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**Navigate by Chapters or Titles:**
00:00:21 Chapter 1.
00:07:26 Chapter 2.
00:14:42 Chapter 3.
00:25:46 Chapter 4.
00:32:09 Chapter 5.
00:40:39 Chapter 6.
00:52:57 Chapter 7.
01:02:18 Chapter 8.
01:12:35 Chapter 9.
01:23:23 Chapter 10.
01:30:51 Chapter 11.
01:41:23 Chapter 12.
01:49:56 Chapter 13.
01:58:45 Chapter 14.
02:07:46 Chapter 15.
02:16:45 Chapter 16.
02:25:45 Chapter 17.
02:32:53 Chapter 18.
02:41:25 Chapter 19.
02:48:41 Chapter 20.
02:56:05 Chapter 21.
03:03:02 Chapter 22.
03:08:00 Chapter 23.
03:15:38 Chapter 24.
03:21:22 Chapter 25.
03:28:13 Chapter 26.
03:32:16 Chapter 27.
03:38:03 Chapter 28.
03:46:02 Chapter 29.
03:51:22 Chapter 30.
04:03:32 Chapter 31.
04:10:11 Chapter 32.
04:20:34 Chapter 33.
04:31:00 Chapter 34.
04:38:21 Chapter 35.
04:47:22 Chapter 36.
04:55:46 Chapter 37.
05:02:41 Chapter 38.
05:12:17 Chapter 39.
05:22:15 Chapter 40.
05:30:20 Chapter 41.
05:37:59 Chapter 42.
05:46:53 Chapter 43.
05:55:45 Chapter 44.
06:04:39 Chapter 45.
In this captivating novel by Jules Verne, follow Professor Lidenbrock and his nephew Axel on an extraordinary scientific adventure . Their quest leads them to the center of the Earth, a mysterious and unknown world, where dangers and discoveries follow one another at every moment. A thrilling story that mixes exploration, science, and suspense, plunging readers into a fascinating underground universe. Chapter 1. On May 24, 1863, a Sunday, my uncle, Professor Lidenbrock, rushed back to his small house at number 19 König-strasse, one of the oldest streets in Hamburg’s old quarter.
Maid Marthe must have thought she was very late, because dinner was barely beginning to sing on the kitchen stove. Well, I said to myself, if he’s hungry, my uncle, who is the most impatient of men, will cry out in distress. “Already, Mr. Lidenbrock!” cried the astonished maid Marthe, half-opening the dining-room door. “Yes, Marthe; but dinner has the right not to be cooked, for it is not yet two o’clock. Half-past eight has barely struck at Saint-Michel. ” “Then why is Mr. Lidenbrock coming home? ” “He will probably tell us. ” “There he is! I’m off. Mr. Axel, you will make him see reason. ” And the maid Marthe returned to her culinary laboratory. I remained alone. But to make the most irascible of professors see reason is something my somewhat indecisive character did not allow me to do. So I was preparing to cautiously return to my little room upstairs, when the street door creaked on its hinges; large feet made the wooden staircase creak, and the master of the house, crossing the dining-room, immediately rushed into his study. But, during this rapid passage, he had thrown his nutcracker-headed cane into a corner, his large, shaggy hat onto the table, and to his nephew these resounding words: Axel, follow me! I had not had time to move before the professor was already shouting to me with a lively accent of impatience: Well! You are not here yet? I rushed into the study of my formidable master. Otto Lidenbrock was not a bad man, I readily admit; but, unless there are improbable changes, he will die in the skin of a terrible eccentric. He was a professor at the Johannaeum, and gave a course in mineralogy during which he regularly flew into a rage once or twice. Not that he was concerned about having students who attended his lessons assiduously, nor the degree of attention they gave him, nor the success they might subsequently achieve ; these details hardly worried him. He taught subjectively, according to an expression of German philosophy , for himself and not for others. He was a selfish scholar, a well of knowledge whose pulley creaked when one tried to get something out of it. In a word, a miser. There are a few professors of this kind in Germany. My uncle, unfortunately, did not enjoy extreme facility of pronunciation, if not in private, at least when he spoke in public, and this is a regrettable fault in an orator. Indeed, in his demonstrations at the Johannaeum, the professor often stopped short; he struggled with a recalcitrant word that would not slip between his lips, one of those words that resist, swell, and finally come out in the unscientific form of an oath. Hence, great anger. There are in mineralogy many semi-Greek, semi-Latin denominations that are difficult to pronounce, those harsh appellations that would grate on the lips of a poet. I don’t want to speak ill of this science. Far from it. But when one is in the presence of rhombohedral crystallizations, retinasphalt resins , ghelenites, tangasites, lead molybdates, manganese tungstates and zirconia titaniates, it is permissible for the most skillful tongue to slip. Now, in the city, this pardonable infirmity of my uncle, and they abused him, and they waited for him at dangerous passages, and he would fly into a rage, and they would laugh, which is not in good taste, even for Germans. If there were always large crowds of listeners at Lidenbrock’s lectures, how many followed them assiduously who came above all to cheer themselves up at the professor’s fine tantrums! Whatever the case, my uncle, I cannot say it enough, was a true scholar. Although he sometimes broke his samples by testing them too abruptly, he combined the genius of the geologist with the eye of the mineralogist. With his hammer, his steel point, his magnetic needle, his blowtorch and his flask of nitric acid, he was a very strong man. By the breakage, appearance, hardness, fusibility, sound, smell, taste of any mineral, he classified it without hesitation among the six hundred species that science counts today. Also the name of Lidenbrock resounded with honor in the gymnasiums and national associations. Messrs. Humphry Davy, de Humboldt, Captains Franklin and Sabine, did not fail to visit him when they passed through Hamburg. Messrs. Becquerel, Ebelmen, Brewster, Dumas, Milne-Edwards, liked to consult him on the most exciting questions of chemistry. This science owed him some rather beautiful discoveries, and, in 1853, a Treatise on Transcendental Crystallography, by Professor Otto Lidenbrock, appeared in Leipzig , a large folio with plates, which, however, did not cover its costs. Add to this that my uncle was curator of the mineralogical museum of Mr. Struve, the Russian ambassador, a precious collection of European renown. Here then is the character who called out to me with such impatience. Imagine a tall, thin man, in iron health, and with a youthful blond hair that took a good ten years off his fifty. His large eyes rolled constantly behind considerable glasses; his nose, long and thin, resembled a sharp blade; the wicked even claimed that he was magnetized and attracted iron filings. Pure slander; he only attracted tobacco, but in great abundance, to be honest. When I add that my uncle took mathematical strides of half a fathom, and if I say that when he walked he held his fists firmly closed, a sign of an impetuous temperament , he will be known well enough not to be fond of his company. He lived in his little house on Königstrasse, a half-timbered, half-brick dwelling with a jagged gable; it overlooked one of those winding canals that cross in the middle of the oldest district of Hamburg, which the fire of 1842 fortunately spared. The old house leaned a little, it is true, and stretched its belly out to passers-by; it wore its sloping roof over its ear, like the cap of a student of the Tugendbund; the plumb lines left something to be desired; but, on the whole, it stood well, thanks to an old elm vigorously embedded in the facade, which in spring pushed its flowering buds through the stained-glass windows. My uncle was not without his wealth for a German professor. The house belonged to him in full ownership, container and contents. The contents were his goddaughter Graüben, a young seventeen-year-old girl from Virland, the maid Marthe, and me. In my dual capacity as nephew and orphan, I became his assistant in his experiments. I will admit that I bit into the geological sciences with gusto; I had the blood of a mineralogist in my veins, and I was never bored in the company of my precious pebbles. In short, one could live happily in this little house on König-strasse, despite the impatience of its owner, because, although he went about it in a somewhat brutal way, he loved me no less. But this man did not know how to wait, and He was in a bigger hurry than life. When, in April, he had planted mignonette or morning glories in the earthenware pots in his living room, he would regularly go every morning to pull them up by the leaves to hasten their growth. With such an original, one had only to obey. So I rushed into his study. Chapter 2. This study was a veritable museum. All the samples of the mineral kingdom were labeled there in the most perfect order, according to the three great divisions of inflammable, metallic, and lithoid minerals. How well I knew them, these trinkets of mineralogical science! How many times, instead of playing with boys my own age, I had enjoyed dusting these graphites, these anthracites, these coals, these lignites, these peats! And the bitumens, the resins, the organic salts that had to be preserved from the slightest atom of dust! And those metals, from iron to gold, whose relative value vanished before the absolute equality of scientific specimens! And all those stones which would have been enough to rebuild the house in König-strasse, even with one more beautiful room, which I would have made so much of! But, on entering the study, I hardly thought of these marvels. My uncle alone occupied my thoughts. He was buried in his large armchair upholstered in Utrecht velvet, and held in his hands a book which he considered with the deepest admiration. What a book! what a book! he exclaimed. This exclamation reminded me that Professor Lidenbrock was also a bibliomaniac in his spare time; but a book had no value in his eyes unless it was untraceable, or at least illegible. Well! he said to me, don’t you see? But it is an inestimable treasure that I came across this morning while rummaging in the shop of the Jew Hevelius. “Magnificent!” I replied with the enthusiasm of a command. Indeed, what good was all this noise for an old quarto whose spine and covers seemed made of coarse calfskin, a yellowish book from which hung a discolored bookmark? Meanwhile the professor’s admiring interjections did not cease. “Look,” he said, asking himself questions and answers, ” is it quite beautiful? Yes, it is admirable! And what a binding! Does this book open easily? Yes, for it remains open at any page! But does it close well? Yes, for the cover and the leaves form a well-united whole, without separating or gaping anywhere. And this spine that does not show a single break after seven hundred years of existence! Ah! This is a binding of which Bozerian, Closs, or Purgold would have been proud! As I spoke, my uncle opened and closed the old book in succession. I could not do less than question him about its contents, although it did not interest me at all. And what is the title of this marvelous volume? I asked with an eagerness too enthusiastic not to be feigned. “This work!” replied my uncle, growing animated, “is the Heims-Kringla by Snorre Turleson, the famous Icelandic author of the twelfth century; it is the Chronicle of the Norwegian princes who reigned in Iceland. ” “Really!” I cried as best I could, “and, no doubt, it is a translation into German? ” “Good!” retorted the professor briskly, “a translation! And what would I do with your translation! Who cares about your translation!” This is the original work in the Icelandic language, that magnificent idiom, rich and simple at the same time, which allows for the most varied grammatical combinations and numerous word modifications!
—Like German, I insinuated rather happily. —Yes, replied my uncle, shrugging his shoulders; but with this difference that the Icelandic language admits the three genders like Greek and declines proper nouns like Latin! —Ah! I said, a little shaken in my indifference, and the Are the characters in this book beautiful? —Characters! Who is talking about characters, unfortunate Axel! It is indeed characters! Ah! You take this for a printed matter! But, ignorant man, it is a manuscript, and a runic manuscript!…
—Runic? —Yes! Are you going to ask me now to explain this word to you? —I will be careful not to, I replied with the accent of a man whose pride is wounded. But my uncle continued even more, and instructed me, in spite of myself, in things that I hardly wanted to know. Runes, he continued, were writing characters formerly used in Iceland, and, according to tradition, they were invented by Odin himself! But look, admire, you impious man, these types who came from the imagination of a god! Well, for lack of a reply, I was about to prostrate myself, a kind of response that must please gods as well as kings, for it has the advantage of never embarrassing them, when an incident came to divert the course of the conversation. It was the appearance of a filthy parchment that slipped from the book and fell to the ground. My uncle rushed upon this brimborion with an avidity that is easy to understand. An old document, perhaps enclosed since time immemorial in an old book, could not fail to have a high price in his eyes. What is this? he cried. And, at the same time, he carefully unfolded on his table a piece of parchment five inches long and three wide, and on which stretched, in transverse lines, characters from a grimoire. Here is the exact facsimile. I wish to make these strange signs known, because they led Professor Lidenbrock and his nephew to undertake the strangest expedition of the nineteenth century: ᚦ ᛏ , ᛁ ᛐ ᚴ ᚭ ᚼ ᛅ ᛁ ᚲ ᚭ ᚴ ᛅ ᚦ ᛁ ᛁ ᛦ The professor considered this series of characters for a few moments; then he said, raising his glasses: This is runic; these types are absolutely identical to those in the manuscript of Snorre Turleson! But… what can this mean? As runic seemed to me to be an invention of scholars to mystify the poor world, I was not sorry to see that my uncle understood nothing about it. At least, it seemed so to me from the movement of his fingers which began to move terribly. It’s still old Icelandic! he muttered between his teeth. And Professor Lidenbrock must have known it well, for he was considered a true polyglot. Not that he was fluent in the two thousand languages and four thousand idioms used on the surface of the globe, but he knew his fair share of them. So, faced with this difficulty, he was about to give in to all the impetuosity of his character, and I foresaw a violent scene, when two o’clock struck from the little clock on the fireplace. At once, good Martha opened the door of the study, saying: “The soup is served. ” “To hell with the soup,” cried my uncle, “and the one who made it, and those who will eat it! ” Martha ran away; I flew after her, and, without knowing how, I found myself seated in my usual place in the dining room. I waited a few moments. The professor did not come. It was the first time, to my knowledge, that the solemnity of dinner had been omitted. And what a dinner, however! Parsley soup, a ham omelet seasoned with sorrel and nutmeg, a loin of veal with plum compote, and, for dessert, shrimps in sugar, all washed down with a fine Moselle wine. That’s what an old piece of paper was going to cost my uncle. Well, as a devoted nephew, I felt obliged to eat for him, and even for myself. Which I did in all conscience. I’ve never seen anything like it! said good Martha as she served. Mr. Lidenbrock not at table! “It’s unbelievable.” “That portends something serious!” the old servant continued, shaking her head. ” In my opinion, it foreshadowed nothing, except a dreadful scene, when my uncle found his dinner devoured.” I was down to my last shrimp when a resounding voice tore me away from the pleasures of dessert. I only made a leap from the room into the study. Chapter 3. “It’s obviously runic,” the professor said, frowning . “But there’s a secret, and I’ll discover it, or else…” A violent gesture completed his thought. “Sit here,” he added, pointing to the table with his fist, “and write. ” In an instant I was ready. “Now I’m going to dictate to you each letter of our alphabet that corresponds to one of these Icelandic characters. We’ll see what comes of it. But, by Saint Michael! be careful not to make a mistake! ” The dictation began. I applied myself as best I could; Each letter was called one after the other, and formed the incomprehensible succession of the following words: mm . rnllsesreuelseec J de sgtssmfunteiefniedrke kt , samnatrate SS aodrrn emtnae I nuaectrril S a A tuaar . nscrcieaabs ccdrmieeutulfrantu dt , iacoseibo K edii Y When this work was finished, my uncle quickly took the sheet on which I had just written, and he examined it for a long time with attention. What does it mean? he repeated mechanically. On my honor, I could not have taught him. Besides, he did not question me on this point, and he continued to talk to himself: This is what we call a cryptogram, he said, in which the meaning is hidden under letters deliberately jumbled, and which, suitably arranged, would form an intelligible sentence! When I think that there is perhaps there the explanation or the indication of a great discovery! For my part, I thought that there was absolutely nothing, but I prudently kept my opinion. The professor then took the book and the parchment, and compared them both. These two writings are not by the same hand, he said; the cryptogram is later than the book, and I see at once an irrefutable proof of this. Indeed, the first letter is a double M which one would look for in vain in Turleson’s book, because it was not added to the Icelandic alphabet until the fourteenth century. So, there are at least two hundred years between the manuscript and the document. This, I agree, seemed quite logical to me. I am therefore led to think, continued my uncle, that one of the owners of this book will have traced these mysterious characters. But who the devil was this owner? Wouldn’t he have put his name somewhere in this manuscript? My uncle raised his glasses, took a strong magnifying glass, and carefully reviewed the first pages of the book. On the back of the second, that of the half-title, he discovered a sort of stain, which to the eye gave the effect of an ink blot. However, on closer inspection, one could distinguish some half-erased characters. My uncle understood that this was the interesting point; he therefore worked hard on the stain and, with the help of his large magnifying glass, he finally recognized the following signs, runic characters which he read without hesitation: Arne Saknussem! he cried triumphantly, “but that’s a name, and an Icelandic name at that! That of a sixteenth-century scholar, a famous alchemist!” I looked at my uncle with a certain admiration. ” These alchemists,” he continued, “Avicenna, Bacon, Llull, Paracelsus, were the true, the only scholars of their time. They made discoveries that have astonished us. Why should not this Saknussemm have buried under this An incomprehensible cryptogram, some surprising invention? That must be so. That is so. The professor’s imagination was fired by this hypothesis. No doubt, I dared to reply, but what interest could this scholar have in hiding some marvelous discovery like this? “Why? Why? Eh! Do I know? Didn’t Galileo do the same for Saturn? Besides, we’ll see; I will have the secret of this document, and I will neither eat nor sleep until I have guessed it. ” “Oh!” I thought. “Nor you, Axel,” he continued. “The devil! I said to myself, it’s lucky I had dinner for two! ” “And first,” said my uncle, “we must find the language of this cipher. That shouldn’t be difficult.” At these words, I raised my head quickly. My uncle resumed his soliloquy: “Nothing is easier.” There are in this document one hundred and thirty-two letters which give seventy-nine consonants against fifty-three vowels. Now, it is approximately in this proportion that the words of southern languages are formed, while the idioms of the north are infinitely richer in consonants. It is therefore a language of the south. These conclusions were very correct. But what is this language? It is there that I was waiting for my scholar, in whom, however, I discovered a profound analyst. This Saknussemm, he continued, was an educated man; now, as soon as he did not write in his mother tongue, he must have chosen by preference the current language among the cultivated minds of the sixteenth century, I mean Latin. If I am mistaken, I could try Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, Hebrew. But the scholars of the sixteenth century generally wrote in Latin. I therefore have the right to say a priori: this is Latin. I jumped up from my chair. My memories as a Latinist rebelled against the pretension that this series of baroque words could belong to the sweet language of Virgil. Yes! Latin, continued my uncle, but garbled Latin. “Good! I thought. If you unravel it, you will be clever, uncle. ” “Let us examine carefully,” he said, taking up the sheet on which I had written. “Here is a series of one hundred and thirty-two letters which appear in apparent disorder. There are words where the consonants occur alone, like the first mrnlls, others where the vowels, on the contrary, abound, the fifth, for example, unteief, or the penultimate oseibo. Now, this arrangement has obviously not been combined; it is given mathematically by the unknown reason which presided over the succession of these letters. It seems certain to me that the original sentence was written regularly, then reversed according to a law that must be discovered. Whoever possessed the key to this cipher would read it fluently. But what is this key? Axel, do you have this key? To this question I answered nothing, and for good reason. My eyes had fallen on a charming portrait hanging on the wall, the portrait of Graüben. My uncle’s ward was then in Altona, with one of her relatives, and her absence made me very sad, for, I can now admit, the pretty Virlandaise and the professor’s nephew loved each other with all German patience and tranquility; we had become engaged without the knowledge of my uncle, who was too much of a geologist to understand such feelings. Graüben was a charming young blonde girl with blue eyes, of a rather grave character, of a rather serious mind; but she loved me no less; for my part, I adored her, if indeed this verb exists in the Teutonic language! The image of my little Virlandaise threw me back, in an instant, from the world of realities into that of chimeras, into that of memories. I saw again the faithful companion of my works and my pleasures. She helped me to arrange each day the precious stones of my uncle; she labeled them with me. Miss Graüben was a very skilled mineralogist! She loved to delve into the difficult questions of science. How many sweet hours we had spent studying together, and how I often envied the fate of those insensible stones that she handled with her charming hands. Then, when the time for recreation came, we would both go out ; we would take the bushy paths of the Alsser, and we would go together to the old tarred mill that looks so good at the end of the lake; along the way, we would chat, holding hands; I would tell her things that made her laugh as best we could; we would thus arrive at the edge of the Elbe, and, after saying goodnight to the swans that swim among the large white water lilies, we would return to the quay by steamboat. Now, I was at this point in my dream, when my uncle, striking the table with his fist, violently brought me back to reality. Let’s see, he said, the first idea that should come to mind to scramble the letters of a sentence is, it seems to me, to write the words vertically instead of tracing them horizontally. “Well! ” I thought. “You must see what that produces, Axel, throw any sentence on this piece of paper; but, instead of arranging the letters one after the other, put them successively in vertical columns, so as to group them in numbers of five or six. ” I understood what it was, and immediately I wrote from top to bottom: J mne , b ee , t G e t’ bmirn aiata ! iepe ü Good, said the professor, without having read. Now, arrange these words on a horizontal line. I obeyed, and I obtained the following sentence: Jmne,b ee,tGe t’bmirn aiata! iepeü Perfect! said my uncle, snatching the paper from my hands, this already has the appearance of the old document; the vowels are grouped together as well as the consonants in the same disorder; there are even capital letters in the middle of the words, as well as commas, just like in the Saknussemm parchment! I cannot help but find these remarks very ingenious. Now, continued my uncle, addressing me directly, to read the sentence that you have just written, and which I do not know, I will only have to take successively the first letter of each word, then the second, then the third, and so on. And my uncle, to his great astonishment, and especially mine, read: I like you very much, my little Graüben! Eh! said the professor. Yes, without realizing it, like a clumsy lover, I had written this compromising sentence! Ah! you love Graüben! resumed my uncle in a true tutor’s tone! “Yes… No…” I stammered! “Ah! you love Graüben,” he continued mechanically. “Well, let us apply my method to the document in question!” My uncle, fallen back into his absorbing contemplation, was already forgetting my imprudent words. I say imprudent, because the scholar’s head could not understand matters of the heart. But, fortunately, the great matter of the document prevailed. At the moment of carrying out his capital experiment, Professor Lidenbrock’s eyes flashed through his glasses; his fingers trembled when he took up the old parchment; he was seriously moved. Finally, he coughed heavily, and in a deep voice, calling out successively the first letter, then the second of each word; he dictated the following series to me: mmessunkaSenrA.icefdoK.segnittamurtn ecertserrette,rotaivsadua,ednecsedsadne lacartniiiluJsiratracSarbmutabiledmek meretarcsilucoYsleffenSnI When I finished, I will admit, I was moved, these letters, named one by one, had presented no meaning to my mind; I therefore waited for the professor to let a magnificent sentence unfold pompously between his lips Latinity. But who could have foreseen it! A violent blow from the fist shook the table. The ink spurted out, the pen jumped out of my hands. That’s not it! cried my uncle, that doesn’t make any sense !
Then, crossing the study like a cannonball, descending the stairs like an avalanche, he rushed into König-strasse, and fled as fast as he could. Chapter 4. He’s gone? cried Martha, running up at the sound of the street door which, violently slamming shut, had just shaken the whole house. “Yes!” I replied, “completely gone! ” “Well? And his dinner?” said the old servant. “He won’t have dinner! ” “And his supper? ” “He won’t have supper! ” “What?” said Martha, clasping her hands. “No, good Martha, he won’t eat any more, nor will anyone in the house!” My uncle Lidenbrock is putting us all on a diet until he has deciphered an old grimoire that is absolutely indecipherable! —Jesus! So we have nothing left but to die of hunger! I didn’t dare admit that with a man as absolute as my uncle, this was an inevitable fate. The old servant, seriously alarmed, returned to her kitchen groaning. When I was alone, the idea came to me to go and tell Graüben everything; but how could I leave the house? What if he called me? What if he wanted to start again this logogriphic work, which had been vainly proposed to old Oedipus! And if I didn’t respond to his call, what would happen? The wisest thing was to stay. As it happened, a mineralogist from Besançon had just sent us a collection of siliceous geodes that needed to be classified. I set to work. I sorted, I labeled, I arranged in their display case all these hollow stones inside which small crystals were stirring. But this occupation did not absorb me; the matter of the old document did not cease to preoccupy me strangely. My head was boiling, and I felt seized by a vague disquiet. I had the presentiment of an imminent catastrophe. At the end of an hour, my geodes were arranged in order. I then let myself fall into the large armchair from Utrecht, my arms dangling and my head thrown back. I lit my pipe with its long curved stem, whose sculpted bowl represented a nonchalantly reclining naiad; then, I amused myself by following the progress of the carbonization, which was gradually transforming my naiad into a complete negress. From time to time, I listened to see if a footstep sounded on the stairs. But no. Where could my uncle be at that moment? I pictured him running under the beautiful trees of the Altona road, gesticulating, pulling at the wall with his cane, with a violent arm beating the grass, decapitating the thistles and disturbing the solitary storks in their repose. Would he return triumphant or discouraged? Who would get the better of the other, the secret or himself? I wondered thus, and mechanically I took between my fingers the sheet of paper on which stretched the incomprehensible series of letters traced by me. I repeated to myself: What does this mean? I tried to group these letters in such a way as to form words. Impossible. Whether they were joined together in twos, threes, fives, or sixes, it produced absolutely nothing intelligible; there were indeed the fourteenth; fifteenth and sixteenth letters that made the English word ice, and the eighty-fourth, eighty-fifth, and eighty-sixth formed the word sir. Finally, in the body of the document, and on the second and third lines, I also noticed the Latin words persona, mutabile, ira, neo, atra. Devil, I thought, these last words would seem to prove my uncle right about the language of the document! And even, on the fourth line, I still see the word luco which translates as sacred wood. It is true that on the third, we read the word tabiled of perfectly Hebrew turn of phrase, and at the last, the words sea, arc, mother, which are purely French. There was enough to make one lose one’s head! Four different idioms in this absurd sentence! What connection could there be between the words ice, sir, anger, cruel, sacred wood, changing, mother, arc or sea? Only the first and the last were easily brought together; it was not surprising that, in a document written in Iceland, there was mention of a sea of ice. But to understand the rest of the cryptogram, that was another matter. I was therefore struggling against an insoluble difficulty; my brain was heating up; my eyes were blinking on the sheet of paper; the one hundred and thirty-two letters seemed to flutter around me, like those silver tears which slide in the air around our head, when the blood is violently carried there. I was in the grip of a sort of hallucination; I was suffocating; I needed air. Mechanically, I fanned myself with the sheet of paper, the front and back of which presented themselves successively to my gaze. What was my surprise when, in one of these rapid turns, at the moment when the back turned towards me, I thought I saw perfectly legible words appear, Latin words, among others craterem and terrestre. Suddenly a light flashed in my mind; these clues alone gave me a glimpse of the truth; I had discovered the law of the cipher. To read this document, it was not even necessary to read it through the turned sheet! No. Just as it was, just as it had been dictated to me, just as it could be spelled fluently. All the professor’s ingenious combinations were realized; he had been right about the arrangement of the letters, right about the language of the document! He was just a hair’s breadth away from being able to read this Latin sentence from one end to the other, and this nothing, chance had just given it to me! You can understand how moved I was! My eyes grew dim. I could not use them. I had spread the sheet of paper on the table. I had only to glance at it to become possessor of the secret. Finally I managed to calm my agitation. I made it a rule to walk twice around the room to calm my nerves, and I returned to plunge into the vast armchair. Let us read, I cried, after having replenished my lungs with an ample supply of air. I leaned over the table; I placed my finger successively on each letter, and, without stopping, without hesitating for a moment, I pronounced the entire sentence aloud. But what stupefaction, what terror came over me! I remained at first as if struck by a sudden blow. What! What I had just learned had come to pass! A man had been bold enough to penetrate! … Ah! I cried, leaping up: but no! but no! My uncle will never know! He would only want to experience such a journey! He would want to experience it too! Nothing could stop him! Such a determined geologist! He would leave anyway, despite everything, in spite of everything! And he would take me with him, and we would never come back! Never! never! I was in a state of overexcitement that was difficult to describe. No! no! it will not be, I said energetically, and, since I can prevent such an idea from coming to my tyrant’s mind , I will do it. By turning this document over and over, he might by chance discover the key! Let us destroy it. There was a remnant of fire in the fireplace. I seized not only the sheet of paper, but Saknussem’s parchment; With a feverish hand I was about to throw everything onto the coals and destroy this dangerous secret, when the door of the study opened. My uncle appeared. Chapter 5. I only had time to replace the unfortunate document on the table. Professor Lidenbrock seemed deeply absorbed. His dominant thought did not allow him a moment of respite; he had evidently scrutinized, analyzed the matter, used all the resources of his imagination during his walk, and he returned to apply some new combination. Indeed, he sat down in his armchair, and, pen in hand, he began to establish formulas which resembled an algebraic calculation. I followed his quivering hand with my eyes; I did not miss a single one of his movements. Was some unexpected result then about to unexpectedly occur? I trembled, and without reason, since the true combination, the only one, having already been found, all other research necessarily became futile. For three long hours, my uncle worked without speaking, without raising his head, erasing, starting again, crossing out, starting again a thousand times. I knew well that, if he succeeded in arranging letters according to all the relative positions they could occupy, the sentence would be complete. But I also knew that only twenty letters can form two quintillions, four hundred and thirty-two quadrillions, nine hundred and two trillions, eight billion, one hundred and seventy-six million, six hundred and forty thousand combinations. Now, there were one hundred and thirty-two letters in the sentence, and these one hundred and thirty-two letters gave a number of different sentences composed of at least one hundred and thirty-three figures , a number almost impossible to enumerate and which escapes all estimation. I was reassured by this heroic means of solving the problem. Meanwhile, time passed; night fell; the sounds of the street died down; my uncle, still bent over his task, saw nothing, not even the good Marthe who half-opened the door; he heard nothing, not even the voice of that worthy servant, saying: Will Monsieur have supper this evening? So Marthe had to leave without a reply: as for me, after having resisted for some time, I was seized by an invincible sleep, and I fell asleep on one end of the sofa, while my uncle Lidenbrock was still calculating and crossing out. When I awoke the next day, the tireless pickaxe was still at work. His red eyes, his pale complexion, his hair tangled under his feverish hand, his flushed cheekbones indicated his terrible struggle with the impossible, and, in what fatigue of mind, in what contention of brain, the hours must have passed for him. Truly, he made me feel sorry for him. In spite of the reproaches that I believed I had the right to make to him, a certain emotion seized me. The poor man was so possessed by his idea, that he forgot to get angry; All his vital forces were concentrated on a single point, and, as they did not escape by their usual outlet, one might fear that their tension would make him burst at any moment. I could have loosened the iron vice that gripped his skull with a single gesture, with just a word! And I did nothing. However, I had a good heart. Why did I remain silent in such circumstances? In my uncle’s own interest. No, no, I repeated, no, I will not speak! He would like to go there, I know him; nothing could stop him. He has a volcanic imagination, and to do what other geologists have not done, he would risk his life. I will remain silent; I will keep this secret of which chance has made me master; to discover it would be to kill Professor Lidenbrock. Let him guess it, if he can; I don’t want to reproach myself one day for having led him to his ruin. This well resolved, I crossed my arms, and I waited. But I had reckoned without an incident which occurred a few hours later. When the good Marthe wanted to leave the house to go to the market, she found the door closed; the big key was missing from the lock. Who had removed it? My uncle obviously, when he returned the day before after his hasty excursion. Was it on purpose? Was it by mistake? Did he want to submit to the rigors of hunger? That would have seemed a bit much to me. What! Marthe and I, we would be victims of a situation that did not concern us in the least? Without a doubt, and I remembered a precedent of a nature to frighten us. Indeed, a few years ago, at the time when my uncle was working on his great mineralogical classification, he remained forty-eight hours without eating, and his whole household had to conform to this scientific diet. For my part, I gained stomach cramps which were not very recreational for a boy of a rather voracious nature. Now, it seemed to me that lunch would be lacking like the supper of the day before. However, I resolved to be heroic and not to give in to the demands of hunger. Marthe took this very seriously and was distressed, the good woman. As for me, the impossibility of leaving the house worried me more and for good reason. You understand me well. My uncle was still working; his imagination was lost in the ideal world of combinations; he lived far from the earth, and truly outside of earthly needs. Around noon, hunger seriously spurred me on; Marthe, quite innocently, had devoured the provisions in the pantry the day before ; there was nothing left in the house. However, I held firm. I made a sort of point of honor of it. Two o’clock struck. It was becoming ridiculous, even intolerable; I opened my eyes wide. I began to tell myself that I was exaggerating the importance of the document; that my uncle would not believe it; that he would see it as a simple hoax; that at worst, he would be held back against his will, if he wanted to attempt the adventure; that finally he could discover the key to the cipher himself , and that I would then be out of pocket for my abstinence. These reasons, which I would have rejected with indignation the day before, seemed excellent to me; I even found it perfectly absurd to have waited so long, and my decision was made to say everything. I was therefore looking for an introduction, not too abrupt, when the professor got up, put on his hat and prepared to go out. What, leave the house, and lock us in again! Never. My uncle! I said. He did not seem to hear me. My uncle Lidenbrock! I repeated, raising my voice. “Huh?” he said like a man suddenly awakened. “Well! this key? ” “What key? The key to the door? ” “But no,” I cried, “the key to the document!” The professor looked at me over his glasses; he doubtless noticed something unusual in my face, for he quickly seized my arm, and, without being able to speak, he questioned me with his eyes. Yet never was a request formulated in a more clear manner. I shook my head up and down. He shook his with a sort of pity, as if he were dealing with a madman. I made a more affirmative gesture. His eyes shone with a lively brilliance; his hand became threatening. This silent conversation in these circumstances would have interested the most indifferent spectator. And truly I came to the point of no longer daring to speak, so much did I fear that my uncle would suffocate me in the first embraces of his joy. But he became so pressing that I had to answer. Yes, this key!… chance!… “What are you saying?” he cried with indescribable emotion. “Here,” I said, offering him the sheet of paper on which I had written, “read it. ” “But it means nothing!” he replied, crumpling the sheet. —Nothing, starting to read from the beginning, but from the end…
I hadn’t finished my sentence when the professor let out a cry, better than a cry, a real roar! A revelation had just occurred in his mind. He was transfigured. Ah! ingenious Saknussemm! he cried, so you had first written your sentence backwards! And rushing to the sheet of paper, his eyes troubled, In a moved voice, he read the entire document, going back from the last letter to the first. It was worded as follows: In Sneffels Yoculis craterem kem delibat umbra Scartaris Julii intra calendas descende, audas viator, et terrestre centrum attinges. Kod feci. Arne Saknussem . Which, from this bad Latin, can be translated as follows: Descend into the crater of the Yocul of Sneffels that the shadow of Scartaris comes to caress before the calends of July, bold traveler, and you will reach the center of the Earth. Which I did. Arne Saknussemm , My uncle, upon reading this, jumped up as if he had unexpectedly touched a Leyden jar. He was magnificent in his audacity, joy, and conviction. He went back and forth; he took his head in both hands; he moved the seats; He piled up his books; he juggled, it’s hard to believe, with his precious geodes; he threw a punch here, a slap there. Finally his nerves calmed and, like a man exhausted by an excessive expenditure of fluid, he sank back into his armchair. What time is it then? he asked after a few moments of silence. “Three o’clock,” I replied. “Well! My dinner went by quickly. I’m dying of hunger. To the table. And then…” “Then?
” “You’ll pack my trunk. ” “Huh!” I cried. “And yours!” replied the pitiless professor, entering the dining room. Chapter 6. At these words, a shudder ran through my whole body. However , I restrained myself. I even resolved to put on a brave face. Only scientific arguments could stop Professor Lidenbrock; and there were some, and good ones, against the possibility of such a journey. To go to the center of the earth! What madness! I reserved my dialectic for the opportune moment, and I busied myself with the meal. No need to report my uncle’s imprecations before the cleared table. Everything was explained. Liberty was restored to good Martha. She ran to the market and did so well that an hour later my hunger was calmed, and I returned to the feeling of the situation. During the meal, my uncle was almost cheerful; he made those scholarly jokes that are never very dangerous. After dessert, he signaled me to follow him into his study. I obeyed. He sat down at one end of his work table, and I at the other. Axel, he said in a rather gentle voice, you are a very ingenious boy; you have done me a great service there, when, weary of the war, I was about to abandon this combination. Where could I have gone astray? No one can know! I will never forget this, my boy, and you will have your share of the glory we are about to acquire . Come on! I thought, he is in a good mood; the time has come to discuss this glory. —Above all, continued my uncle, I recommend the most absolute secrecy to you, do you hear me? I am not lacking in envious people in the world of scientists, and many would like to undertake this journey, who will only suspect it upon our return. —Do you believe, I said, that the number of these audacious people was so great?
—Certainly! Who would hesitate to conquer such renown? If this document were known, an entire army of geologists would rush on the trail of Arne Saknussemm! —That is what I am not convinced of, my uncle, because nothing proves the authenticity of this document. —What! And the book in which we discovered it! —Good! I grant that this Saknussemm wrote these lines, but does it follow that he really accomplished this journey, and cannot this old parchment contain a mystification? This last word, a little risky, I almost regretted having uttered it; the professor frowned his thick eyebrow, and I feared having compromised the continuation of this conversation. Fortunately, it was not so. My severe interlocutor sketched a sort of smile on his lips and replied: That’s what we’ll see. —Ah! I said, a little annoyed; but allow me to exhaust the series of objections relating to this document. —Speak, my boy, don’t be embarrassed. I leave you complete freedom to express your opinion. You are no longer my nephew, but my colleague. So go on. —Well, I will ask you first what are this Yocul, this Sneffels and this Scartaris, of whom I have never heard? —Nothing is easier. I received, in fact, some time ago, a map from my friend Peterman, of Leipzig; it could not have arrived more opportunely. Take the third atlas in the second aisle of the large library, series Z, plate 4. I got up, and, thanks to these precise indications, I quickly found the atlas requested. My uncle opened it and said: Here is one of the best maps of Iceland, Handerson’s, and I believe it will give us the solution to all your difficulties. I bent over the map. See this island composed of volcanoes, said the professor, and notice that they all bear the name Yocul. This word means glacier in Icelandic, and, in Iceland’s high latitude, most eruptions break through the layers of ice. Hence the name Yocul applied to all the fire-bearing mountains of the island. “Good,” I replied, “but what is Sneffels?” I hoped that this question would not be answered. I was wrong. My uncle continued: Follow me to the west coast of Iceland. Can you see Reykjavik, its capital? Yes. Good. Go up the innumerable fjords of these shores eroded by the sea, and stop a little below the sixty-fifth degree of latitude. What do you see there? —A sort of peninsula like a fleshless bone, terminated by an enormous kneecap. —The comparison is apt, my boy; now, do you see nothing on this kneecap? —Yes, a mountain that seems to have grown out of the sea. —Good! It is Sneffels. —Sneffels? —Itself, a mountain five thousand feet high, one of the most remarkable on the island, and certainly the most famous in the whole world, if its crater ends in the center of the globe. —But that is impossible! I cried, shrugging my shoulders and revolted against such a supposition. —Impossible! replied Professor Lidenbrock in a severe tone. And why is that? —Because this crater is obviously blocked by lava, by burning rocks, and then… —And if it is an extinct crater? —Extinct? —Yes. The number of active volcanoes on the surface of the globe is currently only about three hundred; but there are a much greater number of extinct volcanoes. Now, Sneffels is among the latter, and since historical times, it has had only one eruption, that of 1219; from that time on, its rumors gradually subsided, and it is no longer among the active volcanoes. To these positive affirmations I had absolutely nothing to reply; I therefore fell back on the other obscurities contained in the document. What does this word Scartaris mean, I asked, and what do the Kalends of July have to do with it? My uncle took a few moments to reflect. I had a moment of hope, but only one, because soon he answered me in these terms: What you call darkness is light to me. This proves the ingenious care with which Saknussemm wanted to specify his discovery. Sneffels is formed of several craters; it was therefore necessary to indicate the one among them which leads to the center of the globe. What did the Icelandic scholar do? He noticed that as the Kalends of July approached, that is to say towards the last days of June, one of the peaks of the mountain, Scartaris, projected its shadow as far as the opening of the crater in question, and he recorded the fact in his document. Could he imagine a more exact indication, and once we arrive at the summit of Sneffels, will it be possible for us to hesitate on the path to take? My uncle definitely had an answer for everything. I saw clearly that he was unassailable on the words of the old parchment. I therefore stopped pressing him on this subject, and, as it was necessary to convince him first, I moved on to the scientific objections, much more serious, in my opinion. Come, I said, I am forced to agree, Saknussemm’s sentence is clear and can leave no doubt in the mind. I even grant that the document has an air of perfect authenticity. This scholar went to the bottom of Sneffels; he saw the shadow of Scartaris caress the edges of the crater before the calends of July; he even heard it said in the legendary stories of his time that this crater ended at the center of the earth; but as for having arrived there himself, as for having made the journey and returned, if he has undertaken it, no, a hundred times no!
