Chapter 1

CHAPTER I.

THE PROFESSOR AND HIS FAMILY

On the 24th of May, 1863, my uncle, Professor Liedenbrock, rushed into his little house, No. 19 Königstrasse, one of the oldest streetsin the oldest portion of the city of Hamburg.

Martha must have concluded that she was very much behindhand, for thedinner had only just been put into the oven.

"Well, now," said I to myself, "if that most impatient of men is hungry, what a disturbance he will make!"

"M. Liedenbrock so soon!" cried poor Martha in great alarm, halfopening the dining-room door.

"Yes, Martha; but very likely the dinner is not half cooked, for itis not two yet. Saint Michael's clock has only just struck half-pastone."

"Then why has the master come home so soon?"

"Perhaps he will tell us that himself."

"Here he is, Monsieur Axel; I will run and hide myself while youargue with him."

And Martha retreated in safety into her own dominions.

I was left alone. But how was it possible for a man of my undecidedturn of mind to argue successfully with so irascible a person as theProfessor? With this persuasion I was hurrying away to my own littleretreat upstairs, when the street door creaked upon its hinges; heavyfeet made the whole flight of stairs to shake; and the master of thehouse, passing rapidly through the dining-room, threw himself inhaste into his own sanctum.

But on his rapid way he had found time to fling his hazel stick intoa corner, his rough broadbrim upon the table, and these few emphaticwords at his nephew:

"Axel, follow me!"

I had scarcely had time to move when the Professor was again shoutingafter me:

"What! not come yet?"

And I rushed into my redoubtable master's study.

Otto Liedenbrock had no mischief in him, I willingly allow that; butunless he very considerably changes as he grows older, at the end hewill be a most original character.

He was professor at the Johannæum, and was delivering a series oflectures on mineralogy, in the course of every one of which he brokeinto a passion once or twice at least. Not at all that he wasover-anxious about the improvement of his class, or about the degreeof attention with which they listened to him, or the success whichmight eventually crown his labours. Such little matters of detailnever troubled him much. His teaching was as the German philosophycalls it, 'subjective'; it was to benefit himself, not others. He wasa learned egotist. He was a well of science, and the pulleys workeduneasily when you wanted to draw anything out of it. In a word, hewas a learned miser.

Germany has not a few professors of this sort.

To his misfortune, my uncle was not gifted with a sufficiently rapidutterance; not, to be sure, when he was talking at home, butcertainly in his public delivery; this is a want much to be deploredin a speaker.