We have a good dancer here called Roessler.  He is a German, and dances right well.  The very last time we were at the opera (but not, I hope, the very last time we ever shall be there) we got M. Roessler to come up to our palco, (for M. Carlotti gives us his box, of which we have the key,) and conversed with him.  Apropos, every one is now in maschera, and one great convenience is, that if you fasten your mask on your hat you have the privilege of not taking off your hat when any one speaks to you; and you never address them by name, but always as “Servitore umilissimo, Signora Maschera.”  Cospetto di Bacco! that is fun!  The most strange of all is that we go to bed at half-past seven!  Se lei indovinasse questo, io diro certamente che lei sia la madre di tutti gli indovini. [Footnote:  “If you guess this, I shall say that you are the mother of all guessers.”] Kiss mamma’s hand for me, and to yourself I send a thousand kisses, and assure you that I shall always be your affectionate brother.

Portez-vous bien, et aimez-moi toujours.

3.

Milan, Jan. 26, 1770.

I rejoice in my heart that you were so well amused at the sledging party you write to me about, and I wish you a thousand opportunities of pleasure, so that you may pass your life merrily.  But one thing vexes me, which is, that you allowed Herr von Molk [an admirer of this pretty young girl of eighteen] to sigh and sentimentalize, and that you did not go with him in his sledge, that he might have upset you.  What a lot of pocket-handkerchiefs he must have used that day to dry the tears he shed for you!  He no doubt, too, swallowed at least three ounces of cream of tartar to drive away the horrid evil humors in his body.  I know nothing new except that Herr Gellert, the Leipzig poet, [Footnote:  Old Mozart prized Gellert’s poems so highly, that on one occasion he wrote to him expressing his admiration.] is dead, and has written no more poetry since his death.  Just before beginning this letter I composed an air from the “Demetrio” of Metastasio, which begins thus, “Misero tu non sei.”

The opera at Mantua was very good.  They gave “Demetrio.”  The prima donna sings well, but is inanimate, and if you did not see her acting, but only singing, you might suppose she was not singing at all, for she can’t open her mouth, and whines out everything; but this is nothing new to us.  The seconda donna looks like a grenadier, and has a very powerful voice; she really does not sing badly, considering that this is her first appearance.  Il primo uomo, il musico, sings beautifully, but his voice is uneven; his name is Caselli.  Il secondo uomo is quite old, and does not at all please me.  The tenor’s name is Ottini; he does not sing unpleasingly, but with effort, like all Italian tenors.  We know him very well.  The name of the second I don’t know; he is still young, but nothing at all remarkable.  Primo ballerino good; prima ballerina good, and people say pretty, but I have