A Journey to the Center of the Earth.

by Jules Verne.

Introduction.

Traveling to the center of the Earth would involve a downward trip of about 4,000 miles that would cut through the Earth's crust and its mostly solid, rocky mantle into a liquid core of iron alloy, then end at a solid inner core of iron and nickel. Pressure and temperature would rise with increasing depth, and temperatures would reach about 10,300 degrees Fahrenheit at the Earth's center-hardly a climate that many geo-tourists would enjoy! Much of this knowledge about the geophysical structure of the Earth was acquired in the course of the twentieth century, long after Jules Verne published Journey to the Center of the Earth. Journey to the Center of the Earth. In 1864, when the book appeared, different hypotheses about the nature of the Earth competed with each other. Even then, though, in light of any of the contemporary scientific theories, a journey to the Earth's core belonged to the realm of the fantastic. Why then did Verne, who was intensely interested in the science and technology of his day, choose this idea as the founding a.s.sumption of what was to become one of his most famous novels? And why is this journey undertaken not by a dreamer or a madman, but by a hard-core scientist, a professor of mineralogy and geology who is thoroughly familiar with the scientific debates of his time? In 1864, when the book appeared, different hypotheses about the nature of the Earth competed with each other. Even then, though, in light of any of the contemporary scientific theories, a journey to the Earth's core belonged to the realm of the fantastic. Why then did Verne, who was intensely interested in the science and technology of his day, choose this idea as the founding a.s.sumption of what was to become one of his most famous novels? And why is this journey undertaken not by a dreamer or a madman, but by a hard-core scientist, a professor of mineralogy and geology who is thoroughly familiar with the scientific debates of his time?

For a reader who first encounters Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth at the beginning of the twenty-first century, the enthusiasm of Professor Otto Lidenbrock, his nephew Axel, and even Lidenbrock's G.o.ddaughter Grauben for mineralogical specimens and geological theories may seem nothing short of eccentric. After Alfred Wegener's theory of continental drift-originally proposed in the 1920s-had been generally accepted in the 1960s, geology disappeared from public awareness as a science that could bring about exciting new discoveries and theories. But in the middle of the nineteenth century, geology was a brand-new branch of knowledge rife with the opposing theories and opinions of some of the best minds of the day. Far from being an arcane branch of scientific knowledge of mostly academic interest, it touched upon the most basic questions of the origin of life and human beings and the nature of the very soil they walk upon. Not just scholars but public and religious authorities believed they had a vital stake in the outcome of geological controversies. at the beginning of the twenty-first century, the enthusiasm of Professor Otto Lidenbrock, his nephew Axel, and even Lidenbrock's G.o.ddaughter Grauben for mineralogical specimens and geological theories may seem nothing short of eccentric. After Alfred Wegener's theory of continental drift-originally proposed in the 1920s-had been generally accepted in the 1960s, geology disappeared from public awareness as a science that could bring about exciting new discoveries and theories. But in the middle of the nineteenth century, geology was a brand-new branch of knowledge rife with the opposing theories and opinions of some of the best minds of the day. Far from being an arcane branch of scientific knowledge of mostly academic interest, it touched upon the most basic questions of the origin of life and human beings and the nature of the very soil they walk upon. Not just scholars but public and religious authorities believed they had a vital stake in the outcome of geological controversies.

As a scientific discipline, geology had in fact only come into being in the first half of the nineteenth century. Before that, mineralogists had been just about the only scientists to study the inanimate environment, conducting their investigation of the Earth most frequently in the context of French and German mining schools. Their study consisted of a mix of natural philosophy, theology, and the beginnings of empirical observation, without the benefit of an established academic framework. Abraham Gottlob Werner, a German professor at the Mining School of Freiberg in the late eighteenth century, combined the study of rock formations with the biblical account of Genesis. The Scottish naturalist, chemist, and geologist James Hutton opposed Werner's theories and grounded his own account of the development of the Earth on observable processes and on the principle of unifbrmitarianism-that is, the idea that the processes that had gone into the shaping of the Earth over immensely long periods of time had not fundamentally changed and could still account for geological development. Hutton's work was followed by that of Scottish geologist Charles Lyell, whose cla.s.sic book Principles of Geology, Principles of Geology, published in 1830, laid down the foundations of a new, empirically based science of the Earth. published in 1830, laid down the foundations of a new, empirically based science of the Earth.

But the Earth is so vast and all-encompa.s.sing that it often appeared complicated to infer its general operating principles from the processes observable in one particular place. Indeed, huge areas of geology-the 70 percent of the Earth's surface that is under water, as well as its interior-are simply inaccessible to direct human observation. (Lyell once joked that an amphibious observer who could inhabit both land and sea would be a more suitable geologist than a human being.) For these reasons, divergent theories about the nature of the Earth continued to rage throughout the nineteenth century. While some scholars argued that the interior of the Earth had to be mostly liquid, with the solid ground a mere thin crust not unlike ice on lake water, others replied that on mathematical grounds the Earth could not be anything but for the most part solid. The age of the Earth was similarly subject to vastly divergent estimations, and this issue became part of the violent controversy over Darwin's theory of evolution in the 1850s and 1860s. Biological evolution occurs over immense periods of time, and in general, the development of the physical structure of the Earth over hundreds of thousands or even millions of years contradicts creationist accounts of a much shorter time span for the origins of the Earth.

In Verne's day, therefore, geological theories about the origin and gradual shaping of the Earth, along with biological insights into the evolution of life, were what genetic engineering and nanotechnology are for us today: innovative and exciting areas of scientific research that have a profound bearing on the way we think about our own ident.i.ty and experience our everyday lives. Verne's familiarity with these debates shows up in every chapter of Journey to the Center of the Earth, Journey to the Center of the Earth, which abounds in references to the leading scientific minds of his day, from naturalists and geologists such as Georges Cuvier to explorers such as Alexander von Humboldt and archaeologists such as Jacques Boucher de Perthes. Caught up in the evolving plot, a contemporary reader's attention might easily slide over such references unawares. But their presence is the equivalent of mentions of James Watson and Francis Crick, Stephen Hawking, or Bill Gates in a novel written today. which abounds in references to the leading scientific minds of his day, from naturalists and geologists such as Georges Cuvier to explorers such as Alexander von Humboldt and archaeologists such as Jacques Boucher de Perthes. Caught up in the evolving plot, a contemporary reader's attention might easily slide over such references unawares. But their presence is the equivalent of mentions of James Watson and Francis Crick, Stephen Hawking, or Bill Gates in a novel written today.

