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The Paris Sketch Book

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2. "He does not fire till he knows his master's eyes are open."
Why, on a stormy night, does a man driving a carriage go to sleep?
Was Rey to wait until his master snored? "He fires at six paces,
not caring whom he hits;"--and might not this happen too? The
night is not so dark but that he can see his master, in HIS USUAL
PLACE, driving. He fires and hits--whom? Madame Peytel, who had
left her place, AND WAS WRAPPED UP WITH PEYTEL IN HIS CLOAK. She
screams out, "Husband, take your pistols." Rey knows that his
master has a brace, thinks that he has hit the wrong person, and,
as Peytel fires on him, runs away. Peytel follows, hammer in hand;
as he comes up with the fugitive, he deals him a blow on the back
of the head, and Rey falls--his face to the ground. Is there
anything unnatural in this story?--anything so monstrously unnatural,
that is, that it might not be true?

3. These objections are absurd. Why need a man have change of
linen? If he had taken none for the journey, why should he want
any for the escape? Why need he drive two carriages?--He might
have driven both into the river, and Mrs. Peytel in one. Why is he
to go to the douane, and thrust himself into the very jaws of
danger? Are there not a thousand ways for a man to pass a
frontier? Do smugglers, when they have to pass from one country to
another, choose exactly those spots where a police is placed?

And, finally, the gunsmith of Lyons, who knows Peytel quite well,
cannot say that he sold the pistol to him; that is, he did NOT sell
the pistol to him; for you have only one man's word, in this case
(Peytel's), to the contrary; and the testimony, as far as it goes,
is in his favor. I say, my lud, and gentlemen of the jury, that
these objections of my learned friend, who is engaged for the
Crown, are absurd, frivolous, monstrous; that to SUSPECT away the
life of a man upon such suppositions as these, is wicked, illegal,
and inhuman; and, what is more, that Louis Rey, if he wanted to
commit the crime--if he wanted to possess himself of a large sum of
money, chose the best time and spot for so doing; and, no doubt,
would have succeeded, if Fate had not, in a wonderful manner,
caused Madame Peytel TO TAKE HER HUSBAND'S PLACE, and receive the
ball intended for him in her own head.

But whether these suspicions are absurd or not, hit or miss, it is
the advocate's duty, as it appears, to urge them. He wants to make
as unfavorable an impression as possible with regard to Peytel's
character; he, therefore, must, for contrast's sake, give all sorts
of praise to his victim, and awaken every sympathy in the poor
fellow's favor. Having done this, as far as lies in his power,
having exaggerated every circumstance that can be unfavorable to
Peytel, and given his own tale in the baldest manner possible--
having declared that Peytel is the murderer of his wife and
servant, the Crown now proceeds to back this assertion, by showing
what interested motives he had, and by relating, after its own
fashion, the circumstances of his marriage.

They may be told briefly here. Peytel was of a good family, of
Macon, and entitled, at his mother's death, to a considerable
property. He had been educated as a notary, and had lately
purchased a business, in that line, in Belley, for which he had
paid a large sum of money; part of the sum, 15,000 francs, for
which he had given bills, was still due.

Near Belley, Peytel first met Félicité Alcazar, who was residing
with her brother-in-law, Monsieur de Montrichard; and, knowing that
the young lady's fortune was considerable, he made an offer of
marriage to the brother-in-law, who thought the match advantageous,
and communicated on the subject with Félicité's mother, Madame
Alcazar, at Paris. After a time Peytel went to Paris, to press his
suit, and was accepted. There seems to have been no affectation of
love on his side; and some little repugnance on the part of the
lady, who yielded, however, to the wishes of her parents, and was
married. The parties began to quarrel on the very day of the
marriage, and continued their disputes almost to the close of the
unhappy connection. Félicité was half blind, passionate, sarcastic,
clumsy in her person and manners, and ill educated; Peytel, a man of
considerable intellect and pretensions, who had lived for some time
at Paris, where he had mingled with good literary society. The lady
was, in fact, as disagreeable a person as could well be, and the
evidence describes some scenes which took place between her and her
husband, showing how deeply she must have mortified and enraged him.

