new entertainment. I could
have wished something comic, but I was not fond of buffoonery, and there
were no good comedies; I therefore gave the preference to tragedy. As
the operas of Metastasio were then represented everywhere, even without
music, I put the airs into recitative; I endeavored as well as I could
to approximate the style of that charming author; and I made choice of
'Didone' and 'Siroe' for our representation. I distributed the parts
according to the characters of my actors, whom I knew, and I reserved
the worst for myself. In this I acted wisely, for I was completely
unsuited for tragedy. Fortunately, I had composed two small pieces in
which I played two parts of character, and redeemed my reputation.
The first of these pieces was 'The Good Father,' and the second 'La
Cantatrice.' Both were approved of, and my acting was considered
passable for an amateur. I saw the last of these pieces some time
afterwards at Venice, where a young advocate thought proper to give it
out as his own work, and to receive compliments on the subject; but
having been imprudent enough to publish it with his name, he experienced
the mortification of seeing his plagiarism unmasked.

I did what I could to engage my beautiful Angelica to accept a part in
our tragedies, but it was impossible; she was timid, and had she even
been willing, her parents would not have given their permission. She
visited us; but this pleasure cost her tears, for she was jealous, and
suffered much from seeing me on such a familiar footing with my fair
companions. The poor little girl loved me with tenderness and sincerity,
and I loved her also with my whole soul; I may say she was the first
person whom I ever loved. She aspired to become my wife, which she would
have been if certain singular reflections, that however were well
founded, had not turned me from the design. Her elder sister had been
remarkably beautiful, and after her first child she became ugly. The
youngest had the same skin and the same features; she was one of those
delicate beauties whom the air injures, and whom the smallest fatigue or
pain discomposes: of all of which I saw a convincing proof. The fatigue
of our journey produced a visible change upon her: I was young, and if
my wife were in a short time to have lost her bloom, I foresaw what
would have been my despair. This was reasoning curiously for a lover;
but whether from virtue, weakness, or inconstancy, I quitted Feltre
without