Chapter One

I

It was on Sunday, the 24th of May, 1863, that my uncle, Professor Lidenbrock, came rushing suddenly back to his little house in the old part of Hamburg, No. 19, Königstrasse.

Our good Martha could not but think she was very much behindhand with the dinner, for the pot was scarcely beginning to simmer, and I said to myself:

“Now, then, we’ll have a fine outcry if my uncle is hungry, for he is the most impatient of mortals.”

“Mr. Lidenbrock, already!” cried the poor woman, in dismay, half opening the dining-room door.

“Yes, Martha; but of course dinner can’t be ready yet, for it is not two o’clock. It has only just struck the half-hour by St. Michael’s.”

“What brings Mr. Lidenbrock home, then?”

“He’ll probably tell us that himself.”

“Here he comes. I’ll be off, Mr. Axel; you must make him listen to reason.”

And forthwith she effected a safe retreat to her culinary laboratory.

I was left alone, but not feeling equal to the task of making the most irascible of professors listen to reason, was about to escape to my own little room upstairs, when the street-door creaked on its hinges, and the wooden stairs cracked beneath a hurried tread, and the master of the house came in and bolted across the dining-room, straight into his study. But, rapid as his flight was, he managed to fling his nutcracker-headed stick into a corner, and his wide-brimmed rough hat on the table, and to shout out to his nephew:

“Axel, follow me.”

Before I had time to stir he called out again, in the most impatien