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    Journey to the Centre of the Earth
    Journey to the Centre of the Earth
    Journey to the Centre of the Earth
    Ebook373 pages6 hours

    Journey to the Centre of the Earth

    By Jules Verne

    3.5/5

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    HarperCollins is proud to present its range of best-loved, essential classics.

    ‘From that hour we had no further occasion for the exercise of reason, or judgment, or skill, or contrivance. We were henceforth to be hurled along, the playthings of the fierce elements of the deep.’

    In Verne’s science-fiction classic, Professor Lidenbrock chances upon an ancient manuscript and pledges to solve the mysterious coded message that lies within it. Eventually he deciphers the story – that of an Icelandic explorer who travels to the centre of the earth, finding his way there via a volcano.

    Inspired by the manuscript, The Professor is determined to follow in the explorer’s footsteps and builds a crew of men which includes his nervous nephew Axel. Together they begin their journey to the centre of the earth, facing fearsome danger and adventure at every turn.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins UK
    Release dateJun 16, 2011
    ISBN9780007424535
    Author

    Jules Verne

    Jules Verne (1828–1905) was a prolific French author whose writing about various innovations and technological advancements laid much of the foundation of modern science fiction. Verne’s love of travel and adventure, including his time spent sailing the seas, inspired several of his short stories and novels.

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    Reviews for Journey to the Centre of the Earth

    3.5/5

    2,619 ratings95 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Jules Verne’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth follows the German professor Otto Lindenbrock and his nephew Axel as they, along with their guide Hans, descend into the Icelandic volcano Snæfellsjökull, see various prehistoric animals, and return via the Stromboli volcano in Italy. Verne found inspiration in the geologist Charles Lyell’s 1863 book, Geological Evidences of the Antiquity of Man as well as some of the works of Edgar Allan Poe. This edition, published by Oxford University Press, features a new translation from the original French by William Butcher. The book also features an introduction situating Verne and his work in its historical milieu as well as an explanation of the translation. As part of the Oxford World’s Classics series, the novel features explanatory notes for many of the scientific and foreign-language terms Verne used to add verisimilitude to the book. Though typically classified as science-fiction, the term was not popularized until Hugo Gernsback used it in the 1920s, and Verne himself would have considered this an adventure novel as it focuses more on the journey than the science or technology involved in getting there. This edition works well for those studying science-fiction and its history, though, and is a must-read for even the casual fan!
    • 4/5
      Professor Leidenbrock and his nephew Axel find a mysterious note suggesting an Icelandic geologist traveled to the center of the earth and lived to tell the tale. The two prepare for the long and arduous journey to Iceland, for that is where the geologist began, and enlist the help of an Icelander named Hans to assist with the journey below ground. Not to spoil a 150-year-old book, but the trio makes it to the center of the earth after several setbacks and strange occurrences, and return safely to ground level.There is a scene near the start of the book in which Professer Leidenbrock and Axel are arguing about what they may find in the center of the earth. The nephew believes that the center would be liquid rock and metal. The professor is convinced that it is solid rock. Both trot out a series of scientific facts and figures to prove their points. Readers are of course meant to side with the Professor and, indeed, he is proven correct later in the book (or there would be no book), but as a modern reader, knowing that the nephew is actually correct, the exchange is pretty hilarious.While the science is obviously not accurate, the book itself is fun. It’s an adventure story written by a master. We read the story from Axel’s point of view, who is reluctant about everything involved in this journey. This makes for a pleasant “surprise” when Axel is proven wrong. If you’ve only ever seen the film version starring James Mason, you will be surprised at some of the differences. I hope you have fun with this classic, as I did.
    • 3/5
      I have to admit that Jules Verne is harder to read as an adult than as a bright-eyed, impressionable kid. There is so much wonder on these pages, and yet I felt like I needed to work far too hard to get at it - the adventure is hidden behind steampunk techno-babble in a way that modern writers would never be able to get away with. Still, I'm glad to have revisited this book, and I will continue to work through the Verne canon, disillusioned though I am.
    • 4/5
      I probably wouldn't have gotten through this very quickly had I been reading it on my own rather than listening to Tim Curry's masterful performance. He was able to infuse so much character into it, and it truly helped me to appreciate how well done this story really is. There really is a lot of character there. There is also A LOT of detailed geological and instrumental description that probably would have bogged me down, even though I understand it, it's not always the most exciting reading, but definitely added realism to the story. Axel and his uncle Otto, and their guide Hans, really have very distinct personalities that add humor to the story which I believe I would have missed without having the assistance of Tim's reading.

