by Susan Ronald
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Now, eight years later, Florence was faced with the dilemma of how to help Frank without harming his fortune. The solution was simple: hit George hard with the truth. Bring in Anna as an ally. If they didn’t throw all the dirt they had on George and the family trust before George started tossing brickbats in their direction, Frank would lose, just as he’d done back in 1910. Meanwhile, Florence fended off Frank’s ardor. She intimated she would not marry him until his demons—ex-wife, family, and alcohol, though perhaps not in that order—were resolved.
Above all, Florence knew Frank needed to get to grips with his alcoholism. Treatments or solutions for dependency hadn’t progressed a great deal since the Victorian era. Indeed, ever since the Roman Empire’s philosopher Seneca classified alcoholism as a form of insanity, how to cope with it remained a hot topic. By 1918 the Victorian treatment of “waterboarding” had fallen into disfavor, where patients in sanatoria across Europe and the United States were placed in cold water in sealed baths and nearly drowned with a constant jet of cold water on their heads and faces. Still, there were myriad quack remedies available, from eating 231 lemons over precisely twenty-nine days to the use of cocaine to cure alcohol and opium dependencies.† Specialist profit-making sanatoria for alcoholism proliferated, with only the wealthy admitted for their cures. The Keeley Institute in the United States was one of the first, opening its doors in 1869 with its controversial “Gold Cure.” Despite its cure’s questionable medical benefit, the institute remained a pioneer in treating alcoholism as a disease.
Sadly, in 1918, the treatments available for alcoholism were still based on medical opinions formulated in the 1870s.3 Men and women in Frank Gould’s social strata were increasingly sent to “jitter joints,” or fancy hotel-like sanatoria, to dry out and hopefully stay sober. Those unable to pay for “cures” were sent to city “drunk tanks” to dry out. Their only form of help came from the various Christian missions or temperance leagues that preached on the evils and sins of their dependency. Today’s understanding that alcoholism or any dependency has medical, hereditary, social, and cultural causes was unknown in Frank’s day.
Presumably, Frank went to the jitter joint of his own choosing to dry out, then was sent back into Florence’s caring arms. Chances are, she knew her man well enough to devise a program of treatment that no institution could possibly dream up. She understood his demons, his faults, and his aspirations. She didn’t need to lecture or scold. That simply wasn’t her way. More than likely she showed Frank just how good a time they were having when he was sober. She didn’t mind his having fun with other women, gambling, or dancing to his heart’s content. The subliminal message was: Life with her was beautiful and fun.
Crucially, she taught him, as no one else had done, how she lived in France as an American, and how the French thought. In her inimical and self-serving way, Florence handed Frank something no one else had cared to give: hope for the future. It was the perfect and most incredibly thoughtful gift for the yachting millionaire who had lost his way. Once he was sober, the key component to Frank’s cure—a battle plan to free himself from his brother George’s grip—was hammered out together with Florence. While seeming generous, it was not entirely altruistic of Florence. It made the vulnerable Frank fall more hopelessly in love with her. By 1919, he was determined to make Florence the third Mrs. Frank Jay Gould.
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Frank declared war on George in the New York courts in the spring of that year—while the family mistakenly thought that Frank remained preoccupied with Edith. The Evening World, once owned by Jay Gould and now part of Joseph Pulitzer’s media empire, led with the page one headline: $25,000,000 LOSS CHARGED IN SUIT OF FRANK J. GOULD TO OUST GEORGE AS EXECUTOR. The equally potent sub-headings of “Sister Joins Him in Petition Charging Mismanagement of Inherited Millions” and “Fight over W.U. [Western Union] Sale” give the broad brushstrokes of the litigation.4 The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and The Washington Post followed with similar banners. Some $34 million was alleged to have been lost by George. How could one man lose so much money? they all asked.
The New York Times printed George’s reaction. George’s opinion was that this was merely a family row brought about by Frank’s resentfulness concerning his wife, the showgirl Edith Kelly. Evidently, there was more to Frank’s claim than that. New York Supreme Court Justice M. Warley Platzek signed an order requiring George to show “just cause” to why he should not be removed as executor and trustee of the Gould family fortune. The three complainants—Frank, Anna, and Anna’s three children by Boni de Castellane—were each represented by their own lawyers.
