CHAPTER V

Eugène Sue--His family, birth, godfather and godmother--His education--Dr. Sue's wine-cellar--Choir of botanists--Committee of chemistry--Dinner on the grass--Eugène Sue sets out for Spain--His return--Ferdinand Langlé's room--Captain Gauthier

Twenty kilometres from Grasse there lies a small seaport called La Calle; it is the cradle of the Sue family, celebrated both in science and letters.

La Calle is still peopled by members of this family, which, probably, composes half the population. It was from here that, towards the close of the reign of Louis XIV., a young, adventurous student set up as a doctor in Paris. Becoming successful, he sent for his nephew to come to the capital. Both became very distinguished: Pierre Sue, as Professor of Forensic and Librarian of the Medical School--he left behind him works of great scientific value--Jean Sue, as Head, surgeon to the Hospital de la Charité, Professor of the School of Medicine, Professor of Anatomy at the École des Beaux-Arts, and surgeon to King Louis XVI. This latter was succeeded by Jean-Joseph Sue, who, besides the post of Professor to the Beaux-Arts, which he inherited from his father, became principal doctor to the king's military household. It was Eugène Sue's father who had the famous discussion with Cabanis about the guillotine, the inventor making out that a person guillotined only felt a slight chill on the neck, while Jean-Joseph Sue, on the contrary, maintained that it was dreadfully painful, and defended his opinion by arguments which proved his profound knowledge of anatomy; and by experiments made by some German doctors and others. We read all the discussion in connection with our _Mille et un Fantômes_; and we admit to having taken a lively interest in it.

Eugène Sue was born on 1 January 1803. He was, consequently, five months younger than I, and a few days older than Victor Hugo. His godfather was Prince Eugène and his godmother the Empress Joséphine; hence, his Christian name Eugène. He was suckled by a goat, and, for a long while, preserved the queer, hopping gait of his foster-mother. He studied, or, rather, did not study, at the Collège Bourbon:--like all men who are destined to make for themselves an original and eminent position in literature, he was an execrable scholar. His father, a ladies' doctor, who gave a course of natural history lectures for the benefit of society people, was married three times. He was wealthy, possessing nearly two million francs, and he lived in the rue du Chemin-du-Rempart, a street which has disappeared, but which was then situated behind the Madeleine. The whole of this quarter was at that time occupied by timber-yards: the ground then not being worth half what it now is. M. Sue had a fine house there and a magnificent garden. In the same house as M. Sue, lived his sister, the mother of Ferdinand Langlé, who wrote upwards of fifty comic operas with Villeneuve between 1822 and 1830.

At the period at which we have arrived, 1817 to 1818, the two cousins went together to the Collège Bourbon, that is to say, Ferdinand Langlé went to the college, and Eugène Sue was supposed to go there. He had a private tutor at his residence, Father Delteil, a plucky Auvergnat five feet in height, who, in fulfilment of his tutorial duties, did not hesitate to have hand-to-hand tussles with his pupil, when he fled into the garden only to be pursued after the fashion of Virgil's Galatea. When in the garden, the rebellious pupil gained an arsenal containing arms defensive and offensive. The defensive arms were the borders of the botanical garden, amongst which he took refuge, where his tutor dared not follow him for fear of trampling under foot the rare plants which the fugitive scholar crushed pitilessly without remorse under foot; the offensive arms were the supporting stakes which bore labels with the scientific names of the plants thereon, stakes which Eugène Sue converted into javelins, and with which he overcame his master with a skill that would have done honour to a pupil of Castor and Pollux, the two cleverest javelin throwers of antiquity.

When it was demonstrated to Eugène's father that his son's vocation was to throw javelins and not to expound Horace and Vergil, he took him away from college, and made him enter as an assistant-surgeon at the hospital attached to the king's household, of which he himself was head-surgeon. It was situated in the rue Blanche. Eugène Sue there found his cousin, Ferdinand Langlé, and the future doctor, Louis Véron.

