Mrs Peixada

  CHAPTER III.—STATISTICAL.

  MONDAY morning Arthur entered Peixada’s warehouse promptly as theclock struck ten. Peixada had not yet got down.

  Arthur was conducted by a dapper little salesman to an inclosure fencedoff at the rear of the showroom, and bidden to “make himself athome.” By and by, to kill time, he picked up a directory—the onlyliterature in sight—and extracted what amusement he could from it, byhunting out the names of famous people—statesmen, financiers, etc.The celebrities exhausted, he turned to his own name and to those ofhis friends. Among others, he looked for Hart. Of Harts there werea multitude, but of G. Harts only three—a Gustav, a Gerson, and aGeorge. George was written down a laborer, Gerson a peddler, Gustav abarber; none, it was obvious, could be the G. Hart of Beekman Place. Inabout half an hour Peixada arrived.

  “Ah, good morning,” he said briskly. “Well?”

  “I am sorry to bother you so soon again, Mr. Peixada,” said Arthur,stiffly; “but——”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Peixada interrupted. “Glad to see you.Sit down. Smoke a cigar.”

  “Then,” pursued Arthur, his cigar afire, “having thought thematter well over——”

  “You have concluded—?”

  “That your view of the case was correct—that we’re in for a long,expensive, and delicate piece of business.”

  “Not a doubt of it.”

  “You see, beforehand it would strike one as the simplest thing inthe world to locate a woman like your sister-in-law. But this case ispeculiar. It’s going on four years that nobody has heard from her.Clear back in January, 1881, she was somewhere in Vienna. But since thenshe’s had the leisure to travel around the world a dozen times. Shemay be in Australia, California, Brazil—or not a mile away from us,here in New York. She may have changed her name. She may have marriedagain. She may have died.—The point I’m driving at is that youmustn’t attribute it to a lack of diligence on my part, if weshouldn’t obtain any satisfactory results for a long while.”

  “Oh, certainly not, certainly not,” protested Peixada, making thewords very large, and waving his hand deprecatingly. “I’m a manof common sense, a business man. I don’t need to be told that it’sgoing to be slow work. I knew that. Otherwise I shouldn’t have hiredyou. I could have managed it by myself, except that I hadn’t the timeto spare.”

  “Well, then,” said Arthur, undismayed by Peixada’s frankness,“my idea of the tactics to be pursued is to begin with Vienna,January, ’81, and proceed inch by inch down to the present time. Thereare two methods of doing this.”

  “Which are——?”

  “One is to enlist the services of the United States consuls. I canwrite to Vienna, to our consul, and ask him to find out where Mrs.Peixada went when she left there; then to the consul at the nextplace—and so on to the end. But this method is cumbrous and uncertain.The trail is liable to be lost at any point. At the best, it wouldtake a long, long time. Besides, the consuls would expect a largeremuneration.”

  “Well, the other method?”

  “I propose it reluctantly. It is one which, so far as my personalinclinations are concerned, I should prefer not to take. I—I mightmyself go to Vienna and conduct the investigation on the spot.”

  “Hum,” reflected Peixada.—After a pause, “That would be stillmore expensive,” he said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Sure.—It seems to me that there is a third method which youhaven’t thought of.”

  “Indeed? What is it?”

  “Why not engage the services of an attorney in Vienna, instead of theconsul’s? You can easily get the name of some reliable attorney there.Then write on, stating the case, and offering a sum in consideration ofwhich he is to furnish us with the information we want.”

  “Yes, I might do that,” Arthur answered, with a mortifying sensethat Peixada’s plan was at once more practical and more promising thaneither of those which he had proposed.

  “Better try it, anyhow,” his client went on. “Attorney’s fees,as I chance to know, are low in Austria. Fifty dollars ought to be amplefor a starter. I’ll give you a check for that amount now. You canexchange it for a draft, after you’ve decided on your man.”

  Peixada filled out a check. Arthur took up his hat.

  “Oh, àpropos,” said Peixada, without explaining what it wasàpropos of, “I showed you some newspaper clippings about Mrs. P.’.trial the other day—recollect? Well, I’ve got a scrapbook full ofthem in my safe. Suppose you’d find it useful?”

  “I don’t know. It could do no harm for me to run it over.”

  Peixada touched a bell, gave the requisite orders to the underling whoresponded, and said to Arthur, “He’ll fetch it.”

  Presently the man returned, bearing a large, square volume, bound inbluish black leather. Arthur bowed himself out, with the volume underhis arm.

