I had also, most happily, made friends some time before with a young man named Humbert Ferrand--still one of my closest friends--who had written the _Francs-Juges_ libretto for me, and in hot haste I was writing the music. Both poem and music were refused by the Opera committee and were shelved, with the exception of the overture; I, however, used up the best _motifs_ in other ways. Ferrand also wrote a poem on the Greek Revolution, which at that time fired all our enthusiasm; this too I arranged. It was influenced entirely by Spontini, and was the means of giving my innocence its first shock at contact with the world, and of awakening me rudely to the egotism of even great artists. Rudolph Kreutzer was then director of the Opera House, where, during Holy Week, some sacred concerts were to be given. Armed with a letter of introduction from Monsieur de Larochefoucauld, Minister of Fine Arts, and with Lesueur’s warm commendations, I hoped to induce Kreutzer to give my scena. Alas for youthful illusions! This great artist--author of the _Death of Abel_, on which I had written him heaven only knows what nonsense some months before--received me most rudely. “My good friend” (he did not know me in the least), he said shortly, turning his back on me, “we can’t try new things at sacred concerts--no time to work at them. Lesueur knows that perfectly well.” With a swelling heart I went away. The following Sunday Lesueur had it out with him in the Chapel Royal, where he was first violin. Turning on my master in a temper, he said: “Confound it all! If we let in all these young folks, what is to become of us?” He was at least plain spoken! Winter came on apace. In working at my opera I had rather neglected my pupils, and my Pont Neuf dining-room, growing cold and damp, was no longer suitable for my feasts of Lucullus. How should I get warm clothes and firewood? Hardly from my lessons at a franc a piece, since they might stop any day. Should I write to my father and acknowledge myself beaten, or die of hunger in Paris? Go back to La Côte to vegetate? Never. The mere idea filled me with maddening energy, and I resolved to go abroad to join some orchestra in New York or Mexico, to turn sailor, buccaneer, savage, anything, rather than give in. I can’t help my nature. It is about as wise to sit on a gunpowder barrel to prevent it exploding as it is to cross my will.