The Beach Club is an airy expanse of perfectly aligned leased tents, a big saltwater pool, a restaurant, and a clubhouse. There is indeed a little beach, but I've never known anyone to use it. Beach lovers go to the spotless town beach at nearby Larvotto, where you're not even allowed to disturb the marine life by dropping a fishing line in the water. At the club, social life centers around the pool. Those who favor privacy rent daytime bungalows out at the point, where you can have your meals catered. They're rented from season to season and rarely come vacant.

Children were all around me. People may not realize how much Monte Carlo is a family place. Those who emigrate here often have their grandchildren dropped off with them for a summer-long seaside vacation. Whole families arrive at the luxurious hotels, families who have been doing so for generations. Along with all the sports cars, there are a lot of prams in this town.

On the mountain behind the club, an ocher nineteenth-century manor called La Vigie dominates the bay. For years, Karl Lagerfeld had rented La Vigie from the Société des Bains de Mer, the major company of casinos and hotels, of which the royal family holds nearly seventy percent. Now Lagerfeld makes do with his three apartments in town. "The place gave me a feeling of bad luck," Karl said, when, having run into him in Paris, I'd asked him why he had left La Vigie. Three Russian families were now sharing La Vigie for three months, apparently considering themselves lucky to get it for a little less than $110,000 a month. The Russians are far from just a partying crowd: They too come in families.

That afternoon, Saudi billionaire Nas-ser al-Rashid had his 344-foot Lady Moura in the Port of Hercules. The blue-and-white yacht was sharing top billing with the Niarchos family's 305-foot Atlantis II. The fifteen or so others of the world's biggest pleasure boats that regularly anchor here were out at sea. (The harbor of St-Tropez, to further define a contrast, is always jammed with the ships whose renters live on them in the port rather than sail, because sailing costs too much.)

Dionysus doesn't always take a back seat to Mammon in Monte Carlo, but Luciano, who has been as close to the scene as anyone, agreed that this is indeed a "clean" place in many ways. Going topless on the beach is possible but not in style, while men who go shirtless on the streets are told to get dressed by the police. "People take on a respect," Luciano said. "That's the right word. You never even see anyone throw a cigarette butt on the street." Indeed, I never saw a butt during my stay.

Monte Carlo's history, however, is not entirely spotless. Recently the principality insisted, with the help of the International Monetary Fund, that suspected money laundering by some of the fifty-odd resident banks should come to an end. It was an achievement of the late Prince Rainier, who otherwise steered his micro-nation away from shadowy financial shoals. When he came to the throne in 1949, Monaco lived relatively modestly off elite tourism and black-tie gamblers. Along came Aristotle Onassis, who discreetly accumulated a chunk of shares in the Société des Bains de Mer. Aristotle and Rainier had different dreams. The Greek shipping magnate had a vision of a gambling mecca like Las Vegas, and Rainer's ideal was something like Hong Kong. Their differences came to an end in 1966, when Rainier increased the stock of the company, reducing Onassis's share greatly. Aristotle cashed in, got on his yacht, and sailed away. (Athina Onassis de Miranda, Aristotle's granddaughter and heiress to three billion dollars of his fortune, has recently somewhat repaired the great rift. She is a close friend of Princess Caroline of Monaco's daughter Charlotte Casiraghi.)