  The remainder of the day he passed in procuring the name of atrustworthy Viennese attorney, drafting a letter to him in English,and having it translated into German. The attorney’s name was Ulrich.Arthur inclosed the amount of Peixada’s check in the form of an orderupon an Americo-Austrian banking house. At last, weary, and with hiszeal in Peixada’s cause somewhat abated, he went home.

  In the course of the evening he dropped into a concert garden onFifty-eighth Street. He had not been seated there a great while beforesomebody greeted him with a familiar tap upon the shoulder and an easy“How are you?” Looking up, he saw Mr. Rimo.

  “Ah,” said Arthur, offering his hand, “how do you do? Sit down.”

  Mr. Rimo had an odoriferous jonquil in his buttonhole, and carried asilver-headed Malacca cane. He drew up to the table, lit a cigar with awax match, and called for Vichy water.

  “Well, Mr. Ripley,” he questioned solicitously, “how are yougetting on?”

  “Oh, very well, thanks. I saw your uncle this morning.”

  “That so? Any news?”

  “You mean about the case? Nothing decisive as yet. It’s hardly timeto expect anything.”

  “Oh, no; of course not. I’ll tell you one thing. You’ve got a nicejob before you.”

  “Yes, and an odd one.”

  “What I was thinking of especially was the lady. She’s a specimen.Not many like her.”

  “It’s to be hoped not. You of course knew her very well?”

  “No, I can’t say as I did. I can’t say as I knew her very well.She wasn’t an easy woman to know. But I’d seen a great deal of her.It was a mere chance that I didn’t marry her myself. Lucky, wasn’tI?”

  “Why, how was that?”

  “Well, it was this way. You see, one evening while she was still MissKaron, I called on her. Who should sail in five minutes later butUncle Barney? She was right up to the top notch that evening—devilishhandsome, with her black eyes and high color, and as sharp as an IXLblade. When we left—we left together, the old man and I—when weleft, I was saying to myself, ’By gad, I couldn’t do better. I’llpropose for her to-morrow.’ Just then he pipes up. ’What is youropinion of that young lady?’ he asks. ’My opinion?’ says I. ’Myopinion is that she’s a mighty fine gal.’ ’Well, you bet sheis,’ says he; ’and I’m glad you think so, because she’s apt tobe your auntie before a great while.’ ’The devil!’ says I. ’Yes,sir, says he. ’I’ve made up my mind to marry her. I’m going tospeak to her father about it in the morning.’ Well, of course thatsettled my hash. I wasn’t going to gamble against my uncle. Narrowescape, hey?”

  Having concluded this picturesque narrative, Mr. Rimo emptied a bumperof sparkling Vichy water, with the remark, “Well, here’s to you,”and applied a second wax match to his cigar, which had gone out while hewas speaking.

  “Who were her people?” asked Arthur. “What sort of a family didshe come from?”

  “Oh, her family was correct enough. Name was Karon, as you knowalready. Her old man was a watch-maker by trade, and kept a shop onSecond Avenue. I guess he did a pretty comfortable business till he gotstruck on electricit
y. He invented some sort of an electric clock, andsent it to the Centennial at Philadelphia. It took the cake; andafter that Michael Karon was a ruined man. Why? Because after that heneglected his business, and spent all his time and all the money hehad saved, in fooling around and trying to improve what the Centennialjudges had thought was good enough. He couldn’t let well alone. Resultwas he spoiled the clock, and went all to pieces. He was in a desperatebad way when Uncle Barney stepped up and married his daughter. Hang aman who’s got an itch for improvement. What I say is, lay on to a goodthing, and then stick to it for all you’re worth.”

  “He died shortly after the marriage, didn’t he?”

