As he describes Professor Lidenbrock’s house, Verne uses allusion and foreshadowing to subtly suggest the secretive and scholarly activities taking place inside. As Axel first introduces the house to the reader, he says:
The roof inclined to one side, in the position a German student belonging to the Tugendbund wears his cap.
The allusion to the house’s tilted roof—which sits “in the position a German student belonging to the Tugendbund wears his cap”—refers to a specific historical group of people from the early 1800s. The Tugendbund was a German secret society known primarily for two things: their pursuit of Prussian moral and intellectual ideals and their opposition to the rule of Emperor Napoleon. By likening Lidenbrock’s roof to the cap worn by Tugenbund members, the passage subtly suggests that the house is engaged in scholarly—and perhaps secretive—pursuits. This allusion gives the house a personality that mirrors its occupants and also hints at the intellectual and covert adventures that are about to unfold inside.
In this way, the allusion in the description of the house serves as foreshadowing, as it hints at subterfuge and the pursuit of hidden knowledge. This foreshadowing technique primes readers to expect that secrets are soon to be revealed, or that secretive deeds will be taking place within the walls of the professor's house.
In this passage, Lidenbrock utilizes allusions to notable historical thinkers—such as Avicenna, Bacon, Lully, and Paracelsus—to explain the regard in which scholars hold Arne Saknussemm:
“Arne Saknussemm!” he cried, in a triumphant tone.
“Why, that is a name, and an Icelandic name, too; that of a celebrated alchemist, a savant who lived in the sixteenth century.”
I looked at my uncle with a feeling of admiration.
“These alchemists,” he went on, “Avicenna, Bacon, Lully, Paracelsus, were the true, the only savants of their times. They made discoveries which may well astonish us. Why should not this Saknussemm have hidden under this incomprehensible cryptogram the secret of some surprising invention? It must be so. It is.”
The allusions to historical figures that Verne makes in this passage help place Saknussemm (a fictional character) in a context a reader might understand. Avicenna, Bacon, Lully, and Paracelsus are real historical figures. Each of these individuals was well-known for their contributions to various fields like alchemy, philosophy, and science. By aligning Saknussemm with these iconic names, the passage suggests that he was a thinker and innovator of similar importance. This comparison not only contextualizes Saknussemm's importance, but also sets up expectations for the discovery of something extraordinary and groundbreaking within the text that he has left behind. It's a way of imbuing the narrative with a sense of importance and grandiosity.
It's also notable that Axel refers to Professor Lidenbrock as a “savant” several times in the first chapter. The word, in this context, refers to someone who is unusually skilled and knowledgeable. It also has implications of eccentricity or oddness, which—Axel and Lidenbrock both imply—can be excused in a brilliant thinker. It’s essentially a synonym for “genius.” Lidenbrock himself calls Saknussemm a “savant” in the passage, indicating that he holds his work in high regard. However, as the term also describes Professor Lidenbrock, it forges a connection between Axel’s uncle and this lineage of geniuses. This allusion underscores Lidenbrock’s eccentricity and brilliance, painting him as a modern counterpart to these legendary scholars and thinkers.
In this excerpt, the author incorporates an allusion to the renowned Latin poet Virgil. Through this, he shows Axel's views on the relative qualities of ancient Roman and ancient Icelandic literature. The professor muses on what the code might say, wondering aloud:
“This Saknussemm,” he went on, “was a learned man, and since he did not write in his mother tongue, he would be sure to employ the language in common use among the cultivated minds of the sixteenth century; [...] the learned in the sixteenth century generally wrote in Latin. I may rightly, then, say, à priori—this is in Latin.”
I started, for my recollections of Latinity revolted against the pretension of this assemblage of uncouth words to belong to the soft tongue of Virgil.
“Yes, Latin,” repeated my uncle; “but tangled Latin.”
The allusion to Virgil shows the disparity that Axel sees between the refined, eloquent Latin utilized by classical scholars and the perplexing, convoluted language of Saknussemm’s text. His uncle thinks that the runes represent words written in poor Latin (or “tangled Latin”). When Axel thinks of Latin, he calls to mind the “soft tongue of Virgil.” This description points to the grace, and clarity often attributed to classical Latin literature. Axel's expectation of Latin, shaped by his study of Virgil, clashes with the reality of the "tangled Latin" presented by Saknussemm. He doesn’t think that anything written in the “uncouth” letters in front of him can be in the same “tongue” as Virgil spoke.