Verne's editor, Pierre-Jules Hetzel, claimed in a preface he wrote in 1866-just two years after the first publication of Journey to the Center of the Earth- Journey to the Center of the Earth-that Verne's novels were finally making a place for science in the domain of literature, and that Verne would eventually present all the knowledge of geography, geology, physics, and astronomy that modern science had acc.u.mulated. Verne himself once remarked to the French novelist Alexandre Dumas pere, "Just as you are the great chronicler of history, I shall become the chronicler of geography." It is not hard to see why an integration of scientific knowledge with compelling literary characters and plots would have proved an attractive mix both to the audience of Verne's own day and those of subsequent periods: It combines the heady excitement of techno-scientific innovation with the pleasures of narrative storytelling and the free flight of the imagination.

This combination of science and fantasy may explain why Verne did not stick with the serious scientific theories of his day, but included marginal and controversial notions, too, such as that of a hollow Earth. English astronomer Edmund Halley proposed the idea that the Earth is hollow in the late seventeenth century. Swiss mathematician Leonhard Euler pursued the theory in the eighteenth century, as did Americans John Cleves Symmes and Jeremiah Reynolds and Scottish mathematician Sir John Leslie in the nineteenth century. (Axel alludes to Symmes in chapter XXIX, mistakenly identifying him as English rather than American.) Such theories influenced not only Verne, but also other writers and were sporadically revived until the early twentieth century. Edgar Allan Poe's "Ma.n.u.script Found in a Bottle" and Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym and Edgar Rice Burroughs's At the and Edgar Rice Burroughs's At the Earth's Core Earth's Core and and Pellucidar Pellucidar are other examples. Yet by the time Verne published are other examples. Yet by the time Verne published Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth in 1864, hollow-Earth theories, while not entirely disproved, were not a central topic of debate among leading scientists. in 1864, hollow-Earth theories, while not entirely disproved, were not a central topic of debate among leading scientists.

Verne, famous for his extensive and meticulous note taking, was surely not unaware of this fact; what led him to use the idea of a hollow Earth as the foundation for his novel was no doubt the way in which the notion allowed him to tie scientific exploration into some of the oldest and most significant motifs of the Western literary tradition. On the surface, the plot of Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth seems relatively straightforward: Lidenbrock and his nephew by sheer coincidence discover an ancient cryptogram that points to the bottom of an Icelandic volcano as the entryway to a pa.s.sage that will eventually lead to the Earth's core. Axel prefers the safety of life above ground and is reluctant to leave his fiancee, the professor's G.o.ddaughter Grauben, but Lidenbrock becomes obsessed with the idea of retracing the steps of his ill.u.s.trious predecessor, the sixteenth-century Icelandic scholar Arne Saknussemm, [...] to the center of the Earth. Lidenbrock, Axel, and their Icelandic guide Hans penetrate deep beneath the Earth's crust, where they discover an alternative world of plants, animals, and even human beings that have long gone extinct on the surface, and return to ground level through another volcano. Although this plot may at first appear to be quite linear, it derives much of its narrative force from the way in which it invokes some of the founding stories of Western culture: the quest narrative, the descent to the underworld, and the initiatory voyage. seems relatively straightforward: Lidenbrock and his nephew by sheer coincidence discover an ancient cryptogram that points to the bottom of an Icelandic volcano as the entryway to a pa.s.sage that will eventually lead to the Earth's core. Axel prefers the safety of life above ground and is reluctant to leave his fiancee, the professor's G.o.ddaughter Grauben, but Lidenbrock becomes obsessed with the idea of retracing the steps of his ill.u.s.trious predecessor, the sixteenth-century Icelandic scholar Arne Saknussemm, [...] to the center of the Earth. Lidenbrock, Axel, and their Icelandic guide Hans penetrate deep beneath the Earth's crust, where they discover an alternative world of plants, animals, and even human beings that have long gone extinct on the surface, and return to ground level through another volcano. Although this plot may at first appear to be quite linear, it derives much of its narrative force from the way in which it invokes some of the founding stories of Western culture: the quest narrative, the descent to the underworld, and the initiatory voyage.

Professor Otto Lidenbrock is without any doubt a prime example of a hero on a quest so urgent that no one and nothing can stop it. His obstinacy in reaching the center of the Earth in spite of seemingly insurmountable obstacles puts him in the company of other literary figures whom we remember princ.i.p.ally because of their overriding obsession with a single project: Jules Verne's own Captain Nemo from Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea and Phileas Fogg from and Phileas Fogg from Around the World in Eighty Days Around the World in Eighty Days provide the most obvious parallels, but one is also reminded of Captain Ahab, the protagonist of Herman Melville's provide the most obvious parallels, but one is also reminded of Captain Ahab, the protagonist of Herman Melville's Moby-d.i.c.k. Moby-d.i.c.k. While these may well be more complex characters, Lidenbrock shares with them their stubborn single-mindedness, their iron determination, and the reckless imposition of their will on others who have no desire to take part in the pursuit but are dragged along regardless. Even seen through Axel's reluctant eyes, however, Uncle Lidenbrock remains likable: His personal foibles, which Axel dwells on with a mix of gentle malice and affection, make him a more human figure than Nemo or Ahab, and the novel leaves us in no doubt that Lidenbrock is genuinely attached to his nephew and his ward Grauben-though his concern for them will never in the end deter him from his quest for knowledge. While these may well be more complex characters, Lidenbrock shares with them their stubborn single-mindedness, their iron determination, and the reckless imposition of their will on others who have no desire to take part in the pursuit but are dragged along regardless. Even seen through Axel's reluctant eyes, however, Uncle Lidenbrock remains likable: His personal foibles, which Axel dwells on with a mix of gentle malice and affection, make him a more human figure than Nemo or Ahab, and the novel leaves us in no doubt that Lidenbrock is genuinely attached to his nephew and his ward Grauben-though his concern for them will never in the end deter him from his quest for knowledge.

