madonna of the sleeping cars

M E L V I L L E H O U S E P U B L I S H I N GB R O O K L Y N L O N D O N

T R A N S L A T E D B Y N E A L W A I N W R I G H T

A F T E R W O R D B Y R E N É S T E I N K E

THE MADONNA OFTHE SLEEPING CARS

MAURICE DEKOBRA

Author’s Dedication—

To NEAL WAINWRIGHT:Truly, cher ami, you are my American pen. You have known how to make two languages speak as one. I dedicate “!e Madonna of the Sleeping Cars” to you.MAURICE DEKOBRA

T H E M A D O N N A O F T H E S L E E P I N G C A R S

Originally published in French as La Madone des sleepings by Maurice Dekobra, "#$%

Copyright © $&&' Zulma Translation © Neal Wainwright, "#$% A(erword © René Steinke, $&"$

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First Melville House printing: August $&"$

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Dekobra, Maurice, "//*-"#%0. [Madone des sleepings. English] !e madonna of the sleeping cars / Maurice Dekobra ; translated by Neal Wainwright. pages cm ISBN 978-1-61219-058-7 (pbk.) I. Wainwright, Neal, translator. II. Title. PQ2607.E22M313 2012 843’.912--dc23 2011053352

CHAPTER ONEAN EXCEPTIONALLY STUPID GENTLEMAN

LADY DIANA WYN HAM WAS REST I NG. HER LEGS, enmeshed in a silken web, caressed a small beige cushion. !e other half of her lovely self was hidden behind a copy of the Times unfolded in her snowy arms. Her tiny feet quivered in their cerise and silver mules, seriously endangering the future of a real Wedgwood cup on the table at her side.

“Gerard,” she exclaimed, “I must have a consultation with Professor Traurig.”

I had just mutilated a piece of sugar with a ridiculously small spoon which bore the coat of arms of the Duke of In-verness. Always anxious to satisfy Lady Diana’s slightest whim, I stopped drinking her bad co1ee—the co1ee they drink in London out of cups the size of a plover’s egg.

“Nothing simpler, my dear. I’ll telephone him at the Ritz,” I said.

“Please do, Gerard.”!e boudoir telephone stood upright in its ebony tomb. I

picked up the receiver.“Hello! Is this Professor Siegfried Traurig? Prince Séliman

speaking. Lady Diana Wynham’s secretary. Lady Diana wishes an interview with you on a matter of utmost importance.”

A guttural voice said, “I can receive her at four o’clock this a(ernoon.”

4 M A U R I C E D E K O B R A

“!ank you, Doctor.”I told Lady Diana. Like lightning that blond hair and that

pure and classic face, only slightly ravaged by all-night revels at the Jardin de Ma Soêur or at the Ambassadors, appeared from behind the paper screen—but what is the use of describing Lady Diana’s beauty? Anyone could look at her for the price of a copy of the Tatler or the Bystander. Weekly magazines all over the world in that period of some twenty years ago never failed to include a picture of Lady Diana Wynham playing golf, cuddling a baby bull, driving a Rolls-Royce, shooting a grouse on the Scotch moors, or climbing the slopes above Monte Carlo, in a white sweater.

In Paris there was a saying that when an Englishwoman is beautiful she is very beautiful. Lady Diana was no exception to this esthetic truism. She was the type of woman who would have brought tears to the eyes of John Ruskin—beautiful from the point of view of people who go in for high cheekbones, sensual lips, and limpid, deceiving eyes which glow from be-hind long lashes.

“You must come with me,” she said. “Yes, you must, Ge-rard! I insist upon your being there. I have an important rea-son for interviewing this eminent neurologist. I have been reading a criticism of his work in the Times—I didn’t under-stand one word of it—Gerard, do explain it to me. You’re al-ways so sweet!”

Fancy explaining Traurig’s ideas! !is profound medico, Doctor Siegfried Traurig—a disciple of Freud—had been heralded for years in those European clinics where they dug up the soul with the shovel of introspection and where they sliced apart the elements of the will with the chisel of psy-chopathic analysis. !ey talked about him; they imitated him; they sco1ed at him; they admired him.

T H E M A D O N N A O F T H E S L E E P I N G C A R S 5

“Lady Diana,” I said modestly, “the Professor can certainly explain himself far better than I can. Be perfectly frank with him! He will take the arterial tension of your impulses and the temperature of your subconscious.”

