A fortnight later my mother took me to a concert where the same symphony [Symphony Pathetic] was played in memory of its composer [Peter Tchaikovsky], who had been suddenly carried off by cholera. Deeply though I was impressed by the unexpected death of the great musician, I was far from realizing at the moment that this glimpse of the living Tchaikovsky – fleeting though it was – would become one of my most treasured memories. / (…) At this point I am simply recording a personal memory of the celebrated composer, for whom my admiration has continued to grow with the development of my musical consciousness. / I think that the beginning of my conscious life as artist and musician dates from this time. << less