Journey to the Centre of the Earth

On Sunday, the 24th of May, 1863, my uncle, Professor Liedenbrock, came rushing back to his little house at No. 19 Konigstrasse, one of the oldest streets in Hamburg. Martha, our housekeeper, had only just put the dinner on the fire. She looked at the clock in alarm.

"Already home!" she cried. "And the dinner is not ready!"

I was in my room at the top of the house. I knew my uncle well, and I knew that something unusual had happened. He came through the front door like a storm, threw his stick into one corner and his hat onto the table, and called out in his loud voice.

"Axel, follow me!"

Before I could even move, he shouted again from his study.

"Axel! Come at once!"

I ran downstairs.

Otto Liedenbrock was a good man at heart. He was also the most impatient man I have ever known. He taught at the Johanneum, the great school of Hamburg, where he gave lectures on minerals. He knew every stone in the world by its name, its colour, its weight and its taste. His one weakness was his tongue. When he spoke in public, long and difficult words would sometimes stick in his mouth, and then he would grow red in the face and finish with a word that was not scientific at all. The students knew this, and some of them came to his lectures only to see him lose his temper.