Observations and Reflections Made in the Course of a Journey through France, Italy, and Germany, Vol. 2 (of 2)

Transcriber’s Note: Mrs. Piozzi’s own manner of writing has been retained, including spelling and grammar that is inconsistent and perhaps unfamiliar to the modern reader.
OBSERVATIONS AND REFLECTIONS MADE IN THE COURSE OF A JOURNEY THROUGH FRANCE, ITALY, AND GERMANY.
By HESTER LYNCH PIOZZI.
IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II.
LONDON: Printed for A. Strahan; and T. Cadell in the Strand. M DCC LXXXIX.

On the tenth day of this month we arrived early at Naples, for I think it was about two o’clock in the morning; and sure the providence of God preserved us, for never was such weather seen by me since I came into the world; thunder, lightning, storm at sea, rain and wind, contending for mastery, and combining to extinguish the torches bought to light us the last stage: Vesuvius, vomiting fire, and pouring torrents of red hot lava down its sides, was the only object visible; and that we saw plainly in the afternoon thirty miles off, where I asked a Franciscan friar, If it was the famous volcano? “Yes,” replied he, “that’s our mountain, which throws up money for us, by calling foreigners to see the extraordinary effects of so surprising a phænomenon.” The weather was quiet then, and we had no notion of passing such a horrible night; but an hour after dark, a storm came on, which was really dreadful to endure; or even look upon: the blue lightning, whose colour shewed the nature of the original minerals from which she drew her existence, shone round us in a broad expanse from time to time, and sudden darkness followed in an instant: no object then but the fiery river could be seen, till another flash discovered the waves tossing and breaking, at a height I never saw before.
Nothing sure was ever more sublime or awful than our entrance into Naples at the dead hour we arrived, when not a whisper was to be heard in the streets, and not a glimpse of light was left to guide us, except the small lamp hung now and then at a high window before a favourite image of the Virgin.