him, and covered with mud from the Boulevards; and it was an amusement
to the frivolous Parisians to see him stride along in these peculiar
garments, his face bearing the impress of the trouble and overstrain
he was enduring. He was at the mercy of every one. The manager hurried
and harried him, because the only hope of saving the theatre from
bankruptcy was the immediate production of a successful play. The
actors, knowing the piece was not finished, each clamoured for a part
to suit his or her peculiar idiosyncrasies, and Balzac was so
overburdened, that occasionally in despair he was tempted to abandon
his play altogether.

There was tremendous excitement in Paris about the approaching first
representation of "Vautrin"; and foreign politics, banquets, and even
the burning question of reform, paled in interest before the great
event. All the seats were sold beforehand; and as there was a rush for
the tickets, Balzac and Harel chose their audience, and thought that
they had managed to secure one friendly to Balzac. Unfortunately,
however, the seats were sold so early that many of them were parted
with at a profit by the first buyers, and in the end a large
proportion of the spectators were avowedly hostile to Balzac. March
14th, 1840, was the important date, and Balzac wrote to Madame Hanska:
"I have gone through many miseries, and if I have a success they will
be completely over. Imagine what my anxiety will be during the evening
when 'Vautrin' is being acted. In five hours' time it will be decided
whether I pay or do not pay my debts."[*]

[*] "Lettres a l'Etrangere."

He was very nervous beforehand, and told Leon Gozlan that he was
afraid there would be a terrible disaster.

The plot of the play is extraordinary and impossible. Vautrin, the
Napoleon among convicts, who appears in several of Balzac's novels, is
the hero; he had declared war against society, and the scene of the
drama, with Vautrin as the principal figure, passes in the
aristocratic precincts of the Faubourg St. Germain. The theatre was
crowded for the performance, and the first three acts, though received
coldly, went off without interruption. At the fourth act, however, the
storm burst, as Frederick Lemaitre, who evidently felt qualms about
the success of his part, had determined to make it comic, and appeared
in the strange costume of a Mexican general, with a hat trimmed with
white feathers, surmounted by a bird of paradise. Worse still, whe