By the late 1920s, the charm of the legendary pre-Great War ocean liners was already fading. Yes, Cunard’s Mauretania, Aquitania and Berengaria were as dependable as ever, and White Star’s Olympic, Majestic and Homeric still had a loyal following, but in the wild and extravagant twenties those vessels were seen as remnants of another era. Although they were still a symbol of their age, to many people that age belonged to the past.

One of the first to cater to the tastes of the new generation was the French Compagnie Générale Transatlantique (CGT) with its latest contender in the Atlantic route – the provocatively elegant Île de France. Contrary to expectations, she was neither the biggest, nor the fastest, least of all the most technically innovative ship of her time. But she was, as the French would put it, chic. The first passenger ship built after the Great War, it was also the first to adopt the loud, modernistic designs of the Jazz Age.

The Île de France was laid down in 1925 at the Ateliers et Chantiers de Saint-Nazaire Penhoët and set off on her maiden voyage from Le Havre to New York on 22 June 1927. 241.1 m long, 27.7 m wide, and with a gross tonnage of 43,153 GT, the first impression she made was anything but special, her hull too much like the Paris, CGT’s previous ship. In addition, the new transatlantic liner was designed to carry a rather unassuming number of passengers – 537 in first class, 603 in second, 646 in third.

Even from a technological perspective, the Île de France was reliable but far from groundbreaking. In fact, this is one case, in which I will skip my beloved engine room discussion and jump straight to what made this ship truly special – she was a floating monument of the Arts Décoratifs.

Arts Deco Meets North Atlantic

While the interiors of older passenger ships had found inspiration in historic palaces and mansions, the Île de France had her own thing going on altogether. Never before had a ship followed its own definition of style as much as the Île de France. She was the first vessel with all common areas designed in Art Deco – a style that had debuted at the 1925 Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Moderne and was soon favored by millionaires from New York to Shanghai, dominating their skyscrapers and the salons of their party-mansions. To capture the spirit of the times, the head of the CGT John Dal Piaz, gave concise but uncompromising instructions to the artists commissioned for the ship’s interior design: do not copy – create.

The most striking result of this philosophy was the ship’s first-class dining room. A dramatic staircase led down to the modernistic hall, the likes of which had never been seen before at sea. Menacingly spacious, with champagne flowing and French cuisine knowing no limits, it extended vertically over three decks and was the largest of its time. In one seating alone, the room accommodated 537 passengers, many of them showing off the latest collections of Chanel, Lanvin, and Schiaparelli. Designed by the French artist Pierre Patou, the dining hall was shaped like a large hollow cube, covered with gray marble and gold decorative elements. Hugging the grand staircase from each side, two massive marble columns stood erect, reaching all the way up to the ceiling.

A fountain sculpture of chrome tubes and hidden lights decorated the center of the room, while rows of glass-paneled lamps ran across the ceiling from one end to the other. Every detail of the room was designed to highlight and magnify its immense size and angular shape, the only rounded form being the giant oval mural behind the Captain’s table. While this dining hall has its fair share of critics today, many dismissing it as overwhelming and reminiscent of an empty swimming pool, it was a smashing success among its contemporaries.

The luxury on board did not end with the dining hall – there could have been no better time than the 1920s for a floating kingdom of the bon vivants. In the most severe years of Prohibition in the USA, the ocean liner’s smoking room catered to cohorts of thirsty American passengers with the longest bar at sea – 8 meters from one end to the other. The room initially rose through two decks, but due to its popularity, it was expanded to include a third deck in 1932, making it the first and only three-floor smoking room to sail the North Atlantic.

The main lounge was no less extravagant, with red-lacquered doors leading the way in. From a screaming carpet with geometric patterns rose red-lacquered columns, their rows only interrupted by four-meter tall windows and nude statues of men and women. Glazed calico textiles formed the upholstery of the heavy lounge chairs. As everywhere else on the ship, no direct light source was ever to be seen, all dimmed by ornamental panels or hidden behind vases, statues, or other decorative elements.

The main foyer and the grand staircase were less vibrant than the lounge, but what they lacked in color they made up for in size. On a typical bland Le Havre afternoon, passengers would board the ship into the four-decks high foyer, entering a surreal, awe-inspiring fantasy. The first thing they saw were the monumental staircases, descending from each side to merge together at the center, and land onto the checkered, grey-and-white marble floor. Towering above the staircase, stood an extravagant marble arch, both edgy and rounded. Premium boutiques encircled the foyer, each of them a sparkling display of the latest fashion and luxury items.

The Île de France left no need or whim unsatisfied on the way across the mighty Atlantic. It offered a beauty parlor, barbershop, infirmary, children’s daycare with a carousel, shooting range, car garage, bowling alley, full gymnasium, indoor swimming pool, and even a beautiful neo-Gothic chapel!

World War II and After

When war in Europe broke out again, the Île de France at first remained at its quay in New York and was later moved to Staten Island. In March 1940, under the command of the British admiralty to whom it had been loaned, the ship’s lavish interiors were taken down and replaced with 12,000 tons of war materials. Thousands of berths now crammed the hedonistic Art Deco cabins, while the designer vases and marble statues in the vast interior spaces gave way to tanks and unassembled bombers. On 1 May 1941, the Île de France left for Europe, this time with dimmed lights and in glum, black-and-gray war coating.

She later sailed to Singapore, where she was officially confiscated by the British after the fall of France to Nazi Germany. The ship was given back to the French in February 1946 and was refurbished back into a passenger vessel at the Saint Nazaire shipyard. In several rounds of renovation and modernization, her appearance was adapted to the aesthetic preferences of her post-war clientele. The rear funnel was removed, and some interior parts that had survived the tragic fire of the Normandie in 1942 found a new home onboard the Île de France. Some important technical reconstructions, most notably the hull, resulted in a fresh exterior look, better efficiency, and an increase in tonnage to 44,356 GRT.

In July 1949 she started her first post-war crossing from Le Havre to New York, which proved to be as popular as ever before. She remained the vessel of choice for the rich and famous, as well as a financial success for the French line.

Aging with Dignity

In 1956, nearing the end of her life, the Île de France was involved in the rescue operation of the famous ocean liner Andrea Doria, which tragically sank after being rammed by the passenger liner Stockholm. Of the 1,706 passengers and crew-members of the Andrea Doria, 750 shipwrecked people were taken on board by the Île de France during a six-hour rescue operation, earning her the Gallant Ship Award, a title reserved for ships “participating in outstanding or gallant action in a marine disaster or other emergency to save life or property at sea”.

Bow and Exit

In 1959, the ship was sold off for scrap. In her final moments before the scrapyard, she served as the set for the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer film The Last Voyage, in which she was partially sunk. After the shooting of the film, she was refloated and towed to her final resting place in Osaka, Japan.

The Spirit of the Time

The Île de France became a sensation from the day she entered service, naturally irresistible like the new cool kid at school. Unlike other liners though, she retained her popularity long after the novelty wore off, a privilege granted to very few. She was never the world’s largest ship and wasn’t even close to breaking a speed record, so the question remains – why was she loved so relentlessly by her regular passengers? What attracted stars like Rita Hayworth and Cary Grant? While extravagant Art Deco interiors were no doubt part of it, the true answer is best given to us by John Maxtone-Graham in his book “The Only Way to Cross”:

“The Ile de France was perhaps the floating reincarnation of a consistent American fantasy about France and the French. […] The absence of traditional frills and the relentless modernity, coupled with the seductive Parisian dream, guaranteed her success.” [John Maxtone-Graham, 1997]

Her generation had a dream, and the Île de France made it real. Journey after journey.

The Shipyard