“How does one get into the subconscious?”“What did you say, Lady Diana?”“!rough what natural doorway does one arrive at the real

self?”“Through a moral buttonhole, then an invisible pin

promptly pricks and de2ates the balloon of one’s personality.”Lady Diana burst out laughing—a harmonious laugh in an

una1ected mi, consisting of a descending sharp and a rising 2at. !is Scotchwoman’s indefatigable hilarity was one of her most poignant charms.

I had no personal acquaintance with those paradises in which one might wander with Lady Diana. I was her pri-vate secretary; I was her con3dant. But not once had I even dreamed of trying to cross the threshold which separated business from pleasure. I don’t deny having read her a bit of Boccaccio, some of Lord Byron’s privately printed poems, and a few choice lines of Jean Lorrain, but my lectures always re-mained unillustrated.

We arrived at the Ritz on the dot of four o’clock. A(er waiting a short 3ve minutes we were received by an old man dressed in black who presented himself with a click of his heels and a deep bow.

“Doctor Funkelwitz, madam,” he began, with a strong Ger-man accent. “I am the great man’s 3rst assistant. He will be at your disposal in a few moments.”

“!ank you, Doctor,” said Lady Diana. “I appreciate this more than I can tell you. I understand that Professor Traurig has been frightfully busy since he came to London.”


“Yes, Milady. Two princesses have just le( his o4ce. !is evening we have an appointment with Lloyd George. Tomor-row morning we expect Marie Tempest, the Viceroy of India, and Charlie Chaplin.” It was the year "#$%, remember.

Dr. Funkelwitz bristled with pride as he pronounced these famous names. A bell rang. He disappeared. Turning to Lady Diana, I whispered:

“!is reminds me of Barnum’s Circus.”“Gerard! You’re perfectly outrageous. You don’t even re-

spect the most solid reputation.”“Not when it’s built on big words and breezy theories.”!e old man in black returned and beckoned us to fol-

low. We entered a parlor done in mauve and gold. !e Profes-sor stood motionless behind a table littered with papers and books.

I had never seen any pictures of Siegfried Traurig. In my mind’s gallery I had portrayed him as a medieval necroman-cer. I would have had him receive us in a 2owing robe of black silk, adorned with stars and the equations of the cabala, but Imagination, when all is said and done, is the subordinate who salutes Intelligence, his superior. I was disappointed not to 3nd Siegfried Traurig surrounded by angora cats, in front of a cauldron of boiling rabbits, herbs, and blood.

Nevertheless this old Privatdozent, from the University of Jena, was an impressive person. His gray hair stood up in mad disorders on a wolf ’s head with a wrinkled brow. One could never forget his piercing gaze through those bushy lashes. A veritable Mephistopheles, attired by a Sackville Street tailor. Tall, thin as a shadow, and clean shaven. His narrow lips were protected by the beak of a bird of prey. He spoke English, French, and German with the utmost 2uency.

A(er the usual formalities he took us into his o4ce—an


ordinary enough hotel parlor except for the strange electrical apparatus.

!e consultation was about to begin. Professor Traurig scowled at me. I caught the meaning of his glance and was go-ing to withdraw when Lady Diana stopped me with a gesture.

“No, no, I want the Prince to stay. I have no secrets from him.”

!e all-knowing psychiatrist waved his beautiful patient into an armchair and waited for the explanation of her case.

“Doctor,” said Lady Diana, “although I am far too ignorant ever to understand your celebrated work, I am intrigued by your extraordinary theories, especially in regard to the will, the senses, and decadence. I am not ill, in the true sense of the word. I am a thoroughly healthy woman who would like, with your assistance, to solve a di4cult problem. It has to do with a dream—a weird dream which haunts and upsets me.”

“Very well, Lady Wynham, but before you go on, permit me to ask you if the details which I possess in regard to your intimate life are correct.”

!e Professor opened a drawer and took out a typewrit-ten sheet of paper. As Lady Diana appeared surprised he explained.

“I never give a consultation until one of my secretaries has compiled a little brief on the patient. !is is how yours reads, madam—you may correct any errors: Lady Diana Mary Doro-thea Wynham. Born at Glensloy Castle, Scotland, the twenty-fourth of April, !"#$. Only daughter of the Duke of Inverness. Sporting education at Salisbury College. Married in !#!% to Ralph Edward Timothy, Lord Wynham, G.C.B., K.C.M.G., K.C.V.O., former British Ambassador to Russia. A marriage of convenience. Fidelity of short duration on the part of Lady Wynham. . .”


