Brittany to Paris: The Road, the Cadillac, and the Last Known Journey
In red, route from Morlaix to Paris via the RN12To understand the Seznec case, one must first understand geography.
Brittany sits at the western edge of Europe, facing the Atlantic. It is a land shaped by wind, sea, and distance—historically more connected to maritime routes than to Paris. In the early 1920s, traveling from Brittany to the capital was not a routine trip. It was a journey.
In my exchanges, I often hear this remark: “There is no evidence.”
There is no evidence of innocence, no evidence of guilt. In short, there is never any evidence…
It is therefore necessary to explain what “evidence” means in the Seznec case. It is a judicial case that has now become a historical case. We must therefore distinguish between evidence from a judicial standpoint and evidence from a historical standpoint. These notions are often confused.
Since 2018, my research has been purely historical. It could potentially be used in a request for retrial, but it inevitably leads to proving one single thing: that there is reasonable doubt as to Guillaume Seznec’s guilt. As Denis Langlois keeps insisting, that doubt should have benefited the accused.
The difference between judicial proof and historical proof can be summarized as follows: the first is used to judge, the second to understand.
In criminal justice, the absence of a body is often described as a weakness. In reality, it can be something else entirely: an invitation to narrative.
When a victim disappears without leaving physical traces, investigators are forced to rely on indirect evidence. Timelines, behavior, documents, inconsistencies—these become the building blocks of certainty. Over time, they can weigh as heavily as forensic proof.
What Archives Reveal — and What They Never Say
Archives are often imagined as vaults of truth. Silent rooms filled with documents that, once opened, finally tell the whole story.
The reality is more complicated.
Archives do not preserve events. They preserve decisions: what was recorded, by whom, for what purpose, and under which institutional constraints. Every file reflects not only what happened, but what an administration believed was worth documenting at a given moment.
The Seznec case, like many early twentieth-century investigations, survives today through a mosaic of judicial records, police reports, and administrative documents. These files are invaluable. But they are also partial.