he intended it should be understood it could not be my composition.  He showed signs of impatience at every passage:  but after a counter tenor song, the air of which was noble and harmonious, with a brilliant accompaniment, he could no longer contain himself; he apostrophised me with a brutality at which everybody was shocked, maintaining that a part of what he had heard was by a man experienced in the art, and the rest by some ignorant person who did not so much as understand music.  It is true my composition, unequal and without rule, was sometimes sublime, and at others insipid, as that of a person who forms himself in an art by the soarings of his own genius, unsupported by science, must necessarily be.  Rameau pretended to see nothing in me but a contemptible pilferer, without talents or taste.  The rest of the company, among whom I must distinguish the master of the house, were of a different opinion.  M. de Richelieu, who at that time frequently visited M. and Madam de la Popliniere, heard them speak of my work, and wished to hear the whole of it, with an intention, if it pleased him, to have it performed at court.  The opera was executed with full choruses, and by a great orchestra, at the expense of the king, at M. de Bonneval’s intendant of the Menus; Francoeur directed the band.  The effect was surprising:  the duke never ceased to exclaim and applaud; and, at the end of one of the choruses, in the act of Tasso, he arose and came to me, and, pressing my hand, said:  “M.  Rousseau, this is transporting harmony.  I never heard anything finer.  I will get this performed at Versailles.”

Madam de la Poliniere, who was present, said not a word.  Rameau, although invited, refused to come.  The next day, Madam de la Popliniere received me at her toilette very ungraciously, affected to undervalue my piece, and told me, that although a little false glitter had at first dazzled M. de Richelieu, he had recovered from his error, and she advised me not to place the least dependence upon my opera.  The duke arrived soon after, and spoke to me in quite a different language.  He said very flattering things of my talents, and seemed as much disposed as ever to have my composition performed before the king.  “There is nothing,” said he, “but the act of Tasso which cannot pass at court:  you must write another.”  Upon this single word I shut myself up in my apartment; and in three weeks produced, in the place of Tasso, another act, the subject of which was Hesiod inspired by the muses.  In this I found the secret of introducing a part of the history of my talents, and of the jealousy with which Rameau had been pleased to honor me.  There was in the new act an elevation less gigantic and better supported than in the act of Tasso.  The music was as noble and the composition better; and had the other two acts been equal to this, the whole piece would have supported a representation to advantage.  But whilst I was endeavoring to give it the last