Here the Professor paused before declaring with icy polite-ness, “!ere must be some mistake.”

But Lady Diana made no protest. “It is entirely correct,” she con3rmed, extracting a perfumed cigarette from a platinum case set with diamonds.

“!en I will continue,” said the Professor, referring once more to his paper: “Lady Wynham’s devoted admirers, in chronological order, have been Lord Howard Dewallpen; the Duke de Massignac, Secretary at the Embassy; George Wobbly, the burlesque singer; Somerset Wi&e, M.P.; and Leo Tito, the dancer at the Ambassadors—”

Lady Diana carelessly 2icked the ashes from her cigarette. “Excuse me, Doctor, but they were contemporaneous.”

Professor Traurig bowed again, and remarked:“!at was merely an error in punctuation.”He read on—“And several unidenti'ed intimates.”Lady Diana acquiesced: “Exactly—I quite agree. Is that all,

Doctor?”“No, madam. !ere are a few more lines of a psychic na-

ture: Lady Diana, although she has tried morphine and opium, is not the slave of any drug. She is merely a seeker a(er new sen-sations. No tendency toward religious mysticism. Unbounded ambition.”

!e Professor folded the paper. Lady Diana spoke:“Your information is correct, Doctor. You have a perfect

synopsis of my life and my character. I am neither a semi-idiot, nor a nymphomaniac. I do what I do quite openly and without the slightest regard for that false modesty which is so dear to my fellow countrymen.”

!e Professor arose from his chair. His hands clasped be-hind him, he walked back and forth in front of the 3replace. His interrogation began. It was a precise questionnaire, strewn


with crude words and intimate details, which he announced gravely and with no frivolous intent nor double meaning.

“Lady Wynham, when did you discover love?”“I was married at nineteen.”“Had you any precocious tendencies in your infancy?”“A(er I was thirteen—I was curious—I used to read—”“No, I mean your real childhood—didn’t you have some

intuitive knowledge of things?”“None whatever.”“All right. Before you were married you doubtless had sev-

eral rather serious 2irtations?”“Of course, but never too serious.”“Do you consider yourself hypersensitive?”“Why, no—I suppose I am like all women, Doctor.”“!en you don’t get any particularly pleasing reaction if

someone hugs you very tight, so that it hurts?”“I adore it, Doctor—but that, for me—how shall I put it?”Professor Traurig scrutinized Lady Wynham with his

steel-gray eyes. I was, at the same time, amused and a tri2e shocked by the astonishing implication, which Lady Diana had volunteered so casually. Comfortably relaxed in her arm-chair, her legs crossed beneath her seal-skin coat, she talked as frankly as if she had been pouring tea at a garden party. !e psychiatrist went on:

“Do you enjoy looking at yourself in a mirror?”“You want to know if I am inspired by my own beauty?”“Just that! You see, Lady Wynham, in the profession we

attach great importance to that question.”“Well, then, I will admit that I consider myself an unusu-

ally alluring woman. But the dream I had last night—”!e Professor interrupted his patient with a wave of his

hand. “One minute, madam—now I am beginning to see a

1 0 M A U R I C E D E K O B R A

little more clearly into your psychic machinery. Before you narrate your dream, you must allow me to take the spectral analysis of your reactions.”

“What—Doctor?”“!is is the point, madam. You have probably heard about

the spectral analysis of luminous rays which helped us so much to discover the various simple bodies of which the stars and planets are composed. !e position of the dark streaks in the spectrum of such a ray enables us to prove that there is hydrogen in Aldebaran or potassium in Vega. I have applied the same process to the study of the peculiarities of a given individual and that study makes it possible for me to form interesting deductions as to the person’s character. !e best way is to observe the subject during the 2eeting instants of love-contact.”

“I understand, Doctor.”“Therefore, Lady Wynham, you must come in front of

this radiograph, which I invented, and which, with its Roent-gen rays, will give me the spectral analysis of your innermost emotions.”

“I see—I see, Doctor,” and Lady Diana added with a smile, “I see the apparatus, but who is going to provide the contact?”