      I highly recommend listening to this version, as we like to say Tim Curry could read the phone book and it would be a 5 star performance. He brings this classic adventure story to life and I'm happy to have experienced it!
    • 4/5
      Professor Otto Lidenbrock, his nephew Axel, and their guide Hans, descend into Iceland's Snæfellsjökull volcano in an attempt to reach the center of the earth. This classic adventure tales is obviously aged, but doesn't feel dated at all; it feels as if someone contemporary wrote an adventure story in an old style - the storyline is exciting enough and has a "new" feel to it. Great story, recommended for all.
    • 4/5
      A great classic!
    • 4/5
      Das Buch war deutlich besser als erwartet. Da ich kein großer Fan von Science Fiction bin, hatte ich nicht viel erwartet, es war einfach ein Experiment, den alten Klassiker einmal zu lesen. Faszinierend war für mich dann auch eher die Reise in die Vergangenheit, die das Buch mir ermöglichte, als die zum Mittelpunkt der Erde. Die alte Sprache meiner Übersetzung, die Beschreibung der Reise nach Island und vor allem die wissenschaftlichen Vorstellungen dieser Zeit. Äußerst faszinierend, gepaart mit einer spannenden Geschichte, die das Lesen leicht macht. Die von mir gelesene Ebook-Ausgabe von NTS Editions hatte des öfteren komplett falsche Wörter im Text, wo die OCR-Software offenbar s und f nicht unterscheiden konnte. Einmal erkannt machte das aber nicht mehr viel aus. Insgesamt eine klare Empfehlung, allerdings mehr an den historisch Interessierten als an Science-Fiction-Fans.
    • 5/5
      Jules Verne is often called the first science fiction author, and though this book is more fantasy than reality, its main character definitely establishes what now seems to be the stereotypical boisterous, overzealous, obsessive-but-lovable scientist character in Otto Lidenbrock; I couldn't help but imagine Christopher Lloyd's Doc Brown whenever he was described. The plot manages to take off right away, but just when you think Lidenbrock is figuring everything out too easily, he struggles, a nice dose of reality. Verne mixes serious science with adventure, and though he definitely errs on the side of the latter (the end was just a touch too unbelievable for my taste), the novel is a classic response to the times in which it was written. The characters repeatedly have to question whether the theories and science they believe in are right based on the evidence they encounter, a metaphor that fittingly describes the challenge Darwin posed to society with the publication of his "On the Origin of Species" five years before this book was released. My biggest disappointment was that the females are relegated to stay-at-home-and-wait roles in the story; the main female character actually seemed like a strong and capable person, but didn't get to join the adventure. Otherwise, this was a fun read that would be perfect for capturing the interest of readers from the middle grades and up.
    • 5/5
      Unabridged version, so original manuscript and totally exciting to read... I enjoyed reading this novel. I think young reader must read this great book.
    • 4/5
      “Science fiction is a genre of fiction with imaginative but more or less plausible content such as settings in the future, futuristic science and technology, space travel, parallel universes, aliens, and paranormal abilities. Exploring the consequences of scientific innovations is one purpose of science fiction, making it a "literature of ideas" Science fiction has been used by authors and film/television program makers as a device to discuss philosophical ideas such as identity, desire, morality and social structure etc.”This definition of Science fiction copied from Wiki does not really apply to Jules Verne’s [A Journey to the Centre of the Earth]: the action does not take place in the future, there are no aliens, space travel, or paranormal abilities. The book does not attempt to explore the consequences of scientific innovation and there is little evidence of a “literature of ideas” however the book feels like science fiction, because there is a healthy dollop of geology and physics from the mid 19th century that is stretched to breaking point and beyond by Verne’s imagination and there could also be a case made for a sort of parallel universe in that our three heroes discover another world below the earth’s crust.Abe books’s list of the 50 essential science fiction novels starts with Jules Verne’s classic story: claiming that it pretty much started the whole thing. I think of it more as an adventure story, which uses a scientific background to add some credibility to the fantastic story line, but it is an adventure story first and foremost..Verne presents us with three very different characters. They are the irascible, brilliant but driven scientist Professor Liedenbrock, Axel, his nephew; enthusiastic, intelligent, frightened and accident prone and Hans, the taciturn Icelander; servant to Liendenbrock who quietly gets on and does everything to ensure the survival of his two companions. They embark on an old fashioned treasure hunt, but without any treasure just Liedenbrock’s desire to travel to the centre of the earth. The story is told from Axel’s point of view and his early portrait of Liedenbrock is both amusing and witty. Axel is a student of geology and his keen interest in the landscape as they travel to an extinct volcano in Iceland gives Verne license to write some excellent prose on both the Icelandic people and their environment and although the adventure proper does not start until the party reach the volcano there are no dull patches in the early part of the book. Once they descend into the crater; Verne ramps up the excitement and there are some extraordinary events to describe; Axel’s sense of doom when he becomes separated from the party, the violent electrical storm on the inland sea and of course the amazing volcanic eruption near the end of the story.A story that was familiar to me from having read it a long time ago and from the film versions that I had seen did not disappoint when I re-read the novel today. I felt thoroughly entertained. An adventure story that has stood the test of time, but it’s not really science fictionThe version I read was the one published in 1877, which is free in the public domain and the translation by the reverend Frederick Amadeus Malleson reads well enough not to need a more modern translation. Not great literature, but a well told fantasy story that I would rate at 3.5 stars
    • 3/5
      "Et quacumque viam dederit fortuna sequamur""And whatever route fortune gives, we shall follow"This IS your great-great-great-grandfather's adventure story, so reader beware. There's a lot of walking, a lot of exposition, and quite frankly, not a lot of action. But keep in mind...this is an original. Our modern day sensibilities expect high action out of our adventure stories…monsters, critters, thrill-a-minute. But in a much different time when society was in a much different state, "Journey to the Center of the Earth" set the table for the adventure/scifi stories of the future. The story revolves around German Professor and "Savant" Otto Lidenbrock, though is narrated by his nephew, Axel. The two come across a manuscript that references an Icelandic explorer's expedition to the center of the earth. Upon deciphering the document, Lidenbrock exclaims: "Let no one take it into his head before us to try and discover the center of the earth." And off they go.While much of the middle third of the book reads like a travelogue of northern Europe and anthropological tour of Iceland, the driving force of the story is the eccentric genius of Professor Lidenbrock. The professor is characterized by a certain "madness", as described by Axel. This obsessiveness is a driving characteristic that one can see across the literary spectrum of those who break new ground. In fact, one can see it across the spectrum of real life explorers as well. For without a little "crazy", who might have the strength and fortitude to forge ahead almost heedless of circumstances. Without the single-minded obsession and force of will, how would humans be driven to the hearts of darkness that lie at the root of all discovery?Like modern science fiction, Verne delves into the 19th century equivalent of cutting edge science with much speculation on portable artificial light, and various natural sciences related to deep earth biology and geology. Whereas Michael Crichton turned the real science of the possibilities of cloning extinct dinosaurs, Verne speculates on evolution, and deep earth temperatures.I couldn't help but compare the early chapters of Jules Verne's "Journey to the Center of the Earth" to H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine" or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Lost World". They share a certain vibe in their respective late 19th/early 20th century writing style and tone. They're reminiscent, but different…"Journey" has much more of a sense of humor, and is particularly light-hearted during the early stage-setting scenes in Germany.I liked it. I didn't love it, but I'm glad I read it.