  “Yes—handed in his checks that fall. She had had a tip-topeducation; used to give lessons in music, and this, that, and the other’ology. She was the most knowing creature I ever saw—had no endof chochmah. Don’t know what chochmah is? Well, that means Jewishshrewdness; and she held a corner in it, too. But such a temper! Lord,when she got excited, her eyes were terrible. I can just imagine herdowning the old man. I’ll never forget the way she looked at me onetime.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Oh, there ain’t much to tell—only this. Of course, you know,it’s the fashion to kiss the bride at her wedding. But I happened tobe on the road at the date of their wedding, and couldn’t get back intime. I didn’t mean to lose that kiss, just the same. So when I calledon them, after my return, ’Aunt Judith,’ says I, ’when are yougoing to liquidate that little debt you owe me?’ ’Owe you?’ saysshe, looking surprised. ’I didn’t know I owed you any thing.’’Why, certainly,’ says I; ’you owe me a kiss:’ She laughed andshied off and tried to change the subject. ’Come,’ says I, ’stepupto the captain’s office and settle.’ ’Yes,’ says Uncle Barney,’kiss your nephew, Judith.’ ’But I don’t want to kiss him,’says she, beginning to look dark. ’You kiss him,’ says Uncle Barney,looking darker. And she—she kissed me. But, gad, the way she glared!Her eyes were just swimming in fire. I swear, it frightened me; andI’m pretty tough. I don’t want any more kisses of that sort, thankyou. It stung my lips like a hornet.” Mr. Rimo drew a deep breath, andcaressed the knob of his cane with the apple of his chin. “It was anawful moment,” as they say on the stage, he added.

  “Who was that—what was his name?—the second of her victims,”inquired Arthur.

  “Oh, Bolen—Edward Bolen. He was Uncle Barney’s coachman. Afterthe old boy got married and retired from business, he set up a team, andundertook to be aristocratic. The theory was that when he and she beganrowing that night, Bolen attempted to step in between them, and that shejust reminded him of his proper place with an ounce of lead. She neverwas tried for his murder. I suppose her acquittal in the case of UncleBarney made the authorities think it wouldn’t pay to try her again.Every body said it was an infernal outrage for her to go free; butbetween you and me—and mum’s the word—I was real glad of it. Notthat she hadn’t ought to have been punished for shooting her husband.But to have locked up her confoundedly pretty face out of sight in aprison—that would have been an infernal outrage, and no mistake. Asfor hanging her, they’d never have hanged her, anyhow—not even ifthe jury had convicted. But I don’t mean to say that she was innocent.Sane? Well, you never saw a saner woman. She knew what she was aboutbetter than you and I do now.”

  “How do you account for the murder? What motive do you assign?”

  “Most everybody said ’money’—claimed that she went deliberatelyto work and killed the old man for his money. Some few thought theremust be another man at the bottom of it—that she had a paramour whoput her up to it. But they didn’t know her. She had a hot temper; butas far as men were concerned, she was as cool as a Roman punch. My ownnotion is that she did it in a fit of passion. He irritated her somehow,and she got mad, and let fire. You see, I recollect the way she glaredat me that time. Savage was no word for it. If she’d had a gun in herhand, my life wouldn’t have been worth that”—and Mr. Rimo snappedhis fingers.

  “I must say, you have contrived to interest me in her. I shall be gladwhen I have an opportunity of seeing her with my own eyes.”

  “Well, you take my advice. When you’ve found out her whereabouts,don’t go too close, as they tell the boys at the menagerie. She’sas vicious as they make them, I don’t deny it. But she’s got awonderful fascination about her, notwithstanding, and if she thought itworth her while, she could wind you around her finger like a hair, andnever know she’d done it. I wish you the best possible luck.”

  Mr. Rimo rose, shook hands, moved off.

  Arthur’s dreams that night were haunted by a wild, fierce, Medusa-likewoman’s face.

  At his office, next morning, the first object that caught his eye wasthe black, leather-bound scrapbook that Peixada had given him yesterday.It lay where he had left it, on his desk. Beginning by listlesslyturning the pages, he gradually became interested in their contents.I shall have to beg the reader’s attention to an abstract of Mrs.Peix-ada’s trial, before my story can be completed; and I may as welldo so now.

  The prosecution set out logically by establishing the fact of death. Asurgeon testified to all that was essential in this regard. The secondwitness was one ’Patrick Martin. I copy his testimony word for wordfrom the columns of the New York Daily Gazette.

  “Mr. Martin,” began the district-attorney, “what is yourbusiness?”

  “I am a merchant, sir.”

  “And the commodities in which you deal are?

  “Ales, wines, and liquors, your honor.

  “At retail or wholesale?”

  “Both, sir; but mostly retail.”

  “Where is your store situated, Mr. Martin?”

  “On the southwest corner of Eighty-fifth Street and Ninth Avenue.”

  “Was the residence of the deceased, Mr. Bernard Peixada, near to yourplace of business?”

  “It was, sir—on the next block.”

  “What block? How is the block bounded?”

  “The block, sir, is bounded by Eighty-fifth and Eighty-sixth Streets,and Ninth and Tenth Avenues, your honor.”

  “Many houses on that block?

  “None, your honor; only the house of the deceased. That stands on thetop of a hill, back from the street, with big grounds around it.”