Professor Traurig evidently objected strenuously to any frivolity where his science was concerned, for he replied sarcastically:

“Madam, my o4ce is thoroughly equipped to meet any contingency connected with its service. However, inasmuch as the Prince Séliman does us the honor to be present, I am cer-tain that he can play the part of Don Juan to the Queen’s taste.” And the great man retired behind the black screen which cov-ered his miraculous piece of mechanism.

Lady Diana turned to me with an ironical smile.

T H E M A D O N N A O F T H E S L E E P I N G C A R S 1 1

“My dear Gerard,” she whispered, “it appears that I must step on the accelerator of my passions—as the master would say. Can I depend upon you to direct me?”

I admit, frankly, that I have never been in a more di4cult situation. My social position is one which, obviously, must be handled with extreme care. During the 3ve months that I had enjoyed Lady Diana’s absolute con3dence I had meticulously guarded against making myself a subject for the gossiping tongues of the world by stepping over the white line of our intimacy. A ruined prince, if you like, but inevitably, an hon-est man, I couldn’t a1ord to accept checks on the threshold of her boudoir. I was working for her without compensation. I couldn’t bear the thought that she should value my kisses in terms of pounds sterling. !ere was no lie in our connection and we could always unblushingly face sly looks, rotten re-marks, and insinuating smiles.

“Lady Diana,” I replied in my turn, “for the sake of science I will break an otherwise inviolable rule. Do you want me to kiss you before the magic eye? Or can you, perhaps, in recall-ing some past experience, provide the Professor with a beauti-ful spectral analysis?”

“Gerard, will you never be serious?” she protested, and be-fore I knew what was happening she dragged me in front of the huge lens and entwined me in those supple arms of hers. Intoxicated by this sudden embrace, I returned the kiss. I sup-pose I must have been on the point of mumbling some need-less word of love when a harsh monosyllable broke the spell:

“Stop!”!e Professor, as brutal as a German Infantry Captain, had

come out of his black post of command. Lady Diana seemed to wilt from my arms. I strove to get back to reality.

“!ank you, Lady Wynham,” the Professor said curtly; “Dr.


Funkelwitz will give you a photograph of your analysis. As for me, I am much better informed as to the surprises, the reac-tions, and the somersaults of your subconscious. Among other things, I can tell you that from your earliest days you have secretly entertained an uncontrollable need for riches, power, and absolutism. You would like an Emperor for a husband. You have a perfection neurosis. You are looking for something which does not exist. Like Columbus, you are making the voy-age of human passion to discover an America inhabited by su-permen, who dispense limitless sensations along with in3nite material generosity. Now, Lady Wynham, sit down once more in that chair! Tell me about the dream that brought you here.”

Lady Diana obeyed the Professor. How could anyone ques-tion the commands of that tyrannical psychiatrist?

“I must tell you, to begin with, Doctor, that ordinarily my dreams are utterly devoid of interest. Like all women I dream frequently. Sometimes I have burlesque nightmares; some-times exquisite experiences. !e dream I had last night, on the contrary, sticks in my mind because there is a sort of logic in the enchantment of its pictures, and that makes me attribute to it all the value of a premonition. I found myself—I don’t know how—in the middle of a red country—entirely red—the earth, the grass, the trees, the foliage were all bright red. It was almost impossible for me to walk because my ankles were tied—a chain, or a rope. Whatever it was, a little red man tugged at the end behind me. Not exactly a dwarf—a true Lil-liputian about a foot high. His chief, the size of my 3st, wore a crazy bonnet and a horrible costume. Five or six scalps were hanging at his belt.

“I stumbled painfully through the carmine dust in the road and every time I wanted to stop a pin prick in the calf of my leg forced me to continue my painful journey. All of a sudden


a miniature crystal palace, like a doll’s house, rose up ahead of me. A transparent palace with tiny towers and doors like pi-geonholes. Some people whom I couldn’t see were chattering in a strange language within the glass walls and this babble of sharp voices reminded me of the gibbering of twenty cocka-toos in a grilled cage. !e little red man ordered me to enter the palace. But how could I get through that narrow door? I slipped my hand in, then my wrist and, 3nally, my arm up to the shoulder. I struggled desperately to go further; I wept in despair while the little red man prodded me with the pin.

