mediocrity of my talents could not impart.

In ceasing to teach music I had not abandoned the thoughts of it; on the
contrary, I had studied the theory sufficiently to consider myself well
informed on the subject. When reflecting on the trouble it had cost me
to read music, and the great difficulty I yet experienced in singing at
sight, I began to think the fault might as well arise from the manner of
noting as from my own dulness, being sensible it was an art which most
people find difficult to understand. By examining the formation of the
signs, I was convinced they were frequently very ill devised. I had
before thought of marking the gamut by figures, to prevent the trouble of
having lines to draw, on noting the plainest air; but had been stopped by
the difficulty of the octaves, and by the distinction of measure and
quantity: this idea returned again to my mind, and on a careful revision
of it, I found the difficulties by no means insurmountable. I pursued it
successfully, and was at length able to note any music whatever by
figures, with the greatest exactitude and simplicity. From this moment I
supposed my fortune made, and in the ardor of sharing it with her to whom
I owed everything, thought only of going to Paris, not doubting that on
presenting my project to the Academy, it would be adopted with rapture.
I had brought some money from Lyons; I augmented this stock by the sale
of my books, and in the course of a fortnight my resolution was both
formed and executed: in short, full of the magnificent ideas it had
inspired, and which were common to me on every occasion, I departed from
Savoy with my new system of music, as I had formerly done from Turin with
my heron-fountain.

Such have been the errors and faults of my youth; I have related the
history of them with a fidelity which my heart approves; if my riper
years were dignified with some virtues, I should have related them with
the same frankness; it was my intention to have done this, but I must
forego this pleasing task and stop here. Time, which renders justice to
the characters of most men, may withdraw the veil; and should my memory
reach posterity, they may one day discover what I had to say--they will
then understand why I am now silent.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau,
Book VI., by Jean Jacques Rousseau

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUSSEAU ***

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