which I have hitherto called one of the earth's three thousand chimneys—for such probably is the number of volcanoes—and which I was determined to “take coolly,” impressed me so deeply, as it stood forth, crowned with its column of smoke, before us, as we hastened across the Campagna Felice towards Naples, that I was dumb. I felt something resembling reverence and dread before the giant of nature, the monarch of volcanoes, so huge, so majestically terrific did he appear. My traveling companions would not believe in the eruption, spite of the masses of smoke which burst forth from the mountain, because we saw, as yet, no fire. Here, however, in the Schiazzi Boarding House, on the Bay of Naples, one sees clearly the great fire which burns; not out of the mountain top, but which bursts forth in the abyss between the great cone of the mountain Somma, the second half of Vesuvius, and formerly connected with the cone. One seems to see an extent of valley filled with burning rivers. The highest point of Vesuvius is vailed in a dark cloud of smoke. The road thither is said to be cut off by the stream of lava; but from the neighborhood of the Hermitage an excellent view may be obtained of the burning valley.
The distant sight kept me awake through the night. The scene was so peculiar, especially when the full moon rose above it, half-hidden in a cloudy vail, seeming, like a timid vestal, to fly before the flames of the subterranean god, which shone ever redder as the moon advanced in her mild splendor. Again and again I could not but leave my bed during the night to contemplate, from my balcony, the contending lights, that