“Suddenly, my le( hand—the one which was inside the palace—was seized by innumerable, birdlike hands, which nearly pulled my 3ngers from their sockets. At last—and this is a detail I shall not forget for a long time—I felt them plac-ing a plain round ring on my wedding 3nger. Simultaneously burning lips kissed my hand. I still tremble when I think of that invisible kiss, so greedy, so peremptory. It was a kiss which both repulsed and thrilled me.

“It must have been at that instant that I screamed, for I awoke with a start and was surprised to see my maid standing beside the bed. I asked her what she was doing. It seems that I had cried so loudly that she had rushed into the room. I sent her away, went back to sleep and dreamed no more that night.

“!ere, Doctor, is the nightmare which disturbs me. I’m rather superstitious. This worries me. What do you think about it?”

Professor Traurig had listened most attentively to his pa-tient. He spoke:

“Lady Wynham, ever since Aristotle began the study of the psychology of dreams, countless wise men have imitated him. Some have found only vegetative reactions; others have attrib-uted them to more or less plausible psychopathic causes. For


my part, I content myself with trying to determine whether a given dream is the result of excitement or merely the realiza-tion of a suppressed desire.

“Now, let us consider our case. I 3nd in your nightmare an alternation of the sense of sight since you saw things red which are normally green. !at might occur from a purely accidental cause, such as the irritation produced by the rubbing of your eyelids on the lace of your pillow.”

“I never sleep on pillows, Doctor. When I wake up I in-variably 3nd them on the 2oor under the bed or behind the dressing-table.”

“Your dream also presents deformation of normal dimen-sions. !is diminution of the exterior world may be due to your having slept in a nightgown too small for you.”

“Doctor,” observed Lady Diana, with an almost impercep-tible smile, “I never wear a nightgown at night. In the winter time I wear pajama coats. In the summer, nothing at all.”

Lady Diana’s remark seemed in no way to upset the me-thodical serenity of the illustrious Professor. He continued, “I also see in your erotic hallucination—I mean that invisible, troublesome kiss—an extreme excitement, doubtless caused by the memory of some former pleasure.”

Professor Traurig had explained everything, but Lady Diana did not appear to be satis3ed, for, with an impatient gesture, she asked, “What I want to know, Doctor, is the sig-ni3cance of my dream. I thank you for having tried to unearth the scienti3c causes, but what interests me is to know what all this may have to do with my future—”

Professor Traurig’s silence was threatening, ominous. He had arisen. His imperious regard rested on his patient. His long hands were shoved into his trousers pockets and, su-premely sarcastic, in a brief, cutting voice, he said:


“You have entered the wrong door, Lady Wynham. If you want to know what your dream portends, go to any of the countless imposters who provide the heights of happiness for jealous dressmakers and romantic country girls.”

Professor Traurig rang a bell and added, with an obsequi-ous bow, “My respects, Lady Wynham. Dr. Funkelwitz will show you out and will give you your spectral analysis.”

Lady Diana and I went into the parlor.“He’s a great savant,” I said. “You mistook him for an ultra-

lucid somnambulist.”“Stu1 and nonsense, Gerard! Will you pay the little old

man for the consultation?”“Of course.”I made out a check. I had a book of blank checks signed by

Lady Diana. Two minutes later, seated beside my companion in her lemon cabriolet, I opened the envelope and looked cu-riously at the analysis of our fugitive thrill. Leaning over my shoulder, she glanced at the striped shadows on the photo-graphic spectrum and exclaimed laughingly:

“!ere is your kiss, Gerard!”I pointed out the dark lines between the clear zones.“Here, Lady Diana, you 2inched—your voluptuous pro-

pensity promised better things. What a character, that Profes-sor Traurig! Just show me your spectrum and I’ll tell you if you love me!”

I joked in an e1ort to dispel from my mind the delight-ful memory which lingered from Lady Diana’s kiss. But I had counted without her intuition.

“You have a troubled look, Gerard. What’s the matter?”“Ah, my dear lady, have you ever tasted a delicacy only

to have it snatched away too quickly by some facetious head waiter?”


“If I understand you, Gerard, you would have preferred to have my analysis about six hundred feet long.”

“!at is a low estimate!”“!en what prevents you from adding to it?”“My self-respect.”Lady Diana looked at me in silence. Suddenly she declared,

“You may be a gentleman, but you are an exceptionally stupid one.”

madonna of the sleeping cars

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