While there is no doubt something cliched about this portrait of the fierce scientist with the warm heart under his crust of social brusqueness, it is Lidenbrock's enthusiasm and determination in the pursuit of science that gives the novel much of its propulsive energy (as literary critics have pointed out, his temper is compared to volcanic eruptions and electric discharges long before his expedition actually encounters these phenomena in their literal shape). Yet it is curious that Lidenbrock's scientific obsession is not presented as a quest for genuine innovation and original discovery, but rather as the repet.i.tion of a project that was already executed by someone else centuries earlier. The discovery of sixteenth-century scholar Arne Saknussemm's ma.n.u.script certainly strikes a familiar note, as ancient books or maps and lost ma.n.u.scripts written in secret codes play a crucial role in many nineteenth- and twentieth-century adventure romances. But here, the discovery turns the journey into the realm of the unknown into a simultaneous quest for the traces left by the historic predecessor; the search for the new combines with an attempt to reconnect with the past. These two time vectors in Lidenbrock's voyage point to two quite different conceptions of history: on one hand, the idea of progress and its a.s.sociation with the increase of scientific knowledge, and on the other hand, the idea of a heroic past in which great men accomplished tasks that are difficult to repeat for ordinary individuals of the modern age. The ultimate outcome of Lidenbrock's quest should be seen in light of this tension between different perspectives on the relationship of modern society to its past and future.

But whatever the philosophical implications of the professor's expedition into the unknown may be, the reader's attraction to following the journey lies above all in the abundance of physical detail that Verne provides. Whether the expedition's goal is reached or not soon seems less important than the marvelous details that unfold before the travelers' eyes. As the famous science-fiction writer Isaac Asimov has shrewdly noted, the scientific implausibility of humans penetrating deep into the Earth's mantle despite increasing heat and pressure is compensated by Verne's emphasis on precise details. From the meticulous attention paid to the tools and instruments the expedition requires to the narrator's lovingly detailed descriptions of the physical features of each geological layer they encounter, Verne's writing bewitches the reader with its insistence on the wonders of sheer materiality. He writes of the ingenuity of Ruhmkorff lamps with as much devotion as he describes the colored striations of marble in underground tunnels and the festive scintillations of light falling on thousands of bits of crystal and quartz embedded in walls and vaults of rock. Of course, this intense physical presence of nature is not always inviting for the characters: Steep vertical slopes, regions without a drop of water, heat, fierce storms, and darkness so absolute as to be almost palpable endanger the travelers, just as the primeval magnificence of the subterranean landscapes delights them. But whether it is splendid or menacing, the physicality of the environment in Verne's novel holds the reader spellbound.

At the same time, Verne a.s.sociates the materiality of the Earth with symbolic and metaphoric dimensions that may be quite familiar to the reader. Some of the most influential texts of the Western cultural tradition, from Homer's Odyssey Odyssey and Virgil's and Virgil's Aeneid Aeneid to Dante's to Dante's Divine Comedy, Divine Comedy, prominently feature the protagonist's descent into the underworld, the realm of the dead, as an important part of his social and spiritual development. Usually, the point of this voyage to the underworld is to confront deceased individuals whom he used to know: parents, lovers, friends, or public figures from his own era, whose manner of death and afterlife are significant for his own course of life and contribute to a deeper understanding of his past and present. In prominently feature the protagonist's descent into the underworld, the realm of the dead, as an important part of his social and spiritual development. Usually, the point of this voyage to the underworld is to confront deceased individuals whom he used to know: parents, lovers, friends, or public figures from his own era, whose manner of death and afterlife are significant for his own course of life and contribute to a deeper understanding of his past and present. In Journey to the Center of the Earth, Journey to the Center of the Earth, this confrontation with death and desolation starts long before the protagonists descend into the crater of the Snaefells volcano; fully a third of the novel is taken up with the description of their journey toward and across Iceland. This part of the trip takes the expedition through a magnificently portrayed wasteland of cold, solitude, and poverty where plants, animals, and humans are barely able to survive and shadowy lepers scurry away at the travelers' approach. The impoverished Icelanders, portrayed as almost congenitally p.r.o.ne to silence and stolid acceptance of extreme adversity, sometimes seem to form part of an all-encompa.s.sing landscape of rock, ice, and steam more than of human society as we usually conceive it. All of these elements already suggest that the protagonists have entered a netherworld that will confront them with the bare essentials of their own existence. this confrontation with death and desolation starts long before the protagonists descend into the crater of the Snaefells volcano; fully a third of the novel is taken up with the description of their journey toward and across Iceland. This part of the trip takes the expedition through a magnificently portrayed wasteland of cold, solitude, and poverty where plants, animals, and humans are barely able to survive and shadowy lepers scurry away at the travelers' approach. The impoverished Icelanders, portrayed as almost congenitally p.r.o.ne to silence and stolid acceptance of extreme adversity, sometimes seem to form part of an all-encompa.s.sing landscape of rock, ice, and steam more than of human society as we usually conceive it. All of these elements already suggest that the protagonists have entered a netherworld that will confront them with the bare essentials of their own existence.

Once the travelers start descending below the surface of the Earth and move outside the boundaries of human society, their exploration turns into a temporal as much as a geographical journey. They discover a prehistoric world of gigantically sized plants and mushrooms, a realm not only of fossils and bones but also of living, breathing, and battling dinosaurs and other animals long extinct on the planet's surface. In large segments of two chapters (x.x.xVIII and x.x.xIX) that were not part of the novel when it was published in 1864, they even encounter predecessors of the human species itself. Verne added them in 1867 as a direct fictional transplantation of discoveries about Stone Age humans that the French archaeologist Jacques Boucher de Perthes made in the 1830s and 1840s, but which were only generally accepted in the late 1850s and early 1860s. They were the basis for his claim, revolutionary at the time, that not only fauna and flora but human beings themselves have a history that counts in the hundreds of thousands of years. When the members of the Lidenbrock expedition encounter such long-extinct humans living in a prehistoric natural environment, they are confronted not just with a personal or social past, but with ecological and biological history. Geological layers, therefore, function in the novel as metaphors for both collective cultural and scientific memory, and traversing these layers implies traveling back in time.

As a precursor of such present-day imaginary encounters with prehistoric flora and fauna as Steven Spielberg's film Jura.s.sic Park, Jura.s.sic Park, Verne's Verne's Journey Journey invites us to ask questions about how we remember, reconstruct, and invent the past and present of our biological surroundings. But while invites us to ask questions about how we remember, reconstruct, and invent the past and present of our biological surroundings. But while Jura.s.sic Park, Jura.s.sic Park, with its rampaging, man-eating dinosaurs, is ultimately intended as a warning about the excessive manipulation of nature by science and consumerism, the point in with its rampaging, man-eating dinosaurs, is ultimately intended as a warning about the excessive manipulation of nature by science and consumerism, the point in Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth is quite different. Professor Lidenbrock and his nephew also encounter dangerous dinosaurs-but they end up battling each other, not the intruding humans, and in fact don't even seem to notice them. Verne does not mean to show us a natural world pushed beyond its limits by humans and taking its revenge on them. Rather, he invites us to compare this visceral confrontation with a primeval natural world in the middle pages of the novel to the very different encounter with the natural that takes place at the beginning of the story, in the description of Professor Lidenbrock's scientific lectures and his work on carefully cla.s.sified mineralogical samples in his study. is quite different. Professor Lidenbrock and his nephew also encounter dangerous dinosaurs-but they end up battling each other, not the intruding humans, and in fact don't even seem to notice them. Verne does not mean to show us a natural world pushed beyond its limits by humans and taking its revenge on them. Rather, he invites us to compare this visceral confrontation with a primeval natural world in the middle pages of the novel to the very different encounter with the natural that takes place at the beginning of the story, in the description of Professor Lidenbrock's scientific lectures and his work on carefully cla.s.sified mineralogical samples in his study.

