Yet when the great bell of the Castle, which was placed in Caesar's
Tower, at no great distance from that called Mervyn's, began to send
its pealing clamour abroad, in signal of the arrival of the royal
procession, the din was so painfully acute to ears rendered nervously
sensitive by anxiety, that she could hardly forbear shrieking with
anguish, in answer to every stunning clash of the relentless peal.

Shortly afterwards, when the small apartment was at once enlightened by
the shower of artificial fires with which the air was suddenly filled,
and which crossed each other like fiery spirits, each bent on his own
separate mission, or like salamanders executing a frolic dance in the
region of the Sylphs, the Countess felt at first as if each rocket shot
close by her eyes, and discharged its sparks and flashes so nigh that
she could feel a sense of the heat. But she struggled against these
fantastic terrors, and compelled herself to arise, stand by the window,
look out, and gaze upon a sight which at another time would have
appeared to her at once captivating and fearful. The magnificent towers
of the Castle were enveloped in garlands of artificial fire, or shrouded
with tiaras of pale smoke. The surface of the lake glowed like molten
iron, while many fireworks (then thought extremely wonderful, though now
common), whose flame continued to exist in the opposing element, dived
and rose, hissed and roared, and spouted fire, like so many dragons of
enchantment sporting upon a burning lake.