    • 4/5
      Everyone knows the basic premise of Journey to the Centre of the Earth - but like so many novels that have made their way into the public consciousness (Frankenstein, anyone?) it's still well worth reading the original, because they're never quite what you think! Like a game of Chinese Whispers, things get so distorted and simplified along the way that nothing beats going back to the source...As most of you will already know, the novel pretty much does what it says on the tin; it begins with Professor Lidenbrock, a geologist, scientist and all-round intellectual (the book calls him a savant)*, finding an ancient piece of parchment, inscribed in code, left in a book by the Icelandic explorer Arne Saknussemm. When he finally deciphers the code, he is astonished to find that the parchment contains the precise location of the starting point of a journey to the centre of the earth. His interest piqued, the eccentric professor immediately sets out for Iceland, dragging his long-suffering nephew with him. There he hires a guide, ascends Mount Sneffels, and determinedly follows Saknessumm's footsteps down into the bowels of the earth...I made that sound like the start of the story, right? Indeed, the blurb of my Penguin Popular Classics edition states that "Their journey... begins on the summit of a volcano..." Well, yes, but what it DOESN'T mention is that 100 pages into the 250-page book, they are only just reaching the crater that marks the real start of their adventure. This is not a novel that plunges you head-first into action and excitement; it takes a LONG time to get going, and nearly half the book is taken up by the description of the trip to - and across - Iceland. I couldn't help but think that if this was a modern novel, it would probably have been returned to the author with 'PACING!!!' scrawled across it in red ink...Fortunately the pace soon picks up once the descent begins, and from that point onwards, the novel becomes a rip-roaring tale, crammed with drama and peril, excitement and discovery, all narrated by young Axel and sprinkled with scientific intrigue. It must be said that Verne doesn't always wear his science lightly - at times his novel reads more like a scientific-minded vintage travelogue - but then another dramatic event will occur, or another wonder will be uncovered, and the reader is captivated all over again. Not that the scientific elements are dull, particularly - in fact, Axel can become quite poetic about his pet subject, and some of the historical details are fascinating - but there is a liberal sprinkling of Latin names and geological jargon that requires a little care and concentration to grasp.I think it was probably the three main characters themselves that made the novel for me (that, and the incredible prehistoric cavern with its glowing light and subterranean sea). While Axel is probably the weakest of the characters - he reminded me rather unfortunately of Fanny Price, constantly keeling over or going into a blind panic even as his middle-aged uncle strode calmly on - he has a gently wry sense of humour and describes his companions very astutely. He paints a wonderful picture of his uncle as the archetypal eccentric genius: determined, short-tempered, single-minded and completely ignorant of his own flaws. Their hulking guide Hans, in contrast, is always calm, extremely skilled and capable, strong and unshakeable; he is their rock and their saviour on many occasions, like some kind of Nordic Superman. It made me smile when Axel described his eyes as 'dreamy blue' - the hero-worship, the sheer awe with which he reveres him definitely borders on a man-crush at times!Would I recommend reading this book? Well, yes, of course - it is a classic adventure story, and as I said before, it has worked its way into the public consciousness to such an extent that it really deserves to be enjoyed in its own right. It is not a fast-paced thriller, but it is one of the most famous fictional journeys in literature; it occasionally wears its scientific background heavily, but read in the right spirit is crammed with interesting nuggets of information; its narrating character is not the most witty or memorable of men, but he describes his surroundings beautifully. I'm not sure yet whether it's going to be a keeper for me, but I AM glad to have honoured my childhood love for Verne's imagination and read the original at last!
    • 3/5
      Interesting, and a classic of sci-fi, this is my favorite of Verne's books. That being said, it is fairly disjointed and anticlimactic. The title is accurate in that the story focuses on the journey itself, rather than the experience in the center of the Earth.
    • 3/5
      I read a much abridged version of this as a kid but never the whole thing, and I'm glad to have finally read it. It was kind of historically fascinating, and I found Axel a really interesting and unexpected narrator. I think I was expecting something different from the tone, so that was really compelling for me.
    • 2/5
      I should first say that the 2 stars I have given this book is based on my own personal feeling when reading the book. This novel is certainly a classic - there's no denying that. But naturally it has shown its age over the many years since it was first written, and in a way I think it is unfair to judge the book through strictly modern eyes. Many modern readers, particularly children and young adults, will find it dull and didactic in the extreme; and perhaps its use now lies in the fact that it gives a unique snapshot of the birth of science fiction and the conceptions man had of the future at that point in time.
    • 3/5
      A young man, Axel, and his German uncle, Professor Von Hardwigg, undertake an incredible journey based on some notes from an explorer. They attempt to travel to the center of the earth, a daunting and terrifying trip. Their guide Hans is a loyal man and agrees to travel with them. I can’t imagine the power of reading this book when it was first published in 1864. It would have seemed truly mind-blowing to imagine the fantastical world they encountered, but reading it in the 21st century makes for a much dryer experience. It’s harder to be swept away in the adventure when we have a better idea of what is and isn’t possible in exploration. I was surprised by how much of the book is just building up to their journey. The first half of the novel is about deciphering a code and then traveling to the starting point of the descent into the earth. We’re halfway through the novel before they actually reach their destination. The characters are not easy to like. Hans is kind and saves the Professor and Axel during a storm, but the rest of the time he feels very two-dimensional. The Professor is cold and calculating. He’s more concerned with scientific discovery than with the safety of his traveling companions. When they finally reach their destination they see some incredible things. They