“And the reason?” said my uncle in a singularly mocking tone. “It is that all the theories of science demonstrate that such an undertaking is impracticable! ” “All the theories say that?” replied the professor, assuming a good-natured air. “Ah! the ugly theories! How they will hinder us, these poor theories!” I saw that he was mocking me, but I continued nevertheless. Yes! It is perfectly recognized that heat increases by about one degree for every seventy feet of depth below the surface of the globe; now, admitting this constant proportionality, the terrestrial radius being fifteen hundred leagues, there exists at the center a temperature of two million degrees. The materials of the interior of the Earth are therefore in the state of incandescent gas, because metals, gold, platinum, the hardest rocks, do not resist such heat. I have the right to ask if it is possible to penetrate into such a medium! —So, Axel, it is the heat that embarrasses you? —No doubt. If we reached a depth of only ten leagues, we would have reached the limit of the Earth’s crust, for the temperature is already above thirteen hundred degrees.
—And you are afraid of entering into fusion? —I leave the question to you to decide, I replied angrily. —This is what I decide, replied Professor Lidenbrock, assuming his grand airs; it is that neither you nor anyone else knows with certainty what is happening inside the globe, since we know barely one twelve thousandth part of its radius; is that science is eminently perfectible and that each theory is incessantly destroyed by a new theory. Was it not believed until Fourier that the temperature of planetary spaces was always decreasing, and do we not know today that the greatest cold of the ethereal regions does not exceed forty or fifty degrees below zero? Why should it not be the same with internal heat? Why, at a certain depth, would it not reach an impassable limit, instead of rising to the degree of fusion of the most refractory minerals? My uncle placing the question on the ground of hypotheses, I had nothing to answer. Well, I will tell you that true scientists, Poisson among others, have proven that, if a heat of two million degrees existed inside the globe, the incandescent gases coming from the molten materials would acquire such elasticity that the earth’s crust could not resist it and would burst like the walls of a boiler under the force of the steam. —That is Poisson’s opinion, uncle, that’s all. —All right, but it is also the opinion of other distinguished geologists, that the interior of the globe is formed neither of gas nor of water, nor of the heaviest stones that we know, because, in that case, the earth would weigh half as much. —Oh! with figures one can prove anything one wants! —And with facts, my boy, is it the same? Is it not certain that the number of volcanoes has considerably diminished since the first days of the world, and, if there is central heat , can we not conclude that it tends to weaken? —My uncle, if you enter into the realm of suppositions, I have no further discussion. —And I have to say that my opinion is joined by the opinions of very competent people. Do you remember a visit paid to me by the famous English chemist Humphry Davy in 1825? —Not at all, for I was not born until nineteen years later.
—Well, Humphry Davy came to see me when he was passing through Hamburg. We discussed for a long time, among other questions, the hypothesis of the liquidity of the inner core of the earth. We both agreed that this liquidity could not exist, for a reason to which science has never found an answer. “And which one?” I said, a little astonished. “It is that this liquid mass would be subject, like the ocean, to the attraction of the moon, and consequently, twice a day, internal tides would occur which, lifting the earth’s crust, would give rise to periodic earthquakes ! ” “But it is nevertheless evident that the surface of the globe was subject to combustion, and it is permissible to suppose that the outer crust cooled first, while the heat took refuge in the center. ” “Error,” replied my uncle; “the earth was heated by the combustion of its surface, and not otherwise. Its surface was composed of a large quantity of metals, such as potassium and sodium, which have the property of igniting on contact with air and water; These metals caught fire when the atmospheric vapors fell as rain on the ground, and little by little, when the waters penetrated the cracks in the earth’s crust, they caused new fires with explosions and eruptions. Hence the volcanoes so numerous in the early days of the world. “But that’s an ingenious hypothesis!” I cried a little in spite of myself.
“And that Humphry Davy made me aware of, right here, by a very simple experiment. He composed a metallic ball made mainly of the metals I have just spoken of, and which perfectly represented our globe; when a fine dew fell on its surface, it swelled, oxidized and formed a small mountain; a crater opened at its summit; the eruption took place and communicated to the whole ball such heat that it became impossible to hold it in the hand. Really, I was beginning to be shaken by the professor’s arguments ; He also emphasized them with his usual passion and enthusiasm. You see, Axel, he added, the state of the central core has raised various hypotheses among geologists; nothing is less proven than this fact of internal heat; in my opinion, it does not exist; it could not exist; we will see it, moreover, and, like Arne Saknussemm, we will know what to think of this great question. Well! yes, I replied, feeling myself won over by this enthusiasm; yes, we will see it, if we can see at all. —And why not? Can’t we count on electrical phenomena to enlighten us, and even on the atmosphere, which its pressure can make luminous as it approaches the center? —Yes, I said, yes! it is possible, after all, —That is certain, my uncle replied triumphantly; but silence, do you hear! silence on all this, and let no one have the idea of discovering the center of the earth before us. Chapter 7. Thus ended this memorable session. This interview gave me fever. I left my uncle’s office as if dizzy, and There wasn’t enough air in the streets of Hamburg to recover, so I reached the banks of the Elbe, near the steam ferry that connects the city with the Harburg railway . Was I convinced of what I had just learned? Had I not been subjected to the domination of Professor Lidenbrock? Should I take seriously his resolution to go to the center of the Earth’s mass? Had I just heard the insane speculations of a madman or the scientific deductions of a great genius? In all this, where did the truth end and where did error begin? I was floating between a thousand contradictory hypotheses, without being able to cling to any of them . However, I remembered having been convinced, although my enthusiasm was beginning to moderate; but I would have liked to leave immediately and not take the time to reflect. Yes, I would not have lacked the courage to pack my suitcase at that moment. Yet I must admit, an hour later, this overexcitement subsided; my nerves relaxed, and from the deep abysses of the earth I rose to its surface. This is absurd! I cried; this is not common sense! This is not a serious proposition to make to a sensible boy. None of this exists. I slept badly, I had a bad dream. However, I had followed the banks of the Elbe and circled the town. After going up the port, I had arrived at the Altona road. A presentiment guided me, a justified presentiment, for I soon saw my little Graüben who, with her nimble foot, was bravely returning to Hamburg. Graüben! I called to her from afar. The young girl stopped, a little troubled, I imagine, to hear herself called thus on a main road. In ten paces I was near her. Axel! she said in surprise. Ah! You came to meet me! That’s right, sir. But, looking at me, Graüben could not mistake my worried, upset expression. What’s wrong with you? she said, holding out her hand. “What’s wrong with me, Graüben!” I cried. In two seconds and three sentences, my pretty Virlandaise was aware of the situation. For a few moments she remained silent. Was her heart beating as fast as mine? I don’t know, but her hand didn’t tremble in mine. We walked a hundred paces without speaking. Axel! she said to me at last. “My dear Graüben! ” “This will be a fine journey.” I jumped at these words. Yes, Axel, and worthy of the nephew of a scholar. It is good that a man has distinguished himself by some great undertaking! “What! Graüben, you are not putting me off attempting such an expedition?” “No, dear Axel, and your uncle and you, I would gladly accompany you, if a poor girl were not to be an embarrassment to you.
” “Are you speaking the truth? ” “I am speaking the truth. Ah! women, young girls, feminine hearts always incomprehensible! When you are not the most timid of beings, you are the bravest! Reason has no place with you. What! This child encouraged me to take part in this expedition! She would not have feared to attempt the adventure. She urged me on, me whom she nevertheless loved! I was disconcerted and, why not say it, ashamed. Graüben,” I continued, “we will see if tomorrow you will speak in this manner. ” “Tomorrow, dear Axel, I will speak as today.” Graüben and I, holding hands, but maintaining a profound silence, we continued our journey, I was broken by the emotions of the day. After all, I thought, the calends of July are still far away , and by then many things will happen that will cure my uncle of his mania for traveling underground. Night had fallen when we arrived at the house in König-strasse. I had expected to find the dwelling quiet, My uncle lying in bed as usual, and maid Marthe giving the dining room the last dusting of the evening. But I had not reckoned on the professor’s impatience. I found him shouting, bustling about in the middle of a troop of porters who were unloading some goods in the alley; the old servant did not know which way to turn. But come on, Axel; hurry up, you wretch! cried my uncle from the nearest distance that he saw me, and your trunk that is not packed, and my papers that are not in order, and my traveling bag for which I cannot find the key, and my gaiters that have not arrived! I remained stupefied. I could not speak. My lips could barely articulate these words: Are we leaving then? “Yes, unhappy boy, who is going for a walk instead of being here! ” “Are we leaving?” I repeated in a weakened voice. —Yes, the day after tomorrow morning, first thing. I could hear no more, and I fled to my little room. There was no longer any doubt; my uncle had just spent his afternoon procuring some of the objects and utensils necessary for his journey; the path was cluttered with ladders , knotted ropes, torches, flasks, iron crampons, picks, iron-tipped sticks, pickaxes, enough to carry at least ten men. I spent a dreadful night. The next day I heard myself called early. I had decided not to open my door. But how could I resist the sweet voice that pronounced these words: My dear Axel? I left my room. I thought that my defeated air, my pallor, my eyes reddened by insomnia would produce their effect on Graüben and change his ideas. Ah! My dear Axel, she said to me, I see that you are better and that the night has calmed you. “Calmed!” I cried. I rushed over to put on my mirror. Well, I didn’t look as bad as I supposed. It was unbelievable. Axel, Graüben said to me, I talked for a long time with my tutor. He is a bold scholar, a man of great courage, and you will remember that his blood runs in your veins. He told me his plans, his hopes, why and how he hopes to achieve his goal. He will succeed, I have no doubt. Ah! dear Axel, it is wonderful to devote oneself thus to science! What glory awaits Mr. Lidenbrock and will reverberate on his companion! On your return, Axel, you will be a man, his equal, free to speak, free to act, free finally to…” The young girl, blushing, did not finish. Her words revived me. However, I still did not want to believe in our departure. I dragged Graüben towards the professor’s office. Uncle, I said, it is therefore decided that we are leaving? “What! You doubt it? ” “No,” I said, so as not to upset him. “Only, I will ask you what is pressing us. ” “But time! Time that flies with irreparable speed!” “Yet it is only the 26th of May, and until the end of —Hey! Do you think, you ignorant man, that one can go to Iceland so easily? If you had not left me like a madman, I would have taken you to the office-office in Copenhagen, to Liffender and Co. There, you would have seen that from Copenhagen to Reykjavik there is only one service. ” “Well? ” “Well! If we waited until the 22nd of June, we would arrive too late to see the shadow of Scartaris caress the crater of Sneffels; We must therefore get to Copenhagen as quickly as possible to find a means of transport. Go and pack your trunk! There was not a word to say. I went back up to my room. Graüben followed me. It was she who took charge of putting in order, in a small suitcase, the objects necessary for my journey. She was no more moved than if it had been a walk in Lubeck or Heligoland; her little hands went and came without haste; she spoke calmly; she gave the most sensible reasons in favor of our expedition. She delighted me, and I felt very angry with her. Sometimes I wanted to lose my temper, but she paid no attention and methodically continued her quiet work. Finally the last strap of the suitcase was fastened. I went down to the ground floor. During that day the suppliers of physics instruments, weapons, electrical devices had multiplied. Good Marthe was losing her head. Is Monsieur mad? she asked me. I nodded. And he’s taking you with him? Same statement. Where? she said. I pointed to the center of the earth. In the cellar? cried the old servant. “No,” I said finally, “further down! ” Evening came. I was no longer aware of the time that had passed. “Tomorrow morning,” my uncle said, “we’re leaving at six o’clock sharp.” At ten o’clock I fell onto my bed like an inert mass. During the night my terrors returned. I spent it dreaming of abysses! I was in the grip of delirium. I felt myself gripped by the professor’s vigorous hand, dragged along, damaged, bogged down! I was falling to the bottom of unfathomable precipices with the increasing speed of bodies abandoned in space. My life was nothing more than an interminable fall. I woke up at five o’clock, shattered by fatigue and emotion. I went down to the dining room. My uncle was at the table. He was devouring. I looked at him with a feeling of horror. But Graüben was there. I said nothing. I couldn’t eat. At five-thirty, a rumble was heard in the street. A large car was arriving to take us to the Altona railway . It was soon cluttered with my uncle’s parcels. “And your trunk?” he asked me. “It’s ready,” I replied, fainting. “Hurry up and get her down, or you’ll make us miss the train!” Fighting against my destiny seemed impossible to me then. I went back up to my room, and, letting my suitcase slide down the stairs, I rushed after him. At that moment my uncle was solemnly placing the reins of his house in Graüben’s hands . My pretty Virlandaise maintained her usual calm. She kissed her guardian, but she could not hold back a tear as she brushed my cheek with her soft lips. “Graüben!” I cried. “Go, my dear Axel, go,” she said to me, “you are leaving your fiancée, but you will find your wife on your return.” I clasped Graüben in my arms and took my place in the carriage. Marthe and the young girl, from the threshold of the door, bade us a last farewell; then the two horses, excited by their driver’s whistling, galloped off along the road to Altona. Chapter 8. Altona, a true suburb of Hamburg, is the terminal of the Kiel railway which was to take us to the Belt coast. In less than twenty minutes, we entered the territory of Holstein. At six thirty the car stopped in front of the station; my uncle’s numerous parcels, his bulky travel articles were unloaded, transported, weighed, labeled, reloaded into the baggage car, and at seven o’clock we were sitting opposite each other in the same compartment. The steam whistled, the locomotive started moving. We were off. Had I resigned myself? Not yet. However, the fresh morning air, the details of the road quickly renewed by the speed of the train distracted me from my great preoccupation. As for the professor’s thoughts, they were obviously ahead of this convoy, too slow for his impatience. We were alone in the carriage, but without speaking. My uncle was revisiting his pockets and his travel bag with meticulous attention. I saw clearly that he was missing nothing of the pieces necessary for the execution of his projects. Among other things, a carefully folded sheet of paper bore the letterhead of the Danish Chancellery, with the signature of Mr. Christiensen, consul in Hamburg and the professor’s friend. This should have made it easy for us to obtain recommendations for the Governor of Iceland in Copenhagen. I also saw the famous document carefully buried in the most secret pocket of the wallet. I cursed it from the bottom of my heart, and I went back to examining the country. It was a vast series of plains, unattractive, monotonous, muddy, and quite fertile: a countryside very favorable to the establishment of a railway and conducive to those straight lines so dear to railway companies. But this monotony did not have time to tire me, because, three hours after our departure, the train stopped in Kiel, a stone’s throw from the sea. Our luggage being checked in for Copenhagen, there was no need to worry about it. However, the professor followed them with a worried eye during their transport to the steamer. There they disappeared into the hold. My uncle, in his haste, had calculated the connecting times of the railway and the boat so well that we still had a whole day to lose. The steamer , the Ellenora, did not leave before nightfall. Hence a nine-hour fever, during which the irascible traveler sent to hell the administration of boats and railways and the governments that tolerated such abuses. I had to join in the chorus with him when he attacked the captain of the Ellenora on this subject. He wanted to force him to warm up without losing a moment. The other sent him packing. In Kiel, as elsewhere, a day must pass. By dint of walking along the green shores of the bay at the bottom of which stands the little town, of traversing the dense woods which give it the appearance of a nest in a bundle of branches, of admiring the villas each equipped with their little cold bathhouse, finally of running and grumbling, we reached ten o’clock in the evening. The swirls of smoke from the Ellenora were developing in the sky; the deck trembled under the shivering of the boiler; we were on board and owners of two tiered berths in the only room on the boat. At ten fifteen the moorings were cast off, and the steamer sped rapidly over the dark waters of the Great Belt. The night was black; there was a fine breeze and a strong sea; a few coastal lights appeared in the darkness; later, I do not know, a flashing lighthouse sparkled above the waves; that was all that remained in my memory of this first crossing. At seven o’clock in the morning we disembarked at Korsor, a small town on the west coast of Seeland. There we jumped from the boat onto a new railway that took us across a country no less flat than the Holstein countryside. It was still three hours of travel before reaching the capital of Denmark. My uncle hadn’t slept a wink all night. In his impatience, I think he was pushing the wagon with his feet. Finally, he saw a glimpse of the sea. The Sound! he cried. There was on our left a vast building that looked like a hospital. It’s a madhouse, said one of our traveling companions. “Well,” I thought, “this is an establishment where we should end our days! And, large as it was, this hospital would still be too small to contain all of Professor Lidenbrock’s madness ! Finally, at ten o’clock in the morning, we set foot in Copenhagen; The luggage was loaded onto a car and taken with us to the Phoenix Hotel in Bred-Gade. This took half an hour, as the station is outside the town. Then my uncle, making a cursory toilet, led me away with him. The hotel porter spoke German and English; but the professor, being a polyglot, questioned him in good Danish, and it was in good Danish that this person told him about the location of the Museum of Northern Antiquities. The director of this curious establishment, where marvels are piled up that would allow us to reconstruct the history of the country with its old stone weapons, its tankards and its jewels, was a scholar, a friend of the Consul of Hamburg, Professor Thomson. My uncle had a warm letter of recommendation for him. Generally , one scholar receives another rather badly. But here it was quite different. Mr. Thomson, a helpful man, gave a cordial welcome to Professor Lidenbrock, and even to his nephew. It is hardly necessary to say that our secret was kept from the excellent director of the Museum. We simply wanted to visit Iceland as disinterested amateurs. Mr. Thomson put himself entirely at our disposal, and we ran along the quays to look for a departing ship. I hoped that means of transport would be absolutely lacking; but this was not the case. A small Danish schooner, the Valkyrie, was to set sail on June 2 for Reykjavik. The captain, Mr. Bjarne, was on board; his future passenger, in his joy, squeezed his hands until they broke. This good man was a little surprised by such an embrace. He found it quite simple to go to Iceland, since it was his job. My uncle found it sublime. The worthy captain took advantage of this enthusiasm to make us pay double for passage on his ship. But we did not look at it so closely. Be on board Tuesday at seven o’clock in the morning, said Mr. Bjarne after having pocketed a respectable number of species dollars. We then thanked Mr. Thomson for his kindness, and we returned to the Phoenix hotel. It’s going well! It’s going very well, my uncle kept repeating. What a happy coincidence to have found this ship ready to leave! Now let’s have lunch, and go and visit the town. We went to Kongens-Nye-Torw, an irregular place where there is a post with two innocent cannons aimed at it that don’t frighten anyone. Nearby, at number 5, there was a French restaurant, run by a cook named Vincent; we had a sufficient lunch there for the moderate price of four marks each[1]. [1] About 2fr. 75c. Then I took a childish pleasure in wandering around the town; my uncle let himself be led around; besides, he saw nothing, neither the insignificant king’s palace, nor the pretty seventeenth- century bridge that spans the canal in front of the Museum, nor that immense cenotaph of Torwaldsen, adorned with horrible murals and which contains inside the works of this sculptor, nor, in a rather beautiful park, the candy-box castle of Rosenborg, nor the admirable Renaissance building of the Stock Exchange, nor its bell tower made with the intertwined tails of four bronze dragons, nor the great mills of the ramparts, whose vast sails swelled like the sails of a ship in the sea breeze. What delightful walks we would have taken, my pretty Virlandaise and I, on the side of the port where the two-deckers and the frigates slept peacefully under their red roofs, on the green banks of the strait, through those dense shades within which the citadel is hidden, whose cannons extend their blackish mouths between the branches of the elders and willows ! But, alas! she was far away, my poor Graüben, and could I hope to ever see her again! However, if my uncle noticed nothing of these enchanting sites, he was vividly struck by the sight of a certain bell tower situated on the island of Amak, which forms the south-western district of Copenhagen. I received orders to direct our steps in that direction; I boarded a small steamboat which provided canal service, and, in a few moments, she docked at the quay of Dock-Yard. After crossing a few narrow streets where galley slaves, dressed in half-yellow and half-gray trousers, toiled under the batons of the guards, we arrived in front of Vor-Frelsers-Kirk. This church offered nothing remarkable. But here is why its rather high bell tower had attracted the professor’s attention: from the platform, an external staircase wound around its spire, and its spirals unrolled into the sky. ” Let’s go up,” said my uncle. “But, vertigo?” I replied. “All the more reason, we have to get used to it. ” “However… ” “Come, I tell you, let’s not waste time.” We had to obey. A guard, who lived on the other side of the street, gave us a key, and the ascent began. My uncle preceded me with a brisk step. I followed him, not without terror, for my head spun with deplorable ease. I had neither the poise of eagles nor the insensitivity of their nerves. As long as we were imprisoned in the interior screw, all went well; but after a hundred and fifty steps the air came and struck me in the face; we had reached the platform of the bell tower. There began the aerial staircase, guarded by a frail banister, and whose steps, narrower and narrower, seemed to rise towards infinity. I will never be able to! I cried. “Are you a coward, by any chance? Come up!” the professor replied pitilessly. I was forced to follow him, clinging on. The open air made me dizzy; I felt the bell tower sway in the gusts; my legs gave way; I soon climbed up on my knees, then on my stomach; I closed my eyes; I felt space sickness . Finally, my uncle pulling me by the collar, I arrived near the ball. Look, he said, and look carefully! We must take lessons in the abyss! I had to open my eyes. I saw the flattened houses, as if crushed by a fall, in the middle of the fog of smoke. Above my head passed disheveled clouds, and, by a reversal of optics, they seemed motionless to me, while the steeple, the ball, and I were carried along with fantastic speed. In the distance, on one side stretched the green countryside; on the other, the sea sparkled under a beam of rays. The Sound unfolded at the tip of Elsinore, with a few white sails, real gull wings, and in the eastern mist undulated the barely blurred coasts of Sweden. All this immensity swirled before my eyes. Nevertheless, I had to get up, stand up straight, and look. My first lesson in vertigo lasted an hour. When I was finally allowed to go back down and touch the solid pavement of the streets with my feet, I was aching. We’ll start again tomorrow, said my teacher. And indeed, for five days, I resumed this dizzying exercise, and, willingly or not, I made noticeable progress in the art of lofty contemplations. Chapter 9. The day of departure arrived. The day before, the obliging Mr. Thomson had brought us urgent letters of recommendation for Count Trampe, governor of Iceland, Mr. Pietursson, the bishop’s coadjutor, and Mr. Finsen, mayor of Reykjavik. In return, my uncle gave him the warmest handshakes .
On the 2nd, at six o’clock in the morning, our precious baggage was returned on board the Valkyrie. The captain led us to some rather narrow cabins arranged under a kind of deckhouse. Do we have a good wind? asked my uncle. “Excellent,” replied Captain Bjarne. “A southeast wind. We are going to leave the Sound broad-hauled and with all sails set.” A few moments later, the schooner, under her foresail, brigantine, topsail, and topgallant sail, set sail and put in full sail into the strait. An hour later, the capital of Denmark seemed to sink into the distant waves, and Valkyrie skimmed the coast of Elsinore. In my nervous state, I expected to see the shadow of Hamlet wandering on the legendary terrace. Sublime fool! I said, you would doubtless approve of us! You would perhaps follow us to come to the center of the globe to seek a solution to your eternal doubt! But nothing appeared on the ancient walls; the castle is, moreover, much younger than the heroic Prince of Denmark. It now serves as a sumptuous lodge for the porter of this Sound strait where fifteen thousand ships of all nations pass each year. Krongborg Castle soon disappeared into the mist, as did the tower of Helsingborg, erected on the Swedish shore, and the schooner bent slightly under the breezes of the Kattegat. The Valkyrie was a fine sailmaker, but with a sailing ship you never know what to count on. She was carrying coal, household utensils, pottery, woolen clothing, and a cargo of wheat to Reykjavik; a crew of five men, all Danes, were enough to operate her. How long will the crossing take? my uncle asked the captain. “About ten days,” the latter replied, “if we don’t encounter too many northwesterly squalls abeam the Faroes.
” “But, after all, aren’t you likely to experience considerable delays ? ” “No, Mr. Lidenbrock; rest assured, we will arrive.” Toward evening, the schooner rounded Cape Skagen at the northern tip of Denmark, crossed Skager-Rak during the night, rounded the tip of Norway abeam Cape Lindness, and entered the North Sea. Two days later, we sighted the coast of Scotland off Peterhead, and the Valkyrie headed for the Faroes, passing between the Orkneys and the Seethlands. Soon our schooner was battered by the waves of the Atlantic; it had to tack against the north wind and did not reach the Faroes without difficulty. On the 3rd, the captain recognized Myganness, the easternmost of these islands, and, from that moment, he headed straight for Cape Portland, located on the southern coast of Iceland. The crossing offered no remarkable incident. I bore the trials of the sea quite well; my uncle, to his great disappointment, and to his even greater shame, did not cease to be ill. He was therefore unable to engage Captain Bjarne on the question of Sneffels, on the means of communication, on the facilities of transport; he had to postpone his explanations until his arrival and spent all his time stretched out in his cabin, the partitions of which creaked from the great pitching. It must be admitted, he somewhat deserved his fate. On the 11th, we rounded Cape Portland; The weather, then clear, allowed us to see the Myrdals Yocul, which dominates it. The cape consists of a large hill with steep slopes, standing alone on the beach. The Valkyrie kept a reasonable distance from the coast, extending it towards the west, in the middle of numerous herds of whales and sharks. Soon an immense rock pierced through, appeared, through which the foaming sea burst furiously. The islets of Westman seemed to emerge from the ocean, like a strewn array of rocks on the liquid plain. From that moment, the schooner made way to turn at a good distance Cape Reykjaness, which closes the western corner of Iceland. The sea, very rough, prevented my uncle from going up on deck to admire these jagged coasts beaten by the southwest winds. Forty-eight hours later, emerging from a storm that forced the schooner to flee under dry sail, the beacon of Skagen Point, whose dangerous rocks extend a great distance beneath the waves, was sighted to the east. An Icelandic pilot came on board, and three hours later the Valkyrie was anchored off Reykjavik, in Faxa Bay. The professor finally came out of his cabin, a little pale, a little defeated, but still enthusiastic, and with a look of satisfaction in his eyes. The townspeople, singularly interested in the arrival of a ship in which everyone has something to gain, were gathering on the quay. My uncle was eager to abandon his floating prison, not to say his hospital. But before leaving the deck of the schooner, he led me to the bow, and there, with his finger, he pointed out to me, in the northern part of the bay, a high mountain with two points, a double cone covered with eternal snow. The Sneffels! he cried, the Sneffels! Then, after having recommended absolute silence with a gesture, he descended into the waiting boat. I followed him, and soon we were setting foot on the soil of Iceland. First of all, a man of good appearance appeared, dressed in a general’s costume. It was, however, only a simple magistrate, the governor of the island, Baron Trampe himself. The professor recognized with whom he was dealing. He gave the governor his letters from Copenhagen, and a short conversation took place in Danish, to which I remained completely ignorant, and for good reason. But from this first interview the result was this: that Baron Trampe placed himself entirely at the disposal of Professor Lidenbrock. My uncle received a very kind welcome from the mayor, Mr. Finson, no less military in costume than the governor, but as pacific by temperament and state. As for the coadjutor, Mr. Pictursson, he was currently making an episcopal tour in the Northern Bailiwick; we had to temporarily renounce being introduced to him. But a charming man, whose assistance became very valuable to us, was Mr. Fridriksson, professor of natural sciences at the school of Reykjavik. This modest scholar spoke only Icelandic and Latin; He came to offer me his services in the language of Horace, and I felt that we were made to understand each other. He was, in fact, the only person with whom I was able to converse during my stay in Iceland. Of the three rooms that made up his house, this excellent man put two at our disposal, and soon we were installed there with our luggage, the quantity of which somewhat astonished the inhabitants of Reykjavik. Well, Axel, my uncle said to me, that’s all right, and the hardest part is done. “What, the hardest part?” I cried: “No doubt, we just have to go down!” “If you take it that way, you’re right; but after going down, we’ll have to go back up, I imagine? ” “Oh! That doesn’t worry me much! Come on! There’s no time to lose. I’m going to the library. Perhaps there ‘s some manuscript of Saknussemm there, and I’d be happy to consult it.” —So, meanwhile, I’m going to visit the town. Wo n’t you do the same? —Oh! That interests me little. What is curious in this land of Iceland is not above, but below. I went out and wandered at random. Getting lost in the two streets of Reykjavik would not have been an easy thing. I was therefore not obliged to ask for directions, which , in the language of signs, exposes one to many disappointments. The town lies on a rather low and marshy ground, between two hills. An immense flow of lava covers it on one side and descends in rather gentle slopes towards the sea. On the other stretches this vast bay of Faxa, bounded to the north by the enormous glacier of Sneffels, and in which the Valkyrie was alone at anchor at this moment. Usually the English and French fishery wardens remain anchored there offshore; but they were then in service on the eastern shores of the island. The longer of Reykjavik’s two streets runs parallel to the shore; there dwell the merchants and traders, in wooden huts made of red beams arranged horizontally; the other street, located further to the west, runs towards a small lake, between the houses of the bishop and other people unrelated to commerce. I had soon walked along these dull and sad streets; I sometimes glimpsed a patch of discolored lawn , like an old wool carpet threadbare by use, or some semblance of an orchard, whose rare vegetables, potatoes , cabbages and lettuces, would have looked at home on a Lilliputian table; some sickly wallflowers also tried to take on a little air of sunshine. Towards the middle of the non-commercial street, I found the public cemetery enclosed by an earthen wall, and in which there was no lack of space. Then, in a few strides, I arrived at the governor’s house, a hovel compared to the town hall of Hamburg, a palace compared to the huts of the Icelandic population. Between the small lake and the town stood the church, built in the Protestant style and constructed of calcined stones, the cost of which was borne by the volcanoes themselves; in the strong westerly winds, its red-tiled roof would obviously scatter in the air, to the great detriment of the faithful. On a nearby hill, I saw the National School, where, as I learned later from our host, they taught Hebrew, English, French, and Danish, four languages of which, to my shame, I did not know the first word. I would have been the last of the forty students in this small college, and unworthy to sleep with them in those two- compartment wardrobes where more delicate ones would suffocate from the first night. In three hours I had visited not only the villa, but its surroundings. The general appearance was singularly sad. No trees, no vegetation, so to speak. Everywhere the sharp edges of volcanic rocks. The huts of the Icelanders are made of earth and turf, and their walls slope inward; they resemble roofs placed on the ground. Only these roofs are relatively fertile meadows. Thanks to the warmth of the dwelling, the grass grows there with sufficient perfection, and it is carefully mown at haymaking time , otherwise the domestic animals would come to graze on these verdant dwellings. During my excursion, I met few inhabitants; returning from the commercial street, I saw the greater part of the population occupied in drying, salting and loading cod, the principal article of export. The men seemed robust, but heavy, a kind of blond Germans, with thoughtful eyes , who feel a little outside of humanity, poor exiles relegated to this land of ice, whom nature should have made Eskimos, since it condemned them to live on the edge of the polar circle! I tried in vain to catch a smile on their faces; they sometimes laughed by a sort of involuntary contraction of the muscles, but they never smiled. Their costume consisted of a coarse black wool jacket known in all Scandinavian countries as a vadmel, a wide-brimmed hat, trousers with a red border , and a piece of leather folded over like a shoe. The women, with sad and resigned faces, of a rather pleasant type, but without expression, were dressed in a bodice and skirt of dark vadmel: as girls, they wore a small brown knitted cap over their hair braided into garlands; married, they wrapped their heads in a colored handkerchief, topped with a crest of white linen. After a good walk, when I returned to Mr. Fridriksson’s house , my uncle was already there with his guest. Chapter 10. Dinner was ready; it was devoured with avidity by the professor Lidenbrock, whose forced diet on board had changed his stomach into a deep abyss. This meal, more Danish than Icelandic, was nothing remarkable in itself; but our host, more Icelandic than Danish, reminded me of the heroes of ancient hospitality. It seemed evident to me that we were in his house more than he was himself. The conversation was conducted in the native language, which my uncle interspersed with German and Mr. Fridriksson with Latin, so that I could understand it. It turned on scientific questions, as befits scholars; but Professor Lidenbrock maintained the most excessive reserve, and his eyes recommended to me, at each sentence, absolute silence concerning our future projects. First of all, Mr. Fridriksson inquired of my uncle about the results of his research in the library. Your library! exclaimed the latter, it consists only of mismatched books on almost deserted shelves. “What!” replied Mr. Fridriksson, “we possess eight thousand volumes, many of which are precious and rare, works in the old Scandinavian language, and all the new books with which Copenhagen supplies us each year. ” “Where do you get these eight thousand volumes? For my part… ” “Oh! Mr. Lidenbrock, they are all over the country; there is a taste for study in our old island of ice! Not a farmer, not a fisherman who does not know how to read and does read. We believe that books, instead of rotting behind an iron gate, far from prying eyes, are destined to wear out under the eyes of readers. So these volumes pass from hand to hand, leafed through, read and reread, and often they only return to their shelves after a year or two of absence. ” “Meanwhile,” replied my uncle with a certain annoyance, ” foreigners…
” “What can you expect! Foreigners have their libraries at home, and, above all, our peasants must educate themselves.” I repeat, the love of study is in the Icelandic blood. Also, in 1816, we founded a Literary Society which is doing well; foreign scholars are honored to be members; it publishes books intended for the education of our compatriots and renders real services to the country. If you would like to be one of our corresponding members, Mr. Lidenbrock, you will give us the greatest pleasure. My uncle, who already belonged to a hundred scientific societies , accepted with a good grace which touched Mr. Fridriksson. Now, he continued, please tell me the books you hoped to find in our library, and perhaps I can give you information about them. I looked at my uncle. He hesitated to answer. This directly concerned his plans. However, after thinking, he decided to speak. Mr. Fridriksson, he said, I wanted to know if, among the ancient works, you possessed those of Arne Saknussemm? “Arne Saknussemm!” replied the professor from Reykjavik. “You mean that sixteenth-century scholar, at once a great naturalist, a great alchemist, and a great traveler?” “Precisely. ” “One of the glories of Icelandic literature and science?” “As you say. ” “A man of renown among all? ” “I grant you that. ” “And whose audacity equaled his genius? ” “I see you know him well.” My uncle was swimming in joy at hearing his hero spoken of in this way. He devoured Mr. Fridriksson with his eyes. “Well!” he asked, “his works? ” “Ah! his works, we don’t have them! ” “What! In Iceland? ” “They exist neither in Iceland nor anywhere else. ” “And why?” —Because Arne Saknussemm was persecuted for heresy, and in 1573 his works were burned in Copenhagen by the executioner. —Very good! Perfect! cried my uncle, to the great scandal of the professor of natural sciences. —Huh? said the latter. —Yes! Everything is explained, everything is connected, everything is clear, and I understand why Saknussemm, blacklisted and forced to hide the discoveries of his genius, had to bury in an incomprehensible cryptogram the secret… —What secret? asked Mr. Fridriksson quickly. —A secret which… of which…, replied my uncle, stammering. —Do you have any particular document? continued our host. —No. I was making a pure supposition. —Good, replied Mr. Fridriksson, who was kind enough not to insist on seeing the confusion of his interlocutor. I hope, he added, that you will not leave our island without having drawn on its mineralogical riches? —Certainly, replied my uncle; but I am arriving a little late; have scientists already passed through here? —Yes, Mr. Lidenbrock; the works of MM. Olafsen and Povelsen executed by order of the king, the studies of Troïl, the scientific mission of Messrs. Gaimard and Robert, aboard the French corvette La Recherche [1], and recently, the observations of the scientists embarked on the frigate La Reine-Hortense, have powerfully contributed to the reconnaissance of Iceland. But, believe me, there is still work to be done. [1] La Recherche was sent in 1835 by Admiral Duperré to find traces of a lost expedition, that of M. de Blosseville and the Lilloise, of which there has never been any news. “Do you think so?” asked my uncle good-naturedly, trying to moderate the flash of his eyes. “Yes. How many mountains, glaciers, volcanoes to study, which are little known! And look, without going any further, see this mountain rising on the horizon; it is Sneffels. ” “Ah! said my uncle, Sneffels. —Yes, one of the most curious volcanoes, and one whose crater is rarely visited. —Extinct? —Oh! Extinct for five hundred years. —Well! replied my uncle, who was frantically crossing his legs to keep from jumping in the air, I want to begin my geological studies with this Seffel… Fessel… how do you say?