A charge very clearly made out against Peytel, is that of dishonesty;
he procured from the notary of whom he bought his place an
acquittance in full, whereas there were 15,000 francs owing, as we
have seen. He also, in the contract of marriage, which was to have
resembled, in all respects, that between Monsieur Broussais and
another Demoiselle Alcazar, caused an alteration to be made in his
favor, which gave him command over his wife's funded property,
without furnishing the guarantees by which the other son-in-law was
bound. And, almost immediately after his marriage, Peytel sold out
of the funds a sum of 50,000 francs, that belonged to his wife, and
used it for his own purposes.

About two months after his marriage, PEYTEL PRESSED HIS WIFE TO
MAKE HER WILL. He had made his, he said, leaving everything to
her, in case of his death: after some parley, the poor thing
consented.* This is a cruel suspicion against him; and Mr.
Substitute has no need to enlarge upon it. As for the previous
fact, the dishonest statement about the 15,000 francs, there is
nothing murderous in that--nothing which a man very eager to make
a good marriage might not do. The same may be said of the
suppression, in Peytel's marriage contract, of the clause to be
found in Broussais's, placing restrictions upon the use of the
wife's money. Mademoiselle d'Alcazar's friends read the contract
before they signed it, and might have refused it, had they so
pleased.


* "Peytel," says the act of accusation, "did not fail to see the
danger which would menace him, if this will (which had escaped the
magistrates in their search of Peytel's papers) was discovered.
He, therefore, instructed his agent to take possession of it, which
he did, and the fact was not mentioned for several months
afterwards. Peytel and his agent were called upon to explain the
circumstance, but refused, and their silence for a long time
interrupted the 'instruction'" (getting up of the evidence). "All
that could be obtained from them was an avowal, that such a will
existed, constituting Peytel his wife's sole legatee; and a
promise, on their parts, to produce it before the court gave its
sentence." But why keep the will secret? The anxiety about it was
surely absurd and unnecessary: the whole of Madame Peytel's family
knew that such a will was made. She had consulted her sister
concerning it, who said--"If there is no other way of satisfying
him, make the will;" and the mother, when she heard of it, cried
out--"Does he intend to poison her?"


After some disputes, which took place between Peytel and his wife
(there were continual quarrels, and continual letters passing
between them from room to room), the latter was induced to write
him a couple of exaggerated letters, swearing "by the ashes of her
father" that she would be an obedient wife to him, and entreating
him to counsel and direct her. These letters were seen by members
of the lady's family, who, in the quarrels between the couple,
always took the husband's part. They were found in Peytel's
cabinet, after he had been arrested for the murder, and after he
had had full access to all his papers, of which he destroyed or
left as many as he pleased. The accusation makes it a matter of
suspicion against Peytel, that he should have left these letters of
his wife's in a conspicuous situation.

"All these circumstances," says the accusation, "throw a frightful
light upon Peytel's plans. The letters and will of Madame Peytel
are in the hands of her husband. Three months pass away, and this
poor woman is brought to her home, in the middle of the night, with
two balls in her head, stretched at the bottom of her carriage, by
the side of a peasant."

"What other than Sebastian Peytel could have committed this
murder?--whom could it profit?--who but himself had an odious chain
to break, and an inheritance to receive? Why speak of the
servant's projected robbery? The pistols found by the side of
Louis's body, the balls bought by him at Macon, and those
discovered at Belley among his effects, were only the result of a
perfidious combination. The pistol, indeed, which was found on the
hill of Darde, on the night of the 1st of November, could only have
belonged to Peytel, and must have been thrown by him, near the body
of his domestic, with the paper which had before enveloped it.
Who had seen this pistol in the hands of Louis? Among all the
gendarmes, work-women, domestics, employed by Peytel and his
brother-in-law, is there one single witness who had seen this
weapon in Louis's possession? It is true that Madame Peytel did,
on one occasion, speak to M. de Montrichard of a pistol; which had
nothing to do, however, with that found near Louis Rey."

