by Jules Verne
Altona, which is almost a suburb of Hamburg, is the terminus of the Kiel railway, which was to take us to the shores of the Belts. In less than twenty minutes we were in Holstein.
At half past six the carriage drew up outside the station; all my uncle’s bulky parcels and articles of luggage were unloaded, carried in, weighed, labelled, and put in the luggage-van, and at seven o’clock we were sitting opposite each other in our compartment. The whistle sounded and the engine moved off. We were on our way.
Was I resigned? Not yet. However, the cool morning air, and rapidly changing scenery through which the train carried us took my mind off my chief preoccupation.
As for the Professor’s thoughts, they were obviously far ahead of the train, which was much too slow for his impatient character. We were alone in the carriage, but neither of us said anything. My uncle examined all his pockets and his travelling-bag with minute care. I saw that he had not forgotten a single one of the documents necessary for the execution of his plans.
One of them was a carefully folded sheet of paper bearing the letter-head of the Danish chancery and signed by Mr Christiansen, the Danish consul at Hamburg and a friend of the Professor’s. This was obviously intended to enable us to obtain at Copenhagen a letter of introduction to the Governor of Iceland.
I also noticed the famous document carefully tucked away in the innermost pocket of my uncle’s wallet. I cursed it from the bottom of my heart, and turned my attention once more to the countryside. It was a vast succession of uninteresting, monotonous, loamy, and fertile plains – good railway country, and very propitious for those straight lines so dear to railway companies.
But I had no time to tire of this monotony, for three hours after our departure the train stopped at Kiel, a stone’s throw from the sea.
As our luggage was registered for Copenhagen, we had no need to bother about it. All the same, the Professor watched it anxiously as it was transferred to the steamer. There it disappeared into the hold.
My uncle, in his haste, had made a mistake over the connexion between train and steamer, so that we had a whole day to spare. The steamer Ellenora was not due to sail until nightfall. This resulted in a feverish nine hours, during which the irascible traveller heaped curses on the steamship and railway companies and the governments which allowed such abuses. I had to back him up when he complained to the captain of the Ellenora on the subject. He wanted him to get up steam straight away. The captain sent him packing.
At Kiel, as elsewhere, a day goes by somehow or other. By dint of strolling along the grassy shores of the bay on which the little town stands, of roaming through the thick woods which make it look like a nest in a tangle of branches, of admiring the villas, each provided with its little bathing-house, and finally of hurrying along and cursing, we came at last to ten o’clock.
Wreaths of smoke were now rising into the sky from the Ellenora’s funnel; the deck was trembling with the throbbing of the boiler; we were on board and the temporary occupants of two berths in the only cabin.
At a quarter past ten the ropes were cast off, and the steamer glided away over the dark waters of the Great Belt.
It was a dark night; there was a smacking breeze and a high sea; a few lights on shore appeared in the darkness; later on, I don’t know where, a flashing lighthouse sent out a sparkling light over the waves; this is all that I can remember of that first crossing.
At seven in the morning we landed at Korsör, a little town on the west coast of Zealand. There we changed from the boat to another train, which carried us across a countryside just as flat as the plain of Holstein.
It took us another three hours to reach the Danish capital. My uncle had not slept a wink all night. In his impatience I believe he had been trying to push the train along with his feet.
At last he caught sight of a stretch of water.
‘The Sound!’ he cried.
On our left there was a huge building which looked like a hospital.
‘That’s a lunatic asylum,’ said one of our travelling companions.
‘Good!’ I thought. ‘That’s just the place for us to end our days in!’ Although, big as it is, it couldn’t be big enough to contain all Professor Lidenbrock’s madness!
Finally, at ten in the morning, we alighted at Copenhagen, where the luggage was loaded on to a carriage and taken with us to the Phoenix Hotel in Bredgade. This took half an hour, for the station is outside the city. Then my uncle, after a hasty toilet, carried me off with him. The hotel porter could speak German and English, but the polyglot Professor questioned him in good Danish and it was in good Danish that the man directed him to the Museum of Northern Antiquities.
