The Professor and His Family

On the 24th of May, 1863, my uncle, Professor Liedenbrock, rushed into his little house, No. 19 Königstrasse, one of the oldest streets in the oldest portion of the city of Hamburg.

On May 24, 1863, my uncle, Professor Liedenbrock, rushed into his little house at 19 Königstrasse. The street was one of the oldest in the oldest part of Hamburg.

Martha must have concluded that she was very much behindhand, for the dinner had only just been put into the oven.

Martha must have realized she was very far behind, because dinner had only just gone into the oven.

"Well, now," said I to myself, "if that most impatient of men is hungry, what a disturbance he will make!"

"Well," I said to myself, "if that most impatient of men is hungry, what a fuss he will make!"

"M. Liedenbrock so soon!" cried poor Martha in great alarm, half opening the dining-room door.

"M. Liedenbrock back so soon!" cried poor Martha in alarm, opening the dining room door halfway.

"Yes, Martha; but very likely the dinner is not half cooked, for it is not two yet. Saint Michael's clock has only just struck half-past one."

"Yes, Martha, but dinner is probably not even half cooked because it isn't two o'clock yet. Saint Michael's clock has just struck half past one."

"Then why has the master come home so soon?"

"Then why did the master come home so early?"

"Perhaps he will tell us that himself."

"Perhaps he will tell us himself."

"Here he is, Monsieur Axel; I will run and hide myself while you argue with him."

"Here he is, Monsieur Axel. I'll run and hide while you argue with him."

And Martha retreated in safety into her own dominions.

And Martha safely retreated to her own domain.

I was left alone. But how was it possible for a man of my undecided turn of mind to argue successfully with so irascible a person as the Professor? With this persuasion I was hurrying away to my own little retreat upstairs, when the street door creaked upon its hinges; heavy feet made the whole flight of stairs to shake; and the master of the house, passing rapidly through the dining-room, threw himself in haste into his own sanctum.

I was left alone. But how could an indecisive man like me hope to win an argument with someone as quick-tempered as the Professor? Convinced that I could not, I hurried toward my little room upstairs. Just then, the street door creaked open. Heavy footsteps shook the whole staircase. The master of the house hurried through the dining room and threw himself into his private study.

But on his rapid way he had found time to fling his hazel stick into a corner, his rough broadbrim upon the table, and these few emphatic words at his nephew:

But as he hurried along, he found time to toss his hazel stick into a corner and his rough, wide-brimmed hat onto the table. He also threw these emphatic words at his nephew:

"Axel, follow me!"

"Axel, follow me!"

I had scarcely had time to move when the Professor was again shouting after me:

I had barely had time to move when the Professor shouted after me again:

"What! not come yet?"

"What! Not here yet?"

And I rushed into my redoubtable master's study.

And I rushed into my formidable master's study.

Otto Liedenbrock had no mischief in him, I willingly allow that; but unless he very considerably changes as he grows older, at the end he will be a most original character.

I readily admit that Otto Liedenbrock had no mischief in him. But unless he changes a great deal as he grows older, he will become a most unusual character.

He was professor at the Johannæum, and was delivering a series of lectures on mineralogy, in the course of every one of which he broke into a passion once or twice at least. Not at all that he was over-anxious about the improvement of his class, or about the degree of attention with which they listened to him, or the success which might eventually crown his labours. Such little matters of detail never troubled him much. His teaching was as the German philosophy calls it, 'subjective'; it was to benefit himself, not others. He was a learned egotist. He was a well of science, and the pulleys worked uneasily when you wanted to draw anything out of it. In a word, he was a learned miser.

He was a professor at the Johannæum and gave a series of lectures on mineralogy. During every lecture, he lost his temper at least once or twice. Not that he was too concerned about his students' progress, their attention, or his eventual success as a teacher. Such small details rarely troubled him. His teaching was what German philosophy calls 'subjective'. It was meant to benefit himself, not others. He was a learned egotist. He was a well of knowledge, but its pulleys worked with difficulty when anyone wanted to draw something out. In short, he was a learned miser.

Germany has not a few professors of this sort.

Germany has quite a few professors like this.

