Jules Vernes - A Journey To The Center Of The Earth

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This document was prepared for Arthur's Classic Novels. This etext was created by

[http://jv.gilead.org.il/vt/c_earth/01.html ]. Markup by Arthur Wendover. May 28, 2000.

A Journey To The Center Of The Earth

by Jules Verne

1864

Chapter 1

My Uncle Makes a Discovery

LOOKING back to all that has occurred to me since that eventful day, I am scarcely able to

believe in the reality of my adventures. They were truly so wonderful that even now I am

bewildered when I think of them.

My uncle was a German, having married my mother's sister, an Englishwoman. Being very

much attached to his fatherless nephew, he invited me to study under him in his home in the

fatherland. This home was in a large town, and my uncle a professor of philosophy, chemistry,

geology, mineralogy, and many other ologies.

One day, after passing some hours in the laboratory- my uncle being absent at the time- I

suddenly felt the necessity of renovating the tissues- i.e., I was hungry, and was about to rouse

up our old French cook, when my uncle, Professor Von Hardwigg, suddenly opened the street

door, and came rushing upstairs.

Now Professor Hardwigg, my worthy uncle, is by no means a bad sort of man; he is, however,

choleric and original. To bear with him means to obey; and scarcely had his heavy feet

resounded within our joint domicile than he shouted for me to attend upon him.

"Harry- Harry- Harry-"

I hastened to obey, but before I could reach his room, jumping three steps at a time, he was

stamping his right foot upon the landing.

"Harry!" he cried, in a frantic tone, "are you coming up?"

Now to tell the truth, at that moment I was far more interested in the question as to what was

to constitute our dinner than in any problem of science; to me soup was more interesting than

soda, an omelette more tempting than arithmetic, and an artichoke of ten times more value

than any amount of asbestos.

But my uncle was not a man to be kept waiting; so adjourning therefore all minor questions, I

presented myself before him.

He was a very learned man. Now most persons in this category supply themselves with

information, as peddlers do with goods, for the benefit of others, and lay up stores in order to

diffuse them abroad for the benefit of society in general. Not so my excellent uncle, Professor

Hardwigg; he studied, he consumed the midnight oil, he pored over heavy tomes, and digested

huge quartos and folios in order to keep the knowledge acquired to himself.

There was a reason, and it may be regarded as a good one, why my uncle objected to display

his learning more than was absolutely necessary: he stammered; and when intent upon

explaining the phenomena of the heavens, was apt to find himself at fault, and allude in such a

vague way to sun, moon, and stars that few were able to comprehend his meaning. To tell the

honest truth, when the right word would not come, it was generally replaced by a very

powerful adjective.

In connection with the sciences there are many almost unpronounceable names- names very

much resembling those of Welsh villages; and my uncle being very fond of using them, his

habit of stammering was not thereby improved. In fact, there were periods in his discourse

when he would finally give up and swallow his discomfiture- in a glass of water.

As I said, my uncle, Professor Hardwigg, was a very learned man; and I now add a most kind

relative. I was bound to him by the double ties of affection and interest. I took deep interest in

all his doings, and hoped some day to be almost as learned myself. It was a rare thing for me

to be absent from his lectures. Like him, I preferred mineralogy to all the other sciences. My

anxiety was to gain real knowledge of the earth. Geology and mineralogy were to us the sole

objects of life, and in connection with these studies many a fair specimen of stone, chalk, or

metal did we break with our hammers.

Steel rods, loadstones, glass pipes, and bottles of various acids were oftener before us than our

meals. My uncle Hardwigg was once known to classify six hundred different geological

specimens by their weight, hardness, fusibility, sound, taste, and smell.

He corresponded with all the great, learned, and scientific men of the age. I was, therefore, in

constant communication with, at all events the letters of, Sir Humphry Davy, Captain

Franklin, and other great men.