  “Had Mr. Peixada lived there long?

  “Since the 1st of May, this year.”

  “Now, Mr. Martin, do you remember the night of July 30th?”

  “Faith, I do, sir; and I’ll not soon forget it.”

  “Good. Will you, then, as clearly and as fully as you can, tell thecourt and jury all the circumstances that combine to fix the night ofJuly 30th in your memory? Take your time, speak up loudly, and lookstraight at the twelfth juryman.”

  “Well, sir, on that night, toward two o’clock the next morning—”

  (Laughter among the auditors; speedily repressed by the courtattendants.)

  “Don’t be disconcerted, Mr. Martin. On the morning of July 31st?”

  “The same, sir. On that morning, at about two o’clock, I was outsidein the street, putting the shutters over the windows of my store. WhileI was doing it, your honor, it seemed to me that I heard a noise—veryweak and far away—like as if some one—a woman, or it might be achild—was crying out. I stopped for a moment, sir, and listened. Sureenough, I heard a voice—so faint you’d never have known it from thewind, except by sharpening your ears—I heard a voice, coming downthe hill from the Jew’s house over the way. I couldn’t make out nowords, but it was that thin and screechy that, ’Certain,’ says I tomyself, ’that old felley there is up to some mischief, or my name’snot Patsy Martin.’ Well, after I had got done with the shutters,I went into the house by the family entrance, and says I to my wife,’There’s a woman yelling in the house on the hill,’ says I.’What of that?’ says she. ’Maybe I’d better go up,’ says I.’You’d better be after coming to bed and minding your business,’says she. ’It’s most likely a way them heathen have of amusingthemselves,?
?? says she. But, ’No,’ says I. ’Some one’s indistress,’ says I; ’and I guess the best thing I can do will be tolight a lantern and go along up,’ says I. So my wife, your honor, shelights the lantern for me, and, ’Damminus take ’em,’ says she,to wish me good luck; and off I started, across the street, through thegate, and up the wagon-road that leads to Peixada’s house. Meanwhile,your honor, the screaming had stopped. Never a whisper more did Ihear; and thinks I to myself, ’It was only my imagination,’ thinksI—when whist! All of a sudden, not two feet away from me, there in theroad, a voice calls out ’Help, help.’ The devil take me, I thoughtI’d jump out of my skin for fright, it came so unexpected. But Iraised my lantern all the same, and cast a look around; and there beforeme on the ground, I seen an object which, as true as gospel, I took tobe a ghost until I recognized it for Mrs. Peixada—the lady that’ssitting behind you, sir—the Jew’s wife, herself. There she lay,kneeling in front of me and when she seen who I was, ’Help, forGod’s sake, help,’ says she, for all the world like a Christian. Iknew right away that something wrong had happened, from her scared faceand big, staring eyes; and besides, her bare feet and the white rag shewore in the place of a decent dress—”

  At this point considerable sensation was created among the audience bythe prosecuting attorney, who, interrupting the witness and addressingthe court, remarked, “Your honor will observe that the prisoner hascovered her face with a veil. This is a piece of theatricalism againstwhich I must emphatically protest. It is, moreover, the jury’sprerogative to watch the prisoner’s physiognomy, as the story of hercrime is told.”

  Recorder Hewitt ordered the prisoner to remove her veil.

  “Go on, Mr. Martin,” said the prosecutor to the witness.

  “Well, sir, as I was saying, there I seen Mrs. Peix-ada, halfcrouching and half sitting there in the road. And when I got over thestart she gave me, ’Excuse me, ma’am,’ says I, ’but didn’tI hear you hollering out for help?’ ’Faith, you did,’ says she.’Well, here I am, ma’am,’ says I; ’and now, will you be kindenough to inform me what’s the trouble?’ says I. ’The trouble?’says she. ’The trouble is that there’s two men kilt up at the house,that’s what’s the trouble,’ says she. ’Kilt?’ says I. ’Yes,shot,’ says she. ’And who shot them?’ says I. ’Myself,’ saysshe. ’Mother o’ God!’ says I. ’Well,’ says she, ’wont yoube after going up to the house and trying to help the poor wretches?’says she. ’I don’t know but I will,’ says I. And on up the road tothe house I went. The front door, your honor, was open wide, and thegas blazing at full head within. I ran up the steps and through thevestibil, and there in the hall I seen that what Mrs. Peixada had saidwas the truest word she ever spoke in her life. Old Peixada, he laythere on one side, as dead as sour beer, with blood all around him; andon the other side lay Mr. Bolen—whom I knew well, for he was a goodcustomer of my own, your honor—more dead than the Jew, if one mightsay so. I, sir, I just remained long enough to cross myself and whisper,’God have mercy on them and then off I went to call an officer. On theway down the hill, I passed Mrs. Peixada again; and this time she waslaying out stiff in the road, with her eyes closed and her mouth open,like she was in a fit. She had nothing on but that white gown I spokeof before; and very elegant she looked, your honor, flat there, like acorpse.”

