Here the drama becomes complicated.
Cherubini, hearing that my Requiem was to be performed, worked himself into a fever, for he considered that his Requiem should have a monopoly of such ceremonies. His rights, his dignity, his genius, all set aside in favour of a hot-headed young heretic!! His friends, headed by Halévy, started a cabal to oust me.
Being one morning in the Débats office, I saw Halévy come in. Now M. Bertin, the editor, has always been one of my best and kindest friends, and the frigid reception he and his son Armand gave the visitor somewhat disconcerted him—my presence still more so—and he found a change of tactics advisable.
He followed M. Bertin into the next room, and I, through the open door, heard him say that “Cherubini took it so to heart that he was ill in bed, and he (Halévy) had come to beg M. Bertin to use his influence in getting him the consolation of the Legion of Honour.”
M. Berlin’s cold voice broke in:
“Certainly, my dear Halévy, we will do our best to get Cherubini such a well-merited distinction. But as far as the Requiem is concerned, if Berlioz gives way one jot, I will never speak to him again.”
So much for that failure. Next came a blacker plot.
General Bernard agreed that I should have a free hand, and rehearsals had already begun when M. X. sent for me again. This time it was:
“Habeneck has always conducted our great official performances, and I know he would be terribly hurt at being left out of this. Are you on good terms with him?”
“Why, no. We have quarrelled, goodness only knows why—I don’t! He has not spoken to me for three years. I never troubled to find out the reason, but he began by refusing to conduct one of my concerts. Still, if he wishes to conduct this one, he may, but I reserve the right of conducting one rehearsal.”