Although the Icelandic Sagas are also ancient literature by anyone's measure, Axel believes that Virgil's work has to be more beautiful than Saknussemm's purely by virtue of its origins. It's an early moment of youthful snobbery. Axel doesn't know anything about Iceland or its people, and he dismisses the runes as uncivilized and unpleasant before he knows what they say. Later in the novel, a reader can observe that Axel's judgements become much more measured and nuanced. His ideas become less prejudiced and absolute as he gains experience in the world.
Axel is so nervous about the potential consequences of Lidenbrock uncovering the key to Saknussemm’s code that he compares his situation to a Greek tragedy. Verne alludes to Sophocles’s play Oedipus Rex to underscore how seriously Axel takes this dilemma:
But how could I get away? The professor might be back any moment. And suppose he called me, and wanted to recommence his logogryphical labours, which old Œdipus himself would not have undertaken? And if I am not forthcoming, what would be the consequence?
The allusion to Oedipus Rex—a tragedy written by the Ancient Greek playwright Sophocles—both refers to the idea of endless work, and emphasizes the potentially grave implications of unveiling hidden knowledge.
In this play, the Greek King Oedipus unknowingly fulfills a prophecy that he will marry his mother and murder his father. He spends much of the play trying to figure out the mystery of his origins, only to end up in exile and blinded when the truth comes out. Had he done nothing, he would have remained in power, but because he acted, he is undone. By invoking this classical reference, Verne communicates Axel's reluctance at the potential of having to “recommence” the “logogryphical labors” (trying to translate the coded runes) when his uncle comes back. Axel already knows what the message says. However, he is torn because he doesn’t want to either relay the information, or continue working all night without food.
This allusion also underscores the notion that some knowledge might be perilous or unwelcome. Axel knows what the coded runes mean, but he thinks that if he tells his uncle, the professor will want to attempt the journey to the Earth’s center. The allusion works in three ways. It reflects Axel’s fear and reluctance. It provides readers familiar with Sophocles with a literary comparison that enriches their understanding of his dilemma. It also, in invoking Oedipus, very subtly points to the potential challenges and dangers the characters might encounter in their quest for knowledge.
In this passage, the author uses a simile and an allusion to a scientific instrument. This conveys Professor Lidenbrock’s excitement upon discovering new, exciting information about the Saknussemm book:
My uncle gave a leap as he read this, as if suddenly touched by a Leyden jar. He was magnificent in his joy, and daring, and conviction.
The allusion Verne makes here is to an invention from the 18th century that was often used to power early electrical devices or create dramatic sparks. Alluding to touching a "Leyden jar"—a device used to store high-voltage static electric charges—illustrates the intensity and suddenness of Professor Lidenbrock's reaction in this scene. Touching a Leyden jar would certainly cause a shocking response to anyone who tried it. Even the Professor's most natural and unrehearsed emotional moments are recounted in the language of scientific experimentation.
With this allusion, Verne makes the case that the newfound knowledge has literally electrified the professor. He’s so enlivened by it that he gives “a leap” as he reads it. This comparison not only highlights the professor’s explosive enthusiasm, but also literally suggests that the revelation is giving the professor energy and vitality. His reaction to it is so vivid that it’s funny, allowing the reader to understand just how deeply Lidenbrock’s dedication to science runs.
As the men depart for the countryside, Fridrikson wishes them well by alluding to Virgil’s famous line, “Et quacumque viam dederit fortuna sequamur.” This does two things: it demonstrates his refinement and intelligence, and it also foreshadows the approaching disturbances and trials. As they leave, Axel tries to say a heartfelt goodbye:
I launched out a cordial farewell in the best Latin I could find; then we jumped into our saddles, and M. Fridrikson repeated with his last adieux that line of Virgil which seemed to have been made for uncertain travellers on the road, like us: Et quacumque viam dederit fortuna sequamur.
This allusion to the Roman poet Virgil's line from the Aeneid—usually translated as something like “And whatever route fortune gives, we will follow”—is a poignant moment. Fridrikson speaks Latin here partially because it is the only language in which he and Axel can communicate directly. He could have spoken Icelandic or Danish, but instead chooses to address the narrator in a way that includes him.
The phrase itself is from Virgil’s epic poem The Aeneid, which brings the narrative of the poem to mind as the men set off on their journey. In The Aeneid, the protagonist Aeneas embarks on a dangerous journey. After a long and winding path, Aeneas also descends into the underworld and eventually ends up in roughly the same geographic region as Axel does. His travels are filled with unforeseen challenges and adventures, and he has to keep his wits about him in order to avoid disaster. In using this particular line of Virgil’s, Fridrikson not only wishes the travelers well, but also acknowledges the potentially hazardous nature of their expedition. Like Aeneas, there's no guarantee they'll return after trespassing into unknown realms.