  Again the district-attorney stopped the witness.

  “Your honor,” he said, “I must again direct your attention to theirregular conduct of the prisoner. She has now turned her back to thejury, and covered her face with her hands. This is merely a method ofevading the injunction which your honor saw fit to impose upon her withrespect to her veil. I must insist upon her displaying her full face tothe jury.”

  Mr. Sondheim, of counsel for the defendant: “If the Court please, itstrikes me that my learned brother is really a trifle too exacting. Ican certainly see no objection to my client’s holding her hands to herface. Considering the painfulness of her situation, it is no more thannatural that she should desire to shield her face. I must beg the Courtto remember that this prisoner is no ordinary criminal, but a lady ofrefined and sensitive instincts. A little indulgence, it seems to me, isdue to her on account of her sex.”

  The district-attorney: “The prisoner had better understand once forall that her sex isn’t going to protect her in this prosecution. Thelaw is no respecter of sex. As for her refined and sensitive instincts,if she has any, I advise her to put them into her pocket. This jury hastoo much good sense to be affected by any exhibition that she maymake for their benefit. I submit the matter to the Court’s goodjudgment.”

  The recorder: “Madam, you will turn your chair toward the jury, andkeep your face uncovered.”

  The district-attorney: “Well, Mr. Martin, what next?”

  The witness: “Weil, sir, I hurried along down as fast as ever I could,and stopped at my own place just long enough to tell my wife what hadhappened, and to send her up to Mrs. Peixada with a bottle of spiritsto bring her around. Then I went to the station-house, and informedthe gentleman at the desk of the state of affairs. Him and a couple ofofficers came back with me; and they, your honor, took charge of thepremises, and—and that’s all I know about it.”

  Martin was not cross-examined. Police Sergeant Riley, succeedinghim, gave an account of the prisoner’s arrest and of her subsequentdemeanor at the station-house. “The lady,” said he, “appearedto be unable to walk—leastwise, she limped all the way with greatdifficulty. We thought she was shamming, and treated her accordingly.But afterwards it turned out that she had a sprained ankle.” She hadanswered the formal questions—name? age? residence?—in full; and tothe inquiry whether she desired to make any statement or remark relativeto the charge preferred against her, had replied, “Nothing, exceptthat I shot them both—Bernard Peixada and Edward Bolen.” They hadlocked her up in the captain’s private room for the rest of the night;and the following morning she had been transferred to the Tombs.

  The next witness was Miss Ann Doyle.

  “Miss Doyle, what is your occupation?” asked the district-attorney.

  “I am a cook, sir.”

  “Have you a situation, at present?”

  “I have not, sir.”

  “How long have you been idle?”

  “Since the 31st of July, sir.”

  “Prior to that date where were you employed?”

  “In the family of Mr. Peixada, sir.”

  “Were you present at Mr. Peixada’s house on the night of July30th?”

  “I was not, sir.”

  “Tell us, please, how you came to be absent?”

  “Well, sir, just after dinner, along about seven o’clock, Mrs.Peixada, who was laying abed with a sore foot, she called me to her,sir, and, ’Ann,’ says she, ’you can have the evening out, and youneedn’t come home till to-morrow morning,’ sir, says she.”

  “And you availed yourself of this privilege?”

  “Sure, I did, sir. I came home the next morning, sir, in time to getbreakfast, having passed the night at my sister’s; and when I gotthere, sir—”

  “Never mind about that, Miss Doyle. Now, tell us, was it a customarything for Mrs. Peixada to let you go away for the entire night?”

  “She never did it before, sir. Of course I had my regular Thursday andSunday, but I was always expected to be in the house by ten o’clock,sir.”

  “That will do, Miss Doyle. Miss Katharine Mahoney, take the stand.”

  Miss Mahoney described herself as an “upstairs girl,” and saidthat she, too, until the date of the murder, had been employed in Mr.Peixada’s household. To her also, on the evening of July 30th, Mrs.Peixada had accorded leave of absence for the night.