To his misfortune, my uncle was not gifted with a sufficiently rapid utterance; not, to be sure, when he was talking at home, but certainly in his public delivery; this is a want much to be deplored in a speaker. The fact is, that during the course of his lectures at the Johannæum, the Professor often came to a complete standstill; he fought with wilful words that refused to pass his struggling lips, such words as resist and distend the cheeks, and at last break out into the unasked-for shape of a round and most unscientific oath: then his fury would gradually abate.

Unfortunately, my uncle could not speak quickly enough in public. At home, of course, he had no such trouble. This was a regrettable flaw in a speaker. During his lectures at the Johannæum, the Professor often came to a complete stop. He struggled with stubborn words that refused to pass his lips. They would make his cheeks bulge and finally burst out as an unwanted and thoroughly unscientific oath. Then his fury would gradually subside.

Now in mineralogy there are many half-Greek and half-Latin terms, very hard to articulate, and which would be most trying to a poet's measures. I don't wish to say a word against so respectable a science, far be that from me. True, in the august presence of rhombohedral crystals, retinasphaltic resins, gehlenites, Fassaites, molybdenites, tungstates of manganese, and titanite of zirconium, why, the most facile of tongues may make a slip now and then.

Mineralogy has many terms that are half Greek and half Latin. They are hard to pronounce and would be a real challenge to fit into a poem's meter. I don't mean to say a word against such a respectable science. Far from it. Still, even the most nimble tongue may stumble now and then in the majestic presence of rhombohedral crystals, retinasphaltic resins, gehlenites, Fassaites, molybdenites, tungstates of manganese, and titanite of zirconium.

It therefore happened that this venial fault of my uncle's came to be pretty well understood in time, and an unfair advantage was taken of it; the students laid wait for him in dangerous places, and when he began to stumble, loud was the laughter, which is not in good taste, not even in Germans. And if there was always a full audience to honour the Liedenbrock courses, I should be sorry to conjecture how many came to make merry at my uncle's expense.

In time, my uncle's small fault became well known, and people took unfair advantage of it. The students lay in wait for him at difficult points in his lectures. When he began to stumble, they laughed loudly. That was in bad taste, even for Germans. And although the Liedenbrock courses always drew a full audience, I would hate to guess how many came to laugh at my uncle's expense.

Nevertheless my good uncle was a man of deep learning—a fact I am most anxious to assert and reassert. Sometimes he might irretrievably injure a specimen by his too great ardour in handling it; but still he united the genius of a true geologist with the keen eye of the mineralogist. Armed with his hammer, his steel pointer, his magnetic needles, his blowpipe, and his bottle of nitric acid, he was a powerful man of science. He would refer any mineral to its proper place among the six hundred¹ elementary substances now enumerated, by its fracture, its appearance, its hardness, its fusibility, its sonorousness, its smell, and its taste.

Nevertheless, my good uncle was a deeply learned man. I am eager to say that again and again. Sometimes his eagerness led him to damage a specimen beyond repair. But he combined the genius of a true geologist with the keen eye of a mineralogist. Armed with his hammer, steel pointer, magnetic needles, blowpipe, and bottle of nitric acid, he was a formidable scientist. He could classify any mineral among the six hundred¹ elementary substances now listed. He did this by its fracture, appearance, hardness, fusibility, sound, smell, and taste.

The name of Liedenbrock was honourably mentioned in colleges and learned societies. Humphry Davy,² Humboldt, Captain Sir John Franklin, General Sabine, never failed to call upon him on their way through Hamburg. Becquerel, Ebelman, Brewster, Dumas, Milne-Edwards, Saint-Claire-Deville frequently consulted him upon the most difficult problems in chemistry, a science which was indebted to him for considerable discoveries, for in 1853 there had appeared at Leipzig an imposing folio by Otto Liedenbrock, entitled, "A Treatise upon Transcendental Chemistry," with plates; a work, however, which failed to cover its expenses.

Liedenbrock’s name was spoken of with respect in colleges and learned societies. Humphry Davy,² Humboldt, Captain Sir John Franklin, and General Sabine always visited him when passing through Hamburg. Becquerel, Ebelman, Brewster, Dumas, Milne-Edwards, and Saint-Claire-Deville often consulted him on the most difficult problems in chemistry. He had made important discoveries in that science. In 1853, Otto Liedenbrock published an impressive illustrated folio in Leipzig titled "A Treatise upon Transcendental Chemistry." However, the book failed to cover its expenses.