—Sneffels, resumed the excellent Mr. Fridriksson. This part of the conversation had taken place in Latin; I had understood everything, and I could hardly keep a straight face seeing my uncle contain his satisfaction which was overflowing on all sides; he assumed a little innocent air which resembled the grimace of an old devil. Yes, he said, your words have decided me; we will try to climb this Sneffels, perhaps even to study its crater! —I am very sorry, replied Mr. Fridriksson, that my occupations do not allow me to be absent; I would have accompanied you with pleasure and profit. —Oh! no, oh! no, replied my uncle quickly; we do not want to disturb anyone, Mr. Fridriksson; I thank you with all my heart. The presence of a scholar such as yourself would have been very useful, but the duties of your profession… I like to think that our host, in the innocence of his Icelandic soul, did not understand my uncle’s gross malice. I strongly approve of you, Mr. Lidenbrock, he said, starting with this volcano; you will make an ample harvest of curious observations there. But, tell me, how do you intend to reach the Sneffels peninsula? —By sea, by crossing the bay. It is the quickest route. —No doubt; but it is impossible to take. —Why? —Because we do not have a single canoe at Reykjavik. —Devil! —We will have to go by land, following the coast. It will be longer, but more interesting. —Good. I’ll see about getting a guide. —I have just one to offer you. —A reliable, intelligent man? —Yes, an inhabitant of the peninsula. He’s an eider hunter, very skilled, and you’ll be pleased with him. He speaks perfect Danish. —And when can I see him? —Tomorrow, if that pleases you. —Why not today? —He’s not arriving until tomorrow. —See you tomorrow, then, my uncle replied with a sigh. This important conversation ended a few moments later with warm thanks from the German professor to the Icelandic professor. During this dinner, my uncle had just learned some important things, among other things the story of Saknussemm, the reason for his mysterious document, that his host would not accompany him on his expedition, and that from the next day a guide would be at his command. Chapter 11. In the evening, I took a short walk on the shores of Reykjavik, and I returned early to lie down in my bed of thick planks, where I slept soundly. When I awoke, I heard my uncle talking at length in the next room. I got up at once and hurried to join him. He was talking in Danish with a tall, vigorously built man. This tall fellow must have been of uncommon strength. His eyes, pierced in a very large and rather naive head, seemed intelligent to me. They were a dreamy blue. Long hair, which would have passed for red even in England, fell over his athletic shoulders. This native had supple movements, but he moved his arms little, like a man who was ignorant of or disdained the language of sign language. Everything about him revealed a temperament of perfect calm, not indolent, but tranquil. One felt that he asked nothing of anyone, that he worked as he saw fit, and that, in this world, his philosophy could be neither astonished nor disturbed. I caught the nuances of this character, in the way the Icelander listened to the impassioned verbiage of his interlocutor. He remained with his arms crossed, motionless in the midst of my uncle’s repeated gestures; to deny, his head turned from left to right; she bowed to affirm, and so little that her long hair hardly moved; it was the economy of movement pushed to the point of avarice. Certainly, seeing this man, I would never have guessed his profession as a hunter; he certainly wouldn’t scare the game, but how could he hit it? Everything was explained when Mr. Fridriksson told me that this quiet character was only an eiderdown hunter, a bird whose down constitutes the greatest wealth of the island. Indeed, this down is called eiderdown, and it does not require a great expenditure of movement to collect it. In the first days of summer, the female eiderdown, a kind of pretty duck, goes to build her nest among the rocks of the fjords[1] whose coast is all fringed; this nest built, she lines it with fine feathers that she tears from her belly. Immediately the hunter, or better the trader, arrives, takes the nest, and the female begins her work again; this continues as long as she has some down left. When she has completely stripped herself, it is the male’s turn to pluck himself. However, as the latter’s hard and coarse skin has no commercial value, the hunter does not bother to steal his brood’s bed; the nest is thus completed; the female lays her eggs; the young hatch, and, the following year, the eiderdown harvest begins again. [1] Name given to narrow gulfs in Scandinavian countries. Now, as the eider does not choose steep rocks to build its nest, but rather easy and horizontal rocks which are lost in the sea, the Icelandic hunter could practice his trade without much agitation. He was a farmer who had neither to sow nor to cut his harvest, but only to reap it. This grave, phlegmatic, and silent personage was named Hans Bjelke; he came at the recommendation of Mr. Fridriksson. He was our future guide. His manners contrasted singularly with those of my uncle. However, they reached an agreement easily. Neither of us cared about the price; one was ready to accept what was offered, the other ready to give what was asked. Never was a deal easier to conclude. Now, from the agreements it resulted that Hans undertook to take us to the village of Stapi, located on the southern coast of the Sneffels peninsula, at the very foot of the volcano. It was necessary to count on about twenty-two miles by land, a journey to be made in two days, according to my uncle’s opinion. But when he learned that it was a question of Danish miles of twenty-four thousand feet, he had to reduce his calculation and count, given the inadequacy of the roads, on seven or eight days of walking.
Four horses were to be placed at his disposal, two to carry him and me, two others intended for our luggage. Hans, as was his custom, would go on foot. He knew this part of the coast perfectly , and he promised to take the shortest route. His engagement with my uncle did not expire upon our arrival at Stapi; he remained in his service for the entire time necessary for our scientific excursions at the price of three rixdales per week[1]. Only, it was expressly agreed that this sum would be paid to the guide every Saturday evening, a sine qua non condition of his engagement. [1] 16fr. 08 c. The departure was set for June 16. My uncle wanted to give the hunter the deposit of the deal, but he refused with a single word.
Efter, he said. Afterward, the professor told me for my edification. Hans, the contract concluded, withdrew in one piece. A famous man, cried my uncle, but he hardly expects the marvelous role that the future has in store for him to play. —So he accompanies us to the… —Yes, Axel, to the center of the earth. Forty-eight hours still remained to pass; to my great regret, I had to use them in our preparations; all our intelligence was employed in arranging each object in the most advantageous way, the instruments on one side, the weapons on another , the tools in this package, the provisions in that. In all, four groups. The instruments included: 1° An Eigel centigrade thermometer, graduated up to 150 degrees, which seemed to me too much or not enough. Too much, if the ambient heat were to rise there, in which case we would have cooked. Not enough, if it was a question of measuring the temperature of springs or any other molten material. 2° A compressed air manometer, arranged so as to indicate pressures higher than those of the atmosphere at ocean level . Indeed, the ordinary barometer would not have been sufficient, the atmospheric pressure having to increase proportionally to our descent below the surface of the earth. 3° A chronometer by Boissonnas junior of Geneva, perfectly adjusted to the Hamburg meridian. 4° Two inclination and declination compasses. 5° A night telescope. 6° Two Ruhmkorff devices, which, by means of an electric current, gave a very portable, safe and compact light.[1] [1] Mr. Ruhmkorff’s device consists of a Bunzen battery, activated by means of potassium dichromate which gives off no odor. An induction coil puts the electricity produced by the battery in communication with a lantern of a particular arrangement; in this lantern is a glass coil where the vacuum has been created, and in which only a residue of carbon dioxide or nitrogen remains. When the device is in operation, this gas becomes luminous by producing a whitish and continuous light. The battery and the coil are placed in a leather bag which the traveler carries over his shoulder. The lantern, placed outside, illuminates very sufficiently in the deep darkness; it allows to venture, without fear of any explosion, into the midst of the most flammable gases , and does not go out even in the deepest watercourses. Mr. Ruhmkorff is a learned and skilled physicist. His great discovery is his induction coil which makes it possible to produce high-voltage electricity. He won, in 1864, the quinquennial prize of 50,000 francs that France reserved for the most ingenious application of electricity. The weapons consisted of two Purdley More and Co. carbines, and two Colt revolvers. Why weapons? We had neither savages nor wild beasts to fear, I suppose. But my uncle seemed to value his arsenal as much as his instruments, especially a notable quantity of gun cotton, unalterable to humidity, and whose expansive force is much greater than that of ordinary gunpowder . The tools included two picks, two mattocks, a silk ladder, three iron-tipped sticks, an axe, a hammer, a dozen iron wedges and pitons, and long knotted ropes. This made for a substantial package, for the ladder was three hundred feet long. Finally, there were the provisions; the package was not large, but reassuring, for I knew that in concentrated meat and dry biscuits it contained six months’ worth of food. Juniper formed all the liquid part, and water was completely lacking; but we had gourds, and my uncle relied on the springs to fill them; the objections I had been able to make about their quality, their temperature, and even their absence, had remained without success. To complete the exact nomenclature of our travel articles, I will note a portable pharmacy containing scissors with blunt blades, fracture splints, a piece of unbleached thread tape, bandages and compresses, adhesive tape, a paddle for bleeding, all frightening things; in addition, a series of bottles containing dextrin, vulnerary alcohol, liquid lead acetate, ether, vinegar and ammonia, all drugs of a rather unreassuring use; finally, the materials necessary for Ruhmkorff’s apparatus. My uncle had not forgotten the supply of tobacco, hunting powder and tinder, nor a leather belt that he wore around his waist and in which was a sufficient quantity of gold, silver and paper money. Good shoes, made waterproof by a coating of tar and elastic gum, numbered six pairs in the group of tools. Thus dressed, shod, and equipped, there is no reason not to go far, my uncle told me. The whole day of the 14th was spent arranging these various objects. In the evening, we dined at Baron Trampe’s, in the company of the mayor of Reykjavik and Doctor Hyaltalin, the great physician of the country. Mr. Fridriksson was not among the guests; I learned later that the governor and he were in disagreement on an administrative matter and did not see each other. I therefore did not have the opportunity to understand a word of what was said during this semi-official dinner. I only noticed that my uncle spoke the whole time. The next day, the 15th, the preparations were completed. Our host gave the professor considerable pleasure by giving him a map of Iceland, incomparably more perfect than Henderson’s, the map of Mr. Olaf Nikolas Olsen, reduced to 1/400,000, and published by the Icelandic Literary Society, based on the geodetic works of Mr. Scheel Frisac, and the topographical survey of Mr. Bjorn Gumlaugsonn. It was a valuable document for a mineralogist. The last evening was spent in an intimate chat with Mr. Fridrikssonn, for whom I felt a strong sympathy; then, the conversation was followed by a rather restless sleep, on my part at least. At five o’clock in the morning, the neighing of four horses pawing the ground beneath my window woke me. I dressed hastily and went down into the street. There, Hans was finishing loading our luggage without moving, so to speak. However, he operated with uncommon skill. My uncle made more noise than work, and the guide seemed to care very little for his recommendations. Everything was finished at six o’clock, Mr. Fridriksson shook our hands . My uncle thanked him in Icelandic for his kind hospitality, and with great heart. As for me, I sketched out a cordial greeting in my best Latin; then we got into the saddle, and Mr. Fridriksson threw me, with his last farewell, this verse that Virgil seemed to have written for us, travelers uncertain of the road: Et quacunque viam dederit fortuna sequamur. Chapter 12. We had set off in overcast, but steady weather. No tiring heat to fear, nor disastrous rains. A tourist’s weather. The pleasure of riding through an unknown country made me easy to compose at the beginning of the enterprise. I was entirely in the happiness of the excursionist made of desires and freedom. I was beginning to make up my mind about the matter. Besides, I said to myself, what do I risk? To travel in the middle of the most curious country! To climb a very remarkable mountain! At worst, to descend to the bottom of an extinct crater? It is quite obvious that this Saknussemm has done nothing else . As for the existence of a gallery that ends in the center of the globe, pure imagination! pure impossibility! So, whatever good there is to take from this expedition, let us take it, and without haggling! This reasoning hardly completed, we had left Reykjavik. Hans walked in front, with a quick, even, and continuous step. The two horses laden with our luggage followed him, without it being necessary to lead them. My uncle and I came next, and really without making too bad a showing on our small but vigorous animals. Iceland is one of the large islands of Europe; it measures fourteen hundred miles in area, and has only sixty thousand inhabitants. Geographers have divided it into four quarters, and we had to cross almost obliquely the one which bears the name of the Southwest Quarter, Sudvestr Fjordùngr. Hans, leaving Reykjavik, had immediately followed the shores of the sea; we crossed meager pastures which took great pains to be green; yellow succeeded better. The
rugged summits of the trachytic masses faded on the horizon in the mists of the east; at times some patches of snow, concentrating the diffuse light, shone resplendently on the slopes of the distant peaks; Some peaks, more boldly raised, pierced the gray clouds and reappeared above the moving vapors, like reefs emerging from the sky. Often these chains of arid rocks pointed towards the sea and bit into the pasture; but there was always enough space to pass. Our horses, moreover, instinctively chose the favorable places without ever slowing down their pace. My uncle did not even have the consolation of exciting his mount with his voice or the whip; he was not allowed to be impatient. I could not help smiling at the sight of him so tall on his little horse, and, as his long legs skimmed the ground, he resembled a six-foot centaur. Good beast! good beast! he said. You will see, Axel, that no animal surpasses the Icelandic horse in intelligence; snow, storms, impassable roads, rocks, glaciers, nothing can stop him. He is brave, he is sober, he is sure. Never a false step, never a reaction. Let some river, some fjord to cross, and there will be some, you know. will see without hesitation throw itself into the water, like an amphibian, and reach the opposite shore! But let’s not rush it, let it act, and we will do, one carrying the other, our ten leagues a day. “We, no doubt,” I replied, “but the guide? ” “Oh! he doesn’t worry me much. These people walk without noticing it; this one moves so little that he shouldn’t tire himself out. Besides, if necessary, I will give him my mount. I would soon get cramps if I didn’t give myself some exercise. My arms are fine, but I must think about my legs. Meanwhile we were moving forward at a rapid pace; the country was already almost deserted. Here and there an isolated farm, some solitary Boer[1], made of wood, earth, pieces of lava, appeared like a beggar at the edge of a sunken road. These dilapidated huts seemed to be begging the charity of passers-by, and, for a moment, they would have been given alms. In this country, roads, even paths, were completely lacking, and the vegetation, however slow it was, had quickly erased the steps of the rare travelers. [1] House of the Icelandic peasant Yet this part of the province, located a stone’s throw from its capital, was among the inhabited and cultivated portions of Iceland. What were then the regions more deserted than this desert? Half a mile gone, we had not yet encountered a farmer at the door of his cottage, nor a wild shepherd grazing a flock less wild than himself; only a few cows and sheep abandoned to themselves. What then would the convulsed regions be, upset by eruptive phenomena , born of volcanic explosions and subterranean commotions ? We were destined to know them later; but, consulting Olsen’s map, I saw that they were avoided by following the sinuous edge of the shore; in fact, the great plutonic movement was concentrated mainly in the interior of the island; there the horizontal layers of superimposed rocks, called traps in Scandinavian, the trachytic bands, the eruptions of basalt, tuffs and all the volcanic conglomerates, the flows of lava and molten porphyry, have made a country of supernatural horror. I had little idea then of the spectacle that awaited us at the Sneffels peninsula, where these devastations of a fiery nature form a formidable chaos. Two hours after leaving Reykjavik, we arrived at the town of Gufunes, called Aoalkirkja or Main Church. It offered nothing remarkable. Only a few houses. Hardly enough to make a hamlet of Germany. Hans stopped there for half an hour; he shared our frugal lunch, answered yes and no to my uncle’s questions about the nature of the road, and when asked where he intended to spend the night: Gardär, he simply said. I consulted the map to find out what Gardär was. I saw a village of that name on the banks of Hvaljörd, four miles from Reykjavik. I showed it to my uncle. Only four miles! he said. Four miles by twenty-two! That’s a pretty walk. He wanted to make an observation to the guide, who, without answering him, took a look at his hair and set off again. Three hours later, still treading the discolored grass of the pastures, we had to go around Kollafjörd, a detour that was easier and less long than crossing this gulf; Soon we entered a pingstaoer, a place of municipal jurisdiction, named Ejulberg, and whose bell tower would have struck noon, if the Icelandic churches had been rich enough to possess a clock; but they are very much like their parishioners, who do not have watches, and who do without them. There the horses were refreshed; then, taking a narrow shore between a chain of hills and the sea, they carried us in one go to the aoalkirkja of Brantar, and a mile further to Saurböer annexia, an annex church, located on the southern shore of Hvalfjörd. It was then four o’clock in the evening; we had crossed four miles [1]. [1] Eight leagues. The fjord was at least half a mile wide at this point; the waves broke noisily on the sharp rocks; this gulf widened between walls of rock, a sort of sheer escarpment three thousand feet high and remarkable for its brown layers separated by beds of tuff of a reddish shade. However intelligent our horses were, I did not augur well for the crossing of a real arm of the sea on the back of a quadruped. If they are intelligent, I said, they will not try to cross. In any case, I will take it upon myself to be intelligent for them. But my uncle did not want to wait; he rushed towards the shore. His mount sniffed the last ripple of the waves and stopped; my uncle, who had his own instinct, urged it to move forward. The animal refused again, shaking its head. Then there were oaths and lashes with the whip, but the beast kicked, and began to unseat its rider; finally the little horse, bending its hamstrings, withdrew from the professor’s legs and left him standing upright on two stones on the shore, like the Colossus of Rhodes. Ah! Cursed animal! cried the rider, suddenly transformed into a pedestrian and ashamed as a cavalry officer who had become an infantryman. “Farja,” said the guide, touching his shoulder. “What! A ferry? ” “Der,” replied Hans, pointing to a boat. “Yes,” I cried, “there is a ferry. ” “So you should have said so! Well, let’s go! ” “Tidvatten,” continued the guide. “What does he say?” “He says tide,” my uncle replied, translating the Danish word for me. “No doubt we must wait for the tide? ” “Förbida?” my uncle asked. “Ja,” Hans replied. My uncle stamped his foot as the horses headed toward the ferry. I understood perfectly well the necessity of waiting for a certain moment in the tide to undertake the crossing of the fjord, the moment when the sea, having reached its greatest height, is slack. Then the ebb and flow have no noticeable effect, and the ferry is in no danger of being dragged either to the bottom of the gulf or out into the open ocean. The favorable moment did not arrive until six o’clock in the evening; my uncle, I, the guide, two ferrymen, and the four horses had taken our places in a sort of rather fragile flat boat. Accustomed as I was to the steam ferries on the Elbe, I found the boatmen’s oars a sad mechanical device. It took more than an hour to cross the fjord; but finally the passage was made without incident. Half an hour later, we reached the aoalkirkja of Gardär. Chapter 13. It should have been night, but below the sixty-fifth parallel, the daylight of the polar regions should not have surprised me; in Iceland, during the months of June and July, the sun does not set. Nevertheless, the temperature had dropped; I was cold, and above all hungry. Welcome was the boer who opened hospitably to receive us. It was the house of a peasant, but, in terms of hospitality, it was worth that of a king. On our arrival, the master came to hold out his hand to us, and, without further ceremony, he signaled to us to follow him. Follow him, in fact, because accompanying him would have been impossible. A long, narrow, dark passage gave access to this dwelling built of barely squared beams and allowed access to each of the rooms; These were four in number: the kitchen, the weaving workshop, the badstofa, the family bedroom , and, the best of all, the strangers’ room. My uncle, whose size had not been considered when building the house, did not fail to give three or four times of the head against the projections of the ceiling. We were shown into our room, a sort of large room with a beaten earth floor and lit by a window whose panes were made of rather opaque sheep membranes . The bedding consisted of dry fodder thrown into two wooden frames painted red and decorated with Icelandic sayings. I did not expect this comfort; only, there reigned in this house a strong smell of dried fish, marinated meat and sour milk which made my sense of smell rather weak. When we had put aside our travelers’ harness, the voice of the host was heard, inviting us to go into the kitchen, the only room where a fire was made, even in the bitterest cold. My uncle hastened to obey this friendly injunction. I followed him. The kitchen fireplace was of an antique model; in the middle of the room, a stone for all hearth; in the roof, a hole through which the smoke escaped. This kitchen also served as a dining room. As we entered, the host, as if he had not yet seen us, greeted us with the word saellvertu, which means be happy, and he came to kiss us on the cheek. His wife, after him, pronounced the same words, accompanied by the same ceremony; then the two spouses, placing their right hands on their hearts, bowed deeply. I hasten to say that the Icelandic woman was the mother of nineteen children, all of them, big and small, swarming pell-mell in the midst of the curls of smoke with which the fireplace filled the room. Every moment I saw a small blond and somewhat melancholy head emerge from this fog. It looked like a garland of insufficiently washed angels. My uncle and I gave this brood a very warm welcome, and soon there were three or four of these brats on our shoulders, as many on our knees, and the rest between our legs. Those who spoke repeated saellvertu in every imaginable tone . Those who didn’t speak shouted all the more loudly. This concert was interrupted by the announcement of the meal. At that moment the hunter returned, having just provided food for the horses, that is to say, he had economically let them loose across the fields; the poor beasts had to be content with grazing on the rare moss on the rocks, a few unnutritious fucuses, and the next day they would not fail to come of their own accord to resume the work of the day before. Saellvertu, said Hans as he entered. Then quietly, automatically, without one kiss being more accentuated than the other, he embraced the host, the hostess, and their nineteen children. The ceremony over, we sat down at the table, twenty-four in number, and consequently on top of each other, in the true sense of the expression. The most favored had only two kids on their knees. However, silence fell over this little world when the soup arrived, and the taciturnity natural even to Icelandic children resumed its reign. The host served us a lichen soup, not unpleasant, then an enormous portion of dried fish swimming in butter that had soured for twenty years, and consequently much preferable to fresh butter, according to Icelandic gastronomic ideas . There was also skyr, a sort of curdled milk, accompanied by biscuits and seasoned with juniper berry juice; finally, to drink, buttermilk mixed with water, called blanda in the country. Whether this singular food was good or not, I could not judge. I was hungry, and for dessert I swallowed every last mouthful of thick buckwheat porridge. When the meal was over, the children disappeared; the adults surrounded the hearth where peat, heather, cow dung, and dried fish bones were burning. Then, after this warming up, the various groups returned to their respective rooms. The hostess offered to remove our stockings and trousers, as was customary; but, upon our most gracious refusal, she did not insist, and I was finally able to curl up in my bed of fodder. The next day, at five o’clock, we said our goodbyes to the Icelandic peasant; my uncle had great difficulty in making him accept a suitable remuneration, and Hans gave the signal to leave. A hundred paces from Gardär, the terrain began to change in appearance; the ground became marshy and less favorable to walking. On the right, the series of mountains extended indefinitely like an immense system of natural fortifications, whose counterscarp we followed; often streams presented themselves to be crossed which it was necessary to ford without getting the luggage too wet. The desert became deeper and deeper; sometimes, however, a human shadow seemed to flee into the distance; If the twists and turns of the road brought us unexpectedly close to one of these specters, I felt a sudden disgust at the sight of a swollen head, with shiny skin, devoid of hair, and repulsive wounds betrayed by the tears of miserable rags. The unfortunate creature did not come and extend its deformed hand; on the contrary, it ran away, but not so quickly that Hans would not have greeted it with the usual saellvirtue. “Spetelsk,” he said. “A leper!” my uncle repeated. And this word alone produced its repellent effect. This horrible disease of leprosy is quite common in Iceland; it is not contagious, but hereditary; therefore marriage is forbidden to these wretches. These apparitions were not of a nature to brighten the landscape which was becoming profoundly sad; the last tufts of grass were dying under our feet. Not a tree, except for a few clumps of dwarf birch trees, like brushwood. Not an animal, except for a few horses, those whose master could not feed them, and who wandered over the dreary plains. Sometimes a falcon soared in the gray clouds and flew away with swift wings toward the southern regions; I gave myself over to the melancholy of this wild nature, and my memories brought me back to my native country. We soon had to cross several small, unimportant fjords , and finally a real gulf; the tide, then slack, allowed us to pass without delay and reach the hamlet of Alftanes, located a mile beyond. In the evening, after having forded two rivers rich in trout and pike, the Alfa and the Heta, we were obliged to spend the night in an abandoned hovel, worthy of being haunted by all the elves of Scandinavian mythology; Certainly the genius of cold had taken up residence there, and he played his part all night . The following day presented no particular incident. Always the same marshy ground, the same uniformity, the same sad physiognomy. In the evening, we had covered half the distance to be covered, and we slept at the annexia of Krösolbt. On June 19, for about a mile, a lava field stretched under our feet; this disposition of the ground is called hraun in the country; the wrinkled lava on the surface took the form of cables, sometimes elongated, sometimes rolled up on themselves; an immense flow descended from the neighboring mountains, volcanoes currently extinct, but whose debris attested to the past violence. However, some fumes from hot springs crept here and there. We did not have time to observe these phenomena; we had to walk; soon the marshy ground reappeared under the feet of our mounts; small lakes intersected it. Our direction was then to the west; we had indeed rounded the great bay of Faxa, and the double white peak of Sneffels rose up in the clouds less than five miles away. The horses were walking well; the difficulties of the ground did not did not stop; for my part, I began to become very tired; my uncle remained firm and upright as on the first day; I could not help but admire him as much as the hunter, who regarded this expedition as a simple walk. On Saturday, June 20, at six o’clock in the evening, we reached Büdir, a village located on the seaside, and the guide demanded his agreed pay. My uncle settled with him. It was Hans’s own family , that is to say, his uncles and first cousins, who offered us hospitality; we were well received, and without abusing the kindness of these good people, I would have gladly recovered from the fatigues of the journey with them. But my uncle, who had nothing to redo, did not see it that way, and the next day we had to mount our good beasts again. The ground felt the proximity of the mountain, whose granite roots emerged from the earth like those of an old oak. We skirted the immense base of the volcano. The professor did not take his eyes off it; he gesticulated, he seemed to take it to task and say: So this is the giant I am going to tame! Finally, after twenty-four hours of walking, the horses stopped of their own accord at the door of the Stapi presbytery. Chapter 14. Stapi is a village made up of about thirty huts, built in the middle of lava under the rays of the sun reflected by the volcano. It extends at the bottom of a small fjord enclosed by a wall of the strangest effect. We know that basalt is a brown rock of igneous origin; it takes on regular forms that surprise by their arrangement. Here nature proceeds geometrically and works in a human manner, as if it had wielded a set square, a compass, and a plumb line. If everywhere else she makes art with her great masses thrown together without order, her barely sketched cones, her imperfect pyramids, with the bizarre succession of her lines, here, wanting to give the example of regularity, and preceding the architects of the first ages, she created a severe order, which neither the splendors of Babylon nor the marvels of Greece have ever surpassed. I had indeed heard of the Giant’s Causeway in Ireland, and of Fingal’s Cave in one of the Hebrides, but the spectacle of a basaltic substructure had not yet presented itself to my gaze. Now, at Stapi, this phenomenon appeared in all its beauty. The wall of the fjord, like the whole coast of the peninsula, was composed of a series of vertical columns, thirty feet high . These straight shafts of pure proportion supported an archivolt, made of horizontal columns whose overhang formed a half-vault above the sea. At certain intervals, and under this natural impluvium, the eye surprised ogival openings of admirable design, through which the waves of the open sea came rushing foaming. Some sections of basalt, torn away by the fury of the Ocean, lay on the ground like the debris of an ancient temple, eternally young ruins, over which the centuries passed without affecting them. Such was the last stage of our terrestrial journey. Hans had led us there with intelligence, and I was a little reassured by thinking that he must accompany us again. Arriving at the door of the rector’s house, a simple low cabin, neither more beautiful nor more comfortable than its neighbors, I saw a man shoeing a horse, hammer in hand, and leather apron around his waist. Saelvertu, the hunter told him. —God dag, replied the blacksmith in perfect Danish. —Kyrkoherde, said Hans, turning towards my uncle. —The rector! repeated the latter. It seems, Axel, that this good man is the rector. Meanwhile, the guide was updating the kyrkoherde on the situation; the latter, stopping his work, gave a sort of of a cry doubtless customary between horses and horse dealers, and immediately a large shrew came out of the hut. If she was not six feet tall, it was not far from it. I feared that she would come to offer the travelers the Icelandic kiss; but it was not so, and even she showed little good grace in introducing us into her house. The room for strangers seemed to me to be the worst in the presbytery, narrow, dirty and filthy. We had to be content with it; the rector did not seem to practice ancient hospitality. Far from it. Before the end of the day, I saw that we were dealing with a blacksmith, a fisherman, a hunter, a carpenter, and not at all with a minister of the Lord. It was a weekday, it is true. Perhaps he made up for it on Sunday. I do not want to speak ill of these poor priests who, after all, are very miserable; They receive a ridiculous salary from the Danish government and collect a quarter of the tithe of their parish, which does not amount to a sum of sixty current marks[1]. From there, the necessity of working to live; but in fishing, hunting, shoeing horses, one ends up taking on the manners, tone and morals of hunters, fishermen and other somewhat rough people; that same evening I noticed that our host did not count sobriety among his virtues. [1] Hamburg currency, approximately 30 francs. My uncle quickly understood what kind of man he was dealing with; instead of a brave and worthy scholar, he found a heavy and coarse peasant ; he therefore resolved to begin his great expedition as soon as possible and to leave this inhospitable cure. He did not look at his fatigue and resolved to go and spend a few days in the mountains. Preparations for departure were therefore made the day after our arrival at Stapi. Hans hired the services of three Icelanders to replace the horses in transporting the baggage; but, once we reached the bottom of the crater, these natives were to turn back and leave us to our own devices. This point was perfectly settled. On this occasion, my uncle had to inform the hunter that his intention was to continue the reconnaissance of the volcano to its utmost limits. Hans simply inclined his head. Going there or elsewhere, going deep into the bowels of his island or exploring it, he saw no difference; as for me, distracted until then by the incidents of the journey, I had somewhat forgotten the future, but now I felt emotion returning to me with renewed vigor. What could I do? If I had been able to try to resist Professor Lidenbrock, it was in Hamburg and not at the foot of Sneffels. One idea, above all, worried me greatly, a frightening idea calculated to shake nerves less sensitive than mine. Let’s see, I said to myself, we’re going to climb Snæfells. Good. We’re going to visit its crater. Good. Others have done it who haven’t died. But that’s not all. If there is a path to descend into the bowels of the earth, if that unfortunate Saknussemm spoke the truth, we’ll get lost in the middle of the volcano’s subterranean galleries. Now, there’s nothing to say that Snæfells is extinct? Who proves that an eruption isn’t in the making? Does it follow that the monster has been sleeping since 1229 that it can’t wake up? And if it wakes up, what will become of us? That required some thought, and I did think about it. I couldn’t sleep without dreaming of an eruption; now, the role of scoria seemed rather brutal to play. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer; I resolved to submit the case to my uncle as skillfully as possible, and in the form of a perfectly unrealizable hypothesis. I went to find him. I told him my fears, and I stepped back to let him express them at his leisure. I was thinking about it, he replied simply. What did these words mean! Was he going to listen to the voice of reason? Was he thinking of suspending his plans? It would have been too good to be possible. After a few moments of silence, during which I dared not question him, he continued, saying: I was thinking about it. Since our arrival at Stapi, I have been preoccupied with the serious question you have just submitted to me, for we must not act rashly. “No,” I replied forcefully. “Snaefell has been silent for six hundred years; but it can speak. Now, eruptions are always preceded by perfectly well-known phenomena; so I questioned the inhabitants of the country, I studied the soil, and I can tell you, Axel, there will be no eruption.” At this affirmation I was stupefied, and I could not reply. ” You doubt my words?” said my uncle, “well! follow me.” I obeyed mechanically. Leaving the presbytery, the professor took a direct path which, through an opening in the basalt wall, led away from the sea. Soon we were in open country, if one can give that name to an immense pile of volcanic ash; the country seemed crushed under a rain of enormous stones, trapp, basalt, granite and all the pyroxenic rocks. I saw here and there fumaroles rising into the air; these white vapors called reykir in Icelandic, came from the thermal springs, and they indicated, by their violence, the volcanic activity of the soil. This seemed to me to justify my fears. So I was shocked when my uncle said to me: You see all this smoke, Axel; well, it proves that we have nothing to fear from the fury of the volcano! “For example!” I cried. “Remember this,” the professor continued: “as an eruption approaches, these fumaroles redouble their activity and disappear completely for the duration of the phenomenon, because the elastic fluids, no longer having the necessary tension, take the path to the craters instead of escaping through the cracks in the globe. If, then, these vapors remain in their usual state, if their energy does not increase, if you add to this observation that the wind and the rain are not replaced by a heavy and calm air, you can affirm that there will be no imminent eruption. ” “But…” “Enough. When science has spoken, there is nothing left to do but keep quiet.”
I returned to the rectory with my ear lowered; my uncle had beaten me with scientific arguments. However, I still had one hope: that once we reached the bottom of the crater, it would be impossible, for lack of a gallery, to descend any deeper, and this in spite of all the Saknussemms in the world. I spent the following night in a nightmare in the middle of a volcano and the depths of the earth, I felt myself launched into the planetary spaces in the form of eruptive rock. The next day, June 23, Hans was waiting for us with his companions laden with food, tools, and instruments. Two iron-tipped sticks, two rifles, two cartridge belts, were reserved for my uncle and me. Hans, as a man of precaution, had added to our luggage a full skin which, joined to our flasks, assured us of water for eight days. It was nine o’clock in the morning. The rector and his high-minded shrew were waiting outside their door. They undoubtedly wanted to address us with the supreme farewell of the host to the traveler. But this farewell took the unexpected form of a formidable note, where they even counted the air of the pastoral house, a foul air, I dare say. This worthy couple ransomed us like a Swiss innkeeper and carried a handsome price for their overrated hospitality. My uncle paid without haggling. A man leaving for the center of the earth didn’t look at a few rixdales. This point settled, Hans gave the signal for departure, and a few Moments later we had left Stapi. Chapter 15. Sneffels is five thousand feet high; it ends, with its double cone, a trachytic band which stands out from the orographic system of the island. From our starting point we could not see its two peaks outlined against the grayish background of the sky. I could only see an enormous cap of snow lowered onto the giant’s forehead. We walked in file, preceded by the hunter; he was going up narrow paths where two people could not have walked abreast. Any conversation therefore became almost impossible. Beyond the basalt wall of the Stapi fjord, a soil of herbaceous and fibrous peat appeared first, residue of the ancient vegetation of the marshes of the peninsula; the mass of this still unexploited fuel would be enough to heat the entire population of Iceland for a century; This vast peat bog, measured from the bottom of certain ravines, was often seventy feet high and presented successive layers of carbonized detritus, separated by sheets of pumice-like tuff. As a true nephew of Professor Lidenbrock and despite my preoccupations, I observed with interest the mineralogical curiosities displayed in this vast cabinet of natural history; at the same time I reworked in my mind the entire geological history of Iceland. This island, so curious, evidently emerged from the depths of the waters in a relatively modern era; perhaps it is even still rising by an imperceptible movement. If this is so, its origin can only be attributed to the action of subterranean fires. So, in this case, Humphry Davy’s theory, Saknussemm’s document , my uncle’s claims, all went up in smoke.
This hypothesis led me to examine carefully the nature of the soil, and I soon became aware of the succession of phenomena which presided over the formation of the island. Iceland, absolutely devoid of sedimentary terrain, is composed solely of volcanic tuff, that is to say, an agglomerate of stones and rocks of a porous texture. Before the existence of volcanoes, it was made of a trappean massif, slowly raised above the waves by the thrust of central forces. The internal fires had not yet erupted outside. But, later, a large crack was dug diagonally from the southwest to the northwest of the island, through which all the trachytic paste gradually poured out. The phenomenon was then accomplished without violence; the outlet was enormous, and the molten materials , ejected from the bowels of the globe, spread quietly in vast sheets or in hilly masses. At this time, felspars, syenites, and porphyries appeared. But, thanks to this effusion, the thickness of the island increased considerably, and, consequently, its strength of resistance. One can imagine what quantity of elastic fluids were stored in its bosom, when it no longer offered any outlet, after the cooling of the trachytic crust. There came a time when the mechanical power of these gases was such that they lifted the heavy crust and dug high chimneys. From there, the volcano made of the uplift of the crust, then the crater suddenly pierced at the summit of the volcano. Then the eruptive phenomena were succeeded by the volcanic phenomena; through the newly formed openings first escaped the basaltic dejecta, of which the plain we were crossing at that moment offered to our gaze the most marvelous specimens. We walked on these heavy, dark gray rocks that cooling had molded into hexagonal prisms. In the distance could be seen a large number of flattened cones, which were once so many fire-breathing vents. Then, the basaltic eruption exhausted, the volcano, whose strength increased by that of the extinct craters, gave way to the lavas and to these tuffs of ashes and scoria whose long flows I perceived scattered on its sides like opulent hair . Such was the succession of phenomena which constituted Iceland; all came from the action of internal fires, and to suppose that the internal mass did not remain in a permanent state of incandescent liquidity was madness. Madness especially to claim to reach the center of the globe! I therefore reassured myself about the outcome of our enterprise, while marching to the assault of Sneffels. The road became more and more difficult; the ground rose; the shards of rock shook, and it was necessary to be the most scrupulous in order to avoid dangerous falls. Hans advanced calmly as if on level ground; sometimes he disappeared behind the large blocks, and we lost sight of him momentarily; then a high-pitched whistle, escaping from his lips, indicated the direction to follow. Often he also stopped, picked up some fragments of rock, arranged them in a recognizable way and thus formed landmarks intended to indicate the return route. A precaution good in itself, but which future events rendered useless. Three tiring hours of walking had brought us only to the base of the mountain. There, Hans signaled to stop, and a simple lunch was shared between all. My uncle ate double the pieces to go faster. Only, this rest stop being also a rest stop, he had to wait for the good pleasure of the guide, who gave the signal to leave an hour later. The three Icelanders, as taciturn as their comrade the hunter, did not utter a single word and ate soberly. We now began to climb the slopes of Sneffels; Its snowy summit, by an optical illusion common in the mountains, seemed very close to me, and yet, what long hours before reaching it! What fatigue above all! The stones, which no earth cement, no grass bound together, crumbled under our feet and were lost in the plain with the speed of an avalanche. In certain places, the sides of the mountain made an angle of at least thirty-six degrees with the horizon; it was impossible to climb them, and these steep stony slopes had to be turned not without difficulty. We then lent each other mutual assistance with the help of our sticks. I must say that my uncle stayed as close to me as possible; he did not lose sight of me, and on many occasions, his arm provided me with solid support. For his part, he undoubtedly had an innate sense of balance, for he did not flinch. The Icelanders, although laden, climbed with the agility of mountaineers. Considering the height of the summit of Sneffels, it seemed to me impossible that it could be reached from this side, if the angle of inclination of the slopes did not close. Fortunately, after an hour of fatigue and feats of strength, in the middle of the vast carpet of snow developed on the ridge of the volcano, a sort of staircase unexpectedly appeared, which simplified our ascent. It was formed by one of those torrents of stones thrown up by eruptions, and whose Icelandic name is stinâ. If this torrent had not been stopped in its fall by the disposition of the flanks of the mountain, it would have gone to precipitate itself into the sea and form new islands. Such as it was, such it served us well; The steepness of the slopes increased, but these stone steps allowed them to be climbed easily, and so quickly even, that having remained a moment behind while my companions continued their ascent, I saw them already reduced, by the distance, to a microscopic appearance. At seven o’clock in the evening we had climbed the two thousand steps of the staircase, and we dominated an extumescence of the mountain, a sort of base on which the actual cone of the crater rested. The sea extended to a depth of 3,200 feet; we had passed the limit of perpetual snow, which is quite low in Iceland due to the constant humidity of the climate. It was bitterly cold; the wind was blowing hard. I was exhausted. The professor saw that my legs were refusing me any service, and, despite his impatience, he decided to stop. He therefore signaled to the hunter, who shook his head , saying: “Ofvanför. ” “It seems we must go higher,” said my uncle. Then he asked Hans the reason for his answer. “Mistour,” replied the guide. “Ja, mistour,” repeated one of the Icelanders in a frightened tone. “What does this word mean?” I asked anxiously. “See,” said my uncle. I looked towards the plain; An immense column of pulverized pumice, sand, and dust rose up, swirling like a waterspout; the wind pushed it back onto the side of Sneffels, to which we were clinging; this opaque curtain stretched out before the sun produced a large shadow cast over the mountain. If this waterspout inclined, it would inevitably envelop us in its whirlwinds. This phenomenon, quite frequent when the wind blows from the glaciers, is called mistour in the Icelandic language. Hastigt, hastigt, cried our guide. Without knowing Danish, I understood that we had to follow Hans as quickly as possible. He began to turn the cone of the crater, but at an angle, so as to make the march easier; soon, the waterspout fell on the mountain, which shuddered at its impact; the stones caught in the swirls of the wind flew in a rain as in an eruption. We were, fortunately, on the opposite slope and sheltered from all danger; Without the guide’s precautions, our mangled bodies, reduced to dust, would have fallen far away like the product of some unknown meteor. However, Hans did not think it prudent to spend the night on the sides of the cone. We continued our zigzag ascent; the fifteen hundred feet that remained to be climbed took nearly five hours; the detours, the diagonals and risers measured at least three leagues. I could not take it anymore; I was succumbing to the cold and hunger. The air, a little rarefied, was not sufficient for the work of my lungs. Finally, at eleven o’clock in the evening, in complete darkness, the summit of Sneffels was reached, and, before going to shelter inside the crater, I had time to see the midnight sun at the lowest point of its career, projecting its pale rays on the sleeping island at my feet. Chapter 16. Supper was quickly devoured and the little troop settled in as best they could. The bed was hard, the shelter flimsy, the situation very difficult, five thousand feet above sea level. However, my sleep was particularly peaceful during that night, one of the best I had spent in a long time. I did not even dream. The next day we awoke half-frozen by a very brisk air, in the rays of a beautiful sun. I left my granite bed and went to enjoy the magnificent spectacle that unfolded before my eyes. I occupied the summit of one of the two peaks of Sneffels, the southern one. From there my view extended over the greater part of the island; the optic, common to all great heights, raised the shores, while the central parts seemed to sink. It was as if one of those relief maps by Helbesmer were spread out beneath my feet; I saw the deep valleys intersecting in all directions, the precipices hollowing out like wells, the lakes changing into ponds, the rivers becoming streams. On my right, countless glaciers and numerous peaks followed one another, some of which were plumed with light smoke. The undulations of these infinite mountains, which their layers of snow seemed to make foaming, recalled to my memory the surface of a restless sea. If I turned towards the west, the Ocean spread out there in its majestic expanse, like a continuation of these billowing peaks. Where the land ended, where the waves began, my eye could barely distinguish it. I thus plunged myself into this prestigious ecstasy that the high peaks give, and this time, without vertigo, for I was finally becoming accustomed to these sublime contemplations. My dazzled gaze bathed in the transparent irradiation of the sun’s rays, I forgot who I was, where I was, to live the life of elves or sylphs, imaginary inhabitants of Scandinavian mythology; I became intoxicated by the voluptuousness of the heights, without thinking of the abysses into which my destiny would soon plunge me. But I was brought back to a sense of reality by the arrival of the professor and Hans, who joined me at the summit of the peak. My uncle, turning to the west, indicated with his hand a light vapor, a mist, an appearance of land which dominated the line of the waves. Greenland, he said. “Greenland?” I cried. “Yes; we are not thirty-five leagues from it, and, during the thaws, polar bears arrive as far as Iceland, carried on the ice floes of the north. But that matters little. We are at the summit of Sneffels; here are two peaks, one to the south, the other to the north. Hans will tell us by what name the Icelanders call the one which is carrying us at this moment. ” The question formulated, the hunter replied: “Scartaris.” My uncle gave me a triumphant glance. “To the crater! ” he said. The Sneffels crater was an inverted cone whose orifice could be half a league in diameter. I estimated its depth at about two thousand feet. Imagine the state of such a container when it filled with thunder and flames. The bottom of the funnel could not have measured more than five hundred feet in circumference, so that its rather gentle slopes made it easy to reach its lower part. Involuntarily, I compared this crater to an enormous flared blunderbuss, and the comparison terrified me. To descend in a blunderbuss, I thought, when it is perhaps loaded and could fly off at the slightest shock, is the work of madmen. But I had no reason to retreat. Hans, with an indifferent air, took the lead of the troop. I followed him without saying a word. To facilitate the descent, Hans described very elongated ellipses inside the cone; it was necessary to walk among the eruptive rocks, some of which, shaken in their alveoli, plunged bouncing down to the bottom of the abyss. Their fall caused reverberations of echoes of a strange sonority. Certain parts of the cone formed interior glaciers; Hans then advanced only with extreme caution, probing the ground with his iron-tipped stick to discover the crevasses. At certain dubious passages, it became necessary to tie us with a long rope, so that whoever unexpectedly lost his footing would find himself supported by his companions. This solidarity was prudent, but it did not exclude all danger. However, and despite the difficulties of the descent on slopes that the guide did not know, the route was made without accident, except for the fall of a bundle of ropes which escaped from the hands of an Icelander and went by the shortest route to the bottom of the abyss.
