Read Online Journey to the Center of the Earth (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) by Jules Verne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jules Verne
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that now there was nothing left in the house. Still I held out; I made it a point of honor.
Two o’clock struck. This was becoming ridiculous; worse than that, unbearable. I opened my eyes wide. I began to say to myself that I was exaggerating the importance of the document; that my uncle would surely not believe in it, that he would set it down as a mere puzzle; that if it came to the worst, we would restrain him in spite of himself if he wanted to undertake the adventure; that, after all, he might discover the key of the cipher by himself, and that I would then have suffered abstinence for nothing.
These reasons seemed excellent to me, though on the night before I would have rejected them with indignation; I even found it completely absurd to have waited so long, and made a decision to say it all.
I was looking for a way of bringing up the matter that was not too abrupt when the professor jumped up, put on his hat, and prepared to go out.
What! Going out again, and locking us in once more? Never.
“Uncle!” I said.
He seemed not to hear me.
“Uncle Lidenbrock?” I repeated, speaking more loudly
“What?” he said like a man suddenly waking up.
“Well! The key?”
“What key? The door key?”
“But no!” I exclaimed. “The key to the document!”
The Professor stared at me over his spectacles; no doubt he saw something unusual in physiognomy, for he seized my arm, and questioned me with his eyes without being able to speak. Nonetheless, never was a question more forcibly put.
I nodded my head up and down.
He shook his pityingly, as if he was dealing with a lunatic.
I made a more affirmative gesture.
His eyes sparkled with live fire, his hand threatened me.
This mute conversation would, under the circumstances, have interested even the most indifferent spectator. And the truth is that I did not dare to speak out any more, so much did I fear that my uncle would smother me in his joyful embraces. But he became so urgent that I was at last compelled to answer.
“Yes, that key, chance—”
“What are you saying?” he shouted with indescribable emotion.
“There, read that!” I said, giving him the sheet of paper on which I had written.
“But this doesn’t mean anything,” he answered, crumpling up the paper.
“No, not when you start to read from the beginning, but from the end...”
I had not finished my sentence when the professor broke out into a cry, more than a cry, a real roar! A new revelation took place in his mind. He was transfigured.
“Aha, ingenious Saknussemm!” he exclaimed, “so you first wrote out your sentence backwards?”
And throwing himself on the paper, eyes dimmed and voice choked, he read the entire document from the last letter to the first.
It was phrased as follows:
In Sneffels Yoculis craterem kem delibat umbra Scartaris Julii intra calendas descende, audas viator, et terrestre centrum attinges. Kod feci. Arne Saknussemm.
Which bad Latin may be translated like this:
Descend into the crater of Snaefells Jökull, which the shadow of Scartaris touches before the calends j of July, bold traveler, and you will reach the center of the earth. I did it. Arne Saknussemm.
In reading this, my uncle jumped up as if he had inadvertently touched a Leyden jar. k His audacity, his joy, and his conviction were magnificent to see. He came and he went; he gripped his head with both his hands; he pushed the chairs out of their places, he piled up his books; incredible as it may seem, he juggled his precious geodes; he sent a kick here, a thump there. At last his nerves calmed down, and like a man exhausted by too great an expenditure of vital power, he sank back into his armchair.
“What time is it?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
“Three o’clock,” I replied.
“Really? The dinner has passed quickly. I’m starving. Let’s eat. And then ...”
“Well?”
“After dinner, pack my suitcase.”
“What!” I exclaimed.
“And yours!” replied the
Two o’clock struck. This was becoming ridiculous; worse than that, unbearable. I opened my eyes wide. I began to say to myself that I was exaggerating the importance of the document; that my uncle would surely not believe in it, that he would set it down as a mere puzzle; that if it came to the worst, we would restrain him in spite of himself if he wanted to undertake the adventure; that, after all, he might discover the key of the cipher by himself, and that I would then have suffered abstinence for nothing.
These reasons seemed excellent to me, though on the night before I would have rejected them with indignation; I even found it completely absurd to have waited so long, and made a decision to say it all.
I was looking for a way of bringing up the matter that was not too abrupt when the professor jumped up, put on his hat, and prepared to go out.
What! Going out again, and locking us in once more? Never.
“Uncle!” I said.
He seemed not to hear me.
“Uncle Lidenbrock?” I repeated, speaking more loudly
“What?” he said like a man suddenly waking up.
“Well! The key?”
“What key? The door key?”
“But no!” I exclaimed. “The key to the document!”
The Professor stared at me over his spectacles; no doubt he saw something unusual in physiognomy, for he seized my arm, and questioned me with his eyes without being able to speak. Nonetheless, never was a question more forcibly put.
I nodded my head up and down.
He shook his pityingly, as if he was dealing with a lunatic.
I made a more affirmative gesture.
His eyes sparkled with live fire, his hand threatened me.
This mute conversation would, under the circumstances, have interested even the most indifferent spectator. And the truth is that I did not dare to speak out any more, so much did I fear that my uncle would smother me in his joyful embraces. But he became so urgent that I was at last compelled to answer.
“Yes, that key, chance—”
“What are you saying?” he shouted with indescribable emotion.
“There, read that!” I said, giving him the sheet of paper on which I had written.
“But this doesn’t mean anything,” he answered, crumpling up the paper.
“No, not when you start to read from the beginning, but from the end...”
I had not finished my sentence when the professor broke out into a cry, more than a cry, a real roar! A new revelation took place in his mind. He was transfigured.
“Aha, ingenious Saknussemm!” he exclaimed, “so you first wrote out your sentence backwards?”
And throwing himself on the paper, eyes dimmed and voice choked, he read the entire document from the last letter to the first.
It was phrased as follows:
In Sneffels Yoculis craterem kem delibat umbra Scartaris Julii intra calendas descende, audas viator, et terrestre centrum attinges. Kod feci. Arne Saknussemm.
Which bad Latin may be translated like this:
Descend into the crater of Snaefells Jökull, which the shadow of Scartaris touches before the calends j of July, bold traveler, and you will reach the center of the earth. I did it. Arne Saknussemm.
In reading this, my uncle jumped up as if he had inadvertently touched a Leyden jar. k His audacity, his joy, and his conviction were magnificent to see. He came and he went; he gripped his head with both his hands; he pushed the chairs out of their places, he piled up his books; incredible as it may seem, he juggled his precious geodes; he sent a kick here, a thump there. At last his nerves calmed down, and like a man exhausted by too great an expenditure of vital power, he sank back into his armchair.
“What time is it?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
“Three o’clock,” I replied.
“Really? The dinner has passed quickly. I’m starving. Let’s eat. And then ...”
“Well?”
“After dinner, pack my suitcase.”
“What!” I exclaimed.
“And yours!” replied the
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