The curator of this curious establishment, whose marvels would make it possible to reconstruct the country’s history by means of its old stone weapons, its cups, and its jewels, was a savant called Professor Thomson, a friend of the Danish consul at Hamburg.
My uncle had a cordial letter of introduction to him. As a general rule, one savant receives another rather coolly. But here this was not the case. Professor Thomson was extremely obliging, and gave a warm welcome to both Professor Lidenbrock and his nephew. I need scarcely say that our secret was kept from the worthy curator of the museum: we were simply disinterested travellers who wished to visit Iceland out of idle curiosity.
Professor Thomson placed himself entirely at our disposal, and we scoured the quays in search of a ship leaving for Iceland.
I hoped against hope that there would be no means of transport whatever, but I was disappointed. A little Danish schooner, the Valkyrie, was due to set sail for Reykjavik on 2 June. The captain, Mr Bjarne, happened to be on board. His future passenger was so overwhelmed with joy that he squeezed his hands until the bones almost broke. The good man was somewhat taken aback at this handclasp. To him it seemed a very simple matter to go to Iceland, since that was his trade; but to my uncle it was sublime. The worthy captain took advantage of this enthusiasm to charge us double the usual fare; but we did not trouble our heads over such trifles.
‘Come aboard on Tuesday, at seven in the morning,’ said Captain Bjarne, after pocketing a respectable number of dollars.
We then thanked Professor Thomson for his help, and returned to the Phoenix Hotel.
‘Things are going very well, very well indeed!’ said my uncle. ‘What a stroke of luck to find that boat ready to sail! Now let’s have some breakfast and see the sights of Copenhagen.’
We went to Kongens-Nye-Torw, a square where there were two innocent-looking cannons which could not frighten anybody. Close by, at No. 5, there was a French restaurant where we had an ample breakfast for the modest sum of four marks each.
After that I took a childish pleasure in exploring the city; my uncle let me take him with me, but he saw nothing – neither the insignificant royal palace, nor the pretty seventeenth-century bridge which spans the canal opposite the museum, nor the huge memorial to Thorwaldsen, covered with hideous mural paintings and containing some of the sculptor’s works, nor the toy-like castle of Rosenborg in its rather fine park, nor the magnificent Renaissance stock exchange with its spire made of the twisted tails of four bronze dragons, nor the big windmills on the ramparts, whose huge arms filled out in the sea breeze like the sails of a ship.
What delightful walks we should have taken together, my pretty Virlandaise and I, beside the harbour where the two-deckers and the frigates slept peacefully, along the green banks of the strait, and under the shady trees among which the fort is hidden, with its guns poking out their black muzzles between the branches of alder and willow!
But, alas, Gräuben was far away, and I doubted if I would ever see her again.
However, if my uncle remained blind to these delightful scenes, he was very much struck by a certain church spire on the island of Amak, which forms the south-west district of Copenhagen.
I was instructed to make in that direction, and we accordingly embarked on a little steamer which plied on the canals. A few minutes
later we reached the dockyard quay.
After walking along a few narrow streets in which convicts wearing grey and yellow trousers were working under the supervision of warders, we arrived at the Vor-Frelsers-Kirk. There seemed to be nothing remarkable about this church, but there was one feature of its tall spire which had attracted the Professor’s attention. Starting from the top of the tower, an exterior staircase wound round the spire, circling up into the sky.
‘Let’s go up,’ said my uncle.
‘But we may get dizzy,’ I retorted.
‘All the more reason why we should go up; we have to get used to it.’
‘All the same …’
‘Come along, I tell you. We’re wasting time.’
I had to obey. The caretaker, who lived at the other end of the street, let us have the key, and the ascent began.
My uncle went ahead, climbing nimbly. I followed him with a certain trepidation, for I had no head for heights. I possessed neither the equilibrium of an eagle nor its steady nerves.
As long as we were shut inside the interior staircase, all was well; but after 150 steps the air struck me in the face; we had reached the top of the tower. There the aerial staircase began, protected by a thin iron rail and with narrowing steps which seemed to rise into infinite space.
