Last fall Virgil Thomson and I, featured stars on the same concert, were seated together in the front row of a small auditorium. Virgil, so deaf now as to find all music pointless and unable to gauge the force of his own voice, remains nevertheless the least foolish man around. The lights dimmed as we chatted of this and that, and I asked him where to stay in Paris. "Hôtel du Quai Voltaire is the only place," said Virgil - whereupon a lady in taupe chiffon emerged onto the stage to play his Violin Sonata. Virgil dropped off. During a hush after the first movement, as the player retuned her fiddle, Virgil awoke and piped resonantly: "But you can't bring anyone up to your room." << less