GLIMPSES OF CHERUBINI

Cherubini had a reputation for being gruff—an old bear of a man. But now and then a flash of warmth or humor would break through and show there was more to him.

One day at the Paris Conservatoire, where he was director, a father arrived with his talented young son and asked for admission. Cherubini snapped, “What do you want? I don’t take infants in to nurse!”

The father nearly gave up on the spot. But someone directed him to take the boy into a room and have him play whatever he could, and—crucially—not to stop playing when Cherubini entered.

Soon Cherubini came in, listened, and was genuinely startled by the child’s skill. He questioned the boy on musical principles and, impressed, admitted him immediately. Later Cherubini told the story with a grin: he said he had to be careful not to push his questions too far, because the “baby” was starting to prove he knew more music than Cherubini did.

When Berlioz was a student at the Conservatoire, he and Cherubini were often at war. On one examination day, Cherubini looked through a piece Berlioz had submitted and hit a full rest lasting two measures.

“What’s that?” he demanded.

“Mr. Director,” Berlioz replied, “I wanted an effect that I thought could best be produced by silence.”

“So,” Cherubini said, “you thought the audience would feel the effect if you removed two measures?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent,” Cherubini replied. “Remove the rest of it. The effect will be even better.”

There’s also a little exchange that captures his knife-edged wit. A friend once handed Cherubini a score and said it was by Méhul. Cherubini looked it over and said, “It isn’t Méhul’s—it’s too bad to be his.”

“Then will you believe me if I tell you it’s mine?” the visitor asked.

“No,” Cherubini answered. “It’s too good to be yours.”