‘I can’t do it!’ I exclaimed.
‘You aren’t a coward, are you? Come on!’ replied the pitiless Professor.
I had to follow him, clinging to the rail. The keen air made me dizzy; I could feel the spire swaying in every gust of wind; my legs began to give way; soon I was climbing on my knees, then on my belly. I shut my eyes, suffering from space-sickness.
At last, with my uncle dragging me up by my collar, I reached the ball at the top of the spire.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘and look hard! You must take lessons in abysses.’
I opened my eyes. I saw the houses looking as if they had been squashed flat by a fall, in the midst of the smoke fog created by their chimneys. Over my head wisps of cloud were passing, and by an optical illusion they seemed to me to be motionless, while the spire, the ball, and I were being carried along at a tremendous speed. Far away on one side there was the green country, and on the other the sea was sparkling under a sheaf of sunbeams. The Sound stretched away to the Point of Elsinore, dotted with a few white sails like seagulls’ wings, and in the mist to the east the faintly blurred coast of Sweden was visible. The whole of this vast spectacle spun around beneath my eyes.
None the less I was compelled to get to my feet, stand up straight, and look around. My first lesson in vertigo lasted an hour. When at last I was allowed to come down again and walk on the solid paving-stones in the streets, I could scarcely stand upright.
‘We’ll do that again tomorrow,’ said the Professor.
Sure enough, for five days in succession I repeated this vertiginous exercise; and in spite of myself I made decided progress in the art of ‘lofty contemplation’.
9
We Reach Iceland
The day of our departure arrived. The day before, our kind friend Professor Thomson had brought us cordial letters of introduction to Count Trampe, the Governor of Iceland, Mr Pictursson, the Bishop’s coadjutor, and Mr Finsen, the mayor of Reykjavik. In return, my uncle shook him warmly by the hand.
On 2 June, at six in the morning, our precious luggage was taken on board the Valkyrie, and the captain showed us to our somewhat cramped cabins, under a sort of deckhouse.
‘Is the wind favourable?’ asked my uncle.
‘Couldn’t be better,’ replied Captain Bjarne. ‘It’s a sou’-easter. We shall leave the Sound at full speed, with all sails set.’
A few minutes later the schooner, under her foresail, brigantine, topsail, and topgallant sail, got under way and swept through the straits. In an hour the Danish capital seemed to be sinking beneath the waves in the distance, and the Valkyrie was skirting the coast of Elsinore. In my nervous frame of mind I fully expected to see the ghost of Hamlet wandering on the famous terrace.
‘Sublime madman,’ I said, ‘you would probably approve of our expedition! You might even come with us to look for the solution of your eternal doubts at the centre of the earth.’
But nothing appeared on the ancient walls. Besides, the castle is much younger than the heroic prince of Denmark. It now serves as a sumptuous lodge for the doorkeeper of the straits of the Sound, through which fifteen thousand ships of all nations pass every year.
The castle of Kronsberg soon disappeared in the mist, as well as the tower of Helsingborg, standing on the Swedish coast, and the schooner bent lightly under the breezes from the Cattegat.
The Valkyrie was a splendid ship, but with a sailing-ship you never know what to expect. She was carrying coal, household utensils, pottery, woollen garments, and a cargo of corn to Reykjavik. The crew consisted of only five men, all Danes.
‘How long will the passage take?’ my uncle asked the captain.
‘About ten days,’ Captain Bjarne replied, ‘provided we don’t meet a nor’-wester while we’re passing the Faroes.’
‘But you aren’t liable to suffer a serious delay, are you?’
‘No, Herr Lidenbrock, have no fear, we shall arrive in good time.’
Towards the evening the schooner doubled Cape Skager, at the northern point of Denmark, crossed the Skager-rack during the night, skirted the southern point of Norway by Cape Lindness, and entered the North Sea.
Two days later we sighted Peterhead on the coast of Scotland, and the Valkyrie turned her head towards the Faroe Islands, passing between the Orkneys and Shetlands.
