Wieland; or, The Transformation | Page 9

the rude staircase conducted you. My
uncle speedily gained this spot. His strength was for a moment
exhausted by his haste. He paused to rest himself. Meanwhile he bent
the most vigilant attention towards the object before him.
Within the columns he beheld what he could no better describe, than by
saying that it resembled a cloud impregnated with light. It had the
brightness of flame, but was without its upward motion. It did not
occupy the whole area, and rose but a few feet above the floor. No part
of the building was on fire. This appearance was astonishing. He
approached the temple. As he went forward the light retired, and, when
he put his feet within the apartment, utterly vanished. The suddenness
of this transition increased the darkness that succeeded in a tenfold
degree. Fear and wonder rendered him powerless. An occurrence like
this, in a place assigned to devotion, was adapted to intimidate the
stoutest heart.
His wandering thoughts were recalled by the groans of one near him.
His sight gradually recovered its power, and he was able to discern my
father stretched on the floor. At that moment, my mother and servants
arrived with a lanthorn, and enabled my uncle to examine more closely
this scene. My father, when he left the house, besides a loose upper vest
and slippers, wore a shirt and drawers. Now he was naked, his skin
throughout the greater part of his body was scorched and bruised. His

right arm exhibited marks as of having been struck by some heavy
body. His clothes had been removed, and it was not immediately
perceived that they were reduced to ashes. His slippers and his hair
were untouched.
He was removed to his chamber, and the requisite attention paid to his
wounds, which gradually became more painful. A mortification
speedily shewed itself in the arm, which had been most hurt. Soon after,
the other wounded parts exhibited the like appearance.
Immediately subsequent to this disaster, my father seemed nearly in a
state of insensibility. He was passive under every operation. He
scarcely opened his eyes, and was with difficulty prevailed upon to
answer the questions that were put to him. By his imperfect account, it
appeared, that while engaged in silent orisons, with thoughts full of
confusion and anxiety, a faint gleam suddenly shot athwart the
apartment. His fancy immediately pictured to itself, a person bearing a
lamp. It seemed to come from behind. He was in the act of turning to
examine the visitant, when his right arm received a blow from a heavy
club. At the same instant, a very bright spark was seen to light upon his
clothes. In a moment, the whole was reduced to ashes. This was the
sum of the information which he chose to give. There was somewhat in
his manner that indicated an imperfect tale. My uncle was inclined to
believe that half the truth had been suppressed.
Meanwhile, the disease thus wonderfully generated, betrayed more
terrible symptoms. Fever and delirium terminated in lethargic slumber,
which, in the course of two hours, gave place to death. Yet not till
insupportable exhalations and crawling putrefaction had driven from
his chamber and the house every one whom their duty did not detain.
Such was the end of my father. None surely was ever more mysterious.
When we recollect his gloomy anticipations and unconquerable anxiety;
the security from human malice which his character, the place, and the
condition of the times, might be supposed to confer; the purity and
cloudlessness of the atmosphere, which rendered it impossible that
lightning was the cause; what are the conclusions that we must form?

The prelusive gleam, the blow upon his arm, the fatal spark, the
explosion heard so far, the fiery cloud that environed him, without
detriment to the structure, though composed of combustible materials,
the sudden vanishing of this cloud at my uncle's approach--what is the
inference to be drawn from these facts? Their truth cannot be doubted.
My uncle's testimony is peculiarly worthy of credit, because no man's
temper is more sceptical, and his belief is unalterably attached to
natural causes.
I was at this time a child of six years of age. The impressions that were
then made upon me, can never be effaced. I was ill qualified to judge
respecting what was then passing; but as I advanced in age, and became
more fully acquainted with these facts, they oftener became the subject
of my thoughts. Their resemblance to recent events revived them with
new force in my memory, and made me more anxious to explain them.
Was this the penalty of disobedience? this the stroke of a vindictive and
invisible hand? Is it a fresh proof that the Divine Ruler interferes in
human affairs, meditates an end, selects, and