go fishing and catch creatures that they’ve only ever seen as fossils. They see Pterodactyl flying through the sky. In one scene they float through an ancient ocean on a raft and the see a sea battle between two gigantic monsters, an Ichthyosaurus and a Plesiosaurus. The terrifying fight takes place not far from their small vessel. They’ve stumbled upon a prehistoric world where dinosaurs still exists. There’s one section that has particularly stayed with me since I finished the book. Our narrator, Axel, is separated from his uncle in the cave system. He is completely lost and the darkness is all encompassing. It’s terrifying to think of being lost and alone and knowing you will almost certainly die. BOTTOM LINE: The story swings between exciting moments and dull descriptions. Worth a read if you’re interested, but not a must if you aren’t enthralled by Verne’s work. “On earth during the most profound and comparatively complete darkness, light never allows a complete destruction and extinction of its power. Light is so diffuse, so subtle, that it permeates everywhere, and whatever little may remain, the retina of the eye will succeed in finding it. In this place nothing--the absolute obscurity made me blind in every sense.” 
    • 5/5
      I loved the adventure and suspense!!!!!!!!!!!
    • 4/5
      I thought I should read Jules Verne, H.G. Wells and books like that before I start in on steampunk. Jules Verne puts the science in science fiction. I personally love that he writes about geology or biology in his bizarre narratives. Just to learn a bit! This one does have a bit of a slow start to get to the mountain to go underground... it's around page 80. But then the story picks up speed and it keeps one-uping itself with what is found under that Icelandic volcano. I loved the story more than I thought I would of Professor Otto Lidenbrock, his nephew Axel, and the trusty Icelandic assistant Hans, always getting them out of a bind. The book is far less boring than I thought it would be. (And also, I want to avoid any movies made from these books, since I can't imagine they're better.) But try not to find it interesting when a character is lost 75 miles under the earth and then his torch goes out... and I don't want to mention anything else they find to ruin the book. I love most 19th century stories and this is no exception but it seemed like I was reading this one in five page chunks. I'm looking forward to others from Verne though! And I can't wait to get into steampunk!
    • 5/5
      Very impressed. Had I read this book and not known when it was written I could imagine that it had been written in the past 60 years. Easy story to read and completely enjoyable. I was hooked at an early stage of the book.
    • 3/5
      Through most of the novel, I was intrigued by Verne's descriptions and scientific explanations of the time period. Overall, it was an interesting story, but I was underwhelmed by the resolution and after finishing it, the whole thing seemed pretty anticlimactic. I think one has to go into reading a Verne novel with the expectations of fascinating and outdated science instead of focusing too much on the plot to really enjoy it.
    • 3/5
      It was ok...a little disappointing, really. Seemed to end very abruptly and I can't find it in me to like or even sympathize with Axel...
    • 3/5
      Unimpressive writing, dull pacing and stick-thin characters (Hans is an android, I swear it) make this a tough read. Written to introduce children to science, it mostly lends amusement for the things it got wrong and the other far-fetched things it proposes that might lurk beneath the Earth's surface. It's frustrating to read about the most basic rules of cave exploration being ignored, and a professor obsessed with science who can't be bothered to give more than cavalier attention to any startling thing he discovers. Didn't make a whole lot of sense to me, but at least the ending had some excitement to it.
    • 3/5
      Well-written, but talky and often boring account of a scientific journey through an active volcano to reach the earth's core. A book I started in high school ,but couldn't finish. I finally read it a couple of years ago and was hugely disappointed. Still, there some exciting parts and descriptions filled with wonder.
    • 3/5
      Oh, I really liked Leagues... I'll have to read this one! I have a Verne collection here at home... time to dive in!
    • 5/5
      Rollicking adventure story, this reading prompted by a visit to Jules Verne's old house in Amiens. The modern reader quickly grasps why generations through the 19th and 20th centuries could not put Verne’s works down. Replete with science, imagination, suspense, eccentric characters almost as memorable as the dramatic scenarios, all fascinating despite being all so dated. Exciting scenes and big ideas, with the bold illustrations (”Vignettes”) of Riou helping to convey the story even through the most fanciful passages. A Verne revival is surely waiting only for the right cinematic boost.Here a headstrong professor from Hamburg follows a deciphered fragment from a long lost and persecuted scholar to a volcanic crater in Iceland, and, along with his overly fraught nephew and a stoic Icelandic huntsman, seizes a brief opening in the summer months to penetrate the .... well, you get the idea and the title gives the essentials. Read it yourself to find out what follows, and prepare to be gripped.
    • 5/5
      I don't really do formal reviews of classics. I'll say that I greatly enjoyed this story. Following the characters down into the Earth wasn't just an adventure but a lesson in the science of the time (though not completely accurate by today's views of the world). I like a good adventure, some learning, and an all-round good story. I'm fast becoming a fan of Jules Verne's work.
    • 5/5
      This is a re-read. It is a very good adventure, one of his best, maintaining a real sense of threat and suffocating claustrophobia under the ground. There are some internal inconsistencies in dates and timings which would probably not get past a modern editor. Good stuff.
    • 4/5
      It's...interesting. I hadn't realized how much the story was a treatise on evolution (as understood at the time). Now I need to read more Verne to see if he's done the same (presumably in other fields) in his other books. It's a little hard to read - the viewpoint character is ridiculously variable - wild mood-swings from "We're all going to fail and die! Now!" to "Let's go! We are great adventurers!". Got a bit hard to take. Verne did some neat elision to get past the most unbelievable part - finding the interior cavern; since the VP character (I really can't call him the hero) is unconscious after tremendous strain, that whole event never gets told. And like that. I spent much more time noticing the writing and the agenda of the author than I did enjoying the story. That may be a mood thing, but right now I feel like there's not a lot of story (and _very_ little characterization - lots of cardboard 'traits', though) to this book.
    • 3/5
      1863 German professor Otto Lidenbrock uncovers ancient icelandic writings that suggest a passage to the center of the earth. professor takes his nephew and danish guide Hans on a trip to a world only one other person has seen. The story is inventive but boring in sections weighted down with science. I would have loved to seen more of the world he encounter as it ended a bit abruptly. I read it because it is a classic and i'm sure utterly suspenseful for it's time.
    • 3/5
      Not quite what I was expecting – I’m more familiar with the souped up Disney version, though I can’t say I was surprised to find out there’s no singing, no ducks and no chix in the original. It’s all right – I’ve never read Verne before, and he keeps the story moving, even though the science gets a little tedious. Also, it’s a little hard to believe you could actually walk all that way. And the ending requires some serious disbelief suspension. Still, I can see why it’s still in print.