Lab work and field work, abstract taxonomies and concrete perception, a.n.a.lytical distance and lived immersion, the attempt to master nature intellectually and the way in which nature always offers more marvelous panoramas than the human mind can grasp-these are the juxtapositions upon which the novel hinges. It doesn't seem that Verne wants his readers to value one over the other. Verne has quite a bit of fun at Professor Lidenbrock's expense, through narrator Axel's bemused and sometimes sarcastic comments about his pedantry, but the more visceral encounter with nature would never have taken place were it not for Lidenbrock's pa.s.sion for abstruse old books and ma.n.u.scripts, by means of which he discovers the pa.s.sage into the interior of the globe. Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth highlights both dimensions of the scientific enterprise, emphasizing their tensions but also their inevitable conjunction in the quest for more and better knowledge. highlights both dimensions of the scientific enterprise, emphasizing their tensions but also their inevitable conjunction in the quest for more and better knowledge.

So the journey to the underworld, while it breathes new life into an ancient literary motif, also serves as a framework for reflection on the much more recent problems of a scientific approach to the natural world and its history. In addition, it contrasts this scientific perspective of relentless inquisitorial rigor, which is exemplified by Professor Lidenbrock, with the more emotional, irrational, and sometimes visionary dimensions that his nephew Axel represents in the narrative. While Axel is a devoted scientist in his own right, he initially cares nothing about his uncle's expedition; his thoughts are more taken up with his love for Grauben than with the possible scientific benefits such a mission might bring. Younger, less experienced, and physically more frail than his uncle, Axel often reacts with dismay or despair to difficult situations that Lidenbrock and the Icelander Hans face with stolidity and optimism.

Yet it should be noted that it is Axel, not his uncle, who is able to solve the two intellectual puzzles that bookend the novel. At the beginning, Axel finds the key that breaks the code in Arne Saknussemm's cryptogram, and at the end, Axel discovers why the compa.s.s stopped functioning properly during the underground voyage. Clearly, then, there are scientific insights that are foreclosed to Professor Lidenbrock, not because of any intellectual weakness but because of his social and emotional inept.i.tude-his impatience, his eruptive temper, his disregard for erotic relations. Arriving at scientific truths, the novel seems to signal, requires not only technical expertise, which Lidenbrock certainly possesses, but also the kind of emotional warmth and visionary talent at which his nephew excels. Axel discovers the solution to Saknussemm's textual puzzle during a hallucinatory state of mind; and it is again during a hallucination that he has the most sweeping and most lyrical vision of time travel that the novel offers: I take up the telescope and scan the ocean.... I gaze upward in the air. Why should not some of the birds restored by the immortal Cuvier again flap their wings in these heavy atmospheric layers? The fish would provide them with sufficient food. I survey the whole s.p.a.ce, but the air is as uninhabited as the sh.o.r.e....Wide awake, I dream. I think I see enormous chelonians on the surface of the water, antediluvian turtles that resemble floating islands. Across the dimly lit beach walk the huge mammals of the first ages of the world, the leptotherium found in the caverns of Brazil, the mericotherium from the icy regions of Siberia. Farther on, the pachydermatous lophiodon, a giant tapir, hides behind the rocks, ready to fight for its prey with the anoplotherium, a strange animal that resembles the rhinoceros, the horse, the hippopotamus and the camel, as if the Creator, in too much of a hurry in the first hours of the world, had combined several animals into one. The giant mastodon curls his trunk, and smashes rocks on the sh.o.r.e with his tusks, while the megatherium, resting on its enormous paws, digs through the soil, its roars echoing sonorously off the granite rocks. Higher up, the protopithecus-the first monkey that appeared on the globe-climbs up the steep summits. Higher yet, the pterodactyl with its winged hand glides on the dense air like a large bat. In the uppermost layers, finally, immense birds, more powerful than the ca.s.sowary and larger than the ostrich, spread their vast wings and are about to strike their heads against the granite vault.All this fossil world is born again in my imagination. I travel back to the biblical age of the world, long before the advent of man, when the unfinished world was as yet insufficient to sustain him. My dream then goes back farther to the ages before the advent of living beings. The mammals disappear, then the birds, then the reptiles of the Secondary period, and finally the fish, the crustaceans, mollusks, and articulated beings. The zoophytes of the Transition period also return to nothingness. All the world's life is concentrated in me, and my heart is the only one that beats in this depopulated world. There are no more seasons; climates are no more; the heat of the globe continually increases and neutralizes that of the radiant star. Vegetation grows excessively. I glide like a shade amongst arborescent ferns, treading with unsteady feet the iridescent clay and the multicolored sand; I lean against the trunks of immense conifers; I lie in the shade of sphenophylla, asterophylla, and lycopods, a hundred feet tall.Centuries pa.s.s by like days! I move back through the series of terrestrial transformations. Plants disappear; granite rocks lose their purity; solids give way to liquids under the impact of increasing heat; water covers the surface of the globe; it boils, evaporates; steam envelops the earth, which gradually dissolves into a gaseous ma.s.s, white-hot, as large and radiant as the sun!In the midst of this nebula, fourteen hundred thousand times more voluminous than this globe that it will one day become, I am carried into planetary s.p.a.ces! My body subtilizes, sublimates itself in its turn and, like an imponderable atom, mingles with these immense vapors that follow their flaming orbits through infinite s.p.a.ce.What a dream! Where is it carrying me? My feverish hand sketches the strange details out on paper! I have forgotten everything, the professor, the guide, and the raft! A hallucination possesses my spirit (pp. 162-163).

