Chapter 3

The Runic Writing Puzzles the Professor

8 min

"Undoubtedly it is Runic," said the Professor, bending his brows; "but there is a secret in it, and I mean to discover the key."

"It's definitely Runic," said the Professor, frowning. "But there's a secret in it, and I intend to find the key."

A violent gesture finished the sentence.

"Sit there," he added, holding out his fist towards the table. "Sit there, and write."

"Sit there," he added, holding out his fist toward the table. "Sit there and write."

I was seated in a trice.

I sat down in an instant.

"Now I will dictate to you every letter of our alphabet which corresponds with each of these Icelandic characters. We will see what that will give us. But, by St. Michael, if you should dare to deceive me—"

"Now I will tell you which letter of our alphabet corresponds to each Icelandic character. We'll see what that gives us. But, by St. Michael, if you dare to deceive me..."

The dictation commenced. I did my best. Every letter was given me one after the other, with the following remarkable result:

The dictation began. I did my best. I was given each letter one at a time, with this remarkable result:

mm.rnlls esrevel seecIde sgtssmf vnteief niedrke kt,samn atrateS saodrrn emtnaeI nvaect rrilSa Atsaar .nvcrc ieaabs ccrmi eevtVl frAntv dt,iac oseibo KediiI

[Redactor: In the original version the initial letter is an 'm' with a superscore over it. It is my supposition that this is the translator's way of writing 'mm' and I have replaced it accordingly, since our typography does not allow such a character.]

[Redactor: In the original version, the first letter is an 'm' with a line over it. I suppose the translator used this to represent 'mm', so I have replaced it accordingly. Our typography does not allow such a character.]

When this work was ended my uncle tore the paper from me and examined it attentively for a long time.

When the work was finished, my uncle snatched the paper from me and studied it carefully for a long time.

"What does it all mean?" he kept repeating mechanically.

Upon my honour I could not have enlightened him. Besides he did not ask me, and he went on talking to himself.

Honestly, I couldn't have helped him understand. Besides, he didn't ask me, and he went on talking to himself.

"This is what is called a cryptogram, or cipher," he said, "in which letters are purposely thrown in confusion, which if properly arranged would reveal their sense. Only think that under this jargon there may lie concealed the clue to some great discovery!"

"This is called a cryptogram, or cipher," he said. "The letters are deliberately scrambled, but if arranged correctly, they would reveal their meaning. Just think, this jumble may conceal the clue to a great discovery!"

As for me, I was of opinion that there was nothing at all, in it; though, of course, I took care not to say so.

I thought there was nothing in it at all, though of course I made sure not to say so.

Then the Professor took the book and the parchment, and diligently compared them together.

Then the Professor took the book and the parchment and carefully compared them.

"These two writings are not by the same hand," he said; "the cipher is of later date than the book, an undoubted proof of which I see in a moment. The first letter is a double m, a letter which is not to be found in Turlleson's book, and which was only added to the alphabet in the fourteenth century. Therefore there are two hundred years between the manuscript and the document."

"These two writings are not by the same hand," he said. "The cipher is newer than the book. I can see clear proof of that at once. The first letter is a double m. That letter does not appear in Turlleson's book. It was not added to the alphabet until the fourteenth century. Therefore, two hundred years separate the manuscript from the document."

I admitted that this was a strictly logical conclusion.

I admitted that this conclusion was perfectly logical.

"I am therefore led to imagine," continued my uncle, "that some possessor of this book wrote these mysterious letters. But who was that possessor? Is his name nowhere to be found in the manuscript?"

"So I think," my uncle continued, "that someone who owned this book wrote these mysterious letters. But who was the owner? Is his name anywhere in the manuscript?"

My uncle raised his spectacles, took up a strong lens, and carefully examined the blank pages of the book. On the front of the second, the title-page, he noticed a sort of stain which looked like an ink blot. But in looking at it very closely he thought he could distinguish some half-effaced letters. My uncle at once fastened upon this as the centre of interest, and he laboured at that blot, until by the help of his microscope he ended by making out the following Runic characters which he read without difficulty.

My uncle lifted his glasses, picked up a powerful magnifying glass, and carefully examined the book’s blank pages. On the front of the second page, the title page, he noticed a mark that looked like an ink blot. But when he looked closely, he thought he could make out some partly erased letters. My uncle immediately focused on the blot and worked at it with his microscope. At last, he made out the following Runic characters, which he read without difficulty.

"Arne Saknussemm!" he cried in triumph. "Why that is the name of another Icelander, a savant of the sixteenth century, a celebrated alchemist!"