Is this justice, or good reason? Just reverse the argument, and
apply it to Rey. "Who but Rey could have committed this murder?--
who but Rey had a large sum of money to seize upon?--a pistol is
found by his side, balls and powder in his pocket, other balls in
his trunks at home. The pistol found near his body could not,
indeed, have belonged to Peytel: did any man ever see it in his
possession? The very gunsmith who sold it, and who knew Peytel,
would he not have known that he had sold him this pistol? At his
own house, Peytel has a collection of weapons of all kinds;
everybody has seen them--a man who makes such collections is
anxious to display them. Did any one ever see this weapon?--Not
one. And Madame Peytel did, in her lifetime, remark a pistol in
the valet's possession. She was short-sighted, and could not
particularize what kind of pistol it was; but she spoke of it to
her husband and her brother-in-law." This is not satisfactory, if
you please; but, at least, it is as satisfactory as the other set
of suppositions. It is the very chain of argument which would have
been brought against Louis Rey by this very same compiler of the
act of accusation, had Rey survived, instead of Peytel, and had he,
as most undoubtedly would have been the case, been tried for the
murder.

This argument was shortly put by Peytel's counsel:--"if Peytel had
been killed by Rey in the struggle, would you not have found Rey
guilty of the murder of his master and mistress?" It is such a
dreadful dilemma, that I wonder how judges and lawyers could have
dared to persecute Peytel in the manner which they did.

After the act of accusation, which lays down all the suppositions
against Peytel as facts, which will not admit the truth of one of
the prisoner's allegations in his own defence, comes the trial.
The judge is quite as impartial as the preparer of the indictment,
as will be seen by the following specimens of his interrogatories:--

Judge. "The act of accusation finds in your statement
contradictions, improbabilities, impossibilities. Thus your
domestic, who had determined to assassinate you, in order to rob
you, and who MUST HAVE CALCULATED UPON THE CONSEQUENCE OF A
FAILURE, had neither passport nor money upon him. This is very
unlikely; because he could not have gone far with only a single
halfpenny, which was all he had."

Prisoner. "My servant was known, and often passed the frontier
without a passport."

Judge. "YOUR DOMESTIC HAD TO ASSASSINATE TWO PERSONS, and had no
weapon but a single pistol. He had no dagger; and the only thing
found on him was a knife."

Prisoner. "In the car there were several turner's implements,
which he might have used."

Judge. "But he had not those arms upon him, because you pursued
him immediately. He had, according to you, only this old pistol."

Prisoner. "I have nothing to say."

Judge. "Your domestic, instead of flying into woods, which skirt
the road, ran straight forward on the road itself: THIS, AGAIN, IS
VERY UNLIKELY."

Prisoner. "This is a conjecture I could answer by another
conjecture; I can only reason on the facts."

Judge. "How far did you pursue him?"

Prisoner. "I don't know exactly."

Judge. "You said 'two hundred paces.'"

No answer from the prisoner.

Judge. "Your domestic was young, active, robust, and tall. He was
ahead of you. You were in a carriage, from which you had to
descend: you had to take your pistols from a cushion, and THEN your
hammer;--how are we to believe that you could have caught him, if
he ran? It is IMPOSSIBLE."

Prisoner. "I can't explain it: I think that Rey had some defect in
one leg. I, for my part, run tolerably fast."

Judge. "At what distance from him did you fire your first shot?"

Prisoner. "I can't tell."

Judge. "Perhaps he was not running when you fired."

Prisoner. "I saw him running."

Judge. "In what position was your wife?"

Prisoner. "She was leaning on my left arm, and the man was on the
right side of the carriage."

Judge. "The shot must have been fired à bout portant, because it
burned the eyebrows and lashes entirely. The assassin must have
passed his pistol across your breast."

Prisoner. "The shot was not fired so close; I am convinced of it:
professional gentlemen will prove it."

Judge. "That is what you pretend, because you understand perfectly
the consequences of admitting the fact. Your wife was hit with two
balls--one striking downwards, to the right, by the nose, the other
going horizontally through the cheek, to the left."

Prisoner. "The contrary will be shown by the witnesses called for
the purpose."

Judge. "IT IS A VERY UNLUCKY COMBINATION FOR YOU that these balls,
which went, you say, from the same pistol, should have taken two
different directions."

Prisoner. "I can't dispute about the various combinations of fire-
arms--professional persons will be heard."

Judge. "According to your statement, your wife said to you, 'My
poor husband, take your pistols.'"

Prisoner. "She did."

Judge. "In a manner quite distinct."

Prisoner. "Yes."

Judge. "So distinct that you did not fancy she was hit?"

Prisoner. "Yes; that is the fact."

Judge. "HERE, AGAIN, IS AN IMPOSSIBILITY; and nothing is more
precise than the declaration of the medical men. They affirm that
your wife could not have spoken--their report is unanimous."

