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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
    Ebook295 pages3 hours

    Journey to the Centre of the Earth

    By Jules Verne

    3.5/5

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    Jules Verne’s classic 1864 sci-fi novel tells the story of German professor Otto Lidenbrock who believes there are volcanic tubes going toward the centre of the Earth. He, his nephew Axel, and their guide Hans descend into the Icelandic volcano Snaefellsjökull, encountering many adventures, including prehistoric animals and natural hazards, before eventually coming to the surface again in southern Italy, at the Stromboli volcano.

    Journey has been read by millions of inquisitive minds and has influenced some of the worlds most famous explorers such as Admiral Byrd, who announced on his 1926 expedition to the North Pole that "it is Jules Verne who is bringing me."

    Renowned cave explorer Norbert Casteret said in 1938 that A Journey to the Center of the Earth was a "marvelous book which impressed and fascinated me more than any other. I have re-read it many times, and I confess I sometimes re-read it still, each time finding anew the joys and enthusiasm of my childhood." 
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEnhanced Media Publishing
    Release dateMar 23, 2017
    ISBN9781365842566
    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

    2,358 ratings87 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!
    • 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.
    • 5/5
      I loved this book! I seriously cannot believe that I avoided Verne for decades because I found Wells somewhat plodding. Of course, I've seen the movies made of both authors' works, but it was the most recent (2008) version which piqued my interest. By following the story by telling a narrative which encompassed it, I was having so much fun that I decided to read--and what a trip! It's on my favorites list now.
    • 3/5
      I was a bit surprised how much my expectations with this book were colored by the 1959 movie based off of it, I was surprised because I knew going in they weren't really the same but I still found myself missing the whimsy of the movie, which made the book seem a bit drab in comparison. I found the characters a bit flat, not quite believable by today standards, I never really bought them as real people or believed in their motivations and I found the ending a bit rushed and convenient, though I'm not sure how else it could have ended. That said, I enjoyed this more than I thought I would and it was a much faster read then I had expected and was an interesting adventure story. It was also a fascinating look back at the early days of Earth science, of science as we know it in general, and its easy to forget just how much we had to learn.
    • 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.
    • 3/5
      Though exciting in spots it is essentially a primer on 19th century theistic evolution.
    • 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.
    • 3/5
      It appears that there are two circulating English versions of Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth. The one I read on my Kindle was published by Dover, and the protagonists are the German mineralogy Professor Lidenbrock and his nephew Axel, the narrator of the tale.On deciphering a secret Runic/Latin message written in an old Icelandic MS by the 16th c. savant, Arne Saknussemm:Descend the crater of the Jokul of Snafell, that the shadow of Scartaris softly touches before the Kalends of July, bold traveller, and thou wilt reach the center of the earth. Which I have done., the Professor and his nephew set off immediately for Iceland.Arriving in Iceland, the Professor hires an Icelandic eider-hunter, Hans, as a guide to for their ascent of (and subsequent descent into) the crater of Snafell. Marvellous adventures follow, most unbelievable, given what we now know of dormant volcanoes and the center of the earth, and the travellers eventually emerge through the volcano of Mount Stromboli in Sicily. It's an entertaining and quick read, if thoroughly preposterous.
    • 4/5
      What a wonderful thing an imagination is. In Journey to the Center of the Earth we get to appreciate the imagination of Jules Verne in his 1864 novel that follows Professor Otto Lidenbrock, his nephew Axel, and their guide Hans down a volcanic tube in Iceland in a quest to reach the center of the earth.A little dated and somewhat silly at times, this was still a fun and exciting read that had this group of adventurers encountering many dangers, including prehistoric animals before they discovered themselves back on the surface of the earth. Although many of the scientific “facts” that were used in this book have since been disproved, the author’s vision and his writing style make this book a classic of nineteenth century literature.I read this book in instalment form through Daily Lit and as much as I thoroughly enjoyed my trip to this subterranean world, I can’t help but wish I had discovered this book when I was young as I know it would have fired my own imagination tremendously. Coming to the book at my advanced age, does allow me to understand why this book has been filmed for both movies and television numerous times as the author’s vision of a strange inner earth is vivid and one can see that it would play well on film.
    • 3/5
      I was surprised how easily this read, for a story that's pushing 150 years old. Some of the grammar had the touch of the archaic, but on the whole it felt surprisingly modern. It did get off to a fairly plodding start, but once the journey proper (up and into the volcano) was underway, it moved along nicely.I did find the ending, though exciting enough in its own right, to be a bit of a letdown. Although I admit that "Journey TOWARD the Center of the Earth" wouldn't have been nearly as catchy a title.
    • 4/5
      Journey to the Center of the Earth is the grand adventure story of Professor Lidenbrock's quest to follow a the instructions in a cryptic text that describe how one can descend to the very center of the planet via volcanic tubes originating in an Icelandic volcano. He sets out with his nephew Axel and their hired guide Hans on an extraordinary journey through the bowels of the earth that has them encountering strange phenomena and many dangers. The story is told entirely from Axel's point of view as he writes journal of the trip.This is my first time reading Jules Verne. It was a lot of fun and reminded me very much of the 1959 movie. The story starts off slow and spends a bit more time in the preparation than on the journey than I'd like. I wish there had been more time spent deep within the earth and the discoveries there. Axel is quite over dramatic and probably should never have gone along with his uncle. The science in the story is incredibly out dated so you have to unplug that part of the brain to enjoy the adventure.I listened to the audio book narrated by Tim Curry. His performance is top notch and fits the work beautifully. I love the emotion he's able to give the characters.
    • 4/5