It is, of course, noteworthy that this journey to the beginnings of the cosmos fictionalizes, in reverse time sequence, some of the chief scientific findings of Verne's era-the discovery of the enormous age of the Earth and Darwin's theory of evolution, which was published in 1859, just five years prior to Journey to the Center of the Earth. Journey to the Center of the Earth. It is also remarkable that Axel, in the throes of a properly scientific hallucination, loses the a.n.a.lytical distance that usually characterizes scientific work, and gradually shifts from normal scientific observation with a telescope to a visual imagination of nonexistent natural objects. He then places himself physically among these objects (leaning against the trunks of imaginary trees) and finally feels his body merge with the elementary forces of the cosmos in a climactic moment of transcendence. That such visionary states clearly cannot be sustained for long (Axel almost falls off the expedition's raft because of his hallucination!) does not diminish their importance for science as Verne represents it. Otto Lidenbrock, a man who pulls the leaves of plant seedlings to speed along their growth, is clearly incapable of the kind of surrender to nature that is spelled out in his nephew's vision, and this capability, in the novel, is an indispensable ingredient for a truly inspired and innovative scientific perspective. It is also remarkable that Axel, in the throes of a properly scientific hallucination, loses the a.n.a.lytical distance that usually characterizes scientific work, and gradually shifts from normal scientific observation with a telescope to a visual imagination of nonexistent natural objects. He then places himself physically among these objects (leaning against the trunks of imaginary trees) and finally feels his body merge with the elementary forces of the cosmos in a climactic moment of transcendence. That such visionary states clearly cannot be sustained for long (Axel almost falls off the expedition's raft because of his hallucination!) does not diminish their importance for science as Verne represents it. Otto Lidenbrock, a man who pulls the leaves of plant seedlings to speed along their growth, is clearly incapable of the kind of surrender to nature that is spelled out in his nephew's vision, and this capability, in the novel, is an indispensable ingredient for a truly inspired and innovative scientific perspective.

The enormous lyrical power of Axel's vision arises not only from what it tells us about Verne's understanding of science and its relationship to the natural world. It is also gripping because it forms part of what is clearly the initiation voyage of a young man who has still to learn how to occupy his position in the social and scientific realms. The vision occurs after Axel has already suffered two near-death experiences-he almost dies from thirst, and he gets lost and spends agonizing hours alone in complete darkness and despair. Axel's vision includes two very different bodily experiences: first, a concentration of all the biological life forces of the world in his body and the beating of his heart, then a complete dissolution of his body in its merger with the inanimate physical forces of the universe. Both, clearly, form part of an initiatory process during which the descent into the realm of death gradually metamorphoses into a physical, social, and perhaps spiritual rebirth.

The journey upward to the mouth of the volcanic crater that delivers the Lidenbrock expedition back to the world above ground amid an eruption of liquid rock is portrayed as a metaphorical rebirth that will in the end enable Axel to return home and marry the woman he has desired from the beginning of the novel. The superbly intelligent but stubborn and narrow-minded Lidenbrock, with his iron determination and implacable leadership, and the Icelandic guide Hans, with his loyalty, courage, and stoic acceptance of hardships and deprivations, serve as two different models of masculinity in relation to which Axel has to define his own ident.i.ty-without, of course, merely becoming a replica of either.

What makes Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth such a complex, fascinating, and influential work of literature, then, is its distinctive combination of the most advanced science of its day with more speculative approaches to knowledge and literary figures and plots that have had a long tradition and far-reaching influence in the Western tradition. This combination is characteristic of many of Verne's works. He developed this hallmark brand of narrative after studying law and spending his early years as an unsuccessful playwright-a dramatic legacy that is still obvious in the extended, skillfully handled dialogues between Lidenbrock and his nephew in such a complex, fascinating, and influential work of literature, then, is its distinctive combination of the most advanced science of its day with more speculative approaches to knowledge and literary figures and plots that have had a long tradition and far-reaching influence in the Western tradition. This combination is characteristic of many of Verne's works. He developed this hallmark brand of narrative after studying law and spending his early years as an unsuccessful playwright-a dramatic legacy that is still obvious in the extended, skillfully handled dialogues between Lidenbrock and his nephew in Journey to the Center of the Earth. Journey to the Center of the Earth. Verne is remembered princ.i.p.ally as one of the two nineteenth-century fathers of the science-fiction genre, along with the British author H. G. Wells-even though we should keep in mind that the term "science fiction" did not exist in Verne's and Wells's day. The term was coined in the 1920s, in the United States. The kind of novel Verne and Wells wrote in Europe in the late nineteenth century would have been called "scientific romance." Verne is remembered princ.i.p.ally as one of the two nineteenth-century fathers of the science-fiction genre, along with the British author H. G. Wells-even though we should keep in mind that the term "science fiction" did not exist in Verne's and Wells's day. The term was coined in the 1920s, in the United States. The kind of novel Verne and Wells wrote in Europe in the late nineteenth century would have been called "scientific romance."

Yet, in many ways, Verne's novels are quite unlike the genre that evolved out of his work in the twentieth century. While much twentieth-century science fiction focuses on the exploration of outer s.p.a.ce, Verne wrote only two novels that take his characters away from the Earth, on trips to the moon. With few exceptions, the plots of his novels are set in the present or recent past rather than in the future-Journey is set in the resolutely contemporary year of 1863. (One of the exceptions to this rule is is set in the resolutely contemporary year of 1863. (One of the exceptions to this rule is Paris in the Twentieth Century, Paris in the Twentieth Century, a text that was long lost but then rediscovered in the 1980s and finally published in 1994). And while many Verne novels explore human interaction with technology and machines, not all of them do, and some are more focused on scientific knowledge itself rather than on the technological apparatus that dominates so much science fiction after him. The kind of technology that appears in Verne's novels, at any rate, is generally based on that of his own day, with little or no projection into the future. a text that was long lost but then rediscovered in the 1980s and finally published in 1994). And while many Verne novels explore human interaction with technology and machines, not all of them do, and some are more focused on scientific knowledge itself rather than on the technological apparatus that dominates so much science fiction after him. The kind of technology that appears in Verne's novels, at any rate, is generally based on that of his own day, with little or no projection into the future.

