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AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS `
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by Jules Verne `
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Chapter I `
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IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PASSEPARTOUT ACCEPT EACH OTHER, `
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THE ONE AS MASTER, THE OTHER AS MAN `
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Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington `
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Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814. He was one of `
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the most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed `
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always to avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage, `
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about whom little was known, except that he was a polished man `
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of the world. People said that he resembled Byron--at least `
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that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron, `
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who might live on a thousand years without growing old. `
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Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg `
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was a Londoner. He was never seen on 'Change, nor at the Bank, `
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nor in the counting-rooms of the "City"; no ships ever came into `
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London docks of which he was the owner; he had no public employment; `
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he had never been entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, `
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or Lincoln's Inn, or Gray's Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded `
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in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen's Bench, `
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or the Ecclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; `
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nor was he a merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange `
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to the scientific and learned societies, and he never was known `
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to take part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution `
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or the London Institution, the Artisan's Association, or the `
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Institution of Arts and Sciences. He belonged, in fact, `
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to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the English capital, `
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from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly `
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for the purpose of abolishing pernicious insects. `
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Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all. `
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The way in which he got admission to this exclusive club `
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was simple enough. `
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He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open credit. `
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His cheques were regularly paid at sight from his account current, `
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which was always flush. `
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Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him `
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best could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg `
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was the last person to whom to apply for the information. He was `
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not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew `
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that money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, `
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he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short, `
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the least communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed `
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all the more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits `
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were quite open to observation; but whatever he did was so exactly `
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the same thing that he had always done before, that the wits `
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of the curious were fairly puzzled. `
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Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know `
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the world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded `
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that he did not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it. `
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He often corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures `
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advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of travellers, `
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pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with `
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a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions. `
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He must have travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit. `
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It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself `
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from London for many years. Those who were honoured by a better `
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acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could `
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pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes `
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were reading the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game, `
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which, as a silent one, harmonised with his nature; but his winnings `
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never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. `
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Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. `
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The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, `
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yet a motionless, unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes. `
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Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, `
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which may happen to the most honest people; either relatives `
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or near friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone `
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in his house in Saville Row, whither none penetrated. A single `
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domestic sufficed to serve him. He breakfasted and dined at the club, `
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at hours mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table, `
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never taking his meals with other members, much less bringing `
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a guest with him; and went home at exactly midnight, only to retire `
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at once to bed. He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform `
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provides for its favoured members. He passed ten hours out of the `
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twenty-four in Saville Row, either in sleeping or making his toilet. `
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When he chose to take a walk it was with a regular step in the `
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entrance hall with its mosaic flooring, or in the circular gallery `
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with its dome supported by twenty red porphyry Ionic columns, `
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and illumined by blue painted windows. When he breakfasted or dined `
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all the resources of the club--its kitchens and pantries, `
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its buttery and dairy--aided to crowd his table with their most `
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succulent stores; he was served by the gravest waiters, `
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in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles, who proffered `
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the viands in special porcelain, and on the finest linen; `
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club decanters, of a lost mould, contained his sherry, `
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his port, and his cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages `
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were refreshingly cooled with ice, brought at great cost `
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from the American lakes. `
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If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be `
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confessed that there is something good in eccentricity. `
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The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly comfortable. `
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The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but little from the `
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sole domestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be almost superhumanly `
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prompt and regular. On this very 2nd of October he had dismissed `
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James Forster, because that luckless youth had brought him shaving-water `
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at eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit instead of eighty-six; `
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and he was awaiting his successor, who was due at the house `
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between eleven and half-past. `
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Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close together `
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like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his knees, `
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his body straight, his head erect; he was steadily watching a complicated `
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clock which indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds, the days, `
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the months, and the years. At exactly half-past eleven Mr. Fogg would, `
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according to his daily habit, quit Saville Row, and repair to the Reform. `
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A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where `
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Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant, appeared. `
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"The new servant," said he. `
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A young man of thirty advanced and bowed. `
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"You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked Phileas Fogg, "and your name is John?" `
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"Jean, if monsieur pleases," replied the newcomer, "Jean Passepartout, `
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a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness `
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for going out of one business into another. I believe I'm honest, `
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monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I've had several trades. I've been `
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an itinerant singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard, `
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and dance on a rope like Blondin. Then I got to be a professor of gymnastics, `
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so as to make better use of my talents; and then I was a sergeant fireman `
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at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire. But I quitted France `
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five years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of domestic life, `
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took service as a valet here in England. Finding myself out of place, `
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and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most exact and settled `
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gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in the hope `
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of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the name `
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of Passepartout." `
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"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg. "You are well recommended `
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to me; I hear a good report of you. You know my conditions?" `
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"Yes, monsieur." `
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"Good! What time is it?" `
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"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout, `
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drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket. `
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"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg. `
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"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible--" `
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"You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it's enough to mention `
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the error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m., `
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this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service." `
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Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on `
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his head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word. `
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Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new `
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master going out. He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor, `
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James Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout remained `
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alone in the house in Saville Row. `
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Chapter II `
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IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL `
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"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people `
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at Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!" `
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Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much `
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visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human. `
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During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been `
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carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty years of age, `
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with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure; `
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his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, `
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his face rather pale, his teeth magnificent. His countenance possessed `
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in the highest degree what physiognomists call "repose in action," `
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a quality of those who act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, `
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with a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English `
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composure which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on canvas. `
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Seen in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being `
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perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer. `
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Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed `
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even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well as `
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in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions. `
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He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, `
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