At noon we had arrived. I raised my head, and I saw the upper orifice of the cone, in which was framed a piece of sky of a singularly reduced circumference, but almost perfect. At only one point stood out the peak of the Scartaris, which plunged into the immensity. At the bottom of the crater opened three chimneys through which, at the time of the eruptions of Sneffels, the central hearth expelled its lava and vapors. Each of these chimneys was about a hundred feet in diameter. They were gaping beneath our feet. I did not have the strength to look into them. Professor Lidenbrock, for his part, had made a rapid examination of their arrangement; he was panting; he was running from one to the other, gesticulating and uttering incomprehensible words. Hans and his companions, seated on pieces of lava, watched him do this; they obviously took him for a madman. Suddenly my uncle gave a cry; I thought he had just lost his footing and fallen into one of the three chasms. But no. I saw him, arms outstretched, legs apart, standing before a granite rock placed in the center of the crater, like an enormous pedestal made for the statue of a Pluto. He was in the pose of a stupefied man, but his stupefaction soon gave way to insane joy. Axel! Axel! he cried, come! come! I ran over. Neither Hans nor the Icelanders moved. Look, the professor said to me. And, sharing his stupefaction, if not his joy, I read on the western face of the block, in runic characters half-eaten by time, this name a thousand times cursed: ᛐ ᛦ ᚳ ᛅ ᚼ ᛐ ᚴ ᚳ ᚢ ᚼ ᚼ ᛅ ᛯ Arne Saknussemm! cried my uncle, will you still doubt? I didn’t reply, and I returned, dismayed, to my lava bank. The evidence was crushing me. How long I remained thus lost in my thoughts, I don’t know. All I know is that when I raised my head, I saw my uncle and Hans alone at the bottom of the crater. The Icelanders had been dismissed, and now they were descending the outer slopes of Sneffels to return to Stapi. Hans was sleeping peacefully at the foot of a rock, in a lava flow where he had made an improvised bed; my uncle was turning at the bottom of the crater, like a wild beast in a trapper’s pit. I had neither the desire nor the strength to get up, and, following the guide’s example, I gave in to a painful drowsiness, thinking I heard noises or felt shivers in the flanks of the mountain. Thus passed that first night at the bottom of the crater. The next day, a gray, cloudy, heavy sky descended over the summit of the cone. I didn’t notice it so much from the darkness of the chasm as from the anger that seized my uncle. I understood the reason, and a remnant of hope returned to my heart. Here’s why. Of the three roads open under our feet, only one had been followed by Saknussemm. According to the Icelandic scholar, it could be recognized by this peculiarity noted in the cryptogram, that the shadow of Scartaris came to caress its edges during the last days of June. One could, in fact, consider this sharp peak as the style of an immense sundial, whose shadow on a given day marked the path to the center of the globe. Now, if the sun were to fail, there would be no shadow. Consequently, no indication. It was June 25. If the sky remained overcast for six days, the observation would have to be postponed until another year. I give up trying to paint Professor Lidenbrock’s helpless anger . The day passed, and not a shadow fell on the edge of the crater. Hans did not move from his place; he must have been wondering what we were waiting for, if he was wondering anything! My uncle did not speak to me once. His gaze, invariably turned towards the sky, was lost in its gray and misty tint. On the 26th, nothing yet, rain mixed with snow fell all day. Hans built a hut with pieces of lava. I took a certain pleasure in following with my eyes the thousands of improvised waterfalls on the sides of the cone, and each stone of which increased the deafening murmur. My uncle could no longer contain himself. There was enough to irritate a more patient man, for it was truly like running aground in port. But the sky constantly mixes great joys with great sorrows, and it reserved for Professor Lidenbrock a satisfaction equal to his desperate troubles. The next day the sky was still overcast, but on Sunday, June 28, the antepenultimate day of the month, with the change of the moon came the change of weather. The sun poured its rays in torrents into the crater. Every mound, every rock, every stone, every rough spot shared in its beneficent effluvium and instantly projected its shadow on the ground. Among them all, that of the Scartaris stood out like a sharp ridge and began to turn imperceptibly towards the radiant star. My uncle turned with it. At noon, in its shortest period, it came to gently lick the edge of the central chimney. It’s there! cried the professor, it’s there! At the center of the globe! he added in Danish. I looked at Hans. Forüt! said the guide calmly. “Forward!” replied my uncle. It was one hour and thirteen minutes in the evening. Chapter 17. The real journey began. Until then, fatigue had outweighed difficulties; now these were truly about to be born beneath our feet. I had not yet plunged my gaze into this unfathomable well into which I was about to plunge. The moment had come. I could still either accept the enterprise or refuse to attempt it. But I was ashamed to shrink back before the hunter. Hans accepted the adventure so calmly, with such indifference, such perfect unconcern for all danger, that I blushed at the idea of being less brave than he. Alone, I would have begun the series of great arguments; but, in the presence of the guide, I fell silent; one of my memories flew to my pretty Virlandaise, and I approached the central chimney. I said that it measured one hundred feet in diameter, or three hundred feet around. I leaned over an overhanging rock, and I looked; my hair stood on end. The feeling of emptiness took hold of my being. I felt the center of gravity shift within me and vertigo rise to my head like intoxication. Nothing is more heady than this attraction of the abyss. I was about to fall. A hand held me back. Hans’s. Decidedly, I hadn’t taken enough lessons about the abyss at Frelsers-Kirk in Copenhagen. However, however little I had ventured my glances into this well, I had realized its conformation. Its walls, almost sheer, nevertheless presented numerous projections which should facilitate the descent; but if the staircase was not missing, the ramp was lacking. A rope attached to the opening would have been enough to support us, but how to detach it, when we had reached its lower end? My uncle used a very simple means to obviate this difficulty. He unrolled a rope the thickness of the thumb and four hundred feet long; he let half of it out first, then he wound it around a block of lava which was projecting and threw the other half into the chimney. Each of us could then descend by joining in his hand the two halves of the rope which could not be unwound; once descended two hundred feet, nothing would be easier for us than to bring it back by letting go of one end and hauling on the other. Then, we would repeat this exercise usque ad infinitum. Now, said my uncle after having completed these preparations, let us take care of the luggage; They will be divided into three bundles, and each of us will strap one on his back; I only mean fragile objects. The bold professor obviously did not understand us in this last category. Hans, he continued, will take charge of the tools and part of the food; you, Axel, of a second third of the food and weapons; me, of the rest of the food and delicate instruments. —But, I said, and the clothes, and this mass of ropes and ladders, who will take charge of lowering them? —They will come down all by themselves. —How so? I asked, very surprised. —You will see. My uncle willingly used drastic measures and without hesitation. On his order, Hans gathered the non-fragile objects into a single package , and this package, firmly roped, was simply thrown into the abyss. I heard this sonorous roar produced by the displacement of the layers of air. My uncle, leaning over the abyss, followed with a satisfied eye the descent of his baggage, and only got up after losing sight of them. Good, he said. Now it’s our turn. I ask any honest man if it were possible to hear such words without shuddering! The professor strapped the bundle of instruments onto his back; Hans took the bundle of tools, I the bundle of weapons. The descent began in the following order: Hans, my uncle, and I. It took place in profound silence, disturbed only by the fall of the rock debris that rushed into the abyss. I let myself sink, so to speak, frantically gripping the double rope with one hand, bracing myself with the other using my iron-tipped stick. A single thought dominated me: I feared that the support would fail. This rope seemed very fragile to support the weight of three people. I used it as little as possible, performing miracles of balance on the projections of lava that my foot tried to grasp like a hand. When one of these slippery steps began to move under Hans’s footsteps, he would say in his calm voice: “Gif akt! ” “Watch out!” repeated my uncle. After half an hour, we had arrived on the surface of a rock deeply embedded in the wall of the chimney. Hans pulled the rope by one of its ends; the other rose into the air; after passing the upper rock, it fell back, scraping up pieces of stone and lava, a sort of rain, or better, of very dangerous hail. Bending over our narrow plateau, I noticed that the bottom of the hole was still invisible. The rope was again maneuvered, and half an hour later we had gained a new depth of two hundred feet. I do not know if the most ardent geologist would have tried to study, during this descent, the nature of the terrain surrounding it. For my part, I was not much concerned about it; whether they were Pliocene, Miocene, Eocene, Cretaceous , Jurassic, Triassic, Pernian, Carboniferous, Devonian, Silurian or primitive, that concerned me little. But the professor, no doubt, made his observations or took his notes, because, at one of the stops, he said to me: The further I go, the more confidence I have; the disposition of these volcanic terrains absolutely supports Davy’s theory. We are in the heart of primordial soil, soil in which the chemical operation of the ignited metals in contact with air and water took place; I absolutely reject the system of a central heat; besides, we will see. Always the same conclusion. It is understandable that I did not amuse myself by discussing. My silence was taken for assent, and the descent began again. After three hours, I still could not see the bottom of the chimney. When I raised my head, I saw its orifice decreasing noticeably; its walls, due to their slight inclination, tended to come closer together, darkness was gradually coming on. However, we were still descending; it seemed to me that the stones detached from the walls were being swallowed up with a duller repercussion and that they must quickly meet the bottom of the abyss. As I had taken care to note down our rope maneuvers exactly , I was able to get an exact account of the depth reached and the time elapsed. We had then repeated this maneuver fourteen times, which lasted half an hour. That was therefore seven hours, plus fourteen quarters of an hour of rest or three and a half hours. In all, ten and a half hours . We had left at one o’clock, it must have been eleven o’clock at this moment. As for the depth we had reached, these fourteen maneuvers of a two-hundred-foot rope gave 2,800 feet. At this moment Hans’s voice was heard: “Halt!” he said. I stopped short just as I was about to hit my uncle’s head with my feet. ” We’ve arrived,” he said. “Where?” I asked, letting myself slide down beside him. “At the bottom of the perpendicular chimney.” —So there is no other way out? —Yes, a sort of corridor that I can see and that slants to the right. We will see that tomorrow. Let’s have supper first and then sleep. The darkness was not yet complete. We opened the bag of provisions, ate, and lay down as best we could on a bed of stones and lava debris. And when, lying on my back, I opened my eyes, I saw a bright point at the end of this three-thousand-foot-long tube , which transformed into a gigantic telescope. It was a star stripped of all scintillation and which, according to my calculations, must be Sigma Ursa Minor. Then I fell into a deep sleep. Chapter 18. At eight o’clock in the morning, a ray of daylight came to wake us. The thousand facets of lava on the walls collected it as it passed and scattered it like a shower of sparks. This light was strong enough to allow us to distinguish the surrounding objects. Well! Axel, what do you say? said my uncle, rubbing his hands. Have you ever spent a more peaceful night in our house on Königstrasse? No more noise of carts, no more shouts of merchants, no more vociferations of boatmen! —No doubt, we are very quiet at the bottom of this well; but even this calm has something frightening about it. —Come now, cried my uncle, if you are already frightened, what will it be like later? We have not yet penetrated an inch into the bowels of the earth? —What do you mean? —I mean that we have only reached the floor of the island! This long vertical tube, which ends at the crater of Sneffels, stops almost at sea level. —Are you certain of that? —Very certain; consult the barometer, you will see! Indeed, the mercury, after gradually rising in the instrument as we descended, had stopped at twenty-nine inches. You see, continued the professor, we still only have the pressure of one atmosphere, and I am longing for the manometer to replace this barometer. This instrument would, in fact, become useless to us, from the moment the weight of the air exceeded its calculated pressure at ocean level. But, I said, is there not to be feared that this ever-increasing pressure will be very painful? “No. We will descend slowly, and our lungs will become accustomed to breathing a more compressed atmosphere. Aeronauts end up running out of air as they rise to the upper layers; we, perhaps, will have too much. But I prefer that. Let us not lose a moment. Where is the package that preceded us into the interior of the mountain?” I then remembered that we had searched for him in vain the previous evening. My uncle questioned Hans, who, after looking carefully with his hunter’s eyes, replied: The hoopoe! —Up there. Indeed, this bundle was hanging from a rocky outcrop, about a hundred feet above our heads. Immediately the agile Icelander climbed like a cat and, in a few minutes, the bundle joined us. Now, said my uncle, let us have lunch; but let us have lunch like people who may have a long run to do. The biscuit and the dried meat were washed down with a few mouthfuls of water mixed with juniper. Lunch finished, my uncle took from his pocket a notebook intended for observations; he took out his various instruments in turn and noted the following data: Monday, July 1st. Chronometer: 8 a.m. 17 p.m. Barometer: 29 p.m. 7 l. Thermometer: 6°. Direction: E.-S.-E. This last observation applied to the dark gallery and was given by the compass. Now, Axel, cried the professor enthusiastically, we are truly going to plunge into the bowels of the globe. This is the precise moment at which our journey begins. Having said this, my uncle took in one hand the Ruhmkorff apparatus suspended from his neck; with the other, he connected the electric current to the coil of the lantern, and a fairly bright light dissipated the darkness of the gallery. Hans carried the second apparatus, which was also activated . This ingenious application of electricity allowed us to travel for a long time while creating artificial daylight, even in the midst of the most inflammable gases. On our way! said my uncle. Each one took up his bundle. Hans undertook to push the bundle of ropes and clothing in front of him, and, I being third, we entered the gallery. As I was about to plunge into this dark corridor, I raised my head, and I saw for the last time, through the field of the immense tube, that Icelandic sky which I was never to see again. The lava, during the last eruption of 1229, had forced its way through this tunnel. It covered the interior with a thick, shiny coating; the electric light was reflected off it, increasing its intensity a hundredfold. The whole difficulty of the route consisted in not sliding too quickly down a slope inclined at about forty-five degrees; fortunately, certain erosions, a few swellings, served as steps, and we only had to descend, letting our luggage slide down, held by a long rope. But what became steps under our feet became stalactites on the other walls; the lava, porous in certain places, presented small rounded blisters; crystals of opaque quartz, adorned with limpid drops of glass and suspended from the vault like chandeliers, seemed to light up as we passed. One would have said that the geniuses of the abyss were illuminating their palace to receive the guests of the earth. It is magnificent! I cried involuntarily. What a sight, uncle! Do you admire these shades of lava that go from reddish-brown to brilliant yellow by imperceptible gradations? And these crystals that appear to us like luminous globes? “Ah! You’re getting there, Axel!” replied my uncle. “Ah! You find it splendid, my boy! You will see many others, I hope. Let’s walk! Let’s walk! He would have said more accurately let’s slide, for we let ourselves go without fatigue on inclined slopes. It was Virgil’s facilis descensus Averni. The compass, which I consulted frequently, indicated the direction of the southeast with imperturbable rigor. This flow of lava did not slant to one side or the other. It had the inflexibility of a straight line. However, the heat did not increase in any perceptible way; This proved Davy’s theories right, and more than once I consulted the thermometer with astonishment. Two hours after the At the start, it still only marked 10°, that is to say an increase of 4°. This allowed me to think that our descent was more horizontal than vertical. As for knowing exactly the depth reached, nothing could be easier. The professor measured exactly the angles of deviation and inclination of the route, but he kept the result of his observations to himself. In the evening, around eight o’clock, he gave the signal to stop. Hans immediately sat down; the lamps were hung on a projection of lava. We were in a sort of cavern where there was no lack of air . On the contrary. Certain breaths reached us. What cause produced them? To what atmospheric agitation could we attribute their origin? This is a question that I did not seek to resolve at that moment; hunger and fatigue made me incapable of reasoning. A descent of seven consecutive hours is not made without a great expenditure of strength. I was exhausted. The word halt therefore pleased me to hear. Hans spread some provisions on a block of lava, and everyone ate with appetite. However, one thing worried me: our water supply was half used up. My uncle had been planning to replenish it from underground springs, but until then they had been completely lacking. I couldn’t help but draw his attention to this subject.
Does this absence of springs surprise you? he said. “No doubt, and it even worries me; we only have enough water for five days. ” “Don’t worry, Axel, I tell you that we will find water, and more than we want. ” “When? ” “When we have left this envelope of lava. How do you expect springs to gush through these walls? ” “But perhaps this flow extends to great depths? It seems to me that we have not yet traveled very far vertically? ” “Who makes you suppose that?” —It is that if we were very advanced into the interior of the earth’s crust, the heat would be stronger. —According to your system, replied my uncle; and what does the thermometer indicate? —Barely fifteen degrees, which is only an increase of nine degrees since our departure. —Well, conclude. —Here is my conclusion. According to the most exact observations, the increase in temperature in the interior of the globe is one degree per hundred feet. But certain local conditions can modify this figure. Thus, at Yakust in Siberia, it was noted that the increase of one degree took place per thirty-six feet; this obviously depends on the conductivity of the rocks. I will also add that, in the vicinity of an extinct volcano, and across the gneiss, it was noted that the rise in temperature was only one degree per hundred and twenty-five feet. Let us therefore take this last hypothesis, which is the most favorable, and calculate. —Calculate, my boy. “Nothing is easier,” I said, arranging the figures in my notebook. “Nine times one hundred and twenty-five feet gives eleven hundred and twenty-five feet of depth. ” “Nothing more exact. ” “Well? ” “Well, according to my observations, we have arrived at ten thousand feet below sea level. ” “Is it possible? ” “Yes, or the figures are no longer figures! The professor’s calculations were correct; we had already exceeded by six thousand feet the greatest depths reached by man, such as the mines of Kitz-Bahl in the Tyrol, and those of Wuttemberg in Bohemia. The temperature, which should have been eighty-one degrees in this place, was barely fifteen. This gave singularly food for thought. Chapter 19. The next day, Tuesday, June 30, at six o’clock, the descent was resumed. We were still following the lava gallery, a veritable ramp natural, gentle like those inclined planes which still replace the staircase in old houses. It was like this until seventeen minutes past twelve, the precise moment when we joined Hans, who had just stopped. Ah! cried my uncle, we have reached the end of the chimney. I looked around me; we were at the center of a crossroads, at which two roads came to an end, both dark and narrow. Which one should we take? There was a difficulty there .
However, my uncle did not want to appear to hesitate either before me or before the guide; he pointed to the eastern tunnel, and soon the three of us were deep inside it. Besides, any hesitation before this double path would have lasted indefinitely, for no clue could determine the choice of one or the other; we had to leave it entirely to chance. The slope of this new gallery was not very noticeable, and its section very uneven; sometimes a succession of arches unfolded before our steps like the counter-naves of a Gothic cathedral; the artists of the Middle Ages could have studied there all the forms of this religious architecture which has the ogive as generator. A mile further, our head bent under the low arches of the Romanesque style, and large pillars engaged in the massif bent under the fall of the vaults. In certain places, this arrangement gave way to low substructures which resembled the works of beavers, and we slipped crawling through narrow passages. The heat remained at a bearable degree. Involuntarily I thought of its intensity, when the lava vomited by the Sneffels rushed down this road so quiet today. I imagined the torrents of fire broken at the angles of the gallery and the accumulation of superheated vapors in this narrow environment! Provided, I thought, that the old volcano does not come to recur in a late whim! I did not communicate these reflections to Uncle Lidenbrock; he would not have understood them. His only thought was to go forward . He walked, he slid, he even tumbled, with a conviction that after all it was better to admire. At six o’clock in the evening, after a not very tiring walk, we had gained two leagues in the south, but barely a quarter of a mile in depth. My uncle gave the signal to rest. We ate without talking too much, and we fell asleep without thinking too much. Our arrangements for the night were very simple: a traveling blanket in which we rolled up constituted all the bedding. We had to fear neither cold nor unwelcome visitors. Travelers who venture deep into the deserts of Africa, deep into the forests of the New World, are forced to watch over one another during the hours of sleep; but here, absolute solitude and complete security. Savages or wild beasts, none of these harmful races was to be feared. We awoke the next day fresh and rested. The road was resumed. We followed a lava path as the day before. It was impossible to recognize the nature of the terrain it crossed. The tunnel, instead of plunging into the bowels of the globe, tended to become absolutely horizontal. I even thought I noticed that it was rising towards the surface of the earth. This disposition became so obvious around ten o’clock in the morning, and consequently so tiring, that I was forced to moderate our pace. “Well, Axel?” said the professor impatiently. “Well, I can’t take it anymore,” I replied . “What! After three hours of walking on such an easy road! —Easy, I don’t say no, but tiring for sure. —What! When we only have to go down! —Up, if you don’t mind! —Up! said my uncle, shrugging his shoulders. —No doubt. For half an hour, the slopes have modified, and by following them thus, we will certainly return to the land of Iceland. The professor shook his head like a man who does not want to be convinced. I tried to resume the conversation. He did not answer me and gave the signal to leave. I saw clearly that his silence was only concentrated bad humor. However, I had taken up my burden with courage, and I quickly followed Hans, who was preceded by my uncle. I was keen not to be left behind; my great concern was not to lose sight of my companions. I shuddered at the thought of getting lost in the depths of this labyrinth. Besides, the ascending route was becoming more difficult, I consoled myself by thinking that it was bringing me closer to the surface of the earth. It was a hope. Each step confirmed it. At noon a change of aspect occurred in the walls of the gallery. I noticed this from the weakening of the electric light reflected by the walls. The lava covering was replaced by living rock; the massif was composed of inclined layers, often arranged vertically. We were in the middle of a transition period, in the middle of the Silurian period[1]. [1] So named because the terrains of this period are very extensive in England, in the regions formerly inhabited by the Celtic tribe of the Silures. It is obvious, I cried, the sediments of the waters formed, in the second epoch of the earth, these schists, these limestones and these sandstones! We are turning our backs on the granite massif! We look like people from Hamburg, who would take the road from Hanover to Lubeck. I should have kept my observations to myself. But my geologist’s temperament prevailed over prudence, and Uncle Lidenbrock heard my exclamations. What is the matter with you? he said. “Look!” I replied, showing him the varied succession of sandstones, limestones, and the first signs of slate-covered terrain.
“Well? ” “Here we are at that period during which the first plants and animals appeared ! ” “Ah! You think so? ” “But look, examine, observe!” I forced the professor to move his lamp along the walls of the gallery. I expected some exclamation from him. But, far from it, he did not say a word, and continued on his way. Had he understood me or not? Did he not want to admit, out of pride as an uncle and a scholar, that he had made a mistake in choosing the eastern tunnel, or did he want to explore this passage to its end? It was obvious that we had left the lava route, and that this path could not lead to the Sneffels hearth. However, I asked myself if I was not attaching too much importance to this modification of the terrain. Was I not mistaken myself? Were we really crossing these layers of rock superimposed on the granite massif? If I am right, I thought, I must find some remains of primitive plants, and I must face the facts. Let us search. I had not taken a hundred steps when incontestable proof presented itself to my eyes. It must have been, for, in the Silurian period , the seas contained more than fifteen hundred plant and animal species. My feet, accustomed to the hard ground of the lava, suddenly trod upon a dust made of plant and shell debris. On the walls were distinctly visible prints of fucus and lycopods; Professor Lidenbrock could not be mistaken; but he closed his eyes, I imagine, and continued on his way with an invariable step. It was stubbornness pushed beyond all limits. I could hold it no longer. I picked up a perfectly preserved shell, which had belonged to an animal roughly similar to the present-day woodlouse; then I joined my uncle and said to him: “Look! ” “Well,” he replied calmly, “it’s the shell of a crustacean of the extinct order of trilobites. Nothing else. —But don’t you conclude from that?… —What you conclude yourself? Yes. Exactly. We have abandoned the granite layer and the lava route. It is possible that I was mistaken; but I will not be certain of my error until I have reached the end of this gallery. —You are right to act thus, my uncle, and I would approve of you very much if we did not have to fear an increasingly threatening danger . —And what? —The lack of water. —Well! we will ration ourselves, Axel. Chapter 20. Indeed, we had to ration ourselves. Our provisions could not last more than three days. This is what I recognized in the evening at supper time. And, with an unfortunate expectation, we had little hope of encountering any living spring in these terrains of the transition period. Throughout the next day the gallery unrolled its interminable arches before our steps. We walked almost without saying a word. Hans’s silence was getting to us. The road did not climb, at least not noticeably; sometimes it even seemed to slope. But this tendency, not very marked , must not have reassured the professor, because the nature of the layers did not change, and the transition period was becoming more pronounced. The electric light made the schists, the limestone, and the old red sandstone of the walls sparkle splendidly; one could have believed oneself in an open trench in the middle of Devonshire, which gave its name to this type of terrain. Specimens of magnificent marble covered the walls, some of an agate gray with whimsically marked white veins , others of a crimson color or a yellow spotted with red patches; further on, samples of these dark-colored griottes, in which the limestone stood out in vivid shades. Most of these marbles offered prints of primitive animals; But, since the day before, creation had made obvious progress. Instead of rudimentary trilobites, I perceived remains of a more perfect order; among others, Ganoid fish and those Sauropteris in which the eye of the paleontologist has been able to discover the first forms of the reptile. The Devonian seas were inhabited by a large number of animals of this species, and they deposited them by the thousands on the newly formed rocks. It was becoming evident that we were ascending the ladder of animal life of which man occupies the summit. But Professor Lidenbrock did not seem to take notice. He was waiting for two things: either that a vertical shaft would open beneath his feet and allow him to resume his descent; or that an obstacle would prevent him from continuing this route. But evening arrived without this hope having been realized. On Friday, after a night during which I began to feel the pangs of thirst, our little troop plunged once more into the windings of the tunnel. After ten hours of walking, I noticed that the reflection of our lamps on the walls was diminishing considerably. The marble, the schist, the limestone, the sandstone of the walls, gave way to a dark and dull covering. At a moment when the tunnel became very narrow, I leaned against its wall. When I withdrew my hand, it was completely black. I looked more closely. We were in the middle of a coal mine. A coal mine! I cried. “A mine without miners,” replied my uncle. “Hey! Who knows? ” “I know,” replied the professor curtly, “and I am certain that this tunnel pierced through these layers of coal was not made by the hand of men. But whether it was the work of nature or not, that matters little to me.” It ‘s dinner time . Let’s have dinner. Hans prepared some food. I barely ate, and I drank the few drops of water that made up my ration. The guide’s half-full flask was all that remained to quench the thirst of three men. After their meal, my two companions stretched out on their blankets and found in sleep a remedy for their fatigue. As for me, I could not sleep, and I counted the hours until morning .
On Saturday, at six o’clock, we set off again. Twenty minutes later, we arrived at a vast excavation; I then recognized that the hand of man could not have dug this coal mine; the vaults would have been shored up, and truly they were held together only by a miracle of balance. This kind of cavern was one hundred feet wide by one hundred and fifty feet high. The ground had been violently pushed apart by an underground commotion. The terrestrial massif, yielding to some powerful thrust, had dislocated itself, leaving this wide void where the inhabitants of the earth penetrated for the first time. The whole history of the coal period was written on these dark walls, and a geologist could easily follow its various phases. The coal beds were separated by strata of compact sandstone or clay, and as if crushed by the upper layers. In this age of the world which preceded the secondary epoch, the earth was covered with immense vegetation due to the double action of tropical heat and persistent humidity. An atmosphere of vapors enveloped the globe on all sides, still hiding the rays of the sun. From this the conclusion that the high temperatures did not come from this new source; perhaps even the star of the day was not ready to play its dazzling role. Climates did not yet exist, and a torrid heat spread across the entire surface of the globe, equal to the Equator and the poles. Where did it come from? From the interior of the globe. Despite Professor Lidenbrock’s theories, a violent fire smoldered in the bowels of the spheroid; its action was felt down to the last layers of the earth’s crust; the plants, deprived of the beneficial effluvia of the sun, produced neither flowers nor perfumes, but their roots drew a strong life from the burning soils of the first days. There were few trees, only herbaceous plants, immense lawns, ferns, lycopods, sigillaria, asterophyllites, rare families whose species then numbered in the thousands. Now it is precisely to this exuberant vegetation that coal owes its origin. The elastic crust of the globe obeyed the movements of the liquid mass that it covered. From there, cracks, numerous subsidences; the plants, carried under the water, gradually formed considerable masses. Then intervened the action of natural chemistry, at the bottom of the seas, the vegetable masses became peat at first; then, thanks to the influence of gases, and under the fire of fermentation, they underwent a complete mineralization. Thus were formed these immense layers of coal that the consumption of all peoples, for many centuries to come, will not succeed in exhausting. These reflections came back to me while I considered the coal riches accumulated in this portion of the terrestrial massif. These, without doubt, will never be discovered. The exploitation of these remote mines would require too considerable sacrifices. What is the point, moreover, when coal is spread, so to speak, on the surface of the earth in a large number of regions? So, as I saw these intact layers, so they would still be when the last hour of the world struck. Meanwhile we walked, and alone among my companions did I forget the length of the road to lose myself in the midst of considerations geological. The temperature remained substantially the same as it had been during our passage through the lava and schist. However, my sense of smell was affected by a very pronounced odor of hydrogen protocarbide. I immediately recognized, in this gallery, the presence of a notable quantity of this dangerous fluid to which the miners have given the name firedamp, and whose explosion has so often caused terrible catastrophes. Fortunately, we were lit by Ruhmkorff’s ingenious apparatus . If, unfortunately, we had imprudently explored this gallery with a torch in hand, a terrible explosion would have ended the journey, killing the travelers. This excursion into the coal mine lasted until evening. My uncle could barely contain the impatience caused by the horizontality of the road. The darkness, always deep at twenty paces, made it impossible to estimate the length of the gallery, and I began to believe it interminable, when suddenly, at six o’clock, a wall unexpectedly appeared before us. To the right, to the left, up, down , there was no way. We had reached the bottom of a dead end. Well! so much the better! cried my uncle, at least I know where I stand. We are not on the road to Saknussemm, and all that remains is to go back. Let us take a night’s rest, and before three days we will have reached the point where the two galleries fork. “Yes,” I said, “if we have the strength! ” “And why not? ” “Because tomorrow the water will be completely lacking. ” “And will our courage also be lacking?” asked the professor, looking at me sternly. I did not dare to answer him. Chapter 21. The next day the departure took place early in the morning. We had to hurry. We were five days’ march from the crossroads. I will not dwell on the sufferings of our return. My uncle bore them with the anger of a man who does not feel himself the strongest; Hans with the resignation of his peaceful nature; I, I confess, complaining and despairing; I could not have the heart against this misfortune. As I had foreseen, water was completely lacking at the end of the first day’s march; our liquid supply was then reduced to gin; but this infernal liquor burned the throat, and I could not even bear the sight of it. I found the temperature stifling; fatigue paralyzed me. More than once , I almost fell motionless. We then halted; my uncle or the Icelander comforted me as best they could. But I already saw that the former was reacting painfully against the extreme fatigue and the tortures born of the deprivation of water. Finally, on Tuesday, July 8, dragging ourselves on our knees and hands, we arrived half-dead at the junction of the two galleries. There I lay like an inert mass, stretched out on the lava floor. It was ten o’clock in the morning. Hans and my uncle, leaning against the wall, tried to nibble on a few pieces of biscuit. Long moans escaped my swollen lips. I fell into a deep doze. After a while, my uncle approached me and lifted me in his arms: Poor child! he murmured with a true accent of pity. I was touched by these words, not being accustomed to the tenderness of the fierce professor. I seized his trembling hands in mine. He let me do it, looking at me. His eyes were moist. I then saw him take the flask hanging at his side. To my great astonishment, he brought it to my lips: Drink, he said. Had I heard correctly? Was my uncle mad? I looked at him in a daze. I didn’t want to understand him. Drink, he continued. And raising his flask, he emptied it entirely between my lips. Oh! infinite pleasure! a mouthful of water came to moisten my mouth on fire, just one, but it was enough to bring back to me the life that was escaping. I thanked my uncle, clasping my hands. Yes, he said, a mouthful of water! The last one! Do you hear? The last one! I had carefully kept it at the bottom of my flask. Twenty times, a hundred times, I had to resist my terrifying desire to drink it! But no, Axel, I was saving it for you. “Uncle!” I murmured, while large tears wet my eyes. “Yes, poor child, I knew that when you arrived at this crossroads, you would fall half dead, and I kept my last drops of water to revive you. ” “Thank you! Thank you!” I cried. However little my thirst was quenched, I had nevertheless regained some strength. The muscles of my throat, contracted until then, relaxed; The inflammation of my lips had softened. I could speak. Come, I said, we have only one course to take now; we are running out of water; we must retrace our steps. While I was speaking thus, my uncle avoided looking at me; he lowered his head; his eyes avoided mine. We must return, I cried, and take the Sneffels road again. May God give us the strength to climb back to the summit of the crater! Return! said my uncle, as if he were answering himself rather than myself. “Yes, return, and without losing a moment.” There was a moment of rather long silence. “So, Axel,” the professor continued in a strange tone, “these few drops of water have not restored your courage and energy?