    Book preview

    Journey to the Centre of the Earth - Jules Verne

    CHAPTER 1

    The Professor and His Family

    On the 24th of May, 1863, my uncle, Professor Liedenbrock, rushed into his little house, No. 19 Königstrasse, one of the oldest streets in the oldest portion of the city of Hamburg.

    Martha must have concluded that she was very much behindhand, for the dinner had only just been put into the oven.

    Well, now, said I to myself, if that most impatient of men is hungry, what a disturbance he will make!

    M. Liedenbrock so soon! cried poor Martha in great alarm, half opening the dining-room door.

    Yes, Martha; but very likely the dinner is not half cooked, for it is not two yet. Saint Michael’s clock has only just struck half-past one.

    Then why has the master come home so soon?

    Perhaps he will tell us that himself.

    Here he is, Monsieur Axel; I will run and hide myself while you argue with him.

    And Martha retreated in safety into her own dominions.

    I was left alone. But how was it possible for a man of my undecided turn of mind to argue successfully with so irascible a person as the Professor? With this persuasion I was hurrying away to my own little retreat upstairs, when the street door creaked upon its hinges; heavy feet made the whole flight of stairs shake; and the master of the house, passing rapidly through the dining-room, threw himself in haste into his own sanctum.

    But on his rapid way he had found time to fling his hazel stick into a corner, his rough broadbrim upon the table, and these few emphatic words at his nephew:

    Axel, follow me!

    I had scarcely had time to move when the Professor was again shouting after me:

    What! not come yet?

    And I rushed into my redoubtable master’s study.

    Otto Liedenbrock had no mischief in him, I willingly allow that; but unless he very considerably changes as he grows older, at the end he will be a most original character.

    He was professor at the Johannæum, and was delivering a series of lectures on mineralogy, in the course of every one of which he broke into a passion once or twice at least. Not at all that he was over-anxious about the improvement of his class, or about the degree of attention with which they listened to him, or the success which might eventually crown his labours. Such little matters of detail never troubled him much. His teaching was, as the German philosophy calls it, subjective; it was to benefit himself, not others. He was a learned egotist. He was a well of science, and the pulleys worked uneasily when you wanted to draw anything out of it. In a word, he was a learned miser.

    Germany has not a few professors of this sort.

    To his misfortune, my uncle was not gifted with a sufficiently rapid utterance; not, to be sure, when he was talking at home, but certainly in his public delivery; this is a want much to be deplored in a speaker. The fact is, that during the course of his lectures at the Johannæum, the Professor often came to a complete standstill; he fought with wilful words that refused to pass his struggling lips, such words as resist and distend the cheeks, and at last break out into the unasked-for shape of a round and most unscientific oath: then his fury would gradually abate.

    Now in mineralogy there are many half-Greek and half-Latin terms, very hard to articulate, and which would be most trying to a poet’s measures. I don’t wish to say a word against so respectable a science, far be that from me. True, in the august presence of rhombohedral crystals, retinasphaltic resins, gehlenites, Fassaites, molybdenites, tungstates of manganese, and titanite of zirconium, why, the most facile of tongues may make a slip now and then.

    It therefore happened that this venial fault of my uncle’s came to be pretty well understood in time, and an unfair advantage was taken of it; the students laid wait for him in dangerous places, and when he began to stumble, loud was the laughter, which is not in good taste, not even in Germans. And if there was always a full audience to honour the Liedenbrock courses, I should be sorry to conjecture how many came to make merry at my uncle’s expense.

    Nevertheless my good uncle was a man of deep learning—a fact I am most anxious to assert and reassert. Sometimes he might irretrievably injure a specimen by his too great ardour in handling it; but still he united the genius of a true geologist with the keen eye of the mineralogist. Armed with his hammer, his steel pointer, his magnetic needles, his blowpipe, and his bottle of nitric acid, he was a powerful man of science. He would refer any mineral to its proper place among the six hundred* elementary substances now enumerated, by its fracture, its appearance, its hardness, its fusibility, its sonorousness, its smell, and its taste.

    The name of Liedenbrock was honourably mentioned in colleges and learned societies. Humphry Davy,† Humboldt, Captain Sir John Franklin, General Sabine, never failed to call upon him on their way through Hamburg. Becquerel, Ebelman, Brewster, Dumas, Milne-Edwards, Saint-Claire-Deville frequently consulted him upon the most difficult problems in chemistry, a science which was indebted to him for considerable discoveries, for in 1853 there had appeared at Leipzig an imposing folio by Otto Liedenbrock, entitled, A Treatise upon Transcendental Chemistry, with plates; a work, however, which failed to cover its expenses.

