could not believe that, reading music so indifferently, it was possible I should compose any that was passable, and made no doubt that I had taken to myself the credit of some other person’s labors.  Monsieur de Nangis, wishing to be assured of this, called on me one morning with a cantata of Clerambault’s which he had transposed as he said, to suit his voice, and to which another bass was necessary, the transposition having rendered that of Clerambault impracticable.  I answered, it required considerable labor, and could not be done on the spot.  Being convinced I only sought an excuse, he pressed me to write at least the bass to a recitative:  I did so, not well, doubtless, because to attempt anything with success I must have both time and freedom, but I did it at least according to rule, and he being present, could not doubt but I understood the elements of composition.  I did not, therefore, lose my scholars, though it hurt my pride that there should be a concert at Chambery in which I was not necessary.

About this time, peace being concluded, the French army repassed the Alps.  Several officers came to visit Madam de Warrens, and among others the Count de Lautrec, Colonel of the regiment of Orleans, since Plenipotentiary of Geneva, and afterwards Marshal of France, to whom she presented me.  On her recommendation, he appeared to interest himself greatly in my behalf, promising a great deal, which he never remembered till the last year of his life, when I no longer stood in need of his assistance.  The young Marquis of Sennecterre, whose father was then ambassador at Turin, passed through Chambery at the same time, and dined one day at M. de Menthon’s, when I happened to be among the guests.  After dinner; the discourse turned on music, which the marquis understood extremely well.  The opera of ‘Jephtha’ was then new; he mentioned this piece, it was brought him, and he made me tremble by proposing to execute it between us.  He opened the book at that celebrated double chorus,

                    La Terra, l’Enfer, le Ciel meme,
                    Tout tremble devant le Seigneur!

               [The Earth, and Hell, and Heaven itself,
               tremble before the Lord!]

He said, “How many parts will you take?  I will do these six.”  I had not yet been accustomed to this trait of French vivacity, and though acquainted with divisions, could not comprehend how one man could undertake to perform six, or even two parts at the same time.  Nothing has cost me more trouble in music than to skip lightly from one part to another, and have the eye at once on a whole division.  By the manner in which I evaded this trial, he must have been inclined to believe I did not understand music, and perhaps it was to satisfy himself in this particular that he proposed my noting a song for Mademoiselle de Menthon, in such a manner that I could not avoid it.  He sang this song, and I wrote from his voice, without giving him much