But before I state the subject on which my uncle wished to confer with me, I must say a word

about his personal appearance. Alas! my readers will see a very different portrait of him at a

future time, after he has gone through the fearful adventures yet to be related.

My uncle was fifty years old; tall, thin, and wiry. Large spectacles hid, to a certain extent, his

vast, round, and goggle eyes, while his nose was irreverently compared to a thin file. So much

indeed did it resemble that useful article, that a compass was said in his presence to have made

considerable N (Nasal) deviation.

The truth being told, however, the only article really attracted to my uncle's nose was tobacco.

Another peculiarity of his was, that he always stepped a yard at a time, clenched his fists as if

he were going to hit you, and was, when in one of his peculiar humors, very far from a

pleasant companion.

It is further necessary to observe that he lived in a very nice house, in that very nice street, the

Konigstrasse at Hamburg. Though lying in the center of a town, it was perfectly rural in its

aspect- half wood, half bricks, with old-fashioned gables- one of the few old houses spared by

the great fire of 1842.

When I say a nice house, I mean a handsome house- old, tottering, and not exactly

comfortable to English notions: a house a little off the perpendicular and inclined to fall into

the neighboring canal; exactly the house for a wandering artist to depict; all the more that you

could scarcely see it for ivy and a magnificent old tree which grew over the door.

My uncle was rich; his house was his own property, while he had a considerable private

income. To my notion the best part of his possessions was his god-daughter, Gretchen. And

the old cook, the young lady, the Professor and I were the sole inhabitants.

I loved mineralogy, I loved geology. To me there was nothing like pebbles- and if my uncle

had been in a little less of a fury, we should have been the happiest of families. To prove the

excellent Hardwigg's impatience, I solemnly declare that when the flowers in the drawing-

room pots began to grow, he rose every morning at four o'clock to make them grow quicker by

pulling the leaves!

Having described my uncle, I will now give an account of our interview.

He received me in his study; a perfect museum, containing every natural curiosity that can

well be imagined- minerals, however, predominating. Every one was familiar to me, having

been catalogued by my own hand. My uncle, apparently oblivious of the fact that he had

summoned me to his presence, was absorbed in a book. He was particularly fond of early

editions, tall copies, and unique works.

"Wonderful!" he cried, tapping his forehead. "Wonderful- wonderful!"

It was one of those yellow-leaved volumes now rarely found on stalls, and to me it appeared to

possess but little value. My uncle, however, was in raptures.

He admired its binding, the clearness of its characters, the ease with which it opened in his

hand, and repeated aloud, half a dozen times, that it was very, very old.

To my fancy he was making a great fuss about nothing, but it was not my province to say so.

On the contrary, I professed considerable interest in the subject, and asked him what it was

about.

"It is the Heims-Kringla of Snorre Tarleson,"he said, "the celebrated Icelandic author of the

twelfth century- it is a true and correct account of the Norwegian princes who reigned in

Iceland."

My next question related to the language in which it was written. I hoped at all events it was

translated into German. My uncle was indignant at the very thought, and declared he wouldn't

give a penny for a translation. His delight was to have found the original work in the Icelandic

tongue, which he declared to be one of the most magnificent and yet simple idioms in the

world- while at the same time its grammatical combinations were the most varied known to

students.

"About as easy as German? was my insidious remark.

My uncle shrugged his shoulders.

"The letters at all events," I said, "are rather difficult of comprehension."

"It is a Runic manuscript, the language of the original population of Iceland, invented by Odin

himself," cried my uncle, angry at my ignorance.

I was about to venture upon some misplaced joke on the subject, when a small scrap of

parchment fell out of the leaves. Like a hungry man snatching at a morsel of bread the

Professor seized it. It was about five inches by three and was scrawled over in the most

extraordinary fashion.

The lines shown here are an exact facsimile of what was written on the venerable piece of

parchment-and have wonderful importance, as they induced my uncle to undertake the most

wonderful series of adventures which ever fell to the lot of human beings. (See illustration.)

