But my eye was upon him; turning on my heel, in a flash I stretched out my arm and marked the four mighty beats. The executants followed me, all went right, and my long-dreamed-of effect was a magnificent triumph. “Dear me,” bleated Habeneck, “I was quite in a perspiration; without you we should have been done for.” “Yes, we should,” I answered, eyeing him steadily. Could it be that this man, in conjunction with M. X. and Cherubini, planned this dastardly stroke? I do not like to think so, yet I have not the slightest doubt. God forgive me if I wrong them. The Requiem had succeeded, but then began the usual sordid trouble about payment. General Bernard, a thoroughly honourable man, had promised me ten thousand francs for the performance as soon as I brought from the Minister of the Interior a promise to pay the sum ordered by the late Minister--M. de Gasparin--and also that due to the copyists and choristers. But do you think I could get this letter? It was written out ready for his signature, and from ten to four I waited in his ante-room. At last he emerged and, being button-holed by his secretary, scrawled his name to the precious document, and without a moment’s loss of time I hurried off to General Bernard, who promptly handed me the ten thousand francs, which I spent entirely in paying the performers. Of course I thought the Minister’s three thousand would soon follow. _Sancta simplicitas!_ Will it be credited that only by making most unpleasant, almost scandalous, scenes could I, at the end of _eight months_, get that money? Later on, when my good friend, M. de Gasparin, again came into office, he tried to make up for my mortification by giving me the Legion of Honour. But by that time I was past caring for such a commonplace distinction. Duponchel, manager of the Opera and Bordogni, the singing-master, got it at the same time. When the Requiem was printed, I dedicated it to M. de Gasparin, all the more willingly that he was not then in power. What added greatly to the humour of the situation was that the opposition newspapers dubbed me a “Government parasite,” and said I had been paid thirty thousand francs. They only added a nought. Thus is history written. Ere long Cherubini played me another charming trick. A professorship of Harmony was vacant at the Conservatoire, for which I applied. Cherubini sent for me, and, in his most honeyed voice, said: “Is it zat you present yourself for ze ’armonee?” “Yes, monsieur.” “Zen you vill get it. You ’ave a reputation, influence----” “Since I asked for it because I want it, I am glad, monsieur.” “Yes, but zat is vhere I am bothair; I vill zat anozzer get it.” “Then, monsieur, I withdraw.” “No, no! I vill not ’ave zat, because you see zey will say I am ze cause zat you vizdraw.” “Then I won’t withdraw.” “But--but--zen you vill get ze place--and I did not vish it for you.” “Then what am I to do?”