    To all these titles to honour let me add that my uncle was the curator of the museum of mineralogy formed by M. Struve, the Russian ambassador; a most valuable collection, the fame of which is European.

    Such was the gentleman who addressed me in that impetuous manner. Fancy a tall, spare man, of an iron constitution, and with a fair complexion which took off a good ten years from the fifty he must own to. His restless eyes were in incessant motion behind his full-sized spectacles. His long, thin nose was like a knife blade. Boys have been heard to remark that that organ was magnetised and attracted iron filings. But this was merely a mischievous report; it had no attraction except for snuff, which it seemed to draw to itself in great quantities.

    When I have added, to complete my portrait, that my uncle walked by mathematical strides of a yard and a half, and that in walking he kept his fists firmly closed, a sure sign of an irritable temperament, I think I shall have said enough to disenchant any one who should by mistake have coveted much of his company.

    He lived in his own little house in Königstrasse, a structure half brick and half wood, with a gable cut into steps; it looked upon one of those winding canals which intersect each other in the middle of the ancient quarter of Hamburg, and which the great fire of 1842 had fortunately spared.

    It is true that the old house stood slightly off the perpendicular, and bulged out a little towards the street; its roof sloped a little to one side, like the cap over the left ear of a Tugendbund student; its lines wanted accuracy; but after all, it stood firm, thanks to an old elm which buttressed it in front, and which often in spring sent its young sprays through the window panes.

    My uncle was tolerably well off for a German professor. The house was his own, and everything in it. The living contents were his god-daughter Gräuben, a young Virlandaise of seventeen, Martha, and myself. As his nephew and an orphan, I became his laboratory assistant.

    I freely confess that I was exceedingly fond of geology and all its kindred sciences; the blood of a mineralogist was in my veins, and in the midst of my specimens I was always happy.

    In a word, a man might live happily enough in the little old house in the Königstrasse, in spite of the restless impatience of its master, for although he was a little too excitable—he was very fond of me. But the man had no notion how to wait; nature herself was too slow for him. In April, after he had planted in the terra-cotta pots outside his window seedling plants of mignonette and convolvulus, he would go every evening and give them a little pull by their leaves to make them grow faster. In dealing with such a strange individual there was nothing for it but prompt obedience. I therefore rushed after him.

    *Sixty-three. (Tr.)

    †As Sir Humphry Davy died in 1829, the translator must be pardoned for pointing out here an anachronism, unless we are to assume that the learned Professor’s celebrity dawned in his earliest fears. (Tr.)

    CHAPTER 2

    A Mystery to be Solved at any Price

    That study of his was a museum, and nothing else. Specimens of everything known in mineralogy lay there in their places in perfect order, and correctly named, divided into inflammable, metallic, and lithoid minerals.

    How well I knew all these bits of science! Many a time, instead of enjoying the company of lads of my own age, I had preferred dusting these graphites, anthracites, coals, lignites, and peats! And there were bitumens, resins, organic salts, to be protected from the least grain of dust; and metals, from iron to gold; metals whose current value altogether disappeared in the presence of the republican equality of scientific specimens; and stones too, enough to rebuild entirely the house in Königstrasse, even with a handsome additional room, which would have suited me admirably.

    But on entering this study now I thought of none of all these wonders; my uncle alone filled my thoughts. He had thrown himself into a velvet easy-chair, and was grasping between his hands a book over which he bent, pondering with intense admiration.

    Here’s a remarkable book! What a wonderful book! he was exclaiming.

    These ejaculations brought to my mind the fact that my uncle was liable to occasional fits of bibliomania; but no old book had any value in his eyes unless it had the virtue of being nowhere else to be found, or, at any rate, of being illegible.

    Well, now; don’t you see it yet? Why I have got a priceless treasure, that I found this morning, in rummaging in old Hevelius’s shop, the Jew.

    Magnificent! I replied, with a good imitation of enthusiasm.

    What was the good of all this fuss about an old quarto, bound in rough calf, a yellow faded volume, with a ragged seal depending from it?

    But for all that there was no lull yet in the admiring exclamations of the Professor.

    See, he went on, both asking the questions and supplying the answers. Isn’t it a beauty? Yes; splendid! Did you ever see such a binding? Doesn’t the book open easily? Yes; it stops open anywhere. But does it shut equally well? Yes; for the binding and the leaves are flush, all in a straight line, and no gaps or openings anywhere. And look at its back, after seven hundred years. Why, Bozerian, Closs, or Purgold might have been proud of such a binding!

    While rapidly making these comments my uncle kept opening and shutting the old tome. I really could do no less than ask a question about its contents, although I did not feel the slightest interest.

    And what is the title of this marvellous work? I asked with an affected eagerness which he must have been very blind not to see through.

    This work, replied my uncle, firing up with renewed enthusiasm, this work is the Heims Kringla of Snorre Turlleson, the most famous Icelandic author of the twelfth century! It is the chronicle of the Norwegian princes who ruled in Iceland.

    Indeed; I cried, keeping up wonderfully, of course it is a German translation?

    What! sharply replied the Professor, a translation! What should I do with a translation? This is the Icelandic original, in the magnificent idiomatic vernacular, which is both rich and simple, and admits of an infinite variety of grammatical combinations and verbal modifications.

    Like German, I happily ventured.

    Yes, replied my uncle, shrugging his shoulders; but, in addition to all this, the Icelandic has three numbers like the Greek, and irregular declensions of nouns proper like the Latin.

    Ah! said I, a little moved out of my indifference; and is the type good?

