I vill not ave zat! She is bad—bad; she is impossible to play.”

Cherubini heard the title of my new work and instantly rejected it, declaring it bad and unplayable. He knew only that it was written for a contest, not realizing that such rules demand fresh voices rather than safe repetitions. I stood before him in the Conservatoire corridor, holding nothing but my score and a desperate hope to be heard by Paris. The old master refused to listen past his own prejudice, fearing that anything new would disturb the quiet order of his academy.

I ask you to face your own fears when someone tells you your work is impossible. Do not let the title or the origin of a piece blind you to its truth. Listen to the music itself before you judge the man who wrote it, for greatness often arrives dressed in unfamiliar clothes.