George, in a trick worthy of his father, tried to evade service of the claim by speeding off in his car, presumably to his New Jersey home, with the court’s messenger in hot pursuit. George was stopped by a New York City traffic cop before he could reach the bridge. When he refused to open the car door to accept service, the court’s messenger threw the notice into the car under the feet of George’s chauffeur, who allegedly tossed it back into the street. In view of George’s obvious reluctance to answer the charges, Judge Platzek ordered that he be constrained from destroying or removing any personal or estate books from the jurisdiction of the State of New York.5
As indecent sons of a noted robber baron, neither George nor Frank played fair. Each brought to bear his considerable influence on the courts in whatever way he could. Frank inflamed George’s children against him ensuring that George’s portion of the estate would become mired in controversy. The children of George’s marriage to Edith Kingdon were warned that those born to George’s mistress, Guinevere Sinclair, would dilute their inheritance. Guinevere, too, weighed in: she fully expected her Sinclair children to inherit. Then George’s and Edith’s daughter, Helen Vivien, who had married the Irish hereditary peer John Graham Hope de la Poer Beresford, 5th Baron Decies, was accused by Frank of taking $180,000 from the trust in an illegal loan to her husband.
George’s hands were tied. If he adopted the same tactic, then he’d have to drag his elder sister, Helen Gould Shepard, into the quagmire, as she had helped raise Frank’s girls. Instead, George opted for a more direct approach. Frank, as a trustee, was culpable for the trust’s losses, too, not least because Frank had turned his back on the family business shortly after marrying his first wife. Yet rather than countersuing Frank personally, George’s eldest sons clubbed together to accuse Frank for his own role in the mismanagement of the family fortune.
Then George planted a story in the American press that Frank was engaged to be married to one of his showgirl paramours, Miss Elsie Janis, who also happened to be Florence’s chum. The intended threat was to expose some unsavory ménage à trois. Frank, however, sent a telegram to his New York business manager, George H. Taylor, for immediate publication, saying that his engagement to Miss Janis “was absolute news to me.” All reputable newspapers printed a page one retraction.6 The more George tried to come between Florence and Frank, the more inseparable they became.
The unedifying case of the Gould family tearing each other apart publicly went to court and an expert referee was assigned to arbitrate. Yet it rumbled on for over seven years, with complaint and countercomplaint leveled at the other side. The latest mudslinging garnished the gossipy appetites of most Americans at weekly, if not daily, intervals.
Eventually, George admitted some substantial losses, while lashing out that his father’s will was not upheld in the question of Frank’s second marriage. Finally, the court agreed. Half of Frank’s assets from the estate were seized while the court decided if he had ignored the terms of Jay’s will; and if, too, he had some culpability in the loss of the family fortune. The Gould family trust documents stated clearly that any of Jay Gould’s children “contemplating marriage must obtain the consent of the majority of the trustees.” Foreseeing obvious pitfalls ahead, the wily Jay also included a provision that “any of his children disobeying his wishes shall forfeit the income from
one-half of his or her trust fund.”7 While Frank filed lengthy appeals to overturn the decisions on the several lawsuits lodged, he was unable to claim half of his inherited wealth.
Yet life went on regardless, as it has a remorseless tendency to do. By 1920, Florence seems to have left the stage, more than likely as part of a bargain with Frank. He didn’t mind sharing her privately with special male friends, but her performing onstage while she was his mistress was out of the question. In an age when women were only beginning to wear fashions that showed off their figures, Frank knew how men thought about showgirls.
It was fine for him to publicly ogle women on stage, but it was unrefined and unacceptable for the third Mrs. Frank Jay Gould to set out her wares so explicitly. All the same, Frank knew the theater business was a good investment, so long as his mistress wasn’t for sale as part of the ticket price. As if to prove some point, in 1921 Frank said in a press release to the New York Herald, “Hawaiian orchestras and jazz bands have seen their best days in Paris.” He planned to put his money on a revival musical comedy for Florence, much as he had done for Edith, when he bought a music hall theater in London as her recompense for leaving the stage.
