CHAPTER ONE

On May 24, 1863, a Sunday, my uncle, Professor Lidenbrock, came hurrying back to his little house, on one of the oldest streets in Hamburg, Germany. He rushed through the dining room and straight into his study. As he walked through the house, he saw me nearby, and quickly said, "Axel, come with me!" before continuing on. Just a moment later, he shouted, "Well, why aren't you here yet?"

He was a professor at a local university, where he taught a course in Earth studies, and became quite angry once or twice during each class. He was certainly not concerned that his students benefited from his class, or if they paid attention to his lectures. He cared very little about such matters. He taught, rather, for himself; he enjoyed hearing his own voice and thoughts. There are a number of professors like that in Germany.

Unfortunately, my uncle sometimes had difficulty with his speech. During his lectures at the university, he would often stop while speaking, struggling to pronounce a word, and finally his speech would explode into a burst of swearwords.

This habit of my uncle's was well-known in the town, and he was often joked about His students would wait for him to begin a difficult word, after which he would quickly become angry. However, my uncle was still a scientist, and loved his work. He was often awake all night, testing new methods of study or excitedly writing about his findings. Therefore, he was greatly respected in schools and among other professors and scientists. This, then, was the man who called me to him so impatiently. He was a tall, thin, healthy man in his fifties. He lived in his little house, made of brick and wood. The house was quite old and in rather poor condition. Yet my uncle was quite wealthy for a German professor. He owned the home himself, and all the contents inside, aside from Martha, the maid, Grauben, his seventeen-year-old goddaughter and myself. Her parents had died long ago, and he was now to take care of her. Being his nephew, I had become his assistant after coming to live with him after my parents both died.

I must admit that I quickly came to admire his work, and I was never bored with the work he gave me. I was able to live happily in that little house, and although its owner was quite impatient, he was quite fond of me.

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