File No. 113 by Emile Gaboriau (ebook reader browser TXT) 📖

Nearly all of them confessed that they only kept up their extravagant style of living by dint of skilful economy behind the scenes, and by regulating their vices and follies as judiciously as a hosier would manage his Sunday holidays.

This information astonished Louis, but did not open his eyes. He endeavored to imitate the dashing style of these economically wasteful young men, without pretending to conform to their prudential rules. He learned how to spend, but not how to settle his accounts as they did.

He was Marquis of Clameran, and, having given himself a reputation of great wealth, he was welcomed by the elite of society; if he made no friends, he had at least many acquaintances. Among the set into which he was received immediately upon his arrival, he found ten satellites who took pleasure in initiating him into the secrets of fashionable life, and correcting any little provincialisms betrayed in his manners and conversation.

He profited well and quickly by their lessons. At the end of three months he was fairly launched; his reputation as a skilful gambler and one of the fastest men in Paris was fully established.

He had rented handsome apartments, with a coach-house and stable for three horses.

Although he only furnished this bachelor’s establishment with what was necessary and comfortable, he found that comforts were very costly in this instance.

So that the day he took possession of his apartments, and looked over his bills, he made the startling discovery that this short apprenticeship of Paris had cost him fifty-thousand francs, one-fourth of his fortune.

Still he clung to his brilliant friends, although in a state of inferiority which was mortifying to his vanity, like a poor squire straining every nerve to make his nag keep up with blooded horses in a race.

Fifty thousand francs! For a moment Louis had a faint idea of retreating from the scene of temptation. But what a fall! Besides, his vices bloomed and flourished in this charming centre. He had heretofore considered himself fast; but the past was a state of unsophisticated verdancy, compared with the thousand attractive sins in which he now indulged.

Then the sight of suddenly acquired fortunes, and the many examples of the successful results of hazardous ventures, inflamed his mind, and persuaded him to try his fortune in the game of speculation.

He thought that in this great, rich city, he certainly could succeed in seizing a share of the loaves and fishes.

But how? He had no idea, and he did not seek to find one. He imagined that his good fortune would some day come, and that all he had to do was to wait for it.

This is one of the errors which it is time to destroy.

Fortune is not to be wasted upon idle fools.

In this furious race of self-interest, it requires great skill to bestride the capricious mare called Opportunity, and make her lead to the end in view. Every winner must possess a strong will and a dexterous hand. But Louis did not devote much thought to the matter. Like the foolish man who wished to draw the prize without contributing to the raffle, he thought:

“Bast! opportunity, chance, a rich marriage will put me all right again!”

The rich bride failed to appear, and his last louis had gone the way of its predecessors.

To a pressing demand for money, his notary replied by a refusal.

“Your lands are all gone,” he wrote; “you now possess nothing but the chateau. It is very valuable, but it is difficult, if not impossible, to find a purchaser of so large an amount of real estate, in its present condition. I will use every effort to make a good sale, and if successful, will inform you of the fact immediately.” Louis was thunderstruck at this final catastrophe, as much surprised as if he could have expected any other result. But what could he do?

Ruined, with nothing to look forward to, the best course was to imitate the large number of poor fools who each year rise up, shine a moment, then suddenly disappear.

But Louis could not renounce this life of ease and pleasure which he had been leading for the last three years. After leaving his fortune on the battle-ground, he was willing to leave the shreds of his honor.

He first lived on the reputation of his dissipated fortune; on the credit remaining to a man who has spent much in a short space of time.

This resource was soon exhausted.

The day came when his creditors seized all they could lay their hands upon, the last remains of his opulence, his carriages, horses, and costly furniture.

He took refuge in a quiet hotel, but he could not keep away from the wealthy set whom he considered his friends.

He lived upon them as he had lived upon the tradesmen who furnished his supplies. Borrowing from one louis up to twenty-five, from anybody who would lend to him, he never pretended to pay them. Constantly betting, no one ever saw him pay a wager. He piloted all the raw young men who fell into his hands, and utilized, in rendering shameful services, an experience which had cost him two hundred thousand francs; he was half courtier, half adventurer.

He was not banished, but was made to cruelly expiate the favor of being tolerated. No one had the least regard for his feelings, or hesitated to tell him to his face what was thought of his unprincipled conduct.

Thus, when alone in his little den, he would give way to fits of violent rage. He had not yet reached a state of callousness to be able to endure these humiliations without the keenest torture to his false pride and vanity.

Envy and covetousness had long since stifled every sentiment of honor and self-respect in his base heart. For a few years of opulence he was ready to commit any crime.

And, though he did not commit a crime, he came very near it, and was the principal in a disgraceful affair of swindling and extortion, which raised such an outcry against him that he was obliged to leave Paris.

Count de Commarin, an old friend of his father, hushed up the matter, and furnished him with money to take him to England.

And how did he manage to live in London?

The detectives of the most corrupt capital in existence were the only people who knew his means of support.

Descending to the last stages of vice, the Marquis of Clameran finally found his level in a society composed of shameless women and gamblers.

Compelled to quit London, he travelled over Europe, with no other capital than his knavish audacity, deep depravity, and his skill at cards.

Finally, in 1865, he had a run of good luck at Homburg, and returned to Paris, where he imagined himself entirely forgotten.

Eighteen years had passed since he left Paris.

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