Читать книгу Путешествие к центру Земли / A Journey to the Centre of the Earth - Жюль Верн, Жуль Верн - Страница 3

One day I came to his study. It was like a museum. Specimens of every kind lay there in their places in perfect order, and correctly named, divided into inflammable, metallic, and lithoid minerals[7].

My uncle was sitting in a velvet armchair, and was looking at a book with intense admiration.

“Here’s a remarkable book! What a wonderful book!” he was exclaiming. “Don’t you see? I have got a priceless treasure, that I found this morning in the bookshop.”

“Magnificent!” I replied, with a good imitation of enthusiasm.

Why worry about this old, bound in rough calf, yellow, faded volume?

“See,” the Professor went on. “Isn’t it a beauty? Yes; splendid! Did you ever see such a binding[8]? Doesn’t the book open easily? Yes; it stops open anywhere. But does it shut equally well? Yes; for the binding and the leaves are flush. And look at its back, after seven hundred years!”

I asked a question about its contents, although I did not feel the slightest interest.

“And what is the title of this marvellous work?” I asked.

“This work,” replied my uncle, “this work is the Heims Kringla [9]of Snorre Turlleson[10], the most famous Icelandic author of the twelfth century! It is the chronicle of the Norwegian princes who ruled in Iceland.”

“Indeed;” I cried, “and of course it is a German translation?”

“What!” sharply replied the Professor, “A translation! What can I do with a translation? This is the Icelandic original!”

“Ah!” said I; “and is the type [11]good?”

“Type! What do you mean by the type, wretched Axel[12]? Type! Do you take it for [13]a printed book, you ignorant fool? It is a manuscript, a Runic manuscript.”

“Runic?”

“Yes. Do I need to explain what that is?”

“Of course not,” I replied in the tone of an injured man. But my uncle continued.

“Runic characters were in use in Iceland in former ages. They were invented, it is said, by Odin [14]himself. Look there, and wonder, impious young man, and admire these letters, the invention of the Scandinavian god!”

Well, well! I was going to prostrate myself before this wonderful book, when a little incident happened to divert conversation into another channel. A dirty slip of parchment slipped out of the volume and fell upon the floor.

“What’s this?” cried my uncle.

And he laid out upon the table that piece of parchment, five inches by three[15], with certain mysterious characters.

The Professor raised his spectacles and pronounced:

“These are Runic letters; they are exactly like those of the manuscript of Snorre Turlleson. But what is their meaning? It is certainly old Icelandic.”

Suddenly two o’clock struck by the little clock over the fireplace. At that moment our good housekeeper Martha opened the study door, and said:

“Dinner is ready!”

I followed her, and sat in my usual place. I waited a few minutes. Professor did not come. He had never missed the important ceremonial of dinner.

“I have never known such a thing,” said Martha. “Mr. Liedenbrock is not at table! Something serious is going to happen.”

After the dinner, I came back to the study.