This state of affairs much displeased his wife, who complained bitterly, and tried to divert her husband from an occupation which earned for him nothing but disappointment. The cheerful little household changed its aspect; the children were no longer well-dressed, and the shabby furniture and empty cupboards betrayed the decay which was falling upon the family. The father saw with profound grief the wants of his household; but success seemed ever so near to him, that he could not bear to give it up. His hope at that time was but a mirage; and for long afterwards, in this struggle between intelligence and the antagonism of material things, ill fortune kept the upper hand. One day, tired out by his failures, it occurred to him that a man brought up to baking pottery would know how to bake his specimens better than he could. "I covered three or four hundred bits of broken vase with different compounds, and sent them to a _fabrique_ about a mile and a half from my house. The potters consented to put my patterns with their batch for the oven. Full of impatience, I awaited the result of this experiment. I was on hand when my specimens came out. I looked them anxiously all over; not one was successful! "The heat had not been strong enough, but I did not know this; I saw only one more useless expense of money. One of the workmen came to me and said, 'You will never make anything out of this; you had better go back to your own business.'" Palissy shook his head; he had still in his possession some few valuable articles, souvenirs of happier days, which he could sell to renew his experiments. In spite of the reproaches of his wife, he bought more ingredients and more earthenware, and made new combinations. Failure again! However, he would not be beaten. Some friends lent him a little money; he sat up at night to make new mixtures of different substances, all prepared with such care that he felt sure some of them must be good. Then he carried them again to the potters, whom he urged to the greatest care. They only shrugged their shoulders, and called him "crack brain;" and when the batch was done, they brought the results to Palissy with jeers. Some of the pieces were dirty white; others green, red, or smoked by the fire; but all alike in being dull and worthless. It was over. Discouragement took possession of Palissy. "I returned home," he says, "full of confusion and sadness. Others might seek the secret of enamels. I must set to work and earn money to pay my debts and get bread for the family."