  “So that,” reasoned the district-attorney, “all the servantswere away, by the prisoner’s prearrangement, at the hour of theperpetration of the crime?”

  “Yes, sir; since me and Ann were the only servants they kept. Mr.Bolen staid behind, to his sorrow.”

  In the case of each of these witnesses,
the prisoner’s counsel waivedcross-examination, saying, “If the court please, we shall not takeissue on the allegations of fact.”

  The prosecution rested, reserving, however, the right to call witnessesin rebuttal, if need should be. The defense started with a physician,Dr. Leopold Jetz, of Lexington Avenue, near Fifty-ninth Street.

  “Dr. Jetz, how long have you known Mrs. Peix-ada, the prisoner at thebar?”

  “Ever since she was born. I helped to bring her into the world.”

  “When did you last attend her professionally?”

  “I paid her my last professional visit on the 1st of August, 1878;eight days before she was married.”

  “What was her trouble at that time?”

  “General depression of the nervous system. To speak technically,cerebral anemia, or insufficient nourishment of the brain, complicatedby sacral neuralgia—neuralgia at the base of the spine.”

  “Were these ailments of long standing?”

  “I was called in on the 29th of May. I treated her consecutively tillAugust 1st. That would make two months. But she had been sufferingfor some time before I was summoned. The troubles had crept upon hergradually. On the 8th of August she was married. She had just completedher nineteenth year.”

  “Now, doctor, was the condition of Mrs. Peixada’s health, at thetime your treatment was discontinued, such as to predispose her toinsanity?” (Question objected to, on the ground that the witness hadnot been produced as an expert, and that his competence to give experttestimony was not established. Objection overruled.)

  “In my opinion,” said Dr. Jetz, “at the time I last saw herprofessionally, Mrs. Peixada was in an exceedingly critical condition.Although evincing no symptoms of insanity proper, her brain was highlyirritated, and her whole nervous system deranged; so that an additionalstrain of any kind put upon her, might easily have precipitated acutemania. I told her father that she was in no wise fit to get married;but he chose to disregard my advice. I think I may answer your questionaffirmatively, and say that her health was such as to predispose her toinsanity.”

  By the district attorney: “Doctor, are your sentiments—your personalsentiments—for the prisoner of a friendly or an unfriendly nature?”

  “Decidedly, sir, of a friendly nature.”

  “You would be sorry to see her hanged?”

  The doctor replied by a gesture.

  “Or sent to State Prison?”

  “I could not bear to think of it.”

  “You would do your utmost—would you not?—to save her from such afate?”

  “Eagerly, sir, eagerly.”

  “That’s sufficient, doctor.”

  An alienist of some distinction followed Dr. Jetz. He said that he hadlistened attentively to the evidence so far adduced in court, hadread the depositions taken before the magistrate and the coroner, hadconferred at length with the preceding witness, and finally had made adiagnosis of Mrs. Peixada’s case in her cell at the Tombs. Hebelieved that, though perfectly sane and responsible at present, shehad “within a brief period suffered from a disturbance of cerebralfunction.” There were “indications which led him to infer thatat the time of the homicide she was organically a lunatic.” Thedistrict-attorney took him in hand.

  “Doctor, are you the author of a work entitled, ’Pathology of MindPopularly Expounded’—published, as I see by the title page, in1873?”

  “I am, sir, yes.”

  “Does that book express with tolerable accuracy your views on thesubject of insanity?’

  “It does—certainly.”

  “Very well. Now, doctor, I will read aloud from Chapter III., page75. Be good enough to follow.—’It is then a fact that there existsa borderland between pronounced dementia, or mania, and sound mentalhealth, in which it is impossible to apply the terms, sane and insane,with any approach to scientific nicety. Nor is it to be disputed that aperson may have entered this borderland may have departed from the realmof unimpaired intelligence, and not yet have attained the pandemoniumof complete madness—and withal, retain the faculty of distinguishingbetween right and wrong, together with the control of will necessaryto the selection and employment of either. This borderland is a sort oftwilight region in which, though blurred in outline, objects havenot become invisible. Crimes committed by subject? in the state thusdescribed, can not philosophically be extenuated on the ground of mentalaberration.’—I suppose, doctor, you acknowledge the authorship ofthis passage?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And subscribe to its correctness?”

  “It expresses the opinion which prevails among the authorities.”

