Towards the end of 1825, Eugène Sue returned from Toulon. He found La Nouveauté in a most prosperous state. As his friend Ferdinand Langlé was the manager; as Sue had just had an à-propos played at Toulon of which he was the author, he naturally became editor of the paper. They asked him for articles, and he did four, a series entitled L'Homme-Mouche.
These were the first items by the author of Mathilde and of the Mystères de Paris, which had been printed; it seems strange we should give them here. Our Memoirs, as we have said, are the literary archives of the first half of the nineteenth century; besides, it is always interesting to artists to study the early start of men who have attained to the height of our illustrious confrère.
The four articles which he wrote appeared on Monday, 23 January 1826, Wednesday 25, Sunday 29, Tuesday 31.[1] We can see that the opposition of our friend Eugène Sue does not date from yesterday.
Meantime, La Nouveauté did not pay its contributors very well. On the other hand, Dr. Sue remained inflexible: he had taken to heart not only the wine drunk, but, still more, the wine they had spoiled! There remained one source, of which they only availed themselves on great occasions; this was a Louis XVI. enamel-backed watch, given by his good godmother, the Empress Joséphine. In extreme cases, they took it to the pawnshop and got 150 francs on it. This defrayed the expenses of the Shrove Tuesday of 1826; but then, after holding out as long as possible, he had to take the step of going away into the country. Bouqueval offered the young men rural and frugal hospitality, so they went there.
Easter arrived, and with it some guests; each had promised to bring his share of food: one a lobster, another a meat pie, etc.; but, as ill luck would have it, each counted on his neighbour, and, all of them probably being short of money, none of them brought anything. They went straight to the stables and killed a sheep: it was a magnificent merino, which Dr. Sue was keeping for show purposes! It was skinned, roasted and eaten up to the very last cutlet. When the doctor learnt this fresh misdeed he got into an abominable temper! Happily, Eugène Sue confronted these paternal outbreaks with admirable serenity. The good lad had a charming nature, he was ever gay, joyous and laughing. Is he still the same, now that he is a man? Care has lined his face, and exile weighs heavily on his heart! Orders were given for Eugène Sue to leave Paris. He went into the navy, and made two voyages to the Antilles—hence, his novel Atar Gull and his magnificent landscape passages, which read like fairyland, seen through the fissures of a stage curtain. Then he returned to France. A decisive battle was to be fought against the Turks: Eugène Sue embarked in his official capacity as adjutant on board the Breslau, Captain la Bretonnière; he was present at the battle of Navarino, and brought back as spolia opima a magnificent Turkish costume—which, on his return, was eaten up to the last bit of lace—a sabre and a Koran. Whilst living on the Turkish costume, Eugène Sue, who by degrees was picking up the taste for literature, had acted, with Desforges, Monsieur le Marquis. Finally, about the same time, Flick et Flock, his first departure in the way of a novel, appeared in La Mode.
Meanwhile, Eugène's maternal grandfather died, leaving him nearly 75,000 francs. Here was an inexhaustible fortune! So the young poet, who was then twenty-four, sent in his resignation to the ministre de la marine, and furnished his house. We say that he furnished his house, because Eugène Sue, artist by custom and instinct was the first to furnish a suite of rooms in the modern fashion; he was the first to have all those charming knick-knacks which no one then wanted, but which everybody snatches at nowadays: coloured glasses, china plates, Saxe china, renaissance chests, Turkish sabres Malayan daggers, etc. Then he went to Gudin's studio and began to paint. We have said that Eugène Sue drew or rather sketched, quite cleverly. He had, I remember, brought an album from Navarino of twofold curiosity, both from the illustrations, and from the artistic point of view. It was while with the famous sea painter that the last of Eugène Sue's escapades happened, and this closed the list of those youthful follies which had made the society of Rousseau, Romieu and Eugène Sue notorious. We have related in connection with the parody of Henry IV., the famous attack made on the porter in the rue du Mont-Blanc, known by the nickname of Portier je veux de tes cheveux, which found its way into Les Mystères de Paris.
Gudin, who was then thirty, was already in the full tide of his talent and the splendour of his renown; amateurs snatched at his works, women quarrelled over the man Gudin, like all artists of a certain standing, received letters from unknown women from time to time, desiring to make his acquaintance, and making appointments with him for that purpose. One day, he received two such both letters fixing the same hour. Gudin could not break himself in two, and he spoke of his difficulty to Eugène Sue. So Eugène Sue offered to take his place. It is but a step from pupil to master; besides, there was a great physical resemblance between the two men: they were the same height, both wore beards, had dark hair, fine eyes, and splendid teeth; one was twenty-seven, and the other thirty; the worst treated of the two unknown women could not have cried out against the thief. Furthermore, they put the two letters in a hat, and each took his out. From that moment, and during the rest of the day, there were two Gudins and no Eugène Sue. Each went to his appointed place that night; next day, both returned enchanted. The thing might have lasted for ever, but inquisitiveness always destroys women—witness Eve and Psyche. The lady who had obtained the false Gudin as her share had artistic tastes; when she had made the painter's acquaintance, she would insist upon visiting the studio to see Gudin work, palette and paint-brush in hand. Among the number of inquisitive women, we have forgotten Semele, who wanted to see her lover Jupiter in all his splendour, and who was burned alive by a flash of lightning. The false Gudin could not withstand the many pleadings, and consented to grant a rendezvous to the beauteous curieuse on the morrow. She was to come at two o'clock in the afternoon, the most favourable time of day for light on painting. At a quarter to two, Eugène Sue, clad in magnificent livery, waited in Gudin's antechamber; at a few minutes to two, the bell was tremulously rung by the happy visitor. Eugène Sue went to open the door. The lady, eager to see everything, began by casting her glances on the servant, who looked a smart, strapping youth, and who bowed humbly before her. Her examination was followed by a terrible cry. "Horrors! A lackey!..." The lady hid her face in her handkerchief and ran precipitately down the stairs. At a masked ball soon after, Eugène Sue met her again, and tried to renew acquaintance with her; but she persisted in believing that he was still disguised, and Eugène Sue could not get anything from her but the words he had heard before—"Horrors! a lackey!..."
The campaign of Algiers arrived, and Gudin went with the expedition; the two friends became separated. Eugène Sue took to literature. Atar Gull was begun at this period. Then came the July Revolution. Eugène Sue and Desforges together wrote a comedy entitled Le Fils de l'Homme. Barthélemy's poem will be recollected upon the same subject: the King of Rome, a poetic figure, lonely and imprisoned at Schönbrünn, as Napoleon had been at St. Helena. Youthful memories awoke in Eugène Sue; he remembered that Joséphine had been his godmother, and that he bore the name of Prince Eugène.