A Journey to the Centre of the Earth | Page 6

eyes were strained with staring at the parchment; the whole absurd collection of
letters appeared to dance before my vision in a number of black little groups. My mind
was possessed with temporary hallucination--I was stifling. I wanted air. Mechanically I
fanned myself with the document, of which now I saw the back and then the front.
Imagine my surprise when glancing at the back of the wearisome puzzle, the ink having
gone through, I clearly made out Latin words, and among others craterem and terrestre.
I had discovered the secret!
It came upon me like a flash of lightning. I had got the clue. All you had to do to
understand the document was to read it backwards. All the ingenious ideas of the
Professor were realized; he had dictated it rightly to me; by a mere accident I had
discovered what he so much desired.
My delight, my emotion may be imagined, my eyes were dazzled and I trembled so that
at first I could make nothing of it. One look, however, would tell me all I wished to
know.
"Let me read," I said to myself, after drawing a long breath.
I spread it before me on the table, I passed my finger over each letter, I spelled it through;
in my excitement I read it out.
What horror and stupefaction took possession of my soul. I was like a man who had
received a knock-down blow. Was it possible that I really read the terrible secret, and it
had really been accomplished! A man had dared to do--what?
No living being should ever know.
"Never!" cried I, jumping up. "Never shall my uncle be made aware of the dread secret.
He would be quite capable of undertaking the terrible journey. Nothing would check him,
nothing stop him. Worse, he would compel me to accompany him, and we should be lost
forever. But no; such folly and madness cannot be allowed."
I was almost beside myself with rage and fury.
"My worthy uncle is already nearly mad," I cried aloud. "This would finish him. By some
accident he may make the discovery; in which case, we are both lost. Perish the fearful
secret--let the flames forever bury it in oblivion."
I snatched up book and parchment, and was about to cast them into the fire, when the
door opened and my uncle entered.
I had scarcely time to put down the wretched documents before my uncle was by my side.
He was profoundly absorbed. His thoughts were evidently bent on the terrible parchment.
Some new combination had probably struck him while taking his walk.

He seated himself in his armchair, and with a pen began to make an algebraical
calculation. I watched him with anxious eyes. My flesh crawled as it became probable
that he would discover the secret.
His combinations I knew now were useless, I having discovered the one only clue. For
three mortal hours he continued without speaking a word, without raising his head,
scratching, rewriting, calculating over and over again. I knew that in time he must hit
upon the right phrase. The letters of every alphabet have only a certain number of
combinations. But then years might elapse before he would arrive at the correct solution.
Still time went on; night came, the sounds in the streets ceased--and still my uncle went
on, not even answering our worthy cook when she called us to supper.
I did not dare to leave him, so waved her away, and at last fell asleep on the sofa.
When I awoke my uncle was still at work. His red eyes, his pallid countenance, his
matted hair, his feverish hands, his hectically flushed cheeks, showed how terrible had
been his struggle with the impossible, and what fearful fatigue he had undergone during
that long sleepless night. It made me quite ill to look at him. Though he was rather severe
with me, I loved him, and my heart ached at his sufferings. He was so overcome by one
idea that he could not even get in a passion! All his energies were focused on one point.
And I knew that by speaking one little word all this suffering would cease. I could not
speak it.
My heart was, nevertheless, inclining towards him. Why, then, did I remain silent? In the
interest of my uncle himself.
"Nothing shall make me speak," I muttered. "He will want to follow in the footsteps of
the other! I know him well. His imagination is a perfect volcano, and to make discoveries
in the interests of geology he would sacrifice his life. I will therefore be silent and strictly
keep the secret I have discovered. To reveal it would be suicidal. He would not only rush,
himself, to destruction, but drag me with