Madama, I received this morning, not only the letters of the present week, but of the last, which have relieved my mind from the apprehensions and fears with which I was assailed, that some pious fool had been beforehand with me at the post-office, in order to save me the trouble of reading them. I am much obliged to you for the ample accounts you have given me of the opera and plays, and rejoice that our Ciullo (clown) has done himself honour. I hope that the post in which His Holyness has ingaged me, will not be unprofitable. Tell me what you think of it, and give him my best wishes.  This is precisely the first day of masks with you, while I am freezing here. But I entertain myself imagining how you are employed and diverted. Ah! this moment, which, according to the Romans, will be the 21st hour, the hurlyburly will begin in the corso. See! the Canon Magistris opens his street-door. There goes the Abate Spinola, and here Stanesio and Cavanna. See! too, the Musicians of the Aliberti theatre. Who is that mask that looks so hard at our window. See ! he is throwing about his sugar plumbs, and cannot stand still. It is certainly the little Abate Bizzaccari. And he, with the long cane, who can he be, examining all the coaches, but the dainty Piscitelli ? Ay, ay, ‘tis certainly he. Look yonder ! there’s count Mazziotti speaking Latin. There go the Courtiers too, affectedly dressed in coloured papers and cards. But who, in the name of wonder, is that strange woman ? Almost all the coaches turn towards San Carlo. What have we here ? A signal. Quick, quick! here comes Bargello and the Genoa resident. No matter ; only will there be room for us all ? Can you see ? Extremely well. But you seem crouded. I beg your pardon ; I am perfectly at my ease. Look at ‘em! Look at ‘em ? What is their number ? Seven. Who goes first ? Gabrielli on his sorrel horse ; but Colonna has got before him. For God’s sake ! what have we here ? A strange creature on a Barbary horse. He’ll be killed, certainly, poor D—! are they driving him away ? No, no, it was a dog. I was mistaken.  Well, you may say what you will, but a strong imagination is a fine thing. And thus I have seen the Corso at Rome, from the Jesuits’ Square in Vienna : and now, to have done with the ridicolous and burlesque, I am plagued, as usual, by my cough, without the least hope of being free from it, till we have fine weather. I have finished my Oratorio [ndr Sant’Elena al Calvario], which you will soon see at Rome, printed in some way or other. I have spoken to the Venetian ambassador about a certain Toilette, and he was much astonished that it had not been received, as he had advice of its being delivered. We shall see what effect this new requisition will have. From the snow and cold at Rome you may judge what we suffer here. Not a week passes that we ear of some poor countryman or other being frozed to death. In the city, we walk upon ice nine inches thick, blistered harder than stone. And the snow which is continually falling, is shivered and powdered so fine by the wind, that it flies like the dust in August ; and yet there are stupid people going about in Traineaux all night. For my own security in walking, I have the soles of my shoes covered with felt, having already had a fall in the indispensable passage from my door to the coach ; but in this clumsy salutation of my parent earth, the machine received no great mischief. In short, having been apprised of the lubricity of the streets, I was prepared for it. You ask my opinion of a Sonnet by  Ignatius di Bonis, which I have never seen, and of which I am ignorant of the subject, consequently, &c. Make my reverences to the Genoa resident, with thanks for his remembrance by the secretary of his republic. Addio, happiness attend you. Vienna, January 27, 1731.