Jules Verne: Двадцать тысяч лье под водой / Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

“The deepest parts of the ocean are totally unknown to us. What goes on in those distant depths? What creatures inhabit, or could inhabit, those regions twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the water? What is the constitution of these animals?

“We can choose between two alternatives. Either we know every variety of creature populating our planet, or we do not.

“If we do not know every one of them, if nature still keeps ichthyological secrets from us, we must accept the existence of fish or cetaceans of new species or even new genera, animals with a basically ‘cast-iron’ constitution that inhabit strata beyond the reach of our views, and which can come to the upper level of the ocean for long intervals.

“If, on the other hand, we do know every living species, we must look for the animal in question among those marine creatures already cataloged, and in this event I may accept the existence of a giant narwhale.

“The common narwhale, or sea unicorn, often reaches a length of sixty feet. Increase its dimensions fivefold or even tenfold, then give this cetacean a strength in proportion to its size, and you have the animal we’re looking for.

“The narwhale is armed with a sort of ivory sword, or lance, as certain naturalists have expressed it. It’s a king-sized tooth as hard as steel. Imagine this weapon to be ten times stronger and the animal ten times more powerful, and you get just the collision we need to cause the specified catastrophe.

“This inexplicable phenomenon is thus explained away—unless it’s something else entirely, which is still possible!”

These last words were cowardly of me; but I wanted to protect my professorial dignity. I had accepted the existence of “the monster.”

My article was hotly debated, it rallied a number of supporters. Yet if some saw it purely as a scientific problem to be solved, more practical people, especially in America and England, were determined to purge the ocean of this monster, to insure the safety of transoceanic travel. A high-speed frigate, the Abraham Lincoln[11] the Abraham Lincoln – «Авраам Линкольн» ( название судна ) , was ready to start as soon as possible.

But, as it always happens, just when a decision had been made to chase the monster, the monster ceased to appear. For two months nobody heard a word about it. Not a single ship encountered it. People were constantly babbling about the creature, even via the Atlantic Cable! Accordingly, the wags claimed that this rascal had got some passing telegram.

So the frigate was equipped for a voyage and armed with fearsome fishing gear, but nobody knew where to steer it. And impatience grew until, on June 2, word came that a steamer on the San Francisco line sailing from California to Shanghai, had sighted the animal again, three weeks before in the northerly seas of the Pacific.

This news caused intense excitement. Not even a 24-hour breather was granted to Commander Farragut[12] Commander Farragut – капитан Фарагут . His provisions were loaded on board. His coal bunkers were overflowing. Not a crewman was missing from his post. Commander Farragut wanted nothing more than to go forth.

I received a letter three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left its pier; the letter read as follows:

Pierre Aronnax

Professor at the Paris Museum

Fifth Avenue Hotel

New York

Sir,

If you would like to join the expedition on the Abraham Lincoln, the government of the Union will be pleased to regard you as France’s representative in this undertaking. Commander Farragut has a cabin at your disposal.

Very cordially yours,

Three seconds after reading this letter from the honorable Secretary of the Navy, I understood that my true vocation, my sole purpose in life, was to hunt down this disturbing monster and rid the world of it.

I had just returned from an arduous journey, exhausted and badly needing a rest. I wanted nothing more than to see my country again, my friends, my modest quarters by the Botanical Gardens, my dearly beloved collections! But now nothing could have held me back. I forgot everything else, and without another thought of exhaustion, friends, or collections, I accepted the American government’s offer.

“Besides,” I thought, “all roads lead home to Europe, and our unicorn may be gracious enough to take me toward the coast of France! That fine animal may even let itself be captured in European seas—as a personal favor to me—and I’ll bring back to the Museum of Natural History at least half a meter of its ivory lance! Conseil[13] Conseil – Консель !” I called in an impatient voice.

Conseil was my servant. A devoted lad who went with me on all my journeys; a gallant Flemish boy whom I genuinely liked and who returned the compliment; a born stoic, punctilious on principle, hardworking, very skillful with his hands.

In Conseil I had a specialist in biological classification, an enthusiast who could run with acrobatic agility up and down the whole ladder of branches, groups, classes, subclasses, orders, families, genera, subgenera, species, and varieties. Classifying was everything to him, so he knew nothing else. And yet, what a fine, gallant lad he was!

For the past ten years, Conseil had gone with me everywhere. The lad was thirty years old, and I had turned forty.

Conseil had but one flaw. He was a fanatic on formality, and he only addressed me in the third person.

“Conseil!” I repeated, while beginning my preparations for departure. I had confidence in this devoted lad. Ordinarily, I never asked whether or not it suited him to go with me on my journeys; but this time an expedition could drag on indefinitely. What would Conseil say?

“Conseil!” I called a third time.

Conseil appeared.

“Did master summon me?” he said, entering.

“Yes, my boy. Get my things ready, get yours ready. We’re departing in two hours.”

“As master wishes,” Conseil replied serenely.

“We haven’t a moment to lose. Pack as much into my trunk as you can, my traveling kit, my suits, shirts, and socks, just squeeze it all in—and hurry!”

“What about master’s collections?” Conseil observed.

“We’ll deal with them later. The hotel will keep them for us.”

“Then we aren’t returning to Paris?” Conseil asked.

“Yes, we are … certainly … ,” I replied evasively, “but after we make a detour.”

“Whatever detour master wishes.”

“Oh, it’s nothing really! A route slightly less direct, that’s all. We’re leaving on the Abraham Lincoln .”

“As master thinks best,” Conseil replied placidly.

“You see, my friend, we’re going to rid the seas of the monster, the notorious narwhale! It’s a glorious mission but also a dangerous one! We don’t know where it will take us! These beasts can be quite unpredictable!”

“What master does, I’ll do,” Conseil replied.

“But think it over, because I don’t want to hide anything from you. This is one of those voyages from which people don’t always come back!”

“As master wishes.”

A quarter of an hour later, our trunks were ready. Conseil did them in a flash, and I was sure the lad hadn’t missed a thing, because he classified shirts and suits as expertly as birds and mammals.

For a fare of twenty francs, the vehicle went down Broadway to Union Square, took Fourth Ave. to its junction with Bowery St., turned into Katrin St. and halted at Pier 34. There the ferry transferred men, horses, and carriage to Brooklyn, and in a few minutes we arrived at the wharf next to which the Abraham Lincoln was vomiting torrents of black smoke from its two funnels.