  “Well and good. Now, to return to the case at bar, are you willingto swear that on the night of July 30th, the ’disturbance of cerebralfunction’ which, you have told us, Mrs. Peixada was perhaps sufferingfrom—are you willing to swear that it had progressed beyond thisborderland which you have so clearly elucidated in your book?”

  “I am not willing to swear positively. It is my opinion that ithad.”

  “You are not willing to swear positively. Then, you are not willing toswear positively, I take it, that Mrs. Peixada’s crime did not belongto that category which ’can not philosophically be extenuated on theground of mental aberration?’.rdquo;

  “Not positively—no, sir.”

  “It is your opinion?”

  “It is my opinion.”

  “How firm?”

  “Very firm.”

  “So firm, doctor, that if you were on this jury, you would feel bound,under any and all circumstances, to acquit the prisoner?”

  “So firm that I should feel bound to acquit her, unless evidence of ahighly damaging character was forthcoming.”

  “Well, suppose that evidence of a highly damaging character wasforthcoming, would you convict?”

  “I might.”

  “Thanks, doctor. You can go.”

  Having thus sought to prove the prisoner’s irresponsibility, thedefense endeavored to establish her fair name. Half-a-dozen ladies andtwo or three gentleman attested that they had known her for manyyears, and had always found her to be of a peculiarly sweet and gentletemperament. Not one of them would believe her capable of an act ofviolence, unless, at the time of committing it, she was out of her rightmind. As the last of these persons left the stand, Mr. Sondheim said,“Your honor, our case is in.”

  “And a pretty lame case it is,” commented the district-attorney.“I beg leave to remind the court that it is Friday, and to move foran adjournment until Monday, in order that the People may have anopportunity to produce witnesses in rebuttal.” The motion was granted.

  On Monday a second alienist, one whose renown quite equaled that of thefirst, declared it as his opinion, based upon a personal examination ofthe accused, that she was not and never had been in the slightest degreeinsane.

  “Is Dr. Julius Gunther in court?” called out the district-attorney.

  Dr. Gunther elbowed his way to the front, and was sworn.

  “Dr. Gunther,” the prosecutor inquired, “you are a physician ingeneral practice—yes?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “You were also, I believe, up to the time of his death, physician tothe family of Mr. Bernard Peixada?”

  The doctor nodded affirmatively.

  “Did you ever attend the decedent’s wife—Mrs. Peixada—this womanhere—the prisoner at the bar?”

  “On the 20th of July last I began to treat her for a sprained ankle. Icalled on her every day or two, up to the 30th.”

  “You were treating her for a sprained ankle. Did you make anyobservation of her general health?”

  “Naturally.”

  “And you found it?”

  “Excellent.”

  “How about her mental faculties? Any symptoms of derangement?”

  “Not one. I have seldom known a smarter woman. She had anexceptionally well-balanced mind.”

  “That’ll do, doctor,” said the district-attorney. To the otherside, “Want to cross-exa
mine?”

  “Is a well-balanced mind, doctor,” asked Mr. Sondheim, “proofpositive of sanity? Is it not possible for one to be perfectly rationalon ordinary topics, and yet liable to attacks of mama when irritated bysome special circumstances?”

  “Oh, speaking broadly, I suppose so. But in this particular instance,no. That woman is no more crazy than you are.”

  “Now,” said the prosecutor, “now, as to my lady’s alleged goodcharacter?”

  A score of witnesses proceeded to demolish it. Miss Emily Millard hadacted as music teacher to the prisoner when she was a little girl.Miss Millard related a dozen anecdotes illustrative of the prisoner’sungovernable temper. Misses Sophie Dedold, Florentine Worch, and EstherSteinbaum had gone to school with the prisoner. If their accountswere to be believed, she was a “flirt,” and a “doubleface.” Atlength, Mrs. George Washington Shapiro took the stand.

  “Mrs. Shapiro, were you acquainted with Mr. Bernard Peixada, thedecedent?”

  “Well acquainted with him—an old friend of his family.”

  “And with his wife, the prisoner?

  “I made her acquaintance shortly before Mr. Peixada married her. Afterthat I saw her as often as once a week.”

  “Will you please give us your estimate of her character?”

  “Bad, very bad. She is false, she is treacherous, but above all, sheis spiteful and ill-humored.”

  “For example?”

  “Oh, I could give twenty examples.”

  “Give one, please.”