Prisoner. "I can only oppose to it quite contrary opinions from
professional men, also: you must hear them."

Judge. "What did your wife do next?"

. . . . . .

Judge. "You deny the statements of the witnesses:" (they related
to Peytel's demeanor and behavior, which the judge wishes to show
were very unusual;--and what if they were?) "Here, however, are
some mute witnesses, whose testimony, you will not perhaps refuse.
Near Louis Rey's body was found a horse-cloth, a pistol, and a
whip. . . . . Your domestic must have had this cloth upon him when
he went to assassinate you: it was wet and heavy. An assassin
disencumbers himself of anything that is likely to impede him,
especially when he is going to struggle with a man as young as
himself."

Prisoner. "My servant had, I believe, this covering on his body;
it might be useful to him to keep the priming of his pistol dry."

The president caused the cloth to be opened, and showed that there
was no hook, or tie, by which it could be held together; and that
Rey must have held it with one hand, and, in the other, his whip,
and the pistol with which he intended to commit the crime; which
was impossible.

Prisoner. "These are only conjectures."

And what conjectures, my God! upon which to take away the life of a
man. Jeffreys, or Fouquier Tinville, could scarcely have dared to
make such. Such prejudice, such bitter persecution, such priming
of the jury, such monstrous assumptions and unreason--fancy them
coming from an impartial judge! The man is worse than the public
accuser.

"Rey," says the Judge, "could not have committed the murder,
BECAUSE HE HAD NO MONEY IN HIS POCKET, TO FLY, IN CASE OF FAILURE."
And what is the precise sum that his lordship thinks necessary for
a gentleman to have, before he makes such an attempt? Are the men
who murder for money, usually in possession of a certain
independence before they begin? How much money was Rey, a servant,
who loved wine and women, had been stopping at a score of inns on
the road, and had, probably, an annual income of 400 francs,--how
much money was Rey likely to have?

"Your servant had to assassinate two persons." This I have
mentioned before. Why had he to assassinate two persons,* when one
was enough? If he had killed Peytel, could he not have seized and
gagged his wife immediately?


* M. Balzac's theory of the case is, that Rey had intrigued with
Madame Peytel; having known her previous to her marriage, when she
was staying in the house of her brother-in-law, Monsieur de
Montrichard, where Rey had been a servant.


"Your domestic ran straight forward, instead of taking to the
woods, by the side of the rood: this is very unlikely." How does
his worship know? Can any judge, however enlightened, tell the
exact road that a man will take, who has just missed a coup of
murder, and is pursued by a man who is firing pistols at him? And
has a judge a right to instruct a jury in this way, as to what they
shall, or shall not, believe?

"You have to run after an active man, who has the start of you: to
jump out of a carriage; to take your pistols; and THEN, your
hammer. THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE." By heavens! does it not make a man's
blood boil, to read such blundering, blood-seeking sophistry? This
man, when it suits him, shows that Rey would be slow in his
motions; and when it suits him, declares that Rey ought to be
quick; declares ex cathedrâ, what pace Rey should go, and what
direction he should take; shows, in a breath, that he must have run
faster than Peytel; and then, that he could not run fast, because
the cloak clogged him; settles how he is to be dressed when he
commits a murder, and what money he is to have in his pocket; gives
these impossible suppositions to the jury, and tells them that the
previous statements are impossible; and, finally, informs them of
the precise manner in which Rey must have stood holding his horse-
cloth in one hand, his whip and pistol in the other, when he made
the supposed attempt at murder. Now, what is the size of a horse-
cloth? Is it as big as a pocket-handkerchief? Is there no
possibility that it might hang over one shoulder; that the whip
should be held under that very arm? Did you never see a carter so
carry it, his hands in his pockets all the while? Is it monstrous,
abhorrent to nature, that a man should fire a pistol from under a
cloak on a rainy day?--that he should, after firing the shot, be
frightened, and run; run straight before him, with the cloak on his
shoulders, and the weapon in his hand? Peytel's story is possible,
and very possible; it is almost probable. Allow that Rey had the
cloth on, and you allow that he must have been clogged in his
motions; that Peytel may have come up with him--felled him with a
blow of the hammer; the doctors say that he would have so fallen by
one blow--he would have fallen on his face, as he was found: the
paper might have been thrust into his breast, and tumbled out as he
fell. Circumstances far more impossible have occurred ere this;
and men have been hanged for them, who were as innocent of the
crime laid to their charge as the judge on the bench, who convicted
them.

