Words cannot express my deep grief at this announcement of the terrible misfortune which had come upon me. It darkened my days just at the time when it seemed as if a kind heaven wished to drive away the clouds. In accordance with my mother's last wishes, she was embalmed the next day. My sister and I, both prostrated by grief, were there, when we were surprised by the sudden appearance of Hartmann. I dragged him swiftly away from the painful sight, and he hurried out, but not before he had said, "You are down for the cross!" Poor mother! how proud she would have been! March, 21, 1875 _Dear Friend:_ If I had not lost your card and, consequently, your address, for which I searched for a quarter of an hour in the _Testaccio_ of my papers, I would have told you yesterday of my keen joy and deep emotion at hearing your _Ève_ and at its success. The triumph of one of the Elect should be a festival for the Church. And you are one of the Elect, my dear friend; Heaven has marked you with a sign as one of its children; I feel it in everything which your beautiful work has stirred in my heart. But prepare for the martyr's rôle--for the part which must be played by all who come from on high and offend what comes from below. Remember that when the Lord said, "He is one of the Elect," he added, "And I will show him how greatly he must suffer in my name." Wherefore, my dear friend, spread forth your wings boldly, and trust yourself fearlessly to the lofty regions where the lead of earth cannot hit the bird of heaven. Yours with all my heart, CH. GOUNOD. CHAPTER XI MY DÉBUT AT THE OPERA Death, which by taking away my mother had stricken me in my dearest affections, had also taken her mother from my dear wife. So we lived the next summer at Fontainebleau in a sorrowful house of mourning. Remembrance of the dear departed still hung over us, when I learned on the fifth of June of the death of Bizet. The news came like a thunder clap. Bizet had been a sincere and affectionate comrade, and I had a respectful admiration for him although we were about the same age. His life was very hard. He felt the spirit within him, and he believed that his future glory would outlive him. _Carmen_, famous for forty years, appeared to those called upon to judge a work which contained good things, although it was somewhat incomplete, and also--what did they not say at the time?--a dangerous and immoral subject. What a lesson on too hasty judgments!... On returning to Fontainebleau after the gloomy funeral I tried to take up my life again and work on _Le Roi de Lahore_ on which I had already been busy for several months. The summer that year was particularly hot and enervating. I was so depressed that one day when a tremendous storm broke I felt almost annihilated and let myself fall asleep.