The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau — CompleteRousseau, Jean-Jacques
Philosophy
The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau — Complete
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques
Authors, French -- 18th century -- Biography; Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 1712-1778
Venture had taught me this air with the bass, set to other words, by the
help of which I had retained it: thus at the end of my composition, I
put this minuet and bass, suppressing the words, and uttering it for my
own as confidently as if I had been speaking to the inhabitants of
the moon. They assembled to perform my piece; I explain to each the
movement, taste of execution, and references to his part--I was fully
occupied. They were five or six minutes preparing, which were for me so
many ages: at length, everything is adjusted, myself in a conspicuous
situation, a fine roll of paper in my hand, gravely preparing to beat
time. I gave four or five strokes with my paper, attending with “take
care!” they begin--No, never since French operas existed was there such
a confused discord! The minuet, however, presently put all the company
in good humor; hardly was it begun, before I heard bursts of laughter
from all parts, every one congratulated me on my pretty taste for music,
declaring this minuet would make me spoken of, and that I merited the
loudest praise. It is not necessary to describe my uneasiness, or to own
how much I deserved it.
Next day, one of the musicians, named Lutold, came to see me and was
kind enough to congratulate me on my success. The profound conviction
of my folly, shame, regret, and the state of despair to which I was
reduced, with the impossibility of concealing the cruel agitation of my
heart, made me open it to him; giving, therefore, a loose to my tears,
not content with owning my ignorance, I told all, conjuring him to
secrecy; he kept his word, as every one will suppose. The same evening,
all Lausanne knew who I was, but what is remarkable, no one seemed
to know, not even the good Perrotet, who (notwithstanding what had
happened) continued to lodge and board me.
I led a melancholy life here; the consequences of such an essay had not
rendered Lausanne a very agreeable residence. Scholars did not present
themselves in crowds, not a single female, and not a person of the city.
I had only two or three great dunces, as stupid as I was ignorant, who
fatigued me to death, and in my hands were not likely to edify much.
At length, I was sent for to a house, where a little serpent of a girl
amused herself by showing me a parcel of music that I could not read
a note of, and which she had the malice to sing before her master, to
teach him how it should be executed; for I was so unable to read an air
at first sight, that in the charming concert I have just described, I
could not possibly follow the execution a moment, or know whether they
played truly what lay before them, and I myself had composed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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