” “Courage! ” “I see you as dejected as before, and still uttering words of despair! What kind of man was I dealing with, and what plans did his audacious spirit still form?” What, you don’t want to?… —Give up this expedition, at a time when everything indicates that it can succeed! Never! —Then we must resign ourselves to perishing? —No, Axel, no! Go. I don’t want you dead! Let Hans accompany you. Leave me alone! —Abandon you! —Leave me, I tell you! I have begun this journey; I will complete it to the end, or I will not return. Go, Axel, go! My uncle spoke with extreme excitement. His voice, softened for a moment, became hard and threatening again. He was struggling with a dark energy against the impossible! I did not want to abandon him at the bottom of this abyss, and, on the other hand, the instinct of self-preservation urged me to flee from him. The guide followed this scene with his accustomed indifference. He understood, however, what was passing between his two companions; Our gestures clearly indicated the different paths each of us was trying to lead the other down; but Hans seemed to have little interest in the question in which his existence was at stake, ready to leave if the signal to depart was given, ready to stay at the slightest will of his master. If only I could have made myself heard by him at that moment! My words, my moans, my accent, would have overcome this cold nature. These dangers that the guide did not seem to suspect, I would have made him understand and touch them with his finger. Between the two of us we might have convinced the stubborn professor. If necessary, we would have forced him to return to the heights of Sneffels! I approached Hans. I put my hand on his, he did not move. I showed him the road to the crater. He remained motionless. My panting face spoke of all my suffering. The Icelander gently moved his head, and calmly pointing at my uncle: “Master,” he said. “The master,” I cried, “you fool! No, he is not the master of your life! You must flee! You must drag him away! Do you hear me! Do you understand me?” I had seized Hans by the arm. I wanted to force him to get up. I was struggling with him. My uncle intervened. Calm down, Axel, he said. You won’t get anything from this impassive servant. So, listen to what I have to offer you. I crossed my arms, looking my uncle straight in the face. The lack of water, he said, is the only obstacle to the accomplishment of my plans. In this eastern gallery, made of lava, schist, and coal, we have not encountered a single liquid molecule. It is possible that we will be happier following the western tunnel. I shook my head with an air of profound incredulity. Listen to me to the end, the professor continued, raising his voice. While you were lying there motionless, I went to reconnoiter the conformation of this gallery. It plunges directly into the bowels of the globe, and in a few hours, it will lead us to the granite massif. There we should encounter abundant springs. The nature of the rock dictates it, and instinct agrees with logic to support my conviction. Now, here is what I have to propose to you. When Columbus asked his crews for three days to find the new lands, his crews, sick and terrified, nevertheless granted his request, and he discovered the new world. I, the Columbus of these subterranean regions, ask you for only one more day. If, after this time, I have not found the water we lack, I swear to you, we will return to the surface of the earth. Despite my irritation, I was moved by these words and by the violence my uncle used to use in speaking such language. Well! I cried, let it be done as you wish, and may God reward your superhuman energy. You have only a few hours left to tempt fate! Let’s go! Chapter 22. The descent began again this time through the new gallery. Hans walked ahead, as was his custom. We had not taken a hundred steps when the professor, moving his lamp along the walls, cried out: Here are the primitive terrains! We are on the right track! Let us walk! Let us walk! When the earth gradually cooled in the early days of the world, the reduction in its volume produced dislocations , ruptures, shrinkages, cracks in the crust. The present corridor was a fissure of this kind, through which the eruptive granite once poured forth; its thousand detours formed an inextricable labyrinth through the primordial soil. As we descended, the succession of layers composing the primitive terrain appeared with greater clarity. Geological science considers this primitive terrain as the base of the mineral crust, and it has recognized that it is composed of three different layers, schists, gneisses, mica schists, resting on this unshakeable rock called granite. Now, never before had mineralogists met in such marvelous circumstances to study nature on the spot. What the probe, an unintelligent and brutal machine, could not bring back to the surface of the globe of its internal texture, we were going to study with our eyes, touch with our hands. Through the layer of schists colored with beautiful shades of green wound metallic veins of copper, manganese with some traces of platinum and gold. I thought of these riches buried in the bowels of the globe and which human greed will never have the enjoyment! These treasures, the upheavals of the first days have buried them to such depths, that neither the pick nor the pickaxe will be able to tear them from their tomb. The schists were succeeded by the gneisses, of a stratiform structure, remarkable for the regularity and parallelism of their layers, then, the mica schists arranged in large lamellae enhanced to the eye by the scintillations of the white mica. The light from the devices, reflected by the small facets of the rocky mass, crossed its jets of fire from all angles, and I imagined myself traveling through a hollow diamond, in which the rays broke into a thousand dazzling flashes. Around six o’clock in the evening, this festival of light began to diminish noticeably, almost to cease; the walls took on a crystallized, but dark, tint; the mica mixed more intimately with the feldspar and the quartz, to form the rock par excellence, the hardest stone of all, the one that supports, without being crushed, the four levels of terrain of the globe. We were walled up in the immense granite prison. It was eight o’clock in the evening. Water was still lacking. I was suffering horribly. My uncle walked ahead. He did not want to stop. He strained his ears to catch the murmurs of some spring. But nothing. However, my legs refused to carry me. I resisted my tortures so as not to force my uncle to halt. It would have been the blow of despair for him, for the day was ending, the last that belonged to him. Finally my strength left me; I gave a cry and fell. To me! I am dying! My uncle retraced his steps. He looked at me, crossing his arms; then these muffled words came from his lips: All is over! A frightening gesture of anger struck my gaze one last time , and I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I saw my two companions motionless and rolled up in their blankets. Were they asleep? For my part, I could not find a moment of sleep. I suffered too much, and especially from the thought that my illness must be without remedy. My uncle’s last words echoed in my ear. All was over! for in such a state of weakness it was not even necessary to think of regaining the surface of the globe. There was a league and a half of earth’s crust! It seemed to me that this mass weighed with all its weight on my shoulders. I felt crushed and I exhausted myself in violent efforts to turn over on my granite bed. Several hours passed. A profound silence reigned around us, a silence of the tomb. Nothing came through these walls, the thinnest of which measured five miles thick. However, in the midst of my drowsiness, I thought I heard a noise; darkness was falling in the tunnel. I looked more attentively, and it seemed to me that I saw the Icelander disappearing, lamp in hand. Why this departure? Was Hans abandoning us? My uncle was asleep. I wanted to scream. My voice could not find passage between my parched lips. The darkness had become profound, and the last sounds had just died away. Hans is abandoning us! I cried. Hans! Hans! These words, I shouted them to myself. They went no further . However, after the first moment of terror, I was ashamed of my suspicions against a man whose conduct until then had been completely unsuspicious. His departure could not have been an escape. Instead of going up the gallery, he was going down it. Evil designs would have drawn him up, not down. This reasoning calmed me a little, and I returned to another order of ideas. Hans, this peaceful man, only a serious motive could have torn him from his rest. Was he then going on a discovery? Had he heard during the silent night some murmur whose perception had not reached me? Chapter 23. For an hour I imagined in my delirious brain all the reasons that could have made the tranquil hunter act. The most absurd ideas became entangled in my head. I thought I was going mad! But finally a sound of footsteps occurred in the depths of the abyss. Hans was coming up. The uncertain light began to slide along the walls, then it emerged through the opening of the corridor. Hans appeared. He approached my uncle, put his hand on his shoulder, and gently woke him. My uncle stood up. “What is it?” he asked. “Vatten,” replied the hunter. “It seems that under the inspiration of violent pain, everyone becomes polyglot. I didn’t know a single word of Danish, and yet I instinctively understood our guide’s word. “Water! Water!” I cried, clapping my hands and gesticulating like a madman. “Water!” repeated my uncle. “Hvar?” he asked the Icelander. “Nedat,” replied Hans. ” Where? Down!” I understood everything. I had seized the hunter’s hands and pressed them, while he looked at me calmly . The preparations for departure were not long, and soon we were descending a corridor whose slope reached two feet per fathom. An hour later, we had traveled about a thousand fathoms and descended two thousand feet. At that moment, we distinctly heard an unusual sound running along the sides of the granite wall, a sort of dull roar, like distant thunder. During this first half-hour of walking, not finding the announced source, I felt anxiety returning to me; but then my uncle told me the origin of the noises that were being produced. Hans was not mistaken, he said, what you hear there is the roar of a torrent. “A torrent?” I cried. “There is no doubt about it. An underground river flows around us!”
We quickened our pace, excited by hope. I no longer felt my fatigue. This sound of murmuring water was already refreshing me; the torrent, after having long maintained itself above our heads, now ran along the left wall, roaring and leaping. I frequently ran my hand over the rock, hoping to find traces of seepage or moisture. But in vain.
Another half hour passed. Another half league was covered. It then became evident that the hunter, during his absence, had not been able to extend his search further. Guided by an instinct peculiar to mountaineers, to hydroscopes, he felt this torrent through the rock, but he certainly had not seen the precious liquid: he had not quenched his thirst there. Soon it was even certain that, if our march continued, we would move away from the torrent whose murmur was tending to diminish. We retraced our steps. Hans stopped at the precise spot where the torrent seemed to be closest. I sat down near the wall, while the waters rushed two feet from me with extreme violence. But a granite wall still separated us from it. Without thinking, without asking myself if there was some way to obtain this water, I gave in to a first moment of despair. Hans looked at me and I thought I saw a smile appear on his lips. He got up and took the lamp. I followed him. He went towards the wall. I watched him do it. He put his ear to the dry stone and moved it slowly, listening with the greatest care. I understood that he was looking for the precise point where the torrent was heard most loudly. He found this point in the left-hand side wall, three feet above the ground. How moved I was! I did not dare guess what the hunter wanted to do! But I had to understand him and applaud him, and urge him with my caresses, when I saw him seize his pick to attack the rock itself. Saved! I cried, saved! “Yes,” my uncle repeated frantically, “Hans is right! Ah! the brave hunter!” We wouldn’t have found that! I’m sure we wouldn’t have! Such a method, however simple it might be, would never have occurred to us. Nothing is more dangerous than to strike a blow with a pickaxe into this framework of the globe. What if some landslide were to occur and crush us! What if the torrent, breaking through the rock, were to invade us! These dangers were not fanciful; but then the fears of landslide or flooding could not stop us, and our thirst was so intense that, to quench it, we would have dug into the very bed of the Ocean. Hans set to work, which neither my uncle nor I would have accomplished. Impatience carrying us away, the rock would have shattered under his rapid blows. The guide, on the contrary, calm and moderate, gradually wore down the rock with a series of small repeated blows, digging an opening half a foot wide. I heard the noise of the torrent increase, and I thought I could already feel the beneficial water splashing back on my lips. Soon the pick sank two feet into the granite wall; the work had lasted for more than an hour; I was writhing with impatience! My uncle wanted to resort to drastic measures. I had difficulty stopping him, and he was already grabbing his pick, when suddenly a hiss was heard. A jet of water shot out of the wall and broke on the opposite wall. Hans, half knocked down by the shock, could not suppress a cry of pain. I understood why when, plunging my hands into the liquid jet, I in turn uttered a violent exclamation: the spring was boiling. Water at a hundred degrees! I cried. “Well, it will cool down,” replied my uncle. The passage filled with vapors, while a stream formed and was about to lose itself in the subterranean windings; soon after, we drew our first sip from it. Ah! what joy! what incomparable voluptuousness! What was this water? Where did it come from? It didn’t matter. It was water, and, although still warm, it brought back to the heart the life ready to escape. I drank without stopping, without even tasting it. It was only after a minute of delight that I cried out: “Hey! But it’s ferruginous water! ” “Excellent for the stomach,” replied my uncle, “and highly mineralized! This is a journey worth the one to Spa or Toeplitz! ” “Ah! how good it is! ” “I can well believe it, water drawn from two leagues underground; it has an inky taste that is not at all disagreeable. A famous resource that Hans procured for us there! So I propose to give his name to this salutary stream. ” “Good!” I cried. And the name Hansbach was immediately adopted. Hans was none the prouder. After refreshing himself moderately, he leaned against a corner with his usual calm. “Now,” I said, “we must not let this water go to waste. ” “What’s the point?” replied my uncle. “I suspect the spring is inexhaustible . ” “What does it matter! Let’s fill the skin and the flasks, and then we ‘ll try to plug the opening.” My advice was followed. Hans, using granite shards and tow, tried to block the notch made in the wall. It was not easy. We burned our hands without success; the pressure was too great, and our efforts remained fruitless. It is obvious,” I said, “that the upper layers of this watercourse are situated at a great height, judging by the force of the jet. ” “There is no doubt about that,” replied my uncle. “There are a thousand atmospheres of pressure there, if this column of water is thirty-two thousand feet high.” But an idea comes to me. —What is it? —Why do we insist on blocking this opening? —But, because… I would have been embarrassed to find a good reason. When our flasks are empty, are we sure to find a way to fill them? —No, obviously not. —Well, let’s let this water flow: it will go down naturally and will guide those it refreshes on the way! —That is well thought out! I cried, and with this stream for a companion, there is no longer any reason not to succeed in our projects. —Ah! you are coming to it, my boy, said the professor laughing. —I do better than come to it, I am there. —Just a moment! Let us begin by taking a few hours of rest. I really forgot that it was night. The chronometer took care of telling me. Soon each of us, sufficiently restored and refreshed, fell into a deep sleep. Chapter 24. The next day we had already forgotten our past sorrows. I was surprised at first to no longer be thirsty, and I asked the reason. The stream that flowed murmuring at my feet took care of answering me. We had lunch and drank of this excellent ferruginous water. I felt quite invigorated and determined to go far. Why should a convinced man like my uncle not succeed, with an industrious guide like Hans, and a determined nephew like me? These were the fine ideas that crept into my brain! I would have been offered to climb back to the summit of Sneffels, which I would have refused with indignation. But fortunately it was only a question of descending. Let’s go! I cried, awakening with my enthusiastic accents the old echoes of the globe. The march was resumed on Thursday at eight o’clock in the morning. The granite corridor, winding in sinuous detours, presented unexpected bends, and affected the imbroglio of a labyrinth; but, in short, its principal direction was always southeast. My uncle never ceased to consult his compass with the greatest care, to realize the distance traveled. The gallery sank almost horizontally, with a slope of two inches per fathom, at most. The stream ran without precipitation, murmuring beneath our feet. I compared him to some familiar genie who guided us across the earth, and with my hand I caressed the warm naiad whose songs accompanied our steps. My good humor willingly took on a mythological turn. As for my uncle, he, the man of verticals, railed against the horizontality of the road. His path stretched on indefinitely, and instead of sliding along the terrestrial radius, according to his expression, he went by the hypotenuse. But we had no choice, and as long as we gained towards the center, however little, we should not complain. Besides, from time to time, the slopes lowered; the naiad began to tumble down, roaring, and we descended deeper with her. In short, that day and the next, we covered a lot of horizontal ground, and relatively little vertical ground. On Friday evening, July 10, according to the estimate, we must have been thirty leagues southeast of Reykjavik and at a depth of two and a half leagues. Beneath our feet then opened a rather frightening well. My uncle could not help clapping his hands as he calculated the steepness of its slopes. This will take us far, he cried, and easily, for the projections of the rock form a veritable staircase! The ropes were arranged by Hans in such a way as to prevent any accident. The descent began. I dare not call it perilous, for I was already familiar with this kind of exercise. This well was a narrow crack made in the massif, of the kind called a fault; the contraction of the earth’s framework, at the time of its cooling, had evidently produced it. If it once served as a passage for the eruptive materials vomited by Sneffels, I could not explain why they left no trace there. We were descending a sort of rotating screw that looked as if it had been made by human hands .
Every quarter of an hour, we had to stop to take a necessary rest and restore elasticity to our hamstrings. We would then sit on some ledge, our legs dangling, we would chat while eating, and we would quench our thirst at the stream. It goes without saying that, in this fault, the Hansbach had become a cascade to the detriment of its volume; but it was enough and more to quench our thirst; moreover, with the less pronounced declivity, it could not fail to resume its peaceful course. At this moment it reminded me of my worthy uncle, his impatience and his anger, while, by the gentler slopes, it was the calm of the Icelandic hunter. On July 6 and 7, we followed the spirals of this fault, penetrating another two leagues into the earth’s crust, which made it nearly five leagues below sea level. But on the 8th, around noon, the fault took on a much gentler inclination in a southeasterly direction, about forty-five degrees. The path then became easy and perfectly monotonous. It was difficult for it to be otherwise. The journey could not be varied by the incidents of the landscape. Finally, on Wednesday the 15th, we were seven leagues underground and about fifty leagues from Sneffels. Although we were a little tired, our health remained in a reassuring state, and the travel pharmacy was still intact. My uncle kept track of the hourly readings of the compass, the chronometer, the pressure gauge, and the thermometer, the very ones he published in the scientific account of his voyage. He could therefore easily assess his situation. When he told me that we were at a horizontal distance of fifty leagues, I could not restrain an exclamation. What is the matter with you? he asked. “Nothing, only I am making a comment. ” “What is it, my boy?” “It is that, if your calculations are correct, we are no longer under Iceland.
” “Do you think so? ” “It is easy to be sure of that.” I took my measurements with a compass on the map. “I was not mistaken,” I said; “we have passed Cape Portland, and these fifty leagues to the southeast put us in the open sea. ” “Under the open sea,” replied my uncle, rubbing his hands. “So,” I cried, “the ocean stretches above our heads! ” “Bah! Axel, nothing could be more natural! Are there not coal mines at Newcastle which extend beneath the waves? The professor might have found this situation very simple; but the thought of walking under the mass of waters did not cease to preoccupy me. And yet, whether the plains and mountains of Iceland were suspended over our heads, or the waves of the Atlantic, it differed little, in short, as long as the granite framework was solid. Besides, I quickly got used to this idea, because the corridor, sometimes straight, sometimes winding, capricious in its slopes as in its turns, but always running to the southeast, and always sinking deeper, quickly led us to great depths. Four days later, on Saturday, July 18, in the evening, we arrived at a kind of fairly large cave; my uncle gave Hans his three weekly rixdales, and it was decided that the next day would be a day of rest. Chapter 25. So I woke up on Sunday morning, without this usual preoccupation of an immediate departure. And, although it was in the deepest abyss, it was still pleasant. Besides, we were used to this existence as troglodytes. I hardly thought about the sun, the stars, the moon, the trees, the houses, the cities, all those terrestrial superfluities that sublunary beings have made a necessity of. In our capacity as fossils, we ignored these useless wonders. The cave formed a vast room; on its granite floor flowed gently the faithful stream. At such a distance from its source, its water was only room temperature and could be drunk without difficulty. After lunch, the professor wanted to spend a few hours putting his daily notes in order. First, he said, I will make some calculations, in order to accurately record our situation; I want to be able, on our return, to draw a map of our journey, a sort of vertical section of the globe, which will give the profile of the expedition. —That will be very curious, uncle; but will your observations have a sufficient degree of precision? —Yes. I have carefully noted the angles and the slopes; I am sure I am not mistaken. Let us first see where we are. Take the compass and observe the direction it indicates. I looked at the instrument, and, after careful examination, I answered: East-quarter-southeast. —Good! said the professor, noting the observation and making some quick calculations. I conclude that we have traveled eighty-five leagues from our starting point. —So we are traveling under the Atlantic? —Perfectly. —And, at this moment, a storm is perhaps raging there, and ships are being tossed over our heads by the waves and the hurricane? —That may be. —And the whales are coming to strike the walls of our prison with their tails ? —Don’t worry, Axel, they won’t succeed in shaking it. But let us return to our calculations. We are in the southeast, eighty-five leagues from the base of Sneffels, and, according to my previous notes, I estimate the depth reached at sixteen leagues. —Sixteen leagues! I cried. —No doubt. —But that is the extreme limit assigned by science to the thickness of the Earth’s crust. —I don’t say no. —And here, according to the law of increasing temperature, a heat of fifteen hundred degrees should exist. —Should, my boy. —And all this granite could not remain in a solid state and would be in full fusion. —You see that this is not the case and that the facts, as usual, contradict the theories. —I am forced to agree, but still it surprises me. —What does the thermometer indicate? —Twenty-seven degrees six-tenths. —Then the scientists are short of fourteen hundred and seventy-four degrees four-tenths. Therefore, the proportional increase in temperature is an error. Therefore, Humphry Davy was not mistaken. Therefore, I was not wrong to listen to him. What do you have to say in reply? —Nothing. In truth, I would have had a lot to say. I did not accept Davy’s theory in any way; I still held to central heat, although I did not feel its effects. I preferred to admit, in truth, that this chimney of an extinct volcano, covered by the lava with a refractory coating, did not allow the temperature to propagate through its walls. But, without stopping to seek new arguments, I confined myself to taking the situation as it was. Uncle, I continued, I take all your calculations to be exact, but allow me to draw a rigorous conclusion from them. “Go, my boy, at your ease. ” “At the point where we are, at the latitude of Iceland, the terrestrial radius is approximately fifteen hundred and eighty-three leagues ? ” “Fifteen hundred and eighty-three and a third leagues.” “Let’s put sixteen hundred leagues in round figures. On a journey of sixteen hundred leagues, we have covered twelve? ” “As you say.” —And that at the cost of eighty-five leagues of diagonal? —Perfectly. —In about twenty days? —In twenty days. —Now sixteen leagues make one hundredth of the Earth’s radius. A
If we continue like this, we will take two thousand days, or nearly five and a half years to descend! The professor did not reply. Not to mention that, if a vertical of sixteen leagues is bought by a horizontal of eighty, that will make eight thousand leagues in the southeast, and we will have left by a point of the circumference long ago before reaching its center! “To hell with your calculations!” replied my uncle with a movement of anger. “To hell with your hypotheses! On what are they based? Who tells you that this corridor does not lead directly to our goal? Besides, I have a precedent on my side; what I am doing here, another has done, and where he succeeded, I will succeed in my turn. ” “I hope so; but, anyway, I am quite permitted… ” “You are permitted to be silent, Axel, when you want to talk nonsense like that.” I saw clearly that the terrible professor was threatening to reappear under the uncle’s skin, and I took warning. Now, he continued, consult the pressure gauge. What does it indicate? “A considerable pressure. ” “Good. You see that by descending gently, by gradually getting used to the density of this atmosphere, we suffer nothing from it. ” “Not at all, except for some earaches. ” “It’s nothing, and you will make this discomfort disappear by putting the outside air in rapid communication with the air contained in your lungs. ” “Perfectly,” I replied, determined not to annoy my uncle any longer. “There is even a real pleasure in feeling immersed in this denser atmosphere. Have you noticed with what intensity sound propagates there? ” “No doubt; a deaf person would end up hearing perfectly well. ” “But this density will undoubtedly increase? ” “Yes, according to a rather vague law; It is true that the intensity of gravity will diminish as we descend. You know that it is at the very surface of the earth that its action is most keenly felt, and that at the center of the globe objects no longer weigh. —-I know that; but tell me, will not this air end up acquiring the density of water? —-No doubt, under a pressure of seven hundred and ten atmospheres. —-And lower? —-Lower, this density will increase still further. —-How will we descend then? —Well, we will put pebbles in our pockets. —My faith, uncle, you have an answer for everything. I did not dare to go further into the field of hypotheses, for I would have still come up against some impossibility which would have made the professor jump. It was obvious, however, that the air, under a pressure that could reach thousands of atmospheres, would eventually pass into a solid state, and then, assuming that our bodies had resisted, we would have to stop, despite all the reasoning in the world. But I did not put forward this argument. My uncle would have retorted with his eternal Saknussemm, a valueless precedent, because, taking the voyage of the Icelandic scholar as proven, there was one very simple thing to answer: In the sixteenth century, neither the barometer nor the manometer had been invented; how then had Saknussemm been able to determine his arrival at the center of the globe? But I kept this objection to myself, and waited for events. The rest of the day was spent in calculations and conversation. I was always of Professor Lidenbrock’s opinion, and I envied Hans’s perfect indifference, who, without looking for effects and causes, went blindly wherever destiny led him. Chapter 26. It must be admitted, things up to now had been going well, and I would have been ungracious in complaining. If the average difficulties did not increase, we could not fail to achieve our goal. And what glory then! I had come to make these arguments in Lidenbrock’s style. Seriously. Was it due to the strange environment in which I lived? Perhaps. For a few days, steeper slopes, some even terrifyingly steep, took us deep into the inner massif; on some days, we gained a league and a half to two leagues toward the center. Perilous descents, during which Hans’s skill and marvelous composure were very useful to us. This impassive Icelander devoted himself with an incomprehensible nonchalance, and, thanks to him, more than one difficult step was taken from which we would not have escaped alone. For example, his muteness increased day by day. I even believe it was gaining on us. External objects have a real effect on the brain. Whoever shuts himself up between four walls ends up losing the ability to associate ideas and words. How many cell prisoners have become imbeciles, if not mad, through the lack of exercise of the thinking faculties. During the two weeks following our last conversation, no incident worth reporting occurred . I can recall, and for good reason, only one extremely serious event. It would have been difficult for me to forget the slightest detail. On August 7, our successive descents had brought us to a depth of thirty leagues; that is to say, there were thirty leagues of rocks, ocean, continents, and cities above our heads. We must then have been two hundred leagues from Iceland. That day the tunnel followed a gently inclined plane. I walked ahead; my uncle carried one of Ruhmkorff’s two devices, and I the other. I examined the layers of granite. Suddenly, turning around, I realized that I was alone. Well, I thought, I walked too fast, or Hans and my uncle stopped on the way. Come on, we must catch up with them. Fortunately, the path does not climb noticeably. I retraced my steps. I walked for a quarter of an hour. I looked. No one. I called out. No answer. My voice was lost amid the cavernous echoes it suddenly awoke. I began to feel uneasy. A shiver ran through my whole body. A little calm, I said aloud. I am sure of finding my companions. There are not two roads! Now, I was ahead, let us go back. I went back for half an hour. I listened to see if some call was addressed to me, and in this dense atmosphere, it could reach me from afar. An extraordinary silence reigned in the immense gallery. I stopped. I could not believe my isolation. I was willing to be lost, not lost. Lost, one finds oneself. Come, I repeated, since there is only one road, since they are following it, I must join them. It will be enough to go back up again. Unless, not seeing me, and forgetting that I was ahead of them, they had the thought of going back. Well! even in that case, by hurrying, I will find them. It is obvious! I repeated these last words like a man who is not convinced. Besides, to associate these very simple ideas, and to bring them together in the form of reasoning, I must have spent a very long time. A doubt seized me then. Was I really ahead? Certainly. Hans was following me, preceding my uncle. He had even stopped for a few moments to reattach his luggage on his shoulder. This detail came back to me. It was at that very moment that I must have continued on my way. Besides, I thought, I have a sure way of not getting lost, a thread to guide me in this labyrinth, and which cannot break, my faithful stream. I have only to go back up its course, and I will necessarily find the traces of my companions. This reasoning revived me, and I resolved to set off again without losing a moment. How much I then blessed my uncle’s foresight, when he prevented the hunter from blocking the notch made in the granite wall! Thus this beneficial spring, after having quenched our thirst during the journey, was going to guide me through the twists and turns of the earth’s crust. Before going back up, I thought that an ablution would do me some good. So I bent down to plunge my forehead into the water of the Hansbach! Imagine my astonishment! I was treading on dry and rough granite! The stream no longer flowed at my feet! Chapter 27. I cannot describe my despair; no word in human language could convey my feelings. I was buried alive, with the prospect of dying in the tortures of hunger and thirst. Mechanically I ran my burning hands over the ground. How dry this rock seemed to me! But how had I abandoned the course of the stream? For, finally, it was no longer there! I then understood the reason for this strange silence, when I listened for the last time to see if some call from my companions would reach my ear. Thus, at the moment when my first step took the imprudent route, I did not notice this absence of the stream. It is evident that at that moment, a fork in the gallery opened before me, while the Hansbach, obeying the whims of another slope, went off with my companions towards unknown depths! How to return? There were no traces. My foot left no imprint on this granite. I racked my brains trying to find the solution to this insoluble problem. My situation could be summed up in a single word: lost! Yes! lost at a depth that seemed immeasurable to me! These thirty leagues of earth’s crust weighed on my shoulders with a terrible weight! I felt crushed. I tried to bring my ideas back to the things of the earth. I could hardly reach it. Hamburg, the house on König-strasse, my poor Graüben, all that world beneath which I was lost, passed rapidly before my terrified memory. I relived in a vivid hallucination the incidents of the journey, the crossing, Iceland, Mr. Fridriksson, Sneffels! I told myself that if, in my position, I still retained the shadow of hope it would be a sign of madness, and that it was better to despair! Indeed, what human power could bring me back to the surface of the globe and disjoin these enormous vaults which arched above my head? Who could put me back on the road of return and reunite me with my companions? Oh! my uncle! I cried with the accent of despair. This was the only word of reproach which came to my lips, for I understood what the unfortunate man must suffer in seeking me in his turn. When I saw myself thus beyond all human help, incapable of attempting anything for my salvation, I thought of help from heaven. The memories of my childhood, those of my mother whom I had known only in the days of kisses, returned to my memory. I resorted to prayer, whatever rights I had to be heard by the God to whom I addressed myself so late, and I implored him fervently. This return to Providence restored a little calm to me, and I was able to concentrate all the forces of my intelligence on my situation. I had three days’ worth of food, and my flask was full. However, I could not remain alone any longer. But should I go up or down? Up, obviously! Always up! I must thus arrive at the point where I had left the spring, at the fatal fork. There, once the stream was under my feet, I could always regain the summit of Sneffels. How had I not thought of it sooner! There was obviously a chance of salvation there. The most urgent thing was to find the course of the Hansbach. I got up and, leaning on my iron-tipped stick, I went back up the gallery. The slope was quite steep. I walked with hope and without embarrassment, like a man who has no choice of path to follow. For half an hour, no obstacle stopped my steps. I tried to recognize my route by the shape of the tunnel, by the projection of certain rocks, by the arrangement of the crevices. But no particular sign struck my mind, and I soon recognized that this gallery could not lead me back to the fork. It was a dead end. I collided with an impenetrable wall, and I fell onto the rock. What terror? What despair seized me then, I cannot say. I remained devastated. My last hope had just been shattered against this granite wall. Lost in this labyrinth whose twists and turns crossed in all directions, I no longer had to attempt an impossible escape. I had to die the most terrible of deaths! And, strangely enough, it occurred to me that if my fossilized body were ever found, its encounter thirty leagues away in the bowels of the earth would raise serious scientific questions!
I wanted to speak aloud, but only hoarse accents passed through my parched lips. I gasped. In the midst of these anxieties, a new terror came to seize my mind. My lamp had broken when it fell. I had no way of repairing it. Its light was fading and would fail me! I watched the luminous current diminish in the coil of the apparatus. A procession of moving shadows unfolded on the darkened walls. I no longer dared lower my eyelid, fearing to lose the slightest atom of this fleeting brightness! At every moment it seemed to me that it would vanish and that darkness would invade me. Finally, a last glimmer trembled in the lamp. I followed it, I breathed it in with my gaze, I concentrated on it all the power of my eyes, as on the last sensation of light that it was given them to experience, and I remained plunged in the immense darkness. What a terrible cry escaped me! On earth in the midst of the deepest nights, the light never entirely abandons its rights; it is diffuse, it is subtle; but, however little there is left, the retina of the eye ends up perceiving it! Here, nothing. The absolute darkness made me blind in the full sense of the word. Then my head was lost. I got up, arms outstretched, attempting the most painful gropings; I began to flee, rushing my steps at random in this inextricable labyrinth, always descending, running through the earth’s crust, like an inhabitant of subterranean faults, calling, shouting, screaming, soon bruised at the projections of the rocks, falling and getting up bleeding, trying to drink this blood which flooded my face, and always waiting for some unforeseen wall to come and offer my head an obstacle to break against! Where did this senseless race lead me? I will always ignore it. After several hours, doubtless exhausted, I fell like an inert mass along the wall, and I lost all sense of existence! Chapter 28. When I came back to life, my face was wet, but wet with tears. How long this state of insensibility lasted, I could not say. I no longer had any means of realizing the time. Never was solitude like mine, never abandonment so complete! After my fall, I had lost a lot of blood. I felt myself flooded with it! Ah! how I regretted not having died and that it was still to be done! I no longer wanted to think. I drove away all ideas and, overcome by pain, I rolled near the opposite wall. Already I felt fainting again, and with it, supreme annihilation, when a violent noise struck my ear. It resembled the prolonged rolling of thunder, and I heard the sound waves gradually disappearing into the distant depths of the abyss. Where did this noise come from? From some phenomenon, no doubt, which was taking place within the earth’s mass. The explosion of a gas, or the fall of some powerful foundation of the globe. I listened again. I wanted to know if this noise would be repeated. A quarter of an hour passed. Silence reigned in the gallery. I could no longer even hear the beating of my heart. Suddenly my ear, placed by chance against the wall, thought I had overheard vague, elusive, distant words. I shuddered. It was a hallucination! I thought. But no. Listening more attentively, I really heard a murmur of voices. But to understand what was being said, that was what my weakness did not allow me. However, they were talking. I was certain of it. For a moment I feared that these words were mine, echoed. Perhaps I had shouted without realizing it ? I closed my lips tightly and applied my ear to the wall again . Yes, indeed, they are talking! They are talking! Even moving a few feet further along the wall, I heard more distinctly. I managed to catch uncertain, strange, incomprehensible words. They came to me like words spoken in a low voice, murmured, so to speak. The word förlorad was repeated several times, and with an accent of pain. What did it mean? Who was saying it? My uncle or Hans, obviously. But if I heard them, then they could hear me. To me! I shouted with all my might, to me! I listened, I watched in the darkness for a response, a cry, a sigh. Nothing was heard. A few minutes passed. A whole world of ideas had blossomed in my mind. I thought that my weakened voice could not reach my companions. For it is they, I repeated. What other men would be buried thirty leagues underground? I began to listen again. As I ran my ear along the wall, I found a mathematical point where the voices seemed to reach their maximum intensity. The word förlorad came back to my ear again, then that rolling thunder which had roused me from my torpor. No, I said, no. It is not through the massif that these voices are heard. The wall is made of granite; it would not allow the loudest detonation to penetrate it! This noise comes through the gallery itself! There must be a very special acoustic effect there ! I listened again, and this time, yes! this time, I heard my name distinctly thrown across the space! Was it my uncle who pronounced it? He was talking with the guide, and the word förlorad was a Danish word! Then I understood everything. To make myself heard, I had to speak precisely along this wall, which would serve to conduct my voice like wire conducts electricity. But I had no time to lose. If my companions had moved back a few steps, the acoustic phenomenon would have been destroyed. So I approached the wall and pronounced these words as distinctly as possible: My uncle Lidenbrock! I waited in the greatest anxiety. Sound does not have extreme speed. The density of the layers of air does not even increase its speed; it only increases its intensity. A few seconds, centuries, passed, and finally these words reached my ear. Axel, Axel! Is that you? ………………………… Yes! Yes! I replied! ………………………… My poor child, where are you? Lost in the deepest darkness! But your lamp? ……………………….. Extinguished. And the stream? Gone. ……………………….. Axel, my poor Axel, take courage! ……………………….. Wait a little, I’m exhausted; I no longer have the strength to answer. But speak to me! Courage, continued my uncle; don’t speak, listen to me. We looked for you going up and down the gallery. Impossible to find you. Ah! I wept for you, my child! Finally, supposing you were still on the path to the Hansbach, we went back down firing our guns. Now, if our voices can unite, pure acoustic effect! Our hands cannot touch! But don’t despair, Axel! It’s already something to hear each other! During this time I had been reflecting. A certain hope, still vague, returned to my heart. First of all, one thing was important for me to know. So I put my lips close to the wall, and I said: My uncle? ………………………… My child? was the answer I received after a few moments. ……………………….. We must first know how far apart we are. ……………………….. That’s easy. ……………………….. Do you have your stopwatch? ……………………….. Yes.
……………………….. Well, take it. Say my name, noting exactly the second you speak. I will repeat it, and you will also observe the precise moment at which my answer reaches you. ……………………….. Good, and half the time between my request and your answer will indicate the time it takes my voice to reach you. That’s it, uncle ………………………..