    Type! What do you mean by talking of type, wretched Axel? Type! Do you take it for a printed book, you ignorant fool? It is a manuscript, a Runic manuscript.

    Runic?

    Yes. Do you want me to explain what that is?

    Of course not, I replied in the tone of an injured man. But my uncle persevered, and told me, against my will, of many things I cared nothing about.

    Runic characters were in use in Iceland in former ages. They were invented, it is said, by Odin himself. Look there, and wonder, impious young man, and admire these letters, the invention of the Scandinavian god!

    Well, well! not knowing what to say, I was going to prostrate myself before this wonderful book, a way of answering equally pleasing to gods and kings, and which has the advantage of never giving them any embarrassment, when a little incident happened to divert the conversation into another channel.

    This was the appearance of a dirty slip of parchment, which slipped out of the volume and fell upon the floor.

    My uncle pounced upon this shred with incredible avidity. An old document, enclosed an immemorial time within the folds of this old book, had for him an immeasurable value.

    What’s this? he cried.

    And he laid out upon the table a piece of parchment, five inches by three, and along which were traced certain mysterious characters.

    Here is the exact facsimile. I think it important to let these strange signs be publicly known, for they were the means of drawing on Professor Liedenbrock and his nephew to undertake the most wonderful expedition of the nineteenth century.

    The Professor mused a few moments over this series of characters; then raising his spectacles he pronounced:

    These are Runic letters; they are exactly like those of the manuscript of Snorre Turlleson. But, what on earth is their meaning?

    Runic letters appearing to my mind to be an invention of the learned to mystify this poor world, I was not sorry to see my uncle suffering the pangs of mystification. At least, so it seemed to me, judging from his fingers, which were beginning to work with terrible energy.

    It is certainly old Icelandic, he muttered between his teeth.

    And Professor Liedenbrock must have known, for he was acknowledged to be quite a polyglott. Not that he could speak fluently in the two thousand languages and twelve thousand dialects which are spoken on the earth, but he knew at least his share of them.

    So he was going, in the presence of this difficulty, to give way to all the impetuosity of his character, and I was preparing for a violent outbreak, when two o’clock struck by the little timepiece over the fireplace.

    At that moment our good housekeeper Martha opened the study door, saying:

    Dinner is ready!

    I am afraid he sent that soup to where it would boil away to nothing, and Martha took to her heels for safety. I followed her, and hardly knowing how I got there I found myself seated in my usual place.

    I waited a few minutes. No Professor came. Never within my remembrance had he missed the important ceremonial of dinner. And yet what a good dinner it was! There was parsley soup, an omelette of ham garnished with spiced sorrel, a fillet of veal with compóte of prunes; for dessert, crystallised fruit; the whole washed down with sweet Moselle.

    All this my uncle was going to sacrifice to a bit of old parchment. As an affectionate and attentive nephew I considered it my duty to eat for him as well as for myself, which I did conscientiously.

    I have never known such a thing, said Martha. M. Liedenbrock is not at table!

    Who could have believed it? I said, with my mouth full.

    Something serious is going to happen, said the old servant, shaking her head.

    My opinion was, that nothing more serious would happen than an awful scene when my uncle should have discovered that his dinner was devoured. I had come to the last of the fruit when a very loud voice tore me away from the pleasures of my dessert. With one spring I bounded out of the dining room into the study.

    CHAPTER 3

    The Runic Writing Exercises the Professor

    Undoubtedly it is Runic, said the Professor, bending his brows; but there is a secret in it, and I mean to discover the key.

    A violent gesture finished the sentence.

    Sit there, he added, holding out his fist towards the table. Sit there, and write.

    I was seated in a trice.

    Now I will dictate to you every letter of our alphabet which corresponds with each of these Icelandic characters. We will see what that will give us. But, by St. Michael, if you should dare to deceive me—

    The dictation commenced. I did my best. Every letter was given me one after the other, with the following remarkable result:

    When this work was ended my uncle tore the paper from me and examined it attentively for a long time.

    What does it all mean? he kept repeating mechanically.

    Upon my honour I could not have enlightened him. Besides he did not ask me, and he went on talking to himself.

    This is what is called a cryptogram, or cipher, he said, in which letters are purposely thrown in confusion, which if properly arranged would reveal their sense. Only think that under this jargon there may lie concealed the clue to some great discovery!

    As for me, I was of opinion that there was nothing at ill in it; though, of course, I took care not to say so.

    Then the Professor took the book and the parchment, and diligently compared them together.

    These two writings are not by the same hand, he said; the cipher is of later date than the book, an undoubted proof of which I see in a moment. The first letter is a double m, a letter which is not to be found in Turlleson’s book, and which was only added to the alphabet in the fourteenth century. Therefore there are two hundred years between the manuscript and the document.

    I admitted that this was a strictly logical conclusion.

    I am therefore led to imagine, continued my uncle, that some possessor of this book wrote these mysterious letters. But who was that possessor? Is his name nowhere to be found in the manuscript?

    My uncle raised his spectacles, took up a strong lens, and carefully examined the blank pages of the book. On the front of the second, the title-page, he noticed a sort of stain which looked like an ink blot. But in looking at it very closely he thought he could distinguish some half-effaced letters. My uncle at once fastened upon this as the centre of interest, and he laboured at that blot, until by the help of his microscope he ended by making out the following Runic characters which he read without difficulty.

    Arne Saknussemm! he cried in triumph. Why that is the name of another Icelander, a savant of the sixteenth century, a celebrated alchemist!

    I gazed at my uncle with satisfactory admiration.

    Those alchemists, he resumed, Avicenna, Bacon, Lully, Paracelsus, were the real and only savants of their time. They made discoveries at which we are astonished. Has not this Saknussemm concealed under his cryptogram some surprising invention? It is so; it must be so!

