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.