Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne (english reading book .txt) 📕

she not be afraid to join it herself? And she was driving me to it, one whom she loved!

I was disconcerted, and, if I must tell the whole truth, I was ashamed.

“Gräuben, we will see whether you will say the same thing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, dear Axel, I will say what I say today.”

Gräuben and I, hand in hand, but in silence, pursued our way. The emotions of that day were breaking my heart.

After all, I thought, the kalends of July are a long way off, and between this and then many things may take place which will cure my uncle of his desire to travel underground.

It was night when we arrived at the house in Königstrasse. I expected to find all quiet there, my uncle in bed as was his custom, and Martha giving her last touches with the feather brush.

But I had not taken into account the Professor’s impatience. I found him shouting⁠—and working himself up amidst a crowd of porters and messengers who were all depositing various loads in the passage. Our old servant was at her wits’ end.

“Come, Axel, come, you miserable wretch,” my uncle cried from as far off as he could see me. “Your boxes are not packed, and my papers are not arranged; where’s the key of my carpet bag? And what have you done with my gaiters?”

I stood thunderstruck. My voice failed. Scarcely could my lips utter the words:

“Are we really going?”

“Of course, you unhappy boy! Could I have dreamed that you would have gone out for a walk instead of hurrying your preparations forward?”

“Are we to go?” I asked again, with sinking hopes.

“Yes; the day after tomorrow, early.”

I could hear no more. I fled for refuge into my own little room.

All hope was now at an end. My uncle had been all the morning making purchases of a part of the tools and apparatus required for this desperate undertaking. The passage was encumbered with rope ladders, knotted cords, torches, flasks, grappling irons, alpenstocks, pickaxes, iron shod sticks, enough to load ten men.

I spent an awful night. Next morning I was called early. I had quite decided I would not open the door. But how was I to resist the sweet voice which was always music to my ears, saying, “My dear Axel?”

I came out of my room. I thought my pale countenance and my red and sleepless eyes would work upon Gräuben’s sympathies and change her mind.

“Ah! my dear Axel,” she said. “I see you are better. A night’s rest has done you good.”

“Done me good!” I exclaimed.

I rushed to the glass. Well, in fact I did look better than I had expected. I could hardly believe my own eyes.

“Axel,” she said, “I have had a long talk with my guardian. He is a bold philosopher, a man of immense courage, and you must remember that his blood flows in your veins. He has confided to me his plans, his hopes, and why and how he hopes to attain his object. He will no doubt succeed. My dear Axel, it is a grand thing to devote yourself to science! What honour will fall upon Herr Liedenbrock, and so be reflected upon his companion! When you return, Axel, you will be a man, his equal, free to speak and to act independently, and free to⁠—”

The dear girl only finished this sentence by blushing. Her words revived me. Yet I refused to believe we should start. I drew Gräuben into the Professor’s study.

“Uncle, is it true that we are to go?”

“Why do you doubt?”

“Well, I don’t doubt,” I said, not to vex him; “but, I ask, what need is there to hurry?”

“Time, time, flying with irreparable rapidity.”

“But it is only the 16th May, and until the end of June⁠—”

“What, you monument of ignorance! Do you think you can get to Iceland in a couple of days? If you had not deserted me like a fool I should have taken you to the Copenhagen office, to Liffender & Co., and you would have learned then that there is only one trip every month from Copenhagen to Reykjavík, on the 22nd.”

“Well?”

“Well, if we waited for the 22nd June we should be too late to see the shadow of Scartaris touch the crater of Snæfells. Therefore we must get to Copenhagen as fast as we can to secure our passage. Go and pack up.”

There was no reply to this. I went up to my room. Gräuben followed me. She undertook to pack up all things necessary for my voyage. She was no more moved than if I had been starting for a little trip to Lübeck or Heligoland. Her little hands moved without haste. She talked quietly. She supplied me with sensible reasons for our expedition. She delighted me, and yet I was angry with her. Now and then I felt I ought to break out into a passion, but she took no notice and went on her way as methodically as ever.

Finally the last strap was buckled; I came downstairs. All that day the philosophical instrument makers and the electricians kept coming and going. Martha was distracted.

“Is master mad?” she asked.

I nodded my head.

“And is he going to take you with him?”

I nodded again.

“Where to?”

I pointed with my finger downward.

“Down into the cellar?” cried the old servant.

“No,” I said. “Lower down than that.”

Night came. But I knew nothing about the lapse of time.

“Tomorrow morning at six precisely,” my uncle decreed, “we start.”

At ten o’clock I fell upon my bed, a dead lump of inert matter. All through the night terror had hold of me. I spent it dreaming of abysses. I was a prey to delirium. I felt myself grasped by the Professor’s sinewy hand, dragged along, hurled down, shattered into little bits. I dropped down unfathomable precipices with the accelerating velocity of bodies falling through space. My life had become an endless fall. I awoke at five with shattered nerves, trembling and weary. I came downstairs. My uncle was at table, devouring his breakfast. I stared at