I saw that indeed none of the items necessary for the realization of his project were missing.

Among other documents, a carefully folded sheet of paper bore the letterhead of the Danish consulate with the signature of Mr. Christiensen, consul in Hamburg and a friend of the professor’s. This should make it easy for us to obtain letters of reference for the Governor of Iceland in Copenhagen.

I also observed the famous document, carefully hidden in the most secret pocket of his portfolio. I cursed it from the bottom of my heart, and then studied the landscape again. It was a vast series of uninteresting, monotonous, loamy and fertile flats; a very favorable landscape for the construction of railways, suitable for the straight lines so beloved by railway companies.

But I had no time to get tired of this monotony; for in three hours we stopped at Kiel, close to the sea.

As our luggage was checked through to Copenhagen, we did not have to look after it. Nevertheless, the professor kept a cautious eye on it while it was being transported to the steamer. There, it disappeared in the hold.

In his haste, my uncle had so well calculated the connection between the train and the steamer that we had a whole day to kill. The steamer Ellenora would not leave until night.

Hence a nine-hour fever during which the irascible traveler sent the steamboat and of railway administrators to the devil, as well as the governments which tolerated such abuses. I was forced to echo him when he approached the captain of the Ellenora with this subject. He wanted to force him to heat up the engines without wasting a moment. The captain disposed of him summarily.

In Kiel, as elsewhere, a day eventually passes. What with walking on the verdant shores of the bay at the extreme of which lies the little town, exploring the dense woods which make it look like a nest amongst thick foliage, admiring the villas, each with a little bath house, and moving about and grumbling, at last ten o’clock came.

The heavy coils of smoke from the Ellenora rose to the sky; the bridge shook with the shudders of the boiler; we were on board, and owners of two berths, one above the other, in the ship’s only cabin.

At a quarter past ten the moorings were loosed and the steamer glided rapidly over the dark waters of the Great Belt.

The night was dark; there was a sharp breeze and rough sea; a few lights appeared on shore through the thick darkness; later on, I cannot tell when, a dazzling light from some lighthouse glittered above the waves; and that is all I can remember of this first passage.

At seven in the morning we landed at Korsör, a small town on the west coast of Zealand. There we transferred from the boat to another train, which took us across just as flat a country as the plain of Holstein.

Three hours’ traveling brought us to the capital of Denmark. My uncle had not shut his eyes all night. In his impatience I believe he was trying to accelerate the train with his feet.

At last he discerned a stretch of sea.

“The Sound!” he exclaimed.

At our left was a huge building that looked like a hospital.

“That’s a lunatic asylum,” said one of our traveling companions.

Very good! I thought, just the place where we should spend the rest of our days! And large though it is, that asylum is not big enough to contain all Professor Lidenbrock’s madness!

At ten in the morning, at last, we set foot in Copenhagen; the luggage was loaded on to a carriage and taken to the Hotel Phoenix in Bredgade along with ourselves. This took half an hour, for the station is outside of the town. Then my uncle, after refreshing himself quickly, dragged me along with him. The porter at the hotel could speak German and English; but the professor, as a polyglot, questioned him in good Danish, and it was in the same language that this individual directed him to the Museum of Northern Antiquities.

The director of this curious establishment, in which marvels are piled up from which the ancient history of the country might be reconstructed by means of its stone weapons, its cups and its jewels, was Professor Thomson, a scholar, friend of the Danish consul at Hamburg.

My uncle had a cordial letter of introduction to him. As a general rule one scholar greets another with coolness. But here it was completely different. Mr. Thomson, a helpful man, extended a warm welcome to Professor Lidenbrock and the same to his nephew. It is hardly necessary to mention that the secret was preserved in the presence of the excellent museum director. We simply wanted to visit Iceland as disinterested amateurs.

Mr. Thomson put himself at our disposal, and we visited the quays so as to look for a ship getting ready for departure.

I still hoped that there would be absolutely no means of transportation; but no such luck. A small Danish schooner, the valkyrie, was to set sail for Reykjavik on the 2nd of June. The captain, Mr. Bjarne, was on board. His future passenger, full of joy, shook his hands so hard they almost broke. The good man was a little astonished at this grip.