The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne (uplifting books for women txt) 📕
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The Mysterious Island tells the tale of five Americans who, in an attempt to escape the Civil War, pilot a hot-air balloon and find themselves crashed on a deserted island somewhere in the Pacific. Verne had been greatly influenced by works like Robinson Crusoe and The Swiss Family Robinson, and that influence shines brightly in this novel of engineering ingenuity and adventure. Verne imparts the escapees with such over-the-top cleverness and so many luckily-placed resources that modern readers might find the extent to which they tame the island comical. Despite that, the island contains genuine mysteries for the adventurers to solve.
The standard translation of The Mysterious Island was produced in 1875, and is credited to W. H. G. Kingston. Despite its popularity, it’s widely criticized for abridging and Bowlderizing important parts of the text. The translation presented here, produced by Stephen W. White in 1876, is considered a much more accurate translation, despite it also abridging some portions.
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- Author: Jules Verne
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“Nevertheless, Lord Glenarvan kept the promise he had made. The Duncan, continuing her route, arrived at Tabor Island. It was there that Ayrton was to be left, and it was there, too, that, by a miracle, they found Captain Grant and his two companions. The convict was put upon the island in their stead, and when he left the yacht, Lord Glenarvan spoke to him in these words:—
“ ‘Here, Ayrton, you will be far from any country, and without any possible means of communicating with your fellow-men. You will not be able to leave this island. You will be alone, under the eye of a God who looks into the depths of our hearts, but you will neither be lost nor neglected, like Captain Grant. Unworthy as you are of the remembrance of men, you will be remembered. I know where you are, Ayrton, and I know where to find you. I will never forget it.’
“And the Duncan, setting sail, soon disappeared.
“This was the 18th of March, 1855.
“Ayrton was alone; but he lacked neither ammunition nor arms nor seeds. He, the convict, had at his disposal the house built by the honest Captain Grant. He had only to live and to expiate in solitude the crimes which he had committed.
“Sirs, he repented; he was ashamed of his crimes, and he was very unhappy. He said to himself that, as someday men would come to seek him on this islet, he must make himself worthy to go back with them. How he suffered, the miserable man! How he labored to benefit himself by labor! How he prayed to regenerate himself by prayer!
“For two years, for three years, it was thus. Ayrton, crushed by this isolation, ever on the watch for a ship to appear upon the horizon of his island, asking himself if the time of expiation was nearly ended, suffered as one has rarely suffered. Oh! but solitude is hard, for a soul gnawed by remorse!
“But, doubtless, Heaven found this unhappy wretch insufficiently punished, for he fell, little by little, till he became a savage! He felt, little by little, the brute nature taking possession of him. He cannot say whether this was after two or four years of abandonment, but at last he became the miserable being whom you found.
“I need not tell you, sirs, that Ayrton and Ben Joyce and I are one!”
Smith and his companions rose as this recital was finished. It is hard to say how deeply they were affected! Such misery, such grief, and such despair, had been shown to them!
“Ayrton,” said Smith, “you have been a great criminal, but Heaven has, doubtless, witnessed the expiation of your crimes. This is proved, in that you have been restored to your fellow-men. Ayrton, you are pardoned! And now, will you be our companion?”
The man drew back.
“Here is my hand,” said the engineer.
Ayrton darted forward and seized it, great tears streaming from his eyes.
“Do you desire to live with us?” asked Smith.
“Oh, Mr. Smith, let me have yet a little time,” he answered, “let me remain alone in the house at the corral!”
“Do as you wish, Ayrton,” responded Smith.
The unhappy man was about retiring, when Smith asked him a last question.
“One word more, my friend. Since it is your wish to live in solitude, why did you throw that paper, which put us in the way of finding you, into the sea?”
“A paper?” answered Ayrton, who seemed not to understand what was said.
“Yes, that paper, which we found enclosed in a bottle, and which gave the exact situation of Tabor Island?”
The man put his hand to his forehead, and, after some reflection, said:—
“I never threw any paper into the sea!”
“Never!” cried Pencroff.
“Never!”
And then, inclining his head, Ayrton left the room.
XLA talk—Smith and Spilett—The engineer’s idea—The electric telegraph—The wires—The batter—The alphabet—Fine weather—The prosperity of the colony—Photography—A snow effect—Two years on Lincoln Island.
“The poor man!” said Herbert, returning from the door, after having watched Ayrton slide down the rope of the elevator and disappear in the darkness.
“He will come back,” said Smith.
“What does it mean?” exclaimed Pencroff. “That he had not thrown this bottle into the sea? Then who did it?”
Certainly, if there was a reasonable question this was.
“He did it,” replied Neb; “only the poor fellow was half out of his senses at the time.”
“Yes,” said Herbert, “and he had no knowledge of what he was doing.”
“It can be explained in no other way, my friends,” responded Smith, hurriedly, “and I understand, now, how Ayrton was able to give the exact situation of the island, since the events prior to his abandonment gave him that knowledge.”
“Nevertheless,” observed Pencroff, “he was not a brute when he wrote that paper, and if it is seven or eight years since it was thrown into the sea, how is it that the paper has not been injured by moisture?”
“It proves,” said Smith, “that Ayrton retained possession of his faculties to a period much more recent than he imagines.”
“That must be it,” replied Pencroff, “for otherwise the thing would be inexplicable.”
“Inexplicable, indeed,” answered the engineer, who seemed not to wish to prolong this talk.
“Has Ayrton told the truth?” questioned the sailor.
“Yes,” answered the reporter, “the history he has related is true in every particular. I remember, perfectly well, that the papers reported Lord Glenarvan’s undertaking and its result.”
“Ayrton has told the truth,” added Smith, “without any doubt, Pencroff, since it was trying enough for him to do so. A man does not lie when he accuses himself in this way.”
The next day—the 21st—the colonists went down to the beach, and then clambered up to the plateau, but they saw nothing of Ayrton. The man had gone to his house the night before, and they judged it best not to intrude upon him. Time would, doubtless, effect what sympathy would fail to accomplish.
Herbert, Pencroff, and Neb resumed their accustomed occupations; and it happened that their work brought Smith and
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