This car, Lot 339, sold for $1,420,591 (£1,096,250), including buyer’s premium, at RM Sotheby’s London, U.K., auction, on November 2, 2024.
As a general observation, Delahayes from the mid-to-late 1930s are collectible and valuable based on their voluptuous custom French bodywork more than their racing history. Delahaye’s primary business was producing luxurious high-performance road cars for wealthy clients. A reputation for high performance had to be gained through competition, so beginning in 1934, Delahaye went racing.
A model makeover
Delahaye was one of the first serious automobile manufacturers in the world, formed in 1894. Its initial niche was low-production luxury cars, though by the 1920s it made most of its money building trucks and fire engines. The production cars of that era were stodgy, described as being “the perfect car for a funeral procession.” This somewhat-dreary product mix served well in that Delahaye survived the onset of the Great Depression in relatively good condition.
In 1932, Delahaye’s primary stockholder (the widow of one of the founders) decided that the automobile side needed a makeover to appeal to a younger, wealthier, more-sporting customer base. Accordingly, Delahaye introduced the “Superluxe” series: Types 134 and 138. This was a complete redesign to a then-modern standard, with a stiff box-section chassis, independent front suspension, and either a synchromesh 4-speed transmission or the electro-magnetic Cotal (a late-1930s paddle-shift concept). The 138 was intended to be the base for custom coachwork, while the 134 was the smaller, more economical model.
The Type 134 had a short wheelbase using a 2.15-liter inline-4, and the Type 138 was a long-wheelbase version with Delahaye’s 3.2-liter inline-6. Both engines were developed from their established truck powerplants. Neither model was particularly exotic mechanically, but they were strong, dependable, relatively light and handled well.
From road to track
In 1935, Delahaye bought Delage. The Depression had been hard on carriage-trade producers, and Delage, which had been very successful in both racing and luxurious sporting cars, had run out of time and money. It was, however, an excellent product and a market match for Delahaye, bringing racing and technological expertise to the company.
Enter Lucy O’Reilly Schell, an American heiress raised in France and a serious competitive driver in an era when female participation in motorsport was nearly unheard of. Having become disappointed with Bugatti, she approached Delahaye about building a racer more to her desires.
Lucy was a very determined lady, with a pocketbook to back it up. She had a team, “Ecurie Bleue,” and imagined herself as a sort of Anglo-French Enzo Ferrari (who had a team of Alfa Romeos in those days). She wanted to stuff the Type 138 6-cylinder engine into the short Type 134 chassis, and she was willing to fund the endeavor. Delahaye agreed and the Type 135 S was born. To get the racer she wanted, she bought six of them and arranged for friends to buy another six. The factory built two for itself (of which our subject is one), for a total of 14 racers built. (RM Sotheby’s catalog claims six more.)
The late 1930s were a weird time in European automobile racing. The top-level Grand Prix races had become politicized, with Nazi Germany sponsoring both Mercedes and Auto Union to a dominance that only quixotic attempts from Alfa Romeo and Maserati — and one glorious success by Lucy Schell with a 4.5-liter Delahaye — dared challenge.
The second tier “Voiturette” races were for 1.5-liter supercharged cars, and that became the primary non-German international competition. This meant that the over-3-liter sports cars ran at Le Mans and European national events, where, candidly, the competition was not particularly intense. It was in this environment that the Delahaye 135 S shone.
Esoteric, not exotic
I do not mean to dismiss or demean the Delahayes. They were plenty fast, dependable, handled and drove wonderfully, and more than held their own through the late 1930s and into the early post-war years. They are historically important and significant anchors to collections, particularly in France and England, where their glories were legend. For ultimate collectibility, though, there are problems.
The first is that they are not very exotic. In a world of supercharged, multi-cam aluminum racing engines spinning to 7,000 rpm and above, the Delahaye had a truck-based, iron-block pushrod engine that made its horsepower at 4,600 rpm. The frame is a short version of the road chassis. The hand-hammered aluminum bodywork is pretty, if a bit eclectic.
A second issue is that because the car was originally built from production pieces, there are no shortage of identical-looking cars with suspect histories. History and provenance are of supreme importance for the good ones, but needing to explain these to justify value can be a drag. Lifting the hood to display stunningly cast and machined unobtanium that couldn’t be copied is much more satisfying, and the subsequent collector values reflect this.
Our subject car is about as good as a 135 S gets. It was originally a factory team car with good results, followed by drives featuring many of the most famous racers of the day, and ending up in the hands of a young Rob Walker, who would become one of the greatest Formula 1 team owners of the post-war years. On top of that, he loved driving it so much he bought it back to keep forever. The car was sold directly from his estate.
Still, these are not wildly valuable: The best ones seem to be worth $1.4 million, and this hasn’t changed in at least 10 years. There was a 135 S competition coupe that failed at $2 million some 15 years ago, but it had unique teardrop-style Figoni et Falaschi bodywork that give it greater value than the open racers. This car sold at a fair price for both buyer and seller. ♦