Soon our schooner encountered the great Atlantic swell; she had to tack against the north wind and reached the Faroes only with some difficulty. On the eighth the captain made out Myganness, the most eastern of these islands, and from that moment set a straight course for Cape Portland, the most southerly point of Iceland.
The voyage passed without incident. I bore the trials of the sea fairly well; my uncle, to his great annoyance and even greater shame, was sick from beginning to end.
He was therefore unable to question Captain Bjarne about Sneffels, the means of communication, and transport facilities; he was obliged to put off these inquiries until his arrival and spent all his time lying in his cabin, whose walls creaked with every pitch of the ship. It must be admitted that his fate was not exactly undeserved.
On the eleventh we passed Cape Portland. The clear weather gave us a good view of Myrdals Jokul, which dominates it. The cape consists of a big hill with steep sides, standing all by itself on the beach.
The Valkyrie kept at a fair distance from the coast, continuing westwards through great shoals of whales and sharks. Soon we came in sight of a huge perforated rock, through which the foaming sea was pouring furiously. The Westman Isles seemed to rise from the ocean like a scattering of rocks on a liquid plain. From then on the schooner took a wide berth to clear Cape Reykjaness, which forms the western point of Iceland.
The rough sea prevented my uncle from coming on deck to admire these ragged coasts battered by south-westerly winds.
Forty-eight hours later, coming out of a storm which forced the schooner to scud under bare poles, we sighted to the east the beacon on Cape Skager, where dangerous rocks extend far out to sea. An Icelandic pilot came on board, and three hours later the Valkyrie anchored in the Faxa Bay, off Reykjavik.
The Professor at last emerged from his cabin, somewhat pale and haggard, but as enthusiastic as ever and with a satisfied look in his eyes.
The population of the town, immensely interested in the arrival of a ship from which everybody expected something, gathered on the quay.
My uncle was in a hurry to leave his floating prison, not to say his hospital. But before leaving the deck of the schooner he dragged me forward and pointed out to me, to the north of the bay, a high mountain with a double peak, a pair of cones covered with perpetual snow.
‘Sneffels!’ he cried. ‘Sneffels!’
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br /> Then, with a gesture reminding me to keep absolute silence, he clambered down into the boat which was waiting for him. I followed him, and soon we were treading Icelandic soil.
The first man we saw was an impressive figure wearing a general’s uniform. But he was just a magistrate, the Governor of the island, Baron Trampe in person. The Professor realized at once who he was. He handed the Governor his letters from Copenhagen, and a short conversation in Danish followed, in which I took no part, for a very good reason. But the gist of this first conversation was that Baron Trampe placed himself entirely at Professor Lidenbrock’s disposal.
My uncle was also given a kind reception by the mayor, Mr Finsen, whose dress was just as military as the Governor’s but whose temperament and office were no less pacific.
As for the Bishop’s coadjutor, Mr Picturssen, he was on a pastoral tour in the north just then; for the time being we had to renounce the honour of being presented to him. But we met a delightful man, Mr Fridriksson, the natural science master at the Reykjavik school, who was extremely helpful. This modest scholar spoke only Icelandic and Latin; he came and offered me his services in the language of Horace, and I felt straight away that we were born to understand each other. In point of fact, he was the only person with whom I could converse at all during my stay in Iceland.
This worthy man made over to us two of the three rooms in his house, and soon we were installed in them with our luggage, the amount of which rather astonished the inhabitants of Reykjavik.
‘Well, Axel,’ my uncle said to me, ‘things are going well, and the worst is over.’
‘The worst?’ I exclaimed.
‘Why, yes. Now we have nothing to do but go down!’
‘If that’s how you look at it, you are right. But, after all, when we have gone down we shall have to come up again, I imagine?’
‘Oh, that doesn’t worry me. Come, there’s no time to lose. I’m going to the library. There may be a manuscript of Saknussemm’s there, and if so I should like to consult it.’
‘Then while you are there I’ll wander round the town. Don’t you want to do the same?’