Frank believed musical comedy worked successfully at the Folies, with Mistinguett and Chevalier as headliners. So he purchased the Mogador in Paris. Gould’s minority share reputedly cost $200,000. He announced that his theater would show only light opera and musical comedy. By April, Frank’s business partners outvoted him, agreeing that the Mogador would have more success if it followed the trend for “girly-girly revues.” Disagreeing strongly, Gould bought out one of his associates to become a majority shareholder for an undisclosed sum. Light opera it would be.8
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While Florence may have had a hand in the purchase of the Mogador, and certainly encouraged Frank’s newfound interest in light opera, what must have irked her to near breaking point were the ceaseless claims by, and actions of, Edith Kelly Gould. First, there was the battle of the hats. In 1921, Frank was ordered to pay for 8,000 French francs’ worth of hats that had been bought before Edith fled the family home in terror in May 1918. The courts ordered that since the two were still husband and wife at the time, Frank must pay Edith’s milliner.9 Then, two months later, Edith’s New York lawyer, Gustavus Roger, rattled Florence’s cage again by saying that Edith would take her case to overturn Frank’s foreign divorce all the way to the Supreme Court of the United States. To Edith’s mind, Frank was still legally married to her and if he did remarry, as was rumored, his third marriage would be bigamous.10 Not only was the family against Frank’s marrying his third wife, but Edith clung like a limpet to her man.
Incredibly, there was more to come. Edith knew precisely how to get under Florence’s skin. She returned to London’s stage as “Edith Kelly Gould” with a role in the wildly successful revue Needles and Pins. Taking two weeks off from her Spanish dance routine to press her claim with the New York Courts before Justice George V. Mullan, she admitted that she was nervous stepping behind the footlights after a thirteen-year absence. “I am glad I went back to the stage,” a demure and vivacious Edith told the press. “It seemed as natural to me to sing and dance as if I had never been away for a day.… I have had many offers from American theatrical and moving pictures producers, but have been forced to turn them down because of my London contract.”11 Florence’s pride must have taken a knock. Not only was Edith a success as a headliner in London and sought after in America, but, in contravention of French custom, Frank’s second wife steadfastly clung to the Gould name.
Justice Mullan said the court would hear the Gould case. Mullan’s colleague, Justice Guy, ruled that given “the question was of so novel a character” it was only appropriate that Edith’s millionaire husband grant her $6,000 toward her legal fees for her appeal to their court, particularly since Edith Kelly Gould claimed she was still Frank’s wife.12
Without missing a beat, Edith sued Frank in Paris for payment of her purchase of seventy pairs of silk stockings, but eventually, the French courts found in favor of Frank. February 1922 brought respite for Frank and Florence at long last: Edith’s final attempt to overturn the divorce failed in the courts. Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World headlined the verdict as SUIT OF THE GIRL WITH THE HIGHEST KICK FAILS. Apparently, Justice Mullan “dismissed the petition of Miss Edith Kelly, the well-known [sic] actress who appeared in ‘Pins and Needles’ at the Gaiety Theatre, London, for annulment of the divorce decree which her husband Mr. Frank J. Gould, the multi-millionaire obtained in Paris on the ground [sic] that she did not defend in those proceedings.”13
Undoubtedly suspecting the outcome, Edith immediately filed for a portion of Frank’s estate in Paris—an option that was not open to her so long as she pretended she was still his wife. Though finally free to marry, Florence and Frank held off. Why? Berthe Lacaze had long before admonished Florence by letter for being the mere mistress of her millionaire. “Your letter doesn’t give me any hope,” Berthe wrote to Florence on February 21, 1919, “nor do you give me any detail concerning any change in your current status, which is a false one. I would so love to see you married. What more could one desire than to declare one’s love to everyone? I am suffering tremendously at your state of affairs which I would have hoped to be so different.”14 Three years on, nothing had changed, save that the affair was public knowledge. So why the delay?
