We seemed to be nearly at the end of our troubles.  Du Locle had found a wonderful dancer in Italy on whom we depended, but the dancer turned out not to be one at all.  She was a mime, and did not dance.

As there was no time to look for another dancer that season du Locle, to keep me patient, had me write with Louis Gallet La Princesse Jaune, with which I made my debut on the stage.  I was thirty-five!  This harmless little work was received with the fiercest hostility.  “It is impossible to tell,” wrote Jouvin, a much feared critic of the time, “in what key or in what time the overture is written.”  And to show me how utterly wrong I was, he told me that the public was “a compound of angles and shadows.”  His prose was certainly more obscure than my music.

Finally, a real dancer was engaged in Italy.  It seemed as though nothing more could prevent the appearance of the unfortunate Timbre.  “I can’t believe it,” I said.  “Some catastrophe will put us off again.”

War came!

When that frightful crisis was at an end, the dancer was re-engaged.  The parts were read to the artists, and the next day Amede Achard threw up his role, declaring that it belonged to grand opera and was beyond the powers of an opera-comique tenor.  It is well known that he ended his career at the Opera.

Another tenor had to be found, but tenors are rare birds and we were unable to get one.  To use the dancer he had engaged du Locle had Gallet and Guiraud improvise a short act, Le Kobold, which met with great success.  The dancer was exquisite.  Then du Locle lost interest in Le Timbre d’Argent and then came the failure of the Opera-Comique.

During all these tribulations I was preparing Samson, although I could find no one who even wanted to hear me speak of it.  They all thought that I must be mad to attempt a Biblical subject.  I gave a hearing of the second act at my house, but no one understood it at all.  Without the aid of Liszt, who did not know a note of it, but who engaged me to finish it and put it on at Weimar, Samson. would never have seen the light.  Afterwards it was refused in succession by Halanzier, Vaucorbeil, and Ritt and Gailhard, who decided to take it only after they had heard it sung by that admirable singer Rosine Bloch.

But to return to Le Timbre d’Argent.  I was again on the street with my score under my arm.  About that time Vizentini revived the Theatre-Lyrique.  His first play was Paul et Virginie, a wonderful success, and he was preparing for the close of the season another work which he liked.  They were kindly disposed to me at the Ministry of Fine Arts and they interested themselves in my misfortunes.  So they gave the Theatre-Lyrique a small subsidy on condition that they play my work.  I came to the theatre as one who has meddled and I quickly recognized the discomforts of my position.  First, there was a search for a singer; then, for a tenor, and they tried several without success.  I found a tenor who, according to all reports, was of the first rank, but, after several days of negotiation, the matter was dropped.  I learned later from the artist that the manager intended to engage him for only four performances, evidently planning that the work should be played only four times.