We have said that Eugène Sue had many of his foster-mother's characteristics: the scamp of the household, ever ready to play wicked tricks, especially on his father, who had just remarried, and who treated him very harshly. But he avenged himself well in respect of this harsh treatment! Dr. Sue employed his pupils in preparing his course of natural history lectures; the preparations were conducted in a splendid anatomical room that had been bequeathed to the Beaux-Arts. It contained, among other things, the brain of Mirabeau, preserved in a glass jar. The legitimate organisers were Eugène Sue and Ferdinand Langlé, and a friend of theirs called Delâtre, who afterwards became, and probably still is, a doctor of medicine; the amateur assistants were Achille Petit, and that old and clever friend James Rousseau, whom I have often mentioned. The preparations were quite dreary enough, but were rendered more so because close at hand were two cupboards full of wine, to which the nectar of the gods was but as the white wine of Limoux: these wines were presents which the Allied Sovereigns had given to Dr. Sue after 1814. There was Tokay, given by the Emperor of Austria; Rhenish wines, given by the King of Prussia; Johannisberg wines, given by M. de Metternich; and, finally, a hundred bottles of Alicante, given by Madame de Morville, which bore the most respectable and venerable date 1750. They had tried every possible means of opening the cupboards, which had virtuously resisted persuasion as well as force; they despaired of ever making the acquaintance of Madame de Morville's Alicante, M. de Metternich's Johannisberg, the King of Prussia's "Liebfraumilch," and the Emperor of Austria's Tokay, otherwise than by the samples which, at Dr. Sue's grand dinners, he poured out for his guests into glasses the size of a thimble, when, one day, while fumbling about in a skeleton, Eugène Sue found, by chance, a bunch of keys. They were the keys of the cupboards! First, they laid hands on a bottle of Tokay, sealed with the Imperial seal, and emptied every drop in it; then they hid the bottle. The next day it was the turn for the Johannisberg, and, the day after, for the "Liebfraumilch"; next followed the Alicante. They disposed of these three bottles in the same way as the first. But James Rousseau, who was the oldest and, consequently, possessed superior knowledge of the world to that of his young friends, who had only just ventured their first steps upon the slippery ground of society, judiciously pointed out that, at the rate they were going, they would quickly make a hole which Dr. Sue's eyes would perceive, and so find out the truth. He therefore made the astute suggestion of drinking but a third of the contents of each bottle, filling them up with some composition which should look as much like wine as possible, recorking them scientifically and putting them back in their places again. Ferdinand Langlé approved the suggestion, and added an amendment: namely, to proceed to the great and solemn occasion of opening the cupboard in old-fashioned style, to the accompaniment of the singing of choruses. Both propositions were carried unanimously. That same day they opened a cupboard to a chorus copied from _La Leçon de botanique,_ by Dupaty. The Corypheus sang--

"Que l'amour et la botanique N'occupent pas tous les instants; Il faut aussi que l'on s'applique A boire le vin des parents!

CHŒUR. Buvons le vin des grands parents!"

Then precept was followed by example. When started, they composed a second chorus for the work. Their work consisted especially in stuffing the magnificent birds which they received from all four quarters of the globe.

This is the chorus of the workers--

"Goûtons le sort que le ciel nous destine; Reposons-nous sur le sein des oiseaux; Mêlons le camphre à la térébenthine. Et par le vin égayons nos travaux."

Whereupon, they took a second pull at the bottle, which was soon half-emptied. They next had to follow James Rousseau's counsel and fill it up. For this purpose they appointed a chemical committee, comprised of Ferdinand Langlé, Eugène Sue and Delâtre; later, Romieu was added to it. This chemical committee concocted a horrible mixture of treacle, liquorice and burnt sugar, replaced the wine with the improvised mixture, recorked the bottle as carefully as possible and put it back in its place. When it was a white wine, they clarified the preparation with beaten-up white of egg. But punishment occasionally falls upon the guilty.

M. Sue gave large and splendid dinner-parties: at dessert, they sometimes drank Madame de Morville's Alicante, sometimes His Majesty the Emperor of Austria's Tokay, at others, M. de Metternich's Johannisberg, or the King of Prussia's "Liebfraumilch." All went swimmingly if they happened to fall upon an unopened bottle; but, if they lit upon one examined and corrected by the committee of chemistry.... Well, they had to swallow the drink! Dr. Sue tasted his wine, made a slight grimace, and said, "It is good, but wants to be drunk!" This was so great a truth, and the wine did indeed cry out to be drunk, that next day they began drinking it again. Such a performance was bound to end in a catastrophe, and this one proved no exception. One day, when they believed Dr. Sue to be at his country place of Bouqueval, from whence they reckoned he could not well return in the day, they managed, by dint of various seductive overtures to the cook and the servants, to have an excellent dinner served them on the lawn in the garden. All the bird-stuffers, the chemical committee included, were present, lying about on the grass, crowned by roses like Sybarites, drinking Tokay and Johannisberg, or, rather, having drunk it, when, suddenly, the door of the house leading out into the garden opened, and the commander appeared--the commander being Dr. Sue. Every one of them fled and hid; Rousseau alone took up his empty glass, refilled a second glass, and, stumbling forward straight towards the doctor, he said--

"Ah! dear Doctor Sue, this is the famous Tokay! Let us drink the health of the Emperor of Austria!"