But Verne's novels do create alternative worlds, some of them entirely imaginary even though they are set in remote parts of our own very real planet, and his protagonists explore them with some of the tools of modern science and technology. For a nineteenth-century reader, Verne's narratives would have had clear affinities with other romances of adventure, as well as with certain kinds of travel writing-they may have seemed only a step or two beyond the strange tales of faraway lands and different cultures that colonial officers, explorers, traders, and adventurers brought back to Europe. Modern literary scholars often a.s.sociate Verne's writings with those of other novelists who combined adventure stories with issues of science and technology, such as Mary Sh.e.l.ley, Edgar Allan Poe, and H. G. Wells. Verne himself gave his novels the general t.i.tle Voyages extraordinaires: Les mondes connus et inconnus (Extraordinary Journeys: Known and Unknown Worlds). Voyages extraordinaires: Les mondes connus et inconnus (Extraordinary Journeys: Known and Unknown Worlds). In an age of colonial expansion and geographical exploration all over the world, the blank s.p.a.ces on Europeans' maps of the globe were shrinking fast. Verne's novels look forward to a time when exotic countries will be too familiar to warrant further exploration, and turn instead to other unknown realms and other kinds of exploratory journey in the air, under water, inside the Earth, or in outer s.p.a.ce. Verne's distinctive combination of extant methods and tools of exploration and imaginary realms and landscapes exerted a shaping influence on the emergent genre of the scientific romance and, later, of science fiction. In an age of colonial expansion and geographical exploration all over the world, the blank s.p.a.ces on Europeans' maps of the globe were shrinking fast. Verne's novels look forward to a time when exotic countries will be too familiar to warrant further exploration, and turn instead to other unknown realms and other kinds of exploratory journey in the air, under water, inside the Earth, or in outer s.p.a.ce. Verne's distinctive combination of extant methods and tools of exploration and imaginary realms and landscapes exerted a shaping influence on the emergent genre of the scientific romance and, later, of science fiction.

Jules Verne's career, after his years as a minor playwright, took a decisive turn in the 1860s when the publisher Pierre-Jules Hetzel accepted his novel Five Weeks in a Balloon Five Weeks in a Balloon for publication, and made him into one of the regular contributors to the for publication, and made him into one of the regular contributors to the Magasin d' education et de recreation (Magazine for Education and Entertainment). Magasin d' education et de recreation (Magazine for Education and Entertainment). Over the subsequent four decades, many of Verne's novels were first published in this magazine, in serial form. In fact, Over the subsequent four decades, many of Verne's novels were first published in this magazine, in serial form. In fact, Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth is unusual among Verne's works in that it was published in book form rather than serially, in 1864, just before Hetzel's magazine got off the ground. Because Hetzel's magazine was designed to appeal to younger readers, Jules Verne's writings are sometimes still considered to be adventure reading for youngsters rather than serious literature. Yet Verne's enormous influence on writers inside and outside of science fiction, as well as the in-depth attention he has received even from literary critics of a decidedly high-theoretical bent-prominent names such as Roland Barthes, Pierre Macherey, and Michel Serres come to mind-prove that the colorful surface of adventure and exploration in his writing hides conceptual depths that only a more mature and careful reading will unearth. is unusual among Verne's works in that it was published in book form rather than serially, in 1864, just before Hetzel's magazine got off the ground. Because Hetzel's magazine was designed to appeal to younger readers, Jules Verne's writings are sometimes still considered to be adventure reading for youngsters rather than serious literature. Yet Verne's enormous influence on writers inside and outside of science fiction, as well as the in-depth attention he has received even from literary critics of a decidedly high-theoretical bent-prominent names such as Roland Barthes, Pierre Macherey, and Michel Serres come to mind-prove that the colorful surface of adventure and exploration in his writing hides conceptual depths that only a more mature and careful reading will unearth.

Nineteenth-century translations that substantially rewrote and distorted the text of many of Verne's novels and were reprinted again and again throughout the twentieth century have made it difficult for readers who cannot access the original to perceive the complexity of the author's work. Neither have the film versions through which many contemporary readers first encounter Jules Verne contributed anything to a better understanding of his novels. Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth has been made into motion pictures several times, including the well-known 1959 version directed by Henry Levin, which features James Mason and Pat Boone in the leading roles, and a 1999 made-for-television version directed by George Miller. Neither bears much resemblance to Jules Verne's text, since both fundamentally alter the basic set of characters and the development of the plot. First-time readers of the novel are therefore likely to be surprised by the sophistication of its thought and language. has been made into motion pictures several times, including the well-known 1959 version directed by Henry Levin, which features James Mason and Pat Boone in the leading roles, and a 1999 made-for-television version directed by George Miller. Neither bears much resemblance to Jules Verne's text, since both fundamentally alter the basic set of characters and the development of the plot. First-time readers of the novel are therefore likely to be surprised by the sophistication of its thought and language.

But even a more faithful film version would surely have difficulty capturing the novel's fascination with spoken and written language. Perhaps most obviously, Verne loves to take scientific language and display its lyrical and dramatic potential. From the mineral specimens in Professor Lidenbrock's study to the numerous prehistoric animals Axel imagines in the underground landscape, scientific vocabulary pervades the novel and yet is evoked with so much energy, excitement, and playfulness that it never smacks of pedantry and cold abstraction. When scientific pedantry is on display, as it sometimes is in the sparrings between Axel and his uncle about the physical, chemical, and climatic details on which the success of their mission hinges, it is always within a context of dramatic dialogue that makes it part of fast, precise, and often quite witty repartees that would no doubt play well on a stage. Verne's abundant use of semicolons and exclamation marks in the novel, in addition, helps to convey the sense of breathless excitement that often grips his characters when they are on the trail of an important discovery or conclusion.

Speech and writing also play an important part in the plot of Journey to the Center of the Earth. Journey to the Center of the Earth. Otto Lidenbrock regularly becomes a b.u.t.t of his students' jokes, because he stumbles over polysyllabic scientific terms in his lectures and then rains down a hail of swearwords on his audience, the very ant.i.thesis of rational, scientific discourse. In spite of this impediment, however, Lidenbrock is an accomplished polyglot who can converse in multiple languages, an arena from which his less multilingual nephew is excluded. Axel and Otto Lidenbrock's tendency to speak often and at length, in turn, is contrasted throughout the novel with their guide Hans's-and, more generally, the Icelanders'-preference for monosyllabic utterances and extended silences. Each of these ways of handling language is explored in its relation to the kind of mastery of the physical world it enables. Otto Lidenbrock regularly becomes a b.u.t.t of his students' jokes, because he stumbles over polysyllabic scientific terms in his lectures and then rains down a hail of swearwords on his audience, the very ant.i.thesis of rational, scientific discourse. In spite of this impediment, however, Lidenbrock is an accomplished polyglot who can converse in multiple languages, an arena from which his less multilingual nephew is excluded. Axel and Otto Lidenbrock's tendency to speak often and at length, in turn, is contrasted throughout the novel with their guide Hans's-and, more generally, the Icelanders'-preference for monosyllabic utterances and extended silences. Each of these ways of handling language is explored in its relation to the kind of mastery of the physical world it enables.