"Arne Saknussemm!" he cried triumphantly. "Why, that's the name of another Icelander, a sixteenth-century scholar and famous alchemist!"

I gazed at my uncle with satisfactory admiration.

I looked at my uncle with admiring satisfaction.

"Those alchemists," he resumed, "Avicenna, Bacon, Lully, Paracelsus, were the real and only savants of their time. They made discoveries at which we are astonished. Has not this Saknussemm concealed under his cryptogram some surprising invention? It is so; it must be so!"

“Those alchemists,” he continued, “Avicenna, Bacon, Lully, Paracelsus, were the only true scholars of their time. They made discoveries that still amaze us. Hasn’t Saknussemm hidden some surprising invention in his cryptogram? He has. He must have!”

The Professor's imagination took fire at this hypothesis.

The hypothesis set the Professor's imagination on fire.

"No doubt," I ventured to reply, "but what interest would he have in thus hiding so marvellous a discovery?"

"No doubt," I ventured to say, "but why would he want to hide such an amazing discovery?"

"Why? Why? How can I tell? Did not Galileo do the same by Saturn? We shall see. I will get at the secret of this document, and I will neither sleep nor eat until I have found it out."

"Why? Why? How should I know? Didn't Galileo do the same with Saturn? We'll see. I'll uncover the secret of this document. I won't sleep or eat until I do."

My comment on this was a half-suppressed "Oh!"

I responded with a barely suppressed "Oh!"

"Nor you either, Axel," he added.

"Not you either, Axel," he added.

"The deuce!" said I to myself; "then it is lucky I have eaten two dinners to-day!"

“Damn!” I said to myself. “Then it’s lucky I ate two dinners today!”

"First of all we must find out the key to this cipher; that cannot be difficult."

"First, we need to find the key to this cipher. That can't be difficult."

At these words I quickly raised my head; but my uncle went on soliloquising.

At these words, I quickly raised my head, but my uncle went on talking to himself.

"There's nothing easier. In this document there are a hundred and thirty-two letters, viz., seventy-seven consonants and fifty-five vowels. This is the proportion found in southern languages, whilst northern tongues are much richer in consonants; therefore this is in a southern language."

"Nothing could be easier. This document contains 132 letters: 77 consonants and 55 vowels. This proportion is typical of southern languages, while northern languages have many more consonants. Therefore, this document is in a southern language."

These were very fair conclusions, I thought.

I thought these were very reasonable conclusions.

"But what language is it?"

Here I looked for a display of learning, but I met instead with profound analysis.

Here I expected a show of learning, but instead I found deep analysis.

"This Saknussemm," he went on, "was a very well-informed man; now since he was not writing in his own mother tongue, he would naturally select that which was currently adopted by the choice spirits of the sixteenth century; I mean Latin. If I am mistaken, I can but try Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, or Hebrew. But the savants of the sixteenth century generally wrote in Latin. I am therefore entitled to pronounce this, à priori, to be Latin. It is Latin."

"This Saknussemm," he went on, "was a very knowledgeable man. Since he was not writing in his native language, he would naturally choose the language favored by the leading minds of the sixteenth century. I mean Latin. If I am wrong, I can try Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, or Hebrew. But scholars in the sixteenth century generally wrote in Latin. So I am justified in assuming beforehand that this is Latin. It is Latin."

I jumped up in my chair. My Latin memories rose in revolt against the notion that these barbarous words could belong to the sweet language of Virgil.

I jumped up in my chair. Everything I remembered about Latin rebelled at the idea that these barbaric words could belong to Virgil’s sweet language.

"Yes, it is Latin," my uncle went on; "but it is Latin confused and in disorder; "pertubata seu inordinata," as Euclid has it."

"Yes, it is Latin," my uncle continued. "But it is confused and disordered Latin. As Euclid says, "pertubata seu inordinata,"."

"Very well," thought I, "if you can bring order out of that confusion, my dear uncle, you are a clever man."

"All right," I thought, "if you can make sense of that confusion, dear uncle, you're a clever man."

"Let us examine carefully," said he again, taking up the leaf upon which I had written. "Here is a series of one hundred and thirty-two letters in apparent disorder. There are words consisting of consonants only, as nrrlls; others, on the other hand, in which vowels predominate, as for instance the fifth, uneeief, or the last but one, oseibo. Now this arrangement has evidently not been premeditated; it has arisen mathematically in obedience to the unknown law which has ruled in the succession of these letters. It appears to me a certainty that the original sentence was written in a proper manner, and afterwards distorted by a law which we have yet to discover. Whoever possesses the key of this cipher will read it with fluency. What is that key? Axel, have you got it?"