Are you ready? ……………………….. Yes. Well, pay attention, I’m going to say your name. I put my ear to the wall, and as soon as the word Axel reached me, I immediately answered Axel, then I waited. Forty seconds, my uncle then said; forty seconds have passed between the two words; the sound therefore takes twenty seconds to rise. Now, at 1,200 feet per second, that ‘s 2,400 feet, or one and a half and one- eighth leagues. One and a half leagues! I murmured. Well, that can be crossed, Axel! But must we go up or down? Go down, and here’s why. We have arrived at a vast space, to which a large number of galleries lead. The one
you followed cannot fail to lead you there, for it seems that all these cracks, these fractures of the globe radiate around the immense cavern we occupy. Get up then and continue your journey; walk, drag yourself along, if necessary, slide down the steep slopes, and you will find our arms to welcome you at the end of the path. Onward, my child, onward! ……………………….. These words revived me. Farewell, uncle, I cried; I’m leaving. Our voices will no longer be able to communicate with each other, from the moment I have left this place! Farewell then! ……………………….. Goodbye, Axel! Goodbye! These were the last words I heard. This surprising conversation made across the earth’s mass, exchanged more than a league away, ended with these words of hope! I made a prayer of gratitude to God, for he had led me among these dark immensities to perhaps the only point where the voices of my companions could reach me. This very astonishing acoustic effect was easily explained by physical laws alone; it came from the shape of the corridor and the conductivity of the rock; there are many examples of this propagation of sounds not perceptible in the intermediate spaces. I remembered that in many places this phenomenon was observed, among others, in the interior gallery of the dome of St. Paul’s in London, and especially in the midst of curious caverns in Sicily, those latomies located near Syracuse, the most marvelous of which is known as the Ear of Dionysius. These memories came back to me, and I saw clearly that, since my uncle’s voice was reaching me, no obstacle existed between us. By following the path of the sound, I should logically arrive like him, if my strength did not betray me on the way. So I got up. I dragged myself rather than walked. The slope was quite steep; I let myself slide. Soon the speed of my descent increased in a frightening proportion, and threatened to resemble a fall. I no longer had the strength to stop. Suddenly the ground gave way beneath my feet. I felt myself rolling, bouncing, on the asperities of a vertical gallery, a veritable well; my head hit a sharp rock, and I lost consciousness. Chapter 29. When I came to, I was in semi-darkness, lying on thick blankets. My uncle watched, spying on my face for a remnant of existence. At my first sigh he took my hand; at my first glance he gave a cry of joy. He lives! He lives! he cried. “Yes,” I replied in a weak voice. “My child,” said my uncle, pressing me to his breast, “you are saved!” I was deeply touched by the tone in which these words were spoken, and even more by the care that accompanied them. But such trials were needed to provoke such an outpouring in the professor. At that moment Hans arrived. He saw my hand in my uncle’s; I dare say that his eyes expressed a lively contentment. “God dag,” he said. “Good morning, Hans, good morning,” I murmured. “And now, uncle, tell me where we are at this moment?” —Tomorrow, Axel, tomorrow; today you are still too weak; I have wrapped compresses around your head which must not be disturbed; sleep then, my boy, and tomorrow you will know everything. —But at least, I continued, what time, what day is it? —Eleven o’clock in the evening; today is Sunday, August 9, and I do not allow you to question me again before the 10th of this month. In truth, I was very weak; my eyes closed involuntarily. I needed a night’s rest; so I let myself doze off with the thought that my isolation had lasted four long days. The next day, when I awoke, I looked around me. My bunk, made of all the travel blankets, was installed in a charming cave, adorned with magnificent stalagmites, whose floor was covered with fine sand. It was semi-dark. No torch, no lamp was lit, and yet certain inexplicable lights came from outside, penetrating through a narrow opening in the cave. I also heard a vague and indefinite murmur, like that of waves breaking on a shore, and sometimes the whistling of the breeze. I wondered if I was really awake, if I was still dreaming, if my brain, cracked in my fall, was not perceiving purely imaginary noises . However, neither my eyes nor my ears could be so mistaken. It is a ray of daylight, I thought, slipping through this cleft in the rocks! There is indeed the murmur of the waves! There is the whistling of the breeze! Am I mistaken, or have we returned to the surface of the earth? Has my uncle given up his expedition, or has he happily ended it? I was asking myself these insoluble questions when the professor entered. Good morning, Axel! he said cheerfully. I’d bet you’re fine! “Yes, indeed,” I said, sitting up on the covers. “It must have been, because you slept peacefully. Hans and I took turns watching over you, and we saw your recovery.” make noticeable progress. —-Indeed, I feel revived, and the proof is that I will honor the lunch that you will be so kind as to serve me! —-You will eat, my boy: the fever has left you. Hans rubbed your wounds with some ointment of which the Icelanders have the secret, and they have healed wonderfully. He is a proud man, our hunter! While speaking, my uncle prepared some food which I devoured, despite his recommendations. During this time, I overwhelmed him with questions which he hastened to answer. I then learned that my providential fall had brought me precisely to the end of an almost perpendicular gallery; as I had arrived in the middle of a torrent of stones, the smallest of which would have been enough to crush me, it was necessary to conclude that a part of the massif had slid with me. This terrifying vehicle thus transported me into my uncle’s arms, where I fell bloody and lifeless. Truly, he said to me, it is astonishing that you have not killed yourself a thousand times. But, for God’s sake! let us not separate again, for we might never see each other again. Let us not separate again! Wasn’t the journey over then? I opened my eyes wide in astonishment, which immediately provoked this question: What is the matter with you, Axel? —A request to make of you. You say that I am safe and sound? —No doubt. —I have all my limbs intact? —Certainly. —And my head? —Your head, except for a few bruises, is perfectly in place on your shoulders. —Well, I am afraid that my brain is disturbed, —Disturbed? —Yes. We have not returned to the surface of the globe? —No, certainly not! “Then I must be mad, for I see the light of day, I hear the sound of the wind blowing and the sea breaking ! ” “Ah! Is that all? ” “Will you explain it to me? ” “I won’t explain anything to you, for it is inexplicable; but you will see and understand that geological science has not yet said its last word. ” “Let’s go out then!” I cried, rising abruptly. “No, Axel, no! The fresh air could harm you. ” “The fresh air? ” “Yes, the wind is quite violent. I don’t want you to expose yourself like that. ” “But I assure you that I am perfectly well. ” “A little patience, my boy. A relapse would put us in a difficult position, and we must not lose time, for the crossing could be long. ” “The crossing? ” “Yes, rest again today, and we will embark tomorrow.” —Embark! This last word made me jump. What! Embark! Did we have a river, a lake, a sea at our disposal? Was a ship anchored in some inland port? My curiosity was aroused to the highest degree. My uncle tried in vain to restrain me. When he saw that my impatience would do me more harm than the satisfaction of my desires, he gave in. I dressed quickly; as an extra precaution, I wrapped myself in one of the blankets and left the cave. Chapter 30. At first I saw nothing; my eyes, unaccustomed to the light, closed abruptly. When I was able to reopen them, I remained even more stupefied than amazed. The sea! I cried. “Yes,” replied my uncle, “the Lidenbrock Sea; and, I like to think, no navigator will dispute with me the honor of having discovered it and the right to name it after me!” A vast sheet of water, the beginning of a lake or an ocean, stretched beyond the limits of sight. The shore, widely indented, offered to the last ripples of the waves a fine, golden sand dotted with those small shells where the first beings of creation lived. The waves broke there with this a sonorous murmur peculiar to enclosed and immense spaces; a light foam flew up in the breath of a moderate wind, and some sea spray reached my face. On this slightly sloping beach , about a hundred fathoms from the edge of the waves, the buttresses of enormous rocks ended, rising and flaring to an immeasurable height. Some of them, tearing the shore with their sharp edges, formed capes and promontories gnawed by the teeth of the surf. Further away, the eye followed their mass, clearly outlined against the misty depths of the horizon. It was a real ocean, with the capricious outline of terrestrial shores, but deserted and of a frighteningly wild appearance . If my gaze could wander far over this sea, it was because a special light illuminated its smallest details. Not the light of the sun with its dazzling beams and the splendid irradiation of its rays, nor the pale and vague glow of the night star, which is only a reflection without heat. No. The illuminating power of this light, its trembling diffusion, its clear and dry whiteness, the slight rise in its temperature, its brilliance, actually superior to that of the moon, evidently indicated a purely electrical origin. It was like an aurora borealis, a continuous cosmic phenomenon, which filled this cavern capable of containing an ocean. The vault suspended above my head, the sky, if you will, seemed made of great clouds, mobile and changing vapors, which, by the effect of condensation, must, on certain days, resolve into torrential rains. I would have thought that, under such strong atmospheric pressure, the evaporation of water could not occur, and yet, for a physical reason that escaped me, there were large clouds spread out in the air. But then it was fine. The electric sheets produced astonishing plays of light on the very high clouds; vivid shadows were drawn in their lower volutes, and often, between two disjointed layers, a ray glided down to us with remarkable intensity. But, in short, it was not the sun, since its light lacked heat. The effect was sad and supremely melancholic. Instead of a firmament brilliant with stars, I felt above these clouds a vault of granite which crushed me with all its weight, and this space would not have been sufficient, immense as it was, for the promenade of the least ambitious of satellites. I then remembered the theory of an English captain who likened the earth to a vast hollow sphere, inside which the air remained luminous due to its pressure, while two stars, Pluto and Proserpine, traced their mysterious orbits. Could he have been telling the truth? We were really imprisoned in an enormous excavation. Its width could not be judged, since the shoreline widened as far as the eye could see, nor its length, for the gaze was soon arrested by a somewhat indefinite horizon line. As for its height, it must have exceeded several leagues. Where did this
vault rest on its granite buttresses? The eye could not perceive it; but there was a cloud suspended in the atmosphere, the height of which must have been estimated at two thousand fathoms, an altitude higher than that of terrestrial vapors, and due no doubt to the considerable density of the air. The word cavern obviously does not convey my thoughts in describing this immense environment. But the words of the human language cannot suffice for one who ventures into the depths of the globe. I did not know, moreover, by what geological fact could explain the existence of such an excavation. Could the cooling of the globe have produced it? I knew well, from the accounts of travelers, certain famous caverns, but none presented such dimensions. If the cave of Guachara, in Colombia, visited by Mr. de Humboldt, had not delivered the secret of its depth to the scientist who recognized it over a space of 2,500 feet, it probably did not extend much beyond. The immense cavern of the Mammoth, in Kentucky, offered indeed gigantic proportions, since its vault rose 500 feet above an unfathomable lake, and travelers traveled it for more than ten leagues without finding the end. But what were these cavities compared to the one I admired then, with its sky of vapors, its electric radiations and a vast sea enclosed in its flanks? My imagination felt powerless before this immensity. All these marvels, I contemplated them in silence. Words failed me to convey my sensations. I believed I was witnessing, on some distant planet, Uranus or Neptune, phenomena of which my terrestrial nature was unaware. New sensations required new words, and my imagination did not provide them. I watched, I thought, I admired with stupefaction mixed with a certain amount of fear. The unexpectedness of this spectacle had recalled to my face the colors of health; I was in the process of treating myself with astonishment and effecting my cure by means of this new therapy; moreover, the liveliness of a very dense air revived me, providing more oxygen to my lungs. It will be easily understood that after an imprisonment of forty-seven days in a narrow gallery, it was an infinite joy to inhale this breeze laden with humid saline emanations. So I had no cause to repent of having left my dark cave. My uncle, already accustomed to these wonders, was no longer surprised. Do you feel strong enough to walk a little? he asked me. “Yes, certainly,” I replied, “and nothing will be more pleasant to me.” “Well, take my arm, Axel, and let’s follow the winding shore . ” I eagerly accepted, and we began to skirt this new ocean. On the left, steep rocks, stacked one on top of the other, formed a titanic heap of prodigious effect. On their sides unfolded innumerable waterfalls, which fell away in limpid and resounding sheets; a few light vapors, leaping from one rock to another, marked the place of the hot springs, and streams flowed gently towards the common basin, seeking in the slopes the opportunity to murmur more pleasantly. Among these streams; I recognized our faithful traveling companion, the Hansbach, who had just quietly lost himself in the sea, as if he had never done anything else since the beginning of the world. We will miss him from now on, I said with a sigh. “Bah!” replied the professor, “him or someone else, what does it matter?” I found the answer a little ungrateful. But at that moment my attention was drawn to an unexpected sight. Five hundred paces away, at the bend of a high promontory, a tall, bushy, thick forest appeared before our eyes. It was made up of medium-sized trees, trimmed into regular parasols, with clear, geometric contours; the currents of the atmosphere did not seem to have any hold on their foliage, and, in the midst of the gusts, they remained motionless like a clump of petrified cedars. I quickened my pace. I could not put a name to these singular essences . Were they not part of the two hundred thousand plant species known until then, and should they be given a special place in the flora of lake vegetation? No. When we arrived under their shade, my surprise was nothing more than admiration. Indeed, I found myself in the presence of products of the earth, but carved on a gigantic pattern. My uncle immediately called them by their name. It’s only a forest of mushrooms, he said. And he wasn’t mistaken. Let one judge the development acquired by these plants dear to warm and humid environments. I knew that the Lycoperdon giganteum reaches, according to Bulliard, eight to nine feet in circumference; but here these were white mushrooms, thirty to forty feet high, with a cap of an equal diameter. They were there by the thousands; the light could not pierce their thick shade, and complete darkness reigned under these domes juxtaposed like the round roofs of an African city. However, I wanted to penetrate further. A deadly cold descended from these fleshy vaults. For half an hour we wandered in this damp darkness, and it was with a real feeling of well-being that I found the shores of the sea. But the vegetation of this subterranean region was not limited to these mushrooms. Further away, a large number of other trees with discolored foliage rose in groups. They were easy to recognize; they were the humble shrubs of the earth, with phenomenal dimensions, lycopods a hundred feet high, giant sigillaria, tree ferns, as large as the firs of the high latitudes, lepidodendrons with bifurcated cylindrical stems, ending in long leaves and bristling with rough hairs like monstrous succulents. Astonishing, magnificent, splendid! cried my uncle. This is all the flora of the second epoch of the world, of the epoch of transition. Here are these humble plants of our gardens which became trees in the first centuries of the globe! Look, Axel, admire! Never has a botanist been at such a party! —You are right, uncle; Providence seems to have wanted to preserve in this immense greenhouse these antediluvian plants that the sagacity of scientists has reconstructed with such happiness. —You say well, my boy, it is a greenhouse; but you would say even better by adding that it is perhaps a menagerie. —A menagerie! —Yes, without doubt. See this dust that we trample underfoot , these bones scattered on the ground. —Bones! I cried. Yes, bones of antediluvian animals! I had thrown myself upon these age-old debris made of an indestructible mineral substance[1]. I gave without hesitation a name to these gigantic bones which resembled dried tree trunks . [1] Phosphate of lime. There is the lower jaw of the Mastodon, I said; Here are the molars of Dinotherium, here is a femur which can only have belonged to the largest of these animals, the Megatherium. Yes, it is indeed a menagerie, for these bones were certainly not transported here by a cataclysm; the animals to which they belong lived on the shores of this subterranean sea, in the shade of these arboreal plants. Look, I see whole skeletons. And yet… “However?” said my uncle. “I do not understand the presence of such quadrupeds in this granite cavern. ” “Why?” ” Because animal life existed on earth only in secondary periods, when the sedimentary terrain was formed by alluvium, and replaced the incandescent rocks of the primitive era. ” “Well! Axel, there is a very simple answer to your objection, which is that this terrain is sedimentary terrain. ” “What! at such a depth below the surface of the earth? —No doubt, and this fact can be explained geologically. At one time, the earth was formed only of an elastic crust, subject to alternating movements up and down , by virtue of the laws of attraction. It is probable that Subsidence of the ground has occurred, and that part of the sedimentary terrain has been dragged to the bottom of the suddenly opened chasms. —That must be so. But, if antediluvian animals lived in these subterranean regions, who is to say that one of these monsters does not still wander in the midst of these dark forests or behind these steep rocks? At this idea I questioned, not without fear, the various points of the horizon; but no living being appeared on these deserted shores. I was a little tired: I then went to sit down at the end of a promontory at the foot of which the waves came crashing down . From there my gaze took in the whole of this bay formed by an indentation in the coast. At the bottom, a small port was located there between the pyramidal rocks. Its calm waters slept, sheltered from the wind. A brig and two or three schooners could have anchored there comfortably. I almost expected to see some ship out under full sail and heading out to sea in the southerly breeze. But this illusion quickly dissipated. We were indeed the only living creatures in this subterranean world. During certain lulls in the wind, a silence deeper than the silences of the desert descended upon the arid rocks and weighed on the surface of the ocean. I then sought to pierce the distant mists, to tear away this curtain thrown over the mysterious depths of the horizon. What questions crowded my lips? Where did this sea end? Where did it lead? Would we ever be able to recognize its opposite shores? My uncle had no doubt about it, for his part. I both desired and feared it. After an hour spent in the contemplation of this marvelous spectacle, we took the path back to the beach to return to the cave, and it was under the influence of the strangest thoughts that I fell into a deep sleep. Chapter 31. The next day I awoke completely cured. I thought that a bath would be very beneficial for me, and I went to immerse myself for a few minutes in the waters of this Mediterranean. This name, without a doubt, it deserved above all others. I returned to lunch with a good appetite. Hans was good at cooking our little meal; he had water and fire at his disposal, so that he was able to vary our daily fare a little. For dessert, he served us a few cups of coffee, and never had this delicious beverage seemed more pleasant to me to taste. Now, said my uncle, it is time for the tide, and we must not miss the opportunity to study this phenomenon. “What, the tide!” I cried. “No doubt. ” “The influence of the moon and the sun is felt as far as here! ” “Why not! Are not bodies as a whole subject to universal attraction? This mass of water cannot escape this general law?” Also, despite the atmospheric pressure exerted on its surface, you will see it rise like the Atlantic itself. At this moment we were treading the sand of the shore and the waves were gradually gaining on the beach. That’s the tide beginning, I cried. “Yes, Axel, and from these relays of foam, you can see that the sea is rising about ten feet. ” “It’s marvelous! ” “No: it’s natural. ” “Whatever you say, it all seems extraordinary to me, and I can hardly believe my eyes. Who would have ever imagined in this earth’s crust a real ocean, with its ebbs and flows, with its breezes, with its storms! ” “Why not? Is there a physical reason against it?” “I don’t see one, since we have to abandon the system of central heat.” “So, up to now, Davy’s theory is justified?” —Obviously, and therefore nothing contradicts the existence of seas or countries within the globe. —No doubt, but uninhabited. —Good! Why shouldn’t these waters provide shelter for some fish of an unknown species? —In any case, we haven’t seen a single one so far. —Well, we can make lines and see if the hook will be as successful down here as in the sublunary oceans. —We’ll try, Axel, for we must penetrate all the secrets of these new regions. —But where are we, uncle? For I haven’t yet asked you this question, which your instruments must have answered? —Horizontally, 350 leagues from Iceland. —Just as much? —I’m sure I’m not mistaken by 500 fathoms. —And the compass still points southeast? —Yes, with a western declination of 19 degrees and 42 minutes, just like on land, absolutely. As for its inclination, there is a curious fact that I have observed with the greatest care. —And which one? —It is that the needle, instead of tilting towards the pole, as it does in the northern hemisphere, rises on the contrary. —We must therefore conclude that the point of magnetic attraction is located between the surface of the globe and the place where we have arrived? —Precisely, and it is probable that, if we arrived under the polar regions, towards this seventieth degree where James Ross discovered the magnetic pole, we would see the needle rise vertically. Therefore, this mysterious center of attraction is not located at a great depth. —Indeed, and this is a fact that science has not suspected. —Science, my boy, is made of errors, but errors that it is good to make, because they lead little by little to the truth. —And at what depth are we? —At a depth of thirty-five leagues. —So, said I, looking at the map, the mountainous part of Scotland is above us, and there the Grampians raise their snow-covered peaks to a prodigious height. —Yes, replied the professor, laughing; it is a little heavy to carry, but the vault is solid; the great architect of the universe built it of good materials, and never could man have given it such a span! What are the arches of bridges and the bows of cathedrals compared to this nave with a radius of three leagues, beneath which an ocean and storms can develop at their ease? —Oh! I am not afraid that the sky will fall on my head. Now, uncle, what are your plans? Do you not intend to return to the surface of the globe? —Return! For example! Continue our journey, on the contrary, since everything has gone so well up to now. —However, I do not see how we will penetrate beneath this liquid plain. —So I do not intend to plunge headfirst into it. But if the oceans are, strictly speaking, only lakes, since they are surrounded by land, how much more so is this inland sea circumscribed by the granite massif. —There is no doubt about that. —Well! On the opposite shores, I am certain to find new outlets. —How long do you suppose this ocean to be? —Thirty or forty leagues. —Ah! I said, while imagining that this estimate could well be inexact. —So we have no time to lose, and tomorrow we will put to sea. Involuntarily I looked around for the ship that was to transport us. Ah! I said, we will embark. Good! And on what vessel will we take passage? “It won’t be on a ship, my boy, but on a good, solid raft. ” “A raft!” I cried. “A raft is as impossible to build as a ship, and I don’t really see… ” “You don’t see, Axel, but if you listened, you could.” hear! —Hear? —Yes, some hammer blows that would tell you that Hans is already at work. —Is he building a raft? —Yes. —What! He has already brought down trees with his axe? —Oh! the trees were all cut down. Come, and you will see him at work. After a quarter of an hour’s walk, on the other side of the promontory that formed the small natural harbor, I saw Hans at work; a few more steps, and I was near him. To my great surprise, a half-finished raft was lying on the sand; it was made of beams of a particular wood, and a large number of planks, curves, frames of all kinds, literally littered the ground. There was enough there to build an entire navy. My uncle, I cried, what wood is this? —It is pine, fir, birch, all the coniferous species of the North, mineralized by the action of the sea waters. —Is it possible? —It is what is called surtarbrandur or fossil wood. —But then, like lignites, it must have the hardness of stone, and it will not be able to float? —Sometimes it happens; there are some of these woods which have become true anthracites; but others, such as these, have only undergone the beginning of a fossil transformation. Look at it, added my uncle, throwing one of these precious wrecks into the sea. The piece of wood, after having disappeared, returned to the surface of the waves and swayed with their undulations. Are you convinced? said my uncle. —Convinced above all that it is unbelievable! The next evening, thanks to the skill of the guide, the raft was finished; It was ten feet long and five feet wide; the surtarbrandur beams, connected together by strong ropes, provided a solid surface, and once launched, this improvised boat floated peacefully on the waters of the Lidenbrock Sea. Chapter 32. On August 13, we woke up early in the morning. It was a question of inaugurating a new type of rapid and not very tiring locomotion . A mast made of two twin sticks, a yard formed from a third, a sail borrowed from our blankets, composed all the rigging of the raft. There was no shortage of ropes. Everything was solid. At six o’clock, the professor gave the signal to embark. The provisions, the baggage, the instruments, the weapons and a considerable quantity of fresh water were in place. Hans had installed a rudder which allowed him to steer his floating apparatus. He took the helm. I untied the mooring which held us to the shore; The sail was oriented and we quickly overflowed. As we were leaving the little port, my uncle, who was keen on his geographical nomenclature, wanted to give it a name, mine, among others. Well, I said, I have another to suggest to you. —What? —The name Graüben, Port-Graüben, that will look very good on the map. —Go for Port-Graüben. And that is how the memory of my dear Virlandaise was linked to our happy expedition. The breeze was blowing from the northeast; we were sailing downwind with extreme speed. The very dense layers of the atmosphere had a considerable thrust and acted on the sail like a powerful fan. After an hour, my uncle was able to assess our speed. If we continue to travel like this, he said, we will cover at least thirty leagues in twenty-four hours and we will soon recognize the opposite shores. I didn’t answer, and I went to take my place at the front of the raft. Already the northern coast was dropping to the horizon; the two arms of the shore were opening wide as if to facilitate our departure. Before my eyes stretched an immense sea; great clouds quickly moved their grayish shadows across its surface, which seemed to weigh on this dull water. The silvery rays of the electric light, reflected here and there by some droplet, made luminous points appear on the sides of the boat. Soon all land was lost from sight, all landmarks disappeared, and, without the foamy wake of the raft, I could have believed that it remained in perfect immobility. Towards noon, immense algae came to undulate on the surface of the waves. I knew the vegetative power of these plants, which creep at a depth of more than twelve thousand feet at the bottom of the sea, reproduce under a pressure of nearly four hundred atmospheres and often form banks considerable enough to hinder the progress of ships; but never, I believe, were algae more gigantic than those of the Lidenbrock Sea. Our raft skirted fucus three and four thousand feet long, immense serpents which developed beyond the reach of sight; I amused myself by following their infinite ribbons with my eyes, always believing I was reaching their end, and for hours on end my patience was deceived, if not my astonishment. What natural force could produce such plants, and what must have been the appearance of the earth in the first centuries of its formation, when, under the action of heat and humidity, the vegetable kingdom developed alone on its surface! Evening came, and, as I had noticed the day before, the luminous state of the air suffered no diminution. It was a constant phenomenon on the duration of which one could count. After supper I stretched out at the foot of the mast, and it was not long before I fell asleep in the midst of indolent reveries. Hans, motionless at the helm, let the raft run, which, moreover, pushed with the wind behind, did not even ask to be steered. Since our departure from Port Graüben, Professor Lidenbrock had instructed me to keep the ship’s log, to note down the slightest observations, to record interesting phenomena, the direction of the wind, the speed acquired, the distance traveled, in a word, all the incidents of this strange navigation. I will therefore confine myself to reproducing here these daily notes, written so to speak under the dictation of events, in order to give a more accurate account of our crossing. Friday, August 14. —Even breeze from the NW. The raft is moving quickly and in a straight line. The coast remains thirty leagues to leeward. Nothing on the horizon. The intensity of the light does not vary . Fine weather, that is to say, the clouds are very high, not very thick and bathed in a white atmosphere, like molten silver. Thermometer: + 32° centigrade. At noon Mans prepares a hook at the end of a rope; he baits it with a small piece of meat and throws it into the sea. For two hours he catches nothing. Are these waters uninhabited then? No. A jolt occurs. Hans pulls his line and brings up a fish that struggles vigorously. A fish! cries my uncle. “It’s a sturgeon!” I exclaimed in turn, “a small sturgeon!” The professor looks at the animal attentively and does not share my opinion. This fish has a flat, rounded head and the front part of its body covered with bony plates; its mouth is devoid of teeth; fairly developed pectoral fins are fitted to its tailless body. This animal does indeed belong to an order in which naturalists have classified the sturgeon, but it differs from it in some fairly essential respects. My uncle is not mistaken, for, after a fairly brief examination, he says: “This fish belongs to a family that has been extinct for centuries and of which fossil traces are found in the Devonian soil.” “What!” I said, we could have taken alive one of these inhabitants of the primitive seas? —Yes, replied the professor, continuing his observations, and you You see that these fossil fish have no identity with current species. Now, holding one of these living beings is a true naturalist’s delight. —But to which family does it belong? —To the order of Ganoids, family of Cephalaspids, genus… —Well? —Genus Pterychtis, I would swear; but this one has a peculiarity which, they say, is found among subterranean fish. —Which? —It is blind! —Blind! —Not only blind, but it completely lacks the organ of sight . I look. Nothing could be more true. But it may be a special case. So the line is baited again and thrown back into the sea. This ocean, without a doubt, is very full of fish, for in two hours we catch a large quantity of Pterychtis, as well as fish belonging to an equally extinct family, the Dipteridae, but whose genus my uncle cannot recognize. All are devoid of the organ of sight. This unexpected catch advantageously replenishes our provisions. Thus, it seems certain, this sea contains only fossil species, in which fish, like reptiles, are all the more perfect the older their creation. Perhaps we will encounter some of these saurians that science has been able to recreate with a piece of bone or cartilage. I take the telescope and examine the sea. It is deserted. No doubt we are still too close to the coast. I look into the air. Why should some of these birds reconstructed by the immortal Cuvier not beat these heavy atmospheric layers with their wings? Fish would provide them with sufficient food. I observe space, but the air is uninhabited like the shores. However, my imagination carries me away into the marvelous hypotheses of paleontology. I dream wide awake. I think I see on the surface of the water these enormous Chersites, these antediluvian turtles, like floating islets. It seems to me that on the darkened beaches pass the large mammals of the first days, the Leptotherium, found in the caves of Brazil, the mericotherium, from the frozen regions of Siberia. Further away, the pachyderm Lophiodon, this gigantic tapir, hides behind the rocks, ready to dispute its prey with the Anoplotherium, a strange animal, which is part rhinoceros, part horse, part hippopotamus and part camel, as if the Creator, in a hurry in the first hours of the world, had united several animals into one. The giant Mastodon whirls its trunk and crushes the rocks of the shore under its tusks, while the Megatherium, braced on its enormous paws, searches the earth , awakening with its roars the echo of the sonorous granites. Higher up, the Protopithecus, the first ape to appear on the surface of the globe, climbs the steep peaks. Higher still, the Pterodactyl, with its winged hand, glides like a large bat on the compressed air. Finally, in the last layers, immense birds, more powerful than the cassowary, larger than the ostrich, spread their vast wings and butt their heads against the wall of the granite vault. All this fossil world is reborn in my imagination. I refer to the biblical eras of creation, long before the birth of man, when the incomplete earth could not yet suffice for him. My dream then anticipates the appearance of animated beings. Mammals disappear, then birds, then the reptiles of the secondary epoch, and finally fish, crustaceans, mollusks, and articulates. The zoophytes of the transition period return to nothingness in their turn. All the life of the earth is summed up in me, and my heart beats alone in this depopulated world. There are no more seasons; there are no more climates; the heat proper to the globe increases constantly and neutralizes that of the radiant star. The vegetation exaggerates; I I pass like a shadow among the tree ferns, treading with my uncertain step the iridescent marls and the variegated sandstones of the ground; I lean against the trunks of the immense conifers; I lie down in the shade of the Sphenophylls, the Asterophylls and the hundred-foot-high Lycopods. The centuries pass like days; I go back through the series of terrestrial transformations; the plants disappear; the granite rocks lose their hardness; the liquid state will replace the solid state under the action of a more intense heat; the waters run on the surface of the globe; they boil, they volatilize; the vapors envelop the earth, which little by little forms only a gaseous mass, brought to white-red, as big as the sun and brilliant as it! At the center of this nebula, fourteen hundred thousand times larger than this globe that it will one day form, I am drawn into the planetary spaces; My body becomes subtle, sublimates in turn, and mixes like an imponderable atom with these immense vapors that trace their fiery orbit in infinity ! What a dream! Where is it taking me? My feverish hand throws its strange details onto paper. I have forgotten everything, and the professor, and the guide, and the raft! A hallucination has taken hold of my mind… What is it? says my uncle. My eyes, wide open, fix on him without seeing him. Be careful, Axel, you’re going to fall into the sea! At the same time, I feel myself seized vigorously by Hans’s hand. Without him, under the influence of my dream, I would have thrown myself into the waves. Is he going mad? cries the professor. “What is it?” I say finally, coming to. “Are you ill? ” “No, I had a moment of hallucination, but it has passed.” Is everything all right, anyway? —Yes! Good breeze, beautiful sea! We are making rapid progress, and if my estimate has not deceived me, we cannot be long in landing. At these words, I get up and consult the horizon; but the waterline still merges with the cloud line. Chapter 33. Saturday, August 15. —The sea retains its monotonous uniformity. No land is in sight. The horizon seems excessively distant. My head is still heavy from the violence of my dream. My uncle has not been dreaming, but he is in a bad mood; he scans all points of space with his telescope and crosses his arms with a dejected air. I notice that Professor Lidenbrock is tending to become again the impatient man of the past, and I record the fact in my journal. It took my dangers and my sufferings to draw from him some spark of humanity; but, since my recovery, nature has regained the upper hand. And yet, why get carried away? Isn’t the journey being accomplished under the most favorable circumstances? Doesn’t the raft sail with marvelous rapidity? You seem worried, uncle? I said, seeing him often raise the telescope to his eyes. “Worried? No.” “Impatient, then? ” “One would be less so!” “Yet we are moving with speed… ” “What does it matter to me? It’s not the speed that is too slow, it’s the sea that is too big!” I then remembered that the professor, before our departure, estimated the length of this underground passage at about thirty leagues. Now we have traveled a distance three times as long, and the southern shores do not yet appear. We are not going down!” the professor continued. “All this is wasted time, and, in short, I have not come this far to play a game of boat on a pond! He calls this crossing a game of boat, and this sea a pond!
But, I said, since we followed the route indicated by Saknussemm… —That is the question. Did we follow this route? Did Saknussemm encounter this stretch of water? Did he cross it? This Hasn’t the stream we took as our guide completely led us astray? —In any case, we can’t regret having come this far. This spectacle is magnificent, and… —It’s not a question of seeing. I have set myself a goal, and I want to reach it! So don’t talk to me about admiring! I take that for granted, and I leave the professor to bite his lips with impatience. At six o’clock in the evening, Hans demands his pay, and his three rixdales are counted out. Sunday, August 16. —Nothing new. Same weather. The wind has a slight tendency to freshen. When I wake up, my first concern is to note the intensity of the light. I always fear that the electrical phenomenon will come to darken, then to die out. It is not so: the shadow of the raft is clearly outlined on the surface of the waves. Truly this sea is infinite! It must be as wide as the Mediterranean, or even the Atlantic. Why not? My uncle probes several times; he attaches one of the heaviest picks to the end of a rope that he lets out two hundred fathoms. No bottom. We have great difficulty bringing our probe back. When the pick is brought back on board, Hans points out to me some very pronounced impressions on its surface. It looks as if this piece of iron has been vigorously squeezed between two hard bodies. I look at the hunter. Tänder! he says. I don’t understand. I turn to my uncle, who is entirely absorbed in his thoughts. I don’t care to disturb him. I return to the Icelander. The latter, opening and closing his mouth several times, makes me understand his thoughts. Teeth! I say in amazement, examining the iron bar more closely. Yes! They are indeed teeth whose imprint has become encrusted in the metal! The jaws they furnish must possess prodigious strength! Is it a monster of lost species that stirs beneath the deep layer of water, more voracious than the shark, more formidable than the whale! I cannot take my eyes off this half-eaten bar! Will my dream of last night become a reality? These thoughts agitate me all day, and my imagination is barely calmed in a few hours’ sleep. Monday, August 17. —I try to recall the instincts peculiar to these antediluvian animals of the secondary epoch, which, succeeding the mollusks, crustaceans, and fish, preceded the appearance of mammals on the globe. The world then belonged to reptiles. These monsters reigned supreme in the Jurassic seas[1]. Nature had granted them the most complete organization. What a gigantic structure! What prodigious strength! The current saurians, alligators or crocodiles, the largest and most formidable, are only weakened reductions of their fathers of the earliest ages!
[1] Seas of the secondary period which formed the lands of which the Jura mountains are composed. I shudder at the evocation I make of these monsters. No human eye has seen them alive. They appeared on earth a thousand centuries before man, but their fossil bones, found in this clayey limestone that the English call lias, have allowed us to reconstruct them anatomically and to know their colossal conformation. I saw in the Hamburg Museum the skeleton of one of these saurians which measured thirty feet in length. Am I then destined, I, an inhabitant of the earth, to find myself face to face with these representatives of an antediluvian family? No! It is impossible. However, the mark of the powerful teeth is engraved on the iron bar, and by their imprint I recognize that they are conical like those of the crocodile. My eyes fix with fear on the sea; I fear to see one of these inhabitants of the underwater caverns rushing forth. I suppose that Professor Lidenbrock shares my ideas, if not my fears, for, after examining the peak, he scans the ocean with his gaze. To hell with this idea of his, I say to myself, of sounding! He has disturbed some marine animal in its retreat, and what if we are not attacked on the way!… I glance at the weapons, and I make sure that they are in good condition. My uncle sees me do this and approves of the gesture. Already large agitations produced on the surface of the waves indicate the disturbance of the distant layers. The danger is near. We must watch. Tuesday, August 18. —Evening is coming, or rather the moment when sleep weighs down our eyelids, for night is lacking in this ocean, and the implacable light stubbornly tires our eyes, as if we were sailing under the sun of the Arctic seas. Hans is at the helm . During his watch I fall asleep. Two hours later, a terrible jolt wakes me. The raft has been lifted out of the waves with indescribable force and thrown back twenty fathoms away. What is it? cried my uncle; have we touched? Hans points with his finger, at a distance of two hundred fathoms, to a blackish mass which rises and falls alternately. I look and I exclaim: It is a colossal porpoise! —Yes, replied my uncle, and now there is a sea lizard of uncommon size. —And further on a monstrous crocodile! See its wide jaw and the rows of teeth with which it is armed. Ah! it disappears! —A whale! a whale! then cries the professor. I see its enormous fins! See the air and the water which it expels through its blowholes! Indeed, two liquid columns rise to a considerable height above the sea. We are surprised, stupefied, terrified, in the presence of this herd of sea monsters. They are of supernatural dimensions, and the least of them would break the raft with a bite. Hans wants to put the helm to windward, in order to flee this dangerous vicinity; but he sees on the other side other enemies no less formidable: a turtle forty feet wide, and a snake thirty feet long, which darts its enormous head above the waves. It is impossible to flee. These reptiles are approaching; they circle around the raft with a speed that convoys launched at high speed could not equal; they trace concentric circles around it . I took my rifle. But what effect can a bullet have on the scales with which the bodies of these animals are covered? We are speechless with fear. Here they are approaching! On one side the crocodile, on the other the snake. The rest of the marine herd has disappeared. I’m going to fire. Hans stops me with a sign. The two monsters pass within fifty fathoms of the raft, rush at each other, and their fury prevents them from seeing us. The fight begins within a hundred fathoms of the raft. We clearly see the two monsters grappling. But it seems to me that now the other animals are coming to take part in the struggle, the porpoise, the whale, the lizard, the turtle; every moment I glimpse them. I point them out to the Icelander. He shakes his head negatively. Tva, he says. “What! Two! He claims that only two animals… ” “He’s right,” cries my uncle, whose telescope has not left his eyes. “For example! ” “Yes!” The first of these monsters has the snout of a porpoise, the head of a lizard, the teeth of a crocodile, and that is what has deceived us. It is the most formidable of the antediluvian reptiles, the Ichthyosaurus! —And the other? —The other is a snake hidden in the shell of a tortoise, the terrible enemy of the first, the Plesiosaurus! Hans spoke the truth. Only two monsters thus disturb the surface of the sea, and I have before my eyes two reptiles of the primitive oceans. I see the bloody eye of the Ichthyosaurus, as big as a man’s head. Nature has endowed it with an optical apparatus of extreme power and capable of resisting the pressure of the layers of water in the depths it inhabits. It has been rightly named the whale of the Saurians, because it has the speed and size of those. This one measures no less than one hundred feet, and I can judge its size when it raises the vertical fins of its tail above the waves. Its jaw is enormous, and according to naturalists, it contains no less than one hundred and eighty-two teeth. The Plesiosaurus, a serpent with a cylindrical trunk and a short tail, has legs arranged in the shape of an oar. Its body is entirely covered with a carapace, and its neck, flexible like that of a swan, rises thirty feet above the waves. These animals attack each other with indescribable fury. They raise mountains of liquid that extend all the way to the raft. Twenty times we are on the verge of capsizing. Hisses of prodigious intensity are heard. The two beasts are entwined. I cannot distinguish one from the other! Everything must be feared from the rage of the victor. An hour, two hours pass. The fight continues with the same fierceness. The combatants approach the raft and move away from it in turn. We remain motionless, ready to fire. Suddenly the Ichthyosaurus and the Plesiosaurus disappear, digging a veritable maelstrom. Will the fight end in the depths of the sea? But suddenly an enormous head leaps out, the head of the Plesiosaurus. The monster is mortally wounded. I can no longer see its immense shell. Only, its long neck rises, falls, rises again, curves, slashes the waves like a gigantic whip and twists like a severed worm. The water spurts out a considerable distance. It blinds us. But soon the reptile’s agony comes to an end, its movements diminish, its contortions subside, and this long stretch of serpent stretches like an inert mass on the calmed waves. As for the Ichthyosaurus, has it returned to its underwater cavern, or will it reappear on the surface of the sea? Chapter 34. Wednesday, August 19. —Fortunately the wind, which is blowing strongly , allowed us to quickly flee the scene of the combat. Hans is still at the helm. My uncle, drawn from his absorbing thoughts by the incidents of this battle, falls back into his impatient contemplation of the sea. The journey resumes its monotonous uniformity, which I do not wish to break at the cost of yesterday’s dangers. Thursday, August 20. —N.N.E. breeze rather uneven. Temperature warm. We are traveling at a speed of three and a half leagues per hour. Around noon a very distant noise is heard. I record the fact here without being able to give an explanation. It is a continuous roar. In the distance, says the professor, there is some rock, or some islet on which the sea breaks. Hans climbs to the top of the mast, but does not report any reef. The ocean is smooth to its horizon line. Three hours pass. The roaring seems to come from a distant waterfall. I point this out to my uncle, who shakes his head. Yet I am convinced that I am not mistaken. Are we running to some cataract that will plunge us into the abyss? That this way of descending may please the professor, because it approaches the vertical, is possible, but to me… In any case, there must be a noisy phenomenon a few leagues upwind, because now the roaring is heard with great violence. Are they coming from the sky or from the ocean? I turn my gaze towards the vapors suspended in the atmosphere, and I try to probe their depth. The sky is calm; the clouds, carried to the highest part of the vault, seem motionless and are lost in the intense irradiation of the light. We must therefore look elsewhere for the cause of this phenomenon. I then question the pure horizon, clear of all mist. Its appearance has not changed. But if this noise comes from a fall, a cataract; if this whole ocean is rushing into a lower basin , if these roars are produced by a mass of falling water , the current must be activated, and its increasing speed can give me the measure of the danger with which we are threatened. I consult the current. It is zero. An empty bottle that I throw into the sea remains to leeward. Around four o’clock, Hans gets up, clings to the mast and climbs to its end. From there his gaze scans the arc that the ocean describes in front of the raft and stops at a point. His face expresses no surprise, but his hair has become fixed. He saw something, says my uncle. “I believe it.” Hans goes back down, then he stretches his arm towards the south, saying: “Der nere! ” “Over there?” replies my uncle. And grabbing his spyglass, he looks attentively for a minute, which seems like a century to me. “Yes, yes!” he cries. “What do you see?” “An immense spray rising above the waves. ” “Some other marine animal?” “Then let us set a course further west, for we know what to expect regarding the danger of encountering these antediluvian monsters! ” “Let us go,” replies my uncle. I turn to Hans. Hans holds his helm with inflexible rigor. However, if from the distance that separates us from this animal, which must be estimated at at least twelve leagues, we can see the column of water expelled by its blowholes, it must be of a supernatural size. To flee would be to conform to the laws of the most vulgar prudence. But we didn’t come here to be cautious. So we go forward. The closer we get, the bigger the spray grows. What monster can fill itself with such a quantity of water and expel it like this without interruption? At eight o’clock in the evening we are not two leagues from it. Its blackish body, enormous, monstrous, extends into the sea like an island. Is this an illusion? Is it terror? Its length seems to me to exceed a thousand fathoms! What then is this cetacean that neither the Cuviers nor the Blumembachs anticipated? It is motionless and as if asleep; the sea seems unable to lift it, and it is the waves that undulate on its flanks. The column of water, projected to a height of five hundred feet, falls back with a deafening noise. We run like madmen towards this powerful mass that a hundred whales would not feed for a day. Terror seizes me. I don’t want to go any further! I ‘ll cut the sail halyard if necessary! I rebel against the professor, who doesn’t answer me. Suddenly Hans stands up, pointing at the threatening point: Holme! he says. “An island!” my uncle exclaims. “An island!” I say in turn, shrugging my shoulders. “Obviously,” the professor replies, giving a hearty burst of laughter. “But this column of water! ” “Geyser,” says Hans. “A very famous gushing spring located at the foot of Hecla. ” “Eh! no doubt, geyser,” my uncle replies, “a geyser like those of Iceland! I don’t want, first of all, to have been so grossly mistaken. To have taken an islet for a sea monster! But the evidence is becoming clear, and I must finally admit my error. This is only a natural phenomenon. As we approach, the dimensions of the liquid spray become grandiose. The islet looks like an immense cetacean whose head dominates the waves at a height of ten meters. fathoms. The geyser, a word pronounced geysir by the Icelanders , which means fury, rises majestically at its tip. Muffled detonations erupt at times, and the enormous jet, seized by more violent rages, shakes its plume of vapors as it leaps up to the first layer of clouds. It is alone. Neither fumaroles nor hot springs surround it, and all the volcanic power is summed up in it. The rays of electric light mingle with this dazzling spray, each drop of which is tinged with all the colors of the prism. Let’s come alongside, says the professor. But we must carefully avoid this waterspout, which would sink the raft in an instant. Hans, maneuvering skillfully, brings us to the tip of the islet. I jump onto the rock; my uncle follows me nimbly, while the hunter remains at his post, like a man above such astonishment. We walk on granite mixed with siliceous tuff; the ground shivers beneath our feet like the sides of a boiler where superheated steam is writhing; it is burning hot. We come within sight of a small central basin from which the geyser rises. I plunge a pouring thermometer into the bubbling water , and it registers a temperature of 163 degrees. So this water issues from a burning hearth. This singularly contradicts Professor Lidenbrock’s theories. I cannot refrain from remarking on it. Well, he replies, what does that prove against my doctrine? “Nothing,” I say dryly, seeing that I am encountering absolute obstinacy. Nevertheless, I am forced to admit that we are singularly favored so far, and that, for a reason that escapes me, this voyage is being accomplished in particular conditions of temperature; but it seems obvious to me, certain, that we will arrive one day or another at these regions where the central heat reaches the highest limits and exceeds all the graduations of the thermometers. We will see. This is the word of the professor, who, after having baptized this volcanic islet with the name of his nephew, gives the signal to re-embark. I remain for a few minutes still to contemplate the geyser. I notice that its jet is irregular in its accesses, that it sometimes diminishes in intensity, then resumes with a new vigor, which I attribute to the variations in pressure of the vapors accumulated in its reservoir. Finally we leave, skirting the very steep rocks of the south. Hans took advantage of this stop to repair the raft. But before overflowing I make some observations to calculate the distance covered, and I note them in my journal. We have crossed 270 leagues of sea from Port-Graüben, and we are 620 leagues from Iceland, under England. Chapter 35. Friday, August 21. —The next day the magnificent geyser disappeared. The wind freshened, and quickly carried us away from Axel Island. The roaring gradually died away. The weather, if one may so express it, will change before long. The atmosphere is charged with vapors, which carry with them the electricity formed by the evaporation of the saline waters, the clouds lower noticeably and take on a uniform olive tint ; the electric rays can barely pierce this opaque curtain lowered over the theater where the drama of storms is about to be played out. I feel particularly impressed, as every creature on earth is at the approach of a cataclysm. The cumulus clouds[1] piled up in the south present a sinister aspect; they have that pitiless appearance that I have often noticed at the beginning of storms. The air is heavy, the sea is calm. [1] Clouds of rounded shapes. In the distance the clouds look like big bales of cotton piled up in a picturesque disorder; little by little they swell and lose in number what they gain in size; their weight is such that they cannot detach themselves from the horizon; but, in the breath of the high currents, they gradually merge, darken and soon present a single layer of a formidable appearance; sometimes a ball of vapors, still lit, rebounds on this grayish carpet and will soon be lost in the opaque mass. Obviously the atmosphere is saturated with fluid, I am completely impregnated with it, my hair stands on end as if near an electrical machine. It seems to me that, if my companions touched me at this moment, they would receive a violent shock. At ten o’clock in the morning, the symptoms of the storm are more decisive; it is as if the wind is easing to better catch its breath; the cloud resembles an immense wineskin in which hurricanes accumulate. I don’t want to believe the threats from the sky, and yet I can’t help saying: Bad weather is brewing. The professor doesn’t reply. He’s in a foul mood, seeing the ocean stretching indefinitely before his eyes. He shrugs his shoulders at my words. We’ll have a storm, I say, stretching my hand toward the horizon, these clouds are lowering over the sea as if to crush it! General silence. The wind is silent. Nature looks dead and no longer breathes. On the mast, where I can already see a faint Saint Elmo’s fire rising, the slack sail falls in heavy folds. The raft is motionless in the middle of a thick, undulating sea. But, if we’re not going any further, what’s the point of keeping this canvas, which could put us in distress at the first shock of the storm? Let’s lower it, I say, let’s lower our mast: that will be prudent. “No, by the devil!” cries my uncle, a hundred times no! Let the wind seize us! Let the storm carry us away! But let me finally see the rocky shore, when our raft should break into a thousand pieces! These words are not finished when the southern horizon suddenly changes appearance; the accumulated vapors dissolve into water, and the air, violently called to fill the voids produced by condensation, becomes a hurricane. It comes from the most remote extremities of the cavern. The darkness redoubles. I can barely take a few incomplete notes. The raft rises, it leaps. My uncle is thrown from its height. I drag myself to him. He clings tightly to a piece of cable and seems to be contemplating with pleasure this spectacle of the raging elements. Hans does not move. His long hair, blown back by the hurricane and pulled back over his motionless face, gives him a strange physiognomy, for each of its ends bristles with small luminous tufts. His frightening mask is that of an antediluvian man, contemporary with the Ichthyosaurs and the Megatherium. However, the mast resists. The sail strains like a bubble ready to burst. The raft races with a fury I cannot estimate, but even less quickly than these drops of water displaced beneath it, whose speed makes straight and clear lines. The sail! The sail! I say, making a sign to lower it. “No!” replies my uncle. “Nej,” says Hans, gently shaking his head. ” Meanwhile, the rain forms a roaring cataract before this horizon towards which we run like madmen. But before it reaches us the veil of cloud is torn, the sea begins to boil and electricity, produced by a vast chemical action which takes place in the upper layers, is brought into play. The cracks of thunder are mingled with the sparkling jets of lightning; countless flashes of lightning intersect amidst the detonations; the mass of vapors becomes incandescent; the hailstones that strike the metal of our tools or our weapons become luminous; the raised waves seem to be so many fiery nipples beneath which an inner fire smoulders, and each crest of which is plumed with a flame. My eyes are dazzled by the intensity of the light, my ears shattered by the crash of the lightning; I must hold on to the mast, which bends like a reed under the violence of the hurricane………. [Here my travel notes became very incomplete. I have only found a few fleeting observations, taken mechanically, so to speak. But, in their brevity, in their very obscurity, they are imbued with the emotion that dominated me, and better than my memory they give me the feeling of our situation.] …………………………..
