It was the middle of August in an exceptionally warm summer, and after passing Genoa the heat became almost tropical.

There was no relief even at night, for the warm air hung stagnant and suffocating, and the inside of my travelling coach was often like a furnace.
We were at last approaching the conclusion of our journey, and had left Rome behind us.

The day that we set out from Aversa was the hottest that I have ever felt, the sun beating down with an astonishing power even in the early hours, and the road being thick with a white and blinding dust.

It was soon after midnight that our carriage began rattling over the great stone blocks with which the streets of Naples are paved.

The suburbs that we at first passed through were, I remember, in darkness and perfect quiet; but after traversing the heart of the city and reaching the western side, we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of an enormous and very dense crowd.