Written texts similarly open up varying and intricate perspectives on the characters. Lidenbrock is a confirmed bibliophile, and the plot starts out from the purchase of an antiquarian book and the discovery of a ma.n.u.script note it contains. But in spite of his knowledge of books and languages, Lidenbrock cannot decipher the cryptogram, while his nephew, much less expert in both areas, discovers the key. Both Lidenbrock and his nephew keep extensive notebooks and diaries during their journey, and both of these seem to survive the journey. Axel alludes to the publications Lidenbrock has prepared on the basis of the scientific data he collected during his journey, and he gives us his account of some of the most dramatic moments in the form of a log he kept at the time. Yet how Axel could have written anything under the life-threatening circ.u.mstances he describes is mysterious, and how his or his uncle's notes could have survived the final trip through erupting lava is more elusive still.

If the novel, otherwise meticulous in its attention to physical possibilities and impossibilities, does not provide an answer to such riddles, it is not because of carelessness on Verne's part. In a narrative that is so intensely concerned with questions of origins-cosmological, geological, evolutionary, and anthropological-the riddle of the surviving notes points us to the novel's own perhaps inexplicable origin at the intersection of empirical observation, scientific theorizing, philosophical speculation, and different kinds of storytelling. Complexities such as these underneath the surface of a gripping adventure tale make Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth a compelling read almost a century and a half after its first publication, and have turned the novel into one of the paradigmatic stories of the modern age. a compelling read almost a century and a half after its first publication, and have turned the novel into one of the paradigmatic stories of the modern age.

Acknowledgments.

Grateful acknowledgments are made to William Butcher and Daniel Compere, whose detailed work on Jules Verne's novels in general and Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth in particular was very helpful in preparing this edition. Heather Sullivan of Trinity University provided useful references on the history of geology in the nineteenth century. in particular was very helpful in preparing this edition. Heather Sullivan of Trinity University provided useful references on the history of geology in the nineteenth century.

Ursula K. Heise is Professor of English and Comparative Literature at Stanford University. Her book is Professor of English and Comparative Literature at Stanford University. Her book Chronoschisms: Time, Narrative, and Postmodernism Chronoschisms: Time, Narrative, and Postmodernism appeared from Cambridge University Press in 1997. She has published numerous articles on contemporary American and European literature in its relation to science, ecology and new media. She is currently completing a book ma.n.u.script ent.i.tled appeared from Cambridge University Press in 1997. She has published numerous articles on contemporary American and European literature in its relation to science, ecology and new media. She is currently completing a book ma.n.u.script ent.i.tled World Wide Webs: Global Ecology and the Cultural Imagination. World Wide Webs: Global Ecology and the Cultural Imagination.

A Note on the Translation.

This edition of Journey to the Center of the Earth Journey to the Center of the Earth is based on the translation of Frederick Amadeus Malleson, which appeared in 1877. Malleson's translation is more faithful than an earlier one that had appeared in 1872, but it renders Verne's brisk and variable prose in a distinctly Victorian English that makes the text sound more dated in the translation than it is in the original. is based on the translation of Frederick Amadeus Malleson, which appeared in 1877. Malleson's translation is more faithful than an earlier one that had appeared in 1872, but it renders Verne's brisk and variable prose in a distinctly Victorian English that makes the text sound more dated in the translation than it is in the original.

Malleson also took other liberties with the text: He added chapter headings that did not exist in the original text, added explanatory notes, condensed dialogue that he considered too lengthy, and, being a clergyman, added religious diction in some places and elided or amended phrases of Verne's that seemed to imply what he considered to be slight disregard for Christian theology and scripture. Malleson's translation has been comprehensively revised for the present edition so as to bring the English text back into closer correspondence with Verne's original: The chapter t.i.tles have been eliminated, Verne's dialogues and original wording have been restored in full, and the syntax and vocabulary of the English text have been updated to reflect Verne's lively, engaged and often witty style as closely as possible.

-Ursula K. Heise

A Note on Measurements.

Temperatures in the novel are given in degrees Celsius, not Fahrenheit, as is customary in continental Europe.

Verne gives measures of length in units, such as leagues and fathoms, that were used in France in the eighteenth century, prior to the introduction of the metric system; those that appear frequently in the text include: 1 league =approx. 4 kilometers =approx. 2.5 statute miles 1 fathom =2 meters =approx. 2.2 yards 1 Danish mile =7.3 kilometers =4.6 statute miles

I.

ON MAY 24, 1863, a Sunday, my uncle, Professor Lidenbrock, rushed back to his little house located at No. 19 Konigstra.s.se, one of the most ancient streets in the old town of Hamburg.

Martha, the maid, must have believed that she was far behind schedule, for the dinner had only just begun to cook on the kitchen range.

"Well," I said to myself, "if my uncle, the most impatient of men, is hungry, he will cry out in dismay."

"Mr. Lidenbrock so soon!" the good Martha exclaimed in amazement, half opening the dining-room door.

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

"Then why is Mr. Lidenbrock coming home so soon?"

"He'll probably tell us himself."

"Here he is; I'll stay out of the way, Mr. Axel, while you argue with him."

And the good Martha retreated to her culinary laboratory.

I was left alone. But arguing with the most irascible of professors was out of the question for someone of my somewhat undecided turn of mind. Just as I was cautiously retreating to my handsome room upstairs, the street door squeaked on its hinges. Large feet made the wooden staircase creak, and the master of the house rushed through the dining-room immediately to his study.

But during his swift pa.s.sage, he had flung his hazel walking stick into a corner, his rough broad brim hat on the table, and these emphatic words at his nephew: "Axel, follow me!"

I had scarcely had time to move when the professor already exclaimed in a tone of utter impatience: "Well! You aren't here yet?"

I rushed into my redoubtable master's study.

Otto Lidenbrock had no mischief in him, I readily admit that; but unless he changes in unlikely ways, he will die a confirmed original.