Sunday, August 23. —Where are we? Carried away with incomparable rapidity. The night was dreadful. The storm does not abate. We live in an environment of noise, an incessant detonation. Our ears bleed. We cannot exchange a word. The lightning flashes do not stop. I see retrograde zigzags which, after a rapid jet, return from below or above and strike the granite vault. If it were to collapse! Other flashes branch off or take the form of globes of fire which burst like bombs. The general noise does not seem to increase; it has exceeded the limit of intensity that the human ear can perceive, and, if all the powder magazines in the world were to explode together, we would not be able to hear any more. There is a continuous emission of light on the surface of the clouds; the electrical matter is incessantly released from their molecules; evidently the gaseous principles of the air are altered; innumerable columns of water leap into the atmosphere and fall back foaming. Where are we going?… My uncle is lying full length at the end of the raft. The heat is intensifying. I look at the thermometer; it reads… [The number is erased.] Monday, August 24. —It will never end! Why should n’t the state of this dense atmosphere, once changed, be permanent? We are exhausted, Hans as usual. The raft is invariably heading southeast. We have traveled more than two hundred leagues since Axel Island. At noon the violence of the hurricane redoubles; we have to securely tie down all the objects making up the cargo. Each of us ties ourselves up equally. The waves pass over our heads. It has been impossible to speak a single word to each other for three days. We open our mouths, we move our lips; no appreciable sound is produced. Even when whispering to each other, we cannot hear each other. My uncle came over me. He uttered a few words. I think he said to me: We are lost. I am not certain. I decide to write him these words: Let us lower our sail. He signals to me that he consents. His head has not had time to raise from bottom to top when a disc of fire appears at the edge of the raft. The mast and the sail are gone all at once, and I saw them rise to a prodigious height, like the Pterodactyl, that fantastic bird of the first centuries. We are frozen with fear; the ball, half white, half azure, the size of a ten-inch bomb, moves slowly, turning with surprising speed under the thong of the hurricane. It comes here, there, climbs on one of the raft’s frames, jumps on the bag of provisions, comes down slightly, leaps, brushes against the powder chest. Horror! We are going to jump! No! The dazzling disc moves aside; it approaches Hans, who stares at it fixedly; my uncle, who throws himself on his knees to avoid it; me, pale and shivering under the glare of the light and the heat; it pirouettes near my foot, which I try to withdraw. I cannot do it. A smell of nitrous gas fills the atmosphere; it penetrates the throat, the lungs. One is suffocating. Why can’t I withdraw my foot? Is it riveted to the raft? Ah! The fall of this electric globe has magnetized all the iron on board; the instruments, the tools, the weapons are agitated, colliding with a sharp clicking sound; the nails of my shoe adhere violently to an iron plate embedded in the wood. I cannot withdraw my foot! Finally, with a violent effort, I tear it off at the moment when the ball was about to seize it in its gyrating movement and drag me along, so… Ah! What an intense light! The globe bursts! We are covered by jets of flame! Then everything goes out. I had time to see my uncle stretched out on the raft; Hans still at the helm and spitting fire under the influence of the electricity penetrating him! Where are we going? Where are we going? ………………………………………………. Tuesday, August 25. —I am emerging from a prolonged fainting spell; the storm continues; lightning is unleashed like a brood of snakes released into the atmosphere. Are we still on the sea? Yes, and being carried along with incalculable speed. We have passed under England, under the Channel, under France, under the whole of Europe, perhaps! A new noise is heard! Obviously, the sea breaking on rocks!… But then… …………………… Chapter 36. Here ends what I called the log of the ship, so fortunately saved from shipwreck. I resume my story as before. What happened when the raft struck the reefs of the coast, I cannot say. I felt myself thrown into the waves, and if I escaped death, if my body was not torn on the sharp rocks, it was because Hans’s strong arm pulled me from the abyss.
The courageous Icelander carried me out of the reach of the waves, onto a burning sand where I found myself side by side with my uncle. Then he returned to these rocks against which the furious waves were crashing , in order to save some wrecks from the shipwreck. I could not speak; I was broken by emotion and fatigue; it took me a good hour to recover. Meanwhile a torrential rain continued to fall, but with that redoublement which announces the end of storms. A few rocks stacked on top of each other offered us shelter against the torrents of the sky, Hans prepared food which I could not touch, and each of us, exhausted by the three nights’ vigils, fell into a painful sleep. The next day the weather was magnificent. The sky and the sea had calmed down by mutual consent. All trace of the storm had disappeared. It was the professor’s joyful words that greeted my awakening. “Well, my boy,” he cried, “did you sleep well? Wouldn’t it have been as if we were in the house on Königstrasse, that I was quietly going down to lunch, and that my marriage to poor Graüben was about to take place that very day? Alas! if the storm had only just thrown the raft to the east, we had passed under Germany, under my dear city of Hamburg, under this street, moreover, everything I loved in the world. Then scarcely forty leagues separated me from it! But forty vertical leagues of a granite wall, and in reality, more than a thousand leagues to cross! All these painful reflections quickly crossed my mind before I answered my uncle’s question. Oh, that! he repeated, “won’t you tell me if you slept well?” “Very well,” I replied; “I’m still broken, but it won’t be anything. ” “Absolutely nothing, a little tiredness, and that’s all.” “But you seem very cheerful this morning, uncle. ” “Delighted, my boy! Delighted! We’ve arrived!” —At the end of our expedition? —No, but at the end of this endless sea. We are now going to take the land route again and truly plunge into the bowels of the globe. —Uncle, allow me a question. —I allow it, Axel. —And the return? —The return! Ah! You’re thinking of coming back when we haven’t even arrived? —No, I only want to ask how it will be done. —In the simplest way in the world. Once we arrive at the center of the spheroid, we will either find a new route to return to its surface, or we will return quite bourgeoisly by the path already traveled. I like to think that it will not close behind us. —Then we will have to put the raft back in good condition. —Necessarily. —But the provisions, are there enough left to accomplish all these great things? —Yes, certainly. Hans is a clever fellow, and I am sure that he saved most of the cargo. Let’s go and make sure of it, anyway. We left this cave, open to all the breezes. I had a hope that was at the same time a fear; it seemed impossible to me that the terrible collision of the raft had not destroyed everything it carried. I was mistaken. When I arrived on the shore, I saw Hans in the middle of a crowd of objects arranged in order. My uncle shook his hand with a deep feeling of gratitude. This man, of a superhuman devotion of which one would perhaps find no other example, had worked while we slept and saved the most precious objects at the risk of his life. It is not that we had not suffered quite significant losses, our weapons, for example; but still we could have done without them. The supply of powder had remained intact, after having almost blown up during the storm. Well, cried the professor, since the guns are missing, we will be quits for not hunting. “Good; But the instruments? —Here is the pressure gauge, the most useful of all, and for which I would have given the others! With it, I can calculate the depth and know when we have reached the center. Without it, we would risk going beyond and coming out by the antipodes! This gaiety was ferocious. But the compass? I asked. —Here it is, on this rock, in perfect condition, as well as the chronometer and the thermometers. Ah! the hunter is a precious man! It had to be admitted, in terms of instruments, nothing was missing. As for the tools and equipment, I saw, scattered on the sand, ladders, ropes, picks, mattocks, etc. However, there was still the question of food to be elucidated. And the provisions? I said, —Let’s see the provisions, replied my uncle. The crates containing them were lined up on the beach in a perfect state of preservation; The sea had spared most of them, and all in all, in biscuits, salted meat, gin, and dried fish, we could still count on four months’ worth of provisions. Four months! cried the professor; we have time to go and come back, and with what remains I want to give a grand dinner to all my colleagues at the Johannaeum! I should have been used to my uncle’s temperament long ago , and yet this man always surprised me. Now, he said, we are going to replenish our water supply with the rain that the storm poured into all these granite basins; consequently, we have nothing to fear from being overcome by thirst. As for the raft, I will recommend to Hans to repair it as best he can, although it will no longer be of use to us, I imagine! “What do you mean?” I cried. “An idea of mine, my boy! I think we shall not leave by the same way we came in. ” I looked at the professor with a certain distrust; I I asked if he had not gone mad. And yet he did not know how to say it better. Let us go to lunch, he continued. I followed him to a high headland, after he had given his instructions to the hunter. There, dried meat, biscuits and tea made an excellent meal, and, I must confess, one of the best I have had in my life. The need, the fresh air, the calm after the agitation, all contributed to giving me an appetite. During lunch, I asked my uncle the question of knowing where we were at this moment. That, I said, seemed difficult to calculate. “To calculate exactly, yes,” he replied; “it is even impossible, since, during these three days of storm, I was unable to take note of the speed and direction of the raft; but nevertheless we can take our situation by dead reckoning. “Indeed, the last observation was made at Geyser Island… ” “At Axel Island, my boy.” Do not decline this honor of having named after yourself the first island discovered in the center of the Earth’s surface. —So be it! At Axel Islet, we had crossed about 270 leagues of sea and were more than 600 leagues from Iceland. —Good! Let us start from that point then and count four days of storm, during which our speed must not have been less than 80 leagues per 24 hours. —I believe so. That would then be 300 leagues to add. —Yes, and the Lidenbrock Sea would be about 600 leagues from one shore to the other! Do you know, Axel, that it can compete in size with the Mediterranean? —Yes, especially if we have only crossed it in its width! —Which is quite possible! —And, curiously enough, I added, if our calculations are correct, we now have this Mediterranean on our heads. —Really! —Really, for we are nine hundred leagues from Reykjavik! —That’s a pretty long way, my boy; but whether we are under the Mediterranean rather than under Turkey or the Atlantic can only be confirmed if our direction has not deviated. —No, the wind seemed constant; I therefore think that this shore must be located southeast of Port Graüben. —Well, it’s easy to be sure by consulting the compass. Let’s go consult the compass! The professor went towards the rock on which Hans had placed the instruments. He was gay, cheerful, he was rubbing his hands, he was striking poses! A real young man! I followed him, quite curious to know if I was not mistaken in my estimate. Arriving at the rock, my uncle took the compass, placed it horizontally, and observed the needle, which, after oscillating, stopped in a fixed position under the magnetic influence. My uncle looked, then rubbed his eyes and looked again . Finally, he turned towards me, amazed. What is it? I asked. He signaled me to examine the instrument. An exclamation of surprise escaped me. The flower of the needle marked north where we supposed it to be south! It turned towards the shore instead of showing the open sea! I moved the compass and examined it; it was in perfect condition. Whatever position the needle was made to take, it stubbornly returned to this unexpected direction. So, there was no longer any doubt that during the storm a gust of wind had occurred which we had not noticed and had brought the raft back towards the shores which my uncle thought he had left behind. Chapter 37. It would be impossible for me to describe the succession of feelings which agitated Professor Lidenbrock, stupefaction, incredulity and finally anger. Never had I seen a man so disconcerted at first, so irritated afterwards. The fatigue of the crossing, the dangers encountered, everything had to be started again! We We had retreated instead of advancing! But my uncle quickly regained the upper hand. Ah! Fate plays such tricks on me! he cried; the elements conspire against me! Air, fire, and water combine their efforts to oppose my passage! Well then! people will know what my will can do. I will not yield, I will not retreat a line, and we will see who will prevail, man or nature ! Standing on the rock, irritated, threatening, Otto Lidenbrock, like the fierce Ajax, seemed to defy the gods. But I judged it appropriate to intervene and put a brake on this insane ardor. Listen to me, I told him firmly. There is a limit to all ambition here below; we must not fight against the impossible; we are ill-equipped for a sea voyage; Five hundred leagues cannot be made on a poor assembly of beams with a cover for a sail, a stick for a mast, and against the raging winds. We cannot steer, we are the plaything of the storms, and it is acting like fools to attempt this impossible crossing a second time! For these completely irrefutable reasons I was able to unfold the series for ten minutes without being interrupted, but that was solely due to the inattention of the professor, who did not hear a word of my argument. To the raft! he cried. Such was his response. I did everything I could, begged, got carried away: I came up against a will harder than granite. Hans was at that moment finishing repairing the raft. One would have said that this strange being guessed my uncle’s plans. With a few pieces of surtarbrandur he had consolidated the boat. A sail was already rising and the wind played in its floating folds. The professor said a few words to the guide, and he immediately ordered me to load the luggage and prepare everything for departure. The atmosphere was quite clear and the northwest wind held firm.
What could I do? Resist alone against two? Impossible. If only Hans had joined me. But no! It seemed as if the Icelander had put aside all personal will and taken a vow of self-denial. I could obtain nothing from a servant so subservient to his master. I had to go ahead. So I was about to take my accustomed place on the raft when my uncle stopped me with his hand. We will not leave until tomorrow, he said. I made the gesture of a man resigned to everything. I must neglect nothing, he continued, and since fate has driven me to this part of the coast, I will not leave it without having reconnoitered it. This remark will be understood when it is known that we had returned to the northern shore, but not to the very place of our first departure. Port Graüben must have been located further west. Nothing more reasonable then than to carefully examine the surroundings of this new landing. Let’s go exploring! I said. And, leaving Hans to his occupations, we set off. The space between the relays of the sea and the foot of the buttresses was very wide; one could walk for half an hour before arriving at the rock wall. Our feet crushed innumerable shells of all shapes and sizes, where the animals of the earliest periods lived. I also saw enormous shells, whose diameter often exceeded fifteen feet. They had belonged to those gigantic glyptodons of the Pliocene period, of which the modern turtle has only a small reduction. Furthermore, the ground was strewn with a large quantity of stony debris, a kind of pebbles rounded by the blade and arranged in successive lines. I was therefore led to make this observation, that the sea must once have occupied this space. On the scattered rocks and now beyond its reach, the waves had left evident traces of their passage. This could explain to a certain extent the existence of this ocean, forty leagues below the surface of the globe. But, in my opinion, this mass of water must have been lost little by little in the bowels of the earth, and it obviously came from the waters of the Ocean, which appeared through some fissure. However, it had to be admitted that this fissure was currently blocked, because this entire cavern, or better, this immense reservoir, would have filled in a fairly short time. Perhaps even this water, having had to fight against underground fires, had partially vaporized. From there the explanation of the clouds suspended above our heads and the release of this electricity which created storms inside the terrestrial massif. This theory of the phenomena which we had witnessed seemed satisfactory to me ; for, however great the wonders of nature may be , they are always explainable by physical reasons. We were therefore walking on a sort of sedimentary terrain formed by water, like all the terrains of this period, so widely distributed on the surface of the globe. The professor carefully examined every interstice of rock. If any opening existed, it became important for him to have its depth probed. For a mile, we had skirted the shores of the Lidenbrock Sea, when the ground suddenly changed its appearance. It seemed upset, convulsed by a violent uplift of the lower layers. In many places, depressions or uplifts attested to a powerful dislocation of the terrestrial mass. We advanced with difficulty on these granite breaks, mixed with flint, quartz and alluvial deposits, when a field, more than a field, a plain of bones appeared to our gaze. It looked like an immense cemetery, where the generations of twenty centuries mingled their eternal dust. Tall extumescences of debris were layered in the distance. They undulated to the limits of the horizon and were lost there in a melting mist. There, over three square miles, perhaps; The whole life of animal history was accumulating, barely written in the too recent terrains of the inhabited world. Meanwhile, an impatient curiosity was driving us on. Our feet crushed with a sharp noise the remains of these prehistoric animals , and these fossils whose rare and interesting remains are fought over in the museums of the great cities. The existence of a thousand Cuviers would not have been enough to reconstruct the skeletons of the organic beings lying in this magnificent ossuary. I was astounded. My uncle had raised his long arms towards the thick vault that served as our sky. His mouth open enormously, his eyes dazzling under the lenses of his glasses, his head moving up and down, from left to right, his whole posture in short denoted boundless astonishment. He found himself before an inestimable collection of Leptotherium, Mericotherium, Mastodons, Protopithecidae, Pterodactyls, all the antediluvian monsters piled up there for his personal satisfaction. Imagine a passionate bibliomaniac suddenly transported to that famous library of Alexandria burned by Omar and which a miracle had raised from its ashes! Such was my uncle Professor Lidenbrock. But it was a far different wonder when, running through this volcanic dust, he seized a bare skull, and cried out in a trembling voice: Axel! Axel! A human head! “A human head! Uncle,” I replied, no less stupefied. “Yes, my nephew! Ah! Mr. Milne-Edwards! Ah! Mr. de Quatrefages! Why are you not where I am, Otto Lidenbrock!” Chapter 38. To understand this evocation made by my uncle to these illustrious French scholars, it is necessary to know that a fact of high importance in paleontology had occurred some time before our departure. On March 28, 1863, navvies excavating under the direction of Mr. Boucher de Perthes in the quarries of Moulin-Quignon, near Abbeville, in the department of the Somme, in France, found a human jaw fourteen feet below the surface of the ground. It was the first fossil of this species brought to light. Near it were found stone axes and flints, cut, colored and coated by time with a uniform patina. The noise of this discovery was great, not only in France, but in England and Germany. Several scientists of the French Institute, among others Messrs. Milne-Edwards and de Quatrefages, took the matter to heart, demonstrated the incontestable authenticity of the bone in question, and became the most ardent defenders of this trial of the jaw, according to the English expression. The geologists of the United Kingdom who held the fact to be certain, Messrs. Falconer, Busk, Carpenter, etc., were joined by scientists from Germany, and among them, in the first rank, the most fiery, the most enthusiastic, my uncle Lidenbrock. The authenticity of a human fossil from the Quaternary period therefore seemed incontestably demonstrated and admitted. This system, it is true, had a bitter adversary in Mr. Élie de Beaumont. This scholar of such high authority maintained that the ground of Moulin-Quignon did not belong to the diluvium, but to a less ancient layer, and, in agreement with Cuvier in this, he did not admit that the human species had been contemporary with the animals of the Quaternary period. My uncle Lidenbrock, along with the vast majority of geologists, had held firm, argued, and discussed, and Mr. Elie de Beaumont had remained almost alone in his party. We knew all these details of the affair, but we were unaware that, since our departure, the question had made further progress. Other identical jawbones, although belonging to individuals of various types and from different nations, were found in the soft, gray earth of certain caves in France, Switzerland, and Belgium, as well as weapons, utensils, tools, bones of children, adolescents, men, and old people. The existence of Quaternary man was thus becoming more and more evident every day. And that was not all. New debris exhumed from the Pliocene Tertiary terrain had allowed even more daring scientists to assign a high antiquity to the human race. These remains, it is true, were not human bones, but only objects of his industry, tibias, femurs of fossil animals, regularly striated, sculpted so to speak, and which bore the mark of human work. Thus, in one leap, man went back in time a great number of centuries; he preceded the Mastodon; he became the contemporary of the Elephas meridionalis; he was one hundred thousand years old, since this is the date assigned by the most renowned geologists to the formation of the Pliocene terrain! Such was then the state of paleontological science, and what we knew of it was enough to explain our attitude before this ossuary of the Lidenbrock Sea. One can therefore understand my uncle’s astonishment and joy, especially when, twenty paces further on, he found himself in the presence, one might say face to face, with one of the specimens of Quaternary man. It was an absolutely recognizable human body. Had a soil of a particular nature, like that of the Saint-Michel cemetery in Bordeaux, preserved it thus for centuries? I could not say. But this corpse, the skin taut and parchment-like, the limbs still soft—at least to the eye—the teeth intact, the abundant hair, the fingernails and toes of a frightening size, appeared before our eyes as he had lived. I was speechless before this apparition from another age. My uncle, usually so loquacious, so impetuously oratorical, was also silent. We had lifted this body. We had straightened it. It looked at us with its hollow eye sockets. We felt its sonorous torso. After a few moments of silence, the uncle was overcome by the professor. Otto Lidenbrock, carried away by his temper, forgot the circumstances of our journey, the environment in which we were, the immense cavern that contained us. No doubt he thought he was at the Johannaeum, professing before his students, for he took on a doctoral tone, and addressing an imaginary audience: Gentlemen, he said, I have the honor of presenting to you a man from the Quaternary period. Great scholars have denied his existence, others no less great have affirmed it. The Saint Thomases of paleontology, if they were here, would touch it with their fingers, and would be forced to recognize their error. I know well that science must be on its guard against discoveries of this kind! I am not unaware of the exploitation of fossil men made by Barnum and other charlatans of the same ilk. I know the story of the kneecap of Ajax, of the supposed body of Orestes found by the Spartans, and of the body of Asterius, ten cubits long, of which Pausanias speaks. I have read the reports on the skeleton of Trapani discovered in the 14th century, and in which they wanted to recognize Polyphemus, and the story of the giant unearthed during the 16th century near Palermo. You are no more unaware than I am, gentlemen, of the analysis made near Lucerne, in 1577, of these large bones that the famous physician Felix Plater declared belonged to a giant nineteen feet tall! I devoured Cassanion’s treatises , and all those memoirs, pamphlets, speeches, and counter-speeches published about the skeleton of the king of the Cimbri, Teutobochus, the invader of Gaul, exhumed from a sandpit in Dauphiné in 1613! In the 18th century, I would have fought with Pierre Campet against the existence of Scheuchzer’s pre-Adamites! I had in my hands the writing called Gigans… Here reappeared the natural infirmity of my uncle, who in public could not pronounce difficult words. The writing called Gigans… he continued. He could not go any further. Gigantéo… Impossible! The unfortunate word would not come out! We would have laughed at the Johannaeum! Gigantosteology, Professor Lidenbrock finished saying between two oaths. Then, continuing even more, and becoming animated: Yes, gentlemen, I know all these things! I also know that Cuvier and Blumenbach recognized in these bones simple bones of Mammoth and other animals of the Quaternary period. But here, doubt alone would be an insult to science! The corpse is there! You can see it, touch it! It is not a skeleton, it is an intact body, preserved for a purely anthropological purpose! I was kind enough not to contradict this assertion. If I could wash it in a solution of sulfuric acid, my uncle continued, I would make all the earthy parts and those resplendent shells that are encrusted in it disappear.
But I lack the precious solvent. However, as it is, this body will tell us its own story. Here, the professor took the fossil corpse and maneuvered it with the dexterity of a curiosities exhibitor. You see, he continued, it is not six feet long, and we are far from the so-called giants. As for the race to which it belongs, it is incontestably Caucasian. It is the white race, it is ours! The skull of this fossil is regularly ovoid, without development of the cheekbones, without projection of the jaw. It does not present any character of this prognathism which modifies the facial angle[1]. Measure this angle, it is almost ninety degrees. But I will go even further in the path of deductions, and I will dare to say that this human sample belongs to the Japetic family, spread from India to the limits of Western Europe. Do n’t smile, gentlemen! 1. The facial angle is formed by two planes, one more or less vertical which is tangent to the forehead and the incisors, the other horizontal, which passes through the opening of the auditory canals and the inferior nasal spine. We call prognathism, in anthropological language, this projection of the jaw which modifies the facial angle. No one smiled, but the professor was so used to seeing faces blossom during his learned dissertations! Yes, he continued with renewed animation, this is a fossil man, a contemporary of the Mastodons whose bones fill this amphitheater. But to tell you by what route he arrived there, how these layers in which he was buried slid down into this enormous cavity of the globe, is something I will not allow myself to do. Without doubt, in the Quaternary period, considerable disturbances were still manifest in the Earth’s crust: the continuous cooling of the globe produced breaks, cracks, faults, into which part of the upper ground probably tumbled. I will not pronounce, but finally the man is there, surrounded by the works of his hand, by these axes, by these cut flints which constituted the Stone Age, and unless he came here like me as a tourist, a pioneer of science, I cannot doubt the authenticity of his ancient origin. The professor fell silent, and I burst into unanimous applause. Besides, my uncle was right, and those more learned than his nephew would have been very much prevented from disputing him. Another clue. This fossilized body was not the only one in the immense ossuary. Other bodies were encountered at every step we took in this dust, and my uncle could choose the most marvelous of these specimens to convince the unbelievers. In truth, it was an astonishing spectacle, that of these generations of men and animals mixed together in this cemetery. But a serious question presented itself, which we did not dare to resolve. Had these animated beings slipped by a convulsion of the earth towards the shores of the Lidenbrock Sea, when they were already reduced to dust? Or rather, did they live here, in this subterranean world, under this artificial sky, born and dying like the inhabitants of the earth? Until now, the sea monsters, the fish alone, had appeared to us alive! Did some man from the abyss still wander these deserted shores? Chapter 39. For another half hour, our feet trodden on these layers of bones. We went on, driven by an ardent curiosity. What other wonders did this cavern contain, what treasures for science? My gaze expected every surprise, my imagination every astonishment. The shores of the sea had long since disappeared behind the hills of the ossuary. The imprudent professor, caring little about leading me astray, led me away. We advanced silently, bathed in electric waves. By a phenomenon that I cannot explain, and thanks to its diffusion, then complete, the light uniformly illuminated the various faces of the objects. Its focus no longer existed at a specific point in space and it produced no shadow effect. It was as if it were midday and midsummer, in the middle of the equatorial regions, under the vertical rays of the sun. All vapor had disappeared. The rocks, the distant mountains, a few confused masses of distant forests, took on a strange appearance under the equal distribution of the luminous fluid. We resembled that fantastic character of Hoffmann who has lost his shadow. After a walk of a mile, the edge of an immense forest appeared, but no longer one of those mushroom woods which bordered Port-Graüben. It was the vegetation of the Tertiary period in all its magnificence. Large palm trees, species which have now disappeared, superb palmacites, pines, yews, cypresses, thujas, represented the family of conifers, and were linked together by a network of inextricable vines. A carpet of mosses and liverworts softly covered the ground. A few streams murmured under these shades, hardly worthy of the name, since they would not produce shade. On their banks grew tree ferns similar to those in the hothouses of the inhabited globe. Only, color was missing from these trees, these shrubs, these plants, deprived of the invigorating warmth of the sun. Everything merged into a uniform, brownish, faded hue. The leaves were deprived of their greenness, and the flowers themselves, so numerous in the Tertiary period that saw their birth, then without color or fragrance, seemed made of paper discolored by the action of the atmosphere. My uncle Lidenbrock ventured under these gigantic coppices. I followed him, not without a certain apprehension. Since nature had paid the price of a vegetable diet there, why should the formidable mammals not be found there ? I saw in these wide clearings left by the trees felled and eaten away by time, legumes, acerinas, rubiaceae, and a thousand edible shrubs, dear to ruminants of all periods. Then appeared, confused and intermingled, the trees of the most different regions of the earth’s surface, the oak growing near the palm tree, the Australian eucalyptus leaning against the Norwegian fir, the northern birch mingling its branches with those of the Zealand kauri. It was enough to confound the reason of the most ingenious classifiers of terrestrial botany. Suddenly I stopped. With my hand, I held my uncle. The diffuse light allowed me to perceive the smallest objects in the depths of the thickets. I had thought I had seen… no ?
Really , with my own eyes, I saw immense forms moving about under the trees! Indeed, they were gigantic animals, a whole herd of Mastodons, no longer fossils, but living, and similar to those whose remains were discovered in 1801 in the swamps of Ohio! I saw these great elephants whose trunks swarmed beneath the trees like a legion of serpents. I heard the sound of their long tusks whose ivory pierced the old trunks. The branches cracked, and the leaves, torn off in considerable masses, rushed into the vast mouths of these monsters. This dream, in which I had seen the rebirth of this whole world of prehistoric times, of the ternary and quaternary epochs, was finally coming true! And we were there, alone, in the bowels of the globe, at the mercy of its fierce inhabitants! My uncle watched. Come on, he said suddenly, seizing my arm, forward, forward!
“No!” I cried, “no! We are unarmed! What would we do in the midst of this herd of giant quadrupeds? Come, uncle, come on! No human creature can brave the anger of these monsters with impunity.” “No human creature!” replied my uncle, lowering his voice. “You’re mistaken, Axel! Look, look, over there! I think I see a living being! A being like us! A man!” I looked, shrugging my shoulders, and determined to push incredulity to its utmost limits. But, although I I had to face the facts. Indeed, less than a quarter of a mile away, leaning against the trunk of an enormous kauri tree, a human being, a Proteus of these subterranean regions, a new son of Neptune, was guarding this innumerable herd of Mastodons! Immanis pecoris custos, immanior ipse! Yes! immanior ipse! It was no longer the fossil being whose corpse we had recovered from the ossuary, it was a giant capable of commanding these monsters. It was over twelve feet tall. Its head, as big as a buffalo’s head, disappeared into the undergrowth of uncultivated hair. It looked like a real mane, like that of the elephant of the earliest ages. It was brandishing an enormous branch in its hand, a worthy crook of this antediluvian shepherd. We remained motionless, stupefied. But we could be seen. We had to flee. Come, come! I cried, dragging my uncle along, who for the first time let me do it! A quarter of an hour later, we were out of sight of this formidable enemy. And now that I think about it calmly, now that calm has returned to my mind, now that months have passed since this strange and supernatural encounter, what are we to think, what are we to believe? No! It is impossible! Our senses have been deceived, our eyes did not see what they saw! No human creature exists in this subterrestrial world! No generation of men inhabits these lower caverns of the globe, without caring for the inhabitants of its surface, without communication with them! It is insane, profoundly insane! I prefer to admit the existence of some animal whose structure is close to that of a human, of some ape from the earliest geological periods, of some Protopithecus, of some Mesopithecus similar to the one discovered by M. Lartet in the bone deposit of Sansan! But this one exceeded in size all the measurements given by paleontology! No matter! A monkey, yes, a monkey, however improbable ! But a man, a living man, and with him a whole generation buried in the bowels of the earth! Never! Meanwhile we had left the clear and luminous forest, speechless with astonishment, overwhelmed by a stupefaction that bordered on stupefaction. We were running in spite of ourselves. It was a real flight, similar to those frightful drives that one undergoes in certain nightmares. Instinctively, we returned towards the Lidenbrock Sea, and I do not know into what wanderings my mind would have been carried away, without a preoccupation which brought me back to more practical observations. Although I was certain of treading on ground entirely untouched by our steps, I often saw aggregations of rocks whose shape recalled those of Port-Graüben. It was sometimes enough to be mistaken. Streams and waterfalls fell by the hundreds from the rocky outcrops, I thought I saw again the layer of surtarbrandur, our faithful Hans-bach and the cave where I had come back to life; then, a few steps further, the arrangement of the buttresses, the appearance of a stream, the surprising profile of a rock came to throw me back into doubt. The professor shared my indecision; he could not find his way in the midst of this uniform panorama. I understood this from a few words which escaped him. Obviously, I told him, we have not landed at our starting point, but certainly, by going around the shore, we will get closer to Port Graüben. “In that case,” replied my uncle, “it is useless to continue this exploration, and the best thing is to return to the raft. But are you not mistaken, Axel? ” “It is difficult to say, because all these rocks look alike. However, I seem to recognize the promontory at the foot of which Hans built his boat. We must be near the little port, if not even here,’ I added, examining a cove I thought I recognized. ‘But no, Axel, we would at least find our own traces, and I don’t see anything… ‘ ‘But I do!’ I cried, rushing towards an object that shone on the sand. ‘What is it? ‘ ‘There!’ I replied, and showed my uncle a dagger I had just picked up. ‘Well!’ he said, ‘so you took this weapon with you? ‘ ‘Me, not at all, but you, I suppose? ‘ ‘Not that I know of; I’ve never had this object in my possession. ‘ ‘And me even less, uncle. ‘ ‘That’s peculiar.’ ‘But no, it’s quite simple; Icelanders often have weapons of this kind, and Hans, to whom this one belongs, lost it on this beach… ‘ ‘Hans!’ my uncle said, shaking his head. Then he examined the weapon carefully. Axel, he said to me in a grave tone, this dagger is a sixteenth-century weapon, a real dagger, one of those that gentlemen wore at their belts to deliver the coup de grâce; it is of Spanish origin; it belongs neither to you, nor to me, nor to the hunter! —Would you dare say?… —See, it didn’t chip like that by sticking itself in people’s throats; its blade is covered with a layer of rust that is not a day, nor a year, nor a century old! The professor grew animated, as was his custom, letting himself be carried away by his imagination. Axel, he continued, we are on the road to the great discovery! This blade has remained abandoned on the sand for a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years, and has chipped on the rocks of this subterranean sea! —But it didn’t come alone! I cried; she didn’t go twisting herself! Someone went before us!… —Yes, a man. —And this man? —This man carved his name with this dagger! This man wanted to mark the route to the center with his hand once again! Let’s search, let’s search! And, prodigiously interested, we were following the high wall, questioning the smallest cracks that could turn into galleries. We thus arrived at a place where the shore narrowed. The sea came almost to bathe the foot of the buttresses, leaving a passage a fathom wide at most. Between two projections of rock, we could see the entrance to a dark tunnel. There, on a granite slab, appeared two mysterious, half-eaten letters, the two initials of the bold and fantastic traveler: * ᛐ * ᚼ * AS! cried my uncle. Arne Saknussemm! Always Arne Saknussemm! Chapter 40. Since the beginning of the journey, I had experienced many astonishments; I must have believed myself safe from surprises and jaded by all wonder. However, at the sight of these two letters engraved there for three hundred years, I remained in a state of astonishment bordering on stupidity. Not only could the signature of the learned alchemist be read on the rock, but the stylus that had traced it was also in my hands. Unless I was acting in egregiously bad faith, I could no longer doubt the existence of the traveler and the reality of his journey. While these reflections swirled in my head, Professor Lidenbrock indulged in a somewhat dithyrambic fit about Arne Saknussemm. Marvelous genius! he cried, you have forgotten nothing that could open to other mortals the roads of the earth’s crust, and your fellow men can find the traces that your feet left, three centuries ago, at the bottom of these dark undergrounds! To other eyes than yours, you have reserved the contemplation of these marvels! Your name engraved from stage to stage leads straight to his goal the traveler bold enough to follow you, and, at the very center of our planet, he will still be inscribed by your own hand. Well then! I too will go and sign my name on this last granite page! But from now on, may this cape seen by you near this sea discovered by you be forever called Cape Saknussemm! That is what I heard, or almost, and I felt myself overcome by the enthusiasm that these words breathed. An inner fire was rekindled in my breast! I forgot everything, both the dangers of the journey and the perils of the return. What another had done, I wanted to do too, and nothing human seemed impossible to me! Forward, forward! I cried. I was already rushing towards the dark gallery when the professor stopped me, and he, the man of outbursts, advised me to be patient and cool-headed. Let us return first to Hans, he said, and bring the raft back to this place. I obeyed this order, not without difficulty, and I slipped quickly among the rocks of the shore. Do you know, uncle, I said as I walked, that we have been singularly served by circumstances up to now! —Ah! you think so, Axel? —No doubt, and even the storm has put us back on the right path. Blessed be the storm! It has brought us back to this coast from which the fine weather would have kept us away! Suppose for a moment that we had touched with our prow (the prow of a raft!) the southern shores of the Lidenbrock Sea, what would have become of us? The name of Saknussemm would not have appeared to our eyes, and now we would be abandoned on a beach with no exit. —Yes, Axel, there is something providential in the fact that, sailing south, we have precisely returned to the north and to Cape Saknussemm. I must say that it is more than astonishing, and there is a fact there whose explanation eludes me absolutely. —Well! What does it matter! There is no need to explain the facts, but to take advantage of them! —No doubt, my boy, but… —But we are going to take the northern route again, to pass under the northern regions of Europe, Sweden, Russia, Siberia, who knows what! instead of plunging beneath the deserts of Africa or the waves of the Ocean, and I do not want to know more! —Yes, Axel, you are right, and all is for the best, since we are leaving this horizontal sea which could lead to nothing. We are going to descend, descend again, and always descend! Do you know that to reach the center of the globe, there are only fifteen hundred leagues left to cross! —Bah! I cried, it’s really not worth talking about it! Onward! Onward! These insane speeches were still going on when we joined the hunter. Everything was prepared for an immediate departure; not a parcel was left on board; we took our places on the raft, and with the sail hoisted, Hans headed along the coast towards Cape Saknussemm. The wind was not favorable to a type of boat that could not hold close to the water. Also, in many places, we had to advance with the help of iron-tipped poles. Often the rocks, lying at water level, forced us to make fairly long detours . Finally, after three hours of navigation, that is to say around six o’clock in the evening, we reached a place suitable for landing. I jumped ashore, followed by my uncle and the Icelander. This crossing had not calmed me. On the contrary, I even proposed burning our ships, in order to cut off all retreat. But my uncle opposed it. I found him singularly lukewarm. At least, I said, let us set off without losing a moment. “Yes, my boy; but first, let us examine this new gallery, in order to know if we must prepare our ladders. ” My uncle put his Ruhmkorff apparatus into operation; the raft, tied to the shore, was left alone; besides, the opening of the gallery was not twenty paces from there, and our little troop, me in the lead, went there without delay. The orifice, roughly circular, had a diameter of about five feet; the dark tunnel was cut into the living rock and carefully bored by the eruptive materials to which it once gave passage; its lower part was flush with the ground, in such a way that one could enter it without any difficulty. We followed an almost horizontal plane, when, after six steps, our march was interrupted by the interposition of an enormous block. Cursed rock! I cried angrily, seeing myself suddenly stopped by an impassable obstacle. We looked in vain to the right and to the left, below and above, there was no passage, no fork. I felt a keen disappointment, and I did not want to admit the reality of the obstacle. I bent down. I looked below the block. No interstice. Above. Same granite barrier. Hans shone the lamplight on all points of the wall; but it offered no solution of continuity. It was necessary to give up all hope of passing. I had sat down on the ground; my uncle paced the corridor with great strides. But then Saknussemm? I cried. “Yes,” said my uncle, “was he then stopped by this stone door? ” “No! No!” I continued briskly. “This section of rock, as a result of some shock, or one of those magnetic phenomena which agitate the earth’s crust, suddenly closed this passage. Many years passed between the return of Saknussemm and the fall of this block. Is it not evident that this gallery was once the path of lava, and that then the eruptive materials circulated freely there? See, there are recent fissures which furrow this granite ceiling; It is made of pieces brought back, of enormous stones, as if the hand of some giant had worked on this substructure; but, one day, the thrust was stronger, and this block, like a missing keystone, slid to the ground, blocking all passage. Here is an accidental obstacle that Saknussemm did not encounter, and if we do not overthrow it, we are unworthy of arriving at the center of the world! That is how I spoke! The soul of the professor had passed entirely into me. The genius of discoveries inspired me. I forgot the past, I disdained the future. Nothing existed any longer for me on the surface of this spheroid into which I had plunged, neither the cities, nor the countryside, nor Hamburg, nor König-strasse, nor my poor Graüben, which must have believed me forever lost in the bowels of the earth. Well! resumed my uncle, with blows of the pickaxe, with blows of the pick, let us make our way and knock down these walls! —It is too hard for the pickaxe, I cried. —Then the pickaxe! —It is too long for the pickaxe! —But!… —Well! the powder! the mine! let us mine, and remove the obstacle! —The powder! —Yes! it is only a question of breaking a piece of rock! —Hans, to work! cried my uncle. The Icelander returned to the raft, and soon came back with a pickaxe which he used to dig a mine furnace. It was no small task. It was a question of making a hole large enough to contain fifty pounds of guncotton, whose expansive power is four times greater than that of gunpowder. I was in a prodigious state of overexcitement. While Hans was working, I actively helped my uncle prepare a long fuse made with wet powder and enclosed in a cloth casing. We will get through! I said. “We will get through,” my uncle repeated. At midnight, our work as miners was completely finished; the charge of gun cotton was buried in the furnace, and the fuse, unwinding through the gallery, came to an end at the outside.