One can imagine the doctor's wrath when he found the empty Tokay bottle on the grass, together with two bottles of Johannisberg and three of Alicante. They had drunk the Alicante like common wine. Talk of thievery, of procureur du roi, of police correctionnelle, rolled in the air like thunder rolling in the clouds during a storm. Profound was the terror of the guilty parties. Delâtre knew of a dried-up well near Clermont and proposed to take refuge in it!

A week later, Eugène Sue set out as assistant to explore the country of Spain (in 1823). He did this and stayed a year at Cadiz, only returning to Paris at the beginning of 1825. The heat of the Trocadero had made his hair and moustache grow; he was as beardless as an apple when he left, and he returned as hairy as a king of the primitive races and as bearded as a moujik. This capillary growth doubtless flattered the doctor's vanity, but it did not serve to unloosen his purse-strings, which he kept tightly shut.

Desforges who had a small private fortune, and Ferdinand Langlé whose mother worshipped him, were the two Crœsuses of society; several times, as did Crœsus with Cæsar, they presented not 30,000,000 sesterces, but 20, 30, 40, 50 and even 100 francs to the most necessitous of the joyous band. Besides his purse, Ferdinand Langlé put at the disposition of the members of the society, who were never sure of a bed or supper, his own room in M. Sue's house, and the meal his mother always put ready for him every night.

Ferdinand Langlé, then a tall fellow of twenty-three, author of a dozen vaudevilles, lover of the charming girl called Fleurriet, who died before her time, an actress at the Gymnase,[1] rarely slept at home, but, as the servant told his mother that Ferdinand lived with the frugality of a monk, the good mother ordered a meal to be put upon his bedroom table every night. The servant put the supper on the table, and the key of the little street door in an agreed spot. When a belated one was homeless he turned his steps to the rue du Chemin-du-Rempart, put his hand into a hole in the wall, found the key there, opened the door, religiously put the key back in its place, drew the door to behind him, lit the candle and, if he were the first to come, ate, drank and slept in the bed. If a second followed the first, he found the key in the same place, entered in the same way, ate the remains of the fowl, drank the rest of the wine, lifted the bedclothes in his turn and dived underneath them. If a third followed, the same game was played with the key and door, only the visitor found no more fowl or wine and no room in the bed, but ate the rest of the bread and drank a glass of water and stretched himself upon the couch. And so _ad infinitum._ If the number increased immoderately, the last-comers drew a mattress from the bed and slept on the floor. One night, Rousseau arrived last and counted fourteen legs. It was in this room that Henry Monnier and Romieu met for the first time and made each other's acquaintance. Next day they thee'd and thou'd each other, and continued to do so until Romieu was appointed prefect and _tutoya_-ed people no more. Next morning, they were pretty often awakened by a visitor, a brigadier of the _Gardes,_ who, in passing by, came to look at the state of Ferdinand Langlé's wine cellar. This brigadier, whom I knew well, deserves particular mention. His name was Gauthier de Villiers. He was not only one of the bravest soldiers in the army, but one of the most active boxers in France. The word boxer applies here to his whole body. What became of Captain Gauthier, I have no idea. I would gladly see him once more, even at the risk of his breaking my wrist in shaking hands. He had the courage and the good-heartedness of Porthos. Not for the whole world would he have given a fillip to a child; but he had more wit than M. de Pierrefonds. He had served in the Horse Grenadiers of the Empire; he had made a special name for himself as a sabreman; when he charged and stabbed an enemy on horseback, he would lift him from his horse by the strength of his wrist and throw him behind him, as though he were a truss of hay. Gauthier stopped with one hand a tilbury that was going at full trot. He would get off his horse, put it on his shoulders and carry it for ten, fifteen or twenty yards with almost as much ease as his horse carried him. He would pick up a china plate and put his finger through it with the same ease as a bullet passes through a cardboard target. One day at the barracks, they did him an injustice for which he wanted to have satisfaction. He waited on the bridge of the Tuileries for King Louis XVIII., who was to come out. Just as His Majesty's carriage passed out at a fast trot, as usual, Gauthier leaped to the horses' heads and stopped the coach dead. Louis XVIII. put his head out of the window and recognised his brigadier _aux_ _gardes._

"Ah! it is you," he said, in his little piping voice, "it is you, Gauthier. Well, what do you want, my friend?"