He was professor at the Johanneuma and taught a course on mineralogy, in the course of which he invariably broke into a rage once or twice each session. Not that he was at all concerned about having diligent students in his cla.s.s, or about the degree of attention with which they listened to him, or the success they would eventually achieve; such details never bothered him. His teaching was "subjective," as German philosophy calls it; it was meant for himself, not others. He was a learned egotist, a well of science whose pulleys creaked when you wanted to draw anything out of it: in a word, a miser. and taught a course on mineralogy, in the course of which he invariably broke into a rage once or twice each session. Not that he was at all concerned about having diligent students in his cla.s.s, or about the degree of attention with which they listened to him, or the success they would eventually achieve; such details never bothered him. His teaching was "subjective," as German philosophy calls it; it was meant for himself, not others. He was a learned egotist, a well of science whose pulleys creaked when you wanted to draw anything out of it: in a word, a miser.

There are quite a few professors of this sort in Germany.

Unfortunately, my uncle was not gifted with great skill of delivery, if not in private, then at least when he spoke in public, and this is a deplorable shortfall in a speaker. Indeed, during his lectures at the Johanneum, the professor often came to a complete standstill; he struggled with a reluctant word that did not want to pa.s.s his lips, one of those words that resist, expand and finally slip out in the quite unscientific form of an oath. Hence his intense rage.

Now in mineralogy there are many half-Greek and half-Latin terms that are hard to p.r.o.nounce, rough words that would injure the lips of a poet. I don't want to speak ill of this science. Far from it. But when one faces rhombohedral crystals, retinasphaltic resins, gehlenites, fa.s.saites, molybdenites, tungstates of manganese, and t.i.tanite of zirconium, even the most skilled tongue may slip.

In the city, therefore, my uncle's forgivable weakness was well-known, and it was exploited, and it was expected at the more dangerous moments, and he broke out in a rage, and there was laughter, which is not in good taste, not even for Germans. And if there was always a full audience at the Lidenbrock lectures, how many came regularly to be entertained by the professor's wonderful fury!

Nevertheless, my uncle, I must emphasize, was a genuine scholar. Even though he sometimes broke his specimens by handling them too roughly, he combined the geologist's genius with the mineralogist's keen eye. Armed with his hammer, his steel pointer, his magnetic needles, his blowpipe, and his bottle of nitric acid, he was a very powerful man. By a.s.sessing the fracture, the appearance, the hardness, the fusibility, the sonorousness, the smell, and the taste of any mineral, he was able to cla.s.sify it unhesitatingly among the six hundred substances known to science today.

The name of Lidenbrock was therefore mentioned with respect in colleges and learned societies. Humphry Davy, Humboldt, and Captains Franklin and Sabine never failed to call on him on their way through Hamburg. Becquerel, Ebelman, Brewster, Dumas, Milne-Edwards, Saint-Claire Deville1 consulted him about the most difficult problems in chemistry. This discipline was indebted to him for quite remarkable discoveries, and in 1853 consulted him about the most difficult problems in chemistry. This discipline was indebted to him for quite remarkable discoveries, and in 1853 A Treaty of Transcendental Crystallography A Treaty of Transcendental Crystallography by Professor Otto Lidenbrock had appeared in Leipzig, a large folio with ill.u.s.trations which, however, did not cover its expenses. by Professor Otto Lidenbrock had appeared in Leipzig, a large folio with ill.u.s.trations which, however, did not cover its expenses.

Add to all this that my uncle was curator of the museum of mineralogy established by Mr. Struve, the Russian amba.s.sador, a valuable collection whose reputation is known throughout Europe.

This, then, was the person who called me with such impatience. Imagine a tall, slender man, of an iron const.i.tution, and with a fair complexion which made him look a good ten years younger than his fifty. His large eyes moved incessantly behind his full-sized spectacles; his long, thin nose looked like a knife blade; mischievous tongues have even claimed that it was magnetic and attracted iron filings. Sheer calumny: it attracted nothing except snuff, but that, to be honest, in great quant.i.ties.

When I add that my uncle walked in mathematical strides of half a fathom, and if I point out that in walking he kept his fists firmly clenched, a sure sign of an irritable temperament, it will be clear enough that his company was something less than desirable.

He lived in his little house in the Konigstra.s.se, a building made half of brick and half of wood, with a stepped gable; it overlooked one of those winding ca.n.a.ls that intersect in the middle of Hamburg's old town, which the great fire of 1842 had fortunately spared.

The old house leaned a little, admittedly, and bulged out towards the street; its roof sloped a little to one side, like the cap over the ear of a Tugendbund student;b its verticality left something to be desired; but overall, it held up well, thanks to an old elm which b.u.t.tressed it in front, and which in spring pushed its flowering branches through the window panes. its verticality left something to be desired; but overall, it held up well, thanks to an old elm which b.u.t.tressed it in front, and which in spring pushed its flowering branches through the window panes.

My uncle was reasonably well off for a German professor. The house was all his own, container and contents. The contents consisted of his G.o.d-daughter Grauben,2 a seventeen-year-old from Virland, a seventeen-year-old from Virland, c c Martha, and myself. As his nephew and an orphan, I became his laboratory a.s.sistant. Martha, and myself. As his nephew and an orphan, I became his laboratory a.s.sistant.

I admit that I plunged eagerly into the geological sciences; I had the blood of a mineralogist in my veins, and never got bored in the company of my precious rocks.

In a word, one could live happily in the little house in the Konigstra.s.se, in spite of the impatience of its master, for even though he showed it in a somewhat rough fashion, he was nevertheless very fond of me. But that man was unable to wait, and nature herself was too slow for him.

In April, after he had planted seedlings of mignonette and morning glory in the clay pots in his living-room, he would go every morning and tug them by their leaves to accelerate their growth.

Faced with such a character, one could do nothing other than obey. I therefore rushed after him into his study.

II.

THIS STUDY WAS A genuine museum. Specimens of everything known in mineralogy lay there labeled in the most perfect order, according to the great divisions into inflammable, metallic, and lithoid minerals.

How well I knew all these bits of mineralogical science! How many times, instead of enjoying the company of boys of my own age, had I enjoyed dusting these graphites, anthracites, coals, lignites, and peats! And the bitumens, resins, organic salts that needed to be protected from the least atom of dust! And these metals, from iron to gold, whose current value disappeared in the absolute equality of scientific specimens! And all these stones, enough to rebuild the house in the Konigstra.s.se, even with a handsome additional room, which would have suited me admirably!

But on entering this study, I barely thought of all these wonders. My uncle alone filled my thoughts. He had thrown himself into an armchair covered with Utrecht velvet, and held in his hands a book that he contemplated with the profoundest admiration.

"What a book! What a book!" he exclaimed.

This exclamation reminded me that my uncle was also a bibliophile in his moments of leisure; but an old