by Jules Verne
CHAPTER X.
INTERESTING CONVERSATIONS WITH ICELANDIC SAVANTS
Dinner was ready. Professor Liedenbrock devoured his portionvoraciously, for his compulsory fast on board had converted hisstomach into a vast unfathomable gulf. There was nothing remarkablein the meal itself; but the hospitality of our host, more Danish thanIcelandic, reminded me of the heroes of old. It was evident that wewere more at home than he was himself.
The conversation was carried on in the vernacular tongue, which myuncle mixed with German and M. Fridrikssen with Latin for my benefit.It turned upon scientific questions as befits philosophers; butProfessor Liedenbrock was excessively reserved, and at every sentencespoke to me with his eyes, enjoining the most absolute silence uponour plans.
In the first place M. Fridrikssen wanted to know what success myuncle had had at the library.
"Your library! why there is nothing but a few tattered books uponalmost deserted shelves."
"Indeed!" replied M. Fridrikssen, "why we possess eight thousandvolumes, many of them valuable and scarce, works in the oldScandinavian language, and we have all the novelties that Copenhagensends us every year."
"Where do you keep your eight thousand volumes? For my part--"
"Oh, M. Liedenbrock, they are all over the country. In this icyregion we are fond of study. There is not a farmer nor a fishermanthat cannot read and does not read. Our principle is, that books,instead of growing mouldy behind an iron grating, should be worn outunder the eyes of many readers. Therefore, these volumes are passedfrom one to another, read over and over, referred to again and again;and it often happens that they find their way back to their shelvesonly after an absence of a year or two."
"And in the meantime," said my uncle rather spitefully, "strangers--"
"Well, what would you have? Foreigners have their libraries at home,and the first essential for labouring people is that they should beeducated. I repeat to you the love of reading runs in Icelandicblood. In 1816 we founded a prosperous literary society; learnedstrangers think themselves honoured in becoming members of it. Itpublishes books which educate our fellow-countrymen, and do thecountry great service. If you will consent to be a correspondingmember, Herr Liedenbrock, you will be giving us great pleasure."
My uncle, who had already joined about a hundred learned societies,accepted with a grace which evidently touched M. Fridrikssen.
"Now," said he, "will you be kind enough to tell me what books youhoped to find in our library and I may perhaps enable you to consultthem?"
My uncle's eyes and mine met. He hesitated. This direct question wentto the root of the matter. But after a moment's reflection he decidedon speaking.
"Monsieur Fridrikssen, I wished to know if amongst your ancient booksyou possessed any of the works of Arne Saknussemm?"
"Arne Saknussemm!" replied the Rejkiavik professor. "You mean thatlearned sixteenth century savant, a naturalist, a chemist, and atraveller?"
"Just so!"
"One of the glories of Icelandic literature and science?"
"That's the man."
"An illustrious man anywhere!"
"Quite so."
"And whose courage was equal to his genius!"
"I see that you know him well."
My uncle was bathed in delight at hearing his hero thus described. Hefeasted his eyes upon M. Fridrikssen's face.
"Well," he cried, "where are his works?"
"His works, we have them not."
"What--not in Iceland?"
"They are neither in Iceland nor anywhere else."
"Why is that?"
"Because Arne Saknussemm was persecuted for heresy, and in 1573 hisbooks were burned by the hands of the common hangman."
"Very good! Excellent!" cried my uncle, to the great scandal of theprofessor of natural history.
"What!" he cried.
"Yes, yes; now it is all clear, now it is all unravelled; and I seewhy Saknussemm, put into the Index Expurgatorius, and compelled tohide the discoveries made by his genius, was obliged to bury in anincomprehensible cryptogram the secret--"
"What secret?" asked M. Fridrikssen, starting.
"Oh, just a secret which--" my uncle stammered.
"Have you some private document in your possession?" asked our host.
"No; I was only supposing a case."
"Oh, very well," answered M. Fridrikssen, who was kind enough not topursue the subject when he had noticed the embarrassment of hisfriend. "I hope you will not leave our island until you have seensome of its mineralogical wealth."
"Certainly," replied my uncle; "but I am rather late; or have notothers been here before me?"
"Yes, Herr Liedenbrock; the labours of MM. Olafsen and Povelsen,pursued by order of the king, the researches of Troil the scientificmission of MM. Gaimard and Robert on the French corvette _LaRecherche,_ [1] and lately the observations of scientific men whocame in the _Reine Hortense,_ have added materially to our knowledgeof Iceland. But I assure you there is plenty left."
"Do you think so?" said my uncle, pretending to look very modest, andtrying to hide the curiosity was flashing out of his eyes.
"Oh, yes; how many mountains, glaciers, and volcanoes there are tostudy, which are as yet but imperfectly known! Then, without goingany further, that mountain in the horizon. That is Snaefell."
"Ah!" said my uncle, as coolly as he was able, "is that Snaefell?"
"Yes; one of the most curious volcanoes, and the crater of which hasscarcely ever been visited."
"Is it extinct?"
"Oh, yes; more than five hundred years."
"Well," replied my uncle, who was frantically locking his legs togetherto keep himself from jumping up in the air, "that is where I mean tobegin my geological studies, there on that Seffel--Fessel--what do youcall it?"
"Snaefell," replied the excellent M. Fridrikssen.
This part of the conversation was in Latin; I had understood everyword of it, and I could hardly conceal my amusement at seeing myuncle trying to keep down the excitement and satisfaction which werebrimming over in every limb and every feature. He tried hard to puton an innocent little expression of simplicity; but it looked like adiabolical grin.
[1] _Recherche_ was sent out in 1835 by Admiral Duperre to learn thefate of the lost expedition of M. de Blosseville in the _Lilloise_which has never been heard of.
"Yes," said he, "your words decide me. We will try to scale thatSnaefell; perhaps even we may pursue our studies in its crater!"
"I am very sorry," said M. Fridrikssen, "that my engagements will notallow me to absent myself, or I would have accompanied you myselfwith both pleasure and profit."
"Oh, no, no!" replied my uncle with great animation, "we would notdisturb any one for the world, M. Fridrikssen. Still, I thank youwith all my heart: the company of such a talented man would have beenvery serviceable, but the duties of your profession--"
I am glad to think that our host, in the innocence of his Icelandicsoul, was blind to the transparent artifices of my uncle.
"I very much approve of your beginning with that volcano, M.Liedenbrock. You will gather a harvest of interesting observations.But, tell me, how do you expect to get to the peninsula of Snaefell?"
"By sea, crossing the bay. That's the most direct way."
"No doubt; but it is impossible."
"Why?"
"Because we don't possess a single boat at Rejkiavik."
"You don't mean to say so?"
"You will have to go by land, following the shore. It will be longer,but more interesting."
"Very well, then; and now I shall have to see about a guide."
"I have one to offer you."
"A safe, intelligent man."
"Yes; an inhabitant of that peninsula. He is an eider-down hunter, andvery clever. He speaks Danish perfectly."
"When can I see him?"
"To-morrow, if you like."
"Why not to-day?"
"Because he won't be here till to-morrow."
/> "To-morrow, then," added my uncle with a sigh.
This momentous conversation ended in a few minutes with warmacknowledgments paid by the German to the Icelandic Professor. Atthis dinner my uncle had just elicited important facts, amongstothers, the history of Saknussemm, the reason of the mysteriousdocument, that his host would not accompany him in his expedition,and that the very next day a guide would be waiting upon him.