Gauthier then came up and laid bare his request.

"I will examine into it, I will examine into it," replied Louis XVIII.

A week later justice was done Gauthier.

He had a special gift for saving life. If a man fell into the water and was drowning, Gauthier jumped in and saved him; if any house caught fire and some tardy inmate was in risk of being burned, Gauthier would save the laggard. He saved old Vatteville from the Odéon conflagration, and thirty-seven or eight others besides. Gauthier went out in the African campaign as interpreter, and lived at Algiers. In the expeditions made round the town, he took a little cannon of four, instead of a rifle. When he came up to the enemy he put it in position for firing, and discharged it. At other times, he was contented with a rampart gun. While in the guards he had a magnificent horse which had the following history. It had the twofold fault of throwing its rider to the ground, and, when he was there, of bending to bite him: they decided to kill it. But, when proceeding to the execution, Gauthier came into the Hôtel du quai d'Orsay, and saw the whole company assembled together, deploring the loss of such a splendid horse. He inquired into the matter.

"Good!" he said, "I will tackle it; but on condition that, if I conquer it, it shall be mine."

The bargain was agreed to, and they handed him a bridle. The horse quietly allowed itself to be mounted; so Gauthier had not much trouble in leaping on its back. When he was there, the horse began its tricks and games, shying to right and to left, etc., but the rebellious animal did not know with whom it had to deal. Gauthier began to press his knees in; the horse, which was breathing hard, redoubled its leapings: Gauthier pressed more strongly. It was a splendid struggle to watch; the horse was vanquished, and ended by falling on its knees and lying down. Gauthier leapt off to free himself from the animal, then he waited. The horse was cured of his first fault, which consisted in throwing its rider; it must also be cured of its second habit of biting. As we have said, Gauthier remained standing ten yards from the horse. He had subjugated it like another Alexander; it remained to find out if he was to be devoured by it like another Diomede. In fact, as the horse regained its breath its eye went red, its nostrils smoked with anger; it raised itself on its fore legs, then on its hind, looked at its enemy, neighed and rushed upon him. Gauthier waited for it in the position of a boxer; he gave it a blow on the nose and broke two teeth, the horse reared with pain, turned round on its hind legs, and went into its stable. It was conquered. You, d'Arpentigny, will remember that, you too, Leroi and Ferdinand Langlé, my old friends in the Guards?

Well, Gauthier was one of the morning callers. He went straight to the cellar, applied his lips to the flask of rum or brandy, and swallowed as much as was in it. He began by feeling in his pockets; we must do him that justice, but they were as empty as the cellar. Then, seeing three or four waistcoats and as many trousers lying about haphazard, he began to pass them in review. The sleepers watched him do it, one eye half open and the other completely shut; they were quite easy, for it was neither their waistcoats nor their trousers that Gauthier wanted: he could hardly get into the largest--he wanted their contents, and they contained nothing. Romieu alone manifested some disquietude; he had 19 sous in his waistcoat pocket. Gauthier fell upon the treasure. Romieu wanted to get up and dispute possession of his 19 sous with Gauthier. Gauthier pinned him down on his sofa with one hand, and, with the other, rang for the servant. When he appeared, Gauthier said to him--

"Go and fetch 19 sous' worth of brandy."

The servant prepared to obey.

"But, _sacre bleu!_" said Romieu, "I live in the faubourg Saint-Germain: as least leave me a son to cross the pont des Arts."

"That is quite reasonable," said Gauthier, putting back one son into Romieu's waistcoat. "Go and fetch me 18 sous' worth of brandy," he said to the servant.

It was upon that day and occasion that the robbed one, whom Gauthier had deprived of his 18 sous, but not of his spirits and quick-wittedness, made the famous chanson--

"J'nai qu'un son, J'nai qu'un son, La richess' n'est pas l'Pérou! Je dîn'rai je ne sais pas où; Mais, pour sûr, je n'ai qu'un son!"

I forget the rest of it, so ask Henri Monnier to sing it you and he will recollect as vividly as I do the occasion upon which it was made.

[Footnote 1: I have already spoken of her in connection with my literary beginnings with de Leuven. Castaing was accused of having poisoned her, but she really died from the effects of a fit of anger against Poirson, manager of the Gymnase, concerning the engagement by that theatre of Madame Théodore. The fit of anger brought on brain fever, which carried her off in forty-eight hours.]