    The Professor’s imagination took fire at this hypothesis.

    No doubt, I ventured to reply; but what interest would he have in thus hiding so marvellous a discovery?

    Why? Why? How can I tell? Did not Galileo do the same by Saturn? We shall see. I will get at the secret of this document, and I will neither sleep nor eat until I have found it out.

    My comment on this was a half-suppressed Oh!

    Nor you either, Axel, he added.

    The deuce! said I to myself; then it is lucky I have eaten two dinners to-day!

    First of all we must find out the key to this cipher; that cannot be difficult.

    At these words I quickly raised my head; but my uncle went on soliloquising.

    There’s nothing easier. In this document there are a hundred and thirty-two letters, viz., seventy-seven consonants and fifty-five vowels. This is the proportion found in southern languages, whilst northern tongues are much richer in consonants; therefore this is in a southern language.

    These were very fair conclusions, I thought.

    But what language is it?

    Here I looked for a display of learning, but I met instead with profound analysis.

    This Saknussemm, he went on, "was a very well-informed man; now since he was not writing in his own mother tongue, he would naturally select that which was currently adopted by the choice spirits of the sixteenth century; I mean Latin. If I am mistaken, I can but try Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, or Hebrew. But the savants of the sixteenth century generally wrote in Latin. I am therefore entitled to pronounce this, à priori, to be Latin. It is Latin."

    I jumped up in my chair. My Latin memories rose in revolt against the notion that these barbarous words could belong to the sweet language of Virgil.

    Yes, it is Latin, my uncle went on; "but it is Latin confused and in disorder; ‘perturbata seu inordinata,’ as Euclid has it."

    Very well, thought I, if you can bring order out of that confusion, my dear uncle, you are a clever man.

    Let us examine carefully, said he again, taking up the leaf upon which I had written. "Here is a series of one hundred and thirty-two letters in apparent disorder. There are words consisting of consonants only, as nrrlls; others, on the other hand, in which vowels predominate, as for instance the fifth, uneeief, or the last but one, oscibo. Now this arrangement has evidently not been premeditated; it has arisen mathematically in obedience to the unknown law which has ruled in the succession of these letters. It appears to me a certainty that the original sentence was written in a proper manner, and afterwards distorted by a law which we have yet to discover. Whoever possesses the key of this cipher will read it with fluency. What is that key? Axel, have you got it?"

    I answered not a word, and for a very good reason. My eyes had fallen upon a charming picture, suspended against the wall, the portrait of Gräuben. My uncle’s ward was at that time at Altona, staying with a relation, and in her absence I was very downhearted; for I may confess it to you now, the pretty Virlandaise and the professor’s nephew loved each other with a patience and a calmness entirely German. We had become engaged unknown to my uncle, who was too much taken up with geology to be able to enter into such feelings as ours. Gräuben was a lovely blue-eyed blonde, rather given to gravity and seriousness; but that did not prevent her from loving me very sincerely. As for me, I adored her, if there is such a word in the German language. Thus it happened that the picture of my pretty Virlandaise threw me in a moment out of the world of realities into that of memory and fancy.

    There looked down upon me the faithful companion of my labours and my recreations. Every day she helped me to arrange my uncle’s precious specimens; she and I labelled them together. Mademoiselle Gräuben was an accomplished mineralogist; she could have taught a few things to a savant. She was fond of investigating abstruse scientific questions. What pleasant hours we have spent in study; and how often I envied the very stones which she handled with her charming fingers.

    Then, when our leisure hours came, we used to go out together, and turn into the shady avenues by the Alster, and went happily side by side up to the old windmill, which forms such an improvement to the landscape at the head of the lake. On the road we chatted hand in hand; I told her amusing tales at which she laughed heartily. Then we reached the banks of the Elbe, and after having bid good-bye to the swans, sailing gracefully amidst the white water lilies, we returned to the quay by the steamer.

    That is just where I was in my dream, when my uncle with a vehement thump on the table dragged me back to the realities of life.

    Come, said he, the very first idea which would come into any one’s head to confuse the letters of a sentence would be to write the words vertically instead of horizontally.

    Indeed! said I.

    Now we must see what would be the effect of that, Axel; put down upon this paper any sentence you like; only instead of arranging the letters in the usual way, one after the other, place them in succession in vertical columns, so as to group them together in five or six vertical lines.

    I caught his meaning, and immediately produced the following literary wonder:

    Good, said the professor, without reading them, now set down those words in a horizontal line.

    I obeyed, and with this result:

    IyIoau IoIwrb ou,nGe vwmdrn eeyea!

    Excellent! said my uncle, taking the paper hastily out of my hands. This begins to look just like an ancient document; the vowels and the consonants are grouped together in equal disorder; there are even capitals in the middle of words, and commas too, just as in Saknussemm’s parchment.

    I considered these remarks very clever.

    Now, said my uncle, looking straight at me, to read the sentence which you have just written, and with which I am wholly unacquainted, I shall only have to take the first letter of each word, then the second, the third, and so forth.

    And my uncle, to his great astonishment, and my much greater, read:

    I love you well, my own dear Gräuben!

    Hallo! cried the Professor.

    Yes, indeed, without knowing what I was about, like an awkward and unlucky lover, I had compromised myself by writing this unfortunate sentence.

    Aha! you are in love with Gräuben? he said, with the right look for a guardian.

    Yes; no! I stammered.

    You love Gräuben, he went on once or twice dreamily. Well, let us apply the process I have suggested to the document in question.

    My uncle, falling back into his absorbing contemplations, had already forgotten my imprudent words. I merely say imprudent, for the great mind of so learned a man of course had no place for love affairs, and happily the grand

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