My uncle looked keenly at the document for some moments and then declared that it was

Runic. The letters were similar to those in the book, but then what did they mean? This was

exactly what I wanted to know.

Now as I had a strong conviction that the Runic alphabet and dialect were simply an invention

to mystify poor human nature, I was delighted to find that my uncle knew as much about the

matter as I did- which was nothing. At all events the tremulous motion of his fingers made me

think so.

"And yet," he muttered to himself, "it is old Icelandic, I am sure of it."

And my uncle ought to have known, for he was a perfect polyglot dictionary in himself. He

did not pretend, like a certain learned pundit, to speak the two thousand languages and four

thousand idioms made use of in different parts of the globe, but he did know all the more

important ones.

It is a matter of great doubt to me now, to what violent measures my uncle's impetuosity might

have led him, had not the clock struck two, and our old French cook called out to let us know

that dinner was on the table.

"Bother the dinner!" cried my uncle.

But as I was hungry, I sallied forth to the dining room, where I took up my usual quarters. Out

of politeness I waited three minutes, but no sign of my uncle, the Professor. I was surprised.

He was not usually so blind to the pleasure of a good dinner. It was the acme of German

luxury- parsley soup, a ham omelette with sorrel trimmings, an oyster of veal stewed with

prunes, delicious fruit, and sparkling Moselle. For the sake of poring over this musty old piece

of parchment, my uncle forbore to share our meal. To satisfy my conscience, I ate for both.

The old cook and housekeeper was nearly out of her mind. After taking so much trouble, to

find her master not appear at dinner was to her a sad disappointment- which, as she

occasionally watched the havoc I was making on the viands, became also alarm. If my uncle

were to come to table after all?

Suddenly, just as I had consumed the last apple and drunk the last glass of wine, a terrible

voice was heard at no great distance. It was my uncle roaring for me to come to him. I made

very nearly one leap of it- so loud, so fierce was his tone.

Chapter 2

The Mysterious Parchment

"I DECLARE," cried my uncle, striking the table fiercely with his fist, "I declare to you it is

Runic- and contains some wonderful secret, which I must get at, at any price."

I was about to reply when he stopped me.

"Sit down," he said, quite fiercely, "and write to my dictation."

I obeyed.

"I will substitute," he said, "a letter of our alphabet for that of the Runic: we will then see what

that will produce. Now, begin and make no mistakes."

The dictation commenced with the following incomprehensible result:

mm.rnlls___ esreuel___ seecJde

sgtssmf___ unteief___ niedrke

kt,samn___ atrateS___ Saodrrn

emtnaeI___ nuaect ___ rrilSa

Atvaar___ .nscrc ___ ieaabs

ccdrmi___ eeutul ___ frantu

dt,iac___ oseibo ___ KediiY

Scarcely giving me time to finish, my uncle snatched the document from my hands and

examined it with the most rapt and deep attention.

"I should like to know what it means," he said, after a long period.

I certainly could not tell him, nor did he expect me to- his conversation being uniformly

answered by himself.

"I declare it puts me in mind of a cryptograph," he cried, "unless, indeed, the letters have been

written without any real meaning; and yet why take so much trouble? Who knows but I may

be on the verge of some great discovery?"

My candid opinion was that it was all rubbish! But this opinion I kept carefully to myself, as

my uncle's choler was not pleasant to bear. All this time he was comparing the book with the

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ThisdocumentwaspreparedforArthur'sClassicNovels.Thisetextwascreatedby[http://jv.gilead.org.il/vt/c_earth/01.html].MarkupbyArthurWendover.May28,2000.AJourneyToTheCenterOfTheEarthbyJulesVerne1864Chapter1MyUncleMakesaDiscoveryLOOKINGbacktoallthathasoccurredtomesincethateventfulday,Iamscarcelyabletobeli...

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