A spark was now enough to put this formidable machine into operation. See you tomorrow, said the professor. I had to resign myself and wait for another six full hours! Chapter 41. The next day, Thursday, August 27, was a famous date of this subterrestrial journey. It does not come back to me without terror still making my heart beat. From that moment on, our reason, our judgment, our ingenuity, no longer have a say in the matter, and we will become the plaything of the phenomena of the earth. At six o’clock, we were on our feet. The moment was approaching to force a passage through the granite crust with powder. I requested the honor of setting fire to the mine. This done, I was to join my companions on the raft which had not been unloaded; then we would put out to sea, in order to ward off the dangers of the explosion, the effects of which might not be concentrated inside the massif. The fuse was supposed to burn for ten minutes, according to our calculations, before carrying the fire to the powder chamber. I therefore had the necessary time to return to the raft. I prepared to fulfill my role, not without a certain emotion. After a quick meal, my uncle and the hunter embarked, while I remained on the shore. I was equipped with a lighted lantern which was to be used to light the fuse. Go, my boy, my uncle said to me, and come back immediately to join us. “Don’t worry, uncle, I won’t have any fun on the way.” At once I went to the opening of the gallery, opened my lantern, and seized the end of the fuse. The professor held his chronometer in his hand. “Are you ready?” he called to me. “I’m ready. ” “Well then! Fire, my boy!” I quickly plunged the wick into the flame, which sparkled at its touch, and, running as I did so, I returned to the shore. “Embark,” said my uncle, “and let’s overflow.” Hans, with a vigorous push, threw us back into the sea. The raft moved away about twenty fathoms. It was a thrilling moment. The professor watched the chronometer’s hand with his eye . Five more minutes, he said. Four more. Three more. My pulse was beating for half-seconds. Two more. One more!… Fall, granite mountains! What happened then? I do n’t think I heard the sound of the detonation. But the shape of the rocks suddenly changed before my eyes; they opened like a curtain. I saw an unfathomable abyss opening out right in the shore. The sea, overcome with vertigo, was nothing more than an enormous wave, on whose back the raft rose perpendicularly. All three of us were knocked off our feet. In less than a second, the light gave way to the deepest darkness. Then I felt the solid support failing, not at my feet, but at the raft. I thought it was sinking. It was not so. I would have liked to speak to my uncle; but the roar of the waters would have prevented him from hearing me. Despite the darkness, the noise, the surprise, the emotion, I understood what had just happened. Beyond the rock that had just burst, there existed an abyss. The explosion had caused a sort of earthquake in this ground cut by fissures, the chasm had opened, and the sea, changed into a torrent, was dragging us into it. I felt lost. An hour, two hours, who knows! passed like this. We held each other’s elbows and hands so as not to be thrown from the raft; shocks of extreme violence occurred when it struck the wall. However, these shocks were rare, from which I concluded that the gallery widened considerably. It was, without a doubt, the path of Saknussemm; but, instead of going down it alone, we had, by our imprudence, dragged a whole sea with us. These ideas, one can understand, presented themselves to my mind in a vague and obscure form. I had difficulty associating them during this dizzying race which resembled a fall. Judging by the air which whipped my face, it must have surpassed that of the fastest trains. Lighting a torch in these conditions was therefore impossible, and our last electrical appliance had been broken at the moment of the explosion. I was therefore very surprised to see a light suddenly shine near me. Hans’s calm face lit up. The skillful hunter had managed to light the lantern, and, although its flame flickered on the verge of going out, it threw a few glimmers into the dreadful darkness. The gallery was wide. I had been right to judge it so. Our insufficient light did not allow us to see its two walls at the same time. The gradient of the waters that carried us away exceeded that of the most insurmountable rapids in America; their surface seemed made of a bundle of liquid arrows shot with extreme power. I cannot express my impression with a more apt comparison. The raft, caught in certain eddies, sometimes sped by whirling. When it approached the walls of the gallery, I projected the light of the lantern onto it, and I could judge its speed by seeing the projections of the rock change into continuous lines, so that we were enclosed in a network of moving lines. I estimated that our speed must have reached thirty leagues per hour. My uncle and I watched with haggard eyes, leaning against the section of the mast, which, at the moment of the catastrophe, had broken off cleanly. We turned our backs to the air, so as not to be suffocated by the rapidity of a movement that no human power could stop. Meanwhile, the hours passed. The situation did not change, but an incident came to complicate it. While trying to put some order into the cargo, I saw that most of the objects on board had disappeared at the time of the explosion, when the sea assailed us so violently! I wanted to know exactly what our resources were , and, lantern in hand, I began my search. Of our instruments, only the compass and the chronometer remained . The ladders and ropes were reduced to a piece of cable wrapped around the mast section. Not a pickaxe, not a pick, not a hammer, and, irreparable misfortune, we had no food for a day! I began to search the cracks in the raft, the smallest corners formed by the beams and the joints of the planks. Nothing! Our provisions consisted solely of a piece of dried meat and a few biscuits. I stared with a stupid expression! I did not want to understand! And yet what danger was I concerned about? Even if the food had been enough for months, for years, how could we escape the abysses into which this irresistible torrent was dragging us? What was the point of fearing the tortures of hunger, when death already offered itself in so many other forms? Would we have time to die of starvation? Yet, by an inexplicable quirk of the imagination, I forgot the immediate peril for the threats of the future which appeared to me in all their horror. Besides, perhaps we could escape the fury of the torrent and return to the surface of the globe. How? I don’t know. Where? What does it matter! A chance in a thousand is still a chance, while death by starvation left us no hope in any proportion, however small. The thought came to me to tell my uncle everything, to show him to what destitution we were reduced, and to make an exact calculation of the time we had left to live. But I had the courage to remain silent. I wanted to leave him completely calm. At that moment, the light of the lantern gradually dimmed and went out completely. The wick had burned to the end. The darkness became absolute again. There was no longer any thought of dissipating this impenetrable darkness. There was still a torch, but it could not have been kept lit. Then, like a child, I closed my eyes so as not to see all this darkness. After a fairly long time, the speed of our race redoubled. I noticed it by the reflection of the air on my face. The slope of the water was becoming excessive. I truly believe that we were no longer sliding. We were falling. I had the impression of an almost vertical fall. My uncle’s hand and Hans’s, clinging to my arms, held me firmly. Suddenly, after an inestimable time, I felt like a shock; The raft had not struck a hard body, but had suddenly stopped in its fall. A torrent of water, an immense column of liquid, fell on its surface. I was suffocated. I was drowning. However, this sudden flood did not last. In a few seconds I found myself in the open air, which I inhaled with full lungs. My uncle and Hans were squeezing my arm until it broke, and the raft was still carrying all three of us. Chapter 42. I suppose it must have been ten o’clock in the evening. The first of my senses to function after this last assault was the sense of hearing. I heard almost immediately, for it was an act of true hearing, I heard silence fall in the gallery, and succeed those roars which, for long hours, had filled my ears. Finally these words from my uncle reached me like a whisper: We are going up! —What do you mean? I cried. “Yes, we’re going up! We’re going up!” I stretched out my arm; I touched the wall; my hand was bleeding . We were going up with extreme speed. The torch! The torch!” cried the professor. Hans, not without difficulty, managed to light it, and, although the flame was bending from top to bottom, due to the upward movement, it threw out enough light to illuminate the whole scene. “That’s just what I thought,” said my uncle. “We are in a narrow well, which is not four fathoms in diameter. The water, having reached the bottom of the chasm, returns to its level and lifts us up with it.
” ” Yes.” “I don’t know, but we must be ready for any event. We are going up with a speed that I estimate at two fathoms per second, or one hundred and twenty fathoms per minute, or more than three and a half leagues per hour. At this rate, we’re going a long way.” —Yes, if nothing stops us, if this well has an outlet! But if it is blocked, if the air gradually compresses under the pressure of the water column, if we are going to be crushed! —Axel, replied the professor with great calm, the situation is almost hopeless, but there are some chances of salvation, and these are the ones I am examining. If at any moment we can perish, at any moment we can also be saved. Let us therefore be able to take advantage of the slightest circumstances. —But what can we do? —Restore our strength by eating. At these words, I looked at my uncle with a haggard eye. What I had not wanted to admit, it was finally necessary to say; Eat? I repeated. —Yes, without delay. The professor added a few words in Danish. Hans shook his head. What! cried my uncle, are our provisions lost? —Yes, here is what remains of food! A piece of dried meat for the three of us! My uncle looked at me, not wanting to understand my words. Well! I said, do you still believe that we can be saved? My question received no response. An hour passed. I began to feel a violent hunger. My companions were suffering too, and not one of us dared to touch this miserable remnant of food. However, we were still climbing rapidly; sometimes the air cut off our breath, like aeronauts whose ascent is too rapid. But if they experience a proportional cold as they rise in the atmospheric layers, we suffered an absolutely opposite effect. The heat increased in a disturbing way and must certainly have reached forty degrees. What did such a change mean? Until then, the facts had proven the theories of Davy and Lidenbrock right; until then, particular conditions of refractory rocks, electricity, magnetism had modified the general laws of nature, giving us a moderate temperature, because the theory of the central fire remained, in my eyes, the only true one, the only one explicable. Were we then going to return to an environment where these phenomena were accomplished in all their rigor and in which the heat reduced the rocks to a complete state of fusion? I feared it, and I said to the professor: If we are not drowned or broken, if we do not die of hunger, there is still the chance of being burned alive. He simply shrugged his shoulders and fell back into his thoughts. An hour passed. And, except for a slight increase in temperature, no incident modified the situation. Finally my uncle broke the silence. Come, he said, we must make a decision. “Make a decision?” I replied. “Yes. We must restore our strength; if we try, by sparing this remaining food, to prolong our existence by a few hours, we will be weak until the end. ” “Yes, until the end, which will not be long in coming. ” “Well! that a chance of salvation presents itself, that a moment of action is necessary, where will we find the strength to act, if we allow ourselves to be weakened by starvation? —Hey! Uncle, this piece of meat devoured, what will remain for us? —Nothing, Axel, nothing; but will it nourish you more by eating it with your eyes? You are reasoning like a man without will, like a being without energy! —Aren’t you then despairing? I cried irritably. —No! replied the professor firmly. —What! You still believe in some chance of salvation? —Yes! Certainly yes! And as long as his heart beats, as long as his flesh palpitates, I do not admit that a being endowed with will should leave room for despair within him. What words! The man who uttered them in such circumstances was certainly of an uncommon stamp. Finally, I said, what do you intend to do? —Eat what remains of food down to the last crumb and restore our lost strength. This meal will be our last, so be it! But at least, instead of being exhausted, we will have become whole again. —Well! let’s devour! I cried. My uncle took the piece of meat and the few biscuits that had escaped from the shipwreck; he made three equal portions and distributed them. This made about a pound of food for each one. The professor ate greedily, with a sort of feverish passion; I, without pleasure, despite my hunger, and almost with disgust; Hans, quietly, moderately, chewing little mouthfuls without noise and savoring them with the calm of a man whom worries about the future could not disturb. He had, by searching carefully, found a flask half full of gin; he offered it to us, and this beneficial liqueur had the strength to revive me a little. Förträfflig! said Hans, drinking in his turn. —Excellent! replied my uncle. I had regained some hope. But our last meal had just been finished. It was then five o’clock in the morning. Man is so made that his health is a purely negative effect; once the need to eat is satisfied, one imagines The horrors of hunger are difficult to overcome; one must experience them to understand them. So, after a long fast, a few mouthfuls of biscuit and meat triumphed over our past pains. However, after this meal, everyone gave way to their own reflections. What was Hans thinking, this man from the far West, dominated by the fatalistic resignation of the Orientals? For my part, my thoughts were made up only of memories, and these brought me back to the surface of this globe that I should never have left. The house on König-strasse, my poor Graüben, good Martha, passed like visions before my eyes, and, in the mournful rumblings that ran through the massif, I thought I overheard the noise of the cities of the earth. As for my uncle, always at his business, torch in hand, he carefully examined the nature of the terrain; he sought to recognize his situation by observing the superimposed layers. This calculation, or rather this estimate, could only be very approximate; but a scholar is always a scholar when he manages to keep his cool, and certainly, Professor Lidenbrock possessed this quality to an unusual degree . I heard him murmur words of geological science; I understood them, and I was interested in spite of myself in this supreme study. Eruptive granite, he said; we are still in the primitive era; but we are rising! We are rising! Who knows? Who knows? He was still hoping. With his hand he felt the vertical wall, and, a few moments later, he continued thus: There are the gneisses! There are the mica schists! Good! Soon the terrains of the transitional era, and then… What did the professor mean? Could he measure the thickness of the earth’s crust suspended over our heads? Did he possess any means of making this calculation? No. The manometer was missing, and no amount of esteem could replace it. Meanwhile, the temperature increased considerably , and I felt myself bathed in a burning atmosphere. I could only compare it to the heat given off by the furnaces of a foundry at casting time. Little by little, Hans, my uncle , and I had to take off our jackets and vests; the slightest item of clothing became a cause of discomfort, not to say suffering. Are we then going up to a burning hearth? I cried, at a moment when the heat was redoubled. “No,” replied my uncle, “it’s impossible! It’s impossible! ” “However,” I said, feeling the wall, “this wall is burning hot! ” At the moment I uttered these words, my hand having brushed the water, I had to withdraw it as quickly as possible. The water is burning hot! I cried. The professor, this time, only responded with an angry gesture. Then an invincible terror seized my brain and never left it. I had the feeling of an imminent catastrophe, such as the most audacious imagination could not have conceived. An idea, at first vague and uncertain, was changing into certainty in my mind. I rejected it, but it returned obstinately. I did not dare to formulate it. However, some involuntary observations determined my conviction; by the doubtful light of the torch, I noticed disordered movements in the granite layers; a phenomenon was evidently going to occur, in which electricity played a part; then this excessive heat, this bubbling water!… I resolved to observe the compass. It was frantic! Chapter 43. Yes, frantic! The needle jumped from one pole to the other with sudden jerks, ran through all the points of the dial, and turned, as if it had been seized with vertigo. I knew well that, according to the most accepted theories, the mineral crust of the globe is never in a state of rest. absolute; the modifications brought about by the decomposition of internal matter, the agitation coming from the great liquid currents, the action of magnetism, tend to shake it incessantly, even though the beings scattered on its surface do not suspect its agitation. This phenomenon would not have frightened me otherwise, or at least it would not have given birth to a terrible idea in my mind. But other facts, certain details sui generis, could not deceive me any longer; the detonations multiplied with a frightening intensity; I could only compare them to the noise that a large number of carts would make being driven quickly on the pavement. It was a continuous thunder. Then, the frantic compass, shaken by the electrical phenomena, confirmed me in my opinion; The mineral crust threatened to break, the granite massifs to join, the fissure to fill, the void to fill, and we, poor atoms, were going to be crushed in this formidable embrace. My uncle, my uncle! I cried, we are lost! “What is this new terror?” he answered me with surprising calm. “What is the matter with you? ” “What is the matter with me! Observe these walls that are stirring, this massif that is dislocating, this torrid heat, this boiling water, these vapors that are thickening, this mad needle, all the signs of an earthquake!” My uncle gently shook his head. “An earthquake?” he said. “Yes! ” “My boy, I think you are mistaken! ” “What! You don’t recognize these symptoms? ” “Of an earthquake? No! I expect better than that! ” “What do you mean? ” “An eruption, Axel. ” “An eruption!” I said; we are in the chimney of an active volcano! —I think so, said the professor, smiling, and that is the happiest thing that can happen to us! Happiest! Had my uncle gone mad? What did those words mean? Why this calm and this smile? What! I cried, we are caught in an eruption! Fate has thrown us into the path of incandescent lava, burning rocks, bubbling waters, all eruptive materials! We are going to be pushed back, expelled, rejected, vomited, launched into the air with the fragments of rock, the rains of ashes and scoria, in a whirlwind of flames! and that is the happiest thing that can happen to us! —Yes, replied the professor, looking at me over his glasses, because it is the only chance we have of returning to the surface of the earth! I quickly pass over the thousand ideas that crossed my brain. My uncle was right, absolutely right, and he never seemed to me more audacious or more convinced than at this moment, when he waited and calmly calculated the chances of an eruption. However, we continued to climb; the night passed in this upward movement; the surrounding noise redoubled; I was almost suffocated, I thought I was approaching my last hour, and yet, the imagination is so bizarre, that I gave myself over to a truly childish search. But I submitted to my thoughts, I did not dominate them! It was obvious that we were thrown up by an eruptive thrust; under the raft, there were bubbling waters, and under these waters a whole paste of lava, an aggregate of rocks which, at the top of the crater, would disperse in all directions. We were therefore in the chimney of a volcano. No doubt about that . But this time, instead of Sneffels, an extinct volcano, it was a volcano in full activity. So I wondered what this mountain could be and to what part of the world we were going to be expelled. In the northern regions, there was no doubt. Before his panics, the compass had never varied at this regard. From Cape Saknussemm, we had been carried directly north for hundreds of leagues. Now, had we returned under Iceland? Were we to be thrown back by the crater of Hecla or by those of the seven other fire-bearing mountains of the island? Within a radius of 500 leagues, to the west, I saw below this parallel only the little-known volcanoes of the northwest coast of America. In the east, only one existed below the eightieth degree of latitude, Esk, on the island of John Mayen, not far from Spitsbergen! Certainly, there was no shortage of craters , and they were large enough to vomit out an entire army! But which one would serve as our exit, that was what I tried to guess. Towards morning, the upward movement accelerated. If the
heat increased, instead of diminishing, as we approached the surface of the globe, it was entirely local and due to a volcanic influence. Our mode of locomotion could no longer leave me in any doubt; an enormous force, a force of several hundred atmospheres, produced by the vapors accumulated in the bosom of the earth, was pushing us irresistibly. But to what innumerable dangers it exposed us! Soon tawny reflections penetrated the vertical gallery which widened; I perceived on the right and left deep corridors similar to immense tunnels from which thick vapors escaped; tongues of flame licked the walls, sparkling. See! see, uncle! I cried. “Well! they are sulphurous flames. Nothing more natural in an eruption. ” “But what if they envelop us? ” “They will not envelop us.” —But what if we suffocate? —We won’t; the tunnel is widening, and if necessary, we’ll abandon the raft to take shelter in some crevasse. —And the water! And the rising water? —There’s no more water, Axel, but a sort of lava paste that lifts us with it to the mouth of the crater. The liquid column had indeed disappeared to make way for fairly dense, though bubbling, eruptive matter. The temperature was becoming unbearable, and a thermometer exposed in this atmosphere would have registered more than seventy degrees! I was drenched in sweat. Without the rapidity of the ascent, we would certainly have been suffocated. However, the professor did not follow up on his suggestion to abandon the raft, and he was right. These few badly joined beams offered a solid surface, a point of support that we would have lacked everywhere else. Around eight o’clock in the morning, a new incident occurred for the first time. The upward movement suddenly ceased. The raft remained absolutely motionless. What is it? I asked, shaken by this sudden stoppage as if by a shock. “A halt,” replied my uncle. “Is it the eruption calming down? ” “I hope not.” I got up. I tried to look around me. Perhaps the raft, stopped by a projection of rock, was offering a momentary resistance to the eruptive mass. In that case, it was necessary to hasten to free it as quickly as possible. This was not the case. The column of ashes, scoria, and stony debris had itself stopped rising. Would the eruption stop? I cried. “Ah!” said my uncle through clenched teeth, “you fear it, my boy; But rest assured, this moment of calm cannot last; it has already lasted five minutes, and before long we will resume our ascent towards the mouth of the crater. The professor, while speaking thus, did not cease consulting his chronometer, and he must have been right again in his predictions. Soon the raft was again subjected to a rapid and disorderly movement which lasted about two minutes, and it stopped new. Good, said my uncle, looking at the time, in ten minutes it will be moving again. —Ten minutes? —Yes. We are dealing with a volcano whose eruption is intermittent. It lets us breathe with it. Nothing could be truer. At the assigned minute, we were launched again with extreme rapidity; we had to cling to the beams to avoid being thrown out of the raft. Then the thrust stopped. Since then, I have reflected on this singular phenomenon without finding a satisfactory explanation. However, it seems obvious to me that we were not occupying the main chimney of the volcano, but rather an accessory conduit, where a counter-blow effect was felt . How many times this maneuver was repeated, I cannot say; all I can affirm is that each time the movement resumed, we were launched with increasing force and as if carried away by a real projectile. During the moments of halt, we were suffocated; During the moments of projection, the burning air took my breath away. I thought for a moment of the pleasure of suddenly finding myself in the hyperborean regions in a cold of thirty degrees below zero. My overexcited imagination wandered over the snowy plains of the Arctic countries, and I longed for the moment when I would roll on the icy carpets of the pole! Little by little, moreover, my head, broken by these repeated jolts, was lost. Without Hans’s arms, more than once I would have broken my skull against the granite wall. I therefore have retained no precise memory of what happened during the following hours. I have the confused feeling of continuous detonations, of the agitation of the massif, of a gyratory movement which took the raft. It undulated on waves of lava, in the middle of a rain of ashes. The roaring flames enveloped it. A hurricane that seemed to have been driven out by an immense fan was stirring up the subterranean fires. One last time, Hans’s face appeared to me in a reflection of fire, and I no longer had any other feeling than that sinister terror of the condemned tied to the mouth of a cannon, at the moment when the shot is fired and scatters their limbs in the air. Chapter 44. When I opened my eyes again, I felt myself tightened around the belt by the guide’s strong hand. With the other hand he was supporting my uncle. I was not seriously wounded, but rather broken by a general stiffness. I saw myself lying on the slope of a mountain, two steps from a chasm into which the slightest movement would have thrown me. Hans had saved me from death, while I was rolling on the sides of the crater. Where are we? asked my uncle, who seemed very irritated to have returned to earth. The hunter shrugged his shoulders in ignorance. ” In Iceland?” I said. “Nej,” replied Hans. “What! No!” cried the professor. “Hans is mistaken,” I said, rising. After the countless surprises of this journey, one more stupefaction was in store for us. I expected to see a cone covered with eternal snow, in the midst of the arid deserts of the northern regions, under the pale rays of a polar sky, beyond the highest latitudes, and, contrary to all these predictions, my uncle, the Icelander, and I were lying halfway up the slope of a mountain scorched by the ardor of the sun that devoured us with its fire. I did not want to believe my eyes; but the real cooking to which my body was subjected left no doubt. We had emerged half-naked from the crater, and the radiant star, from which we had asked nothing for two months, showed itself to be lavish in light and heat towards us and poured down a splendid irradiation in torrents. When my eyes were accustomed to this brilliance to which they had Having lost the habit, I used them to correct the errors of my imagination. At the very least, I wanted to be in Spitsbergen, and I was not in the mood to give up easily. The professor had spoken first, and said: Indeed, this does not resemble Iceland. “But the island of Jan Mayen?” I replied. “No more, my boy. This is not a northern volcano, with its granite hills and its snow cap. ” “However… Look. Axel, look! Above our heads, at most five hundred feet, the crater of a volcano opened from which escaped, every quarter of an hour, with a very loud detonation, a tall column of flames, mixed with pumice, ash and lava. I felt the convulsions of the mountain, which breathed like whales, and from time to time ejected fire and air through its enormous vents. Below, and by a rather steep slope, the sheets of eruptive matter extended to a depth of seven to eight hundred feet, which did not give the volcano a height of one hundred fathoms. Its base disappeared into a veritable basket of green trees; among which I distinguished olive trees, fig trees, and vines laden with crimson clusters. This was not the appearance of the Arctic regions, it had to be admitted. When the gaze crossed this verdant enclosure, it quickly arrived at being lost in the waters of a wonderful sea or a lake, which made of this enchanted land an island barely a few leagues wide. To the east, a small port could be seen, preceded by a few houses, and in which ships of a particular shape swayed to the undulations of the blue waves. Beyond, groups of islets emerged from the liquid plain, so numerous that they resembled a vast anthill. Towards the west, distant coasts rounded the horizon; on some, blue mountains of harmonious conformation were outlined; on others, more distant, appeared a prodigiously high cone, at the summit of which a plume of smoke stirred. In the north, an immense expanse of water sparkled in the sun’s rays, revealing here and there the tip of a mast or the convexity of a sail billowing in the wind. The unexpectedness of such a spectacle increased its marvelous beauty a hundredfold. Where are we? Where are we? I repeated in a low voice. Hans closed his eyes indifferently, and my uncle looked on without understanding. Whatever this mountain is, he said finally, it is a little hot there; the explosions do not stop, and it would really not be worth having just come out of an eruption to have a piece of rock fall on your head. Let us go down, and we will know what to expect. Besides, I am dying of hunger and thirst. The professor was definitely not a contemplative spirit. For my part, forgetting the need and the fatigue, I would have remained in this place for many hours more, but I had to follow my companions. The slope of the volcano offered very steep slopes; we slid into veritable pits of ash, avoiding the streams of lava which stretched out like serpents of fire. As we descended, I chatted volubly, for my imagination was too full not to go off in words. We are in Asia, I cried, on the coast of India, in the Malay Islands, in the heart of Oceania! We have crossed half the globe to end up at the antipodes of Europe. “But the compass?” replied my uncle. “Yes! the compass!” I said with an embarrassed air. “According to her, we have always been heading north. ” “Then she lied? ” “Oh! lied! ” “Unless this is the North Pole! ” “The pole! No; but…” There was something inexplicable there. I didn’t know what to imagine. Meanwhile, we were getting closer to this greenery, which was a pleasure to see. Hunger tormented me, and thirst too. Fortunately, after two hours of walking, a pretty countryside opened up before our eyes, entirely covered with olive trees, pomegranate trees, and vines that seemed to belong to everyone . Besides, in our destitution, we were not people to look so closely. What a joy it was to press these delicious fruits to our lips and bite into the full bunches of these vermilion vines! Not far away, in the grass, in the delicious shade of the trees, I discovered a spring of fresh water, into which our faces and hands plunged voluptuously. While everyone was thus abandoning themselves to all the sweetness of rest, a child appeared between two clumps of olive trees. Ah! I cried, an inhabitant of this happy country! He was a sort of poor little fellow, very miserably dressed, quite sickly, and our appearance seemed to frighten him greatly; indeed, half-naked, with our unkempt beards, we looked very bad, and, unless this country was a land of thieves, we were made in such a way as to frighten its inhabitants. Just as the boy was about to run away, Hans ran after him and brought him back, despite his shouts and kicks. My uncle began by reassuring him as best he could and said to him in good German: What is the name of this mountain, my little friend? The child did not answer. Well, said my uncle, we are not in Germany. And he repeated the same question in English. The child did not answer either. I was very intrigued. Is he mute then? cried the professor, who, very proud of his polyglotism, repeated the same question in French. Same silence from the child. Then let’s try Italian, my uncle continued; and he said in that language: Dove noi siamo? —Yes! Where are we? I repeated impatiently. The child not to answer. Oh, will you speak? cried my uncle, who was beginning to get angry, and who shook the child by the ears. Come si noma, questa isola? —Stromboli, replied the little shepherd, who escaped from Hans’s hands and reached the plain through the olive trees. We hardly thought of him! Stromboli! What an effect this unexpected name produced on my imagination! We were in the middle of the Mediterranean, in the middle of the Aeolian archipelago of mythological memory, in the ancient Strongyle, where Aeolus held the winds and storms in a chain. And these blue mountains which rounded in the east were the mountains of Calabria! And that volcano rising on the southern horizon, Etna, fierce Etna itself. Stromboli! Stromboli! I repeated. My uncle accompanied me with his gestures and his words. We seemed to be singing a choir! Ah! what a journey! What a marvelous journey! Having entered by one volcano, we had left by another, and this other was located more than twelve hundred leagues from Sneffels, from this arid country of Iceland thrown to the ends of the earth! The hazards of this expedition had transported us to the heart of the most harmonious regions on earth! We had abandoned the region of eternal snows for that of infinite verdure and left above our heads the grayish fog of the icy zones to return to the azure sky of Sicily! After a delicious meal of fruit and fresh water, we set off again to reach the port of Stromboli. It did not seem prudent to us to say how we had arrived on the island: the superstitious spirit of the Italians would not have failed to see in us demons vomited from the bosom of hell; we had therefore to resign ourselves to passing for humble castaways. It was less glorious, but safer. On the way, I heard my uncle murmur: But the compass! The compass, which marked the north! How can this fact be explained? “My goodness!” I said with a great air of disdain, “it must not be explained, it is easier! ” “For example! A professor at the Johannaeum who could not find the reason for a cosmic phenomenon, that would be a disgrace! ” Speaking thus, my uncle, half-naked, his leather purse around his waist and his spectacles raised on his nose, became once again the terrible professor of mineralogy. An hour after leaving the olive grove, we arrived at the port of San Vicenzo, where Hans was claiming the prize for his thirteenth week of service, which was counted to him with warm handshakes. At that moment, if he did not share our very natural emotion, he at least gave way to an extraordinary movement of expansion. With the tips of his fingers he lightly pressed our two hands and began to smile. Chapter 45. This is the conclusion of a story that even those most accustomed to not being surprised by anything will refuse to believe. But I am already armored against human incredulity. We were received by the Stromboliot fishermen with the respect due to shipwrecked people. They gave us clothes and food. After waiting forty-eight hours, on August 31, a small speronare took us to Messina, where a few days of rest recovered from all our fatigue. On Friday, September 4, we embarked on board the Volturne, one of the mail steamers of the French imperial messengers, and three days later, we landed in Marseille, with only one concern in our minds, that of our cursed compass. This inexplicable fact did not cease to worry me very seriously. On the evening of September 9, we arrived in Hamburg. What was Marthe’s astonishment, what was Graüben’s joy, I refuse to describe. Now that you are a hero, my dear fiancée told me, you will never need to leave me again, Axel! I looked at her. She was crying and smiling. I leave it to one to imagine whether Professor Lidenbrock’s return caused a sensation in Hamburg. Thanks to Marthe’s indiscretions, the news of his departure for the center of the earth had spread throughout the world. They did not want to believe it, and, upon seeing him again, they did not believe it either. However, the presence of Hans, and various reports from Iceland gradually changed public opinion. Then my uncle became a great man, and I, the nephew of a great man, which is already something. Hamburg gave a party in our honor. A public session was held at the Johannaeum, where the professor recounted his expedition and omitted only the facts relating to the compass. That same day, he deposited Saknussemm’s document in the city archives, and he expressed his deep regret that circumstances, stronger than his will, had not allowed him to follow the Icelandic traveler’s footsteps to the center of the earth. He was modest in his glory, and his reputation grew as a result. Such honor was bound to arouse envy. He had some, and, as his theories, supported by certain facts , contradicted the systems of science on the question of central fire, he sustained by pen and by word remarkable discussions with scholars of all countries. For my part, I cannot accept his theory of cooling: in spite of what I have seen, I believe and I will always believe in central heat; but I admit that certain circumstances still ill-defined can modify this law under the action of natural phenomena. At the time when these questions were palpitating, my uncle experienced real sorrow. Hans, despite his insistence, had left Hamburg; the man to whom we owed everything would not let us pay him our debt. He was overcome by nostalgia for Iceland. Färval, he said one day, and with this simple farewell, he left for Reykjavik, where he arrived happily. We were singularly attached to our brave eider hunter; his absence will never make him forgotten by those whose lives he saved, and certainly I will not die without having seen him one last time. To conclude, I must add that this Journey to the Center of the Earth caused an enormous sensation in the world. It was printed and translated into all languages; the most accredited newspapers fought over the principal episodes, which were commented on, discussed, attacked, and supported with equal conviction in the camp of believers and unbelievers. A rare thing! My uncle enjoyed all the glory he had acquired during his lifetime, and even Mr. Barnum offered to exhibit it at a very high price in the States of the Union. But a boredom, let us even say a torment, crept into the midst of this glory. One fact remained inexplicable, that of the compass. Now, for a scholar such an unexplained phenomenon becomes a torture of the intellect. Well! Heaven had in store for my uncle to be completely happy. One day, while arranging a collection of minerals in his study, I noticed this famous compass and I began to observe. For six months it had been there, in its corner, without suspecting the trouble it was causing. Suddenly, what was my astonishment! I gave a cry. The professor ran up. What is it then? he asked. “This compass!…” “Well? ” “But its needle points south and not north! ” “What are you saying? ” “See! Its poles have changed. ” “Changed!” My uncle looked, compared, and made the house tremble with a superb leap. What a light illuminated both his mind and mine! So, he cried, as soon as he regained his speech, after our arrival at Cape Saknussemm, the needle of this damned compass pointed south instead of north? —Obviously. —Our error is then explained. But what phenomenon could have produced this reversal of the poles? —Nothing could be simpler. —Explain yourself, my boy, —During the storm, on the Lidenbrock Sea, this ball of fire, which magnetized the iron of the raft, had quite simply disoriented our compass! —Ah! cried the professor, bursting into laughter, so it was a trick of electricity? From that day on, my uncle was the happiest of scientists, and I the happiest of men, for my pretty Virlandaise, abdicating her position as ward, took up residence in the house on König-strasse in the dual capacity of niece and wife. Needless to say, her uncle was the illustrious Professor Otto Lidenbrock, a corresponding member of all the Scientific, Geographical, and Mineralogical Societies in the five parts of the world. At the end of this incredible adventure, Professor Lidenbrock and Axel discovered that the limits of science and exploration were not as rigid as they seemed. Their journey to the center of the Earth will be remembered as an unparalleled feat . Thank you for following this thrilling adventure, and don’t forget to subscribe for more fascinating stories.
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