To all these titles to honour let me add that my uncle was the curator of the museum of mineralogy formed by M. Struve, the Russian ambassador; a most valuable collection, the fame of which is European.

To all these honors, let me add that my uncle was the curator of a mineralogy museum. It was established by M. Struve, the Russian ambassador. The collection was extremely valuable and famous throughout Europe.

Such was the gentleman who addressed me in that impetuous manner. Fancy a tall, spare man, of an iron constitution, and with a fair complexion which took off a good ten years from the fifty he must own to. His restless eyes were in incessant motion behind his full-sized spectacles. His long, thin nose was like a knife blade. Boys have been heard to remark that that organ was magnetised and attracted iron filings. But this was merely a mischievous report; it had no attraction except for snuff, which it seemed to draw to itself in great quantities.

That was the gentleman who spoke to me so impatiently. Imagine a tall, lean man with a remarkably strong constitution. His fair complexion made him look a good ten years younger than his fifty years. His restless eyes moved constantly behind his large spectacles. His long, thin nose was like a knife blade. Boys had been heard to say that his nose was magnetized and attracted iron filings. But that was just a mischievous rumor. His nose attracted nothing but snuff, which it seemed to draw to itself in great quantities.

When I have added, to complete my portrait, that my uncle walked by mathematical strides of a yard and a half, and that in walking he kept his fists firmly closed, a sure sign of an irritable temperament, I think I shall have said enough to disenchant any one who should by mistake have coveted much of his company.

To complete my portrait, I should add that my uncle walked with precisely measured strides of a yard and a half. He also kept his fists tightly closed as he walked, a sure sign of an irritable temperament. I think I have said enough to put off anyone who might mistakenly have wanted much of his company.

He lived in his own little house in Königstrasse, a structure half brick and half wood, with a gable cut into steps; it looked upon one of those winding canals which intersect each other in the middle of the ancient quarter of Hamburg, and which the great fire of 1842 had fortunately spared.

He lived in his own little house on Königstrasse. It was half brick and half wood, with a stepped gable. It overlooked one of the winding canals that crossed through the heart of Hamburg’s old quarter. The great fire of 1842 had fortunately spared those canals.

It is true that the old house stood slightly off the perpendicular, and bulged out a little towards the street; its roof sloped a little to one side, like the cap over the left ear of a Tugendbund student; its lines wanted accuracy; but after all, it stood firm, thanks to an old elm which buttressed it in front, and which often in spring sent its young sprays through the window panes.

It was true that the old house leaned slightly and bulged a little toward the street. Its roof tilted to one side, like a Tugendbund student's cap tipped over his left ear. Its lines were not quite straight. But the house stood firm, thanks to an old elm that supported it in front. In spring, the elm often sent its young shoots through the windowpanes.

My uncle was tolerably well off for a German professor. The house was his own, and everything in it. The living contents were his god-daughter Gräuben, a young Virlandaise of seventeen, Martha, and myself. As his nephew and an orphan, I became his laboratory assistant.

My uncle was fairly well-off for a German professor. He owned the house and everything in it. The people living there were his goddaughter Gräuben, a seventeen-year-old Virlandaise, Martha, and me. I was his nephew and an orphan, so I became his laboratory assistant.

I freely confess that I was exceedingly fond of geology and all its kindred sciences; the blood of a mineralogist was in my veins, and in the midst of my specimens I was always happy.

I readily admit that I loved geology and all its related sciences. A mineralogist’s blood ran in my veins, and I was always happy among my specimens.

In a word, a man might live happily enough in the little old house in the Königstrasse, in spite of the restless impatience of its master, for although he was a little too excitable—he was very fond of me. But the man had no notion how to wait; nature herself was too slow for him. In April, after he had planted in the terra-cotta pots outside his window seedling plants of mignonette and convolvulus, he would go and give them a little pull by their leaves to make them grow faster. In dealing with such a strange individual there was nothing for it but prompt obedience. I therefore rushed after him.

In short, one could live happily enough in the little old house on Königstrasse, despite its master’s restless impatience. Although he was a little too excitable, he was very fond of me. But the man had no idea how to wait. Even nature was too slow for him. In April, he would plant mignonette and convolvulus seedlings in the terra-cotta pots outside his window. Then he would give their leaves a little pull to make them grow faster. With such a strange person, there was nothing to do but obey at once. So I rushed after him.