Had the words of Magda Tagliaferro, “If Florence hadn’t met Frank Jay Gould, she would have triumphed in my stead at the Opera,” scorched Florence’s heart as she strolled among the peacocks in the park at Frank’s stud farm and estate at Maisons-Laffitte? Frank must have divined that some grand gesture was required, so he bought Florence her own hôtel particulier (mansion) in Paris on rue Albéric-Magnard, near the Ranelagh Gardens on the Right Bank. At last, Florence had arrived financially. Still, it was not quite enough.
Frank needed to assure Florence’s acceptance into le Tout-Paris in her own right. It was a simple enough matter for him to arrange. Not only did Florence need to be happy, she deserved it for showing him how to sober up and stay sober, as well as giving him renewed hope for the future. Frank asked his tame press baron friend, Arthur Meyer, the director of royalist newspaper Le Gaulois, to step in and arrange it.
Meyer, the son of a rabbi, had converted to Catholicism in 1901. Despite this, he remained a target for the anti-Semitic league Action Française long afterward. Although Meyer had Jewish origins, he was a committed royalist and anti-Dreyfusard. His journal, Le Gaulois, had a relatively small circulation of under 30,000 copies, yet it was the newspaper of choice for le Tout-Paris and le gratin. The mutton-chopped octogenarian Meyer took an immediate fancy to the seductive Florence, and brought her along to the salon of Élisabeth Greffulhe—the longstanding friend of Winnaretta Singer, Princesse de Polignac.15 As if proof were needed of Meyer’s significance in Paris’s high society, twenty years earlier he had been invited for an extended stay with the Princesse de Brancovan* alongside the princess’s anti-Dreyfusard friends Winnaretta and Edmond de Polignac—at the height of the Affaire.16
The elegant Comtesse Greffulhe had long ago accepted another native San Franciscan expatriate, the avant-garde barefoot dancer Isadora Duncan, into her salon. Duncan’s flouting of the social mores was well known. Duncan’s daughter, Deidre, was the outcome of an affair with British theatrical designer Gordon Craig. Her son, Patrick, born in 1910, was fathered by Winnaretta’s brother, Paris Singer. By 1921, Duncan had moved to Moscow and married the Russian poet Sergei Yesenin, eighteen years her junior. Florence’s affair with Frank—himself eighteen years her senior—was tame in comparison. While Élisabeth Greffulhe was married to a wealthy count, she had no money of her own. She, more than anyone, understood the significance of using the Greffulhe salon as a stepping stone to negotiate entry into le Tout-Paris and welcomed Florence with open arms.17
It was Meyer who arranged Florence’s true singing debut at the Greffuhle salon attended by
the exiled Russian Prince Felix Youssoupoff and his handsome cousin Grand Duke Dmitri, the murderers of Rasputin. Also present were the actress Cécile Sorel; milliner turned couturier Coco Chanel; the “pewter king” of Argentina, the Marquis de Cuevas with his twelve Pekingese dogs; and the king of Spain, among others. Wearing a black velvet full-length dress and accompanied by Proust’s lover, Reynaldo Hahn, on the piano, Florence sang a lullaby from Offenbach’s The Tales of Hoffmann. This time, she was no soloist charity singer for the war effort. Nor was she a bel canto singer, obscuring the words with excessive fioritura, or floweriness. She was the soprano soloist, paramour, perhaps fiancée, of the American multimillionaire Frank Jay Gould.
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Yet, if she married Frank, Florence knew she could no longer perform onstage, or even in a salon. Edith’s lawsuits had made that clear. Whether she ever asked herself if she could have truly been a successful headline singer and dancer is doubtful—Florence’s monumental ego prevented that kind of self-analysis. Instead, if she became the wife of a millionaire, Florence saw her new role as part of le Tout-Paris and as a salonnière, dispensing largesse to those great mortals of little wealth who nonetheless possessed an artistic genius. Still, the rub remained. They weren’t married yet.
Haunted by the specter of Edith Kelly and her lawsuit for half of Frank’s French estate, while simultaneously the family litigation raged in the United States reclaiming half of his American wealth, Florence had plenty pause for thought. She must have wondered just where and when Edith’s vindictive, litigious spree might end. As the years rolled on, the situation with George changed too. After the death of Edith Kingdon Gould in 1921, George married his Guinevere and moved with his second family to London.