"Let's examine it carefully," he said again, picking up the sheet on which I had written. "Here is a series of one hundred and thirty-two letters in apparent disorder. Some words contain only consonants, such as nrrlls. Others contain mostly vowels, such as the fifth word, uneeief, and the next-to-last word, oseibo. Clearly, this arrangement was not planned. It arose mathematically, according to the unknown law that governed the sequence of these letters. I am certain that the original sentence was written properly, then scrambled according to a law we have yet to discover. Anyone with the key to this cipher can read it easily. What is that key? Axel, have you got it?"

I answered not a word, and for a very good reason. My eyes had fallen upon a charming picture, suspended against the wall, the portrait of Gräuben. My uncle's ward was at that time at Altona, staying with a relation, and in her absence I was very downhearted; for I may confess it to you now, the pretty Virlandaise and the professor's nephew loved each other with a patience and a calmness entirely German. We had become engaged unknown to my uncle, who was too much taken up with geology to be able to enter into such feelings as ours. Gräuben was a lovely blue-eyed blonde, rather given to gravity and seriousness; but that did not prevent her from loving me very sincerely. As for me, I adored her, if there is such a word in the German language. Thus it happened that the picture of my pretty Virlandaise threw me in a moment out of the world of realities into that of memory and fancy.

I said nothing, and for a very good reason. My eyes had fallen on a charming picture hanging on the wall, a portrait of Gräuben. My uncle’s ward was staying with a relative in Altona at the time, and I was very unhappy without her. For I can confess it to you now: the pretty Virlandaise and the professor’s nephew loved each other with an entirely German patience and calm. We had become engaged without my uncle’s knowledge. He was too absorbed in geology to understand feelings like ours. Gräuben was a lovely blonde with blue eyes, inclined to be serious and thoughtful. But that did not prevent her from loving me very sincerely. As for me, I adored her, if there is such a word in the German language. So the picture of my pretty Virlandaise swept me at once out of the real world and into memories and daydreams.

There looked down upon me the faithful companion of my labours and my recreations. Every day she helped me to arrange my uncle's precious specimens; she and I labelled them together. Mademoiselle Gräuben was an accomplished mineralogist; she could have taught a few things to a savant. She was fond of investigating abstruse scientific questions. What pleasant hours we have spent in study; and how often I envied the very stones which she handled with her charming fingers.

Looking down at me was my faithful companion in work and leisure. Every day she helped me arrange my uncle's precious specimens. We labeled them together. Mademoiselle Gräuben was a skilled mineralogist. She could have taught an expert a few things. She loved exploring difficult scientific questions. What pleasant hours we spent studying together! And how often I envied the very stones she handled with her charming fingers.

Then, when our leisure hours came, we used to go out together and turn into the shady avenues by the Alster, and went happily side by side up to the old windmill, which forms such an improvement to the landscape at the head of the lake. On the road we chatted hand in hand; I told her amusing tales at which she laughed heartily. Then we reached the banks of the Elbe, and after having bid good-bye to the swan, sailing gracefully amidst the white water lilies, we returned to the quay by the steamer.

When we had free time, we used to go out together and walk along the shady avenues by the Alster. We happily walked side by side to the old windmill, which adds so much to the landscape at the head of the lake. Along the way, we chatted and held hands. I told her funny stories that made her laugh heartily. Then we reached the banks of the Elbe. We said goodbye to the swan, gliding gracefully among the white water lilies, and took the steamer back to the quay.

That is just where I was in my dream, when my uncle with a vehement thump on the table dragged me back to the realities of life.

That was just where I was in my dream when my uncle slammed his hand on the table, dragging me back to reality.

"Come," said he, "the very first idea which would come into any one's head to confuse the letters of a sentence would be to write the words vertically instead of horizontally."

"Come on," he said, "the first thing anyone would think of to scramble a sentence would be to write the words vertically instead of horizontally."

"Indeed!" said I.

"Really!" I said.

"Now we must see what would be the effect of that, Axel; put down upon this paper any sentence you like, only instead of arranging the letters in the usual way, one after the other, place them in succession in vertical columns, so as to group them together in five or six vertical lines."

“Now we must see what effect that would have, Axel. Write any sentence you like on this paper. But instead of writing the letters one after another in the usual way, arrange them in five or six vertical columns.”

