As might be supposed, Parisian concerts widened and deepened my knowledge of music. Several times we went to the Opéra Comique, once or twice to the Opéra itself, sitting way up in the gallery and finding the experience tremendously exciting. Apart from opera, there were many concerts, of course, but the detail of all of them is obliterated now by the glory of the Eroica Symphony, first heard in the Salle Gaveau under Paul Paray’s direction. I must have heard more than one Beethoven symphony in San Francisco; I had never heard the Eroica, and its meaning, its power, its capacity to move were a revelation. Not being tall enough to sit clear of the velvet-covered balustrade in front of the seats, I lodged my chin on the velvet, and so remained, literally transfixed, from start to finish. It was a landmark in my life, balanced a year or so ago by the exultation of conducting the Eroica myself. << less