In like manner, Peytel may not have committed the crime charged to
him; and Mr. Judge, with his arguments as to possibilities and
impossibilities,--Mr. Public Prosecutor, with his romantic
narrative and inflammatory harangues to the jury,--may have used
all these powers to bring to death an innocent man. From the
animus with which the case had been conducted from beginning to
end, it was easy to see the result. Here it is, in the words of
the provincial paper:--


BOURG, 28 October, 1839.

"The condemned Peytel has just undergone his punishment, which took
place four days before the anniversary of his crime. The terrible
drama of the bridge of Andert, which cost the life of two persons,
has just terminated on the scaffold. Mid-day had just sounded on
the clock of the Palais: the same clock tolled midnight when, on
the 30th of August, his sentence was pronounced.

"Since the rejection of his appeal in Cassation, on which his
principal hopes were founded, Peytel spoke little of his petition
to the King. The notion of transportation was that which he seemed
to cherish most. However, he made several inquiries from the
gaoler of the prison, when he saw him at meal-time, with regard to
the place of execution, the usual hour, and other details on the
subject. From that period, the words 'Champ de Foire' (the fair-
field, where the execution was to be held), were frequently used by
him in conversation.

"Yesterday, the idea that the time had arrived seemed to be more
strongly than ever impressed upon him; especially after the
departure of the curé, who latterly has been with him every day.
The documents connected with the trial had arrived in the morning.
He was ignorant of this circumstance, but sought to discover from
his guardians what they tried to hide from him; and to find out
whether his petition was rejected, and when he was to die.

"Yesterday, also, he had written to demand the presence of his
counsel, M. Margerand, in order that he might have some
conversation with him, and regulate his affairs, before he ----; he
did not write down the word, but left in its place a few points of
the pen.

"In the evening, whilst he was at supper, he begged earnestly to be
allowed a little wax-candle, to finish what he was writing:
otherwise, he said, TIME MIGHT FAIL. This was a new, indirect
manner of repeating his ordinary question. As light, up to that
evening, had been refused him, it was thought best to deny him in
this, as in former instances; otherwise his suspicions might have
been confirmed. The keeper refused his demand.

"This morning, Monday, at nine o'clock, the Greffier of the Assize
Court, in fulfilment of the painful duty which the law imposes upon
him, came to the prison, in company with the curé of Bourg, and
announced to the convict that his petition was rejected, and that
he had only three hours to live. He received this fatal news with
a great deal of calmness, and showed himself to be no more affected
than he had been on the trial. 'I am ready; but I wish they had
given me four-and-twenty hours' notice,'--were all the words he
used.

"The Greffier now retired, leaving Peytel alone with the curé, who
did not thenceforth quit him. Peytel breakfasted at ten o'clock.

"At eleven, a piquet of mounted gendarmerie and infantry took their
station upon the place before the prison, where a great concourse
of people had already assembled. An open car was at the door.
Before he went out Peytel asked the gaoler for a looking-glass;
and having examined his face for a moment, said, 'At least, the
inhabitants of Bourg will see that I have not grown thin.'

"As twelve o'clock sounded, the prison gates opened, an aide
appeared, followed by Peytel, leaning on the arm of the curé.
Peytel's face was pale, he had a long black beard, a blue cap on
his head, and his great-coat flung over his shoulders, and buttoned
at the neck.

"He looked about at the place and the crowd; he asked if the
carriage would go at a trot; and on being told that that would be
difficult, he said he would prefer walking, and asked what the road
was. He immediately set out, walking at a firm and rapid pace. He
was not bound at all.

"An immense crowd of people encumbered the two streets through
which he had to pass to the place of execution. He cast his eyes
alternately upon them and upon the guillotine, which was before
him.

"Arrived at the foot of the scaffold, Peytel embraced the curé, and
bade him adieu. He then embraced him again; perhaps, for his
mother and sister. He then mounted the steps rapidly, and gave
himself into the hands of the executioner, who removed his coat and
cap. He asked how he was to place himself, and on a sign being
made, he flung himself briskly on the plank, and stretched his
neck. In another moment he was no more.

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