racter was sadly wanting in Rousseau--how sadly,
witness such an acted piece of mad folly as the following:--

I, without knowing aught of the matter,... gave myself out for a
[musical] composer. Nor was this all: having been presented to M.
de Freytorens, law-professor, who loved music, and gave concerts at
his house, nothing would do but I must give him a sample of my
talent; so I set about composing a piece for his concert quite as
boldly as though I had really been an adept in the science. I had
the constancy to work for fifteen days on this fine affair, to copy
it fair, write out the different parts, and distribute them with as
much assurance as though it had been a masterpiece of harmony.
Then, what will scarcely be believed, but which yet is gospel
truth, worthily to crown this sublime production, I tacked to the
end thereof a pretty minuet which was then having a run on the
streets.... I gave it as my own just as resolutely as though I had
been speaking to inhabitants of the moon.

They assembled to perform my piece. I explain to each the nature of
the movement, the style of execution, and the relations of the
parts--I was very full of business. For five or six minutes they
were tuning; to me each minute seemed an age. At length, all being
ready, I rap with a handsome paper _baton_ on the leader's desk the
five or six beats of the "_Make ready_." Silence is made--I gravely
set to beating time--they commence! No, never since French operas
began, was there such a _charivari_ heard. Whatever they might have
thought of my pretended talent, the effect was worse than they
could possibly have imagined. The musicians choked with laughter;
the auditors opened their eyes, and would fain have closed their
ears. But that was an impossibility. My tormenting set of
symphonists, who seemed rather to enjoy the fun, scraped away with
a din sufficient to crack the tympanum of one born deaf. I had the
firmness to go right ahead, however, sweating, it is true, at every
pore, but held back by shame; not daring to retreat, and glued to
the spot. For my consolation I heard the company whispering to each
other, quite loud enough for it to reach my ear: "It is not
bearable!" said one. "What music gone mad!" cried another. "What a
devilish din!" added a third. Poor Jean