I caught his meaning, and immediately produced the following literary wonder:

I understood what he meant and immediately came up with the following literary wonder:

I y l o a u l o l w r b o u , n G e v w m d r n e e y e a !

"Good," said the professor, without reading them, "now set down those words in a horizontal line."

"Good," said the professor, without reading them. "Now write those words in a horizontal line."

I obeyed, and with this result:

I did as I was told, and this was the result:

Iyloau lolwrb ou,nGe vwmdrn eeyea!

"Excellent!" said my uncle, taking the paper hastily out of my hands. "This begins to look just like an ancient document: the vowels and the consonants are grouped together in equal disorder; there are even capitals in the middle of words, and commas too, just as in Saknussemm's parchment."

"Excellent!" said my uncle, quickly taking the paper from my hands. "This is beginning to look like an ancient document. The vowels and consonants are grouped together in the same disorder. There are even capital letters in the middle of words, and commas too, just as in Saknussemm's parchment."

I considered these remarks very clever.

I thought these remarks were very clever.

"Now," said my uncle, looking straight at me, "to read the sentence which you have just written, and with which I am wholly unacquainted, I shall only have to take the first letter of each word, then the second, the third, and so forth."

"Now," said my uncle, looking straight at me, "I know nothing about the sentence you just wrote. To read it, I only need to take the first letter of each word, then the second, the third, and so on."

And my uncle, to his great astonishment, and my much greater, read:

And my uncle read, to his great surprise and my even greater surprise:

"I love you well, my own dear Gräuben!"

"I love you so much, my dear Gräuben!"

"Hallo!" cried the Professor.

"Hello!" cried the Professor.

Yes, indeed, without knowing what I was about, like an awkward and unlucky lover, I had compromised myself by writing this unfortunate sentence.

Yes, without realizing what I was doing, I had gotten myself into trouble by writing that unfortunate sentence. I was like an awkward, unlucky lover.

"Aha! you are in love with Gräuben?" he said, with the right look for a guardian.

"Aha! You're in love with Gräuben?" he said, giving him the look a guardian should.

"Yes; no!" I stammered.

"Yes, no!" I stammered.

"You love Gräuben," he went on once or twice dreamily. "Well, let us apply the process I have suggested to the document in question."

"You love Gräuben," he went on dreamily, repeating it once or twice. "Well, let's use the method I suggested on the document."

My uncle, falling back into his absorbing contemplations, had already forgotten my imprudent words. I merely say imprudent, for the great mind of so learned a man of course had no place for love affairs, and happily the grand business of the document gained me the victory.

My uncle had fallen back into his absorbing thoughts and had already forgotten my imprudent words. I say imprudent because the great mind of such a learned man had no room for love affairs, of course. Fortunately, the important business of the document gave me the victory.

Just as the moment of the supreme experiment arrived the Professor's eyes flashed right through his spectacles. There was a quivering in his fingers as he grasped the old parchment. He was deeply moved. At last he gave a preliminary cough, and with profound gravity, naming in succession the first, then the second letter of each word, he dictated me the following:

Just as the moment of the crucial experiment arrived, the Professor’s eyes flashed behind his glasses. His fingers trembled as he grasped the old parchment. He was deeply moved. At last, he cleared his throat. Then, with great seriousness, he dictated the following to me, naming the first letter of each word, then the second:

mmessvnkaSenrA.icefdoK.segnittamvrtn ecertserrette,rotaisadva,ednecsedsadne lacartniiilvIsiratracSarbmvtabiledmek meretarcsilvcoIsleffenSnI.

I confess I felt considerably excited in coming to the end; these letters named, one at a time, had carried no sense to my mind; I therefore waited for the Professor with great pomp to unfold the magnificent but hidden Latin of this mysterious phrase.

I admit I felt quite excited as I reached the end. The letters, read one at a time, had made no sense to me. So I waited for the Professor to reveal, with great pomp, the magnificent Latin hidden in the mysterious phrase.

But who could have foretold the result? A violent thump made the furniture rattle, and spilt some ink, and my pen dropped from between my fingers.

But who could have predicted what happened? A violent thump rattled the furniture and spilled some ink. My pen fell from my fingers.

"That's not it," cried my uncle, "there's no sense in it."

"That's not it," my uncle cried. "It doesn't make sense."

Then darting out like a shot, bowling down stairs like an avalanche, he rushed into the Königstrasse and fled.

Then he shot out, barreled down the stairs like an avalanche, rushed into the Königstrasse, and fled.