Voyage au centre de la terre. English

by Jules Verne

  CHAPTER XLIV.

  SUNNY LANDS IN THE BLUE MEDITERRANEAN

  When I opened my eyes again I felt myself grasped by the belt withthe strong hand of our guide. With the other arm he supported myuncle. I was not seriously hurt, but I was shaken and bruised andbattered all over. I found myself lying on the sloping side of amountain only two yards from a gaping gulf, which would haveswallowed me up had I leaned at all that way. Hans had saved me fromdeath whilst I lay rolling on the edge of the crater.

  "Where are we?" asked my uncle irascibly, as if he felt much injuredby being landed upon the earth again.

  The hunter shook his head in token of complete ignorance.

  "Is it Iceland?" I asked.

  "_Nej,_" replied Hans.

  "What! Not Iceland?" cried the Professor.

  "Hans must be mistaken," I said, raising myself up.

  This was our final surprise after all the astonishing events of ourwonderful journey. I expected to see a white cone covered with theeternal snow of ages rising from the midst of the barren deserts ofthe icy north, faintly lighted with the pale rays of the arctic sun,far away in the highest latitudes known; but contrary to all ourexpectations, my uncle, the Icelander, and myself were sittinghalf-way down a mountain baked under the burning rays of a southernsun, which was blistering us with the heat, and blinding us with thefierce light of his nearly vertical rays.

  I could not believe my own eyes; but the heated air and the sensationof burning left me no room for doubt. We had come out of the craterhalf naked, and the radiant orb to which we had been strangers fortwo months was lavishing upon us out of his blazing splendours moreof his light and heat than we were able to receive with comfort.

  When my eyes had become accustomed to the bright light to which theyhad been so long strangers, I began to use them to set my imaginationright. At least I would have it to be Spitzbergen, and I was in nohumour to give up this notion.

  The Professor was the first to speak, and said:

  "Well, this is not much like Iceland."

  "But is it Jan Mayen?" I asked.

  "Nor that either," he answered. "This is no northern mountain; hereare no granite peaks capped with snow. Look, Axel, look!"

  Above our heads, at a height of five hundred feet or more, we saw thecrater of a volcano, through which, at intervals of fifteen minutesor so, there issued with loud explosions lofty columns of fire,mingled with pumice stones, ashes, and flowing lava. I could feel theheaving of the mountain, which seemed to breathe like a huge whale,and puff out fire and wind from its vast blowholes. Beneath, down apretty steep declivity, ran streams of lava for eight or nine hundredfeet, giving the mountain a height of about 1,300 or 1,400 feet. Butthe base of the mountain was hidden in a perfect bower of richverdure, amongst which I was able to distinguish the olive, the fig,and vines, covered with their luscious purple bunches.

  I was forced to confess that there was nothing arctic here.

  When the eye passed beyond these green surroundings it rested on awide, blue expanse of sea or lake, which appeared to enclose thisenchanting island, within a compass of only a few leagues. Eastwardlay a pretty little white seaport town or village, with a few housesscattered around it, and in the harbour of which a few vessels ofpeculiar rig were gently swayed by the softly swelling waves. Beyondit, groups of islets rose from the smooth, blue waters, but in suchnumbers that they seemed to dot the sea like a shoal. To the westdistant coasts lined the dim horizon, on some rose blue mountains ofsmooth, undulating forms; on a more distant coast arose a prodigiouscone crowned on its summit with a snowy plume of white cloud. To thenorthward lay spread a vast sheet of water, sparkling and dancingunder the hot, bright rays, the uniformity broken here and there bythe topmast of a gallant ship appearing above the horizon, or aswelling sail moving slowly before the wind.

  This unforeseen spectacle was most charming to eyes long used tounderground darkness.

  "Where are we? Where are we?" I asked faintly.

  Hans closed his eyes with lazy indifference. What did it matter tohim? My uncle looked round with dumb surprise.

  "Well, whatever mountain this may be," he said at last, "it is veryhot here. The explosions are going on still, and I don't think itwould look well to have come out by an eruption, and then to get ourheads broken by bits of falling rock. Let us get down. Then we shallknow better what we are about. Besides, I am starving, and parchingwith thirst."

  Decidedly the Professor was not given to contemplation. For my part,I could for another hour or two have forgotten my hunger and myfatigue to enjoy the lovely scene before me; but I had to follow mycompanions.

  The slope of the volcano was in many places of great steepness. Weslid down screes of ashes, carefully avoiding the lava streams whichglided sluggishly by us like fiery serpents. As we went I chatteredand asked all sorts of questions as to our whereabouts, for I was toomuch excited not to talk a great deal.

  "We are in Asia," I cried, "on the coasts of India, in the MalayIslands, or in Oceania. We have passed through half the globe, andcome out nearly at the antipodes."

  "But the compass?" said my uncle.

