And I had to smile as I recalled an incident at a Kreisler rehearsal in the Paris Opéra one morning about ten years ago, which revealed the exact antithesis of this global thinking in literature, art, the theatre, and music. Kreisler was playing a concerto by Mozart (that “supreme internationalist and equalitarian in art,” as Olin Downes felicitously put it) – playing with that intense, human mellowness of his which speaks to all peoples, to all classes, to all ages. The conductor was Philippe Gaubert, and his face, as well as those of the musicians, reflected the joy of participating in an ineffably beautiful musical moment. At last Gaubert could not contain himself any longer, and – even while conducting- blurted out: “How that man plays! How beautifully…comme s’…il était français!” / The insularity of that praise- which was intended to be all-encompassing- shattered the enchantment of the moment, for me at least. But I quickly recovered what the well-meaning Frenchman had made me lose. Kreisler was still playing, and I silently corrected Gaubert’s “comme s’il etait français” by going beyond that, beyond even Goethe’s “Good European,” to the highest rung of praise: “He plays like…a citizen of the world!”