  “Well, one day I called upon her and found her in tears. ’Mydear,’ said I, ’what are you crying about?’ ’Oh,’ sheanswered, ’I wish Bernard Peixada’—she always spoke of her husbandas Bernard Peixada—’I wish Bernard Peixada was dead.’ ’What!’I remonstrated. ’You wish your husband was dead? You ought not to saysuch a thing. What can you mean?’ ’I mean that I hate him,’ shereplied. ’But if you hate him,’ said I, ’if you are unhappywith him, why don’t you wish that you yourself were dead, instead ofwishing it of him?’ ’Oh,’ she explained, ’I am young. I havemuch to live for. He is an old, bad man. It would a good thing allaround, if he were dead.’.rdquo;

  “Can you give us the date of this extraordinary conversation?”

  “It was some time, I think, in last June; a little more than a monthbefore she murdered him.”

  The efforts of the prisoner’s counsel to break down Mrs. Shapiro’stestimony were unavailing.

  “Mr. Short,” says the Gazette, “now summed up in his mosteffective style, dwelling at length upon the prisoner’s youth andprevious good character, and arguing that she could never have committedthe crime in question, except under the sway of an uncontrollableimpulse induced by mental disease. He wept copiously, and succeededin bringing tears to the eyes of several jurymen. He was followed byAssistant-district-attorney Sardick, for the People, who carefullyanalyzed the evidence, and showed that it placed the guilt of theaccused beyond the reach of a reasonable doubt. Recorder Hewitt chargeddead against the fair defendant, consuming an hour and a quarter. Thejury thereupon retired; but at the expiration of seventeen minutesthey returned to the court-room, and, much to the surprise of every onepresent, announced that they had agreed upon a verdict. The prisonerwas directed to stand up. She was deathly pale; her teeth chattered; herhands clutched at the railing in front of the clerk’s desk. The formalquestions were put in their due order and with becoming solemnity. Aprofound sensation was created among the spectators when the foremanpronounced the two decisive words, ’Not guilty.’ A vivid crimsonsuffused the prisoner’s throat and cheeks, but otherwise herappearance did not alter. Recorder Hewitt seemed for a moment todiscredit his senses. Then, suddenly straightening up and scowling atthe jury-box, ’You have rendered an outrageous verdict; a verdictgrossly at variance with the evidence,’ he said. ’You are one andall excused from further service in this tribunal.’ Turning toMrs. Peixada, ’As for you, madam,’ he continued, ’you have beenunrighteously acquitted of as heinous a crime as ever woman was guiltyof. Your defense was a sham and a perjury. The ends of justice have beendefeated, because, forsooth, you have a pretty face. You can go free.But let me counsel you to beware, in the future, how you tamper withthe lives of human beings, better and worthier in every respect thanyourself. I had hoped that it would be my duty and my privilege tosentence you to a life of hard labor in the prison at Sing Sing, if notto expiation of your sin upon the gallows. Unfortunately for the publicwelfare, and much to my personal regret, I have no alternative but tocommit you to the keeping of your own guilty conscience, trusting thatin time you may, by its action, and by the just horror with which yourfellow-beings will shun your touch, be chastised and chastened. You aredischarged.’ Mrs. Peixada bowed to the court, and left the room on thearm of her counsel.”

  Undramatic and matter-of-fact though it was, Arthur got deeply absorbedin the perusal of this newspaper report of Mrs. Peixada’s trial.When the jury returned from their deliberations, it was with breathlessinterest that he learned the result; he had forgotten that he alreadyknew it. As the words “Not guilty” took shape before him, he drew agenuine sigh of relief. Then, at once recollecting himself, “Bah!”he cried. “I was actually rejoicing at a miscarriage of justice. I amweak-minded.” By and by he added, “I wish, though, that I could getat the true inwardness of the matter—the secret motives that nobodybut the murderess herself could reveal.” For the sake of local color,he put on his hat and went over to the General Sessions court-room—nowempty and in charge of a single melancholy officer—and tried toreconstruct the scene, with the aid of his imagination. The recorderhad sat there, on the bench; the jury there; the prisoner there, at thecounsel table. The atmosphere of the court-room was depressing. The fourwalls, that had listened to so many tales of sin and unhappiness,seemed to exude a deadly miasma. This room was reserved for the trial ofcriminal causes. How many hearts had here stood still for suspense!How many wretched secrets had here been uncovered! How many mothers andwives had wept here! How many guilt-burdened souls had here seen theirlast ray of light go out, and the shadows of the prison settle overthem! The very tick-tack of the clock opposite the door soundedstrangely ominous. Looking around him, Arthur felt his own heart growcold, as if it had been touched with ice.