  "Ay, the compass!" I said, greatly puzzled. "According to the compasswe have gone northward."

  "Has it lied?"

  "Surely not. Could it lie?"

  "Unless, indeed, this is the North Pole!"

  "Oh, no, it is not the Pole; but--"

  Well, here was something that baffled us completely. I could not tellwhat to say.

  But now we were coming into that delightful greenery, and I wassuffering greatly from hunger and thirst. Happily, after two hours'walking, a charming country lay open before us, covered with olivetrees, pomegranate trees, and delicious vines, all of which seemed tobelong to anybody who pleased to claim them. Besides, in our state ofdestitution and famine we were not likely to be particular. Oh, theinexpressible pleasure of pressing those cool, sweet fruits to ourlips, and eating grapes by mouthfuls off the rich, full bunches! Notfar off, in the grass, under the delicious shade of the trees, Idiscovered a spring of fresh, cool water, in which we luxuriouslybathed our faces, hands, and feet.

  Whilst we were thus enjoying the sweets of repose a child appearedout of a grove of olive trees.

  "Ah!" I cried, "here is an inhabitant of this happy land!"

  It was but a poor boy, miserably ill-clad, a sufferer from poverty,and our aspect seemed to alarm him a great deal; in fact, only halfclothed, with ragged hair and beards, we were a suspicious-lookingparty; and if the people of the country knew anything about thieves,we were very likely to frighten them.

  Just as the poor little wretch was going to take to his heels, Hanscaught hold of him, and brought him to us, kicking and struggling.

  My uncle began to encourage him as well as he could, and said to himin good German:

  "_Was heiszt diesen Berg, mein Knablein? Sage mir geschwind!_"

  ("What is this mountain called, my little friend?")

  The child made no answer.

  "Very well," said my uncle. "I infer that we are not in Germany."

  He put the same question in English.

  We got no forwarder. I was a good deal puzzled.

  "Is the child dumb?" cried the Professor, who, proud of his knowledgeof many languages, now tried French: "_Comment appellet-on cettemontagne, mon enfant?_"

  Silence still.

  "Now let us try Italian," said my uncle; and he said:

  "_Dove noi siamo?_"

  "Yes, where are we?" I impatiently repeated.

  But there was no answer still.

  "Will you speak when you are told?" exclaimed my uncle, shaking theurchin by the ears. "_Come si noma questa isola?_"

  "STROMBOLI," replied the little herdboy, slipping out of Hans' hands,and scudding into the plain across the olive trees.

  We were hardly thinking of that. Stromboli! What an effect thisunexpected name produced upon my mind! We were in the midst of theMediterranean Sea, on an island of the AEolian archipelago,
in theancient Strongyle, where AEolus kept the winds and the storms chainedup, to be let loose at his will. And those distant blue mountains inthe east were the mountains of Calabria. And that threatening volcanofar away in the south was the fierce Etna.

  "Stromboli, Stromboli!" I repeated.

  My uncle kept time to my exclamations with hands and feet, as well aswith words. We seemed to be chanting in chorus!

  What a journey we had accomplished! How marvellous! Having entered byone volcano, we had issued out of another more than two thousandmiles from Snaefell and from that barren, far-away Iceland! Thestrange chances of our expedition had carried us into the heart ofthe fairest region in the world. We had exchanged the bleak regionsof perpetual snow and of impenetrable barriers of ice for those ofbrightness and 'the rich hues of all glorious things.' We had leftover our heads the murky sky and cold fogs of the frigid zone torevel under the azure sky of Italy!

  After our delicious repast of fruits and cold, clear water we set offagain to reach the port of Stromboli. It would not have been wise totell how we came there. The superstitious Italians would have set usdown for fire-devils vomited out of hell; so we presented ourselvesin the humble guise of shipwrecked mariners. It was not so glorious,but it was safer.

  On my way I could hear my uncle murmuring: "But the compass! thatcompass! It pointed due north. How are we to explain that fact?"

  "My opinion is," I replied disdainfully, "that it is best not toexplain it. That is the easiest way to shelve the difficulty."

  "Indeed, sir! The occupant of a professorial chair at the Johannaeumunable to explain the reason of a cosmical phenomenon! Why, it wouldbe simply disgraceful!"

  And as he spoke, my uncle, half undressed, in rags, a perfectscarecrow, with his leathern belt around him, settling his spectaclesupon his nose and looking learned and imposing, was himself again,the terrible German professor of mineralogy.

  One hour after we had left the grove of olives, we arrived at thelittle port of San Vicenzo, where Hans claimed his thirteen week'swages, which was counted out to him with a hearty shaking of handsall round.

  At that moment, if he did not share our natural emotion, at least hiscountenance expanded in a manner very unusual with him, and whilewith the ends of his fingers he lightly pressed our hands, I believehe smiled.