      I remember being entirely engrossed in this book when I read it as an eleven-year-old boy, feeling I was in those subterranean tunnels and passages with the travellers. Recently I downloaded the Malleson translation onto my Kindle (free from Project Gutenberg) to explore whether the story still has the capacity to engage the adult as it had the child. The simple answer is, yes it does, and in some ways I may have reaped more from the experience this time around, because I appreciated the skill in the characterisation as well as Verne's ability to take us along with them on the adventure. The three main characters - Axel, the young narrator, his eccentric and obsessed uncle Professor Liedenbrock, and their taciturn Icelandic guide Hans - make wonderful travelling companions for the reader. We are sucked along in the whirlwind of the Professor's passion experiencing, like Axel, that heady mix of curiosity and trepidation, relying for our safety on Hans, one of the most steadfast silent heroes in literature. Of course the scientific arguments that Verne presents through the arguments between Axel and the Professor sometimes border on the absurd, and the sights we come across - including an underground ocean, living dinosaurs and a twelve foot humanoid - are fantastic indeed but there is just enough true science to persuade us to leave our disbelief at the entrance to the volcano. Jules Verne was a true pioneer of the science fiction genre. Many lesser writers have followed in his footsteps; but literature is a sustainable magic for readers, and it's our delight that we can still make the journey with the original master.
    • 3/5
      I was a young adolescent when I first started reading this book. However, I placed the book on top of the family's station wagon when we stopped at a convenience store only to lose it when we I forget it as I hopped back in the car. Fifty years later, I finally finished it. When Professor Lidenbrock deciphers a runic note authored by Icelandic alchemist Arne Saknussemm, he discovers that the alchemist discovered and traveled a passage in Iceland to the center of the Earth. With the assistance of a Icelandic guide, the taciturn Hans, Professor Lidenbrock and his nephew Axel, and the novel's narrator, follow their predecessor in his descent into an extinct volcano to the center of the Earth.If you have seen either the 1959 movie with James Mason and Pat Boone or the 2008 film with Brendan Fraser, you will not significant differences, especially with the latter which is more a sequel to the book. In the book there are no competitors seeking to first reach the center of the Earth, no dinosaur fights on the beach, or abandoned temples at the center of the Earth. However, the book is a good read nevertheless.
    • 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
      A nice little adventure story full of peril and suspense but I was sorely disappointed with the ending.
    • 4/5
      When I read this in high school, I loved it, but I have no idea what I'd thnk of it now.
    • 3/5
      Good bedtime reading for the 7 year old daughter and me. And it takes me waaaaay back: I loved Verne when I was 8 and 9 and 10. The plot of this book is preposterous, but so what?
    • 3/5
      Time has not been gentle to this classic.
    • 3/5
      I guess I've been spoiled by modern fast-paced writing. While I did enjoy this book, and it had some great parts, I found a lot of it to be time-killing "filler" type material. Was it really necessary to take 90 pages to actually descend into the earth? Not in my humble opinion.The afterword by Nimoy was interesting, though.
    • 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.
    • 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!
    • 4/5
      I know a lot of people who don't bother to read a book that has a movie version. You don't need to worry about this book. The movie is so different from the book that you won't know what will happen.
    • 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
      Another classic travel adventure tale from the pen of Jules Verne. This is the third in a series he called "Voyages Extraordinaires". When Axel deciphers an old parchment that describes a secret passage through a volcano to the centre of the earth, nothing will stop him and his eccentric uncle from embarking on a perilous, terrifying journey through the subterranean world. Verne's novels are each a marvel of action, adventure, ideas, and the fantastic. In this case the emphasis is on the fantastic, but if you suspend your disbelief and join Verne on his journey you find enjoyable tales. This is not my favorite -- see Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea for that, but it is as they say, a rollicking good story.
    • 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
      This was the first true adult book I read. I seem to recall the story being a bit different than any of its film depictions. It makes me wish you could attempt to journey to the center of the earth in that way.
    • 3/5
      This book is to me the ultimate of the Science Fiction genre. You take an event that's impossible--say, traveling to the center of the Earth, and then add a bunch of scientific terms to it and make the reader think it might be possible. The addition of a character who he (typically he, sometimes she) doubts the possibility of completing the task is a nice one--he is there so the audiance will not feel too bad in their disbelief of what is happening in the book.

      This was my first book by Jules Verne, and it was pretty much what I expected (what you would find in any science fiction novel?). But what I need to remind myself of, is that this book was written a lonnnnnggggg time ago, and I'm sure at the time, I could see how this book would be a huge hit.

    Book preview

    Journey to the Centre of the Earth - Jules Verne

    Zann

    Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne, translated by F. A. Malleson (Frederick Amadeus Malleson). First published as Journey into the Interior of the Earth by Ward, Lock, &Co., Ltd., London, in 1877. This edition published 2017 by Enhanced Media. All rights reserved.

    ––––––––

    ISBN: 978-1-365-84256-6

    CHAPTER I

    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 to 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 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.

    CHAPTER II

    A MYSTERY TO BE SOLVED AT ANY PRICE

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    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 his 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 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.

    [Runic glyphs occur here]

    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 polyglot. 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 compote 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 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 III

    THE RUNIC WRITING EXERCISES, THE PROFESSOR

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    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:

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    mm.rnlls esrevel seecIde sgtssmf vnteief niedrke kt,samn atrateS saodrrn emtnaeI nvaect rrilSa Atsaar .nvcrc ieaabs ccrmi eevtVl frAntv dt,iac oseibo KediiI

    ––––––––

    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 all, 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

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