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Автор: Mary Shelley

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When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house
near Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible
thunderstorm. It advanced from behind the mountains of Jura, and
the thunder burst at once with frightful loudness from various
quarters of the heavens. I remained, while the storm lasted,
watching its progress with curiosity and delight. As I stood at
the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an old
and beautiful oak which stood about twenty yards from our house;
and so soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had
disappeared, and nothing remained but a blasted stump. When we
visited it the next morning, we found the tree shattered in a
singular manner. It was not splintered by the shock, but entirely
reduced to thin ribbons of wood. I never beheld anything so
utterly destroyed.

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