would have individual garages. Heavenly scented soaps were placed at the sink and bathtub for use by hotel guests. In-house telephones were installed. Plush towels and bathrobes adorned the marble fittings. The Majestic would be the first hotel in the world—even before the Waldorf Astoria in New York—to understand the significance of those little extras and the quality of service that made guests want to return again and again.3
The real sweetener for Aletti, however, was another pin in the map of France bought by Frank and Florence. The Goulds funded Aletti to front the pur
chase of several spa hotels and casinos in Vichy that Aletti had managed previously, making them the most significant hotel and casino owners in the popular resort. The Goulds also invested in a large villa in the spa town, as well as other real estate. With Aletti’s experience and their money, Frank and Florence looked forward to the opening of their biggest project yet—the Palais de la Méditerranée.
* * *
The Marseilles-born Joseph Aletti was a man Frank and Florence knew they could do business with. After graduating high school, Aletti went to London to train in the British capital’s best hotels and become fluent in English. After all, the Meurice Hotel in Paris had been modeled on “English luxury,” which was, at the end of the nineteenth century, still the pinnacle of distinction.4 Hardworking, with a tremendous eye to detail, Aletti climbed through the ranks of hotel operations: managing the front office, food and beverage and banqueting, sales, marketing, redevelopment, and finally acting as general manager for a host of high-net-worth hotel owners from Baden-Baden and Montreux to Nice and Menton. Frank especially liked him. On a personal level, Aletti also thought like the Goulds: monogamy was for the unimaginative, not him.5 Maybe Florence saw herself as another sweetener?
Aletti had another advantage. He understood Henri Ruhl, who despite his advanced age, Florence and Frank believed was their top competitor in Nice. While running the Hôtel Ruhl in Nice, Aletti had managed the spa hotel for Henri Ruhl in Vichy, which was renamed Hôtel Radio under its new ownership. Since those were the heady days when everything in a hotel was “badged” with the hotel stamp, from the sand in the standing ashtrays to pens, cutlery, napkins, bath towels, and tablecloths, a rechristening of the Hôtel Ruhl to another name with the same initials “HR” became a cost-saving necessity when Ruhl sold the property in 1920 to the Giorgetti family.6