CHAPTER TWO

In his study, every rock and piece of earth was carefully labeled. How well I knew each one! How often, instead of playing with boys of my age, I had taken pleasure in carefully cleaning each of those containers. When I arrived in my uncle's study, he was sitting in his big chair, holding a book and looking at it with deep wonder and respect.

"What a book! What a book!"

My uncle was also a book collector in his spare time, but he only valued books that were rare, or unreadable. "Well," he said to me, "can't you see what it is? It's a treasure. I found it this morning at the book shop."

"It's wonderful!" I answered.

I couldn't see why he was so excited over an old book. But he went on complimenting the book with excitement.

"Look, isn't it beautiful?" he asked, then answered his own question, "Yes, it's incredible! After seven hundred years, and it still looks excellent!"

As he spoke, my uncle kept opening and closing the old book.

"And what's the title of that wonderful book?" I asked, truly eager to discover the reason for such excitement.

"This book," he answered, becoming more excited, "is the Heimskringla by Snorri Sturluson, the famous author of the twelfth century from Iceland. It's a book about the princes from Norway who ruled Iceland."

"Really!" I exclaimed, "has it been translated into German, then?"

"What! A translation?" he exclaimed. "Why would I want a translation? This is the original book in the language spoken in Iceland, Icelandic, an amazing language. This is the original writing in the ancient characters of the alphabet used long ago in Iceland. Come here and admire these letters!"

Just as I went to him, an old piece of writing fell out of the book. My uncle bent down and picked it up with eagerness.

"What's this?" he cried.

And he carefully unfolded the paper on the table to examine it. There were rows of signs that I could not understand. The professor examined the signs a few moments, then said, "These are ancient characters, exactly the same as the ones in Snorri Sturluson's book. But, what can they mean?"

After a short silence, he continued thinking aloud, "Yet it has to be Old Icelandic."

And he must have known whether it was or not, because he was famous for his knowledge of languages. He could speak a great number of languages quite well.

Martha then entered the room to announce that lunch was ready.

"I don't want the lunch!" my uncle shouted, "Now leave me!"

Martha left the room immediately. I hurried after her, and into the dining room to eat. I waited a few minutes. My uncle didn't come. It was the first time that he refused to come for a meal. As a loving nephew, I felt it was my duty to eat for him as well, as for myself, and I did with eagerness.

"I can't believe this!" Martha said. "Mr Lidenbrock isn't here for the meal!"

I was finishing the last bit of lunch when I heard a loud voice. I ran from the dining room to the study immediately.

(end of section)